Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World: Comparative Experiences 9781685859152

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Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World Volume 2

Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World Volume2 Comparative Experiences Bahgat Korany, Rex Brynen, and Paul Noble onsortium intenmiversitaire pour Its etudes arabes Inter~UniversUy Co11sortium for Arab Studies ~_,...11 .:.L..I.J.l.U J~_r,;.,..

.:.1.....4- ~6.::1 (Mo11trtal)

with contributions by Saad Amrani, Sheila Carapico, Jill Crystal, Judith Palmer Harik, Raymond A. Hinnebusch, Ann M. Lesch, and Abdallah al-Shayeji

L~E

RIENNER PUBLISHERS

BOULDER LONDON

To our graduate students

Published in the United States of America by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 1800 30th Street, Boulder, Colorado 80301 www.rienner.com and in the United Kingdom by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. 3 Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, London WC2E 8LU © 1998 by Lynne Rienner Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Political liberalization and democratization in the Arab world / Bahgat Korany, Rex Brynen, Paul Noble. p. cm. Includes bibliographical references and index. Contents: v.2. Comparative experiences ISBN 978-1-55587-590-9 (hc : alk. paper) ISBN 978-1-55587-599-2 (pb : alk. paper) 1. Arab countries—Politics and government—1945– 2. Civil society—Arab countries. 3. Democracy—Arab countries. 4. Political culture—Arab countries. I. Korany, Bahgat. II. Brynen, Rex. III. Noble, Paul. JQ1850.A91P65 1998 306.2'0917'4927—dc20 95-17941 CIP British Cataloguing in Publication Data A Cataloguing in Publication record for this book is available from the British Library. Printed and bound in the United States of America The paper used in this publication meets the requirements of the American National Standard for Permanence of Paper for Printed Library Materials Z39.48-1992.

Contents

List of Tables Preface

1

2

3 4

5

6

7 8 9

vii IX

Introduction: Arab Liberalization and DemocratizationThe Dialectics of the General and the Specific Bahgat Korany and Paul Noble

1

Explosive Civil Society and Democratization from Below: Algeria Bahgat Korany and Saad Amrani

11

Restricted Democratization from Above: Egypt Bahgat Korany

39

The Politics of Monarchical Liberalism: Jordan RexBrynen

71

The Pro-Democratic Agenda in Kuwait: Structures and Context Jill Crystal and Abdallah al-Shayeji

101

Democracy (Again) Derailed: Lebanon's Ta'ifParadox Judith Palmer Harik

127

Monarchical Islam with a Democratic Veneer: Morocco Bahgat Korany

157

From Occupation to Uncertainty: Palestine RexBrynen

185

Democratization in a Fragmented Society: Sudan AnnM.Lesch

203

v

vi

10

11

12

Contents

Calculated Decompression as a Substitute for Democratization: Syria Raymond A. Hinnebusch

223

Pluralism, Polarization, and Popular Politics in Yemen Sheila Carapico

241

Conclusion: Liberalization, Democratization, and Arab Experiences Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble

267

Appendixes: Selected Data The Contributors Index About the Book

279 289 291 301

Tables

3.1 5.1 5.2 9.1 10.1 10.2 10.3 11.1

Seats in the Egyptian People's Assembly (1984-1995) Vital Statistics About the Kuwaiti National Assemblies (1963-1996) Composition of the Kuwaiti National Assemblies (1963-1985) Sudanese Political Parties in 1986 Indicators of Change in Syrian Class Structure ( 1960--1970) Occupational Composition of Ba'th Party Membership (1980 and 1984) Associational Membership (1974 and 1990) Results of 1993 and 1997 Yemeni Parliamentary Elections, 301 Constituencies

Appendixes: Selected Data Social Indicators Economic Indicators Communications Indicators Political Indicators Civil and Political Rights

52 103 103 214 226 228 231 262

280 282 284 285 287

vii

Preface

This is the second volume in a project on political liberalization and democratization in the Arab world. Volume 1 concentrated on conceptual and theoretical issues and general aspects of democratization in the region as a whole. This volume, centered on experiences in 10 Arab countries, aims to confront both the general and the specific by providing data on the current trajectory of the liberalization and democratization processes in the region. We based the book on an analytical framework applied to case studies to make them more readily comparable, both among themselves and with case studies from other regions. Although the analysis of democratization has been a prosperous research industry in the past few years, we still feel that Arab cases have been neglected. The inclusion of these Arab experiences-with their varied degrees of success and failure-are essential if a body of generalizations about this process is to be representative. As for approaching the Arab world through the particulars of its liberalization and democratization, we feel that this is a dynamic approach that reveals the problems and opportunities of political change and reform in this region. The 10 cases herein represent the subregions of the Arab world from North Africa to the Gulf. The cases represent different types of social structure (Yemen versus Lebanon), economy (Kuwait versus Sudan), and transition processes (Algeria versus Morocco). We have also included a "nonstate" actor, the Palestinian National Authority. The majority of the chapters were written especially for this volume. Two were originally presented at the 1993 Conference on Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World of the Inter-University Consortium for Arab Studies (ICAS), Montreal, and these have been updated.

* * *

Our first thanks go to our coauthors, who accepted our invitation to contribute to the volume and responded positively to our request to apply the analytical framework and carry out the necessary modifications to make the multiauthored book as coherent as possible. ix

X

Preface

As with Volume 1, this project was conducted under the auspices of the ICAS, established jointly by scholars at the Universite de Montreal, McGill University, and other Canadian institutions. We want to thank our two institutions for their continued support, as well as Quebec's research granting agency, Le Fonds pour la Formation de Chercheurs et 1' Aide ala Recherche (FCAR); the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada; the International Center for Human Rights and Democratic Development (Montreal); and the Cooperative Security Competition Program (Ottawa) for their financial support. Part of the research for the chapters written by Bahgat Korany was undertaken while he was a visiting professor at the Faculty of Economics and Political Science of Cairo University, and he wishes to thank the dean, Ali E. Hillal Dessouki, and the two vice-deans, Kamal al-Menoufi and Wadouda Badran, as well as the director of the Center for Political Research, Nazli Moawad, for making his stay so agreeable and productive. Special thanks must go to our graduate students, who-through the continuing ICAS seminars-maintained an exciting intellectual atmosphere and kept us on our toes, particularly Bassel Salloukh, who read many of the chapters and offered very helpful comments. We were lucky to be assigned Shena Redmond, senior project editor at Lynne Rienner Publishers. Shena maintained a smooth and efficient pace throughout the production process. To Alex Brynen, who prepared the index for this volume, goes our deep appreciation. Our heartiest thanks, however, go to Joelle Zahar, the dynamic ICAS administrative assistant and emerging scholar in her own right, for the long hours she spent slaving over hard-to-read manuscripts. Bahgat Korany Rex Brynen Paul Noble

1 Introduction: Arab Liberalization and Democratization-The Dialectics of the General and the Specific Bahgat Korany and Paul Noble

In contrast to the conceptual and theoretical emphasis in Volume 1, in this volume we aim to go into the field to see how the processes of political liberalization and democratization have actually evolved-or failed to do so. We continue to believe that these two processes-liberalization and democratization-are not synonymous. Whereas liberalization involves the institutionalization of civil and political freedoms, democratization is more concerned with the degree of citizen participation as well as the accountability and turnover of governing elites. Neglect of Arab liberalization and democratization in the established conceptual and comparative literature also continues, as if these phenomena are present everywhere but in the Arab world-the so-called Arab exception. If indeed such an exception exists, it has to be accounted for. I In reality this lacuna in Western literature is in direct contrast to what is taking place in indigenous publications. Since the early 1980s, periodicals like alMustaqbal al- 'arabi (Beirut) and al-Siyassa al-dawliyya (Cairo) have included articles on the process of "political transition" in the region. In 1984, the Center for Arab Unity Studies (Beirut) published a 916-page tome, The Crisis of Democracy in the Arab World.2 It brought together both academics and practitioners to deal with conceptual as well as empirical aspects of democratization in the region. Similarly, since its first appearance in 1986, the 10 volumes of the Arab Strategic Yearbook of the al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies have devoted, on average, 30 pages per year to analysis of the problems of regime change, liberalization, and democratization. For instance, the 1986 volume linked the problem of democratization to the issue of state formation (pp. 215-274) and followed this by the discussion

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Bahgat Korany and Paul Noble

of the role of different social groups-especially the military in Sudan-in accelerating or slowing political liberalization (pp. 274-287). The 1987 volume continued this focus on the role of specific social and political groups, this time concentrating on the impact of political Islam (pp. 229-255). The 1988 volume (pp. 297-338) focused more on state practices across different political systems, ranging from liberalism a la tunisienne to the (then) Marxist-oriented regime in South Yemen. The 1989 volume was even more conceptually and empirically systematic in dealing with the problems involved in the transition to multipartyism and raised the issue of an interelite pact. This explicit and systematic focus on the issues of democratic transition and consolidation of civil society continued and became much more specific. For instance, the 1996 volume deals with such issues as municipal elections in Tunisia, Jordan, and Kuwait (pp. 321-326) as well as the strengthening of an active movement for human rights in different Arab political systems and the problems and opportunities of its various associations (pp. 327-340). The 1997 volume, which reviews democratization data across the Arab world (pp. 135-138, 269286), points out the uncertainty of the process. Even "establishment" publications like those associated with the Arab League attempted an analysis of the political impact of economic liberalization as far back as 1991.3 These indigenous studies indicate that the Arab world shares at least some of the tendencies and concerns of the rest of the "global South." The pace and patterns may be different, but the research problem is very much the same. Moreover, these indigenous studies indicate a research strategy. The analysis of the liberalization and democratization issue is to be approached as part of a whole, linking it to the country's historical evolution, social structure, and contextual factors. Rather than being limited to purely political or "superstructural" aspects, there seems to be a consensus that the analysis of democratization requires the penetration of the "political core" and a deeper understanding of history, culture, society, and, of course, the economy.4 Such a holistic approach raises three issues to be dealt with in this introductory chapter: 1. the definitions of liberalization and democratization, that is, the standards according to which experiences in the different Arab countries are to be analyzed and evaluated; 2. the specific characteristics of political liberalization and democratization in the Arab context and how they help or impede our general understanding of these processes in the developing world; and 3. the conditions that help initiate and maintain the process.

Introduction

3

Liberalization and Democratization Whereas democracy is an end product, democratization is the process leading to it. The ancient Greeks' definition of democracy as government by the people is still more an ideal than a reality, even among the majority of wellestablished democracies. As Giovanni Sartori rightly says, "a considerable literature currently recalls the Greek experiment as if it were a lost and somewhat recuperable paradise. "5 In theory, the Greek frame of reference is still an important conceptual and empirical standard by which to judge the different experiences on the ground: how near or far they are from the ideal. However, the label-democracy-is no longer enough on its own to cover the myriad cases and practices. Democracy has to be qualified with adjectives in order to capture its varieties.6 In the "third wave" spread of democracy in all directions from its original birthplace, adjectives and qualifications are even more expected.7 Using adjectives, however, is not new. Social analysis has dealt with them under the title of "types." Analysts have talked about political as distinct from social democracy, and populist regimes have indeed emphasized this distinction in detail (e.g., the condemnation of the "liberal democracy facade" in Chapter 3, on Egypt), but qualifications and classifications have gone beyond the dichotomy of the political and the social. Thus depending on such factors as the objectives of the regime in place, the role of the state, the characteristics of the political process, and the degree and impact of citizen participation and rights, we talk about liberal democracy, socialist democracy, consociational democracy, guided democracy, and radical democracy. s The disaggregation of democracy into different types is important both for the discussion of the process (democratization) and for the presumed correlation of liberalization and democratization. As the analysis of the process in the following cases will indicate, liberalization does not always result in the application of democracy-that is to say, the practice of norms and rules guaranteeing participatory politics with its concomitants such as leadership accountability, transparency of political transactions, and regular elite turnover. Rather, we have a polity that is increasingly liberalized but not fully democratized: The formal characteristics of a democratic polity are there (elections, parties, and legislative institutions), but the actual democratic substance is not yet a reality. This is what is implied by the Arabic term ta'addudiyya (multipartyism), which aims to attract attention to the absence of an automatic or inevitable correlation between liberalization and democratization-at least in the short and medium terms (three to five years).9

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Bahgat Korany and Paul Noble

Without using the term ta'addudiyya, other analysts attracted attention to this incompleteness in the transition process between liberalization and democratization, how the demise of the public sector and the drive toward privatization did not result, according to Nazih Ayubi, in the transition from "plan to [political] market," but from "plan to clan."IO As a result, the socalled liberalization has been characterized by the presence of favoritism toward one's kith and kin and a certain degree of enclosure and exclusion in the political market. Similarly, Robert Bianchi talks about the "corporatist-associative" model, in which political exchange takes place between political and economic groups at the top without really trickling down to involve the base, 11 a characteristic of "cosmetic democratization. "12 At present, most of the Arab world seems to suffer indeed under a system in which economic liberalization has not led yet to democracy. They do not have yet what early13 and modern14 analysts codified as the government's responsiveness to the preferences of its citizens, considered political equals, 15 a polity in which "rulers are held accountable for their actions in the public realm by citizens acting directly through the competition and cooperation of their elected representatives."16 But if the end product, democracy, is not there, the following chapters dealing with 10 varied cases show that the transition process away from authoritarianism and hopefully toward democratization is there. In this "history in the making," much will depend on how the different groups, the state and civil society, will interact together to shape their own brand of "people's democracy," "Islamic democracy," or any other type.

The Dialectics of the Specific and the General For analysts interested above all by authenticity over what they consider imported ideologies, these qualifiers of democracy are both natural and welcome. For instance, among many of the Islamic groups, the skepticism toward liberal or political democracy a I' occidentale is motivated less by a negation of the leader's accountability and more by the necessity to take specificities into consideration. Here indeed lies the raison d'etre of case studies. As Dunkwart Rustow said almost three decades ago: "no two existing democracies have gone through a struggle between the very same forces over the same issues and with the same institutional outcome." 17 It follows that detailed analysis of specific cases is necessary in order to ascertain in a more profound manner their democratic qualities. It is only at the level of the individual case that one can study the interplay between formal freedoms, political processes, and the larger context of socio-economic and other conditions that affect the quality of democracy.l8

Introduction

5

But is there, then, a danger of placing too great an emphasis on the specific at the expense of the general, hence impeding the process of discovering patterns of democratization across different continents? It should be remarked that the imposing context of globalization-with the rise of particularism as a reaction-favors such debates. The particularism/universalism debate overlaps the one between the area specialist (the "fact-grubber") and the social science discipline-oriented researcher (the "ivory tower theoretician").19 We feel that this is a false dilemma that should not be approached as "either/or" but as "more or less," depending on the research problem at hand.20 In short, we want to have our cake and eat it too. Our initial frame of reference is the social science disciplines and their different conceptualizations of the meaning, practices, and (pre )conditions of democratization. But we look at these conceptual aspects critically rather than considering them as given, and we are primarily interested in how they apply or get modified in part or in full in the laboratory of regional cases. For instance, political sociology and voting behavior have indicated a positive correlation between standard indicators of modernization (e.g., urbanization) and political participation. Yet, in both Cairo and Algiers, the percentage of voters in legislative elections has been significantly lower than in the Egyptian or Algerian countrysides. In this case, the specific comes to the help of the general to modify its overgeneralization and provide a reminder of some anomalies. To combine the general and the specific, we suggested to our colleagues an analytical framework whose general categories allow comparison and cumulativeness of findings across the cases without sacrificing the specific traits of a Jordan, Morocco, or Yemen. Such a research strategy may also make some readers more conscious of intra-Arab variety. But even when attention is given to providing information on the specific case, the objective is not simply a traditional case study but rather to place the case in comparative perspective. Moreover, most of the chapters pick up one or another of the basic explanatory variables emphasized by the social science literature, variables that figured prominently in Volume 1 and are briefly described in what follows: 1. Political culture. Although there was agreement among contributors to Volume 1 that culture is of some importance (Michael C. Hudson, Chapter 3), considerable differences remain as to how important it might be and whether it can be usefully conceptualized and assessed (Lisa Anderson, Chapter 4). It was agreed that issues of democracy are well established in Arab political discourse, with questions of secularism versus religious authority, limitation of state power and protection of civil rights, and the empowerment of civil society at the forefront of intellectual debate (Salwa Ismail, Chapter 5).

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Bahgat Korany and Paul Noble

2. Political economy. Contributors emphasized the importance of exogenous revenues or rentierism in sustaining authoritarianism (Giacomo Luciani, Chapter 11) and economic crisis as both a spark for, and constraint upon, limited political liberalization (Daniel Brumberg, Chapter 12). 3. Civil society. Reflecting the literature at large, there was no absolute consensus in Volume 1 on what characterizes civil society-although common elements include respect for pluralism, autonomy from the state, and an organizational base other than primordialism (Mustapha Kamel alSayyid, Chapter 7). Despite this, many contributors emphasized the critical role of civil society in creating or sustaining liberalization and democratization (Saad Eddin Ibrahim, Chapter 2). 4. International context. Liberalization and democratization are shaped by the international political economy (Samih K. Farsoun and Christina Zacharia, Chapter 13), as well as regional pressures (F. Gregory Gause III, Chapter 14) and international diffusion effects and changes in the international order (Gabriel Ben-Dor, Chapter 15). We feel that this international factor is very underemphasized in the conceptual literature. Indeed, the emphases in many of our cases (e.g., Egypt, Morocco, Palestine) point to the emergence of political conditionality by international aid-granting agencies and NGO networks as a major factor. To encourage minimum uniformity among the authors of the individual case studies without putting them in a straightjacket, a set of analytical categories was provided. These analytical categories focus on three research questions: 21

The What Question. How do both the government and the influential groups in civil society define their brand of democracy? What is the degree of convergence around some core components, and on what do they differ and why? The emphasis here is mainly on doctrine rather than on practice, and the analysis focuses on official statements and written declarations. But the evaluation of how real and credible these doctrinal positions are requires looking at practices and may attract attention to a potential gap between doctrine and behavior, between "saying" and "doing." The Why Question. Here the emphasis is on the explanatory factors shaping the presence or absence and current state of the process of political liberalization or democratization. This involves examining structural and contextual conditions that might serve as preconditions, facilitators, or obstacles to liberalization or democratizationincluding levels and patterns of economic development, the development of civil society, the nature of the regime's power base, and any external pressures. Out of this section, therefore, should come

Introduction

7

an understanding of why country A or B is presently where it is. If relevant, there should also be a comparison with previous attempts at democratization, redemocratization, and dedemocratization of the country to determine the differences as well as similarities of the different attempts and phases. This part could also indicate how reversible or credible the present democratization process is. The How Question. This part focuses essentially on governmentcivil society interaction in greater detail. The emphasis is on the chemistry and the dynamics of the current liberalization or democratization processes: major and minor actors, sequences, instrumentalities, and interpretation by the influential social players and their strategic and tactical choices along the way. It zooms in on the different groups in action and their mutual influence (or lack thereof). It is the uniformity of research questions rather than their sequence that is important. In some cases, the break date between authoritarianism and democratization is clear (e.g., Algeria), whereas in others there is a continuous process or a to-and-fro movement (e.g., Morocco or even Egypt). Such case specificities determine whether it is clearer to deal first with "How" or "Why." All chapters start, however, with "What."

Liberalization and Democratization: Initiation, Maintenance, and Deepening The concluding chapter comments in more detail on some of the comparative findings, but for the moment some general patterns common to the processes in different Arab countries should be emphasized. First, the process is much more advanced at the procedural than at the substantive level. It is more a case of ta 'addudiyya (multipartyism) than of dimuqratiyya (democracy). Second, this procedural democratization is a regime's response to crises-political and economic. Algeria is a flagrant example, but the statement applies also to Morocco or Jordan, where leaderships attempted to stop political decay by liberalizing their regimes. Third, since the democratization process until now has mainly been a top-down process, it is essentially a defensive and truncated reaction and is neither linear nor irreversible. Fourth, as the case studies (Egypt or Jordan versus Sudan or Syria) show, the processes at the regional level are indeed uneven. Although some additional cases of ta 'addudiyya could have been added (e.g., Bahrain, Tunisia), the cases chosen represent the different subregions, and most of those left aside are still at the pretransition stage. The unevenness of these processes raises the thorny question of the

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Bahgat Korany and Paul Noble

preconditions for democratization. In the literature there is an emphasis on economic preconditions.22 But Syria's case does not indicate that political liberalization-let alone democratization-will necessarily follow economic liberalization. In fact, since structural adjustment programs in many Arab countries emphasize reducing budget deficits by reducing government expenditure on social programs, employment, or food subsidies, economic liberalization may be coupled with authoritarianism in the short term.23 Is it, then, a question of political culture, of socialization regarding free debate, tolerance of differences, and acceptance of transparency and accountability? Other Arab countries' political cultures are not different from that of Syria, and yet their progress toward political liberalization or democratization has been more substantial. In Egypt, in fact, economic liberalization has accelerated the rise of business associations that increasingly counterbalance the state's economic power. These associations participate more and more in the policymaking process; that is, they bolster a society that has been dominated historically by the overcentralized state. Is the difference between Syria and Egypt an issue of time lag? Did the older economic liberalization policies in Egypt have more time to empower civil society? The level of equilibrium or disequilibrium in state-civil society relations seems to be the most important single cluster indicator of the chances of democratization and the possibility of its evolution.24 For instance, a decaying authoritarian regime can still maintain itself in power and block democratization by giving its state a mission (e.g., liberation of occupied territories, defense of authenticity). It can make this mission the basis of its social contract with its society. Similarly, having weak political parties and opposition groups that lack credibility would not lead to equilibrium in state-civil society relations. In fact, in the analysis of obstacles to democratization, most studies pay close attention to state harassment of opposition but have not yet attempted a similar analysis of the opposition's weakness in political recruitment and political mobilization. Only the "excluded" Islamic groups have received such attention. However, the state-civil society relationship should not automatically be assumed to be a zero-sum game. The level of equilibrium and the rules governing these relations could favor both state and civil society. Associational life-the crux of civil society-can prosper in the presence of an effective state. A weak state can use associations to increase its distribution and performance capacity and thus its legitimacy.25 Such variations in the crucial relationships between state and civil society show the importance of these Arab cases. They are important as a specific source of information on the liberalization and democratization processes per se and as a contribution to general efforts of theory building on these processes. We hope that, after reading the studies presented here,

Introduction

9

more generalists will widen their focus to include in their comparative framework analyses of the what, why, and how of the liberalization and democratization processes in the Arab world. After all, the wider the sample, the more valid our theory-building efforts on the eve of the new millennium.

Notes 1. Ghassan Salame, "Sur la causalite d'un manque," Revue franr;aise de science politique 41, 3, pp. 307-341. 2. Saad Eddin Ibrahim, ed., The Crisis of Democracy in the Arab World (Beirut: Center for Arab Unity Studies, 1984) (in Arabic). 3. Taha 'Abd-'Alim, "The Demand for Privatization and Liberalization in the Arab Homeland," in Muhammad al-Sayyid Said, ed., The Arab Homeland and the Global Variables (Cairo: Institute for Arab Research and Studies, 1991), pp. 217249 (in Arabic). 4. James A. Bill, "Comparative Middle East Politics: Still in Search of Theory," Political Science and Politics 27, 3 (September 1994), pp. 518-519; Iliya Harik and Dennis Sullivan, eds., Privatization and Liberalization in the Middle East (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992); Tim Niblock and Emma Murphy, eds., Economic and Political Liberalization in the Middle East (London: British Academic Press, 1993); and Roger Owen, State, Power, and Politics in the Making of the Modern Middle East (New York: Routledge, 1992). 5. Giovanni Sartori, The Theory of Democracy Revisited (Chatham: Chatham House Publishers, 1987), p. 279. 6. David Collier and Steven Levitsky, "Democracy with Adjectives: Conceptual Innovation in Comparative Research," World Politics 49, 3 (April 1997), pp. 430-451. 7. Samuel Huntington, "Democracy's Third Wave," in Larry Diamond and Marc F. Plattner, eds., The Global Resurgence of Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), pp. 3-25. 8. Robert Pinkney, Democracy in the Third World (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1994), pp. 6-7. 9. Bahgat Korany, "Arab Democratization: A Poor Cousin?" Political Science and Politics 27, 3 (September 1994), pp. 511-513; Niveen Mosa'ad, ed., Democratization in the Arab World (Cairo: Center for Political Research and Studies, Cairo University, 1993) (a French edition was published by the Centre d'Etudes et de Documentation Economique et Juridique [CEDEJ] in Cairo, 1993). 10. Nazih N. Ayubi, Over-Stating the Arab State: Politics and Society in the Middle East (London: I. B. Tauris, 1995), p. 403. Also Terry L. Karl, "Dilemmas of Democratization in Latin America," Comparative Politics 23, 1 (January 1990), pp. 1-21. 11. Robert Bianchi, "The Strengthening of Associational Life and Its Potential Contribution to Political Reform," presentation to the conference of the Social Science Research Council/Joint Committee on the Middle East on "Retreating States and Expanding Societies," Aix-en-Provence, France, March 1988. 12. Ayubi, Over-Stating the Arab State, p. 411. 13. Pierre Mahent, Histoire intellectuelle du liberalisme (Paris: Caiman-Levy, 1987).

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14. Robert Dahl, Polyarchy (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1971). 15. Greg Ss;;rensen, Democracy and Democratization (Boulder: Westview Press, 1993),p.l9. 16. Philippe Schmitter and Terry L. Karl, "What Democracy Is ... and Is Not," in Larry Diamond and Marc F. Plattner, eds., The Global Resurgence of Democracy (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1993), p. 40. 17. Dunkwart Rustow, "Transition to Democracy," Comparative Politics 2, 3 (1970),pp. 337-365. 18. Ss;;rensen, Democracy and Democratization, p. 19. 19. Bill, "Comparative Middle East Politics." 20. For a successful application of this approach, see Ghassan Salame, ed., Democraties sans democrates (Paris: Fayard, 1994); David Pool, "Staying at Home with the Wife: Democratization and Its Limits in the Middle East," in Geraint Parry and Michael Moran, eds., Democracy and Democratization (London: Routledge, 1994),pp. 196-216. 21. For an earlier application of these categories to the foreign policy literature, see Bahgat Korany, "The Take-Off of Third World Studies: The Case of Foreign Policy," World Politics 35, 3 (Aprill983), pp. 365-387. 22. The classical statement of the hypothetical correlation is Seymour M. Lipset, "Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy," American Political Science Review 53, 1 (1959), pp. 69-105; and by the same author, "The Social Requisites of Democracy Revisited," American Sociological Review 59 (February 1994). 23. Mahmood Monshipouri, "State Prerogatives, Civil Society and Liberalization," Ethics and International Affairs 11 (1997), pp. 233-251, raises this issue for sub-Saharan Africa. 24. For an introductory overview of this concept in the Middle East context, see Jillian Schwedler, ed., Toward Civil Society in the Middle East: A Primer (Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner, 1995). This book ends with a very functional 32-page bibliography that includes several Arabic-language, French-language, and Turkish-language sources. The standard analysis on the subject is still Augustus R. Norton, ed., Civil Society in the Middle East, vols. 1 and 2 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994, 1995). For an insightful use of the concept to look at some aspects of medieval Arab society, see Ellis Goldberg, "Private Goods, Public Wrongs, and Civil Society in Some Medieval Arab Theory and Practice," in Ellis Goldberg, Resat Kasaba, and Joel Migdal, eds., Rules and Rights in the Middle East: Democracy, Law and Society (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1993), pp. 248-271. For a general and accessible conceptual analysis, see Neera Chandhoke, State and Civil Society (London and New Delhi: Sage Publications, 1995). 25. Monshipouri, "State Prerogatives."

2

Explosive Civil Society and Democratization from Below: Algeria Bahgat Korany and Saad Amrani

Algeria has been and continues to be a paradigmatic case in the analysis of Third World politics and society. Until1962, Algeria was not only a French colony but officially a part of France, a departement d' outremer (DOM). While many French-speaking African countries accepted Charles de Gaulle's offer of "independence," Algeria continued a "savage" national liberation war that by 1962 had cost it "a million martyrs." After independence, Algeria aspired to be a montreur de conduite, a behavioral model, an exemplar for the rest of the Third World to follow. Internally and externally, in both its domestic and foreign policies, it incarnated a revolutionary state bent on showing the serious inadequacies of the status quo and indicating the road ahead.l Many Third World statesmen and prominent world intellectuals looked to the Algerian model as a hopeful alternative. Both this hope and its basis in reality crumbled in the late 1980s. Yet even in times of crisis, Algeria continued to be paradigmatic. It showed the failure of monolithic, authoritarian, one-party rule in the Third World, a rule that shortchanged its people. The implicit social contract between state and people-based on offering social welfare in return for deprivation of some basic political rights-collapsed after the continuous decline in oil earnings and the state's consequent lack of resources to keep buying off its people. The state's inefficiency became apparent, and its legitimacy eroded. A political vacuum, a quasi-anarchy in a Hobbesian state of nature, followed while negotiations continued about a new "governing formula." In an eight-month period (September 1994-April 1995), we counted no less than 28 acts of sabotage, 14 kidnappings, three cases of mutiny and escape from prison, and 190 assassination attempts. But 1996 and 1997 proved to be far more bloody. In the six-year period from 1991 to June 1997, press reports indicate a death toll of between 60,000 and 75,000, and the average weekly killing in the first half of 1997 was 150, mostly civilians. The 11

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system is polarized between the military and the Islamists (headed by the Islamic Salvation Front, or PIS). This state of virtual civil war motivated a policy-oriented Rand study to concentrate on possible scenarios of future governance in Algeria. Starting with the "question ... not so much whether the FIS will come to power, but how, and to what degree,"2 the Rand study compares two scenarios: the possibility of a democratic alternative (through elections) and a nondemocratic "deal" (between the military and the FIS). If President Lamin Zeroual (elected November 1995) cannot manage the crisis of governance, Algeria could then be the first Arab state to have Islamists in power. Is this indeed the wave of the future? And how does democratization fare in this respect? In both questions and answers about the crisis of governing and the future of democratization, the analysis of the Algerian experience thus goes beyond being a mere case study and continues to be paradigmatic. At present, however, a democratization process is in progress, and Algeria is indeed different from the party-state that existed before the October 1988 social explosion. Since this date, three electoral experiences have taken place: municipal in 1990, legislative in 1991, and presidential in 1995.3 This last election was almost exceptional in the Arab world, for it saw competition among four candidates. The (retired) general Lamin Zeroual, that is, the candidate of the army, won 61 percent of the vote. Despite calls for a boycott, voter participation was much higher than in the previous two elections (75 percent, compared to 65 percent and 59 percent, respectively). 4 This indicator shows that the process of democratization seems to function in the choice of the higher political office. Will this democratic transition be continued and consolidated? For the moment, the democratization process shares several features with the one in neighboring Morocco, despite historical and political/regime differences between the two countries. In both, the democratization process was conducted and controlled from above, even though Algeria's trigger came from below. Since the delegitimation of authoritarianism has unleashed civil society, in the first part of the chapter we deal with competing notions of "what democracy is." Given Algeria's present context, the analysis of the Islamist conception of democracy is emphasized. In answering the "why," the second part details the stagnation and failure of the National Liberation Front (FLN) one-party rule to satisfy overdue social demands and the consequent social explosion. The third part, the "How," analyzes the regime's attempts to and difficulties with channeling these explosive political forces into functional political participation. To determine whether Algeria will continue in its "dysfunctional" state of flux, we emphasize two factors to indicate future evolution: rule making in state-civil society relations and the potential impact of present economic policy restructuring.

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What: The Meaning of Democracy in Algeria On the surface, the significance of democracy seems central for the present development and political future of this former "people's democracy." Yet analysis of public speeches shows that it has taken second place to such concepts as "revolution," "nation," "socialism," and "Arab-Islamic" culture. In this respect, Algeria reflects a situation common to many Arab countries. In these speeches, analysis of democratic-pluralist theory-other than its populist and Islamist brand-is marginalized.5 However, such analyses have soared in the post-1988 period. This change reflects the crisis of both Algeria's pre-1988 authoritarian regime and, more generally, its source of inspiration: Leninist political organizations in the postcommunist era. In this democracy debate, two main tendencies, the secular and the Islamist (with subtendencies), dominate Algeria's political arena. For the secularists, democracy is synonymous with people's sovereignty, separation of powers, political pluralism, and the establishment of a rule of law. Shades of opinion separate those who find their source of inspiration in liberal democracy from those emphasizing social democracy or a Marxist variant. But all represent the opposite of the Islamists. The latter reject all forms of "worldly" democracy and oppose to it "shuracracy," or Islamic consultation and system of government. Shuracracy is identified as an authentic democratic mode, superior to any human law or authority, in which government's different sectors-political, economic, or legal-are based on shari'a (Islamic law). Let us consider each of these two main tendencies in detail.

The Secularist Tendencies Algeria's 25 years or so of one-party rule were based on a concept of "people's democracy." In practice, it was an authoritarian political system. Even before independence in 1962, given the attraction among Third World elites to the Leninist theory of imperialism, Algeria's conception of government was anticapitalist almost as a corollary of being anticolonial. This anticapitalism/anticolonialism correlation incited the political and intellectual elite to favor the adaptation of some Marxist-Leninist principles to Algeria's Islamic and Arab character. The result was the espousal of a credo of "scientific" socialism to break with French settler colonialism and what it represented politically, economically, and organizationally. In this context, democratic ideals-as in Nasser's Egypt-were conceived of primarily in social and economic terms rather than in political and liberal ones. Consequently, the powers of the state or party were not to be checked but reinforced. In particular, it was to be given all means to transform economy

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and society-through socialism-to end exploitation and promote social justice.6 In the present phase of political liberalization and constitutionalism, these socialist ideas are still basic to many groups within the seculardemocratic camp. However, it is a renovated socialism adapted to Algeria's new domestic context and the external post-Cold War environment. Thus, speeches mention little---or nothing-of earlier conceptual pillars such as democratic centralism, unity of powers, state monopoly of the economy, or self-management of state enterprises.? This is the case even with parties representing working-class interests like Ettehadi or the Socialist AvantGarde Party (PAGS), successor to the Algerian Communist Party, or the Workers' Socialist Party (PST) of Trotskyite inclination. Both are united in their claim to represent working-class interests. Their democracy discourse emphasizes the separation between state and religion, elimination of gender discrimination, respect for cultural pluralism, and recognition of Berber culture as a basic foundation-together with Islam and Arabness-of Algerian society. 8 Other parties-though identified with the Marxist left-come closer to the principles of social democracy: state secularism and scientific and democratic socialism. Though essentially part of the Berber movement, these parties' frame of reference is national. This is the case primarily with the Socialist Forces Front (FFS), a 1963 FLN dissident recognized as a party in 1989.9 In the early days of independence, the FFS opposed the FLN's totalitarian, monolithic structure just as it now opposes Islamic radicalism. Its program is multidimensional: Politically, it aims at the "deepening of democracy"; economically, it favors coexistence between the private sector and "a strong state one";IO and socially, it is for the elimination of misery and of ostentatious wealth in the face of mass deprivation, for the rejection of injustice, and for the acceleration of social integration on the basis of respect for human rights.!! As its leader Hocine Ait Ahmed expressed it, the democratic ideal presupposes "the respect of pluralism at all levels: linguistic, religious and cultural." Consequently, there "couldn't be freedom without diversity and conflicts." These conflicts could be material or cultural, but they had to be negotiated tolerantly and peacefully. 12 As for the Culture and Democracy Rally (RCD), it shares many FFS ideas, especially as regards the establishment of a secular state, the resurgence of Berber identity, and "development within a democratic framework." According to the party's principal leader, Said Saadi (a presidential candidate in the last elections), this is "the basic matrix of our political and intellectual struggle."l3 The last component of this secularist camp includes several liberal and centrist formations whose social basis-as the results of the 1991 multi-

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party elections showed-is indeed weak. Their discourse upholds liberal democracy based on its generally accepted foundations: separation and balance of powers, parliamentarism, political pluralism, respect for human rights, and freedom of the press. This basic philosophy is shared by the conventional right-wing parties (e.g., Algerian Renaissance Party, or PRA; Algerian National Party, or PNA), the centrist ones (e.g., Social Democratic Party, or PSD), and parties to the left of center (e.g., Social Liberal Party, or PSL). All these latter parties rally around two basic ideas. On the one hand, they emphasize the economic aspects of liberalism, economic restructuring, and a policy of infitah (opening). Thus there is an insistent demand for establishing a strong market economy, limiting the role of the public sector to strategic domains, and guaranteeing freedom for the private sector. On the other hand, they do not declare their support for state secularism. On the contrary, the PNA, for instance, favors "complete liberalization of the economy and the application of Shari'a." The Algerian Party of Human Capital (PACH) is for "popular capitalism, the consolidation of press freedom and Islamic values." As for the Democratic Movement for Algerian Renewal (MDRA), it seeks the establishment of a "liberal democracy and market economy" inspired by "the Islam of Cordoba and not that of the Middle Ages."I4 In fact, this soup of linguistic tags and the mixing of values is not monopolized by these parties. The FLN talks of "Islamic secularism." As for the Movement for Algerian Democracy (MDA) of Ahmed Ben Bella, first-ever Algerian president, it aims to establish a synthesis of populism, Islamism, and socialism.

The Islamist Concept Algerian Islamism is not a new phenomenon, and its impact is considerable.I5 A century and a half ago, Sufi brotherhoods (confreries) resisted Ottoman hegemony. Emir Abdel Kader championed Algerian resistance against French occupation. The ulamas-whose most well-known figure is Ibn Badis-set up a society for the protection of Islamic values (jama'at alquiyam) to safeguard the essence of Algerian society. Then as now, religious activities usually spill over into the political domain. It was, however, only with the emergence of the FIS of Muhammad 'Abbasi Madani and 'Ali Belhadj that militant Islam established itself as a main political force on the Algerian national scene.I6 On the whole, FIS leaders emphasize democracy's incompatibility with Islam.I7 In the name of asala (authenticity), democracy is resisted as an imported ideology that puts on "an equal level faith and non-belief."I8 As 'Ali Belhadj-the leader of the FIS radical wing-puts it:

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Bahgat Korany and Saad Amrani Our inclination is to resist and reject any ideology that is discordant with the Book [the Quran] the Sunna and the life of pious ancestors. I reject, consequently, socialism, communism, democracy and dictatorship-these pretentions of the worldly human reason. I see but one solution: Islam.19

Belhadj noted that even "though the concept of democracy is part of the modern political vocabulary in Muslim civil society, it is still foreign to the Arabic language."20 Such worldly democracy (whether liberal or communist) is irreconcilable with Islam, both ideologically and epistemologically. The PIS program details this opposition:21 1. The ultimate objective of democracy. The Islamic model is based on the interest (maslaha) of the community (umma), where the individual finds his best self-fulfillment. Western democracy is based-according to Madani-on material profit.22 As for the place of the individual in society, liberalism puts the right of the individual above that of the collectivity, whereas communism completely negates individual rights in favor of the collectivity.23 2. The locus of sovereignty. Whereas Western democracy's constitutional principles are based on the sovereignty of the nation, Algerian Islamists suggest divine sovereignty (al-hakimiyya li-Allah). This principle forms the essence of shuracracy and in fact determines all other concepts and principles of political and social organization. 3. The notion of freedom. It is not so much different attitudes toward the recognition of individual and collective freedoms that set Islam and Western democracy apart, as is widely believed, but rather the meaning and the range of such freedoms. Madani insists that freedom is above all a submission to God. Consequently, all types of freedom are to be regulated by the shari'a. This regulated (and limited) freedom is to apply, however, to the governed and the governor. This latter's freedom is to be within the limits prescribed by the Quran and the sunna. As for freedom in the secular state, it is-according to PIS leaders-a doctrinal fiction. Thus Belhadj states that in parliamentary democracies the majority is transformed into a minority to protect its own interests rather than those of the people at large whom leaders are supposed to represent. The end result is that this type of democracy becomes the government of the minority and not of the majority.24 4. Relationship between the religious and the political. Here the greatest differences between the two concepts appear. According to PIS theoreticians, Western secularism does not have a place in Islamic society, since Islam is conceived as din (religion), dawla (state), and dunya (worldly) all in one. In reality, Islamic doctrine is not necessarily this totalizing and organic, but such is the PIS conception. According to this conception,

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secularism is contrary to Islamic ethics since it favors separation between state and religion. Such separation is equal to taking religion out of daily life, which God has formally forbidden.25 5. Pluralism. In theory, the FIS leadership denounces ideological pluralism and multipartyism as a framework for political activity. It is true that the doctrine of Islam-based on the unity (tawhid) of one God, one law, one community, and a unique leadership-is not in keeping with a political vision of fragmentation.26 For many Islamists, pluralism is associated with discord and dissension, a plague that has weakened the umma from the beginning. This fear of dissension leads to the emphasis on rallying around the "party of God"-Hizballah-which represents the totality of the community's interests. There is no place in this case for an opposition party, which would tend to fragment and weaken the umma. This is why early Islamic political thought does not refer to an institutionalized opposition as we know it in modern times.27 Although at the doctrinal level the Algerian Islamic and liberaldemocratic conceptions seem so far apart, their respective practices are much more flexible. In fact, some members of FIS top leadership would go along with pluralist values and a multiparty system.2s They follow in the steps of similar Islamic organizations in the Arab world, such as Al-Nahda in Tunisia or the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt.29 However, even Madani, who leaves the door open to this possibility, imposes limits on its application. Yet he is still different from Belhadj, who finds the multiparty system deviationist since "it gives victory to an undecided majority. "30 This divergence of views within the FIS leadership ranks reflects the debate within Islamic jurisprudence at large. The one opinion is for tawhid, ijma' (consensus), and strong unified leadership. The other opinion (basing itself on the Quran's Surat 49; 13) favors tolerance of diversity and the development of a critical mind to allow ra'y (opinion) and ijtihad (independent judgment).31 Whatever the shades of opinion, all are for "Islamic democracy" on the grounds that all forms of (imported) governing have proved their bankruptcy in the Muslim world.32 Such a democratic Islamic regime would restore the caliphate system of the early years of Islam in the form of an institutional pyramid whose base is the community's administrative system and whose top is the shari'a.33 Various mechanisms are suggested by Islam to carry out the mission within a democratic context. Thus the practice of shura-the main pillar of Islamic governance-forces each and every ruler to consult the governed through their representatives in majlis al-shura on each decision.34 According to Belhadj, such consultation, however, does not affect the absolute primacy of shari'a.35 Although this debate has existed in Algeria since independence, it

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came to the fore with the decline of the authoritarian system and the 1988 social explosion.

Why: Systemic Crisis and Democratic Opening The chaotic situation that has prevailed in Algeria since the end of the 1980s is the logical consequence of a multifaceted and deep crisis of existing structures. Algeria fell victim to the convergence of a series of "plagues": the combination of a particular practice of a development model, of a political system, and a particular brand of one-party state ideology. The result of all these plagues was the social explosion of 10 October 1988, which forced the governing elite to respond with a policy of economic infitah and restricted political liberalization. Some of these plagues need to be considered in more detail.

Delegitimization and Breakdown of the Old Political-Ideological Order This delegitimization was due to a double incapacity of the old order: its inability to keep the monolithic-authoritarian state in business and its unwillingness to open up to other forces outside the closed system of the army-FLN state. Without going into detail about the evolution and functioning of this army-FLN-state network, it is important to emphasize some of its major characteristics, which are basic to any understanding of the crisis that erupted in the country by the late 1980s, a crisis that continues to the present,36 The first of these characteristics is the centrality of the military institution. Algeria's postindependence history has been shaped by the establishment of a strong centralized state controlled by the Oujda group, under the leadership of Minister of Defense and President Houari Boumedienne (1965-1978). This group based its legitimacy on the national liberation war and thus monopolized the political, economic, and symbolic (mass media) spheres of power. It constituted the best example of what Antonio Gramsci called a historic bloc, busy shaping the different instances of the state, indeed represented a "state within the state." Even when Boumedienne died and was succeeded by Chadli Bin Jadid (1979-1992), the group persisted alongside the Eastern group (that of the new president). Both groups came from the same source and shared the same power base (the National Popular Army, or APN, the successor to the National Liberation Army, or ALN). Second, the extreme monolithism of government and party almost ostracized other groups and negated social pluralism.3 7 Since 1964, the

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identification of the FLN with the state has been officially popularized as the highest level of national unity. At the top of this organic amalgamation was the presidency. The head of state was at the same time the FLN's secretary-general and ran all civil or military institutions. The presidency enjoyed wide powers and kept subordinate every other organ, including the executive branch and parliament. Separation of powers was virtually nonexistent. In such a mode of political organization, the FLN and its basic organs (the Revolutionary Council, the Central Committee, and the Political Bureau) were the only intermediary and communicating channels between the top of the state and civil society. In fact, the FLN acted as a recruitment agency among lower techno-bureaucratic and political administrative personnel. Everything was geared to "statize" Algeria's civil society.38 Third, the regime was clannish and clientelistic at both the social and political levels. Basically, Algeria's hegemonic class of chefs historiques was based on an alliance among the military and the techno-bureaucratic elite. This was a pragmatic rather than an ideological alliance, but all partners were committed to regime maintenance.39 Those actors not part of the political-tribal or patron-client networks of this modem form of 'asabiyya were automatically marginalized or even excluded from the political process.40 Once this order showed signs of cracking, the whole monolithic, authoritarian, clientelistic system crumbled. In fact, once the state-the provider of resources and rewards-was impoverished because of declining energy prices, the governing group was no longer united in the face of rising social and political protest. The situation was worsened by the regime's increasing legitimacy deficit. At the symbolic level, the regime's ideological discourse had usually capitalized very much on the authorities' "historical mission" to promote national liberation and independence internally, and Arabism, Third Worldism, and anti-imperialism extemally.4t But the reality of Algeria of the 1980s increasingly belied this mission. Instead, the population experienced more authoritarianism and repression, arbitrary rule, clientelism and corruption, fighting among ruling factions and their clans, and unemployment and lack of housing. The gap between discourse and reality led to loss of regime credibility. In the face of such a loss and the regime's incapacity to reestablish its eroding legitimacy, the FLN reformist wing changed strategy in favor of economic liberalization and democratization. This reformist initiative was the regime's sole option if it wished to maintain itself in power. 42 But such an opening was probably a case of too little, too late; the economic crisis coupled with the political-ideological vacuum besieged the regime. As a result, there was a multiplication of opposition forces and counteraltematives. In this context, radical Islamism took possession of the

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nationalist discourse; it denounced the regime's secularism, its populism, its Westernization, and its collaboration with the old colonial power. Similarly, the politico-cultural Berber movements reemerged from their hidden opposition status to blame the regime for depriving them of their most basic rights: recognition of the Amazigh language and culture. These two main tendencies became the rallying points for other opposition forces to form a "democratic" bloc. This bloc demanded more political opening, multipartyism, and the establishment of the rule of law. Economic Crisis and the Bankruptcy of Algeria's Development Model

As stated earlier, Algeria's development model had been a virtual paradigm for the rest of the Third World. It was based on certain priorities: recuperation of national resources, agrarian revolution, and import-substitution industrialization (lSI) known in Algeria as "industrializing industries." Basic to the attainment of these priorities was the role of the state. In fact, the state was in charge of the economy. The objective was to guarantee that centralized planning would achieve independent development in a complete break with the colonial period. The media kept promising the people satisfaction of basic needs in terms of education, employment, consumption, housing, and health services. But after 20 years of "socialism and self-management" and a mixture of Stalinist and Rostowian strategy, the balance sheet of statist management was simply catastrophic. Theoretically, the model-emphasizing heavy industry-was supposed to spill over into other sectors of the economy to pull them up. In reality, the application was full of bottlenecks: weak diversification of the industrial base, underused productive capacity, overemployment, and technological dependence. In fact, Algeria's economy remained energy-based and depended on export earnings from this single product. At the same time, declining agricultural performance and increasing food dependence (only partly due to population increase) revealed beyond any doubt the shortcomings of the regime's agricultural model. Concurrently, soaring unemployment and crises of housing and education discredited the regime's promise of a social welfare state. Instead, people saw increasing social inequality and patron-client networks busy promoting their own interests. Increasing income from oil exports in the 1970s provided lubrication for the system and allowed it to function. But the 1980s saw the decline of this income. As a result, the state had no choice but to practice a policy of austerity, which brought to the fore the economy's structural crisis and the failure of the government's development policy.43 The gap between demand and resources in a context of chronic unemployment (especially among the young), soaring inflation and hence impoverishment of the population, a rising external debt, and swelling debt service resulted in the legitimacy deficit.44

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Within this context the regime tried to elaborate its strategy of infitah to cope with the crisis. Instead of state socialism, which the FLN's reformist wing was criticizing, the regime proposed economic and financial liberalization and a drive toward privatization. This infitah strategy had two aims: (1) In privatizing the economy, the state was disengaging itself from civil society demands.45 At the same time, it could carry out the demands of its debtors and International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank "advice" as regards the necessity for structural adjustment. (2) Similarly, this disengagement allowed the reformers to face up to the political problems-especially after "Black October"-in an attempt to stop legitimacy erosion. In this respect, Algeria exemplifies the rentier state as discussed by Giacomo Luciani.46 As long as resources are abundant, the state is authoritarian and nonaccountable, but once external resources dwindle, the state's financial and managerial crisis is revealed. A democratic opening or at least a liberalization of the authoritarian regime thus becomes mandatory.

How: Political Opening

a1'Algerienne

This opening came from the top and was a response to the multitude of crises Algeria had been experiencing. It represented nothing less than an attempt at sea change at both the economic and political levels and meant abandoning the socialist option and revolutionary legitimacy, putting an end to the FLN power monopoly, and replacing it with institutional pluralism and separation of party and state. This is why the reforms had a huge impact at different levels. They brought to the fore a new concept of the political state altogether different from the previous authoritarian one. They also helped to establish the bases of a nascent civil society-relatively autonomous and hence a potential interlocutor in the face of the state-a state that was, moreover, losing its economic monopoly due to liberalization and privatization.47 However, this liberalization process was still problematic. Despite the declared and official break with the past, authoritarian practices of the ancien regime would hardly die overnight and showed the limits of democratization from above.48 But what some called Algerian perestroika was at work.

The Institutional Level The revision of the 1976 constitution and its adoption by referendum (November 1988-February 1989) was a milestone on the road to the regime's liberalization. 49 This revision abandoned socialism, questioned the FLN's leading role and political-ideological monopoly, attempted to

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establish a balance among the three powers (now separated), and recognized the right to establish associations and political parties. Though a more attentive reading of the new constitution shows that the break with the old constitutional order is not quite complete, the change is substantial.50 This was the case, for instance, with Article 120 of the old constitutions of 1963 and 1976, which established the unity of the top leadership of state and party. The new document, on the contrary, separates state and party and almost depoliticizes the former by making it an arbitration organ. At the same time, the new constitution put in doubt the amalgamation of powers and their concentration in the hands of the president of the republic. Instead, the principle of the separation of powers was recognized, and the functional autonomy of legislative and executive organs was established. The executive became two-headed. Powers were distributed between the head of state (president) and head of government (prime minister) and between the Council of Ministers (headed by the president) and Council of Government (headed by the prime minister). But the president's powers were not at all diminished.51 He is still the system's nucleus. By presiding over the Council of Ministers, he has the right to shape the country's general orientation in such strategic areas as defense and foreign policy. In addition, he has more administrative and derivative powers such as the power of presidential decrees, leadership of the armed forces, and the right to make appointments to high-level civil and military posts. As for the government, it has the right to elaborate the general program for which it is responsible in the National Assembly. It administers the country and has specific prerogatives, for instance, to suggest laws that are to be issued as executive decrees. As for the National Assembly, the most notable innovation is its new power of control over governmental action. It condones such action by a vote of confidence and hinders it by a vote of censorship. 52 In essence, the 1989 constitution keeps the system very presidential by establishing the president's legal preeminence in relation to the government and the National Assembly. As president of the Council of Ministers, he supervises governmental programs and laws.53 He can even offset some parliamentary powers of the National Assembly, especially its power to control the government. For instance, in the event of the Assembly rejecting the government's program twice in a row, the constitution gives the president the right to dissolve the Assembly. He is thus instituted as the umpire or judge above these structures. This presidential dominance54 is indeed in continuity with the old constitution and the old political order and hence distances the present regime from the main normative characteristics of a parliamentary democracy.55 In fact, the National Assembly itself has other restrictions on its powers.56 It does not even have the right to revise

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the constitution since this prerogative is reserved for the president himself. But germs of liberalization and ta 'addudiyya have been set in motion. Political Liberalization As expected, the FLN resisted to the last minute such evolution toward multipartyism for fear of losing its supremacy in the national arena. In the face of worsening political and economic crisis, however, the debate took place within the FLN itself. Two camps soon developed. The orthodox, or Boumedienne, camp opposed any pluralism in the name of protecting national unity and avoiding political fragmentation and increasing conflict. The reformist camp, around President Bin Jadid, was ready to encourage a certain degree of political opening to other previously excluded forces and even to accept pluralism, but under FLN control. This widening of the political coalition in power was a way of democratizing the country by democratizing the party and its grass roots. The reformers' aim was to open the FLN to "all activists of all tendencies and views" and thus favor "a real democratic debate at all levels." In fact, some concrete measures were taken in this direction; for example, Articles 120 and 121which limited candidates for some functions to FLN members only-were withdrawn. President Bin Jadid himself, as head of the reformists, went public in a communique on 24 October 1988 to affirm that it was not at all possible to establish multipartyism with groups or tendencies who were concerned above all with keeping power or their "privileges in a facade of democracy based on demagogic auctioneering, cheap clientelism and narrow-minded regionalism and social categories. "57 Political bargaining and waverings even within the reformist wing continued. In the end, it was the street pressure that decided the issue following the October riots and the fear of their repetition. The president, the real catalyst behind the constitutional reform and the initiator of Law 89/11 (5 July 1989) on the establishment of political associations, threw his weight in favor of multipartyism. This radical change has to be interpreted as the regime's response to its own legitimacy crisis, but its specific objective was the atomization of rival political forces in order to maintain FLN supremacy, or "Makhzen al'algerienne."58 Whatever the real reasons behind multipartyism, the establishment of such a system constituted an important innovation and dealt a blow to the very structure of the Algerian political system. It confirmed a long process of delegitimization of FLN exclusion and opened the door to the legal establishment of many political parties of various tendencies. Such an evolution also prepared the way-for the first time in the history of independent Algeria-for the emancipation and functioning of a selforganizing civil society, with the emphasis here on the effectiveness of self-

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organization, for the association ruling dates back to 1971.59 Whether professional or social associations, they had been tightly controlled by the FLN in the prevalent clientelistic framework, an indicator not of civil society autonomy but of its vassalization. 60 At present, however, the legal and constitutional basis is quite different. It is part, in theory at least, of a framework of political liberalization: freedom of expression, of association, of meeting (Article 39), and of trade unionism and the right to strike (Articles 53 and 54). It reflects a new vision of how to run politics and society based on the plurality and diversity of interests and necessarily on their conflict and ability to negotiate such conflicts. In practice, however, this doctrinal transformation, with its emphasis on sovereignty of citizens instead of a partisan state, is simply restricted pluralism.61 First, formal recognition of multipartyism did not prevent governmental arbitrariness in the legalization of political parties. Though most were given the right to function, some were not.62 This was the case initially with the Movement of the Islamic Nahda (MNI), which was approved only in October 1990. The Algerian People's Party (PPA)-a successor to the Algerian National Movement (MNA) and declared rival of the FLN during the struggle for independence-has not yet been approved. 63 These contradictions between policy and practice are part of the evolving political process with all its zigzag movements, but they also reflect the dilemma of the governing elite, torn between two objectives.64 On the one hand, the elite feel the necessity of satisfying social demands and calming tensions; and on the other, they desire to restructure the political process without losing all means of control and letting the country sink into a Hobbesian state of anarchy. Second, this Hobbesian risk is very real because the system has evolved so quickly from one extreme to the other: from extreme control from the top by the monolithic clannish party-state to extreme diversity and fragmentation. In fact, many observers have noted the risks of an "overdue multipartyism" that could turn out to be the opposite of democracy's cornerstone of political representation. Indeed, many of these political parties are parties on paper rather than real groups with a social platform.65 Third, Algerian multipartyism has not run the full course to its logical second step, power turnover. Instead of different political forces alternating with each other, the political process has been interrupted by the state of emergency following Algeria's first multiparty elections ever. In the Face of the Electoral Test

Municipal and departmental elections in 1990 for communal popular assemblies (APC) and the Wilayat Popular Assembly (APW) represented the first test of the nascent Algerian "democracy." All parties participated,

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but most had little time to establish and prepare themselves to conduct a full-fledged electoral campaign. Despite a high degree of voter abstention and some rumors of irregularities, 66 the results67 were important for the future of the Algerian political process. The elections confirmed what is happening in other parts of the Arab world, the rise of political Islam.68 The FIS victory added salience to this trend and made Islamism a strong potential political force in the whole Arab equation. The FIS emerged from the first round of the elections as the foremost political force of Algeria, winning 54.25 percent of votes in the communal elections and 57.44 percent of votes in the departmental elections. In terms of seats, Madani's party emerged with 35 out of 48 wilayats (governorate or department) and 853 out of 1,551 communes (or 55 percent).69 Moreover, the FIS victory seemed to be well distributed across the national territory, especially in the urban areas and other parts of the "useful north" (as opposed to the barren, sparsely populated south). Moreover, its influence was present across different social strata, since its adherents came from "educated urban groups, working class, Arabized intellectuals, workers living in the traditional strongholds and public sector enterprises, the socially alienated, marginalized or altogether excluded."70 The collapse of the historically all-powerful FLN was the second important outcome of these elections. According to official results, the former party-state that had monopolized power before and after Algeria's independent statehood could muster only 28.13 percent of votes in the communal elections and 27.53 percent in departmental elections. In terms of seats, this percentage was 31.64 percent (or 478 communes out of a total of 1,551) and 12.5 percent (or six out of 48 wilayats), respectively. Yet the FLN had more candidates than the FIS, both at the communal (1,520 compared to 1,265) and departmental (269 compared to 248) levels. The conclusion is inescapable: FLN administrative control was greatly weakened, and its influence was reduced to far-off areas in the desert or areas near the border with Tunisia. The third important outcome of the 1990 elections was the great weakness of the secular parties who usually identify themselves as "democratic." This is the case with the RCD, whose bases are largely limited to the Kabylia region and which could not get more than 2.08 percent of the votes in the communal elections.?! The RCD got the majority in only 87 communes and in only one wilayat. The Independents got more votes in communal elections (11.6 percent) and more seats in the departmental or wilayat elections (5.29 percent compared to 2.94 percent for RCD), but the marginalization of these and other parties was the same across the board. FIS power in these parties' strongholds was difficult to evaluate precisely because FIS asked its supporters not to participate in the ballot there, especially in the Berber areas.

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The first round of legislative elections (December 1991), in which 49 out of the 56 legal parties participated, confirmed these major tendencies of the 1990 local elections. n Although FIS success was less sweeping, the FLN decline and the marginalization of secular or "democratic" parties was amply confirmed.73 Thus, despite significant loss of a part of its vote, the FIS still won 47.27 percent of votes cast and 44 percent of seats (188 out of 430).74 Thus Madani's party was still solidly entrenched all over Algeria, especially in the towns, the poor areas, and regions that had suffered colonial destruction.75 As for the FLN, its decline was reiterated. It obtained only 23.28 percent of votes cast (16 seats), that is, a loss of 5 percent or 600,000 votes compared to its results in the communal elections. Finally, the FFS, with its share of 7.4 percent of votes cast and 23 seats, had a decent standing within the "democratic front," though its support-as with RCD-was geographically limited to the Berber areas.76 These two election experiences reveal the problems inherent in the democratic transition, in Algeria as elsewhere. One of the most striking aspects of this Algerian experience was the high rate of nonparticipationon average one out of two, if we include void or nonvalid ballots. This high level of abstention provoked the sarcastic comment that perhaps the first political party in Algeria at present is that of the abstentionists! Indeed, this widespread lethargy among the electorate-which could be caused by political as well as administrative factors-is basic evidence that a participative political culture is lagging after 30 years of monolithism and singleparty rule.7 7 Because the pro-FIS vote was so massive even though this party considered liberal democracy a foreign import and almost antiIslamic, some analysts go even further to question the value the masses attach to political democracy as a social priority.78 Military intervention and the abolition of the second round of legislative elections to block the road to FIS supremacy in the National Assembly interrupted Algeria's process of democratic opening. Algeria has thus moved from a regime based on "government by the party" to one of "government without parties. "79 The country continued for five years without an elected president or an assembly to express its multipartyism. For some, this interruption motivated the decline in participation, for governments cannot continually get away with declaring approval of constitutions, acceptance of elections, and support of the principle of political alternation when in reality they work to nullify their effects.so Algeria's democratic prelude also showed what has been seen elsewhere: One cannot establish democracy by decree. 81 The declaration of a state of emergency and the establishment of a High State Command (HCE) for more than five years showed that the army is still the only organized force in Algeria. Zeroual's election as president of the republic legalized an existing situation. Would the different measures taken to consolidate civil society in the

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late 1980s and early 1990s make a difference now that the regime's top has been legally stabilized?

Out of the Dysfunctional State of Flux Whether the army will continue to militarize the regime or the president will be "civilianized" depends on the impact of two factors at the basis of the democratization process: the place of civil society and rules guaranteeing equilibrium in state-civil society relations and the impact of economic policy. We consider each in detail.

Algeria's Civil Society During the 25 years of one-party rule, Algeria's civil society was not allowed, for all intents and purposes, to exist.82 As already mentioned, associations and corporations were there, but they lacked autonomy and had no right to contest state policy or party views. If a civil society existed, then, it was only as a client and follower of the state, which had elaborated an impressive body of laws and rulings to keep all associative activity under its control. In this context, any associations that wanted to work outside state control had to function secretly, including the Kabylia-born Movement for Berber Culture (MCB); thejama'at al-khayriyya, or Islamic charity organizations; and women's and human rights associations. Although in the forefront of political liberalization, these different types of associations-repressed or secret-did not manage to revive Algeria's civil society. What instead brought to the fore a multitude of associations was the overall sociopolitical context that put state monolithism on the defensive. In fact, FLN monopoly of associative activity through the infamous Article 120 of 1971 was already in question before the October 1988 crisis. For instance, in 1987, a more liberal law not necessitating governmental approval for the establishment of associations was adopted. What characterized the post-1988 context, however, was the constitutional revision and the establishment of a new body of laws to legalize multipartyism and freedom of association. The reform that followed delegitimized FLN control and hence favored the redefinition of state-society relations. Such a redefinition was bolstered by the state's legitimacy deficit and its financial crisis. The weakened state had no alternative but to accept associations as partners, especially when these could fill a threatening social vacuum. The result was that in a period of just over two months, a massive explosion of associative activities occurred in all walks of life. 83 In 1991, analysts counted no less than 7,350 associations of varied nature and objectives. 84 Basing our analysis on the most active associations, we found five types.

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1. Those associations with primarily socioeconomic objectives are concerned with the struggle against poverty and unemployment, the reform of economic and political structures, the reduction in social inequality, the protection of purchasing capacity, and an increase in minimum wage. The best representative of this type of association is Algeria's trade union movement, which has distanced itself from the FLN. 2. Some associations rally around the defense of democratic rights and freedoms. These include journalists', professionals', and human rights associations. All defend similar values of tolerance and political and cultural pluralism. 3. The fundamentalist Islamic movements are widely spread across Algeria's different regions and social categories. Some existed in embryonic form as long-standing charity organizations but profited from the atmosphere of political liberalization to develop as fully fledged political Islam associations. A good example is the Islamic trade union, which is now active within universities and even high schools. It is even extending its influence in the Berber areas through the establishment of an Islamic movement in Amazigh. 4. Associations related to the Berber movement are key actors in Algerian civil society and the democratization process. It is true that this Berber movement is essentially a single-issue interest group, centered on the demand for recognition of Berber identity and cultural-linguistic rights. But its action was an essential part of the democratization movement since it struggled for the establishment of the rule of law. In fact, many interpret its massive protest in the Kabylia in the spring of 1980 as the first major step in redefining state-society relations. 5. A last type of association concentrates its activity on new themes such as the promotion of the free market, protection of the environment, and specific regional issues. In the final analysis, how did these associations influence the democratic opening? On the one hand, the associative movement often appeared to be a valid and even privileged interlocutor of the government. Associations participated actively in commissions and different consultative bodies to reform the administration. Trade unions and employers' associations have worked side by side with the government and its public sector on issues of Algerian economic reform. President Muhammad Boudiaf (of the Supreme Council), before his assassination, set up the Consultative Council to guarantee associations' participation in negotiations with the IMF and the World Bank. On the other hand, administrative and legal obstacles persisted to limit the effective functioning of associations. The result was that Algeria's liberalization became a very controlled opening, aimed at limiting the strength

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of the associative movement. The restrictions were of a triple nature: governmental dissection of the association's objective, evaluation of its initial functioning, and supervision once it became active. Thus the usual inconsistency in state policy persisted. Officially, government declared its respect for freedom of association, but in reality it restricted its practice. Violations of rights of associations continued: censorship, imposition of a state of emergency law (February 1992), and adoption of a law restricting information on grounds of security (June 1994).85 Confrontation between the state and civil society also occurred over minority, linguistic, and cultural rights; family law; and human rights. These conflicts indicated the persistence of an authoritarian political culture among many members of the elite of the ancien regime who attempted by political manipulation to maintain their privileges. 86 In conclusion, what chances are left for Algerian civil society to grow and prosper and hence consolidate the liberalization process? In the present context, the balance sheet has been rather modest, and the democratization prospects are still dim. The association movement-the essence of a strong civil society-is still emerging from its difficult birth. Consequently, its rootedness in society and its mobilization capacity are still limited. Moreover, Algeria's civil society is plagued at present by violent and contradictory crosscurrents in relation to basic issues of power and future strategy. The antagonisms seem to be so basic between the Islamist movement and the secular one that the chances of solid consensus are indeed slight. Moreover, the destabilization of civil society and the prevalence of violence and counterviolence after the army takeover are not favorable to the establishment of a civil political process. The result is marginalization or exile of vocal promoters of tolerance, diversity, and negotiation of political conflicts. Unless a minimum consensus on the rules of political life can be achieved and a gentler political process can finally function, Algerian civil society will be unable to counterbalance the state. But it is not dead. Its elements continue to thrive within the context of the policy of economic opening, or infitah.

The Impact of Economic Liberalization Economic infitah started in 1981, well before its political counterpart, without any explicit break with the socialist frame of reference. The intention was not a change of policy but in policy, a piecemeal approach by a neopatrimonial system to redress the pitfalls of a rentier economy. 87 The intention was not a restructuring of economic policy. With the regime's 1986 financial crisis (caused by a continuous decline in export earnings) and the 1988 social explosion, economic liberalization was transformed from a shy adaptation in the face of specific economic

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problems to an attempt at strategic restructuring. In 1987-1988, the president put together a team of experts to suggest an overall structural reform for Algeria's sick economy. The 1989 constitutional revision directed the process of economic reorientation away from the socialist option-"the people's irreversible option," according to the 1976 National Chartertoward an implicit strategy of economic liberalization. 88 The adoption of the 1994 structural adjustment measures proposed by the IMF and the World Bank-institutions long condemned as imperialist-confirmed the basic reorientation at work. 89 Without analyzing this economic liberalization program in detail, we emphasize two basic characteristics important to the democratization process.9° The state's partial withdrawal from the economic sector. In opposition to state omnipresence during the socialist era, there is now a qualitative change away from dirigisme (economic policy directed by the state) in favor of liberalism and market dynamics. The state's previous role as a producer, provider of jobs, agent of income redistribution, and principal regulator of economic activity accentuated many of the deficiencies of the Algerian state. Instead of this "all-state" approach, the call now is for "better"-or "no"-state management of the economy. The recent influx of new groups into the economy makes state withdrawal from the economy increasingly plausible. In fact, the 1988 privatization law transformed state enterprises into privately owned ones by selling shares. In the monetary and financial sectors, institutional and legal changes reduced state control and initiated the independence of the Central Bank in the face of the ministry of finance. By virtue of the new 1990 law on money and credit, the Central Bank has acquired wide latitude to create financial institutions, manage the exchange market, and regulate capital markets with the outside world. As a result, state withdrawal took three forms: liberalization of internal trade circuit, softening of the monopoly over extended trade, and relaxation of rules regardingacquisition of foreign currencies by Algerians.91 Algerians are thus acquiring their own resources outside state channels-that is, consolidating civil society in the face of the state. Rehabilitation of the private sector. The doctrinal vision of socialist Algeria was based on the concept that public property was "the highest form of social property" (the 1976 National Charter) and that private property was exploitative. The 1989 constitutional revision-defining property as one of the basic rights and freedom-is nothing less than a doctrinal reversal.92 The same about-face applies to foreign investment, increasingly liberalized even in strategic sectors.93 In sectors such as energy, research, and exploration by foreign companies (without the participation of a national

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partner) is increasingly allowed.94 This "opening" is bound to increase, given Algeria's current application of structural adjustment programs and its negotiations with international financial institutions.

Conclusion How did this external impact and the economic restructuring influence the democratic transition? The first variable-external influences-seems to have been unduly neglected, and we have tried to attract attention to its role. The second variable-economic restructuring-is part of the political economy of democratization and the (contested) relationship between liberalization and democratization. This causal relationship enjoyed a large measure of acceptance until the experience of Asia's newly industrialized countries raised some doubts about its inevitability. What can the Algerian case tell us in this respect? Algeria is still, in early 1998, very much in flux; in less than two weeks in January 1998, more than 53 people were assassinated. These killings took place during Ramadan, a month of fasting during which tolerance is encouraged, at a time when the government had stated categorically that it was in control. This fluidity of the political and social situation makes it hard to predict the future of democratization in Algeria.95 Instead we have focused on "thick description" and explanation of the context, structure, and problems of Algeria's liberalization process. We started with an analysis of how the main political groups (secularist and Islamist alike) define democracy and what they accept or reject in the Algerian context. These doctrinal statements are more than abstract philosophical positions. These statements reflect the belief systems of the different groups and indicate the positions each will adopt once in power. Then we detailed the workings of the Algerian regimes, old and new. This analysis showed that democratic opening is usually the reaction of a regime in crisis. In Algeria's case, this crisis was political, economic, ideological, and even administrative. The developmental model and political vision of the FLN party-state failed utterly, and its whole system became delegitimized. Piecemeal reform measures were too little, too late and could not prevent the street explosion in October 1988. The quasiHobbesian anarchic state crippled Algeria (multipartyism and elections notwithstanding), proving that it is much easier to bring a system down than to install an alternative one in its place. A clue, however, to the future of Algeria's democratization process lies in the status of two prerequisites: the functioning of an effective civil society with autonomous associations and an economic reform that shows that democratization "pays" for the various groups of society. These two aspects

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are not unrelated. For if anything is clear about Algeria's privatization drive at present, it is this process's capacity to reinforce the position of some groups at the expense of the state and its techno-bureaucracy. Such an attenuation of the power of a hegemonic state offers civil society associations the chance to exercise their influence in the economic and social sectors and establish an equilibrium with state organs. But this reactivation of civil society-that is, of the base-depends on its coherent strategy and the deepening of the process of political pluralism at the superstructure level. This close connectedness and mutual reinforcement between infrastructure and superstructure, between society and politics, explains the problematic aspect of transition from authoritarianism to "new democracy."

Notes 1. For details, see Bahgat Korany, "In the Name of Third Worldism: The Foreign Policy of Algeria," in Bahgat Korany and Ali Hila! Dessouki et a!., The Foreign Policies of Arab States (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984). For more recent changes, see Korany, "From Revolution to Domestication: The Foreign Policy of Algeria," in Bahgat Korany and Ali Hila! Dessouki et a!., The Foreign Policies of Arab States: The Challenge of Change, 2d ed. (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991). 2. Graham E. Fuller, Algeria: The Next Fundamentalist State? (Santa Monica: Rand, 1996), pp. xiii-xix, 93-110. The raison d'etre of the book and 90 percent of its content are devoted to the FIS potentially in power. For the wider context, see the solid analysis of John P. Entelis, ed., State-Society Relations in Algeria (Boulder: Westview Press, 1992). 3. Algeria went through its fourth election, a parliamentary one, on 5 June 1997. The results confirm executive control: Out of 380 seats, the "President's Party," the National Democratic Rally (RND), constituted three months earlier, won 155 seats, and its ally, the FLN, 64 seats. The MSP (Mouvement de Ia Societe pour Ia Paix, ex-Hamas) obtained 69 seats, and the moderate Islamists of a! Nahda got 34 seats. Although the opposition accuses the authorities of electoral irregularity, the government put the rate of participation at 66 percent, and press reports put this rate far below 50 percent and as low as 34.5 percent. Le Monde, 8-9 June 1997. 4. Jacques Fontaine, "Algerie: Les resultats de !'election presidentielle," Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 151 (January-March 1996), pp. 107-118. 5. Aziz al-Azmeh, "Populisme contre democratie: Discours democratisants dans le monde arabe," in Ghassan Salame, ed., Democratie sans democrates: Politiques d' ouverture dans le monde arabe et islamique (Paris: Fayard, 1994), 251. 6. P. F. Gonidec, "Les conceptions de Ia democratie dans les Etats du Tiers Monde," Revue juridique et politique 40 (January-February 1986), p. 6. 7. In this respect, a high-ranking leader of the PAGS, Cherif El Hachemi, stressed his rejection of the Stalinist practice of communism. For his party, communism is first and foremost a progressive societal project that is profoundly humanist and fair. Nourredine Saadi, "Portrait d'une democratie desiree," in Merzak Allouache and Vincent Colonna, eds., Algerie, 30 ans: Les enfants de l' independance (Paris: Editions Autrement, 1992), 173. 8. Abdelkader Djeghloul, "Le mu1tipartisme a l'algerienne," Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 127 (January-March 1990), pp. 205, 208.

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9. Established in 1963 following a split in the ranks of the FLN, the FFS was officially recognized on 24 September 1989, after 25 years in clandestinity. 10. Djeghloul, "Le multipartisme a l'algerienne," p. 207. 11. Saadi, "Portrait d'une democratie desiree," p. 177. 12. Ibid., p. 176. 13. Ibid., p. 179. 14. Djeghloul, "Le multipartisme a l'algerienne," pp. 205-210. 15. On Algerian Islamism, see Abderrahim Lamchichi, Islamisme en Algerie (Paris: L'Harmattan, 1992); Fran9ois Burgat, L'islamisme au Maghreb: La voix du sud (Paris: Karthala, 1988); Mustapha al-Ahnaf, Bernard Botiveau, and Franck Fregosi, L'Algerie parses islamistes (Paris: Karthala, 1991). 16. The FIS, whose establishment dates back to March 1989, is in fact a coalition of several parties, namely the Jam'at al-Tabligh (Society of the Message), Ahl al-Tali'a (People of the Vanguard), Jam'at at-Jihad (Holy War Society), and Da'wa (Propagation of the Faith). Reformist and radical currents run through the FIS. The Islamist movement also includes other groups (Hamas, the Islamic Nahda Movement) that share, in some respects, the political, economic, and social discourse of the FIS. See Arun Kapil, "Les partis islamistes en Algerie: Elements de presentation," Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 133 (July-September 1991), pp. 106, 103-111. 17. Ali Belhadj, cited in al-Mounqid, quoted in al-Ahnaf, Botiveau, and Fregosi, L' Algerie parses islamistes, 87. 18. In Islamist thought, the problematique of the relation between Islam and democracy has many, though diverging, interpretations. See Alain Roussillon, "Islam, islamisme et democratie: Recomposition du champ politique," Peuples mediterraneens 41-42 (October 1987-March 1988), pp. 303-339; Bernard Cubertafond, "Islam et democratie," Revue juridique et politique 42, 1 (February 1988), pp. 74-87; Timothy D. Sisk, Islam and Democracy: Religion, Politics and Power in the Middle East (Washington, D.C.: U.S. Institute of Peace, 1992). 19. Slimane Zeghidour, "Le regne de l'Islam: Entretien avec Ali Ben Hadj," Politique internationale 49 (Fall1990), p. 157. Madani seems to hold more nuanced views. He does not, for example, find fundamental contradictions between shari'a and parliamentary democracy. They are different but "can converge in certain cases on some issues." Slimane Zeghidour, "Pour une nouvelle legalite islamique: Entretien avec Abbasi Madani," Politique internationale 49 (Fall1990), p. 187. 20. al-Ahnaf, Botiveau, and Fregosi, L' Algerie parses islamistes, p. 85. 21. Concerning the program of the FIS, see La tribune d' octobre, 25 July 1989, and al-Ahnaf, Botiveau, and Fregosi, L' Algerie parses islamistes. 22. On the political thought of the leader of the so-called moderate wing of the FIS, see Ahmed Rouadjia, "Doctrine et discours du Cheikh Abbasi," Peuples mediterraneens 52-53 (July-December 1990), pp. 167-180. 23. Zeghidour, "Pour une nouvelle Iegalite islamique," p. 187. 24. al-Ahnaf, Botiveau, and Fregosi, L' Algerie parses islamistes, p. 96. 25. Ibid., pp. 91-92. 26. For more details, see Gudrun Kramer, "Islam and Pluralism," in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World: Theoretical Perspectives (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1995). 27. Fran9ois Burgat, "Les islamistes et la democratie: Reperes pour une recherche," in Bernabe L6pez Garcia, Gema Martin Munoz, and Miguel Hernando De Larramendi, eds., Elecciones, participaci6n y transiciones poUticas en el norte de Africa (Madrid: ICMA, 1991), p. 169.

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28. Should his party gain power, Madani says, "we will permit any party that does not oppose Islamic law but will prohibit any party opposed to the Islamic State and the implementation of shari'a." Nevine A. Mus'ad, "Entre exclusion et participation: Le PIS (Algerie) et les freres musulmans (Jordanie): Le rapport dialectique au pouvoir," in Jean-Claude Vatin, ed., Democratie et democratisation au monde arabe (Cairo: CEDEJ, 1993), p. 412. 29. See Fran9ois Burgat and Jean Leca, "La mobilisation islamiste et les elections algeriennes du 12 juin 1990," Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 129 (JulySeptember 1990), pp. 18-21. As we shall see in the case of Egypt, the case of the Muslim Brotherhood is significant in that they have twice negotiated alliances with non-Islamist political groups: with the New Wafd during the elections of May 1984 and with the Liberal Party and the Socialist Labor Party (April 1987). As for alNahda (the former MTI, Movement of the Islamic Tendency), it officially expressed its support for pluralism in 1981. 30. Al-Ahnaf, Botiveau, and Fregosi, L' Algerie parses islamistes, p. 85. 31. Kramer, "Islam and Pluralism," pp. 340-341. 32. Al-Ahnaf, Botiveau, and Fregosi, L' Algerie parses islamistes, p. 83. 33. Ibid. 34. One should note that, in Islamic thought, shura is one of the concepts that resulted in diverging interpretations. Although some insist on its compulsory and constraining character, others differ totally with this view. For more details, see Hala Mustapha, "Les forces islamistes et !'experience democratique en Egypte," in Vatin et al., Democratie et democratisation, especially pp. 380-385. 35. Al-Ahnaf, Botiveau, and Fregosi, L'Algerie parses islamistes, p. 86. 36. On this issue see, among others, the works of Jean-Claude Vatin, L'Algerie: Politique, histoire et societe (Paris: Fondation Nationale de Science Politique, 1983); John P. Entelis, Algeria: The Revolution Institutionalized (Boulder: Westview Press, 1985); Mahfoud Bennoune, The Making of Contemporary Algeria, I830-I987: Colonial Upheavals and Post-Independence Development (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1988); Jean Leca, "Le systeme politique algerien (1965-1981)," in Alain Claisse and Gerard Conac, eds., Le grand Maghreb: Donnees socio-politiques et facteurs d' integration des Etats du Maghreb (Paris: Economica, 1988), pp. 5-24; and Michel Camau, "Le Maghreb," in Maurice Flory, Bahgat Korany et al., Les regimes politiques arabes (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1990), pp. 367-450. 37. The principle of one-party state rule was established at the Congress of Soummam (1956) and reaffirmed at the Congress of Tripoli in 1962. 38. Leca, "Le systeme politique algerien (1965-1981)," p. 7. 39. Concerning the importance of this phenomenon in the Arab world and in Algeria, see Olivier Roy, "Clientelisme et groupes de solidarite survivance ou recomposition?" in Ghassan Salame, ed., Democratie sans democrates: Politiques d' ouverture dans le monde arabe et islamique (Paris: Fayard, 1994), pp. 397-412; Yves Schmeil and Jean Leca, "Clientelisme et neo-patrimonialisme dans le monde arabe," International Political Science Review 4 (1983); Mohamad Harbi, Le FLN: Mirage et realite (Paris: Jeune Afrique, 1980). 40. Mohamed Harbi, "Sur le processus de relegitimation du pouvoir en Algerie," Annuaire del' Afrique du nord 28 (1989), p. 132. 41. Korany, "From Revolution to Domestication." 42. Lahouari Addi, "Democratie et modemite politique," La nouvelle revue socialiste 14 (September 1991), p. 132. 43. "Since 1986, Algeria has experienced zero economic growth. The official

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unemployment figure is above 25 percent; over 1.2 million persons out of a workforce of about 4 million. For the past three years, wages remained stagnant while inflation officially increased by at least 45 percent. ... The loss of natural gas revenues amounted to no less than $5.1 billion per year between 1980 and 1989. The situation affects all sectors: education, social services, agriculture, industry." Mahfoud Bennoune, "Algeria's Facade of Democracy," MERIP Reports 20, 12 (1990), p. 9. 44. Since the mid-1980s, debt servicing absorbs 70 percent of the income generated by Algerian exports annually. 45. Addi, "Democratie et modernite politique," p. 132. 46. For Luciani, the potential for democratization is greater in productionstates, that is, states where revenues are mainly generated by internal economic activity. See Giacomo Luciani, "Allocation vs. Production States: A Theoretical Framework," in Hazem Beblawi and Giacomo Luciani, eds., The Rentier State (London: Croom Helm, 1987); Luciani, "Rente petroliere, crise fiscale de l'Etat et democratisation," in Ghassan Salame, Democratie sans democrates: Politiques d'ouverture dans le monde arabe et islamique (Paris: Fayard, 1994), pp. 199-231; Luciani, in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1995), pp. 211-227. 47. Jean Leca and Remy Leveau, "L'Algerie: Democratie, politiques economiques et demandes sociales," Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 135 (January-March 1993), p. 3. 48. Leca and Leveau, "L' Algerie," p. 4. 49. El-Hadi Chalabi, "Metamorphose d'une constitution: De la constitutionprogramme ala constitution-loi," Sou' al9-10 (July 1989), p. 37. The 1989 constitution includes 167 articles as compared to the 198 articles of the 197 6 constitution. 50. Chalabi, "Metamorphose d'une constitution," p. 18. 51. According to Article 163 of the new constitution, only the head of state is allowed to initiate constitutional amendments. He also nominates three of the seven members of the constitutional council, including the council's head. The other members are elected by the National Assembly (2) and the Supreme Court (2) according to Article 153. 52. Censorship requires a two-thirds vote. 53. For more detail see Chalabi, "Metamorphose d'une constitution," pp. 26-32. 54. It is important to highlight that although the prime minister-who is nominated by the head of state-is entitled to form his own government, only the president is entitled to ratify the nominations or, possibly, dismiss the prime minister and his cabinet. 55. A. Allouache and Walid Laggoune, "La revision constitutionnelle du 23 fevrier 1989: Enjeux et realites," Revue algerienne des sciences juridiques, economiques et politiques 28, 4 (December 1990), p. 761. 56. The following items are considered unacceptable: law decrees decreasing state income or increasing state expenditures; all decrees signed by less than 20 deputies; all decrees falling under presidential veto. 57. Cited in Bernard Cubertabond, "L' Algerie en quete de democratie," Pouvoirs 52 (1990), p. 123. Later on, Chadli would reaffirm his opposition to multipartyism in a speech on the occasion of the sixth FLN congress. 58. See Mohamed Harbi, "Makhzen a l'algerienne," Sou' al9-10 (July 1989). In Morocco's political context, specialists use makhzen to denote government as a

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network of power and grants from the top rather than balance and mutual concessions among the different organs. 59. The text of the law can be found in Djeghloul, "Le multipartisme a l'algerienne," pp. 200-205. It should be noted in this respect that the word multipartyism is not explicitly mentioned in either the text of the law on associations or in the Constitution. See Claudine Rulleau, "La nouvelle constitution algerienne: Une volte-face complete," Les cahiers de !'Orient 14 (1989), p. 158. It is useful to stress that Chadli Bin Jadid, recently elected to the presidency of the republic and hence freed from the FLN's grip, defended this reformist approach to increase his own legitimacy. 60. Ramdane Babadji, "L'Etat, les individus et les groupes en Algerie: Continuite ou rupture," Annuaire de l' Afrique du Nord 26 ( 1987), p. 107. 61. Abderrahim Lamchichi, L' Algerie en crise: Crise economique et changements politiques (Paris: L'Harmattan, 1991), p. 284. 62. On Algerian political parties, see Djeghloul, "Le multipartisme a l'algerienne," pp. 205-210. 63. Officially, this refusal to approve the PPA is motivated by the fact that its ideology runs counter to the ideals of the Algerian revolution. It is further based in Article 5 of the 1989 law banning associations "with a behavior running counter to Islamic morality and to the values of the revolution of November 1, 1954." 64. Jean-Claude Vatin, "Crise generatrice, maladie infantile ou faiblesse endogene: Le FLN algerien au fil du temps," in Bernabe Lopez Garcia et al., eds., Elecciones, participaci6n y transiciones polfticas en el norte de Africa (Madrid: ICMA, 1991), pp. 158-159. 65. Djeghloul, "Le multipartisme a l'algerienne," p. 197; R. Zouai'mia, "Institutions et forces politiques: L'incertitude," in Mokhtar Lakehal, ed., Algerie: De l' independance a l' etat d' urgence (Paris: L'Harmattan, 1992), p. 239. 66. The absentee percentage was higher in the 1990 elections than during the 1988 constitutional referendum (16.9 percent), the presidential elections held in the same year (10.9 percent), or the 1989 referendum on constitutional amendments (21 percent). Moreover, some anomalies have been reported in conjunction with the voting process. 67. For a detailed analysis of the results, see Jacques Fontaine, "Les elections locales algeriennes du 12 juin 1990: Approche statistique et geographique," Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 129 (July-September 1990), pp. 124-140. 68. Robert Mortimer, "Islam and Multiparty Politics in Algeria," The Middle East Journal45, 4 (Fall1991), p. 584. 69. Burgat and Leca, "La mobilisation islamiste et les elections algeriennes du 12juin 1990," 8. 70. The FIS has extended its influence to all urban centers where it won by a wide margin in the elections of 1990-Algiers (64.18 percent), Oran (70.5 percent), and Constantine (72 percent). FIS influence remains limited in certain areas such as Kabylia, the Soummam valley, and the eastern tip of the country. 71. Outside its stronghold in Kabylia (Tizi Ouzou, Bejai'a), the RCD has succeeded in securing the election of some of its candidates in Algiers, its suburbs, the Aures, and the northern Sahara. 72. For minority parties, the distribution of seats in the communal and wilayat elections produced the following results: PNSD (1.02 and 0.43 percent), PSD (0.5 and 0.36 percent), PRA (0.46 and 0.21 percent), PAGS (0.08 and 0.05 percent), PSL (0.04 and 0.11 percent).

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73. The "democratic" parties (FFS, RCD, MDA, PRA, PSD, PNSD, MAJD)without strong social roots-garnered only 8.3 percent of voters and 15.95 percent of seats during the first round of the 1991 legislative elections. 74. During the legislative elections, the PIS lost 1 million votes compared to the communal elections and about 1.25 million compared to the wilayat elections. 75. If we also include the votes that were cast for Hamas and the MNI, the political weight of the Islamist movement is clear; it claimed the support of 55 percent of voters in the legislative elections. 76. Fontaine, "Les elections locales algeriennes du 12 juin 1990," p. 161. 77. Ibid. Jacques Fontaine, for example, highlights a number of potential factors to explain the high degree of abstention in the legislative elections: a relatively high percentage of voters who did not receive their ballots (approximately 900,000); lesser reliance on proxy voting; the complexity of the voting procedure, which dissuaded illiterates from participating; and the attitude of voters deeply discouraged by the depth of the Algerian crisis. 78. Lahouari Addi, "Islam politique et democratisation en Algerie," Esprit 8-9 (August-September 1992), p. 146. 79. The labels are adapted from Jean Leca, "Algerie ou la democratisation contradictoire," presentation to the conference on "Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World," Inter-University Consortium of Arab States, Montreal, 7-8 June 1993, p. 10. 80. Zoualmia, "Institutions et forces politiques," p. 238. 81. Ibid. Zoualmia refers to the work by Michel Crozier, On ne change pas Ia societe par decret (Paris: Grasset, 1977). 82. On civil society and the associational movement in Algeria, see Ramdane Babadji, "Le phenomene associatif en Algerie: genese et perspectives," Anuaire de l' Afrique du Nord, 28, 1989, pp. 229-242; Rathiba Hadj Moussa and Pierre Beaudet, Democratie et mouvements associatifs en Algerie (Montreal: CEAD, 1995). 83. Abdelkader Djeghloul, "Les risques de la societe a deux vitesses: Fin du populisme en Algerie," Le monde diplomatique, January 1989, quoted in Babadji, "Le phenomene associatif en Algerie," p. 231. 84. Moussa and Beaudet, Democratie et mouvements associatifs en Algerie, p. 6. 85. See Ghania Mouffok, "Attentats contre la liberte de la presse," Le monde diplomatique, March 1996. 86. We can cite a few notable examples of coalition building between some FLN factions and the PIS; legalization-in violation of Article 40 of the constitution-and then dissolution a few years later of the party of Madani; and interruption of the short democratization period ( 1988-1991 ). 87. See Djillali Liabes, "Rente, legitimite, et statu quo: Quelques reflexions sur la fin de l'Etat-providence," Les cahiers du CREAD 6 (1986), pp. 129-164. 88. Rulleau, "La nouvelle constitution algerienne," p. 158. 89. See Lys Si Zoubir, "Le fonds monetaire international au secours du regime," Le monde diplomatique, March 1995. 90. For more detail, see Ghazi Hidouci, La revolution inachevee (Paris: La Decouverte, 1995); Goumeziane Small, Le mal algerien: Economie politique d' une transition inachevee: 1962-1994 (Paris: Fayard, 1994); Karen Pfeiffer, "Economic Liberalization in the 1980s: Algeria in Comparative Perspective," in John Entelis and Phillip Naylor, eds., State and Society in Algeria (Boulder: Westview Press,

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1992), pp. 97-116; and Georges Corm, "La reforme economique algerienne: Une reforme mal aimee?" Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 139 (January-March 1993), pp. 9-27. 91. Corm, "La reforme economique algerienne," pp. 19, 22. 92. Babadji, "Le phenomene associatif en Algerie," p. 231. 93. See Walid Laggoune, "La reforme du regime juridique des investissements prives," Revue algerienne des sciences juridiques, economiques et politiques 28, 2 (March 1989), pp. 285-308. 94. For more detail, see Nour-Eddine Terki, "La loi algerienne de 1986 et I' encouragement des investissements etrangers dans le domaine des hydrocarbures," Revue algerienne des sciences juridiques, economiques et politiques 4, 25 (December 1987), pp. 801-818. 95. Contrary to the capacity of other authors to predict the possibility of an FIS government (or its demise). See note 2 above.

3

Restricted Democratization from Above: Egypt Bahgat Korany

If the study of democratization is the study of state-society relations and their dialectics, two dates stand out in Egypt's contemporary history: 1952 and 1976. On the first date the army takeover put an end to a multipartyism of sorts that had prevailed in Egypt since its independence and replaced it with Gamal 'Abd al-Nasser's charismatic one-party rule. The second date, 1976, is when President Anwar Sadat-Nasser's successor and one of the original Free Officers-declared a formal return to multipartyism. Why did these two changes occur, especially the latter? What can these changes tell us about the pattern of the country's state-society dialectics? Though conventionally dubbed newly independent or Third World, Egypt is one of the oldest states in the world, in the same league as such river-valley civilizations as China and India. But unlike the latter, Egypt is old not only as a political structure, but also as a unified and centralized state. The relative hegemony of the Egyptian state stands out. Analysts of all shades of ideology, both foreign and indigenous (e.g., Sadeq Saad, Gamal Himdan, Karl Wittfogel, and Michael Mann), have emphasized the suffocating weight of the Egyptian state controlling the irrigation system and Egypt's hydraulic society.! It was Nazih Ayubi who put the primacy of the Egyptian state in a wider historical comparative perspective of patterns of state formation.2 For instance, the European pattern started with the evolution of capitalism, which later developed its own form of a state. Egypt's irrigation diktat led to the development of the political center, followed by industrial capitalism in the interwar period. Does this state primacy suggest that any change in Egypt has to be undertaken from the top, as was the case with the builder of modern Egypt, Muhammad 'Ali (1804-1848), with Nasser's army coup, and with Sadat's 1976 "democratization" decree? Does this mean that the executive will always predominate over the legislative branch and that the government party will always be the dominant party, as has been the case with the National Democratic Party (NDP) since

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the establishment of multipartyism? In the analysis of the democratization process, should state-rather than society-be the focus? Yet civil society associations of sorts have existed in Egypt since the eighth and ninth centuries in the form of religious sufi tariqa (ascetic orders). At the end of the eighteenth century, civil society, centered more specifically around the al-Azhar Islamic institution, played the key role in foiling Napoleon's expedition. Indeed, the ulamas-or religious scholarsdecided the fate of the political system by opting for the Albanian-born Muhammad 'Ali as Egypt's ruler over the (legal) Turkish authorities and influential domestic fiefs (the Mamluks). Moreover, Egypt pioneered its own parliament, the Consultative Deputies Assembly, in 1866, and developed one of the earliest mass political parties in the region-the Wafd-following the 1919 revolution. Voluntary associations were formally permitted in some less state-centric societies significantly later than in Egypt: 1878 in Lebanon, 1912 in Jordan, 1920 in Palestine, but 1821 in Egypt.3 By 1993, Egypt had 13,293 of these associations. Some of them (e.g., business, Islamic) marshall enough material and symbolic resources to put the government increasingly on the defensive. And given the country's demographic and cultural weight, its state-society dynamics heralded developments in many neighboring countries. In both its authoritarian, militarized brand and its multiparty form, the Egyptian process has influenced transitions in other Arab countries. The analysis of its state-society dialectics and the future of their evolution is consequently of wide significance. In order to explore these dialectics, I divided this chapter into four parts. In dealing with the What question, the emphasis here is on the two indigenous concepts of democracy that have not been analyzed elsewhere in this book-the "social requisites school" and the neo-Islamist one. The How section emphasizes the failures of one-party rule that "pushed" the country toward change under Sadat in 1976. The two-year period 19741976, which saw the making of the multipartyism decision, is considered in more detail. But this How section focuses on the dynamics of a smoother functioning of the democratization process under Husni Mubarak. Two aspects of these dynamics are scrutinized: alliance building among opposition parties-including Islamists-to counter government-party dominance and the dynamics of the electoral process as revealed by the 1995 legislative elections. The Why of the transition is based on a push-pulllogic around a cluster of explanatory factors. They are synthesized here into three: disillusionment with the previous decaying system and the presence of an assertive mood for change, the presence of a leadership ready and capable of carrying out this restructuring, and the invigoration of civil society. By general and not only Third World standards, Egypt seems at present to be a functioning democracy with two legislative bodies (the 454-member

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People's Assembly and the 132-member Shura Council), 14 political parties, a regular transfer of power, five rounds of legislative elections since multipartyism was first established in 1976, and three successful plebiscites choosing Mubarak as president. Does this mean that Egypt is moving from democratic transition toward democratic consolidation? The concluding part draws attention to some stumbling blocks on the road to democratization and emphasizes the distinction between this latter and ta' addudiyya (multipartyism).

The What: Is Democracy Viable Without Its Social or Cultural Content? Egypt's long history has left complexity and diversity in its state-society relations. Indeed, there exist four distinct Egyptian conceptions of democracy: 1. The secularists, who defend a reinstallment of the model of liberal democracy that existed in Egypt before the 1952 army takeover. 2. The Islamic fundamentalists, who advocate a return to purely Islamic principles as the only way to authenticity. 3. The "social democracy prerequisite" school, which thinks that political or liberal democracy is a misnomer if it is not based on, or even produced by, social democracy. 4. The neo-Islamists, who do not contrast Islam with a liberal democracy conceived of as a purely Western innovation but rather try to show that these two are not incompatible and that a combination is possible. In Chapter 2 on Algeria and Chapter 7 on Morocco, I deal in some detail with the first two concepts. Although in Egypt there are some specificities and shades of opinion, the general traits of these first two visions are similar to those of their counterparts in Algeria and Morocco. Consequently, to complete the general portrait of the various conceptions of democracy in the Arab region, in this chapter I concentrate on the last two. Social Democracy as a Prerequisite for Political Democracy

Social democracy as a prerequisite can be linked to some social science schools that emphasize the economic and social preconditions of democracy (e.g., Seymour Martin Lipset).4 In the Egyptian context, this school finds its major justification in the abuses and misapplications of the liberal experience that prevailed in the country before the 1952 army coup. Its

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immediate source of inspiration is the post-1952 Nasserist ideology, and its present advocates are opposition elements in the Nasserist Party, the Socialist Labor Party, and the Progressive Unionist Party. Although the majority of the Islamic movement certainly criticize (liberal) democracy, they support many elements of the social conception of democracy. This approach has been most fully developed in the basic statements of the 1952 revolutionary regime. In the very first ideological treatise on the revolution's mainsprings and future strategy, the 1954 Philosophy of the Revolution, Nasser contrasted the "social" and the "political" in dealing with both revolution and democracy. But it was the 1962 National Charter-the ideological manifesto of the regime-that dwelt in depth on the distinction between the two brands of democracy.s Democracy, or "sound democracy" as the Charter entitles its fifth chapter, is not a mere form of government. Rather, it is an integral part of the search to attain society's basic objectives at this stage of evolution-revolution, independence, and development. If "socialism and revolution are ... faithful expressions of people's progressive thrust, ... democracy is a reaffirmation of the people's sovereignty, of its possession of all powers to marshall them to the realization of its objectives" (p. 46). For if democracy is not linked to this progressive thrust of revolution and development, people will be shortchanged. They will realize, but too late, that without revolutionary economic change to empower them, political freedom is void of any content. In this case, democracy would not be a real guarantee of the people's interests because it would be reduced to a fragile facade (p. 47). This is why the people should not parrot and automatically accept imported theories that contradict the lessons of their national experience. For example, the period 1922-1952 saw (political) democracy reduced to the superimposition of a formal constitutional facade to cover up economic exploitation and social subordination. Nasser continued his review of Egypt's "liberal era" to show the failure of not linking or even basing political democracy on economic and social foundations. It was this heavy lean toward the political facade that limited the impact of the 1919 mass revolution. This bias also explained why the biggest and most popular party-the Wafd-behaved in "unnational" ways. Interested in political supremacy but not in changing the social status quo, it came to power in 1942 by using the tanks of the British occupying power against the legal head of state. The result was that political democracy was used even by this mass party-which in fact was that of the landowners-against the people and their interests. For instance, in the countryside, the peasant had no choice but to vote for the feudal lord, the exploitative owner of the land on which this very peasant depended for survival. Political democracy was geared to the interests of the landowners and the rich in another way. Electoral laws

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imposed on would-be candidates an exorbitant down payment, and as a result, the numbers, and especially the social category, of candidates were automatically limited from the start. Elections became no more than a futile political game among a small clique of players. Other paraphernalia of political democracy such as so-called freedom of the press, freedom of speech, and other civic rights could not be practiced, since people were dependent economically and would thus pay a very high price for daring to express an opinion different from that of their masters. From the experiences of the Egyptian people and others in the Third World, "it was thus clear that political democracy or freedom in its political sense could have no value whatsoever without (prior) economic democracy or freedom in its economic sense" (p. 49). Citizens could not cast free votes in elections if they did not already possess three guarantees: 1. freedom from exploitation in all its aspects; 2. equality of opportunity in getting their part of national wealth; and 3. freedom to practice their political rights without the possibility of endangering their future security (p. 54). If these guarantees were in effect, political democracy would be real and would be solidly based on social democracy. If these guarantees were not in

effect, political democracy was a sham. Unless these three social prerequisites are achieved, political parties can even be harmful to the interests of the people. They become essentially sectarian, interested above all in their own narrow interests. They may even delay the objective of development and independence, for they divide the people instead of uniting them to fight the hardships of development. Moreover, they may endanger the country's independence, since they can be used by outside powers against the people's basic objectives. Briefly, social conditions have to be ripe if political democracy is to be properly used rather than abused. If these conditions are not ripe, then there must be a period of waiting, or transition, to prepare the terrain for the real thing. As we shall see in the sections on How and Why, this transition period can be a lengthy one, during which the people are deprived of minimum political participation in a bureaucratized and militarized system where the political process is reduced to administration and grassroots politics is absent in practice and is replaced by political apathy. However, this is not the case with the other conception of democracy, the Islamized one.

Democracy with--Rather Than Instead of-Islam The neo-Islamist conception of democracy shares one basic structural element with the previous one. It is a "prerequisite school" that subordinates

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liberal democracy to its compatibility with Islam. But unlike fundamentalists and also contrary to a stereotypical conception of the relationship between Islam and democracy, this neo-Islamist brand is less dichotomous, less black and white. It emphasizes common ground. Although still considering Islam the solution, neo-Islamists are far from the view that democracy is unbelief and Western bigotry. Among those neo-Islamists bent on renewal and adaptation of Islamic thought and political practice are some influential Azharite sheiks (e.g., Yusif al-Qaradawi),6 prominent essayists (e.g., Fahmi Huwaidi),7 wellrespected judges (e.g., Tariq al-Bishri),S university professors and exministers (e.g., Ahmad Kamal Abu al-Magd),9 and prolific authorslO (e.g., Muhammad Emara, who has published more than 54 books and hundreds of articles) ,11 What united the authoritative thinkers of varied backgrounds and professions was that, although their starting point is Islam, they distance themselves from standard fundamentalists, especially the radical and violent ones (e.g., Jihad).l 2 Unlike the standard fundamentalists-even those of the traditional Muslim Brotherhood-the neo-Islamists have at the top of their agenda the ubiquity of change and the inescapable presence of the (dominant) Other. The main issue for them is how to cope with these problems now and in the future. Rather than being obsessed with the past, they tend to be future-oriented and practical rather than purely doctrinaire,l3 Consequently, they are much less literal in their interpretation of sacred texts. They insist on the role of reason, of ijtihad (independent judgment) in dealing with the burning issues facing Muslims nowadays. Foremost among these issues is the type of political system desired and the role of Muslims in it. Another important premise tending to bring them together is their refusal to view modernity and authenticity as incompatible. As in the possible combination of democracy and Islam, a third, intermediary road is feasible, combining renewal with faith. The prime criterion in the interpretation of texts and basic principles is the interest of the people, their mas/aha. In insisting on these premises, they do not hesitate to criticize influential but rigid fundamentalists, whether revolutionary (e.g., Sayyid Qutb) or doctrinaire (e.g., Mawdudi). In their elaboration of the (compatible) relationship between Islam and democracy, neo-Islamists' starting point is the inescapable presence of diversity among Muslims since Islam's early days. They cite the Quran extensively to prove it.l4 Indeed, diversity has even been codified in Muslim history as sects, and in the early 'Abbasid period in the eighth and ninth centuries among the Sunnis alone, there were 13 sects.l5 From this factual observation they establish the analogy between sects in jurisprudence and parties in politics.l6 Thus they reject the fundamentalists' one-

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party rule of Hizballah (God's Party), and the exclusion of other parties dubbed Hizb al-Shaytan (party of Satan)_I? They explicitly advocate the establishment of multipartyism.IS Some go even further to imply that multipartyism can be beneficial for progress because it ensures avoidance of the ruler's tyranny.I9 Multipartyism could even be considered an integral part of Islam. Since Islam upholds complete equality among believers, diversity of opinion and thought could consequently be codified through the establishment of political parties. These parties would then negotiate their differences. The important thing is to avoid dissidence because the unity of the umma is supreme, as are the pillars of Islam. No negotiations or compromises can exist regarding these two aspects. Other than these two provisions, the presence of diversity and the respect for equality among Muslims make democracy mandatory as a means of settling differences. The neo-Islamists accept that the word democracy does not exist in the Arabic language and that it is used by Muslims in its foreign form. But they brush this fact aside as of little importance or too formalistic (the history of Islam, they state, shows acceptance of some foreign terms and practices of foreign civilizations). What the neo-Islamists consider important is not the foreign origin of the term democracy but its negative associations that are enshrined in the Muslims' collective psychology. For the masses, democracy is indeed associated with the colonizing West and its attempts to dehumanize Muslims, to take away their identity and authenticity. These negative associations have been exploited-either through ignorance or bad faith-in electioneering campaigns to put candidates favoring democracy on the defensive by accusing them of being anti-Islamic.20 But in reality there is no inherent incompatibility between Islam and democracy. The seven pillars of the Islamic system show as much. 1. Final decisionmaking prerogatives belong to the umma (communi-

ty), which is the ultimate sovereign. 2. The umma is a responsible entity; that is, it is in charge of its destiny. 3. Freedom is a universal, inalienable right, and nobody is to be forced to act against his or her will even in order to adopt Islam-as the Quran states (e.g., the Cow, Surat 256; the Cave, Surat 29; Yunus, or Jonah, Surat 99). From freedom of choice follows freedom of opinion, as long as it does not negate the primacy of religion or question its basic principles. 4. All believers are basically equal. 5. The presence of the Other is legitimate and should be respected (alHujurat, or the Chambers, Surat 13; al-Rum, Surat 22; Hud, Surat 118, 119).

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6. Injustice, even by Muslims against non-Muslims, is forbidden as unethical and should be resisted (al-Shura, Surat 42; Pilgrimage, Surat 39, Women, Surat 148). 7. Law and legality are supreme in the community, and the legitimacy of authority is a function of its respect of Islam's legal system (shari'a). Since there is no epistemological or built-in incompatibility between the basic principles of Islam and those of democracy, the best system for Muslims is the one based on shura (consultation). For the ruler, shura is compulsory, as is accountability.21 Two basic points should be reiterated from this cursory analysis of some of the basic readings of neo-Islamists. First, the relationship between Islam and democracy is not one of mutual exclusiveness but rather of adaptation and accommodation because at the level of basic principles of tolerance and respect for freedom of choice they do converge. Second, Islam does impose limits beyond which accommodation and adaptation cannot go: respect for the basic pillars of religion and obedience to shari'a. It is the function of ijtihad and the work of reason to show where accommodation and compromises can or cannot be established. The ideas of the neo-Islamists were popularized in the 1970s and 1980s, when Egypt was increasingly disenchanted with political authoritarianism and flirting with multipartyism. To this "democratic transition" I now tum.

The HQw: The Dynamics of Transition, Democratic or Otherwise Egypt's experience of the initiation and evolution of the democratization process is different in several respects from that of Morocco or Algeria. In the Moroccan case, there is not one specific or consensual date for the start of the process, but rather a to-and-fro action. In Algeria's case, on the contrary, there is of course a starting date and a dramatic one: the October 1988 social explosion. In Egypt's case, there is a date-the year 1976-but no dramatic marker or explosion. The date was still a landmark, as President Sadat explains: When I became convinced of the necessity of debating different opinions publicly, I suggested to the people the establishment of forums within the existing unique political organization: the Arab Socialist Union. I asked some trustworthy and influential well-known personalities to discuss the forum concept and supervise the process of democratic dialogue. The dialogue was active also in the People's Assembly, directed by Mahmud Abu-Wafia [Sadat's brother-in-law].

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The consensus that emerged indicated the necessity of establishing three such forums: one each for the Right, the Left, and the Center. Nothing is unusual about such a tripartite division, since it is a universal practice that encompasses all different political views. Elections for the forums started in 1976. I followed the election campaign very closely, and I was surprised. The campaign's conduct overlooked the existence of the Arab Socialist Union and adopted instead a truly multiparty style. Whereas the Right and the Left each got some seats, it was the Center which acquired a landslide victory. On the basis of this experience, many decisions were taken. I said to myself: why do we not call things by their real names? I thus went to the inaugural session of the People's Assembly, as is my habit. I declared the abolition of the forum concept and the establishment instead of the multiparty system.22

This presidential narrative offers an unbelievably simplistic and deceptively straightforward account of the transition process and should not be taken at face value. It leaves out of the process its necessarily political aspects, that is, its complexity. The conventional account is that the Egyptian political system consisted of one-party rule from 1952-when the Free Officers took power-until 1976, when the multiparty system was formally established. In institutional and formal terms, this is correct. But the one-party system had been debated much earlier and was seriously undermined in 1968 when the overall 1952 vision and system were discredited in the wake of the 1967 Six-Day War. The date when a general mood for transition away from one-party rule became official is really 1968.23 Consequently, when Sadat came to power after Nasser's death in September 1970, debate was raging over the failure of one-party rule. A receptive mood for change notwithstanding, an overall restructuring of the political system was subordinated to the "primary battle of destiny," the liberation of Sinai from Israeli occupation. Once the 1973 October War had taken place, the process of liberalization accelerated.24 The two-year period 1974-1976 is crucial in the analysis of the democratic transition. The clearest doctrinal break came in the 1974 October Manifesto (circulating as early as April, but capitalizing on the emotional significance of the 1973 October War), the equivalent of the 1962 National Charter of the Nasser regime.25 Each document represents a distinct vision of Egypt's future. The 30,000-word charter presented to the Popular Forces Congress by Nasser was adopted in its entirety, representing what Muhammad Haykal 19 years later dubbed "democracy by consent."26 Based on a revisionist view of Egyptian history, it advocated the revolutionary socialist cause as the only strategy for survival. The October Manifesto was much shorter than the charter, not only in the number of pages but also in the issues covered. As the basis of its projections for the future, the manifesto evoked "the glorious days of October 1973" (p. 3) rather than the 7,000

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years of Egyptian history. This de-emphasizing of the distant past was compounded by the manifesto's tum toward the future: Egypt in the year 2000. In this blueprint for the year 2000, the manifesto starts with economic development and the role of capital and foreign investment. The tone is thus economistic and Egypt-centered. The frame of reference is no longer primarily the 1952 July Revolution but the "1971 Rectification Movement," when Nasserist hard-liners controlling the Arab Socialist Union (ASU) and state organs were arrested. Finally, the document focused on goals and not revolutionary vision. Pluralism a Ia Sadat: From Vision to Decree, 1974-1981 These goals emphasized development as part of liberal capitalist interdependence. Development equaled Arab petrodollars and Western technology plus abundant Egyptian resources. It was the codification of infitah (economic opening) and the beginning of khaskhasah (privatization), both important for the relationship between economic liberalization and democratization. At this stage, however, the regime maintained one-party rulebut not for long. In August 1974-four months after the October Manifesto-Sadat circulated another paper devoted to a reconsideration of the only existing political organization, the ASU. The premise was that people could and did have different views about social and economic issues. This diversity of views had to find expression within the ASU for it to be representative and to prevent its alienation from the wider social base. This August 1974 paper provoked a national dialogue that continued well into the ASU Third National Congress (July 1975) and resulted in a report by a subcommittee of the Central Committee.27 The rapporteur-Rif'at al-Mahjub, who was to be the speaker of the National Assembly and who was later assassinated by radical Islamists-summarized the different views. He emphasized that the majority of deputies-those representing the farmers, workers, women, and youth-supported the continuation of the ASU. They opposed multipartyism as advocated by intellectuals, university professors, journalists, and members of professional associations. They suggested, instead, keeping the ASU while democratizing its internal structure and functions. This formula capitalized on what was best in the multiparty system: expression of different political views and effective political opposition, "in preparation for the full multi-party system if this is what the people want."28 As a result, in 1975, the ASU Congress refused the establishment of multipartyism, but decreed instead the establishment within its organiu.tion of opinion forums. In January 1976, Sadat went a step further and appointed a 168member committee for the Future of Political Action. The committee's task

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was "to study the issue of establishing forums, their role in consolidating democracy and their effect on the future of political action in Egypt." This committee held 16 meetings between 2 February and 9 March 1976.29 Four tendencies emerged from the discussion: 1. The majority (represented by 135 members) opposed multipartyism and advocated instead the establishment of fixed forums within the ASU to increase its effectiveness. 2. A smaller group (34 members) also supported maintaining the ASU as it was but establishing changing or moving opinion forums to increase the organization's effectiveness. 3. Only eight members supported the establishment of a multiparty system as the best formula for expressing opposing views and democratizing political life. 4. A residual minority view favored the establishment of forums inside and outside the ASU.

The majority view of establishing forums prevailed, and as many as 40 forums were planned. But Sadat decided in March 1976 to limit their number to three to express the right (as represented by the Liberals), the center (as represented by the Egypt Arab Socialist Forum), and the left (as represented by the National Progressive Unionist Party). The three forums participated as such in the 1976 elections. In his inaugural speech to the newly convened People's Assembly (11 November 1976), Sadat-as quoted earlier-decreed that the forums were now political parties. A political parties law soon followed in June 1977.30 The general debate that characterized this 1974-1976 period reveals two aspects about the transition to multipartyism. First, the drive toward liberalization and multipartyism came from the regime's top: Sadat himself. Second, there was hesitation about reembarking on multipartyism, a hesitation enhanced by the self-serving ASU cadre but also by lingering memories of multipartyism's abuses in the 1922-1952 period, and the limited value of political democracy if it is not socially based.31 Still, the trend toward economic and political liberalization had been initiated. The 1976 elections-unlike the 1971 single-party ones-formally constituted the forum stage but in fact ushered in multipartyism. The election results saw the dominance of the center, the government's Egypt Arab Socialist Forum, with 280 seats. The right (the Liberal) won 12 seats, and the left (National Progressive Unionist Party) won two seats. The new political phenomenon, however, was the presence of the Independents with 48 seats, a diversity of representation that contributed to the People's Assembly being a very active one with 267 bills submitted for discussion and active questioning of government policies and practices.

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From the start, the 1979 elections were multiparty ones. The 2,492 candidates represented four competing parties: the National Democratic Party (NDP), the Liberals, Labor, and the National Progressive Unionist Party. Thirty seats were, for the first time, earmarked for women, with 111 candidates competing for them. Multipartyism and elections notwithstanding, the democratic process seemed fragile. The process was newly established, and its rules were as uncertain as the protagonists were about their behavior. But more importantly, the head of state thought of the process as his own initiative and domain of action, to be (un)regulated as he saw fit. For instance, Sadat concurred that any democratic system should have its own opposition party. Consequently, he established one such party-Labor-and invited his ex-prison mate and veteran politician, Ibrahim Shukri, to head it. He expected such a party to be docile and thus became very angry and hurt when the Labor Party took its opposition role seriously. Sadat also tried to limit the opposition process by establishing his own general principles and laws (e.g., the "Shame Law," the law "protecting social peace"), which were so elastic as to exclude the establishment of new political parties and condemn any position of the existing ones that did not see eye-to-eye with some of his controversial policies, such as the go-it-alone peace with Israel. It was inevitable that crises would pile up and block the process until the regime itself was about to break down. In September 1981, Sadat rounded up over 3,000 persons including 1,000 influential personalities of various backgrounds and political views.32 Their politics ranged from the right to the left, and probably differences among some of them were greater than their proper differences with Sadat himself. But Sadat put them all in the same basket. The process of political dialogue and negotiation of political differences-the essence of democracy--came to a full halt. A week later, on 6 October 1981, during the military parade commemorating the eighth anniversary of his October victory, Sadat himself was gunned down by Islamic militants. With preplanned attacks against some police stations, especially in Southern Egypt, there was the possibility that the democratic process would be halted and the regime itself break down. It was in this crisis situation that Vice President Husni Mubarak was sworn in as Egypt's fourth president.

The Mubarak Presidency, 1981If regular power transfer is one indicator of the viability of a political sys-

tem, Egypt's multipartyism passed the most severe test. Despite the regime crisis that led to assassination, power was duly transferred to the second-incommand, the vice president. Moreover, and unlike what happened after Nasser's death, there was no rift within the governing elite that necessitated

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the elimination of one group, as happened in the 1971 Corrective Revolution (see later discussion). In 1998, the 70-year-old Mubarak has been president for almost 17 years, officially longer than Nasser (who became president after the "transition stage" in 1956) and about one and a half times as long as Sadat (1970-1981).33 During these 17 years there have been 10 cabinets with an average lifespan of almost 20 months, compared to a 14-month average during the Nasser period and only seven during Sadat's. There is, then, more cabinet stability. Mubarak held the posts of president and prime minister only at the beginning of his presidency and only for three months. In comparison, Sadat held both posts three times totaling 35 months, or more than 11 times as much as Mubarak; and Nasser held both seven times totaling 136 months, or 45 times as much as Mubarak. Mubarak's era has witnessed four elections for the People's Assembly (1984, 1987, 1990, and 1995). In two cases under Mubarak, the People's Assembly did not quite complete its term, compared to one out of three (1971, 1976, 1979) in Sadat's era and four out of four (1957, 1960, 1964, 1969) in Nasser's. It is true that the first assembly in the Nasser era was interrupted by the establishment of union with Syria in 1958 and the second by Syria's secession in 1961. Yet, if the 1984 and 1987 People's Assemblies did not complete their regular five-year period, in both cases it was by court decision. In fact, one of the decisions changed a basic election law; to individual candidates in order to allow independents to run, ballots could list individual candidates instead of party candidates only. This decision ushered in the era of the judiciary as the protector of due political process, thus bolstering democratization based on the rule of law. The judiciary's role in the proper functioning of the democratization process was also visible in the establishment of about half of the 14 political parties now on the political scene, after their demands had been rejected by the Political Parties' Committee. It is still forbidden, however, to set up a political party that is solely religious, that duplicates another party already in action, or that purports to work against national unity. At present, then, Egypt's democratization process is a mixed bag of advances (e.g., an increasing number of political parties, the participation of the judiciary in limiting state power, and increasing freedom of the press and of speech) and limits (intervention in the election process, harassment of opposition, and absolute domination by the government party [NDP] to the extent that Egypt is in effect a one-party state-as Table 3.1 shows). On the subject of elections, opposition parties oscillated in their strategies, which ranged from boycotting (e.g., 1990) to rallying together and establishing alliances that cut across secular and religious demarcation lines. A detailed analysis of the 1987 alliance between the Muslim Brotherhood and the Labor Party shows how a prominent part of the

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Table 3.1

Seats in the Egyptian People's Assembly (1984-1995)

Year

NDP

Muslim Brotherhood

Wafd

Labor

1984 1987 1990 1995

390 349 360 417

8 30 Boycott 1

50 35 Boycott 6

27 Boycott

Progressive Unionist Rally Liberals Independents

5 5

3 Boycott 1

5 79 13

Source: Arab Strategic Yearbook, 1995, Cairo, Al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1996, p. 386. In the 1995 elections, there were as many as 16 political parties. Among the opposition parties, only the Nasserists got one seat.

Islamic movement is ready to play by the rules of the game in the multiparty system. The Islamic Alliance Within the 1987 People's Assembly After an earlier alliance in 1984 with the traditionally secularist party, the Wafd, the Muslim Brotherhood changed partners. The new partnership was formalized at the headquarters of the Labor Party on 14 February 1987 in preparation for the coming elections.34 The agreement lasted for the parliamentary sessions April 1987-June 1990. The members of the alliance were the Labor Party, the Liberal Party, and the Muslim Brotherhood, and each had an interest in signing the alliance. The Brotherhood was not allowed to constitute its own political party since it was religiously based. Its alliance with the existing political parties allowed it to compete in the elections and to enter the People's Assembly. As for the other members of the alliance, Labor and the Liberals, they were interested in benefiting from the Brotherhood's greater grassroots base to increase the number of opposition Assembly members in the face of NDP hegemony. Indeed, as Table 3.1 shows, opposition power within the People's Assembly was eroding. The Liberals' representation was negligible, and Labor had seen its representation slide from 21 seats in 1979 to none (members elected on the party ticket had defected and joined the NDP, under "government pressure," according to Labor sources). In the 1984 elections, the party did not gain even one seat. If it kept a presence in the Assembly, it was only because Mubarak chose four members of the party elite to be included in the 10 he had the right to appoint. The alliance with the Muslim Brotherhood, then, had its weighty justification. Though many doubted such a marriage of convenience could last for long, others saw it as a way for Islamic groups to join the pluralist system.

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By helping them to abide by the "democratic" rules of the game, the approach aimed to make the democratic process all-inclusive. As for the Muslim Brotherhood, it kept its distinct identity during the election campaign while advancing-through the alliance-"the cause of Islam." The 10-point basis of the alliance agreement (officially published in al-Sha'b on 6 April 1987) reveals the results of what had been a delicate bargaining process of mutual concessions among the partners. There were points of easy consensus: defense of national identity and independence; nonalignment and avoidance of any special relationship with the United States; freezing of the Camp David accords; development through cooperation between the private and public sectors while protecting the country's independence; resistance to inflation; maintenance of subsidies to help the poor and solutions to the problems of housing, medical treatment, and education; open mass media accessible to different points of view; respect for public freedom; and abolition of the emergency law and of all restrictions on honest and free elections. But there were other points on whose origins the Muslim Brotherhood's influence were clear: "faith in God is the basis of all virtue and the starting point to solve all problems"; shari' a is an integrated general approach to society and government and not a piecemeal agglomerate of laws; for a cultural renaissance, movies, plays, and all other forms of artistic expression have to promote proper religious values instead of propagating immorality. Despite antialliance accusations by other parties of shortsighted opportunism and electioneering schemes, the alliance managed to consolidate its position in the 1987 elections and obtain a total of 60 seats (30 for the Muslim Brotherhood, 27 for Labor, and three for the Liberals).35 But the alliance's weight was not only numerical. It managed to put the government on the defensive and to raise the visibility of opposition in parliament generally. It even challenged the government in a confidence vote, but lost. Still, the alliance did manage to pressure the minister of education to make changes in school curriculum that would put more emphasis on Islamic content. It forced the minister of information to increase the ratio of religious programming on radio and television; to refuse many commercials deemed too sexually daring (at the cost of a few million dollars for the government TV authority); and to exclude about 500 objectionable hours from some soap operas.36 Although not only because of the alliance, the minister of the interior finally resigned after some hot debates in the Assembly. It should be noted, though, that women's issues were not on the alliance's agenda. And the group had no women on its candidates' list, unlike the governing NDP, which that year had 14 women candidates, of whom 13 were elected. This discussion of the alliance provides a microcosm of both the limits

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and opportunities inherent in the democratization process in the Mubarak era. An analysis of the 1995 elections provides another example in the same vein.

The 1995 Elections Elections are the standard collective manifestation of the democratic process. Some important characteristics should be singled out about the most recent ones. These elections involved the participation of the largest number ever of political parties (13 out of 14) and party candidates (1,004 or 25.4 percent of the total).37 There was an increase in the number of candidates standing as Independents (2,950 or 74.6 percent of the total). Such a large percentage constituted a huge snub to, and marginalization of, the existing political parties. In addition, 87 women stood for election (2.2 percent of the total, an increase of 0.6 percent over the 1990 elections). Only three governorates did not have female candidates, compared to nine in the 1990 elections. Finally, 57 Copts (or 1.4 percent of the total) stood for elections, compared to only 35 in the 1990 elections. However, 13 governorates, or 50 percent of the total, had no Coptic candidate. The ratio of political competitiveness (number of candidates divided by number of constituencies) was high. A total of 3,954 candidates competed for 225 constituencies (i.e., almost nine candidates for each seat), allowing the voters ample choice. As a result, only 134 candidates won in the first ballot, whereas 612 candidates-including two ministers-had to go through a second ballot to compete for the remaining 306 seats. In addition, there seemed to be an emerging consensus over priority issues. Socioeconomic issues were more frequently emphasized than purely political ones, and domestic politics dominated over foreign policy issues. As mentioned earlier, the law earmarks 50 percent of all seats for workers and peasants. However, the top five occupations among elected MPs were as follows:38 businessmen, 37; university professors, 21; lawyers, 19; engineers, 16; and doctors, 12. In a country where young people (below 30) form an absolute majority (almost two-thirds of the population), the resulting legislature is unrepresentative age-wise. The minimum age for election is still 30. Those actually elected fell into the following age groups:39 30-40 years, 27; 40-50 years, 118; 50-60 years, 196; 60-70 years, 94; and 70-80 years, 16. In other words, about 95 percent were 40 and above. Yet these elections were also the most violent in Egypt's election history.40 Some aspects of violence in Egyptian elections were common: tearing campaign leaflets and boards, harassing supporters, and creating obstacles to public meetings. Very often such acts were conducted by the government in support of its own party. But representatives of other parties, especially

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in Southern Egypt or in other rural and tribal areas, joined in, motivated by exaggerated loyalty ('asabiyya). These pathological aspects persisted in the 1995 elections, but their number and level of intensity increased. According to the official estimate of the Ministry of the Interior, there were 36 killed and 337 injured, in addition to damage to cars and buildings. Al-Ahram and Wafd newspapers put the figures higher, and an independent committee supervising the elections suggested 51 dead and more than 500 injured. The Ministry of the Interior explained the increase in the frequency and intensity of violence by the increase in the number of candidates and revealed its confiscation on the eve of election day of 14,196 weapons, both licensed and nonlicensed. Hassanin Tawfik Ibrahim, a specialist on violence in Egypt, sees things differently and emphasizes societal and structural explanations. 41 To him, the 1995 elections were only the occasion-rather than the cause-of this increase in violence in society. This inference is justified for various reasons. First, there was a geographical extension of the violence, which was no longer confined to the traditional South of the country. Second, there was the increase in its intensity, with widespread cases of sabotage of buses, banks, and public buildings. Third, there was the increase in the number of victims and the type of (advanced) arms used, as mentioned previously. Fourth, there was the diversity of parties involved in the violent confrontation. Thus, violence was no longer a governmental action against some undesirables. It involved highly educated candidates in urban areas, such as a judge and a brother of an ex-prime minister. Such a level of violence shows that political campaigns and candidate choice cannot be separated from wider social dynamics. In the next part I relate these dynamics to Egypt's democratization.

The Why: Sorting Out Bases of Transition In less than a quarter-century-the equivalent of hours, if not minutes, given Egypt's long history-this country passed from multipartyism to oneparty rule (1952) and back again (1976). If there was a primary factor common to both transitions-a sort of lawlike generalization of political change-it was the presence of a general mood seeking a way out of a decaying, discredited system. Other factors joined this general mood for restructuring to help give it a concrete form and a direction. In dealing with the 1976 transition, I analyze these factors in the following order: 1. The general mood for change. 2. Sadat's "crossing" to effective leadership, by eliminating the clique of the ASU control organization, and restructuring policy (after the

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1973 October War) in favor of the West and infitah, or economic opening (and hence the need to prove "liberal" credentials). 3. The increasing (re)invigoration of Egypt's civil society.

The Effect of the General Mood for Change Explaining the dynamics of change seems to be one of the nagging problems in a field still centered on political stasis. Even before the obsession with globalization, some international relations specialists42 attracted attention to the role of war as a catalyst of transition, and others surveyed history to document the argument.43 Specialists in comparative politics-taking the separation between internal and external dynamics too literally-chose to concentrate on the internal equivalent of war, that is, rebellion or revolution, to explain internal change.44 But the two need not be mutually exclusive.45 Indeed, in Egypt's transitions, external war and internal revolution have been clearly associated as engines of change. War or revolution gave substance to the general mood for change, the most important single reason common to the two cases of transition. It was, after all, defeat in the first Arab-Israeli war of 1948 that concretized the extent to which decay of the monarchical multiparty regime would allow it to fall so easily into the hands of the Free Officers. For instance, each of King Farouk's 22 cabinets (1937-1952) lasted an average of less than eight months. The first half of 1952-just before the army took over-had five cabinets, an average cabinet life of just over a month.46 The king played a role in aggravating a system in shambles, as did the corrupt and cynical political parties. In Philosophy of the Revolution, Nasser explains the new leaders' disillusionment with the political parties incapable of directing a new regime. Each of these political parties was selfrighteous, attacking the other parties as corrupt, devious, and wholly responsible for the existing political mess, and none had blueprints for a way out. The new leaders' remarks may indeed be self-serving, but we have seen how in the 1974-1976 debates the hesitation to return to multipartyism was partly the effect of earlier abuses in the pre-1952 period on the contemporary political culture. In the 1967 crisis, however, Nasser's charisma was a major factor. Indeed, when he offered to resign, masses demonstrated in his favor, requesting that he carry out the needed change. Nasser's firing and detention of his close military collaborators (including his vice president, FieldMarshal 'Amer) signaled an understanding of the necessity for change. But only a few months later (February 1968), demonstrators were again in action, this time against Nasser for the first time since the 1954 crisis that finally eliminated his rivals and put the system under his oneparty command. For the demonstrators, change was neither fast enough nor

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deep enough. Even the press-still controlled-expressed this concern soon after the 1967 military defeat.47 As a result, there were some attempts to reduce state arbitrariness, reassure civil society (e.g., cancel sequestration measures), and empower the judiciary (e.g., some controversial cases against state authority were to be decided by the courts). Yet mass demonstrations continued, especially against (lenient) verdicts given out to the regime's former military leadership, who had been deemed responsible for the defeat. Amid accusations of cover-up, there was massive demand for accountability. A new "cabinet for change" headed by Nasser himself and including 13 new ministers from the "best young elite of the country" issued the March 30 Declaration. The declaration's tone was uncharacteristically liberal, emphasizing the role of science and technology, the necessity for permitting the "true" social forces (and not the power centers) to participate in the political process, the importance of releasing the creative forces of syndicalism, the sovereignty of law, and even protection of individual incentives. Indeed, the tone was so liberal as to undermine some of the basic socialist principles on which the regime rested.48 In retrospect, many obstacles to regime change still persisted: absolute centralized authority, patron-client networking, and absence of political competition. To what extent was Nasser capable of ironing out these problems? A decisive answer is hard to give because Nasser died two and a half years after the March 30 Declaration. Moreover, most of his time during this period was taken up with "the liquidation of the effects of [Israeli] aggression," that is the liberation of Sinai. Indeed, both he and his successor, Sadat, faced two major stumbling blocks on the way to rapid political restructuring: the presence of an ossified political organization (the ASU) as the basis of the regime and the presence of Israel's occupying forces on the eastern bank of the Suez Canal. These two constituted the tests of Sadat's effective leadership, and he passed both successfully.

The Crossing to Leadership An outsider's destruction of the control organization. Nasser was aware of the ability of a political organization to control the system. After the failure of two such organizations-the Liberation Rally (1953-1956) and National Union (1957-1961)-the ASU was to avoid earlier mistakes.49 Nasser even stated once that he was ready to abandon the presidency to devote himself to making the ASU work. Good intentions notwithstanding, the ASU ended by combining the worst of a government-clogged bureaucracy and a secret police and transforming them into an institutionalized culture, as an insider eloquently

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expressed it. 50 Moreover, it became the victim of power centers, of cronyism, and of bureaucratic corruption. It was obsessed with control, and in the end it was dominated by politics without any real political participation. It thus became an institution without institutionalization. 51 It succeeded, however, in controlling the system and blocking any attempt at restructuring, leading to what Sadat termed the "powerlessness of power. "52 Sadat was not part of the dominant ASU clique headed by 'Ali Sabri, originally head of Air Force Intelligence, close collaborator with Nasser, and a former prime minister. 53 The battle for control was finally decided in May 1971 through a showdown between the two groups. Sadat came out victorious as the head of the "Corrective Revolution."54 This intraregime battle for control is important for the Why of democratization because, in carrying out the battle against his rivals, Sadat emphasized two aspects crucial to any project of political liberalization and democratization. First, he presented himself as the champion of a different way of conducting politics: open, liberal, fair, and based on the rule of law. This contrasted with the earlier mukhabarat (national security) state. In a sensational move, Sadat held a huge bonfire after the arrest of his opponents to burn secret police reports and telephone bugging documents on various members of the elite-probably including himself-and ordinary people. As a result, he theatrically declared the end of revolutionary legitimacy and its replacement by institutional legitimacy. Second, to be able to counter the political influence of the ASU inner circle, Sadat embarked on a balancing act that promoted political competition of sorts within civil society and the political system. He resuscitated contacts with alternative political groups, especially those with an ax to grind against Nasserist hard-liners, such as Islamist groups inside Egypt or in exile. Sadat's relations with Saudi Arabia and with King Faysal helped in this respect. 55 Some remnants of the old bourgeoisie and landed aristocracy of the pre-1952 multiparty period were allowed to defend their grievances in court. The actions of both groups revealed the extreme injustices and abuses of earlier authoritarianism and almost delegitimized this type of rule. The general mood for change was reinforced and vindicated; the ossified control system was domesticated; and one-party authoritarianism, in deep decline, was in the process of delegitimization. These were major changes favoring restructuring within a short space of time. It only required the weight of top leadership to enunciate concrete measures and direct the restructuring. The 1973 "military victory" gave Sadat the leadership he needed. From leadership to policy restructuring. Until the 1973 October War, Sadat's reign and state-society relations were still in flux. The groping for a way out of tense transition continued. In fact, because he had neither

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Nasser's lingering charisma nor unconditional Soviet support (to pacify domestic leftist forces and also bolster his economic and military base), Sadat tended to improvise to survive rather than to adopt a thought-out strategy. There was the need to keep the system functioning and reduce dysfunctional pressures in order to devote all national energy to the recovery of occupied territory. The continuing regime slogan was "no voice is louder than that for the battle." The battle came in October 1973, and both its military, and especially its psychological, results were a complete contrast to those of the 1967 defeat. This October victory signaled Sadat's coming to power-in effect and not only in name, the moment when Sadat's regime really succeeded Nasser's. It was logical that the regime's goals should be formulated after the war and be entitled the October Manifesto-an economic and ideological precursor of the 1976 formalization of multipartyism. The manifesto's liberal thrust led inevitably to another change that bolstered major restructuring: rapprochement with the West, especially the United States. In fact, the analysis of such quantitative indicators as Egypt's economic relations, diplomatic interactions, and high state visits shows a complete reversal of Egypt's external relations in the 1970s.56 Reintegrating into the liberal West was a major doctrinal shift with effects in various Egyptian policy sectors, domestic as well as international. Many writings of the period, starting with Sadat's own autobiography, confirm this.57 A new member eager to join a group tends to be overconformist. Jumping on the liberal bandwagon with its political symbols of multipartyism, parliament, and elections was a necessary credential for Egypt's fullfledged association with the Western camp. The effect-intended or notof these formal changes was to open the door wider to civil society, with its corollaries of diversity and power sharing with the government. Ultimately, this would be the real test of the bona fides of government action and strategy. The (Re)lnvigoration of Civil Society On the face of it, the Egyptian state had so largely dominated political interaction-especially during Nasser's populist-corporatist period-that the very existence of an Egyptian civil society was in doubt. The mass demonstrations of the 1967-1973 period removed this doubt. It is important to remember that, contrary to conventional wisdom, voluntary associations of sorts had existed in Egypt as far back as the eighth and ninth centuries in the form of religiously inspired sufi tariqa and that many of these still exist. In 1989, their known membership was about 3 million. 58 In their modern form, many of Egypt's 14,000 or so voluntary associations go back to the nineteenth century, in the form of interest groups to

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defend minorities (e.g., the Greek or Italians in Alexandria) or religious groups. Indeed, because of widespread religious sentiment, these associations became grassroots organizations relatively easily, which guaranteed the general accessibility of their message. In 1990, Islamic associations constituted 34 percent of all voluntary associations in Egypt-and reached in some areas as much as 51 percent (Christian ones were 9 percent of groups nationwide).59 Moreover, thanks to zakat (religious alms), these associations do not face the chronic problem of financing that plagues so many other voluntary associations and forces them to depend on governmental financing. However, voluntary religious associations are now increasingly joined by others. One sign of economic and political liberalization between 1970 and 1980 was the growth in associations: The number of business groups rose from 26 to 40; professional groups from 36 to 68; and cultural organizations from 86 to 215.60 They are becoming increasingly visible in Egyptian society and politics, as the content analysis of People's Assembly records shows, to the extent that some politicians-including the head of the opposition-demanded the abolition of Law 32 (1964), a law limiting the freedom of voluntary associations.6I This consolidation of civil society through the mushrooming of its voluntary associations and the dynamics of democratization is influenced by two factors: 1. The decreasing capacity of the state to play its welfare role solo, perhaps a Third World version of the "fiscal crisis of the state." With the intensification of economic reform and International Monetary Fund (IMF) structural adjustment mechanisms, voluntary associations appeared as good partners to help in managing socioeconomic crises resulting from unemployment, poor health care, and price hikes of basic goods and services. For example, during a visit to the exhibition of the Productive Families Association in Menoufia in 1992, Mubarak thanked this association for its contribution to fighting unemployment. 62 We see this contradictory phenomenon of increasing numbers and freedom of voluntary associations in several countries of questionable democratization (e.g., Morocco). 2. External financing. Given the modest level or even absence of domestic financing, this factor is increasingly crucial. It has even been institutionalized through official agreements with the U.S. Agency for International Development (USAID) and through grants from the Social Fund, international nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) (e.g., Ford Foundation, Catholic Relief Service), and some Western governments (Canada, Netherlands, Sweden, France, and the United States). In fact, this funding has become so important as to infringe on Egypt's sovereignty-

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both state and society. In the 1991 American-Egyptian agreement on grants for the development of voluntary associations, the Egyptian government exhibited a great deal of tolerance in explicitly accepting that the grant be directly offered to the NGO, that USAID choose the voluntary association(s) to receive the grant, and that the USAID supervise grant use.63 The same latitude applies to the grants from the Social Fund. (The fund established in 1991 with a budget of £2 billion [Egyptian]-half loans and half grants from Arab and Western governments. Its objective is to help remedy the drastic effects of the IMF structural adjustment program.) The main point here is that voluntary associations are able to function much more easily in present-day Egypt, thereby reinforcing the country's civil society. Does this mean that Egypt's traditional state supremacy iswillingly or not-in doubt and is irreversibly declining? State-society interaction is the crux of the democratization process and will influence its future evolution. Will the government accept power sharing? To what extent? And in which sectors? These basic questions about state-society relations help us monitor why Egypt's democratization process could go in a certain direction rather than in another. The conclusion emphasizes main factors in this state-society relationship, that is, the crux of the democratization process.

Conclusion: Ta' addudiyya-N ecessary but Insufficient for Democratization Old habits of traditional governmental control die hard. According to the Wafd newspaper, as many as 60,000 civil servants of the Ministry of Social Affairs work in voluntary associations.64 On the one hand, these civil servants help the associations to avoid red tape and thus consolidate their functioning and productivity. On the other hand, this influx of civil servants could act as a means of government infiltration, at a time when the government is increasingly sensitive about the politicization of many of these associations. Because of this sensitivity, the government is trying to insist on a line in the sand. In 1988, the Ministry of Social Affairs insisted that it was completely forbidden for any voluntary association to go beyond its purely social mission; otherwise it would be dissolved. In 1990, the minister reiterated that the "work of voluntary associations aims to develop society away from politics and parties ... limits that have to be absolutely respected."65 The governmental tendency to exercise control is strongest toward

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those Islamic associations gaining political capital, such as the Muslim Brotherhood. Examples abound.66 1. The Brotherhood amply proved both its mobilization capacity and its grassroots bases during the 1992 October earthquake. Its campaign of help for the victims was at least as effective as that of the government. 2. The Brotherhood has managed to run commercial enterprises to make cheap products available to those in need. 3. The Brotherhood has established clinics for the treatment of the poor. 4. A report of the Young Orphans Project showed that the Brotherhood spent £12 million (Egyptian) on orphan children and that by 1993 the project covered 20 of Egypt's 26 governorates. To attempt to stop the spillover from the social to the political, the government issued Law 100 in 1993 to regulate elections within voluntary associations and tighten the control. 67 Egypt continues to be a state-based system, controlled by the top executive, representative of hydraulic societies and centralized political authority. After initially limiting the president's mandate to two six-year periods in the 1971 constitution, the 1980 constitutional amendment lifted this restriction. Egypt's presidents can thus be continually reelected. Moreover, political competition-the essence of democracy-stops in Egypt before reaching the top executive post. Under both one-party and multiparty rule, there was only one candidate for the presidency: Nasser, Sadat, then Mubarak. In the case of this latter, there is not yet a vice president to succeed the president through a regular power transfer in case of emergency. State-supremacy notwithstanding, what general conclusions can we draw from this Egyptian case, with its tug-of-war between a dominant executive and an increasingly affirmative civil socity? For democratization to go beyond ta'addudiyya and be effective, it has to deepen and cope with three stumbling blocks: (1) weakness of political parties, both government and opposition; (2) political apathy; and (3) demonstration for the people in the street, of the "worth" of democratization for dealing with glaring socioeconomic issues such as the income gap and unemployment. 1. Healthy multipartyism should lead to regular power transfer among the parties, but this is not yet the case in Egypt. The NDP is best described as a government party established from the top by the executive. It is mostly financed by the state and monopolizes radio, television, and other official mass media organs. This visibility, in

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addition to its close association with the state, empowers it to provide social services and deliver on promises, thus increasing its relative credibility. The other side of the coin is that because the party has it relatively easy, it has not developed as an effective mass party. It is too centralized, with a barely changing political leadership incapable of performing the elementary functions of a mass political party. For instance, on more than one occasion the party's chosen candidates were defeated in competition with dissidents standing as Independents.68 In fact, the increasing number of independent candidates reveals not only NDP weakness but weakness of all opposition parties as well. The percentage of party candidates has been in continuous decline, from 45.3 percent in 1976 to 35.8 percent in 1979 to 20.21 percent in 1990 to 19 percent in the last elections in 1995.69 Obviously, the opposition parties have their own problems.?O First, they are very personalized organizations. The actual head of the major opposition party-the Wafd-was its secretary-general in the 1940s. Khalid Muhieddin-an original Free Officer-has headed the Progressive Unionist Party since its establishment in 1976. Many parties or political organizations are controlled by the sons of former leaders, such as Sayf al-Islam Hassan al-Banna and Ma'mun al-Hudaybi, sons of the successive supreme guides of the Muslim Brotherhood. Parties are akin to family clubs, lacking renewal. Second, the number of members in almost all political parties is still treated as a well-guarded secret. They lack both transparency and membership. Third, parties often change policies without any mass discussion, and some express contrasting visions at the same time. The Liberal Party is probably an extreme case, but it has as many as 21 newspapers talking in its name, expressing views ranging from Nasserist to Islamist. The party is fragmented in reality, if not formally.71 Things will not change soon, for the parties lack any mechanism for political recruitment and mobilization, especially among the young-the majority of the Egyptian population. The parties seem to lack even the strategy for getting out of the impasse. The result is a lack of credibility among opposition parties, a situation that sometimes pushes them to be irresponsible, thereby adding to their lack of credibility. Thus many parties-because they have no viable option to govern-exaggerate program promises (the promise to liberate Jerusalem by a party whose membership is not more than 300).72 It is this problem-as much as governmental backtracking on the democratization process and harassment of the opposition-that explains the occasional stagnation of the democratization process. The fear is that this stagnation can transform into dangerous decay incapable of guaranteeing mass commitment and backing.

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2. In the five elections that have taken place since 1976, of those registered to vote, a maximum of 50 percent actually voted (1976, 40 percent; 1984, 47.7 percent; 1987, 50.42 percent; 1990, 40 percent; and 1995, 50 percent). If those registered to vote are about 50 percent of those eligible to vote, this means that about 25 percent of the voting-age population actually voted, and 75 percent chose not to.73 More revealing is the level of voting behavior in Cairo, which was much less than the national average. In the 1987 election in Cairo North, 16 percent of those registered actually voted; in Cairo South, 11.4 percent; and in Cairo East, 14.8 percent. The highest level was in one of the popular areas of old Cairo, Sayyida Zeinab, where 19.8 percent voted.74 The Cairo average in the 1995 elections was 13 percent of those registered to vote.75 In other words, about 93 percent of the Cairenes chose not to practice their right to vote in legislative elections. 3. Such apathy is more persistent and even dangerous when democracy is not deemed useful in remedying the most pressing problems. These are primarily socioeconomic, and the glaring gap between the increasingly impoverished majority and the ostentatious consumerism of a limited minority is even more visible. Foreign banks have deposits of as much as U.S. $112 billion of Egyptians' money, while the average per capita income in Egypt is still less than U.S. $800.76 If this glaring income gap continues or grows, is there the danger of an increasing number of people associating economic and political liberalization with social injustice? Added to this relatively new problem is the chronic one of unemployment (as much as 40 percent among university graduates four years after their graduation). Unless a structural solution is found, the problem will only be aggravated-not only because of new entries into the labor market but also because of the return of Egyptian expatriates from oil-producing countries. Between 1984 and 1987, Egyptian returnees were estimated at about 1,792,100.77 The number of returnees is bound to increase because of the policy to "indigenize" the labor force in many oil-producing countries (e.g., in Libya and some Gulf countries the rate of reduction of foreign labor increased more than fivefold between 1974 and 1986).78 But compared to other one-party regimes in transition (Algeria's continued breakdown) or "predemocratic" ones (the stagnant Iraqi or even the Syrian regime), Egypt's democratization is functioning. Even during presidential election campaigns, opposition parties popularized their ideas in the press, objecting to some of Mubarak's policies and urging more political reform coupled with renewal of the governing elite. Freedom of speech and of the press is largely assured, as well as the increasing role of the judiciary and rule of law-aU important indicators of the progress of the democra-

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tization process. Egypt remains a maturing rather than a mature democracy.

Notes During the writing of this chapter, a few very insightful specialists on the Egyptian political system granted precious help. Ali Dessouki, Kamal al-Menufi, and Mustafa K. Al-Sayyid gave me their most recent publications, which proved to be mines of information hardly available in this form anywhere else. Amani Kandil, of the Center for Social and Criminological Research, passed me her text on the democratization process in Egypt, and 'Abd al-Mon'im Said, director of the AlAhram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, put at my disposal some of the very useful publications of the center, including the indispensable Arab Strategic Yearbook. 1. Gamal Himdan, Egypt's Identity (Cairo: Dar al-Hilal, 1970) (the author develops his geography-based Egyptian identity in four volumes of more than 2,000 pages [in Arabic]); Michael Mann, The Sources of Social Power, vol. 1 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1986), pp. 1-178, and Vol. 2 (1993), pp. 44-91, 214-253, 723-793; Sadeq Saad, Social and Economic History of Egypt (in the framework of the Asiatic Mode of Production) (Beirut: Ibn Khaldun, 1979) (in Arabic); Karl A. Wittfogel, Oriental Despotism (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1957). 2. Nazih Ayubi, The Centralized State in Egypt (Beirut: Center for Arab Unity Studies, 1989) (in Arabic). 3. Amani Kandil, Civil Society in the Arab World (Washington, D.C., and Cairo: Civicus, 1994), p. 37. 4. Seymour Martin Lipset, "Some Social Requisites of Democracy: Economic Development and Political Legitimacy," American Political Science Review 53, 1 (1959), pp. 69-106, and Lipset, "The Social Requisites of Democracy Revisited," American Sociological Review 59 (February 1994). 5. Gamal 'Abd al-Nasser, La Charte Nationale (Cairo: Department of Information, 1962). 6. Yusuf al-Qaradawi, On the Jurisprudence of the State in Islam (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1997) (in Arabic). 7. Fahmi Huwaidi, Islam and Democracy (Cairo: Al-Ahram, Center for Translation and Publication, 1993) (in Arabic). 8. Tariq al-Bishri, The Contemporary Legal Situation Between Shari'a and Positivist Law (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1996); al-Bishri, What Is Modernity? (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1996); and al-Bishri, The General Traits of Islamic Political Thought in Contemporary History (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1996) (in Arabic). 9. Ahmad Kamal Abu al-Magd, The Dialogue of Confrontation (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1988); Abu al-Magad, A Contemporary Islamic Vision (Cairo: Dar alShuruq, 1993) (in Arabic). 10. Muhammad 'Emara; see, especially, Islam and the Philosophy of Rule (Beirut: Arab Foundation for Study and Publication, 1977); Islam and the Bases of Rule (Beirut: Arab Foundation for Study, 1972) (in Arabic); Schools of Islamic Thought (Cairo: Dar al-Mustaqbal al-'Arabi, 1983); The Fall of Secular Extremism (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1995) (in Arabic). 11. There are many others, for example, Muhammad Salim al-'Awa, On the

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Political System of the Islamic State (Cairo: Al-Maktab al-masri al-hadith, 1975); Khalid Muhammad Khalid, The State in Islam (Cairo: Dar Thabet, 1981); and Khalid, Memoirs: My Story with Life (Cairo: Dar akhbar al-yom, 1993). 12. For a tour d'horizon, Gilles Kepel, Le Prophete et Pharaon: Les mouvements islamistes dans !' Egypte contemporaine (Paris: La Decouverte, 1984); and for a much more recent analysis, Hala Mustafa, Political Islam in Egypt: From Reform to Violent Movements (Cairo: Al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1992); and especially the most thorough and recent survey, Nabil 'Abd alFattah and Diya' Rashan, eds., A Report on the State of Religion in Egypt (Cairo: Al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1996) (in Arabic). 13. Abu al-Magd, Dialogue, pp. 6-13. 14. Huwaidi, Islam and Democracy, pp. 23, 43, 45, 50. 15. Emara, Schools of Islamic Thought. 16. Al-Qaradawi, On the Jurisprudence. 17. Huwaidi, Islam and Democracy, pp. 64-70. 18. Ibid., pp. 78-85, 160-163; and Qaradawi, On the Jurisprudence, pp. 47-160. 19. Al-'Awa, On the Political System, p. 84. 20. Huwaidi, Islam and Democracy, pp. 97-102. 21. Ibid., pp. 114-120. 22. Mayo Newspaper, 4 May 1981, as reproduced in the documentary in Ali E. Hilal Dessouki M. K. El-Sayed, and I. Badr-Eddin, The Democratic Experience in Egypt 1970-1980 (Cairo: The Arab Center for Research and Publication, 1982), pp. 161-162. 23. During these 16 years of one-party rule, following the 1922-1952 multiparty period, three successive monopolistic organizations were set up: the Liberation Rally (1953-1956), the National Union (1957-1961), and lastly the Arab Socialist Union (1962-1976). The principle of a single political organization aimed to put order in the whole political process: that is, to control it. Control there was, and it put an end to public political competition and alteration of power. The control extended also to civil society associations; some were dissolved (e.g., journalists', lawyers') and others were co-opted (e.g., trade unions). It was the establishment of the corporatist pattern in which almost every political activity was controlled from the top. On corporatism, see James M. Malloy, ed., Authoritarianism and Corporatism in Latin America (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1977), especially chap. 1, pp. 3-19, chap. 15 by David and Ruth Collier, pp. 489-512; Philippe Schmitter, "Still the Century of Corporatism," The Review of Politics 36, 1 (January 1974), pp. 85-121. This militarized process reduced politics to pure administration in a bureaucratic-authoritarian state. Ilya Harik, "The Single Party as a Subordinate Movement," World Politics 26 (1973), pp. 80-105; James Heaphey, "The Organization of Egypt: Inadequacies of a Non-Political Model for NationBuilding," World Politics 18 (1966), pp. 177-193. The most detailed analysis in English is still John Waterbury, The Egypt of Nasser and Sadat (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1983); and in Arabic, Ass 'ad 'Abd al-Rahman, Nasserism: A Revolution in Bureaucracy or a Bureaucratic Revolution (Kuwait: Kuwait University Press, 1977); Tariq al-Bishri, Democracy and the Twenty-Third of July Regime: 1952-1970 (Cairo: Dar al-Hilal, n.d.). There was confusion between political participation and political mobilization, and no clear line separated party from government (similar to the failures of the FLN in Algeria). Government bureaucrats dominated both organs. Distinct political forces shied away from airing differences with the executive, even within the National Assembly

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(there were four during this period: July 1957-February 1958; July 1960-June 1961; March 1964-April 1968; January 1969-July 1971). In this atmosphere of increasing political apathy, only the weight of Nasser's charismatic appeal made the regime's populist ideology credible and kept the system going. The standard analysis on Nasserist charisma and ideology is still R. Hrair Dekmejian, Egypt under Nasser (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1971). But then came the 1967 Six-Day War that shook Egyptian society and politics to their very core, Nasser's charisma notwithstanding. The regime's answer to the defeat's delegitimizing repercussions was the attempt to liberalize the regime through the 1968 March Manifesto. This manifesto was the regime's attempt to halt its own decay, as we shall see in the section on the reasons for the transition to multipartyism. 24. For a tracing of the process through different liberal laws, see Mark Cooper, The Transformation of Egypt (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982), pp. 91-142. 25. Cairo, Department of State, 1974. 26. "Reflections on the Nasser Period," interview with M. H. Haykal, AlSha'b, 12 January 1981. 27. Dessouki, Democratic Experience, pp. 32-36; see also Dessouki, The Evolution of Egypt's Political System 1803-1997 (Cairo: Center for Political Research and Studies, Cairo University, 1997), pp. 197-204. 28. Dessouki, Evolution, pp. 197-204. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. Amani Kandil, The Democratization Process in Egypt (Cairo: Ibn Khaldun Center, 1995), pp. 7-8. 32. For the context and particular details of the arrests through a personal experience, see Muhammad Haykal, Autumn of Fury: The Assassination of Sadat (New York and London: Random House, 1983), pp. 227-241. 33. My calculations here are based on data in Dessouki, Evolution. For an overview, see Roger Owen, "Changement socio-economique et mobilisation politique: Le cas de l'Egypte," in Ghassan Salame, ed., Democraties sans democrates: Politiques d' ouverture dans le monde arabe et islamique (Paris: Fayard, 1994), pp. 255-277. 34. 'Ammar 'Ali Hassan, "The Performance of the Islamic Alliance in the People's Assembly," in Muhammad S. E. Kharboosh, ed., Political Evolution in Egypt 1982-1992 (Cairo: Center for Political Research and Studies, 1994), pp. 133160. 35. Muhammad al-Sayyid Sa'id, ed., The Arab Strategic Yearbook, 1995 (Cairo: al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1996), p. 386. 36. Hassan, "Performance of the Islamic Alliance." 37. Hamdi 'Abd al-Rahman, "Candidates in the 1995 Parliamentary Elections," in Kamal al-Menufi, ed., The 1995 Elections for the People's Assembly (Cairo: Faculty of Economics and Political Science/Friedrich Eibert Stiftung, 1996), pp. 75-121. For a very solid analysis of the elections context, see, in the same volume, the first two chapters by Nevine Musa'ad, "The Electoral Context and Its Issues," pp. 15-40; and "An Analysis of the Political Parties' Electoral Programs," pp. 41-73. 38. Salwa Goma'a, "Analysis of the Election Results," in Kamal al-Menufi, The 1995 Elections for the People's Assembly (Cairo: Faculty of Economics and Political Science/Friedrich Eibert Stiftung, 1996), pp. 149-163. 39. Goma'a, "Analysis."

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40. Nasr 'Arif, "Managing the Political Campaign," in Kamal al-Menufi, The 1995 Elections for the People's Assembly (Cairo: Faculty of Economics and Political Science/Friedrich Eibert Stiftung, 1996), pp. 123-147. 41. Hassanin Tawfik Ibrahim, "Egypt's 1995 Parliamentary Elections: Electoral Violence and the Culture of Violence," Al-Mustaqbal al- 'Arabi 206 (April 1996), pp. 4-22. For a general analysis of the 1976-1990 patterns, see Ibrahim, "Collective Protest and Political Violence," in Mustafa al-Sayyid, ed. (in collaboration with K. Al-Manufi), The Truth About Political Pluralism in Egypt (Cairo: Madbuli Bookshop, 1996), pp. 279-336. 42. Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society (London: Macmillan, 1987); Robert Gilpin, War and Change in international Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981). 43. Paul Kennedy, The Rise and Fall of the Great Powers: Economic Change and Military Conflict from 1500 to 2000 (London: Fontana Press, 1988). 44. Jack A. Goldstone, Revolution and Rebellion in the Early Modern World (Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1991 ). 45. David Armstrong, Revolution and World Order (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1993); and especially Thierry Gongora, The Impact of War and War Preparation on State Formation in the Third World: Four Case Studies from the Middle East, Ph.D. dissertation, Carleton University, Ottawa, 1995. 46. Fu'ad Karam, ed., Egyptian Cabinets, vol. 1: 1878-1953 (Cairo: al-Hay'at al- 'ama lil-kitab, 1994). 47. Ramzi Mikhail, Politics and the Press in Egypt: From the 1967 June Defeat to the 1973 October Victory (Cairo: Al-Hay'at al-'ama lil-kitab, 1995). 48. Ministry of National Guidance, "The 30th of March Program: Explanation and Analysis," Cairo, Department of Information, 1968. 49. Waterbury, The Egypt of Nasser and Sadat, pp. 307-358. 50. Gamal Seleem, The Secret Organization of the I952 Revolution: Nasser's Vanguard Organization (Cairo: Madbuli Bookshop, 1982). 51. Cooper, The Transformation of Egypt, p. 31. 52. Anwar al-Sadat, In Search of Identity: An Autobiography (London: Collins, 1978), p. 209. 53. 'AbdAllah Imam, Ali Sabri Remembers (Beirut: al-Wihda, 1988). 54. Sadat, In Search of Identity; Musa Sabry, The May 197I Documents (Cairo: al-Maktab al-Masri al-Hadith, 1977) (in Arabic); 'Abd Allah Imam, The May Putsch: The Full Story (Cairo: Dar al- Mustaqbal al-' Arabi, 1983) (in Arabic); Fu'ad Mattar, The Status of Nasserism in Sadat's Republic: Secrets of the Downfall of Nasserist Pillars (Beirut: Dar al-Nahar, 1972). 55. Haykal, Autumn of Fury, p. 116. 56. See Bahgat Korany, Egypt's Dependent Development and Foreign Policy Change (forthcoming). 57. Sadat, In Search of Identity, pp. 271-313. 58. For a synthesis about Egyptian civil society in English, see Mustafa Kamel al-Sayyid, "A Civil Society in Egypt?" Middle East Journal 42, 2 (Spring 1993), pp, 228-242; Robert Bianchi, Unruly Corporatism: Associational Life in 20th Century Egypt (New York: Oxford University Press, 1989), especially chaps. 3, 4, 5, and 6; Raymond Baker, Sadat and After: Struggles for Egypt's Political Soul (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1990); Dennis J. Sullivan, Private Voluntary Organizations in Egypt (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1994). The most detailed and probably definitive empirical study is the 1,000-page volume by Amani

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Kandil and Sarah Ben Nafissa, Civil Society Associations in Egypt (Cairo: al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1995) (in Arabic). 59. Kandil and Ben Nafissa, Civil Society, pp. 14, 225-263. 60. Ibid., pp. 90-102. 61. Ibid., pp. 251-260. 62. Ibid., p. 255. 63. Ibid., pp. 254-257. 64. Ibid., p. 102. 65. Al-Ahram, 9 September 1988, 14 May 1990, quoted in ibid. 66. Al-Sayyid Sa'id, Arab Strategic Yearbook, 1995, p. 411. 67. Ibid., p. 434. Associations whose boards are Islamist-dominated (e.g., associations of engineers, doctors, scientists, and lawyers) protested vehemently against government attempts at control. The deterioration of government-association relations resulted in a stalemate that meant that some board elections were postponed. This even led to violent confrontations (e.g., the cases of the lawyers', the engineers', and the doctors' associations). In other cases, there was accommodation; the journalists' association's elections took place in 1995 under the supervision of 30 judges. 68. Salah S. Zamuka, "Political Party Competition in Egypt 1976-1992," in Muhammad S. E. Kharboosh, Political Evolution in Egypt 1982-1992 (Cairo: Center for Political Research and Studies, 1994), pp. 269-303 (in Arabic). 69. Ahmad Faris 'Abd al-Mun'im, "The Role of Egyptian Political Parties in Political Development," unpublished paper submitted to the "Conference on Political Parties and Development in the Arab World," Center for the Study of Developing Countries, Faculty of Economic and Political Science, Cairo University, December 1996. 70. Al-Sayyid Sa'id, Arab Strategic Yearbook, 1994, pp. 376-381. 71. Ibid., p. 489. 72. Hamdi 'Abd al-Rahman, "Performance of the People's Assembly and the Relationship Between the Legislative and the Executive," in Muhammad S. E. Kharboosh, Political Evolution in Egypt 1982-1992 (Cairo: Center for Political Research and Studies, 1994), pp. 73-132 (in Arabic). 73. Goma'a, "Analysis." The available data on voting behavior in Egypt raise an anomaly. For instance, according to accepted studies of political sociology and voting behavior, the increase in voting behavior is correlated with the degree of urbanization, income, and education levels. But the Egyptian data raise some questions in this respect. 74. 'Amre Al-Shubki, "The State and the Party-System in Egypt," in Muhammad E. Kharboosh, ed., Political Evolution in Egypt, 1982-1992 (Cairo: Center for Political Research and Studies, Cairo University, 1994), pp. 239-268. 75. Goma'a, "Analysis." 76. Muhammad H. Haykal, Dialogue on Egypt and the Twenty-First Century (Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1995), p. 39. 77. Amani Mass'ud, "The Political Dimension of the Return of Egypt's Expatriate Labor," in Muhammad S. E. Kharboosh, Political Evolution in Egypt, 1982-1992 (Cairo: Center for Political Research and Studies, Cairo University, 1994), pp. 599--630 (in Arabic). 78. Mass'ud, "Political Dimension."

4

The Politics of Monarchical Liberalism: Jordan Rex Brynen

On 8 November 1989, Jordan held its first parliamentary elections since 1967. Thereafter, the government moved to rescind martial law, relegalize political parties (banned since 1957), end censorship, and introduce new press legislation. In June 1991, a new National Charter-committing the country to "political pluralism" and "the democratic option"-was adopted. Certainly, the degree of democratization represented by all this remained sharply limited, given the continuing realities of royal power. Nonetheless, such developments did mark a striking political change in Jordan, with the country proceeding along the path of political liberalization faster (and perhaps farther) than any other country in the Arab world. This remarkable rate and degree of political opening in recent years in and of itself makes Jordan worthy of further study. Above and beyond this, however, several other factors make the case of particular interest. First, Jordan represents a case of liberalization in a monarchical regime. Such political systems-increasingly rare in the modern world, but disproportionately found in the Middle East-have largely been ignored in most of the existing literature on Third World democratization. Upon what foundations is the power of the Hashemite monarchy built, and to what extent have these been affected by the liberalization process? What survival mechanisms does King Hussein have available to preserve monarchical power, and with what effect has he employed these? How might a post-Hussein era alter the liberalization process? And what general lessons does this suggest about liberalization in monarchical political systems? Second, Jordan has long been dependent on external rents-foreign aid and workers' remittances-to sustain significant portions of its budget and economy. The sharp decline in these external resource flows in the 1980s, as well as the growing burden of Jordan's external indebtedness, presents a possible linkage between political economy and political opening to explore. 1 To what extent was the economic crisis of the late 1980s a factor

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in the regime's initiation of political liberalization in 1989? How have economic pressures shaped the unfolding process of political liberalization? Third, Jordan provides an example of political liberalization in a divided society. Prior to 1948, the major divisions shaping political life in Transjordan were tribal. Since 1948, the real or potential cleavage between "East Bank" Jordanians and those of Palestinian origin has profoundly shaped domestic politics. Moreover, because of both its large Palestinian population and its geographic location, Jordan has been particularly sensitive to the repercussions of the Arab-Israeli conflict. How has the "Palestinian factor" shaped the nature of political opening in Jordan? How is it likely to do so in the future, especially in light of the Arab-Israeli peace process? More generally, to what extent do domestic cleavages and sensitivity to transnational political influences constrain liberalization and democratization? Finally, the partial nature of Jordan's political opening raises important questions about the momentum of political reform. To what extent does the Jordanian parliament (and through it, the public at large) exercise real influence over public policy? What are the primary constraints on the continued expansion of effective political participation, and under what conditions might these be overcome? In short, how does the Jordanian case illuminate the problem of moving beyond the initial stages of political liberalization to "deepen" political democratization?2

The Political Development of Jordan: A Historical Overview Although Jordan is a relatively new country, it is also a country of considerable political continuity, as evidenced by more than seven decades of rule by the Hashemite monarchy and more than four decades under its present king, Hussein bin Talal. Consequently, in order to understand its present political dynamics, it is important to know something of its past. Transjordan was established as a League of Nations Mandate under British control in 1921, with Emir 'Abdullah bin Hussein as local ruler. After unsuccessful efforts to draft provisions for a legislature in 19231924, a quasi-constitutional Organic Law was adopted in 1928. In early 1929, indirect elections were held for a partly elected, partly appointed Legislative Council with limited powers.3 Between 1928 and 1933, a series of National Conferences (consisting largely of urban nationalist intellectuals and some tribal notables) called for independence from Britain and more representative and responsible political institutions within the framework of a constitutional monarchy. Neither Britain nor 'Abdullah was

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enthusiastic about devolving too much authority to the legislature, however, which remained subservient to royal and mandatory power. In 1946, Transjordan formally acquired independence. With this, a new constitution and electoral law were adopted. These provided for direct elections to the lower house (majlis al-nuwwab, or Chamber of Deputies) of parliament, with a Senate filled by appointment. The power of 'Abdullahnow titled "King"-remained largely unaffected. Following the first Arab-Israeli war in 1948, 'Abdullah moved to annex Jordanian-controlled Palestinian territories on the West Bank of the Jordan River. Following petitions from (Hashemite-sponsored) congresses of Palestinian notables in Amman and Jericho in October and December 1948 and parliamentary approval the following year, the union of the (Transjordanian) East Bank and (Palestinian) West Bank was duly proclaimed in April 1950. With this also came legal and constitutional change: Citizenship and voting rights were extended to West Bank Palestinians, and half the seats in the Chamber of Deputies were set aside for West Bank members. Transjordanians, and particularly the rural and tribal population, remained the bedrock of Hashemite support, however. The electoral system disadvantaged Palestinians (who now comprised two-thirds of Jordan's population), and the ranks of the government, civil service, and especially the army were disproportionately filled with East Bankers. Following 'Abdullah's assassination by a Palestinian nationalist in July 1951, his son Talal acceded to the throne. Although subsequently removed through special parliamentary resolution in August 1952 on the grounds of mental illness, his short reign was noteworthy for the introduction of a new constitution. In May 1953, Hussein bin Talal succeeded his father to the throne. Through the 1950s, Jordan-like other parts of the Arab world-was affected by growth of radical Arab nationalism. This was particularly true among Palestinians, dissatisfied with what was seen as Jordan's passive stance in the Arab-Israeli conflict. As in 'Abdullah's day, both legal measures and electoral manipulation were used to blunt the growth of political opposition. 4 Although such measures were largely successful in the 1954 elections, however, the October 1956 elections produced, for the first time, a lower house made up primarily of representatives from formal political parties. Following the 1956 elections, King Hussein appointed Sulayman alNabulsi of the National Socialist Party as prime minister of a leftistnationalist coalition government. Not surprisingly, al-Nabulsi's cabinet soon found itself at odds with the king over foreign policy and other issues.s InApril1957 Hussein dismissed al-Nabulsi. The downfall of the al-Nabulsi government triggered a more general

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political crisis. Opposition groups called for a general strike. Arab nationalist officers within the army mounted an apparent coup attempt. The king responded by declaring martial law. Political parties were banned, conspirators were arrested (although many were also subsequently pardoned), and the mukhabarat (intelligence services) strengthened. Martial law was formally lifted 19 months later. Parliament was reconvened in October 1957, although-chastened by the arrest or flight of some of its leading activist members and manipulated by the king-in very much tamed form. A new parliament was elected in 1961, under the watchful eye of the palace and security forces. Although freer conditions were allowed in new elections in 1962, these produced enough independently minded deputies that the experiment was not repeated in subsequent parliamentary elections in 1963 and 1967. In June 1967 the Arab-Israeli conflict once again shaped Jordan's political development, with the disastrous Six-Day War resulting in the loss of the West Bank (including East Jerusalem) to Israeli occupation. Some 300,000 Palestinians fled to the East Bank at this time, joining the 1948 refugees and further reshaping its demographic balance. Martial law, declared at the outset of war in June 1967, continued through the 1970s and 1980s. Because no elections could be held in the West Bank, the life of the 1967 parliament was extended. The war also boosted the appeal of Palestinian nationalism, which had been growing since the early 1960s (as marked by the formation of the Palestine Liberation Organization [PLO] in 1964) and was now given new impetus by the rapid post -1967 growth of militant Palestinian guerrilla organizations. As the power of the Palestinian guerrillas mounted within Jordan itself, the Hashemite monarchy itself appeared to be at risk. Finally, Hussein used the loyal East Bank core of the army to move against the PLO in the Black September of 1970. By the following year, resistance had been crushed, the PLO had been ejected from Jordan, and the mukhabarat remained ever vigilant.6 Despite this, Hussein lost the broader battle against Palestinian nationalism, both in the West Bank and in the international arena. Marking this, the Rabat Summit of the Arab League formally declared the PLO to be the "sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people" in October 1974. After the Rabat declaration, Hussein suspended parliament altogether. In its place, a complex system of royal decrees, regional military governors, and special security courts came to provide much of the administrative and judicial framework of the Jordanian political system into the 1980s. Parliament was briefly called back in 1976, but only to take the necessary legal steps to postpone elections indefinitely. In 1978 an appointed Consultative Council was established, but it was ineffective as an institution of political representation.

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In January 1984 King Hussein announced his decision to reactivate parliament.? By-elections were held in 1984 and again in 1986 for those seats that had become vacant since 1967. This, however, did not presage any real expansion of civil and democratic rights. Political parties continued to be banned, press freedoms continued to be restricted, the mukhabarat continued to harass regime opponents, and the government continued to intervene to influence electoral outcomes. With a few exceptions, the traditional notables who comprised the bulk of parliament's members remained as politically quiescent as ever. In July 1988 parliament was once more dismissed by the king as a prelude to his announcement that Jordan would disengage from its administrative role in the occupied West Bank.s

Political Liberalization In April 1989 government austerity measures triggered rioting in southern Jordan. Shortly thereafter, parliamentary elections were promised for November. When these were held, they proved to be perhaps the freest and fairest in the country's history, with 647 candidates competing for the 80 seats in the Chamber of Deputies. Because candidates did not run under party auspices and because subsequent parliamentary blocs proved relatively fluid, it is impossible to perfectly categorize the winners. Nonetheless, the success of Islamist candidates was particularly striking; they won roughly 33 seats (22 of these going to candidates associated with the Muslim Brotherhood). A diverse group of leftist and Arab nationalist candidates won another dozen seats, and the remainder went to conservative traditionalists and pro-regime centrists.9 In the aftermath of the 1989 elections, King Hussein nominated Mudar Badran as prime minister. That decision was endorsed by the Chamber of Deputies in a vote of confidence, but not until after significant debate. Later, Badran was succeeded as premier by Tahir al-Masri (July 1991-November 1991), Zayd bin Shakir (November 1991-May 1993), and 'Abd al-Salam al-Majali (May 1993November 1993). The term of the 1989 parliament extended until 1993, at which time it was dissolved by the king, and new elections were held in November. By this time, political parties had been legalized. Nevertheless, independents still comprised a majority of the 559 candidates. The election results saw both Islamists and the left lose ground to centrist and traditionalist candidates.lO Following the election, Zayd bin Shakir was again asked to form a government, later followed by 'Abd al-Karim Kabariti (February 1996March 1997) and 'Abd al-Salam al-Majali once more (March 1997November 1997). Jordan's third postliberalization elections were held on

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schedule in November 1997. Conservative tribal and independent proregime candidates won the overwhelming majority of seats; many opposition political parties boycotted the election to protest government policy, including a perceived lack of support for democratization. Much of the public seemed to share this view: Only 55 percent of electoral cardholders (around 40.7 percent of potential voters) bothered to cast a ballot.ll Once again, al-Majali was named by the king as prime minister.

What: Democratic Discourse and Monarchical Praxis in Jordan Since 1989 the Jordanian regime has made pluralism, human rights, and democratic development a rhetorical cornerstone of both its domestic and foreign policies. Evidence for this can be seen in the establishment of local branches of the Arab Organization for Human Rights and Amnesty International; the convening of frequent conferences on democracy in Jordan; and the creation, under royal patronage, of the Center for Freedom, Democracy, and Human Rights Studies. The speeches of King Hussein are replete with references to Jordan's "democratic march" and the fundamental importance of "freedom, democracy and respect for human rights."12 The 1952 constitution, and even more so the 1991 National Charter, contain many democratic elements. Yet analysis of both the constitution and the charter reveal a balancing act-and often a deep contradictionbetween liberal-democratic principles and parliamentary institutions on the one hand and monarchical power and authoritarianism on the other.

The Constitution Jordan-like Kuwait, Bahrain, and Morocco, but in sharp contrast to Saudi Arabia and most Gulf emirates-is a constitutional and parliamentary monarchy. The existence of a constitution, of course, has not necessarily constrained royal power or resulted in an effective parliament. At the same time, however, the constitution has been much more than a meaningless piece of paper, shaping the evolution of Jordanian politics and political liberalization in a number of important ways. Under the terms of the first, 1946 constitution of Transjordan, all authority was vested in King 'Abdullah. In contrast, the 1952 constitution declared that "the nation is the source of all powers" (Article 24), with executive power vested in the king (Article 25), legislative power vested in the king and the legislature (Article 26), and judicial power exercised by an independent judiciary answerable only to the law (Articles 27, 97). Guarantees were provided for freedom of opinion and the right to free association,

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including political parties (Article 16).13 The power of the legislature was expanded: Legislation must be approved by both the upper and lower houses, and-if the king refused royal assent-his veto could be overridden by a combined two-thirds majority of both houses (Article 93). The Chamber of Deputies was also empowered to force the resignation of ministers through a vote of no-confidence (Article 53). At the same time, the constitution also set forth the legal foundations for continuing strong executive (and royal) power: The king was empowered to appoint and dismiss ministers (Article 35), appoint and dismiss members of the Senate (Article 36), and dissolve parliament and call for new elections (Article 34). The king may also declare martial law and rule by decree in times of emergency (Article 125).14 Overall, the balance of Jordanian political development has always tilted toward monarchical power. This was particularly evident before 1989: Of various previous parliamentary elections, only those of 1956 and 1962 were relatively free, and in neither case did the regime prove willing to accept much independence from either parliament or the cabinet. Indeed, since the ill-fated al-Nabulsi episode, King Hussein has studiously avoided any indication that he is bound by parliamentary election results in choosing either prime minister or cabinet. 15 Most dramatically, the king has been prepared-when faced with domestic or international challenges to the Hashemite monarchy-to dissolve or suspend parliament, using his various emergency powers in its place. Despite this, Jordan's kings have generally endeavored to maintain the appearance (and often more than the appearance) of constitutionalism. King 'Abdullah, for example, did not annex the West Bank until the way was prepared by parliamentary resolution. King Talal's abdication was attained through a resolution of the National Assembly. In 1956, Hussein secured al-Nabulsi's resignation within the framework of the constitution and subsequently invoked his constitutional powers to declare martial law. The latter have also been used to provide a legal character to a broad range of measures that might otherwise seem to violate constitutional protections and guarantees-indeed, it was with this in mind that the appropriate provisions were placed in the constitution in the first place. King Hussein was careful to provide various post-1967 suspensions and reactivations of parliament with a constitutional foundation, even if sometimes after the fact. In the post-1989 period, both the constitution itself and a legacy of Jordanian constitutionalism will play a central role in defining the legal terrain upon which the ebb and flow of liberalization is played out. To date, the palace rather than parliament has manipulated this to fullest advantage, as the prelude to the 1993 and 1997 elections made clear.t6 Still, the active character of parliamentary debates and some signs of judicial independence point to the continuing importance of the constitutional context,l7

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The National Charter As noted earlier, a prominent element of Jordan's post-1989 political liberalization has been the National Charter (al-mithaq al-watani). The charter was drawn up by a Royal Commission, carefully appointed by the king in April 1990 to reflect virtually every significant political force in the country. IS The charter is important in two respects. First, it effectively represents a consensus statement-by the king and parliamentarians, tribal notables and urban elites, East Bankers and Palestinians, conservatives, liberals, leftists, nationalists, and Islamists-on the political rules of the game under liberalization. Second, it is far more explicit than is the constitution in its endorsement of democratic politics. Following an introduction (providing an agreed-upon common account of Jordan's political development), the charter is divided into eight chapters: on the purposes of the charter; on Jordan as a state governed by "law and political pluralism"; on national security; on the economy; on social affairs; on culture, education, science, and information; on JordanianPalestinian relations; and on international relations.19 As its first principle, the charter declares that "the system of government in the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan is parliamentary, monarchic and hereditary." Subsequently, it also calls for "strengthening the foundations of a state governed by the supremacy of law and firming up the democratic process based on political pluralism." In this respect it declares that "respect for the mind, belief in dialogue, recognition for the right of others to disagree, respect for the opinion of others, tolerance, and rejection of political and social violence are basic characteristics of Jordanian society" and that "political, party and intellectual pluralism is the means of strengthening democracy and ensuring participation by the Jordanian people in administering the affairs of the state."ZO Men and women are recognized as "equal under the law," and distinctions on the basis of race, language, or religion are rejected. However, Islam is recognized as "the religion of the state" and Islamic law as "the principal source of legislation." The charter also calls for the establishment of a constitutional court. Both the court and parliament would exercise oversight over any invocation of emergency law. A significant portion of the charter concerns the requirements for political parties, something that the regime insisted upon prior to the introduction of the 1992 Law on Political Parties. According to chapter 2 of the charter, parties must be peaceful and their goals compatible with the constitution; they shall have Jordanian leadership and financing and not be supported by outside actors; they must be transparent and accountable in their internal structures; they shall not make use of religious, charitable, or state institutions for their own benefit; and they shall not form militias or recruit within the ranks of the armed forces. Both chapters 2 and 6 also discuss the

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mass media, upholding press freedoms (and pointing to the need to modify laws accordingly) but noting that these must be consistent with national security. Jordan's Democratic Discourse: Reading Between the Lines As noted earlier, the November 1989 elections brought unparalleled political liberalization and somewhat greater democratic input into executive decisionmaking. However, although the political supremacy of the palace has been rendered less visible by the more active role of parliament, it is clear that a fundamental transfer of power into elected hands has not yet occurred. The National Charter, with its emphasis on Jordan's status as a hereditary (albeit constitutional) monarchy and its endorsement of the country's current constitutional framework, clearly reflects the paradox. 21 Indeed, the charter was conceived as a document that would both uphold the monarchy and set the terms of cautious liberalization, thus allowing the king to act to discipline-on the basis of an accepted set of rules of the game-any opposition forces that strayed offside.22 The paradox between liberalization and monarchical power, and the constraints that it generates, are also clearly evident in the tolerated bounds of popular discourse. In the press the policies of the government of the day are, for the most part, fair game for comment and criticism. The policies of the king and the institution of the monarchy are not, however, appropriate subjects for comment in public, although they are a staple of social conversation.23 To the extent that governments are able to cloak their policies in the king's mantle, this may represent a subtle constraint on even parliamentary debate. 24 The security services are also beyond the "red line" of acceptable public discourse. Foreign policy represents a particularly ambiguous topic: Although international affairs are a beloved topic of newspaper columnists, criticism of Jordanian policy is often indirect and commentary on other countries often subordinate to Jordan's current foreign policy interests. Commentary that smacks of popular mobilization against Jordan's foreign policy is particularly risky, being seen by the authorities as a challenge to national security. Although repression as such is rare, clear signals are sent to individuals, groups, newspapers, or even parliamentarians who stray into forbidden territory. One notable case was the charges of sedition brought in 1993 against two Islamist parliamentarians, Layth al-Shubaylat and Ya'qub Qarash. Both were found guilty (on questionable evidence) of involvement in an armed plot, and subsequently pardoned by the king. Most understood the broader message that too much activism was an undesirable thing.25 Charges made against various newspapers for publishing trial testimony of torture by the security services or for criticizing other Arab regimes have

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been another clear case in point.26 The king's speeches themselves often contain veiled warnings to various groups. Thus it is not surprising that, although martial law has been terminated and the overt official censorship of the martial law era ended, there is a striking degree of self-censorship in the Jordanian mass media and public discussion.

Why? Explaining Recent Political Liberalization As noted earlier, Jordan's post-1989 political liberalization was striking for both its scope and rapidity. What accounts for this change? At least two interpretations can be offered, each placing different emphasis on the role of Jordan's April1989 austerity riots. The Establishment View: Liberalization as Political Maturation The first explanation-frequently offered by the regime itself-is that liberalization was both overdue and inevitable. In this view, Jordan was already endowed with traditional values of tolerance and pluralism. Although these had sometimes been overshadowed by the political tumult of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, the country had nonetheless managed, by virtue of both political culture and political leadership, to attain "an air of openmindedness and frankness not found elsewhere in the region. "27 During this period (and with notable exceptions in the mid-1950s and early 1970s) the "level of tolerance of the regime remain[ed] ... relatively high, and the state ... avoided the use of organized terror. "28 Indeed, rather than physically eliminating political opponents (a practice followed by most of his neighbors), the king proved adept at co-opting them, "thereby transforming a defeated opponent as a potential client rather than a potential avenger. "29 By the 1980s, Jordan had achieved a remarkable degree of political stability. Jordan's population had benefited from substantial socioeconomic development, which served to increase material well-being, sustain civil society, and improve the general education of Jordan's population. 3D Palestinian-East Bank tensions, which had exploded into civil war in 1970, had declined. Similarly, the specific circumstances that had given rise to the suspension of parliament-the 1967 war, the 1974 Rabat declaration-had become less salient over time, especially with the King's August 1988 declaration that Jordan would disengage from the West Bank. The 1967 parliament could not be indefinitely prolonged, even with the use of by-elections, and hence new parliamentary elections were needed. In this view, the 1989 austerity riots played little or no role in political opening.3I Rather, by November 1989 the time was simply ripe for liberalization.

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A Political Economy Explanation: Liberalization and the Crisis of Rentierism A rather different explanation of Jordan's 1989 political opening focuses on the role of economic factors. Throughout much of its history, and especially since the Arab "oil boom" in the early 1970s, Jordan has been characterized by a rentier economy, heavily dependent on external sources of revenue such as workers' remittances and petrodollar foreign aid. While the former buoyed the general economy, the latter went directly into state coffers, supporting state expenditures and reducing the need to extract revenue through domestic taxation. As a consequence of the latter, Jordan was able to distribute the neopatrimonial benefits of employment and state patronage through a large public sector (employing almost half the total labor force) and a variety of direct and indirect subsidies.32 In the early 1980s, oil prices declined, and the boom came to an end. The impact of this on Jordan was significant. The total value of grants received from Arab governments dropped from a peak of 415 million Jordanian dinars (JD) (U.S.$1,256 million) in 1981 to JD160 million (U.S.$427 million) in 1988. With state expenditures growing at around 6 percent per year, the result was that external grants fell from over one-third of state expenditures to less than one-fifth, and the annual budget deficit climbed to almost 10 percent of gross domestic product (GDP). Similarly, workers' remittances fell from a peak of JD476 million (U.S.$1,237 million) in 1984 to JD367 million (U.S.$980 million) in 1988. As economic growth slowed and growing numbers of expatriate workers returned from the Gulf, unemployment also began to rise.33 Politically unwilling to reduce spending or impose austerity measures, the government borrowed increasing amounts of money from foreign lenders. In the 1980s Jordan's external public debt increased sixfold, reaching JD3.7 billion (U.S.$9.8 billion) by 1988-an amount representing almost twice the country's total GDP. It was in this context that, in the spring of 1989, the government was finally forced to seek U.S.$275 million in standby credits from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and assistance in rescheduling its foreign debts. As part of the deal, it agreed to a five-year economic stabilization program. Under this, it would adopt more prudent borrowing policies, strengthen foreign reserves, tighten credit policies, and improve the current account balance. It also pledged to reform the tax system and reduce its budget deficit.3 4 The latter, of course, required sharp reductions in state expenditures. Despite IMF pressure, the government was reluctant to cut subsidies on bread, sugar, rice, and milk. On 16 April, however, it decreed price increases for beverages, cigarettes, cooking gas, gasoline, diesel, and kerosene.35

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These measures provoked widespread protest. Rioting erupted on 18 April in and around the southern Tranjordanian towns of Ma'an, al-Karak, and al-Tafilah. They later spread to Salt, only 24 kilometers west of the capital. Eight persons were killed and hundreds detained before public order was restored. The protesters had called for a reversal of the price hikes and support for smaller farmers and others affected by the economic recession. While pledging loyalty to the king, they had denounced economic inequalities and corruption and demanded the resignation of Prime Minister Zayd Rifa'i. Calls for economic reform were taken up in anonymous pamphlets, in appeals by community leaders, and by the urban professional organizations, who added to them calls for greater political freedom and participation.36 King Hussein hurried back to Jordan from a visit to Washington. A few days later he accepted the prime minister's resignation. Choosing Political Reform

The eruption of protest caught the regime (and its security services) by surprise, as did the demands for greater political participation that were now being put forward. Particularly shocking was the fact that the riots had occurred not among urban Palestinians but rather among the very East Bank population that was the primary political pillar of the Hashemite monarchy. In the wake of the riots, the regime faced three uncertain and unpalatable alternatives. It could annul the economic stabilization program-a move that, given Jordan's economic crisis, would have at best postponed the day of reckoning at the risk of future economic collapse. Alternatively, it could seek to enforce acceptance of the new economic realities through greater authoritarianism. To do so, however, would require that repressive measures be taken against a heretofore loyal East Bank population. Finally, King Hussein could embark on a cautious program of political liberalization and political opening intended to offer greater political freedom and political participation in exchange for popular and elite acceptance of the stabilization program. Reflecting these dilemmas, the regime's initial response was uncertain. In the immediate wake of the riots, Crown Prince Hasan admitted that Jordan could not sustain the painful medicine of economic stabilization without political liberalization. Yet while promising future parliamentary elections, he also complained that Jordanian parliamentarians tended to be too "political" in their discussion of economic policy.37 Hussein demonstrated a similar ambiguity. In his letter of appointment to incoming Prime Minister Zayd bin Shakir, the king called upon the government to end favoritism and corruption, implement economic reforms, and prepare for "a

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return to parliamentary life." But he also called for the restoration of "security and public order," the "rectification" and "reprofessionalization" of the role of Jordan's professional organizations and a halt to the "politicization of religion."38 Moreover, in promising elections the king stressed that "in light of the electoral law, there will be some restrictions."39 In fact, the revised 1986 electoral law-in addition to gerrymandering of constituencies-placed significant controls on the electoral process. Advisers who suggested democratization to the king sensed his reluctance to proceed along this path.40 The ultimate path chosen-free elections, sweeping liberalization, and limited democratic opening-can be partly explained by reference to either the "maturity" or the "rentier" arguments offered earlier. The former underscores the extent to which the king may have felt confident that Jordan could sustain political opening without instability or challenge to the monarchy. The latter points to the limited options available to the monarchy amid the collapsing economic foundations of the old neopatrimonial system and the failure of donor states to rescue the king's financial position. In the end, however, Hussein's personal political style, coupled with the momentum acquired by the liberalization process itself, may have been equally important. In other words, having decided both that the time was ripe for liberalization and that few other options existed, the king moved cautiously to expand political inclusion through free elections. In turn, this has proved to be even more successful than initially anticipated. Few serious internal political difficulties have arisen. The King's popularity-augmented both by liberalization itself and by Hussein's carefully crafted foreign policy during the 1990-1991 Gulf crisis-has risen to new heights.4I Economic policy also remains on track, with the imperatives and prescriptions of economic adjustment subject to few coherent challenges from either inside or outside parliament. This in turn has led the king to perhaps deepen liberalization beyond the bounds initially intended while still maintaining a decisive grip on political decisionmaking.

How? State-Society Relations and the Contours of Liberalization The literature on democratization lays considerable emphasis on the emergence of civil society, largely for two reasons. First, civil society is said to pressure the state to expand public space, advancing the pace of liberalization and democratization and increasing the costs of any authoritarian reversa1.42 Second, civil society is said to foster the long-term conditions of pluralism and tolerance that are necessary for democracy to work. In Jordan, however, liberalization has been essentially directed from the top,

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with civil society playing only a limited role in the country's recent political opening. One indicator of this is the level of political participation: Only 41 percent and 52 percent of eligible voters actually voted in the 1989 and 1993 elections, respectively, a relatively low proportion by the standards of most liberalizing countries.43 In 1997 turnout appears to have been even lower. Elections for student unions, professional organizations, trade unions, and local government show comparable levels of participation. Civil Society: Associational Groups, Parties, and Political Participation Prior to 1989, most associational groups and civil institutions showed little independence or politicization: The press faithfully toed the government line, campuses were (with some notable exceptions) relatively quiet, trade unions were under virtual government control, and the chamber of commerce and various commercial associations were narrowly focused on sectoral economic self-interest. The only notable exceptions were the Ammanbased professional associations that, in the absence of parliament, represented the main vehicle for political discussion. With liberalization, the public space available to associational groups has grown. Although the number of organizations has expanded as a consequence, the process hardly resembles the explosion predicted by much of the literature on democratization. Instead, most organized groups are relatively passive, devoting themselves to sectional interests rather than a broader political agenda. As noted earlier, much the same is true of the mainstream media. A large share of the three major Arabic dailies (al-Ra'y, al-Dustur, and Sawt al-sha'b) is still owned by the government, although a livelier, more critical-and often quite scurrilous-group of weekly tabloid newspapers (some independent, others linked to political parties) has emerged since liberalization. In May 1997, the government issued (by royal decree) modifications to the 1993 Press Law that further limited free expression and that placed burdensome financial requirements on the weeklies.44 As a result, 12 of the latter had to cease operations. Several reasons can be offered for this passivity. One (not entirely convincing) explanation might be the continued importance of tribal, clan, and family connections, which may lessen the importance of formal associational groups.45 Another reason might be the depoliticization engendered by earlier periods of rentierism, coupled with continued co-optation by the regime. In this regard the extent to which members of the royal family and former (or current) cabinet ministers figure as the public patrons of social organizations is noteworthy. Conversely, there are subtle but distinct costs associated with "excessive" political involvement by civil groups: the withholding of state or royal patronage, increasing bureaucratic tangles with the

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Ministry of the Interior and other government departments, and even the attentions of the mukhabarat. Another possible reason for the quietism of civil society lies, ironically, in the expansion of the formal mechanisms of political participation: With the reactivation of both parliament and political parties, some associational groups lost their political raison d'etre and with it some of the active participation and support of their membership. They also found themselves in frequent conflict with the government and endorsed the call for the boycott of the November 1997 parliamentary elections. Political parties were legalized in Jordan with the enactment of the Political Parties Law of 1992, which provided for their registration with the Ministry of the Interior. The conditions for registration reflected the guidelines that had earlier been agreed upon in the National Charter: Parties should be Jordanian in leadership and funding and constitutional in their goals. Moreover, they were prohibited from using trade unions or charitable organizations to further their purposes. Although three parties (the Jordanian Communist Party, the Ba'th Arab Socialist Party, and the Jordanian Popular Democratic Party) were initially refused registration, that decision was later reversed.46 By the eve of the 1993 elections, some 20 parties had been formally registered. In fact, these numbers overstate the role of political parties. Under half of those deputies elected in 1993 had any form of party affiliation.47 Most Jordanian parties are little more than vehicles for one or more political notables, with no mass base, weak cohesion, and little in the way of platform or machinery.48 In general, tribal and family influences remain strong in both political coalition building and voting behavior, particularly in rural areas.49 This is particularly true of the centrist and traditional parties. The various centrist blocs that have been formed in parliament have proven fluid and ineffectual. In 1997-with many parties boycotting-only five party candidates were elected to the lower house. One fairly well-organized party is al-'Ahd (the [Jordanian] Pledge [Party]), headed by 'Abd al-Hadi al-Majali, which has espoused (East Bank) Jordanian nationalism and support for the Hashemite monarchy.so It won significant tribal and regional support in southern Jordan and later became the centerpiece of an eight-party pro-regime coalition, the National Constitutional Party. In 1997, however, the NCP won only two seats. Some of the leftist parties also have fairly solid organizational foundations, having emerged from previously underground political organizations. The left, however, has enjoyed little electoral success. Part of the reason for this is factionalism: Despite frequent announcements of electoral or parliamentary cooperation, in practice Jordan's various leftist parties have been deeply divided. Almost all boycotted the 1997 elections. Indeed, in many ways Jordan's only truly successful political party has

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been the Islamic Action Front (IAF). Although independent from the Muslim Brotherhood, it has an overlapping membership and draws strength from the latter's network of supporters in mosques, schools, and charitable institutions. The IAF's platform calls for the full application of shari'a (Islamic law), national unity, continuation of consumer subsidies, and continued struggle against Israel and imperialism. Emphasis is also placed by the party on its commitment to pluralism and political participation, and the IAF's reformist wing has stressed the need to be guided by "a doctrine of progress, not a doctrine of corpses."51 Although it is difficult to distinguish deep-seated conviction from tactical posture, it is clear that the "moderate" wing of the IAF currently occupies a dominant position in its leadership, and that the IAF has been a full, active, and often constructive participant in political life in Jordan since liberalization.52 Yet despite this, in November 1997 the IAF boycotted the parliamentary elections. In doing so, it signalled its disillusionment both with Jordan's liberalization process as well as particular regime moves against the Islamists. Containing the Islamist Challenge Through the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s, the Muslim Brotherhood had been tolerated (albeit as a charitable institution rather than a political party) by the king because it represented a useful and loyal counterweight to the challenge posed by Arab nationalism and Palestinian nationalist groups. The striking success of Islamist candidates in the 1989 elections, however, raised alarm in the palace. The relative cohesion of the Muslim Brotherhood and IAF compared to other Jordanian political forces accentuated this concern. The regime's response has been typical of King Hussein's general political style: Reward Islamist moderation; cultivate alternatives; and clearly stake out the bounds of acceptable activity, punishing any action beyond these. Thus, members of the Muslim Brotherhood have not only participated in parliament but were also given a prominent role in the Royal Commission that was entrusted with drawing up the National Charter. Under Prime Minister Mudar Badran, Islamists were made members of the cabinet too, although this did not continue under Tahir al-Masri.53 The fact that the performance of Islamist cabinet members was far from stellarindeed, some of their proposals (including segregated work areas in government ministries and a ban on fathers attending school sports events involving young girls) attracted considerable public ridicule-suggested the shallowness of the Islamists' program and undercut their appeal. Meanwhile, the king has also underscored the Islamic credentials of his own monarchy, noting the Hashemite lineage to the Prophet Muhammad, providing royal patronage to a variety of Islamic projects (including the

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new Al al-Bayt Islamic University and renovation of the Dome of the Rock in Jerusalem), and encouraging pro-regime independent Islamists. Lines of communication were also opened by the king with his erstwhile opponents on the left, whose participation in parliament and in the drafting of the charter provided a small but significant counterweight to the Muslim Brotherhood. Meanwhile, the regime has taken repressive measures when necessary. The security services move resolutely against any signs of armed, militant Islamist action, and several small plots have been uncovered. The regime has also signaled that there were limits to its tolerance of even legal criticism of government policy, most notably in the sedition trial of Layth alShubaylat,54 Equally significant were changes made to the election law in August 1993. Although hailed as a system of "one person, one vote," these changes-which eliminated the multiple ballots that electors had previously cast in multimember constituencies-were clearly aimed at stunting the growth of the IAF (and of political parties in general). 55 Rather than trying to win parliamentary approval for such a potentially controversial measure, the king had instead announced the measure shortly after dissolving parliament, utilizing the mechanism of a cabinet decree to provide the amendment with a (somewhat shaky) legal foundation. Although some Islamists called for a boycott of the elections, the IAF quickly decided that the costs of doing so were outstripped by the benefits of continued political participation. However, the electoral amendment had its desired effect: Although popular support for the Islamists remained more or less constant, the IAF won only 17 seats in 1993, down from 22 four years earlier. Two of these were later expelled from the IAF for supporting the government. In July 1995, the regime pointed to the dismal showing of the IAF in local government elections as an indication that Islamist political influence was on the wane.56 As the 1997 elections approached, the IAF again debated whether to boycott the elections. The government's failure to revise either its tightening-up of the press laws or the electoral rules tilted the debate in favor of proponents of a boycott. Thirty Islamist candidates defied the boycott and ran anyway; six were elected. Women and Political Liberalization Over the years, women have benefited significantly from improvements in education and social conditions in Jordan. However, as with many other developing countries-and Arab-Muslim societies in particular-Jordan reveals considerable differentiation between a "public" world dominated by men and a "private" world of family wherein women's roles are concentrated. One indicator of this is participation in the formal labor force, which,

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although expanding, lags behind that of other countries with similar levels of socioeconomic development.57 Another indicator has been women's political participation. Although "educated" women first gained the vote in 1955 and full voting rights were granted in 1974, very few women had ever held senior political office, and those women were appointed, not elected. To date, political liberalization has had only a modest impact on this situation. In the 1989 elections, 12 of 647 candidates were women, and none of these was able to win a seat. One woman (Layla Sharif, an influential former cabinet minister) was appointed to the Senate. In 1993 three women ran for election, one of whom (Toujan Faysal) was successful in her bid for the Chamber of Deputies. However, winning only 4 percent of the popular votes and placing 26th of 28 candidates in Amman's third district, Faysal owed her election more to her status as a Circassian (and hence her eligibility for a reserved minority seat) than to any significant electoral success. Moreover, some questioned her subsequent effectiveness: Although an outspoken advocate of women's rights, her combative stance in the Chamber of Deputies alienated many deputies. 58 In the 1997 elections she lost her seat, and none of the other 16 female candidates was successful. In Zayd bin Shakir's January 1995 cabinet, two of 31 ministers were women. At the municipal level, 10 women won seats in 1995. Within civil society, a large number of women's organizations are active, the largest of these being the General Federation of Jordanian Women, the Women's Union in Jordan, and the General Union of Jordanian Women. Their effectiveness has been limited, however, by internal divisions, a lack of political resources, and (in the case of the latter two) a relatively small and elitist membership. Within the broader professional associations, women comprise around 13,000 of 73,000 members. 59 A variety of factors limit the effectiveness of women's formal and informal political participation. Women have, on average, lower levels of educational attainment than men. They also have inferior access to economic, organizational, and familial resources; less political experience; and fewer political and social connections. Within the various political parties, women comprise between zero and 17 percent of founding members, between 5 and 35 percent of general members, and between 5 and 22 percent of the senior leadership.60 Perhaps most important, however, is the deep social entrenchment of the traditional dichotomy between the public (male) and private (female) spheres, together with associated attitudes toward sex roles and capabilities. According to one 1993 survey, a large portion of Jordanian men (84 percent) and women (81 percent) alike hold the view that men possess more of the qualities necessary for political work. Accordingly, a majority

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of both men (76 percent) and women (61 percent) would, if given a choice between equally qualified male and female candidates, vote for the former.6I Indeed, in many households, it is still the family (and in particular, the male head of household) that determines how women should vote.62 Even activist women usually bear family responsibilities, a double burden that severely limits the time and energy that can be directed toward political involvement. Finally, the growth of political Islam is also likely to shape the political roles of women in Jordan. The precise effect of this, however, is unclear. On the one hand, the platform of the IAF calls for expanding women's role in public life and political leadership, and female Islamist activists certainly view Islam as an empowering ideology. On the other hand, the tendency of most Islamists to idealize the domestic role of women promises to strengthen existing attitudinal constraints. Indeed, the IAF has been accused of refusing support to prospective female candidates. The relative strength of rural, traditionalist political forces in Jordan further reinforces such patriarchical attitudes. 63 The Palestinian Dimension Understanding how Jordanian liberalization has unfolded requires attention not only to the usual components of state-society relations but also to a factor that is both domestic and transnational: the Palestinian issue. Despite the frequency with which it is noted, the dividing line between East Bank Jordanians and those of Palestinian origin is often far from clear.64 Interaction across the Jordan River has always been strong, and since 1948 there has been substantial intermarriage. Moreover, both groups are divided by internal cleavages, whether crosscutting (social class) or more localistic (family and regional ties, strong tribal identities among some East Bankers, generational differences between 1948 and 1967 refugees among Palestinians). Nevertheless, the real and potential tensions between the two groups remain an important determinant of Jordanian political development. Jordan's 1988 disengagement from the West Bank, although briefly followed by official pressures on some Jordanians of Palestinian origin, appeared to set Palestinian-Jordanian relations on a firmer footing by removing the perennial irritant of Hashemite-PLO competition. In 1989, however, the reactivation of parliament kindled growing concern among many East Bankers about their continuing political influence, given the Palestinians' status as a majority of Jordan's citizens as well as their history of greater political activism. The return of 300,000 Jordanians from Kuwait during and after the 1990-1991 Gulf War-almost all of them Palestinian-further exacerbated this concern.

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In practice, relatively few Palestinians have run in Jordan's postliberalization elections (representing, by some estimates, only 7 percent of candidates and 14 of 80 elected members in 1989), and East Bankers dominate the leadership of political parties.65 The reason for this lies not so much in a lack of identification with the political system (although this may be a factor, particularly for refugees who fled the West Bank after Israel occupied it in the 1967 Six-Day War), but rather in a widespread fear among Palestinians that large-scale political representation in Jordan might damage the case for self-determination in the West Bank and Gaza, especially given rhetoric from right-wing Israelis that "Jordan is Palestine." Some activists also believe that Jordanian supporters of the Palestinian cause are more effective in parliament than are Palestinians themselves, since they do not suffer accusations of dual loyalty. This implicit arrangement has not been without its tensions. The brief tenure of Tahir al-Masri provided one example, with many attributing his downfall to a lack of parliamentary support for a Palestinian prime minister. Masri himself has complained that cabinets do not adequately represent Jordanians of all backgrounds.66 Another sign of tension could be seen in the emergence of al-'Ahd as Jordan's second-largest party in the 1993 elections and its opposition to any extension or entrenchment of Palestinian political influence within the country.67 Finally-and most important of all-the sense of Jordanian-Palestinian differentiation within the country has been on the rise in recent years, evidenced both in social interaction and in occasional media commentary. The future of Jordanian-Palestinian relations in Jordan will, of course, be profoundly shaped by the peace process. On the one hand, the October 1993 Oslo accord between Israel and the PLO and the October 1994 peace treaty between Israel and Jordan appear to set in motion a consolidation of exclusive sovereignties. If the peace process continues, Palestinians in Jordan may win the option of returning to Palestinian territory (acquiring Palestinian citizenship and surrendering Jordanian citizenship in the process) or, conversely, remaining citizens of Jordan (and expressing unreserved allegiance to that political system). Much as this might address the political dangers of dual loyalty, however, it confronts the king with other dilemmas: Does he promote repatriation (thereby reducing the Palestinian demographic threat to East Bank/Hashemite rule, but at the cost of a debilitating drain of financial and human capital), or does he promote integration (and hence rule a predominantly Palestinian Jordan)?68 The palace has responded by essentially postponing the choice, hoping perhaps for a comfortable middle ground and in the meantime leaning to integrationism. Conversely, the peace process could go badly wrong-a possibility made much more likely by the election of a right-wing Israeli government

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headed by Benjamin Netanyahu in May 1996. Perhaps the Hashemite monarchy might step in to pick up the pieces, resuming a role of political leadership in the occupied territories that Palestinians there have otherwise rejected since the early 1970s. More likely, however, are negative repercussions: increased PLO-Jordanian tension, reflecting on Palestinian-Jordanian relations in Jordan; the collapse of the PLO and its eclipse by the Islamic fundamentalist movement Hamas, further spurring the growing of Islamist politics within Jordan itself; civil strife, economic crisis, and repression in the West Bank, perhaps creating new waves of Palestinian refugees. In the meantime, the peace process has ignited more immediate concerns. In particular, Jordan's decision to sign a formal peace treaty with Israel was supported by many East Bankers (in whose view it was only appropriate for Jordan to pursue its national interest) and opposed by many Palestinians (who saw it as inappropriate given continued Israeli occupation of the West Bank). lslamists from both groups attacked the treaty for abandoning the struggle to liberate Muslim land. This provoked a sharp response from the king, who attacked "those who distort the image of Islam" and "the forces of darkness with limited vision ... [who] jeopardize what has been achieved in peace"-warning critics not to "push too far in their opposition in the name of democracy." When submitted for ratification to parliament, the peace treaty won by a comfortable margin. However, strong opposition to normalization was expressed by Jordan's professional organizations, which threatened to expel any members who had contact with Israelis. 69 Such tensions increased the king's wariness, and a variety of measures were taken by the government to restrict opposition. A ban on street demonstrations was introduced, some opponents of the peace process were called in for questioning, charges were laid against a number of weekly newspapers, and minor scuffles occurred between Islamists and police.70 In November 1995, in the immediate aftermath of the assassination of Israeli prime minister Yitzhak Rabin, the king issued a stern warning against those who sought "darkness, death, havoc and destruction" over "life, peace, security and stability" and called upon the government to take measures against Jordanians who "cross red lines, destroy national unity, and undermine the achievements of Jordan." A month later, Layth al-Shubaylat-who had been outspokenly critical of both the peace process and of Hussein personally-was arrested once again. The Jordanian Engineers Association responded by reelecting him as its president by an overwhelming majority.7 1 Indeed, opposition to both Jordan's relations with Israel and the erosion of political liberties clearly energized the professional associations-much to the king's annoyance, who expressed the hope that "the time will come when everyone will confine their activities to their profession."72

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Conclusion: Liberalizing Monarchy The admixtures of political opening in Jordan are striking: initially rapid and far-reaching political liberalization coupled with only slow (and perhaps superficial), partial democratization; political freedoms and muted self-censorship; pluralism and depoliticization; and liberal parliamentary institutions and monarchical power. Although the regime has described itself as being in the vanguard of democratic reform, the 10 political parties that boycotted the 1997 elections accused the government of "overstepping of the constitution, infringement on public freedoms, authoritarianism, unilateral decision-making, and a retreat from democracy."73 According to one poll, only one-third of those candidates who did run for parliamentary election thought that the elections were likely to be free and fair.74 After the elections, the king promised new laws on elections, parties, and professional associations-suggesting concern at the boycott but also opening up new possibilities for state regulation. The preceding analysis suggests, however, that far from representing paradoxes, these particular combinations may do much to explain Jordan's stability. Specifically, the Hashemite monarchy has retained sufficient popular and institutional strength to set the rules of political reform. In so doing, it has allowed groups to enter the process more securely and cooperatively than might otherwise be the case. King Hussein's particular brand of statecraft, with its careful manipulation of incentives and deterrents and its willingness to tolerate a relatively high degree of pluralism, has further reinforced this process. The cost, of course, has been the only limited power and effectivess of civil society, political parties, parliament, and other liberal institutions. This suggestion-that liberalization is both easier and more difficult in monarchical regimes-is one that is not easily accommodated by the present theoretical literature. In general, monarchies are said to have great difficulty in broadening political participation. 75 Consequently, there has been little attention to monarchies in the recent analyses of democratization, which tend to base their findings variously on the comparatively rapid democratic transition of Latin American military dictatorships, the economic collapse of African one-party states, and the transformation of East Asian economic modernizers. In the case of Jordan, adaptation is likely to be both more incremental and more gradual, perhaps akin to the lengthy democratic evolutions of the British and Scandinavian monarchies. Within the region, the Jordanian case may find echoes in recent political reform in Kuwait and Morocco (both with established, imperfect constitutional and parliamentary traditions), although not in the earlier collapse of Arab monarchies in Egypt, Iraq, Yemen, and Libya in the 1950s and 1960s, nor in the absolutist monarchies that characterize most of the contemporary Gulf.

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None of this is to suggest, of course, that Jordan faces a smooth or automatic evolution. On the contrary, political liberalization-and even more so the future of democratization-remains precarious. With an external debt of around U.S.$7 billion (an amount equal to Jordan's entire gross domestic product), the same political economy that helped propel Jordan's political opening could at some future time collapse it, if future economic crisis generates widespread social dissatisfaction or a strong backlash against structural adjustment policies. As if to provide a foretaste, bread price increases in August 1996 triggered brief rioting, similar to that of April 1989. Transnational factors also complicate liberalization. Hashemite efforts to contain and co-opt the Islamist challenge could fail amid the regional resurgence of political Islam, resulting in recourse to more repressive means. As noted earlier, the Arab-Israeli peace process is perhaps the most immediate source of challenge. Clearly, the king has responded to domestic opposition to the Jordanian-Israeli peace treaty by reversing some aspects of liberalization. With the election of the Netanyahu government in Israel in May 1996 and the consequent deterioration in Israeli-Palestinian relations, this trend has been further amplified. Even in the absence of catastrophic collapse, there is the danger that Jordan's liberal experiment will ultimately drown in its own limitations, with the credibility of liberalization ultimately being progressively undermined by a dominant executive, an ineffective parliament, and a weak and constrained civil society. Given the king's centrality in all this, his own mortality could also have profound implications for the future pace and direction of political reform. At present, all indications are that Hussein is in good health. Were the situation otherwise, Crown Prince Hasan might find that, as future king, he lacks the charisma and influence of his brother. This could hasten democratization-or slow it, if the future king responds to the erosion of his authority by attempting to recentralize political power. Against all this, however, it must be reiterated that Jordan's experiment has shown remarkable durability to date, despite substantial slowdown and reversal. Barring catastrophic crisis, the balance between monarchical power and elected institutions as well as the balance between state and society will most likely be played out slowly and incrementally, over multiple issues, against the backdrop of Jordan's historical legacies, and on the well-established terrain of its present constitutional order. If it does indeed unfold in this way, Jordan's future political development may have important demonstration effects in other Arab countries, particularly to the extent that the king demonstrates a continuing capacity to accommodate the challenges of Islam, internal cleavage, economic difficulty, and transnational pressures. In this sense, the regional political importance of Jordan will prove to be-as it has so often in the pastsomething much greater than the small kingdom itself.

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Notes I would like to thank Yousef Arafat, Alia Toukan, Adam Jones, and Pete Moore for their research assistance in the preparation of this chapter and to Basse! Salloukh for his comments on the draft. Financial support from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada and the Fonds pour la Formation de Chercheurs et I' Aide a la Recherche (FCAR) is gratefully acknowledged. 1. For a theoretical discussion of these issues, see the chapters by Daniel Brumberg, Giacomo Liciani, and Samih Farsoun and Christina Zacharia in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1995). 2. On the general contours of this problem, see Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, "Trends, Trajectories, or Interesting Possibilities? Some Reflections on Arab Democratization and Its Study," in Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives. 3. For an overview, see Hani al-Hurani, Mujaz tarikh al-hayat al-hizbiyya wa al-siyasiyya al-urdaniyya, i9i8-i950 [A Summary of the History of Jordanian Party and Political Life, 1918-1950] (Amman: al-Urdun al-Jadid Research Center, 1994), pt. 1. 4. Legal measures included both the 1953 Anti-Communist Law and the 1955 Law on Political Parties; texts are in Aqil Hyder Hasan Abidi, Jordan: A Political Study, i948-i957 (Bombay: Asia Publishing House, 1965), pp. 223-230. Other methods used to affect election outcomes ranged from outright intimidation and electoral fraud (especially in 'Abdullah's day) to subsidies for pro-Hashemite candidates, manipulation of local patron-client relations (often producing a single "consensus" candidate), and occasionally the deployment of a loyal army unit in marginal constituencies on the eve of a poll. 5. These included the cabinet's retirement of a senior security official and royal concern over an apparent republican conspiracy by nationalist army officers. For overviews of Jordanian politics in the 1950s and 1960s, see Uriel Dann, King Hussein and the Challenge of Arab Radicalism (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989); and Robert Satloff, From Abdullah to Hussein: Jordan in Transition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994). 6. "Taqrir khas: Ajhizat al-amn wa-adawat al-qama' fi al-urdun" [Special Report: The Security Apparatuses and Means of Repression in Jordan], Shu' un filastiniyya 35 (1974). 7. Deteriorating economic conditions and popular dissatisfaction over parliament's suspension may have played some role in this. However, two other factors seem to have been more important. First, the attrition of aging deputies threatened to permanently reduce the lower house below quorum unless by-elections were held. Second, the reactivation of parliament was associated with the cessation of political coordination between the PLO and Jordan and was followed by a sustained campaign to reassert Jordan's political position in the occupied territories. 8. Lamis Andoni, "Jordan," in Rex Brynen, ed., Echoes of the intifada: Regional Repercussions of the Palestinian-israeli Conflict (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991), pp. 168-177. 9. For a detailed examination of the 1989 election, see Louis-Jean Duclos, "Les elections Iegislatives en Jordanie," Maghreb-Machrek 129 (1990); Kamel S. Abu Jaber and Schirin H. Fathi, "The 1989 Jordanian Parliamentary Elections,"

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Orient 31 (1990); Intikhabat 1989: haqa'iq wa-arqam [The 1989 Elections: Facts and Figures] (Amman: al-Urdun al-Jadid Research Center, 1993). 10. Jordan's Parliamentary Elections, 8 November 1993 (Amman: Jordan Media Group, 1993); al-Intikhabat al-niyabiyya al- 'amafi al-urdun, 8 tishrin thani 1993 [The general parliamentary elections of 8 November 1993] (Amman: al-Urdun al-Jadid Research Center, 1993). 11. Jordan Times, 5 and 6 November 1997. 12. See, for example, the king's speech to the constituent assembly of the Center for Freedom, Democracy and Human Rights, Radio Jordan/Amman, 6 November 1993, in Foreign Broadcast Information Service-Near East and South Asia 93-214 (hereafter FBIS-NES), and the king's parliamentary speech from the throne, Jordan Television/Amman, 23 November 1993 (FBIS-NES-93-225). 13. The right to form parties is constrained by the requirement that they have "lawful" aims. 14. Under a 1958 amendment, the Council of Ministers was also empowered, with royal assent, to issue urgent decrees when parliament was not in session (Article 94). 15. The prime minister must, of course, win a parliamentary vote of confidence, and this to some extent constrains the king's selection. But the selection of prime minister is not directly determined by either party or coalition representation in the lower house. 16. In 1993, the king dismissed parliament so as to allow the cabinet to amend the electoral law by fiat. The cabinet also restricted political demonstrations. In 1997 the Press Law was similarly modified. 17. In October 1993, for example, the Islamic Action Front was successful in having the courts overturn a government ban on election rallies. In March 1995, the Court of Cassation overturned a verdict by a military court against 10 men accused of plotting to assassinate King Hussein at al-Muta' University. The defendants had complained of torture; the higher court ordered a retrial. An appeal to the civilian court was itself possible because of legislative amendments passed by parliament in 1992. Sawt al-sha'b, 29 October 1993 (FBIS-NES-93-208); United Press International, 14 March 1995. 18. The 60 members of the commission included 10 Islamists and three members of leftist parties (and a number of Arab nationalists); 11 senators, 16 deputies, and a large number of professionals (lawyers, academics, journalists); 10 to 20 Palestinians; and four women. For a full list, see Jordan Times, 10 April1990. 19. Mashru' al-mithaq al-watani al-urduni [Plan of the Jordanian National Charter] (Amman: Military Press Directorate, 1990). 20. Mashru' al-mithaq al-watani, chap. 1. These points are expanded upon in chap. 2, which, among other things, calls for ensuring that the laws on political parties and the press reflect these principles. 21. Some palace advisers were concerned that the National Charter proposed specific constitutional amendments, fearing that this implied a supremacy of the charter over the constitutional (and monarchical) process. Their pressures for lastminute changes were rebuffed by the Royal Commission, however, and ultimately not supported by the king. Interview with members of Royal Commission on the National Charter, July-August 1991. 22. Interview with member of Royal Commission on the National Charter and senior adviser to the king, July 1992. 23. Rami Khouri, "Jordan's Opportunity: Where History and Elegance

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Coincide," Jordan Times, 8 September 1992. Khouri suggested that the time had come to contemplate a "phased transition" to a "post-Hussein era" characterized by "a substantive shift in the manner of governance and decision-making" away from central government and the personalism of monarchical leadership and toward democracy, decentralized government, and the private sector. Coming at a time when the king was being treated for cancer, Khouri's comments-although suffused with genuine praise for. the Hashemites-provoked a torrent of critical comment from other columnists and the general public. The comments were also not appreciated by the palace, with which Khouri had previously had a quite warm relationship. The episode sharply revealed the informal constraints on political discourse in Jordan and, ironically, validated Khouri's own observation that "the mass media's performance has been particularly weak and inappropriate" in addressing sensitive political issues. 24. 'Abd al-Salam al-Majali (perhaps the least open to parliamentary input among recent prime ministers) once adopted the king's throne speech as his statement of government policy in an effort to foreclose criticism. Similarly, Zayd bin Shakir may be less subject to political attack than other Jordanian prime ministers because he is the king's cousin. 25. Human rights groups and parliamentarians in Jordan were relatively muted about the affair, despite al-Shubayalat's impressive record as a parliamentarian, community leader, and human rights campaigner and despite the doubtful evidence presented against him. 26. Reuters World Report, 16 May 1994; United Press International, 21 April, 16 May, 20 June 1994. The Press Law forbids publishing court transcripts without permission or "disparaging the armed forces or security apparatus." In this case, the signals sent were quite finely calibrated: Although both Jordan Times and al-Ahali had printed broadly similar accounts of court testimony and ultimately received similar fines, the former (an English-language, liberal/establishment daily newspaper) was charged with publishing court transcripts, while the latter (a leftist Arabiclanguage weekly newspaper) was presented with the much more serious charge of defaming the security services. In May 1997 the law was further lightened. See Human Rights Watch/Middle East, Jordan: A Death Knoll for Free Expression? (New York: HRW, June 1997). 27. Abu Jaber, The Jordanians and the People of Jordan (Amman: Royal Scientific Society Press, 1980), p. 102. 28. Ibid. 29. Dann, King Hussein and the Challenge of Arab Radicalism, p. 69. 30. Jordan's GNP per capita grew at an average of 5.8 percent per year between 1965 and 1980, double the average rate of economic growth in the developing world. United Nations Development Programme, Human Development Report 1991 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991), p. 164. 31. 'Adnan Abu 'Awdah (Chief of the Royal Court), quoted in Jordan Times, 8-9 March 1990. 32. For a general discussion of rentier states and economies, see Giacomo Luciani, "Allocation vs. Production States: A Theoretical Framework," and Hazem Beblawi, "The Rentier State in the Arab World," in Luciani and Beblawi, eds., The Rentier State (London: Croom Helm, 1987). For a fuller analysis of rentierism in Jordan, see Rex Brynen, "Economic Crisis and Post-Rentier Democratization in the Arab World," Canadian Journal of Political Science 25, 1 (March 1992). 33. International Monetary Fund, Government Finance Statistics Yearbook

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(various) and Balance of Payments Statistics (various) (Washington, D.C.: IMF, annual); Central Bank of Jordan, Annual Report (various) (Amman: Central Bank of Jordan, annual). 34. Amman Television Service, 14 April 1989 (FBIS-NES-89-072); Amman Domestic Service, 24 July 1989 (FBIS-NES-89-141); Jordan Times, 14 June 1989, p. 6; Central Bank of Jordan, Twenty-Sixth Annual Report 1989, pp. 68-73. 35. Al-Ra'i (Amman), 16 April 1989, pp. 1, 6 (FBIS-NES-073). The increase in fuel oil prices was a particular blow to farmers and to Transjordanian truck drivers (who received no corresponding increase in transportation fees). 36. Radio Monte Carlo, 19-20 April 1989 (FBIS-NES-075); Lamis Andoni, "The Five Days That Shook Jordan," Middle East International, 28 April1989, pp. 3-4; Middle East Times, 6-12 June 1989, p. 4. 37. Amman Television Service, 22 April 1989 (FBIS-NES-077); Middle East Reporter, 29 April 1989, p. 8. The prince appeared to display particular annoyance with the political role assumed by Jordan's professional associations. 38. Text of King Hussein's royal designation letter to Sharif Zayd bin Shakir, 27 April1989. 39. Al-Ra'i, 17 July 1989 (FBIS-NES-89-137). 40. This impression was conveyed to me by a number of persons who discussed liberalization with the king at this time. 41. For an analysis of the king's sensitivity to domestic opinion during the Gulf crisis and its success in winning him "massive reserves of political legitimacy," see Laurie Brand, "Liberalization and Changing Political Coalitions: The Bases of Jordan's 1990-91 Gulf Crisis Policy," Jerusalem Journal of International Relations 13, 4 (1991). 42. Guillermo O'Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986), pp. 48-56. 43. Jordan Information Bureau, "Election Results of the 12th Jordanian Parliament, 8 November 1993." 44. Human Rights Watch/Middle East, Jordan: A Death Knell for Free Expression? (June 1997). See also Adam Jones, "Press, Regime and Society in Jordan Since 1989," The Montreal Papers in Contemporary Arab Studies (Montreal: Interuniversity Consortium for Arab Studies, December 1997). 45. This explanation seems inadequate, however, in light of the explosion of formal associational groups (albeit, many ultimately based on primordial ties) during periods of liberalization in Yemen and Algeria. For a fuller discussion, see Chapter 11 by Sheila Carapico and Chapter 2 by Bahgat Korany and Saad Amrani, elsewhere in this volume. 46. Jordan Times, 5 December 1992. Although the Political Parties Law allowed decisions of the Interior Ministry to be overturned in the courts, that did not prove necessary in these cases. 47. Kharitat al-ahzab al-siyasiyya al-urduniyya 'ashiyyat al-intikhabat al'ama al-muqbila [A Map of Jordanian Political Parties on the Eve of the 1993 General Election] (Amman: al-Urdun al-Jadid Research Center, 1993). 48. According to one 1993 survey, only 17 percent of respondents felt that political parties served the public interest, whereas 59 percent felt that parliament did so. Mousa Shteiwi and Amal Daghestani, "A Field Survey on Jordanian Women's Participation in Political Life," Center for Strategic Studies, University of Jordan, September 1993. For a largely descriptive account of the various parties, see

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al-Ahzab al-siyasiyya al-urdaniyya [Jordanian Political Parties], as well as the more detailed party profiles issues by this same research center. 49. According to one poll, 23 percent of respondents cited tribal affiliation as the primary reason for supporting a candidate, and 62 percent stated that the 1993 elections had "consolidated" tribalism in the political process. Political Perspectives 6 (November 1993), pp. 6, 8. 50. Hizb al- 'ahd: Mabadi' wa ahdaf [The Pledge Party: Foundations and Goals], 1994. 51. Al-Quds al-Arabi (London), 13 June 1997 (FBIS-NES-97-116). 52. For a detailed analysis of the party, see Hani Hourani et al., Hizb jab hat al'amal al-islami [The Islamic Action Front Party] (Amman: a1-Urdun al-Jadid Research Center, 1993); and Glenn Robinson, "Can Islamists Be Democrats? The Case of Jordan," Middle East Journal 51, 3 (Summer 1997). 53. Al-Masri's exclusion of Islamists cost him support in parliament, hastening the resignation of his government. 54. The Beirut newspaper al-Safir (20 August 1993) published a list of 17 Islamist organizations in Jordan. Of these, the Muslim Brotherhood and IAF are by far the largest. Five armed underground groups were identified, but each is extremely small. The Palestinian Islamist group Hamas also has a significant political presence in Jordan. Middle East Reporter, 11 September 1993. 55. Under the old system, a voter in a five-seat constituency had five votes to cast, making it easy to distribute these among the five candidates from his or her preferred party. Moreover, voters tended to split multiple votes among both "primordial" (co-tribalist or family) and "ideological" (or party) candidates. Under the new system, that same voter has only one vote. Consequently, it is extremely difficult for a party to prevent its supporters from clustering their single votes on the most popular (possibly "primordial") party candidate, leaving the others with little support. 56. George Hawatmeh, "Islamists Fare Badly," Middle East International, 21 July 1995, pp. 10-11. 57. Jordanian women's labor force participation is only 11 percent of that of men, compared to an average of 58 percent for the developing world. This is despite the fact that Jordanian women's comparative rates of basic literacy (79 percent of male rates) and average years of schooling (67 percent of male rates) are significantly above the average rates (71 and 59 percent, respectively) for developing countries as a whole. UNDP, Human Development Report 1994 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1994), appendix table 9. 58. During her previous candidature in 1989, two Islamists, angered over a newspaper article she had written, took her to court on charges of apostasy. Subsequently, efforts were also made to have her marriage annulled on similar grounds. After her 1993 election, Faysal's strident criticism of the government, of the Israeli-Jordanian peace treaty, and especially of the Islamists angered so many other deputies that in February, parliament actually debated removing her. Reuters World Report, 14 and 15 February 1995. 59. Jordan Times, 29 June 1997. 60. Haifa' Abu Ghazala Malhas, "Women in the Membership of Jordanian Political Parties," in General Federation of Jordanian Women and the Jordanian Women's College, Dawr al-mar' a al-urdaniyya fi al-masira al-dimuqratiyya [The Role of Jordanian Women in the Democratization Process] (Amman, 1993). See also al-Mar' a al-urduniyya wa-al- 'amal al-siyasi [Jordanian Women and Political Action] (Amman: al-Urdun al-Jadid Research Center, 1993).

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61. Shteiwi and Daghestani, "A Field Survey." Another survey found that only 28 percent of men and 58 percent of women believed women capable of assuming political office. Political Perspectives 3 (August 1993), p. 4. 62. Shteiwi and Daghestani, "A Field Survey," found that 35 percent of women had their vote determined by a father, husband, or brother, and 6 percent by another relative. 63. One indicator of the patriarchical impact of Islamist and traditionalist parties is provided by the low proportion (even by Jordanian standards) of women among the founding members of both the IAF and al-'Ahd: 3.7 percent and 1.5 percent respectively, representing the third- and fourth-lowest proportions among the 20 parties registered prior to the 1993 elections. 64. On the shifting ambiguity of identity in Jordan, see Linda Layne, Home and Homeland: The Dialogics of Tribal and National Identities in Jordan (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1994). 65. Lamis Andoni, "Palestinians Face Election Dilemma," Christian Science Monitor, 2 October 1989; Tim Riedel, Who Is Who in [the] Jordanian Parliament, 1989-93 (Amman: Friedrich Ebert Siftung, 1993). The overwhelming majority of Palestinian deputies are Islamists, reflecting both an important electoral base of Islamists' support and Islamist views of the unity of Muslims regardless of geographic origins. 66. Jordan: Issues and Perspectives 20 (March-April1995), p. 3. 67. Although the party is not explicit about this in its programs, its stance is well understood by voters and parliamentarians alike. 68. According to one survey, only 13 percent of Palestinians would exchange their Jordanian citizenship for Palestinian citizenship, although a larger proportion would consider living in the territories. Political Perspectives 3 (July 1993). In another survey by the Strategic Studies Center of the University of Jordan, almost three-quarters of Palestinians and East Bankers favored some form of links between Jordan and a future Palestinian entity, although only a minority supported a 1950style merger. United Press International, 8 February 1995. 69. After heated debate (with opposition being spearheaded by Islamist and leftist members), the agreement passed the Chamber of Deputies by a vote of 55 to 23, with one absence, and passed the Senate with 33 votes and seven absences. However, on a subsequent occasion in February 1995, Islamist and leftist deputies were able to temporarily derail government efforts to repeal various anti-Israeli laws. Reuters World Report, 4, 6, and 9 November 1994, 21 February 1995, 20 March 1995, 12 April 1995; United Press International, 24 April 1995. Among the various professional associations, the writers' association has expelled members for giving interviews with the Israeli media, and the dentists' association has asked its members not to provide nonemergency care to Israeli visitors. 70. Reuters World Report, 8 August 1994, 28 and 29 October 1994. The vice president of the Jordanian branch of the Arab Organization for Human Rights was quoted as saying, "The tolerance of the government toward the opposition is next to zero now." The Star (Amman), 3-9 November 1994 (FBIS-NES-94-214). Similarly, the leaders of 11 political parties warned that "the democratic march and public liberties are facing a broad and fierce onslaught," al-Majd, 14 November 1994 (FBISNES-94-220). 71. George Hawatmeh, "Caught Between Two Moods," Middle East International 17, November 1995; Lamis Andoni, "Walking a Tightrope," Middle East International15, March 1996. 72. Human Rights Watch/Middle East, Jordan, p. 8.

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73. Text of 1997 national reform program issued in Amman on 25 October, alSabil (Amman), 28 October-3 November 1997 (FBIS). 74. Jordan Times, 4 November 1997. 75. For a nuanced treatment of this dilemma, see Samuel Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968), pp. 166191.

5

The Pro-Democratic Agenda in Kuwait: Structures and Context ]ill Crystal and Abdallah al-Shayeji

The Kuwaiti experiment in political liberalization is an important exception to the exceptionalist view of the Gulf as somehow uniquely and intractably resistant to pro-democratic trends. Even those scholars resistant to exceptionalist explanations about the Middle East as a region accept such explanations when offered about the Gulf monarchies. Kuwait, with a functioning elected National Assembly and a 30-year history of admittedly fitful but nonetheless steady expansion of political liberalization, reminds us that we must search for more complex answers if we are to understand the dynamics of representation and repression in the region. The answers-the set of factors that explain the forces behind this pro-democratic experiment and those resisting it-in turn tell us something useful about the process of democratization more generally. In particular, they point to the importance of political economy, the nature of state revenues, and the way they enter the economy, but also to the nature of social stratification, civil society, and preexisting political institutions in shaping political choices. Thirty years' experience with the assembly, along with the politically galvanizing experience of invasion and occupation, has also changed Kuwait's political culture in subtle but important ways that serve to reinforce pro-democratic impulses.

What: Political Liberalization in Kuwait in Historical Perspective The core elements of democratization in Kuwait, the institutions around which there appears to be at least some consensus, consist of the constitution and a National Assembly. The consensus on the utility of these institutions is not complete-the assembly has been closed twice, and articles of the constitution likewise suspended-but it is substantial. The burden of

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defense today rests clearly with those who would close the assembly, not those who support it. The opposition, despite its many internal divisionsamong Islamists, merchants, and tribalists-shares this consensus on the assembly and on the civil and political rights supporting it and embodied in the constitution. Since the Iraqi invasion of 1990, the consensus in favor of Kuwait's pro-democratic institutions has deepened. This consensus has historical roots. Kuwait has had an elected National Assembly since 1963 (see Tables 5.1 and 5.2), but the contemporary experiment is rooted earlier and more deeply in Kuwait's history. As a political entity, Kuwait dates back to the early eighteenth century, when it was founded by families who migrated from central Arabia to Kuwait, where they established a self-governing political unit. Since about 1756, when the first al-Sabah was chosen leader of this political community, Kuwait's rulers have all come from this family, chosen by the family council in consultation with the leading merchant families, tribal leaders, and other elites who exercised some restriction over the shaikhs' political autonomy. From the beginning, rulers were constrained, especially in domestic affairs, by these elites. The first effort to constrain the amir's power came in an appointed Consultative Council in 1921. The first sustained effort to formalize and institutionalize the historical constraints of merchants and other elites on the power of the ruling family occurred during the rule of Amir Ahmad in an uprising called the Majlis Movement in 1938. The movement arose during a period of popular turmoil: Kuwait was in the midst of a serious recession, owing to the general decline of the pearling industry, the depression, and a Saudi embargo prompted by a trade dispute. A recently signed oil concession agreement with the Kuwait Oil Company offered brighter economic prospects but also the fear that this new income would be monopolized by the ruling family. These concerns prompted a group of leading merchants to petition the ruler for a series of reforms and then to hold elections for a Legislative Assembly to implement them. This assembly ruled for half a year until finally closed down by the ruler and tribal backers. The short-lived assembly had an important legacy. In time, it came to be viewed as Kuwait's first pro-democracy movement, one that emphasized consultation and consensus as well as political participation. Its popularity gave the idea of formal representation a privileged place in Kuwaiti popular history. The fact that the assembly was an indigenous, not colonial, creation (indeed, Britain opposed the assembly) gave the body a legitimacy that the essentially colonial interwar parliamentary institutions of other states (e.g., Egypt, Iraq, Syria) lacked. In Kuwait, the Majlis Movement unified the pro-democratic and nationalist strands of thought, elsewhere sundered by colonialism. Ahmad's successor, Abdallah Salim al-Sabah (r. 1950--1965), oversaw

Table 5.1

Vital Statistics About the Kuwaiti National Assemblies (1963-1996)

Number of registered voters Voter turnout % voter turnout Number of candidates New members New members who are freshmen(%) Total members

1985-1986

1992-1996

1996-2000

1963-1967

1967-1971

1971-1975

1975-1979

1981-1985

16,889 0 0 205 57 a

26,796 17,590 66 222 20

40,649 20,785 51 183 23

52,993 31,862 60 255 22

42,005 37,689 90 447 26

56,848 48,368 85 231 21

81,440 67,724 83 278 26

107,169 89,387 83 230 18

44 50

52 50

42 50

52 50

36 50

40 50

100 50

45 51b

Source: Abdullah al-Shayeji, Democratization in Kuwait (Ph.D. diss., University of Texas, Austin, 1988). a. The seven deputies were elected following the resignation of the seven nationalist deputies, after a rift with the government in December 1964. b. The new member was elected to replace a member who had passed away.

Table 5.2

1963-1967 1967-1971 1971-1975 1975-1979 1981-1985 1985-1986

Composition of the Kuwaiti National Assemblies (1963-1985)

Bedouins

Merchants

Nationalist Democrats

Sunni Groups

19 20 20 23 27 27

5 4 3 3 2 3

7 0 7 7 0 5

0 0 0 0 4 5

Liberals 13

17 14 7 13 7

Shi'ites

6 9 6 10 4 3

Total

50 50 50 50 50 50

0

w

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Kuwait's transformation into a wealthy oil-producing state and also established the National Assembly that exists today. He played a foundational role in institutionalizing the participatory nature of Kuwaiti politics. In dealing with the new oil revenues that expanded rapidly after World War II, Abdallah made two critical decisions. The first was to distribute these revenues broadly throughout the population by expanding state employment and dramatically increasing expenditures on social services, notably in education and health care. The second was to introduce a greater degree of political participation to Kuwait in the form of a National Assembly.! The latter was partly in response to domestic pressure and partly to external pressure. Following World War II, the pro-democracy impulse had been revived by merchants and progressive elements of the intelligentsia. In response, in the 1950s the amir had allowed elections to key government committees administering some of the new social services such as health and education, as well as to the department committee on religious endowments and to the Kuwait Municipality. Throughout the 1950s, the opposition put forward petitions and circulated pamphlets for a broader, elected National Assembly. In 1961, following independence and with an Iraqi territorial threat looming, the amir responded to these demands, announcing that he would introduce a constitution and hold elections for a National Assembly. A Constituent Assembly was elected to write a constitution, and in 1963, elections were held for the first assembly, the electorate consisting (then as today) of adult male Kuwaitis who could trace their ancestry back to 1920. The opposition that emerged was volatile and assertive, dominated by a pan-Arab bloc led by Ahmad al-Khatib, once the dean of the Kuwaiti opposition. The National Assembly held four elections-in 1963, 1967, 1971, and 1975-before being suspended in 1976. The assembly reopened following elections in 1981. Elections were again held in 1985, but then the body was dissolved in July 1986. In both cases of closure, the amir responded to increasingly sharp opposition attacks on members of the ruling family and, especially in 1986, to what was seen as an increasingly threatening regional environment. When in session, the assembly played an important role in mobilizing and articulating opposition to Kuwait's rulers. Its powers were always limited: The assembly played no role in selecting the head of state or cabinet members, although on one occasion it did bring down a cabinet. However, it did function as an important forum for public debate and was always a source of criticism of the government on important policy issues ranging from the budget to oil policy, women's rights, corruption, and the place of religion in politics. In introducing and debating bills and in questioning ministers, including members of the ruling family, it placed controversial political issues on a very public agenda. It also had the constitution-

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al right to approve the crown prince and future amir, to question individual ministers, and to introduce no-confidence votes. After the assembly was suspended in 1986, a cross-section of opposition leaders, including old parliamentarians, Islamists, merchants, and members of the intelligentsia, came together to form the Constitutionalist Movement of 1989-1990, a pro-democracy movement calling for the restoration of the assembly and the constitution.z In an effort to evade a state ban on public gatherings, in December 1989 a group of former assembly members began holding regular Monday night diwaniyyas (men's social gatherings) with an explicitly political agenda. These weekly meetings soon developed into large-scale demonstrations, culminating in tense confrontations with the police. The government responded by trying to close some of the diwaniyyas. The opposition, however, was able to rally supporters in protest, with 2,000 to 3,000 people attending a December meeting in the face of riot police and police barricades. In February 1990, the amir agreed to receive a pro-democracy petition signed by over 30,000 Kuwaitis and to begin negotiations over the assembly. In response to this movement, in 1990 the amir attempted a compromise. He called for the establishment of a National Council, primarily a consultative body, with fewer powers and composed of 50 elected and 25 appointed members. The constitutionality of this body was highly contested, and when, in June 1990, elections were held for the elected portion of the body, the opposition boycotted in protest, producing one of Kuwait's lowest turnouts. The new council nonetheless was formed and had just begun meeting when Iraq invaded Kuwait in August 1990. The relationship between the ruler and the opposition was thus already tense when the invasion occurred. The Iraqi occupation divided the opposition into two strands: those in exile and those remaining under occupation. More than half of Kuwait's population fled the Iraqi forces, including the amir and members of the ruling family, who took up residence in Ta'if, Saudi Arabia, organizing a government-in-exile there. The opposition likewise reconstituted itself in exile and continued to press the amir to make a public commitment to the restoration of the National Assembly in the postwar period. The political crisis surrounding the invasion and the ruling elite's behavior in exile solidified the pre-invasion opposition alliance. The Islamists, the former assembly members, the merchants, and all the groups who had supported the pre-invasion pro-democracy movement joined in calling for an assembly. In response to these demands, the amir invited a broad spectrum of opposition leaders to meet with him in Jidda, Saudi Arabia, in October 1990. Some 1,200 Kuwaiti opposition members, leading elites, and intellectuals attended the meeting and came to an agreement with the amir and crown prince: After the ouster of the Iraqis, the amir

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would restore the suspended constitution and institute more participatory processes. In exchange, the opposition would support the amir in exile. None of the opposition groups or key opposition figures publicly questioned the legitimacy of the ruling family or demanded changes in the historical hereditary rulership of the al-Sabahs, but they did demand that opposition voices be heard in an institutionalized way. The understanding was summarized in a communique issued at the meeting's end: The ruler would restore the constitution and a degree of public participation; in exchange the opposition would stand behind him in exile.3 Back in Kuwait, the brutality of the continuing Iraqi occupation forged a renewed demand for political participation there as well. Those Kuwaitis who had remained in Kuwait developed a heightened sense of political entitlement and anger toward the rulers who fled; a disgust with the policies that had contributed to the invasion (as well as a feeling that a functioning National Assembly might have served as a check on such policies); and a frustration with the public behavior of some, notably members of the ruling family, in exile. Iraqi occupation prompted Kuwaiti resistance, organized through prewar social institutions such as the mosques and cooperative societies. On the eve of the invasion, Kuwait had 42 elected, neighborhood-based cooperative societies, with over 170,000 members, controlling more than 80 percent of the retail food market through 70 supermarkets and 700 smaller stores. 4 These cooperatives provided a network for distributing needed food, money, and household goods as well as information. Along with the mosques, they formed the backbone of the resistance. Their large membership and popularity gave them a broad base of support to tap. Their retail networks gave them access to funds and a legitimate organizing purpose. Following the return of sovereignty, the two strands of opposition in exile and at home came together to recast the standing opposition demand for a restored assembly. The Kuwaiti government initially responded unfavorably, instituting martial law and, in the eyes of the opposition, resorting to its prewar politics of procrastination, co-optation, and manipulation in an effort to generate public acceptance of continuing government rule by decree. This prompted protests from the pro-democracy opposition, whose members felt it violated the agreement reached in exile. With martial law in effect, the amir formed a new government in April 1991. Comprising primarily members of the old regime, with no representation from either the external opposition or from those who had remained inside Kuwait during the war, the cabinet was condemned by the opposition, which was not consulted on its composition. The opposition was particularly disheartened by the promotion to deputy prime minister and foreign minister of Shaikh Salim, the former interior minister responsible for the pre-invasion crackdowns on the pro-democracy movement. The government also reconvened

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the unpopular prewar National Council. Meanwhile, Kuwaiti vigilante groups, some linked to the government, attacked unchecked those they suspected of collaboration. Amnesty International and other monitoring groups reported the murder of dozens of Palestinians and the arrest and torture of hundreds more. The government also began a series of show trials of suspected collaborators in 1991, which drew international criticism for its inattention to due process, prompting the amir to commute some death sentences handed down by the courts. The turning point came in May 1992, when following the announcement of the new cabinet, opposition leaders organized into seven political groups and called a press conference to criticize the cabinet and to repeat their call for an election date. The government turned down the opposition's request to hold a public conference to discuss the election and related issues, canceled the conference, and turned the lights off on reporters trying to interview opposition leaders. Nonetheless, the message was heard. In June the amir announced an end to martial law and stated that elections would be held in October 1992 (19 months after the liberation). These elections are discussed later in the chapter. The Kuwaiti government's view of political liberalization has historically been cautiously supportive though vague. The amir's original decision in the 1960s to establish and support the assembly at independence was an unusual one for its time, particularly in the Gulf, and suggests an unusually open attitude toward political participation. Formal support for the assembly was codified in the constitution as well. Even during periods when the assembly was closed, the government has paid lip service to the idea of liberalization in principle and has remained committed to reestablishing a representative and consultative body. The idea of a National Assembly is now part of Kuwait's political culture, an element acknowledged by the government and opposition alike. Likewise, there appears to be a consensus among the opposition on the centrality of the assembly, despite deep disagreements about the policies they would like to see enacted. This is a result, in part, of the unusual (for the region) historical marriage of nationalism and liberalization. Unlike other states in the region, the interwar parliament was not an imposed colonial institution but an indigenous one, indeed one the British ultimately opposed. That gives it a credibility parliaments elsewhere lack. That credibility has turned into respectability as a result of three decades (albeit occasionally troubled) of living with the institution. The dominant conceptualization of democracy that has thus emerged is a compromise between the rulers, who would prefer a much more limited political opening (more dialogue, perhaps more transparency), and the opposition, which would prefer a much more thoroughgoing democratization, even, in the eyes of some, culminating eventually in an elected ruler

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and a constitutional monarchy. But it is also a compromise among opposition elites themselves: most intensely, between the Islamists who favor the laws of God and the liberals who favor the laws of men (and maybe women). It is also a compromise over whom this democratic opening will embrace: nonnationals (about whom there is an exclusionary consensus), naturalized citizens (about whom the consensus was broken in recent years, culminating in the decision to expand suffrage in the 1996 elections to sons of naturalized citizens and to long-term "second-class citizens" themselves), and women (about whom the suffrage debate continues). Finally, it is a compromise about how competition itself should best be institutionalized. This has expressed itself most recently in public debates over tribal primaries. As one candidate, Saad bin Tiflah, put it, "you are supposed to vote for the best candidate but what if the primaries stop the best from running? Democracy should be national and programme-based, not tribe based."5 This debate reflects a broader tension over reconciling national institutions to subnational identities, whether tribal, familial, class, or sectarian. The resulting compromise, based on a core document (the constitution) and institution (the assembly) pleases none but suits most well enough.

Why: The Origins of the Parliamentary Impulse in Kuwait Several factors have facilitated (and others hindered) the emergence of a pro-democratic impulse in Kuwait. The first is the nature and level of economic development. Here the political inheritance is decidedly mixed. On the one hand, oil revenues, by promoting growth and raising the income of the population, have certainly facilitated the emergence of a democratic movement by creating a population with both the leisure and the education to engage in polite political activity. Indeed, the civil nature of political opposition, its nonviolent history, and its moderate, patient, reformist tendencies are all partly a result of widespread wealth. Because of this wealth, politics is not seen as a struggle to the death, a winner-take-all arena. Yet at the same time that the level of economic development has served to heighten pro-democratic tendencies in civil society, the form (as opposed to level) of economic development that has occurred has made it less likely that the government will feel obliged to respond to these demands for political participation. In Kuwait, as in other rentier states, oil changed the historical dynamic between state and society. It weakened old classes, particularly the economic elites (the merchants) on whom the state depended for tax revenues. Because the rulers did not have to tax the population, they did not have to worry about taxpayers pressuring them for accountability, demanding to know how their tax dinars were spent, or demanding some-

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thing in return for their contribution to the state. Or, in what has become a truism in the rentier state literature: no taxation, hence no representation. Oil revenues gave the state the resources to buy out those groups that historically had a say in the distribution of state revenues, indeed to buy out any group with an articulated sense of political entitlement. This is what occurred in Kuwait, as has been argued at length elsewhere. 6 In exchange for withdrawing from formal political participation, the rulers offered the merchants a share of the oil revenues: a trade of wealth for power. The reason the merchants were bought out rather than destroyed is in tum rooted in Kuwait's pre-oil social structure. The merchants' cohesion was the result of several factors. The first was the size of the economic elite undergoing class formation. There is a threshold that must be crossed before a group becomes a class and is thus able to exercise some class capacity. Kuwait's merchants had crossed that threshold. More than a few powerful trading families, they constituted a genuine class. Second, the merchants survived because they enjoyed a historically high degree of autonomy in economic affairs because a sharp pre-oil division of labor between the political and economic realms already existed. The independence of Kuwait's merchants was institutionalized in pre-oil peak associations such as a powerful chamber of commerce. Third, Kuwait's merchants had a high degree of political mobilization before oil. In Kuwait, the merchant rebellion (the Majlis Movement of 1938) on the eve of oil left a powerful memory of political capability (one centered in an elected representative institution) that merchants could invoke when the deal with the ruler started to unravel. Fourth, noneconomic factors played a role in maintaining class identity. In Kuwait, these mechanisms included the social institutions of intermarriage (used to sustain alliances among merchant families) and weekly diwaniyyas as well as a merchant culture: a vision of themselves as a social elite with a common, noble history, indeed an alternate vision of Kuwait's history that celebrated traders as heroes and reduced rulers to glorified house sitters. These noneconomic factors gave merchants a way to maintain a class memory and a memory of class tactics that would later prove useful. They enabled Kuwait's merchants to bridge the transition to oil. Thus, although oil changed the political dynamic, the independent power of social groups is also important in understanding political outcomes. The extent to which rulers can disengage from social groups and the nature of the process of disengagement (whether sudden and violent or gradual and negotiated) depends on the preexisting strength and composition of social groups. The Kuwaiti case suggests that classes stripped of their economic power can nonetheless retain some negotiating strength, depending on factors rooted in society, not the economy. In Kuwait, then, because the economic elite was well established, it

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was able to negotiate its withdrawal from politics, enabling it to hold on to more of its wealth, to some of its economic influence, and to most of its organizational structure. It was able to negotiate a trade of economic for political power: a guarantee of its wealth in exchange for withdrawing from formal political life. This cohesion is important because the ability of economic elites to later return to politics depends in part on the circumstances of their initial departure. Because oil revenues did not force rulers to destroy the merchants, the potential always remained for their return to formal politics. The merchants were encouraged to withdraw from politics, to avoid pressing their collective interests politically, but the political interests themselves were not destroyed, nor was the merchants' corporate identity. Through their social and economic institutions the merchants continued to maintain group awareness and solidarity and consequently an ability to organize quickly and reenter politics when their economic circumstances changed. The changed circumstances were of two different sorts: the decline in oil revenues in the mid-1980s, experienced by all the producers, and the unique circumstances of the Iraqi invasion. The revenue decline and the concomitant decline in state spending, along with the sense of crisis that the invasion generated, prompted the return to political life of those economic elites whose political silence oil revenues had once bought, whose depoliticization had been contingent on a continuing supply of money from the rulers. The pre-invasion pressure on the ruler to reopen the National Assembly from a pro-democratic alliance that now included the merchants was rekindled in the postwar period. But why was there an assembly at all? Why did this participatory institution even arise during a period when oil revenues enabled the rulers to demobilize the merchants politically? To understand this simultaneous political mobilization of the general population and demobilization of the merchants, it is necessary both to look at Kuwait's social structure and to remember that the processes set in motion by oil are not static. In Kuwait's case, the expansion of popular input into decisionmaking occurred, counterintuitively, as a result of efforts by rulers to centralize power. In an effort to develop new allies to balance the merchants during the phase when the merchants were being pushed out of formal political power, the rulers appealed directly to the population for popular support. They did this in two ways: by offering economic benefits and also by offering political benefits in the form of an elected National Assembly. Political participation actually emerged as a by-product of the coalitional politics practiced by the rulers, as part of the effort to break the merchants' hold on the population. Exclusionary and inclusionary policies, rather than being opposites, were in fact intimately related. These findings both alert us to a possible parallel antidemocratic impulse among the economic elites in other oil-producing

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states and also allow us to consider populist pro-democratic movements in terms of the possibly centralizing ends they may serve. Kuwait's history, albeit brief, with a parliamentary institution, as well as the presence of the Iraqi threat, made this political choice more likely. But coalitional politics was what put it on the agenda at all. During the postinvasion crisis, a period of contingent support and limited legitimacy, the government turned to populist techniques of the past. The economic crisis of the mid-1980s had prompted the government to move toward reducing some entitlements and introducing limitations and charges on social services and even to talk about introducing taxes. These trial balloons popped in the face of public opposition, but they did help repoliticize the population, priming it to support the pro-democracy movement. In any event, the economic crisis of the 1980s, though real, was not severe enough to prompt a truly authoritarian austerity plan from the government, and by 1990 the economy was bouncing back. The government learned a lesson from the experiment, however, and after the Iraqi invasion, the amir moved quickly to reestablish what he could of the older policies of placating the population economically and politically. Despite severe economic constraints, the government announced it would pay existing consumer loans, car loans, and mortgage loans to Kuwaitis; pay back salaries to government employees for the occupation period; raise public sector salaries; exempt Kuwaitis from utility and other public service charges and rents incurred during the occupation; and increase government entitlements in a variety of categories (marriage grants, child allowances, and aid to orphans, widows, and the poor). It also bailed out the ailing banking sector. In March 1992 the government issued a 25 percent across-the-board salary increase to all Kuwaitis in the public sector.? But it was simply not possible to restore the status quo ante this way: The revenues were too dear, the need too great. So the amir turned to the other pillar of popular support, the National Assembly. Reopening this institution was a relatively inexpensive way of creating support, at least in the short term. Given the changed circumstances, it was a strategy (and a relatively inexpensive one at that) that appealed to previously mobilized and demobilized elites (e.g., the merchants) as well as to the less affluent strata. The government preempted the opposition by setting an election date of 5 October 1992. Class structure is but one element of the social dynamic behind the pro-democracy movement in Kuwait. Other aspects of Kuwait's social structure have also facilitated political liberalization. One important element is that Kuwait lacks the sharp communal divisions that hinder democracy elsewhere. Its only important communal minority is its large Shi'a population and indeed this is precisely the population that has gained the least from parliamentary institutions. Regional dynamics-the revolution in Shi'a Iran-rendered this communal division problematic for the

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democratic process in the 1980s when dominant Sunnis feared Shi'a organizing. In the 1990s, however, when the perception of the Iranian threat receded and the sense of unity following the Iraqi threat grew, this issue became less important. Nonnationals form another important communal minority (actually a majority) in Kuwait, but because they are divided and weak, and because their inclusion in any democratic experiment is not on the political agenda (in this case, Kuwait is not exceptional, despite the media attention it has attracted-it is extraordinarily rare for states to allow nonnationals to vote), they are, for political purposes, unimportant (important though their personal circumstances may be). Ethnically, linguistically, economically, and politically diverse, nonnationals have never formed a political bloc. If anything, their presence has ironically contributed to a xenophobia that is an important catalyst to the formation of a state patriotic identity in the national Kuwaiti population-of the type that many writers deem critical to democracy. Several institutions of civil society have also facilitated political liberalization. The pro-democracy movement grew up through the diwaniyyasthe institutionalized weekly gatherings of family and friends. The elected cooperative societies provided practice with democratic procedures and generated an experienced pool of elected representatives. Although they were primarily retail networks, even in the prewar period these cooperatives had begun to assume a larger political importance, serving as a forum for public debate on issues of general importance and serving as a bellwether of political trends in the state. By the early 1980s, Islamist groups had gained control over the majority of the cooperative society boards. During the occupation, the societies served as an important basis for popular organizing against the Iraqis. The mosque has also been an institution for generating new candidates and, like the cooperative societies, served as a forum for popular organizing during the occupation. The tribes have been very successful in adapting tribal institutions to democratic processes, selecting candidates through highly participatory tribal primaries. Finally, the social institution of the extended family has helped sustain democratic practice. Where ideological leanings cut across family lines, as they do in Kuwait, family ties are tempering, producing more civil politics, particularly in a small state like Kuwait. These institutions provide some autonomy for social groups vis-a-vis the state. As important as these social institutions are in carving out space between the nuclear family and the state, however, it is perhaps equally important that Kuwait has not historically had strong repressive institutions. Kuwait did not even have a jail until the Majlis Movement of 1938. Until the mid-1980s and the political violence associated with the Gulf War, Kuwait had no martial law and, with important pockets of exception

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(notably regarding the expatriates and the Shi'a community) was not in any sense a police state (i.e., with political prisoners). Some of society's strength is relative, and that relativity is in part rooted in the historical weakness of state coercive institutions. Given that, it is probably a problem for the democratic impulse that Kuwait's coercive apparatus has grown since the war. This growth has been met with some complacency among Kuwaitis, in part because the new repressive apparatus has thus far turned its attention primarily to nonnationals. But a security apparatus, once erected, is hard to dislodge, and when it has tired of the nonnationals, it will turn on its own population. Political culture and dominant political values have also played a role in sustaining the pro-democracy movement in Kuwait. One reason that Kuwait's opposition has been as successful as it has in pursuing the idea of democracy is that a coalition of ideological groups has come out behind it. The groups have chosen to articulate democracy as a means of achieving both participation and accountability. This coalition was possible because Kuwait has a history of civil politics, with not only a well-entrenched indigenous notion of political rights but also a well-entrenched notion of civil rights, the idea that society has and should have some autonomy from the state. The pro-democracy movement was popular because it resonated with these long-standing popular sentiments and because people were adept at casting older values in a pro-democratic way. For example, the government's attempts to close down the politicized diwaniyyas were protested as an infringement on the social right to entertain guests (thousands of them?) in one's home as one chooses. In this, Kuwait's longer history as an independent political entity and its relatively small size and homogeneity (and an awareness of the same galvanized by the presence of so many expatriates and of Iraq on its border) have all been factors in consolidating a more homogeneous pro-democratic national culture. The effect of the international environment has been mixed. Certainly, from 1961 on, Kuwait's regional vulnerability played a role in prompting Kuwait's rulers to create the assembly and to use it to obtain explicit popular support. External factors played a role in the expansion of demands for political participation before the Iraqi invasion. Certainly the expansion of political participation in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe, eagerly followed in the Kuwaiti press, helped facilitate the constitutionalist movement before the invasion, giving Kuwaitis the feeling that an historical window of opportunity had briefly opened. The intifada (Palestinian uprising) was also a lesson in political defiance that Kuwaitis discussed, before the Iraqi invasion at least. As Ahmad al-Khatib puts it: "We are like the Intifadah. First we have broken the barrier of fear, then we will go on from there. The people of Kuwait deserve something better than rule by decree. We have a democratic tradition, thousands of educated men and women and a right to

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rule ourselves."8 The end of the Iran-Iraq War also encouraged an outpouring of pro-democratic dissent long held in check in the interests of national security. Pro-democracy efforts in nearby states, notably Algeria, Jordan, and the Yemens (soon to become Yemen), also played a role. The postinvasion international environment has had a more mixed effect on democratic impulses. The Iraqi threat has certainly had a unifying effect and heightened that sense of national identity (the patriotic kind) that seems to facilitate democracy. The invasion and its aftermath, in particular the behavior of the ruling family, doubtless hastened the reactivation of an assembly, which the rulers seemed in no particular hurry to revive just prior to the invasion. Had the invasion not occurred, the assembly issue would probably have remained dormant at least until the first session of the National Council was completed in June 1994. Just as Abdallah Salim alSabah had created the assembly in the face of the Iraqi threat in the early 1960s, so too Shaikh Jabir now reactivated it as a defense mechanism.9 At the same time, the security state atmosphere generated by that threat increased public tolerance for government monitoring and intimidation of opposition in the name of security and both frightened as well as empowered the state in ways that cannot be good for democracy. The peculiar presence of the United States in Kuwaiti politics, particularly in the immediate postwar period, was thought by some to be a benefit to the pro-democracy movement. But in the eyes of the authors, it was an opportunity lost, as the U.S. government chose to support some ofthe more antidemocratic tendencies on the part of the ruling elites and seemed oblivious to the pro-democratic opposition traditions in Kuwait. The nature of postwar reconstruction certainly put the United States in a position to influence political events in a pro-democratic way, but in fact it was very reluctant to do so.

How: Dynamics of DemocratizationThe 1992 and 1996 National Assembly Elections 1992 Elections The dynamics of the new postwar relationship were tested during the 1992 National Assembly elections. The opposition that emerged to contest the race was far more organized than its pre-invasion predecessors and quicker to join forces in support of the assembly. Although the seven opposition groups that fielded candidates (see later discussion) disagreed on fundamental issues ranging from the role of religion in politics to the role of the state in the economy, they began the race by emphasizing areas of consensus, working together to communicate to the government that their commit-

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ment to the National Assembly as an institution and a process was shared, whatever else they might disagree on. At the start of the campaign, they issued a joint public statement asking the government to respect the integrity of the election process. Two general sets of concerns arose in the election that cut across ideological and social-structural lines. The first was for more effective government: less corruption and more transparency.Io In this regard, the issue of separation of the government posts of prime minister and heir apparent arose, as did concern over ministerial appointments, especially ruling family domination of key ministries. The second concern was for an expansion and protection of political and civil rights, including some discussion of women's suffrage (with some liberal candidates supporting it and many, but not all, of the Islamist candidates opposing it) and of lowering the voting age to 18 (on which there was much more consensus). During the campaign, the government was heavily criticized from several directions, both for its 1986 suspension of the assembly and for behavior of key players just prior to and during the invasion and occupation, as well as for corruption during the occupation and reconstruction. The tone of the election was also palpably different from previous campaigns. The opposition, reflecting the sentiments of the general population, shared not only a consensus that Kuwait's vulnerability-demonstrated in the Iraqi invasion-was a core issue, but also that the assembly and the institutionalization of participatory politics therein were among the best safeguards available in light of that vulnerability. This view of the elections as a critical turning point manifested itself in the liveliness of the campaign, one of the most hotly contested elections in Kuwait's history. Voter turnout was exceptionally high. Out of 81,440 eligible Kuwaiti voters, 67,724 voted, 83 percent of the eligible voters (see Table 5.1).11 Among these was a record number of 18,000 voters who voted for the first time. Seven groups (political parties were officially banned) emerged to contest the election.12 These groups reflected both the underlying social stratification of Kuwait-all predated the invasion-and the new kinds of political mobilization that had occurred as a result of the economic downturn and the Iraqi invasion and occupation. The first group, the Democratic Forum (al-minbar al-dimuqrati alkuwaiti), comprised two liberal groups that had emerged in the 1960s and 1970s and formed the backbone of the historical opposition movement in Kuwait. The Democratic Forum had played a central role in earlier assembly elections by defying the government and galvanizing public support over issues such as the oil agreement treaty in the 1970s. It consisted of the old guard--established opposition leaders such as Ahmad al-Khatib (whose frequent refusal to take any cabinet post gave him a certain legitimacy), Abdallah al-Naibari (former secretary-general of the group and another

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longtime opposition leader), and Jasim al-Qattami (an old pan-Arabist). In the campaign, their historical support base was eroded by their historically secularist ideological positions and their long-standing support of the Palestinian cause, as well as by remarks from key candidates regarding the dialogue with Saddam Hussein at the height of Desert Storm. Their older association with pan-Arabism left the group badly tainted during the campaign. With its historical project in disrepute, the Democratic Forum was weakened by lack of clear vision and campaigned passively, reacting rather than initiating. Unable to devise new strategies, the group failed to gain grassroots support from the voters. Although the presence of historical opposition leaders had long been a strength, the resistance to producing a new generation of younger party leaders now left the organization increasingly hobbled. The Democratic Forum ran eight candidates but won only two seats, both of which went to veteran Kuwaiti opposition leaders: Ahmad al-Khatib and Abdallah al-Naibari. Ahmad al-Rabi', who late in the campaign abandoned the Democratic Forum to run as an independent candidate, won a seat and became minister of education and higher education. Three Islamist groups emerged. The Islamic Constitutional Movement (ICM) (al-haraka al-dusturiyya al-islamiyya), led by the Social Reform Society, was a moderate Sunni Islamist group historically connected to the Muslim Brotherhood, representing establishment Sunnis and the world of official Islam. Reluctant to criticize the government, the group preached moderate reform, working from within, and was as a result seen by most as having been co-opted by the government. The group lost some popularity because of the support that its fraternal organization, the Muslim Brotherhood, had given to Saddam Hussein during the crisis, as well as the departure from Kuwait of most of the movement's leadership during the occupation. In the 1985 assembly, the movement had won three seats. In 1992 it ran five candidates, three of whom won, and supported 25, 15 of whom won. Along with its supporters, it controlled the largest assembly bloc. Until the cabinet reshuffling in April 1994, it controlled three seats in the cabinet. Its power suffered a setback after some key parliament and cabinet members abandoned it. Its members and supporters sit on many influential assembly committees. Along with the Populist Islamic Group, it can shape the assembly's agenda, but there does not seem to be much cooperation and coordination between the two Sunni Islamic groups. After the strained relations between the Islamic groups and the ruling elites had ebbed, an almost urgent need to close ranks and coordinate efforts emerged. Of late, voices in the Islamic camp have been calling for such an approach, but any signs of cooperation between the more pragmatic Islamic Constitutional Movement and the conservative Populist Islamic Group in the parliament and, more important, in the 1996 election have yet to be seen.

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The Populist Islamic Group (al-tajammu' al-islami al-sha'bi), led by the Cultural Revival Society, is an orthodox Sunni group connected with the Salafi movement, popularly viewed as less thoroughly coopted than the ICM, its members largely outside establishment politics. Unlike the ICM, the group had credentials from the war: Most of its leaders chose to stay in Kuwait during the occupation, played an important role in the resistance, and accordingly suffered detention at the hands of the Iraqis. Key figures in the group include Jasim al- 'Aun, a member of three assemblies, and minister of water, electricity, and communications (who subsequently broke with the group); Ahmad Baqir, former secretary of the National Assembly; and Khalid al- 'Is sa, chairman of the Cultural Revival Society, who lost his seat. The group emphasized implementation of the shari'a (Islamic law) and amending Article 2 of the constitution to make the shari'a the sole source of legislation. The group won two seats in the 1981 elections and two again in 1985. In 1992 the group ran seven candidates and supported 11 others. It won three seats, one for the first time in the outlying Bedouin districts. Seven candidates that the group supported also won seats. The National Islamic Coalition (al-i'tilaf al-islami al-watani) was the only Shi'a group to field candidates. A coalition of convenience among three different groups, its members were all religious but varied on other issues. Since the Iranian revolution and then during the Iran-Iraq War, the Shi' as in Kuwait felt themselves victims of a government campaign to coopt and contain them. They saw their numbers in the National Assembly drop from a high of 10 deputies (20 percent) in 1975 to four in 1981 and three in 1985. Comprising about 25 percent of the Kuwaiti population, they accounted for 6 percent of the seats in the last assembly. Before the 1990 crisis, they suffered from accusations of disloyalty on the part of the majority Sunni population, particularly after some Kuwaiti Shi'as were convicted of bombing oil installations in Kuwait in 1986. During the occupation, Shi'as went out of their way to prove their loyalty to Kuwait, and the hostile confessional atmosphere abated somewhat. Nonetheless, although put aside during the crisis, the old animosities remained and resurfaced following liberation. Because of the concentration of the Shi' as in relatively few districts, they ran only four official candidates and supported others. Organizationally, the Shi' as worked well together, closing ranks and cooperating with the secularist, liberal Democratic Forum candidates and supporting some Sunni candidates. Forty-three Shi'a candidates ran, mostly as independents. The Shi'a coalition won only two seats, for 'Adnan 'Abd al-Samad and Nasir Sarkhu. Three other Shi'a candidates won, including 'Ali al-Baghli, former minister of oil. Along with an appointed cabinet member, a holdover from the previous cabinet, former Minister of Communications Habib Jawhar Hayat (now minister of public works and minister of state for

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housing), this gave Shi' as two cabinet posts. After the 1994 cabinet reshuffle, the Shi' as suffered a minor setback, dropping to one cabinet post. Altogether, Shi'as took five assembly seats, giving them 10 percent of the assembly total, a decisive improvement over the previous assembly, where they held only three seats. The Constitutional Group (al-tajammu' al-dusturi) represented the core of Kuwait's entrepreneurial elite: Kuwait's old merchant families connected historically with the chamber of commerce. Close allies of the government on many issues, their leaders controlled the boards of major corporations in banking, insurance, and industry generally; dominated the major newspapers; and staffed many cabinet positions. Chaired by the head of the powerful chamber of commerce, 'Abd al-'Aziz al-Saqr, the group was primarily interested in influencing postinvasion economic policy, focusing on its members' concern that the government had not done enough to revive the private sector. Jasim al-Saqr, who won his seat in a predominantly merchant district, was the only candidate the merchants ran. Jasim al-Saqr is a veteran politician and the first Kuwaiti to hold a university degree, ironically enough from Baghdad University, in the 1930s. He is the brother of the head of the chamber of commerce, the first speaker of the National Assembly, and the most senior member of parliament. He is highly respected by his colleagues and is the chairman of the Foreign Affairs Committee as well as a well-known pan-Arabist. The Independents (majmu'at al-mustaqillin), a loose group dominated overwhelmingly by the Kuwaiti intelligentsia, consisted of academics and attorneys. Focusing on civil and political rights, they were weakened by their lack of legislative experience. Their key figures included Hamad alJu'an, a former parliamentarian in charge of investigating misconduct in the central bank and the target of an assassination attempt in the early days of the liberation. The Parliamentarians' Group (takattul al-nuwwab) consisted of former deputies, most of whom had served in the ill-fated 1985 assembly. The group was formed in the aftermath of the assembly suspension and played a central role in organizing the pro-democracy movement. Headed by the former National Assembly speaker, Ahmad al-Sa'dun, a harsh critic of government policy, the group consisted of former deputies who ran the spectrum of the seven groups. In addition to the seven groups in the formal opposition coalition, there remains one large constituency that stands somewhat apart: the Bedouins. Most Bedouin deputies were not associated with any political group and ran independently, following tribal primaries inside their district-an illegal practice, but one the government tolerated. Historically loyal supporters of the government, Bedouin candidates who won in previous elections normally voted along government lines and sponsored bills favored by the

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government. Their local support was based primarily on constituency services: on their ability to help constituents through government mazes. The Bedouin deputies controlled 27 seats (56 percent) of the membership in both the 1981 and 1985 assemblies. Their representation remained high in the 1992 assembly, the main difference being the emergence of educated, younger Bedouins, many of whom seemed to indicate a growing restlessness with the old guard. Just as the government historically lost the support of other once-loyal constituencies (e.g., merchants, Shi'as), so too the tribal candidates appeared to be increasingly developing their own agendas and leaders. In addition to the Bedouins, it is worth noting that the 34 candidates who were former members of the prewar, pro-government National Council did poorly: Only nine won their contested seats, and all of the nine won in the outer districts. The government's response to the opposition groups that emerged was clearly more open than in the period preceding the invasion. The government sensibly decided not to engage in any redistricting, discussions of which had prompted fear on the part of opposition leaders of gerrymandering, of the sort that had occurred in 1980 in a successful effort on the government's part to achieve a more compliant assembly. Although political parties were banned, the government allowed groups to function as de facto parties. The government's reluctance in particular to ban the Democratic Forum, which acted virtually as a political party, was interpreted by some as an indication that it might permit formal political parties in the future. All told, opposition forces, largely liberal and Islamist, took 35 of the 50 assembly seats. Many faces were different: According to one study, nearly two-thirds of the candidates were running for the first time.I3 The assembly witnessed one of the highest turnovers in Kuwait's legislative history, with 26 new members (52 percent). The opposition bloc to emerge was dominated by the Islamist deputies, about one-third of the assembly members. Nonetheless, the source of their unification is fairly abstract, and beneath the consensus lie different personalities, sects (Sunni and Shi'a), and ideological predispositions and the differing histories of the various groups in the coalition.14 In the new postelection cabinet, members of the ruling family continued to head the defense, interior, foreign affairs, and information ministries. Sabah al-Ahmad, briefly removed from the cabinet owing to controversy surrounding his role as foreign minister in the period just prior to the Iraqi invasion, returned as deputy prime minister and minister of foreign affairs. However, six opposition members also received ministerial appointments (the number was reduced to five after the cabinet reshuffle in April 1994). This was by itself a watershed achievement, and one that prompted some disagreement among the opposition, many of whom called on the six to

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resign and return to the back benches. Nonetheless, the opposition remained constrained. Its internal divisions, its limited institutionalization, its lack of experience as a part of a ruling coalition, its shared consensus on the essentially nonconfrontational history of Kuwaiti politics, and the fact that most of the key opposition members were in many ways tied to the government (among other things, as merchants, with the government their biggest client) all conspired to limit the level of confrontation on the part of assembly members. Nonetheless, controversial issues arose in the campaign and in the postelection period. At the top were those related to national security and the measures taken to safeguard Kuwait and protect it from another invasion. The government, for its part, was particularly interested in limiting the investigation into the events leading up to the invasion, such as shortcomings in decisionmaking and the mishandling of the crisis. Another topic of major importance was the economic crisis gripping Kuwait. There were many dimensions to this: the paralysis of the private sector (and related discussions of privatization), the government bailout of the banking industry, the government bailout of debtors (estimated at about U.S.$20 billion), and the larger issue of the future distribution of now-limited state revenues. Enduring issues from earlier assemblies included housing policy, education policy, labor force and demographic planning, the bidun (stateless), and suffrage (women, second-class citizens). Kuwait's relations with Iraq as well as the Arab states and Palestinians that allied themselves with Iraq against Kuwait were also on the agenda. Although the Iraqi invasion took the core issue of Kuwaiti foreign policy-its balancing act between east and west-off the agenda, giving Kuwait a more predictably pro-U.S. foreign policy, the nature of those ties, and of Kuwait's ties with Saudi Arabia, continued to be a matter of policy debate.

1996 Elections The 1996 elections, held on 7 October, confirmed many of the dynamics of the postwar government-opposition relationships in evidence in the 1992 elections. The campaign issues were similar to those of 1992: narrow issues related to the economy (the budget deficit, unemployment) and the level of social spending, as well as foreign policy matters and broader issues related to more effective government (women's suffrage). In keeping with their history of loyal opposition, women held public demonstrations demanding the vote before the election. The Iraqi invasion continued to cast shadows over Kuwaiti politics. Women cast the case for suffrage in part in terms of their support for resistance to Iraq. Prisoners of war remained a campaign issue, as did broader issues of security. The government's continuing ambivalence toward the assembly was in evidence. In January 1994, the assembly repealed a 1990 law, enacted

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during the assembly's suspension, which restricted the extent to which ministers could be taken to court for acts conducted in the course of their work. This law (known as the "don't try the minister law") was tested soon after the assembly repeal, when criminal charges were brought against former oil minister 'Ali Khalifa al-Sabah and the amir responded by requesting the constitutional court to review the revocation of the 1990 law, basing its request on Article 71 of the Kuwaiti constitution, which allowed for the review of laws enacted during the assembly's suspension once the assembly was reconvened. This action prompted a tense standoff between the amir and the opposition and rekindled rumors that the ruler was about to suspend the assembly yet again. A compromise was finally reached in 1995, when the government withdrew its request for a constitutional court review, but only after the assembly had agreed to drop the repeal of the contentious law and produced an amended version that had the government's support. The assembly continued its work, and elections were held in 1996. The continuing commitment to the democratic experiment was evidenced by a relatively high voter turnout (with more than 75 percent of the registered voters casting ballots), a lively election campaign carried out through the diwaniyyas and the press, and the presence of some 230 candidates competing for the assembly's 50 seats. Observers considered the elections free and open, indicating again the government's continuing acquiescence in this element of the democratization process. As in the past, political parties remained forbidden. But as in 1992, although all the candidates nominally ran as independents, most were associated with political groups that put forward specific candidates. As in 1992, the Bedouin constituency proved loyal to its candidates (who to a certain extent cut across ideological divisions), electing 24 members identified with tribal (e.g., Mutair, Ajman, Awazim) origins. Still, the 1996 elections marked some new directions. Only half of the 1992 delegates were reelected. The most notable shift since 1992 was the resurgence of Islamist candidates (who took 17 seats, down from 19 in the previous assembly) and, especially, of pro-government or service candidates, who won some 30 seats. Liberals took four seats. Behind this shift lay a consolidation of the alliance between liberals and pro-government forces. Even before the elections, liberals were able to prevent Islamist initiatives in the 1992 assembly only by turning to the government for support. In the summer of 1994, for example, Islamists, supported by Bedouin delegates and some Independents, successfully defeated liberal opposition to passage of a constitutional amendment to change Article 2 of the constitution to designate Islamic law as "the only source of legislation" (rather than the main source of legislation). Only the amir's veto prevented enactment of the amendment into law. In 1995, Islamists were again nearly successful in their efforts to oust liberal education

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minister Ahmad al-Rabi' (a member of the Democratic Forum who ran as an independent in 1992). In both cases, liberal forces would have failed without pro-government support. In some ways the election also signaled a generational shift. Sixteen members of the old assembly lost their seats. Nine old members retired, including Ahmad al-Khatib, member of the Democratic Forum and for many years leader of the old liberal left. Despite the presence of more progovernment candidates, the current assembly is likely to remain oppositional. "Pro-government" is a fluid category, and government supporters have frequently proven more oppositional once seated than the government would have liked.

Conclusion These, then, are the issues shaping Kuwaiti politics today. Obviously, Kuwait is far from any democratic ideal. The selection of the ruler by popular mandate is not on the political agenda, and even those issues subject to popular discourse are lodged in an assembly vulnerable to closure by the amir and elected by a minority even of adult citizens. Nonetheless, the participatory impulse is both strong and deeply rooted in elections and institutions that have some history. Kuwait has both multiple centers of power, lodged in civil society, and institutions that embody commitments to, if not quite guarantees of, respect for participatory processes and the civil and political rights that underlie those processes. This relatively high degree of political openness demands explanation, and this chapter has tried to offer that. In part, this openness is rooted in the peculiar political economy of oil. Oil, by offering the government greater scope for ignoring popular demands, is an important check on Kuwait's participatory impulse. But oil also intervenes in an ongoing political process. Economic forces are transformed by the local structures in place before oil, mediated by preexisting economic, political, social, and cultural arrangements. Because Kuwait's economic elites were historically quite powerful and because they remained socially cohesive, the rulers chose to buy out but not destroy existing economic elites. The factors that allowed the merchants to remain strong after their economic base was destroyed were the pre-oil size of the class (large in Kuwait), the extent of the division of economic and political labor (marked in Kuwait), the degree of political mobilization (high in Kuwait), the extent of formal social institutions such as carefully crafted intermarriage patterns (extensive in Kuwait), and the degree of articulation of a specifically merchant culture (well articulated in Kuwait). These factors made economic elites in Kuwait unusually conscious of their class interests and enabled them to work to maintain

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those interests under changed circumstances, giving them the power to negotiate a new economic niche for themselves by drawing up a social compact with the rulers. These factors also allowed these elites to later reenter politics when the circumstances behind the original trade of wealth for power had changed. At first, however, politically mobilized groups, notably economic elites (here, the merchants), willingly opted out of the political process. This phenomenon empirically refutes the widespread assumption in much of the democratization literature that increased wealth necessarily provokes increased and pro-democratic political participation because the economic elites (bourgeoisie or middle class, depending on whether the writer links the behavior to interests or to values) who accompany that wealth are the inevitable carriers of democracy. The Kuwaiti case not only refutes this characterization of economic elites, showing their political behavior to be much more contingent, but begins to illuminate the circumstances under which economic elites will abandon formal politics and the circumstances in which they will reenter politics with a pro-democratic agenda. The strength and the nuisance value of these elites also prompted the government to seek other allies. The Iraqi threat hastened this need, and Kuwait's institutional history, the Majlis Movement, provided the vehicle-an elected National Assembly. Other factors have contributed to greater openness. A relatively diverse civil society, one revitalized by the Iraqi occupation, has been an element. A fairly pro-democratic political culture predating oil has played a role. Rooted in the marriage of the nationalist and pro-democratic impulses in the interwar period, this culture has deepened as a result of events (notably the Iraqi occupation), the practical experience in democratic institutions (e.g., the cooperatives), and the astute adaptation of traditional institutions (whether in the form of tribal primaries or diwaniyya demonstrations) to pro-democratic ends. Kuwait's history with political liberalization, then, has produced clear areas of convergence and divergence. There is a democratic tradition with popular support. The National Assembly is now part of the culture and the constitution. Thirty years' experience with the assembly, coupled with the politically mobilizing experience of invasion and occupation, has altered the dominant culture in important ways. Social values and perceptions have shifted in favor of the assembly and constitution. Today the burden of proof lies with those who would disrupt these political institutions rather than those who would preserve them. That said, the assembly has not changed the fundamental power relationships in the state. Oil revenues still go directly to the state, which is still controlled primarily, albeit with constraints and oversight, by key members of the ruling family. Yet, lower revenues and increased expenditures have reduced the ability of the ruler to

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make the side payments that historically brought into line recalcitrant opposition groups, removing an important buffer and source of reassurance for the rulers. As in the past, the ruler ultimately retains the power to close the assembly; he is no constitutional monarch. As the assembly continues to raise political issues-such as the funds that disappeared during the Gulf War or the actions of the ruling family and others close to the ruler in that regard-it continues to touch on areas that many in the ruling family think are not its proper domain. There is a strong and recently revitalized pro-democratic impulse in the opposition that is solidly rooted in Kuwaiti society. At the same time, authoritarian trends in the government remain. With little practice in dealing with such an organized opposition, the government has vacillated between conflicting representative and repressive policies-allowing the reopening of the National Assembly but waging a quiet war on the institutions of civil society that could sustain parliamentary opposition. Although the pro-democratic impulse has the upper hand, its achievements remain precarious.

Notes 1. For more details, see Abdallah al-Shayeji, Democratization in Kuwait: The National Assembly as a Strategy for Survival, Ph.D. dissertation, University of Texas, Austin, 1988. 2. On this, see Jill Crystal, Kuwait: The Transformation of an Oil State (Boulder: Westview, 1990), chap. 6. 3. "The Final Communique of the Kuwaiti People's Conference," 13-15 October 1990, Jidda, Saudi Arabia. 4. Neil Hicks and Ghanim al-Najjar, "The Utility of Tradition: Civil Society in Kuwait," in Richard Norton, ed., Civil Society in the Middle East, vol. 1 (Leiden: E. J. Brill, 1994). 5. Reuters, 26 May 1996. 6. Jill Crystal, Oil and Politics in the Gulf: Rulers and Merchants in Kuwait and Qatar (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995). 7. Abdallah al-Shayeji, "Kuwait at the Crossroads: The Quest for Democratization," Middle East Insight 8 (1992), pp. 41-46. 8. New York Times, 11 March 1990, p. 6. 9. See al-Shayeji, Democratization in Kuwait. 10. On this, see F. Gregory Gause III, Oil Monarchies: Domestic and Security Challenges in the Arab Gulf States (New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 1994), chap. 4. 11. Al-Qabas, 8 October 1992, p. 1. 12. The following section is based in part on interviews by Abdallah alShayeji in Kuwait in May 1992 with people connected with the campaign, including 'Abd al-Rahman Hussain, a Kuwaiti journalist; Falah al-Mudaris, Kuwait University political science professor; Ahmad Baqir, charter and senior member of the Populist Islamic Group; 'Abd al-Razzaq Alshayeji, Populist Islamic Group;

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'Abd al-Wahhab al-Wazzan, secretary general of the Islamic Coalition; Ahmad alSa'dun, speaker, National Assembly; Ahmad al-Rubi'; and other members of these political groups. 13. Shafeeq Ghabra, "Kuwait: Elections and Issues of Democratization in a Middle Eastern State," Digest of Middle East Studies 2 (1993), p. 7. See also his "Voluntary Associations in Kuwait: The Foundations of a New System," Middle East Journal45, 2 (1991). 14. On the array of groups and the results of the National Assembly elections, see Abdallah al-Shayeji, "The Seventh Kuwaiti National Assembly Elections: Analysis and Results," Journal of Gulf and Arabian Peninsula Studies 18 (January 1994), pp. 15-71.

6 Democracy (Again) Derailed: Lebanon's Ta'if Paradox Judith Palmer Harik

Between 1920 and 1943, when Lebanon's political system was gradually being established, institutions associated with the Western liberal democratic tradition were virtually unknown in the Middle East. Thus both the 1926 Lebanese constitution (modeled roughly after that of France's Third Republic) and the consociational formula negotiated in 1943 stood out at the time as democratic openings of considerable promise. 1 As a result of these institutions, parliamentary elections were regularly held, and Lebanese society enjoyed a degree of openness and development unmatched elsewhere in the Middle East for a considerable period of time. Yet Lebanon's brand of democracy eventually wore thin, and as political turmoil swept the region the system proved incapable of riding out the storm.z The protracted social conflict that ensued dramatically illustrates the immense problems of constructing a working democracy in deeply divided societies and raises the question of whether and how such failed experiments can be reversed.3 According to the Lebanese government, "redemocratization" is proceeding under the terms of the Document of National Accord, the 1989 pact signed by Lebanese members of parliament in Ta'if, Saudi Arabia. Put together by Lebanese politicians in conjunction with the Arab League's Tripartite Committee and heavily backed by Syria, Saudi Arabia, and the United States, the accord officially ended the civil war and laid the foundations of the "Second Lebanese Republic."4 In this chapter I explore the structural political conditions of the new order and the behavioral norms influencing governmental performance. The aim is to understand how political changes resulting from the civil war affect Lebanon's fractious communities and the development of democracy and to evaluate the country's long-term prospects for democracy in that respect. Weaknesses in the original deal negotiated in 1943 by leaders of the

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Sunni Muslim and Maronite Christian communities and in the political formula and processes that ensued are widely considered to have spurred the Lebanese crisis that erupted in 1975. What led to the emergence of the "state deal," and what factors were responsible for the manner in which the emergence and operations of political institutions departed from the classic liberal traditions? Also included in this section are details about the events that led to the system's breakdown, the political dynamics of Lebanon's lengthy civil war and those that influenced the end of hostilities and led to the formulation of the Document of National Accord. In the second part of this chapter I note why a liberal political formula was chosen for Lebanon and why it failed. I assert that democratic renewal in divided societies depends on consensus building and the development of civic orientations among citizens and political leaders. Looking at the sociopolitical factors-the underlying rules of the Lebanese confessional game-I explain why this development failed to take place and expose the actual distortion of due democratic process by elites so that the entrenchment of their political influence can be legitimized. By examining political practices before the civil war and noting their resilience even during the lengthy fratricidal conflict, I provide a basis for comparison against which movement toward the achievement of a functioning democracy can be measured in the postwar period. In the last section, in which I focus on how democracy fares at present, the principal question addressed is whether Lebanon's groups are more equitably and democratically associated under the political reforms instituted in the postwar period and whether any strides have been made in implementing authentic democratic practices and protecting citizens' rights. An analysis of the political dynamics of the postwar period and the government's main goals explains the lacunae between the liberal principles espoused by the government and its actual practices. Finally, in the concluding section I consider the implications of Lebanon's 1989 Document of National Accord, the political practices of the current government, and its increasing links with Syria on the country's long-term prospect for achieving national reconciliation and democratic renewal.

What Caused the Derailment of Lebanese Democracy? Culture, political tradition, and historical events influence elite attitudes toward outgroups and central authorities, and in pluralist societies these factors form the context for state building. It therefore seems useful at this stage to explore the factors that have shaped Lebanon's modern political system and the institutional formulas developed to manage conflict prior to

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independence, before moving on to a discussion of the institutions and processes adopted to govern the republic that emerged in 1943. Over its history, the area known as Lebanon attracted a number of confessional groups who had been persecuted for their religious heterodoxy under the Mamluk empire. By the end of the eleventh century the Maronite Christians predominated in the north; the Druze, an offshoot of Ismaili Shi'ism, clustered in the central Shuf Mountains; and the Shi'a formed the majority in the rest of the area. The Druze's tight organization and military prowess helped them to ward off incursions by the loosely organized Mamluk and Ottoman authorities and provided them with opportunities to achieve wealth and power as auxiliaries of regional powers. Under the Druze prince Fakhr al-Din alMa'an II (1590-1633), a relatively autonomous Druze principality arose in Mount Lebanon by the end of the sixteenth century. There, Maronites who had migrated from the north lived in harmony with their Druze overlords. 5 When Fakhr al-Din was executed after a failed attempt at complete independence, Druze elders chose a member of the Shihab family, Bashir, to succeed him. Despite factional skirmishing, this arrangement furthered Ottoman interests and maintained stability while the Druze's hegemony was unchallenged. But expanding Maronite numbers and influence destabilized and eventually destroyed this quasi-feudal system. Members of the Maronite clergy began promoting a myth of nationhood that identified Mount Lebanon as the Maronites' unique homeland in order to unify and mobilize their people to achieve political power.6 When Shihabi governors Bashir II and III, who had converted to Christianity, favored the Maronites' interests over the Druze 's, the legitimacy of the system was undermined in Druze eyes, and in the first part of the nineteenth century, a series of intercommunal upheavals began. It soon became clear, however, that the mountain residents were incapable of settling their political differences by themselves, and the British and French, who sought to check each other's power in the region, pressured the Ottomans to reorganize Mount Lebanon's political system.7 As a result of laws known as the Shakib Afandi regulations (after the Ottoman official who promulgated them in 1840), Mount Lebanon was divided into Druze and Maronite provinces, each with a governor of the same sect assisted by an elected council composed of two members from each sect living in Mount Lebanon. Also included were new regulations that directly undercut the Druze leaders' feudal political and economic privileges. This situation prompted the Druze to take military action to try to stem the loss of their prestige. A massacre of Christians in 1860 at Dayr al-Qamar led the French to send in troops to prevent further bloodshed. The incident ultimately brought about the reunification of the mountain

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under a new governmental system established by the Reglement Organique, promulgated in 1861 and backed by the European powers, who preferred an autonomous status for Mount Lebanon. The new system featured a 12member administrative council with representation from the major sects. A Christian Ottoman governor, appointed for five years by the Ottoman central government with the approval of the European powers, presided over the council. The governorship, which was relatively free of subordination to any Lebanese community, plus the "representation" of the various sects and adequate Ottoman force to implement the arrangement, together provided a pragmatic means of managing intercommunal conflict. Nevertheless, it did not succeed in deflecting the clashing trajectories of the two principal communities. On the contrary, there is little doubt that the violent incidents of the mid-1800s crystallized Christian beliefs that only political hegemony in some sort of a Christian haven would ensure their security.s An alliance with the French provided external backing for the Christians' "state idea" as well as a foothold in Lebanon for the French, who were later accorded mandatory power in Lebanon after World War I. The Maronites' unswerving pursuit of communal goals-despite the reservations of other groups-was instrumental in determining the constitutional norms and the underlying power structure that guided Lebanon from independence until the outbreak of civil war in 1975. What were the ideological, institutional, and processual foundations on which the new system rested? A brief review of Lebanon's democratic formula will further an understanding of what went wrong with the liberal experiment and help explain why the various provisions and reforms included in the new social pact of 1989 were deemed essential to the achievement of intergroup consensus and to a workable postwar regime. The National Covenant of 1943

The physical outlines of the modern Lebanese state began to emerge in the 1920s (during the French mandate), when to ensure economic viability, the coastal regions of Beirut, Sidon, and Tripoli, all centers of Sunni concentration, and the Biqa'a Valley where Shi'a predominated were attached to the mountainous "heartland." Fearing that their influence would be diluted by the addition of areas with large Muslim populations, Christian leaders tried to ensure their community's protection by means of constitutional guarantees. As a result, Article 95 of the 1926 constitution decidedly favored Christian interests with its stipulation that "as a provisional measure, and for the sake of justice and amity, the sects shall be equitably represented in public employment and in the composition of the Ministry. "9 A census held in 1932 indicated that the two largest communities were the Sunnis and the Maronites, and it was the leaders of these two sects, Bishara al-Khuri (a

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Maronite) and Riyad al-Sulh (Sunni), who struck the informal deal that formed the so-called National Covenant in 1943.10 The understanding was marked by Muslim consent to Lebanon's existence as a sovereign state rather than its merger with Syria or any other Arab state, in return for Christian rejection of French protection and acknowledgment of an "Arab face" for the country. The Maronites did not view the moderate, proWestern Arab regimes of the day as particularly threatening to their interests and hoped to placate the Muslims, and the Sunnis were encouraged to go along with the pact by influential leaders of Syria's National Bloc, who favored cooperation with pro-Arab Maronites.ll The state's given function as a bridge between east and west and a link between Christianity and Islam certainly did little to foster a national identity capable of attracting the allegiance of the deeply divided confessional groups, and many Muslims and Christians maintained strong reservations about the viability of the proposed system. Yet, notwithstanding the fact that the political system had emerged from a "smoke-filled room" rather than from the halls of a constitutional convention, the arrangement provided a rationale for national independence, and the institutions that emerged appeared to herald an interesting experiment in consociational democracy. Since national consensus was so weak, a strong executive was seen as necessary. It was therefore determined that the president should always be a Maronite but would be held accountable by parliament and the cabinet and that Maronites should also hold key posts such as the directorship of internal security and command of the army. In addition, the president received sweeping powers that included appointment and dismissal of the prime minister, who would always be a Sunni Muslim. The position of speaker of the house was allocated to the Shi' a and deputy speaker to the Greek Orthodox community. In accordance with the spirit of the National Covenant, the chief executives were to cooperate, working out state policy through mutual give-and-take. This agreement was viewed by conservative Beiruti Sunnis as congenial to their own political interests, and leaders of other sects, who stood to gain from cabinet and administrative posts reserved for them, also concurred with the confessional formula. A predesignated number of parliamentary seats for each religious community was established, based on population size. From 1943 to 1992 the number of deputies was always a multiple of 11 because the ratio of Christians to Muslims was fixed at six to five. Multimember constituencies were formed where candidates competed for parliamentary seats allotted to their sect in accordance with its numbers in each electoral district. The candidates therefore competed only with their co-religionists but had to secure the support of voters who belonged to other religious communities in their district in order to win. The main problems of Lebanon's brand of democracy were its rigidly hierarchical nature (which might have been overcome if

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regular population counts had taken place) and the fact that once elected to parliament, deputies did all they could to retain their seat or to make sure a family member inherited it. Although the dangerous weaknesses of the Lebanese system are obvious, they were not in themselves sufficient to cause system collapse. Rather, in the heated ideological climate that later developed, intergroup discrepancies and governmental shortcomings reinforced primordial cleavages on which the system rested. Simply put, the sea change in Muslim ideology provoked by Gamal 'Abd al-Nasser's call for Arab unity in defiance of Western imperialism and Zionist encroachment caused a reinterpretation of Lebanon's "Arab face" to mean total commitment to the Palestinian cause,l2 In 1958, for instance, the upsurge in Arab nationalism was one of the factors that fueled armed opposition to President Kamil Sham'un's plan to violate the constitution and seek a second term in office. The crisis ended when, after Sham'un had secured the help of U.S. marines to put down the revolt, he abandoned his quest. The influx of mainly Muslim Palestinian refugees in 1948 and the wave of Palestinian militants who came to Lebanon during 1970-1971 after a failed struggle with the Jordanian army exacerbated Maronite fears that their security would be threatened if the delicate sectarian balance achieved by the National Covenant were destabilized. By the mid-1970s the cracks papered over by the 1943 pact widened. This could be seen when, exercising his presidential prerogatives on the eve of the civil war, President Sulayman Franjiyya cavalierly selected a series of prime ministers from among the weaker, moderate Sunni leaders whom he could manipulate, rather than from the mainstream, thus radicalizing the Muslim political current.B Muslims were further incensed by the fact that demographic projections indicating that the Muslim population was growing faster than the Christians had never been followed up by a census that might have upgraded their political influence.14 Adding to discontent with the political system was uneven economic development that favored the capital and its largely Christian eastern suburb and left peripheral areas, such as those where Shi'a, Druze, and Sunni in-Akkar were concentrated, all but untouched. Abolition of the confessional system was therefore declared a major objective of the opposition groups who took up arms in 1975.15 The Phalange Party, formed by Maronite Pierre al-Jumayyil in the 1930s to press Christian interests, had formed a fighting wing. It, along with other Christian militias and with Israeli support, faced off with fighters of the National Movement.I6 The National Movement, led by Druze chieftain Kamal Junblat, grouped leftist Lebanese parties and Palestinian organizations who relied on Arab, especially Syrian, support. 17 It was all the more remarkable, then, that Syria intervened in 1976 to restrain its own allies when the Christian forces seemed to be on the brink

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of defeat. Signaling its capacity to influence events in Lebanon and its interest in maintaining some sort of confessional balance there, Damascus hoped, but in vain, that it had stolen a march on the Israelis and made its point with the Americans and the Christians. This was not the case, however, and the Lebanese struggle soon resumed its original configuration. Supplied by their sponsors with heavy artillery, the protagonists turned whole sectors of the capital and many towns and villages into rubble. Inhabitants living near the front lines left their homes and sought refuge with co-religionists elsewhere as sniping, random kidnappings, and assassinations took place. With the Lebanese army divided and the government paralyzed, by the 1980s Lebanon had become a collection of fortified sectarian cantons. The unfortunate citizens not only suffered through constant bombardments across the front lines but also from time to time endured skirmishes between theoretically allied militias on each side who were seeking predominance. Evidence suggests that the Israeli invasion of 1982 that sought to end Palestinian attacks against northern Israel from bases in south Lebanon by destroying their military structure in Lebanon had a political aim as well. The Israelis wanted to subdue the Muslim-leftist opposition and prepare the ground for the election of their Christian ally, Bashir al-Jumayyil, who led the strongest Christian militia, the Lebanese Forces. With him as president, the Lebanese state might be reconstituted under a government friendly to Israel, and a formal peace between the two countries could later be signed.1 8 This would have undercut Syrian influence. The United States generally supported and encouraged the Israeli plan and threw its diplomatic weight heavily behind efforts to secure a Lebanese-Israeli agreement.19 The story of alleged Israeli pressures on the young president to make good on his promises to them, his death by assassination only three weeks after his election, and the accession to the presidency of his older brother Amin, who felt more comfortable in the U.S. rather than the Israeli camp, is well known and need not concern us here. The essential point is that as a result of Syrian and Muslim-leftist pressures, the peace treaty of 17 May 1983 by which Israel hoped to draw Lebanon away from the Arab camp was signed but never ratified by parliament. Thus, when Israeli troops began to withdraw to the south several months later, the field was left open for Syria and its team to try to solve the Lebanese problem.2o By 1985, after two national reconciliation conferences convened by the Syrians and Saudis in Switzerland had failed to stabilize security and lay the foundations for a viable political solution, the Syrian regime tried a new approach. A "representative" coalition of Christian and Muslim leaders signed the Tripartite peace accord on 28 December in Damascus. This committee comprised Eli Hubayqa, chairman of the Lebanese Forces Executive Committee (who had changed sides), the Druze leader Walid Junblat, and

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Shi'a strongman Nabih Birri, whose Amal militia had ousted part of the Lebanese army from West Beirut the previous year. The terms of the agreement foreshadowed those of the later Document of National Accord in many respects. Both emphasized Lebanon's "Arab face," rejected all partition plans, equalized the number of Muslims and Christians in parliament, and emphasized special relations between Lebanon and Syria. The Syrian initiative unleashed a violent power struggle among Maronites that resulted in Hubayqa's defeat at the hands of Samir Ja'ja"s faction of the Lebanese Forces and his flight from Lebanon in January 1986. With the elimination of the Tripartite Peace Accord's Maronite component and its overwhelming rejection by leaders of the Maronite community, the initiative was doomed. As the Lebanese presidential election of 1988 approached, the Damascus regime adopted Israel's 1982 strategy and sought a candidate who could be trusted to advance Syria's interests in Lebanon and in the region. However, first one and then the other of the men tapped by President Hafiz al-Asad (both unopposed by the United States) were vetoed by Samir Ja'ja', who employed upsurges in the fighting to demonstrate his displeasure. When no consensus on the Christian side was possible, Maronite general Michel 'Awn was made acting prime minister and chose a cabinet of military officers. However, the previous government, headed by Salim al-Huss, contested 'Awn's appointment and refused to disband, thus giving Lebanon two governments: 'Awn's, established in the presidential palace in Ba'abda and aided by Iraq, and al-Huss's, backed by Syria, which operated out of the western part of the capital. Assuming a position above politics, 'Awn demeaned and ignored Lebanon's political establishment, forgot about elections, and sought popular approval for his unswerving commitment to Lebanese independence. As such, he was a fierce critic of the 1989 Document of National Accord as shall be seen later. As a political maverick and populist leader, 'Awn touched an emotional chord among the demoralized and alienated citizenry, which had doggedly endured the barbarities of the conflict and the impositions of undisciplined militiamen.21 Thus, when 'Awn began his "war of liberation" against the pro-Syrian forces in 1989 and moved against the Lebanese Forces to reclaim state property and break their control of the eastern region in 1990, many ordinary Lebanese signaled their approval by flocking to the presidential palace. 'Awn was defeated in October 1990 by Lebanese army units loyal to the government of President Ilyas Hrawi and backed by Syrian troops and airpower after his attempt to subdue the Lebanese Forces had resulted in a costly and inconclusive battle. The general was then forced into exile in France, thus clearing the way for Lebanon's redemocratization under the regime that emerged from the Document of National Accord.

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The Document of National Accord

The Document of National Accord was put together as a package deal as the war drew to a close in 1989. The agreement covered the amendment of the constitution to reflect greater political equity as demanded by Muslim groups and provided guarantees of Lebanon's continued independence and cultural freedom, major concerns for the Maronites. Lebanon's confessional system was thus left intact, but according to Article 95 as amended, work on a method of phasing out political sectarianism would begin after parliamentary elections permitted formation of a committee to study the problem. In essence, the preamble of the amended constitution closely resembled the 1943 bargain in terms of guarantees of territorial integrity and independence and recognition of Lebanon's "Arab face." However, key amendments redressed the confessional balance and transferred political power from the Maronite president to the collective leadership of the cabinet headed by the Sunni prime minister. For instance, Article 24, as amended in 1990, stipulates that until such time as the chamber enacts new electoral laws on a nonconfessional basis, there shall be equal representation between Christians and Muslims rather than the old six-to-five ratio. Amendments to Articles 17 and 18 strip the Christian president of all former executive powers and entrust them to the Council of Ministers. Furthermore, the president's role in the legislative process is eliminated and is also entrusted to the cabinet, and by Articles 53 and 55, the president loses the exclusive right to designate and dismiss the prime minister. The president must now consult in this matter with the speaker of the house and the deputies as a group. A communique issued in Jidda dealt with the sensitive problem of Syrian influence in Lebanon by committing members of the Tripartite Committee and the Arab League to safeguard Lebanon's independence and sovereignty. Syria, however, agreed to assist Lebanon in extending its authority over the country's entire territory. It also pledged to end its army's security mission in Lebanon and to begin to withdraw Syrian troops from western parts of Lebanon and redeploy them to points in and adjoining the Biqa'a Valley within a maximum of two years. It was agreed that the Syrian army's final withdrawal date would be negotiated between the two governments involved at the appropriate time. A series of treaties and agreements covering security, defense, foreign policy, economic, and other matters would later advance relations between Syria and Lebanon. With these guarantees, the Document of National Accord achieved the consensus of all but the 'Awn current, although some political leaders described the agreement as little more than a first step toward national reconciliation. Many also maintained some of the reservations articulated by 'Awn, which were that the reforms enacted had merely shifted political

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power from the Maronite president to the Sunni prime minister without seriously addressing the fundamental problems of the confessional system. Although 'Awn did not elaborate on an alternative system, some Maronite leaders such as Samir Ja'ja', head of the Lebanese Forces militia, held that some sort of federal system, under which cultural and political freedoms would be guaranteed, was the only means of resolving Lebanon's crisis. General 'Awn also complained that the lack of firm guarantees for reclamation of Lebanon's independence and sovereignty made the accord dangerously inexact, since there was no timetable for complete Syrian withdrawal from Lebanon. He saw little possibility that a government entirely dependent upon Syrian assistance for the reestablishment of its own authority could ultimately exact the departure of the superior force if it was disinclined to leave. Viewing the accord as a sham agreed to by deputies whose mandate had long since expired-no election had been held in Lebanon for almost two decades-'Awn felt these deputies had capitulated to Syrian interests under duress. 'Awn's ouster in October heralded the end of the war and Lebanon's "Christian era."

Why Were Democratic Institutions and Processes Instituted and Why Did They Fail to Take Root? Lebanon's societal pluralism and the need to find an institutional framework within which the interests of contending confessional groups could be mediated influenced adoption of the consociational model and the liberal mechanisms that were thought to be able to operationalize the country's confessional brand of democracy. However, as seen above, when push came to shove, attitudes of compromise, political tolerance, and willingness to negotiate political differences that should have energized conflict resolution were absent. Furthermore, Lebanon's political institutions and processes functioned in ways that fell far short of liberal norms. An important reason for these failures was the system's lack of congruence with the prevailing political values and expectations-political culture-of the Lebanese.22 Instead, as shall be shown in this section, old patterns of political behavior that served the interests of entrenched elites continued in ways that ultimately precluded the possibility that authentic democratic norms could effectively take root.23 Observers generally agree that something other than an emotional attachment to the state and commitment to expanding democratic norms informs political behavior in Lebanon. In fact, it is useful to envision politics there as taking place on a playing field tilted toward well-established political elites of different religions who were able to maintain control of their districts through a system of patron-client relations. These entrenched

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zu 'ama (bosses, singular za 'im) demanded blind allegiance from individuals to whom they provided psychological and material rewards, and thus, elite competition-in the democratic sense-was never a norm.24 It is this transaction, rather than any conception of civic consciousness, that explains why an individual casts a ballot on election day or picks up a gun to "defend the community." And since access to the resources of the state is a must in order to maintain and extend the clientele network, as Malcolm Kerr says, "Lebanese political leaders act as trustees and brokers, not political decision-makers, and thus the executive branch behaves more like judicial and administrative agencies in which ministers adjudicate claims and maintain services to which their communities are entitled."25 This tendency may explain the relative ease with which the zu'ama took control of state services when governmental agencies collapsed during the war and why, despite its enfeebled condition, the government continued to be propped up by opposition leaders. Year after year the zu'ama duly accepted ministerial posts and took their seats at cabinet meetings. These were the very same politicians sworn to eliminate political confessionalism as inequitable, whose militias were regularly bombarding the presidential palace and whose headquarters were at times under siege by the Lebanese army. Far from destroying the state, the zu'ama actually made strong efforts to keep crippled but still serviceable institutions and processes alive. An important reason for this behavior was that the government remained a collection point for international assistance that could be garnered by warlord ministers and used to bring large numbers of traumatized and deprived individuals residing in their strongholds into their clienteles. This situation ultimately served to strengthen a number of confessional power domains at the state's expense.26 Suleiman observes that this combination of "feudality and confessionalism" that characterizes Lebanese politics cuts across all groups and is energized by the efforts of the scions of politically influential families in each community to seek power primarily to perpetuate family influence. These men depend on the mobilization of extensive kinship networks and sometimes found "political parties" to broaden their popular appeal,27 Nevertheless, these organizations are not parties in the modern sense. To cite but one difference, they are often passed on to members of the family who inherit the leadership after the death of the headman. A representational role for parties in Lebanon is therefore precluded since political affiliation is, in most cases, determined by family-feudal ties and primordial affinities, rather than partisanship. In the absence of representational parties, transitory and sometimes odd coalitions are formed inside and outside parliament for purely instrumental purposes. However, some regional political machines such as the one in North Lebanon that groups the Sunni Karami family and the Mar-

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onite Franjiyyas are very durable, making the victory of other electoral lists or independent candidates in that region virtually impossible. By encouraging such alliances, the political system contributes to divisiveness by further subdividing each religious community into rival clans who oppose each other on rival electoral lists in each district. Although the list system generally did empower moderate politicians rather than extremists, this result strengthened rather than eroded confessionalism, because the manipulation of sectarian identity to mobilize partisan support and to attract foreign assistance is not limited to radical politicians but is a deeply rooted feature of Lebanese political behavior. This is all the more interesting since confessional agendas motivated by atavistic loyalties and insecurities are so often camouflaged by nationalist, democratic ideals. Kamal Salibi has called a series of devious transactions of this sort "the great confidence game," pointing to the bogus nature of the controversy over political confessionalism as a case in point.28 Although the mainly Muslim opposition justified abolition of Lebanon's confessional system on the basis of democratic principles of political equality and social justice, in Salibi's view their strategy was really to strip the Maronites of their hegemonial power. However, neither the Sunni nor Shi 'i opposition could respond to the Maronites' counterchallenge that before political deconfessionalization occurred, there should be an agreement to end confessionalism at the social level. The Christian leaders argued that if state secularism, which is the basis of viable pluralist democracies, was to be achieved, matters of personal status presently governed by shari'a (Islamic law) should be abandoned in favor of civil legislation. Since it is well known that this change would be totally unacceptable to the Muslim sects, calls for political secularization thus became useful political ploys in the power game in which parochial jealousies and tribal rivalries were acted out on the national stage under the slogan of "achieving real democracy." With all the lip service given to due process and liberal values, is there any evidence that some movement toward democratization may have taken place before the onset of the civil war? Analyses of the elections that took place until the 1970s are not encouraging in this respect. Scholars all point to the negative effects of continued parochialism and catalog long lists of electoral abuses such as manipulating the voter lists in favor of one candidate or another, rampant bribery, and other illegal practices.29 Unfortunately, there are no empirical studies that predate the onset of the civil war and could provide insight into Lebanese political values, beliefs, and opinions that might support more responsible elite behavior. However, a more recent study sheds some light on this subject and explains why nonelites might be relatively complacent about lack of democratic progress. Hilal Khashan's 1989 survey, which probed democratic orientations among Lebanese university students of various sects, found that

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strong authoritarian tendencies rather than democratic orientations were the norm and that deeply entrenched confessional attachments were widespread among all the youths surveyed.30 Furthermore, a survey carried out on the eve of the 1992 parliamentary elections among Lebanese between the ages of 18 and 35 revealed that more than 90 percent of the respondents in each confessional group had virtually no idea of the fundamentals of the democratic process as concerns electoral guarantees and voting procedures and that respondents almost exclusively endorsed candidates of their own confession.3 1 On the basis of the qualitative studies that preceded these surveys, it therefore seems fair to conclude that such parochialism is not of recent origin and that it was greatly intensified as a result of the civil war. This being the case, liberal values found no echo in political praxis and in a sense, were and are dysfunctional. "Democratic" practices such as elections served only to legitimize the results of decidedly undemocratic but strongly institutionalized procedures. Recourse to the charade of "due process" was even made to legitimize power won by force in 1982. The election of Israeli ally Bashir al-Jumayyil took place against a background of bribery and intimidation by Christian parties, while leftist parties frantically tried to physically prevent deputies from attending the electoral chamber. Of those who cast their ballots, 57 out of 60 deputies voted for Bashir, giving him the necessary quorum to assume the presidency. This incident is important since it provided a realpolitik precedent for the more sophisticated "democratic" processes that occurred under Syrian stewardship in the post-Ta'if period.

How Post-Ta'if Democracy Works Given the savage manner in which the civil war was fought and the way it ended, feelings of vindication and revenge on the part of winners and the losers' bitter humiliation and fear were important factors in the political dynamics of the postwar period. This was true despite the government's repeated assurances of a "no victors, no vanquished" policy. The fact was that the general consensus that emerged from the Ta'if accord was not followed up in any meaningful way by a dialogue between the formerly contending groups that could have resolved the outstanding problems between them and promoted national reconciliation-an essential step if Lebanon was to move toward authentic democratization. In this part of the chapter I demonstrate how yet another chance was missed to achieve this goal through a combination of uncompromising political attitudes on both sides as well as the continuing impact of regional affairs on Lebanon's political equation. In the latter case, Syria, having

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established a dominant role in Lebanon during the civil war, now took all necessary steps in the postwar period to exclude any chance of Israeli interference by maintaining tight security through close linkages with postwar governments. In addition, the new Lebanese political establishment, anxious to extend its authority and viewing the mainstream Christian opposition as basically traitorous, took steps it claimed were necessary to bolster national security. Under these conditions, and in view of the rules and attitudes that had governed the Lebanese political game before and during the civil war, how likely is it that democratization has progressed in the postwar period?

Government and Opposition in the Post-Ta'if Period The Maronites' fear of Muslim domination was realized when Syrian and U.S. troops took joint action against Iraqi troops that had invaded Kuwaiti territory in 1990. This precipitated a new Syrian-U.S. understanding that not only gave Syria the green light to move against General 'Awn but also appeared to tacitly acknowledge Damascus's special interest in Lebanon. Erstwhile supporters of the Maronites' cause then abandoned it in order to move ahead with the U.S.-sponsored Middle East peace process. Marginalization of the mainstream Christian opposition appeared to get under way immediately with the choice of the new president, Rene Muawad, his cabinet, and the appointment of 28 deputies to fill the seats of those who had died or resigned during the civil war.3 2 For instance, neither Muawad, who was assassinated 17 days after his election in fall 1990, nor his successor, Ilyas Hrawi, were connected with the traditional right-wing Maronite establishment. Furthermore, most Christians in the equally divided 30-member cabinet were either close supporters of President Hrawi or had led pro-Syrian militias. However, a gesture was made toward the Lebanese Forces, who along with most of the major militias had gone along with the new pact, by giving it representation in the 'Umar Karami cabinet. With a few exceptions, militia representatives were made ministers without portfolios. Between the formation of the first government and the parliamentary elections of summer 1992, strides were made toward reestablishing state authority that received the approval of all Lebanese groups. The reconstituted Lebanese army, relying on strong Syrian support, began extending state authority over territories and facilities seized by militias during the war. Beirut was unified for the first time in 18 years, and militias were disarmed and disbanded. Only members of Amal (a Shi'ite party) and Hizballah (Party of God), who were mounting operations against the Israelis (and Israel's surrogate, the "South Lebanese Army"), were allowed to keep their weapons. Relief over the return of the state was tempered, however,

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when the timetable established for the withdrawal of Syrian troops to the Biqa'a Valley was ignored. As justification, Lebanese government officials cited the country's continuing security needs and appeared to link Syria's departure with Israel's withdrawal from the security zone it had established in south Lebanon. This fact, as well as the signing of the Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation, and Coordination between Lebanon and Syria in May 1991, fanned apprehensions about Syria's intentions in Lebanon. The treaty was a natural outcome of the manner in which the Ta'if accord had been implemented and interpreted since it "formalized the situation that existed on the ground and provided de jure satellization of Lebanon by Syria. "33 Under the treaty's terms, a system of joint councils was established to elaborate and oversee the implementation of policies regulating economic, political, and military affairs. A Supreme Council, which is made up of the presidents of the two countries and other high governmental officials of both states, is empowered to make binding decisions within the constitutional and legal frameworks of both countries. However, considering Lebanon's weakness and Syria's preponderance, domestic and foreign policy "coordination" is but a euphemism for governance of Lebanon from Damascus. Syria's influence and presence became central to the Christian opposition's efforts to postpone parliamentary elections scheduled for late summer 1992. Given the way the executive branch had been constituted, as well as the fact that the end of political confessionalism might be hastened by appointment of the select parliamentary committee to consider the problem, Christian leaders claimed that elections under the shadow of "foreign occupation" made a mockery of democratic process and were unacceptable. Recalling the leftist outcry over the 1982 election, this argument had a familiar ring. Furthermore, they said that the self-imposed exile of all major Christian leaders for security reasons demonstrated the true nature of the pax Syriana. A list of preconditions for Christian participation in the elections was then prepared by opposition leaders in close consultation with the Maronite patriarch, Nasrallah Butros Sfayr. The patriarch's role as community leader and spokesman had assumed increased importance as Maronite political disarray became more obvious. Since none of these demands could be quickly met, it was understood that indefinite postponement was the opposition's goal. When no attention was paid to their demands, Christian opposition leaders threatened to boycott the elections, and when it was seen that the elections were going ahead, they withdrew from the government. It is indeed ironic, albeit quite predictable, in view of their function in Lebanese political life, that elections should have finally exposed the fragility of the Ta'if "consensus."

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Postwar Democracy in Action: The 1992 Parliamentary Elections It is useful to apply the same indicators used to analyze earlier Lebanese

elections to the parliamentary elections of 1992. What progress had been made in expanding voter participation, increasing competitiveness and elite "turnover," and lessening electoral fraud, and with what consequences for the opposition and the new regime? Voter turnout on the three consecutive election Sundays in 1992 was low. According to official figures, only about 30 percent of the eligible electorate cast their ballots, and even this figure was challenged by opposition leaders, who complained about the widespread use of electoral lists containing names of deceased persons and emigres.34 When added to the highly successful Christian boycott, these meager results denied the new regime the legitimacy it sought and made the other indicators of democratic advancement irrelevant. For instance, with the opposition not participating, electoral competitiveness was even more of a nonissue than usually.35 Even the mainstream Shi'a mass party, Amal, and its rival Hizballah, the Iranianbacked fundamentalist group, agreed to avoid an electoral confrontation in the south and the Biqa'a Valley that might split the resistance movement. The defeat of conservative Shi 'i leaders by candidates of the two militias who had wielded almost absolute power in their domains during the civil war thus came as no surprise. Nevertheless, the election did produce new faces in the legislature. For instance, Hizballah's effective grassroots campaign, based on its resistance record and social service activities, resulted in a strong showing and gave the Islamic movement, including the North-based Sunni organization alJama'a al-lslamiyya, one of the largest parliamentary blocs. The Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP) also triumphed, allegedly with strong Syrian backing, winning eight seats in parliament. Because of its advocacy of a greater Syrian nation that included Lebanon, the secular SSNP had been banned from political participation since it was founded in 1934. Further evidence of the party's new importance came to light in fall 1993, when one of its members, Nasri al-Khuri, a Maronite, was chosen to head the Higher Syrian-Lebanese Council called for in the Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation, and Coordination signed in May 1991. Christian representation in parliament also included new faces as part of a plan to promote an alternative leadership sympathetic to regime interests in Lebanon. Among the new members of parliament was Maha alKhuri al-As'ad, the sole candidate in the heavily Maronite district of Jubayl. Al-As'ad received 41 votes out of a possible total of 60,000 and won her seat from a district where 6.5 percent of the electorate had voted. Besides al-As'ad, other women elected were Nayla Muawad (wife of the assassinated president, who won on a strong sympathy vote) and

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Bahiyya al-Hariri, sister of Prime Minister Rafiq al-Hariri. With women holding three out of the 128 seats in parliament, no comment need be made on the subject of empowerment for the female half of Lebanon's population.36 Finally, an independent agency monitoring the voting process throughout the country reported many types of fraud, including strong-arm tactics, as well as widespread lack of democratic safeguards such as isolated voting chambers, officially monitored vote tabulation, and so forth. The latter was nevertheless attributed to administrative disorganization and ineptness rather than to governmental machinations,37 In fact, the defeat of President Hrawi's own son, Roy, and several other candidates close to the government was offered as proof that government manipulation had not occurred and that real competition had taken place. Press analyses of Rafiq al-Hariri's selection as prime minister following the parliamentary elections point up where the Lebanese themselves believed the locus of their government's political power lies. For instance, some observers viewed the appointment of al-Hariri, the wealthy contractor with important Saudi ties, as Syria's way of improving its ties with Riyadh. Since al-Hariri was also viewed as pro-American, others viewed his appointment as prime minister as a gesture toward the United States by Damascus in light of the then-ongoing peace talks. Yet another opinion saw the prime minister as part of a Syrian strategy to produce a figure well known in economic and financial circles who could make strides on reconstruction issues and thus divert attention from postponement of the sensitive matter of Syrian troop deployment and Hizballah's disarmament.38 The extent of the administration's dependence on the Syrian regime for foreign policy alignment and "advice" on important domestic issues was illustrated by the prime minister and president's frequent meetings with their Syrian counterparts and by the number of high-ranking governmental officials, directors of professional syndicates, trade union leaders, and others reported as having taken the road to Damascus every month. In light of the Lebanese government's claims that it was recouping national sovereignty, these facts did little to inspire public confidence. The al-Hariri Government: Expectations and Performance

Those that had hoped for rapid political secularization in the postwar period were naturally disappointed by the manner in which the constitutional amendments emanating from the Ta'if accord refined the confessional formula and thus reinforced it, rather than clearing the way for authentic democratization. Although a parliamentary committee was established to deal with the phasing out of political confessionalism in government agencies, it is instructive as well as predictable that not only has little been

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accomplished but that public interest in this issue has been highly deficient. The new government establishment appears to be as satisfied with the confessional formula as the old one had been, and for its part, Syria apparently finds the system a highly effective means of playing off various intercommunal factions against one another and of controlling or spurring intragroup rivalry as its policy needs dictate. As the first elected postwar government took up its duties, it was thus apparent that the old game continued in force, refereed from Damascus. It was soon clear that the al-Hariri government was not living up to the mundane expectations of many citizens. Strong hopes were pinned on the prime minister to set the Lebanese economy back on track, to clean up deadwood in the administration, and to get reconstruction projects rolling. Although starts were made on all of these tasks, few were free of complications, and some entailed embarrassing complaints about the prime minister's unethical behavior. For example, although al-Hariri owned only a small percentage of Solidere (the corporation formed to reconstruct the destroyed city center of Beirut), the shares owned by his wide network of foreign and Lebanese business associates are said to give him substantial influence. Furthermore, the government's Council for Reconstruction and Development, which is in charge of technical and engineering aspects of the reconstruction project, is headed by al-Fadl Shalak, former director of Ojjeh Liban (al-Hariri's contracting company) and of the Hariri Foundation. Shalak's later appointment as minister of post, telephone, and telegraph was viewed by most people as consistent with the prime minister's strategy of placing as many of his own people as possible in key positions. These actions raised the charge of conflict of interest against the prime minister, who also came under fire when a legal deadlock between Solidere and city center property owners stemming from rejection of the corporation's extremely low property value assessments occurred. This has produced public mistrust and apathy. Many have also complained about reconstruction priorities that favor the capital over the country's largely neglected rural areas. Furthermore, the government's weak performance in addressing the vast destruction of infrastructure and dwellings in the Shuf and 'Alay areas has greatly retarded a key postwar project, the resettlement of thousands of forcibly displaced families in their Mount Lebanon homes. The fact that most of these families are Christian is not a plus for efforts to promote national reconciliation. Al-Hariri's effort to legislate his own television station's exclusive use of an important satellite linkage in 1993 is another example of his attempt to promote his business interests through his public office. When public uproar forced cancellation of the bill, the option was then granted to the only licensed television station, Tele Liban, in which the prime minister held a 49 percent interest. In spring 1994 he was forced to cede his share to

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the government. Al-Hariri's performance, made even more objectionable at a time when serious socio-economic inequities are rife, recalls a description of Bishara al-Khouri's 1943 presidency as a company that took the form of a sham republic.39 The process of administrative reform through which corrupt and incompetent civil servants were to be weeded out revealed the corrupt behavior of the zu'ama who were faced with the job of axing many government employees whom they themselves had appointed and retained in office. One case reported to the author as unexceptional concerned an incompetent civil servant who refused to leave his post without some sort of deal. To get him to leave quietly, a member of the administration promised him that in six months his son would be appointed to his former post. This type of behavior by political elites and administrators has produced widespread cynicism on the part of citizens. Moreover, between 1992 and 1996 when the next parliamentary elections were held, the government responded to several incidents in ways that revealed the priority given to maintaining public order over the protection of civil liberties. A strike called by the General Confederation of Labor (GCL) and several professional organizations to protest infringement of civil liberties and lack of fulfillment of previously negotiated union issues was banned by the authorities on 26 April 1994. Fearing widespread civil disruption such as that which toppled the 'Umar Karami government in May 1992, the administration's National Security Council threatened a countrywide curfew if the order was ignored. A 29 November strike called by the confederation was permitted, although a stiff security warning was delivered to strike leaders by Interior Minister Michel al-Murr, and army troops were deployed at key points. The tenuousness of the security situation was dramatically exposed when Our Lady of Deliverance Church was blown up in February 1994. Killing 11 and wounding 54 who were attending Sunday mass, the blast was the most dramatic of a number of incidents that had been directed at the Christian community in 1993 and 1994. 40 Government investigation implicated members of the Lebanese Forces, and the group was dissolved by government decree on 24 March 1994. Later, Samir Ja'ja' was taken into custody and held in a military jail pending arraignment. According to press reports, the explosion was part of a conspiracy hatched by Ja'ja' and the Israelis to embarrass the government and point up the vulnerability of the Christian community. The plan allegedly counted on a tide of Christian support for the Lebanese Forces as the only organization capable of defending the community's security and political interests. This would end the marginalization of the Maronite party, thereby shoring up one of the Israelis' main channels into Lebanese politics. Government prosecutors proceeded carefully in assembling evidence

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on the alleged plot in order to avoid charges of attempting to eliminate one of the last vestiges of organized opposition by falsely blaming Ja'ja' and his men. In the course of the investigation, evidence linked Ja'ja' to the murder of Dany Sham 'un, the son of former Lebanese president Kamil Sham'un, who led a rival Maronite organization, the National Liberal Party. The trial, which began on 19 November 1994 and was covered by the press in great detail, was initiated amidst charges by defense lawyers that due process had been contravened, since their clients had not been transferred to a civilian jail nor accorded access to legal counsel prior to their arraignment. In May 1995, the case of the church bombing was suspended, and prosecution of Ja'ja' on charges ofleading a conspiracy to murder Sham'un began. The former Lebanese Forces leader was convicted of this crime on the basis of circumstantial evidence and in a later trial was found guilty, on witnesses' testimony, of having ordered the 1990 elimination of Elias Zayek for personal reasons. Another trial that ended in May 1997 found Ja'ja' guilty of ordering two assassination attempts against the then defense minister Michel al-Murr on 20 and 29 March 1991. Ja'ja' received sentences of capital punishment for these crimes, which were commuted to life imprisonment and hard labor. These trials caused great distress to the severely demoralized Maronite mainstream while satisfying others who felt the Lebanese Forces should be made to pay the price of their isolationist position and unacceptable behavior.

The 1996 Parliamentary Elections-Due Process at Last? Hoping that the parliamentary elections would legitimize incumbent deputies and regime stalwarts who formed the post-Ta'if establishment, the government was concerned about whether increased competition, which would give the elections a more democratic flair, might jeopardize the seats of key governmental figures. Things moved in the government's direction, however, since the problems experienced by the al-Hariri government during its first mandate had generated an internal or loyal opposition that now sought to unseat the government's candidates. At the same time, the realization that electoral abstention in 1992 had failed and that participation in the elections of 1996 might better serve their purposes encouraged previous boycotters to discount the wishes of Christian opposition leaders residing in Paris who wished to continue the boycott. Therefore, they joined the electoral competition. However, in having to fight each other for the opposition vote, the two groups actually ensured the victory of government incumbents. Moreover, the large number of candidates who threw their hats into the ring gave the elections a competitive cachet totally absent in 1992 and encouraged a credible voter turnout. This buzz of electoral activity seemed to bear witness to the government's promise to oversee "authentic" democratic elections.

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Although government candidates had a strong edge over the competition by virtue of the fact that they had built up extensive clientele networks and sophisticated political machines over the years of their incumbency and could exploit state resources in ways their opponents could not match, there remained one means by which the Christian opposition could still prevail in the key governorate of Mount Lebanon where its numbers were concentrated. Since the electoral law stipulated that the governorate would be the electoral unit rather than the local district, it was conceivable that the Maronite Christians who were in the majority in this governorate might join forces to launch a backlash against regime steadfasts and sweep them out of office. To block any chance of such an occurrence, a change in the electoral law was adopted by the cabinet and voted on by parliament only a few days before the elections in Mount Lebanon were to take place. The law stipulated that due to extraordinary circumstances (a reference to security issues), elections in the south and in Mount Lebanon would be held at the district rather than at the governorate level as stipulated in the constitution and practiced elsewhere. The practical effect of the law as applied to Mount Lebanon was that it became easier for the pillars of the government, such as the Druze minister of the displaced Walid Junblat, interior minister Michel al-Murr, minister of hydraulic resources Eli Hubayka, and foreign minister Faris Buayz, to retain their seats since they would contest the elections only in the districts where their support was concentrated. The law was immediately challenged by 10 deputies as a violation of the Lebanese constitution's guarantee of equal political treatment and rights for all citizens. The point was made that relatively few votes would elect, say, a deputy from Jubayl district, while deputies standing at the governorate level in Beirut or north Lebanon would have to rack up very large totals to win. The case was laid before the constitutional council and upheld by the justices, a plus for the democratic process. But this victory was short-lived. What happened next is as good an indictment of Lebanese post-Ta'if "democracy" as can be found. Meeting in an urgent session, the government succeeded in ramming through parliament an amendment that simply added the words "for one time only" to the original law. In other words, citizens' rights would indeed be violated-but only once! Apparently despairing of any possibility of blocking the law only a few days before the Mount Lebanon elections were to take place and fearing to jeopardize their own chances, the deputies necessary to lodging a new challenge gave up the fight, and the elections went ahead with the playing field drastically tilted in favor of the government's team. Opposition candidates who had been unsure until immediately before the elections took place of whether they would have to campaign in all

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parts of the governorate or simply in one of the local districts suffered a huge disadvantage in comparison with their adversaries, who could call on their staffs and political machines to overcome the problem of the reduced campaign period. With one or two exceptions, they were decisively routed. Since government candidates were also successful in the other governorates as well, the vast majority of the legislators who took office in 1996 could be counted as loyalists who were committed to regime notables. Their first act, therefore, was to reinstate prime minister al-Hariri, house speaker Birri, and the other incumbent officers of the parliament. Although some faces in the cabinet were new, the mainstays retained their portfolios, ensuring the continuity the regime had hoped for. Monitoring agencies and private groups documented widespread electoral fraud during the elections in all governorates, and soon after the results were made known, 17 unsuccessful candidates lodged challenges with the constitutional court. As a result of heavy pressure to rule against the challengers, the president of the court, Wajdi Mallat, resigned his position in April 1997. However, on 21 May an unprecedented event in Lebanese history occurred, when the court handed down rulings that unseated four deputies, including minister of culture Fawzi Hubaysh. Despite the fact that the election of none of the regime strongmen had been challenged-which might have produced a different result-this action, and the constitutional council's ruling on the unconstitutionality of the electoral law, have sparked hope that this institution may be able to preserve its autonomy despite the post-Ta 'if trend toward consolidation of executive power at the expense of the other branches. On another front, movement toward the protection of civil liberties largely depends on whether the tough line taken by the Lebanese government on issues interpreted as jeopardizing national security eases up. This has not occurred to date. The labor movement, for instance, underwent a further blow in April 1997 when the Ministry of Labor's authorization of new federations was viewed as an effort to pack the GCL's membership in a way that might favor the victory of a more docile leadership in the forthcoming elections. Called by the president of the GCL, Elias Abu Rizk, the elections produced altercations between members loyal to him and those who supported the government's candidate, Ghanem Zughbi. This contest, however, was not recognized as valid by the Ministry of Labor, whereas the elections held under government auspices and won by Zughbi and his partisans on 24 April 1997 were ignored by the opposition. Abu Rizk then lodged a legal complaint and refused to relinquish his position as head of the confederation. On 30 May he was arrested and jailed for illegal usurpation of title and power, a day before he was to attend the worldwide labor summit in Copenhagen where the struggle in Lebanon was to have been raised. The affair provoked local outrage and broad condemnation of the

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government's actions by international labor organizations and was taken as further evidence of Beirut's flagrant disregard of civil liberties in its campaign to destroy or enfeeble the opposition. This behavior might lessen if strides are made in negotiating a peace agreement between Syria and Israel. In this respect, however, the massive Israeli retaliation raids of August 1993 and April 1996, which sought to cripple Hizballah militarily and to provoke the government to curb resistance activities in south Lebanon, as well as the continuous hostilities in that theater, fuel rather than diminish government preoccupation with security issues. Along with the other obstacles to democratization discussed in this chapter, the external factor thus also continues to impede any movement by Lebanon along the democratic track.

Conclusion Analysis of the forces that shape Lebanese "democratic" norms and practices demonstrates the shallow roots of consociational democracy and the difficulties of effectively correcting deviations from the liberal model. Lebanon's confessional groups were simply not able to overcome mutual suspicions and surmount parochial goals to effect lasting compromises necessary to achieve a viable pluralist state. Setting aside any notion of political equality as too hazardous to entertain seriously, the 1943 National Covenant, with its desperate quest for security through group hegemony, left behind the legacy of a fragile state bargain and lopsided power structure. Eventually, confessional democracy was rejected by leftist opposition forces as having stabilized inequities and prevented the state from acting as a neutral arbiter of contending group interests. The irony of the Lebanese experience with democracy is that this same faulty formula that precluded group assimilation has been revitalized, despite the tragic lessons of the civil war. In fact, atavistic attitudes and deeply entrenched norms of political behavior, which encouraged the state's weakness and led to its present dependency, appear to have been strengthened by the fix given the confessional formula in 1989. The type of relationship prevailing between government and opposition, the degree of public involvement in political affairs, and the policies and performance of the new regime all point to the fact that movement toward Lebanese democracy has still not gotten on track. Several factors connected with the structural and contextual realities of the Lebanese case have been used to explain this paradox. For instance, when it came to setting things right in 1989, serious restructuring to correct the flaws in the old political formula was not as important as consolidating the political victory. Bearing in mind the various earlier attempts to impose

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solutions on one side or the other, the constitutional amendments, processes, and policies of the new regime can thus be seen as logical consequences of the dynamics of the Lebanese crisis. These dynamics were explained in this chapter as the convergence of clashing identities and contending parochial goals with regional currents. As a result, each group developed linkages with foreign actors and engaged in all-out war against its adversaries. In a nutshell, political changes in the region were perceived by the mainly Muslim opposition as an opportunity to settle internal scores and, with foreign assistance, to change the Maronite-skewed balance of power in their favor. Thus, given the ferocious conduct of the civil war, it was unlikely that the victorious coalition would promote a formula or strictly construe due democratic process in a way that might limit its political edge or unduly favor opposition interests. Furthermore, since the goals of the Muslims and leftists meshed with Syria's interest in eliminating Israeli influence in Lebanon, it was impossible for Maronite leaders, who were considered a "fifth column," to achieve a prominent place in Lebanon's new order. Their marginalization and the prominence of countercurrent Maronites in the present administration reemphasize the fact that democratic practice has little relevance when the spoils of war are being divided. The convergence of global and regional currents also influenced the form and content of Lebanon's postwar politics, promoting the need to tie down the region's loose cannon so as to get on with the U.S.-sponsored Middle East peace process. Having gained the upper hand in Lebanon, Damascus received a green light from the United States to proceed with pacification. From the Syrian point of view, adjustment of the confessional formula and a strong hand on the political reins looked like the most practical way to manage the Lebanese conflict while pursuing its own interests. As the Ottoman and French authorities had learned earlier, perpetuation of Lebanon's sectarian divisions through institutional arrangements creates numerous opportunities for intervention through manipulation of each community's internal schisms and their quarrels with outgroups. Thus, relying on its preponderance of force and its ability to influence political outcomes in the Lebanese arena by the above means, Damascus calls the shots in Lebanon, including when and how elections occur and who participates. As past masters of this game, the Syrian regime is thus able to maintain strong influence in Lebanon. Given what appears to be general discontent over the government's lack of sovereignty, to what extent might movement toward greater government autonomy and "real" democracy eventually be generated, either from within the Lebanese political system or through international pressure? In answering this, it must be remembered that Syrian influence would not be

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as strongly felt in Lebanon if important Lebanese elites had not courted Damascus throughout the civil war and if its "stewardship" of the peace process had not been acceptable to regional and international actors. Furthermore, on the ideological side, some citizens welcome growing Syrian-Lebanese linkages as rectification of Lebanon's severance from the Syrian homeland by France in 1920. And for many Lebanese-Maronites included-joining the narrow circle of governmental and legislative elites and the opportunity of building their own za'ama (political leadership) are tremendous incentives for "allegiance" to the new regime and its Damascus backers. As we have shown, democratic principles and practices are out of context under these circumstances and would appear to be irrational behavior if they were adopted. Similarly, concern with questions of independence and sovereignty may be viewed by some as equally irrational. Furthermore, divided along personal, ideological, and geographic lines, the Maronite opposition can neither agree on a common agenda nor shake off its confessional identity so as to mobilize those Christians and Muslims who might be tempted to join a truly national opposition movement. Thus, in peace as in war, the Lebanese are locked in enmity and unwilling to negotiate a way out of their common problem. Instead, camouflaging their real objectives with democratic rhetoric and allusions that, just a few years ago, served their adversaries, contending leaders continue to play the great confidence game, fooling no one. Caught on the horns of the security dilemma that requires a strong hand like Syria's but risking loss of sovereignty in the process, the weak Lebanese state must apparently count on outside assistance if it is eventually to shake the Syrian grip. But this is not likely to happen while the United States is courting Damascus's participation in the Middle East peace process. Meanwhile, the "sisterly states," Lebanon and Syria, may be moving toward integration along the lines now linking Hong Kong and China. If this happens, neither Lebanon's brand of democracy nor a closer approximation of the classic consociational version will matter for quite some time, since access to the loci of decisionmaking and political power will be farther away than ever for most Lebanese citizens.

Notes 1. The theory of consociational pluralism rests on two basic premises: that it is possible to associate groups so that the distinctive characteristics of each are maintained without inhibiting the pursuit of collective aims; and that the closer democratic ideals are approached, the more equity is introduced and the more likely it is that such systems will succeed. For a discussion of the model and some of its defects, see Robert Dahl, Dilemmas of Pluralist Democracy: Autonomy vs. Control (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982), especially pp. 31-54.

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2. Michael Hudson has discussed this problem in several works. See, for example, "Lebanon: A Case of Political Underdevelopment," Journal of Politics, 29, 4 (November 1967), pp. 821-837; The Precarious Republic (New York: Random House, 1968); and "The Lebanese Crisis: The Limits of Consociational Democracy," Journal of Political Studies 5, 3 (Spring 1976). 3. Donald Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1985); Milton J. Esman and Itamar Rabinovich, eds., Ethnicity, Pluralism and the State in the Middle East (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1988); and Bassam Tibi, "The Simultaneity of the Unsimultaneous: Old Tribes and Imposed Nation-States in the Modern Middle East," in Philip S. Khoury and Joseph Kostiner, eds., Tribes and State Formation in the Middle East (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1990), pp. 127-152, provide useful analyses of the effects of social divisions on state formation. The question of the final resolution of protracted conflicts such as Lebanon's is discussed in Terrell A. Northrup, "The Dynamics of Identity in Personal and Social Conflict," in Louis Kriesberg, Terrell A. Northrup, and Stuart J. Thorson, eds., Intractable Conflicts and Their Transformation (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1989), pp. 80-81; and John Burton, Conflict Resolution and Prevention (New York: St. Martin's Press, 1990), p. 39. These authors agree with Michael Brecher and Patrick James, "Patterns of Crisis Management," Journal of Conflict Resolution 32,3 (September 1988), who observe (p. 435) that as long as the underlying causes of conflict remain, "crises may be contained in scope of action and consequences but do not lend themselves to resolution." 4. The Tripartite Committee was formed in 1969 by the Arab League to consider Lebanon's particular problems. Representatives of Algeria, Morocco, and Kuwait took part in the 1989 negotiations that Jed to the general consensus on the terms of the intercommunal agreement. 5. For background information, see Kamal Salibi, A Modern History of Lebanon (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1963); Robert Brenton Betts, The Druze (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1988); and Annie and Laurent Chabry, "Les visages multiples de Ia puissance Druze" (The Many Faces of Druze Power), in Politiques et minorites au Proche-Orient (Paris: Editions Maisonneuve et Larose, 1984). 6. See Matti Moosa, The Maronites in History (Syracuse: Syracuse University Press, 1986); and Elaine Hagopian, "Maronite Hegemony to Maronite Militancy," Third World Quarterly 11, 4 (October 1989), p. 108. 7. Iliya Harik's Politics and Change in a Traditional Society: Lebanon 1711-1845 (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1968) provides details and implications of the reorganization. 8. Kamal Salibi's essay, "The Historical Perspective," in Nadim Shehadi and Danna Haffar Mills, eds., Lebanon: A History of Conflict and Consensus (London: I. B. Tauris and Company, 1988), pp. 1-13, provides an account ofMaronite impact on state formation in Lebanon. 9. The Lebanese Constitution (Beirut: Khayats, 1960), p. 33. 10. According to the population census conducted by the French mandatory authorities in 1932, the Maronites were found to be the largest of the six major religious sects, followed by the Sunnis. See Muhammad Faour, "The Demography of Lebanon: A Reappraisal," Middle Eastern Studies 27, 4 (October 1991), pp. 631632, for population figures by religion gathered from 1922 to 1975 and an assessment of the demographic situation in the postwar period. 11. Farid al-Khazin, "The Communal Pact of National Identities: The Making

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and Politics of the 1943 National Pact," Papers on Lebanon Series, 12 (Oxford: Center for Lebanese Studies, 1991), p. 18. 12. Al-Khazin, "The Communal Pact of National Identities," pp. 51-54. 13. Meir Zamir, "The Lebanese Presidential Elections of 1970 and Their Impact on the Civil War of 1975-1976," Middle Eastern Studies 16, 1 (January 1980), pp. 64-66. 14. Joseph Kechichian, International Demographics 2, 6 (June 1983), pp. 311, calculated that the Muslims constituted 57.5 percent of a population of 3,017,000 in 1982. Of this, the Shi'a were 30.8 percent and the Sunni 17.9 percent. The Maronites totaled 19.9 percent. 15. For details on the civil war and its antecedents, see Kamal Salibi, Cross Roads to Civil War: Lebanon I958-1976 (New York: Caravan Books, 1976); and Walid Khalidi, Conflict and Violence in Lebanon (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1979). 16. See Marie-Christine Aulas, "The Socio-ideological Development of the Maronite Community: The Emergence of the Phalange and the Lebanese Forces," Arab Studies Quarterly 7, 4 (Fall 1985), pp. 75-76; Lewis W. Snyder, "The Lebanese Forces: Their Origins and Role in Lebanon's Politics," The Middle East Journal38, 1 (Winter 1984); and Ze'ev Schiff, "Lebanon: Motivations and Interests in Israel's Foreign Policy," The Middle East Journal 38, 2 (Spring 1984), pp. 220227. 17. There is a fallacious tendency to present the Lebanese conflict as a struggle between Christians and Muslims. Not all Christian groups, however, identified with political Maronitism. Members of the Greek Orthodox community, for instance, founded and led the secular Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP), which formed part of the "leftist" opposition along with the Lebanese Communist Party, in which Armenian Christians were heavily represented. For the National Movement's foreign connections, see Marius Deeb, "The External Dimension of the Conflict in Lebanon: The Role of Syria," Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern Studies 12, 3 (Spring 1989), pp. 37-51; Michael Hudson, "The Palestinian Factor in the Lebanese Civil War," The Middle East Journal32, 3 (Summer 1978), pp. 261-276; and !tamar Rabinovich, "Controlled Conflict in the Middle East: The Syrian-Israeli Rivalry in Lebanon," in Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, eds., Conflict Management in the Middle East (Lexington, Mass.: Lexington Books, 1987), pp. 97-111. 18. Avi Shlaim, "Israeli Intervention in Internal Arab Politics: The Case of Lebanon," in Giacomo Luciani, ed., The Politics of Arab Integration (London: Croom Helm, 1988), p. 247. 19. For details on U.S., Israeli, and Lebanese objectives and policies in 1982 and 1983, see !tamar Rabinovich, "Israel and Lebanon in 1983," pp. 135-149, and the section on Lebanon in Colin Legum, ed., Middle East Contemporary Survey 7 (1982-1983), pp. 657-701. 20. For a discussion of the power configuration that emerged at this time, see S. Ziadeh and E. Hagopian, eds., "The Realignment of Power in Lebanon: Internal and External Dimensions," special issue of Arab Studies Quarterly 7, 4 (Autumn 1985). See also !tamar Rabinovich, "Syria's Strategy in Lebanon After the 1982 War: Objectives, Methods and Achievements," in J. Alpher, ed., Israel's Lebanon Policy: Where To? (Tel-Aviv: Tel-Aviv University, Jaffee Center for Strategic Studies, 1984). 21. The nefarious psychological results of the civil war are discussed in Edward E. Azar and Renee E. Marlin, "The Costs of Protracted Social Conflict in

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the Middle East: The Case of Lebanon," in Gabriel Ben-Dor and David B. Dewitt, Conflict Management in the Middle East (Lexington, Mass.: Lexington Books, 1987), pp. 33-34; and Samir Khalaf, "Ideologies of Enmity in Lebanon," Middle East Insight 6, 1-2 (Summer 1988), pp. 6-7. 22. See Michael C. Hudson's discussion of the utility of the concept of political culture when used in conjunction with structural factors: "The Political Culture Approach to Arab Democratization: The Case for Bringing It Back In, Carefully," in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds. Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, Vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1995). 23. In this respect, we view Laitin's notion of political culture as "resources that can be effectively exploited by political entrepreneurs" as useful. See David Laitin, "Political Culture and Political Preferences," American Political Science Review 82, 2 (June 1988), p. 591. 24. For analyses of the behavior of Lebanese political elites, see Arnold Hottinger, "Zu'ama in Historical Perspective," in Leonard Binder, ed., Politics in Lebanon (New York: Wiley, 1966), pp. 85-105; Samir Khalaf, "Primordial Ties and Politics in Lebanon," Middle Eastern Studies 4, 3 (Summer 1968), pp. 243-269; and Khalaf, "Parliamentary Elites," in Jacob M. Landau, Ergun Ozbudun, and Frank Tachau, eds., Electoral Politics in the Middle East (London: Croom Helm, 1980), pp. 243-271; and Iliya Harik, "Political Elites of Lebanon," in G. Lenczowski, ed., Political Elites in the Middle East (Washington, D.C.: American Enterprise Institute, 1975). See also Khalaf's "Changing Forms of Political Patronage," in Ernest Gellner and John Waterbury, eds., Patrons and Clients in Mediterranean Societies (London: Duckworth, 1977). 25. Malcolm Kerr, "Political Decision Making in a Confessional Democracy," in Leonard Binder, ed., Politics in Lebanon (New York: Wiley, 1966), pp. 188-190. 26. See Judith Harik, "The Public and Social Services of the Lebanese Militias," Papers on Lebanon Series 14 (Oxford: Center for Research on Lebanon, 1994). 27. Michael Suleiman, "Elections in a Confessional Democracy," Journal of Politics 29, 1 (February 1967), p. 125. 28. Kamal Salibi, A House of Many Mansions: The History of Lebanon Reconsidered (London: I. B. Tauris, 1988), pp. 50-56, 188-196. 29. The following electoral studies show advancement of democratic needs but also provide clarification of the gaps between Lebanese democracy and the real article: Malcolm H. Kerr, "The 1960 Parliamentary Elections," Middle Eastern Affairs 11, 9 (October 1960), pp. 266-275; Nicola A. Ziadeh, "The Lebanese Elections, 1960," The Middle East Journal 14, 4 (Autumn 1960), pp. 367-382; Jacob M . Landau, "Elections in Lebanon," The Western Political Quarterly 14, 1 (March 1961), pp. 120-147; Michael C. Hudson, "The Electoral Process and Political Development in Lebanon," The Middle East Journal 20, 2 (Spring 1966), pp. 173-186; Michael W. Suleiman, "Elections in a Confessional Democracy," The Journal of Politics 29, 1 (February 1967), pp. 109-128; Iliya Harik, "Voting Participation and Political Integration in Lebanon," Middle Eastern Studies 16, 1 (January 1980), pp. 28-48; and Ralph Crowe, "Electoral Issues: Lebanon," in Jacob M. Landau, Ergun Ozbudun, and Frank Tachau, eds., Electoral Politics in the Middle East (London: Croom Helm, 1980), pp. 39-68. 30. Hila1 Khashan, Inside the Lebanese Confessional Mind (Lanham: University Press of America, 1990). 31. Judith Harik and Hilal Khashan, "Lebanon's Divisive Democracy: The

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Parliamentary Elections of 1992," Arab Studies Quarterly 15, 1 (Winter 1993), pp. 46-49. 32. Because of the war the 1972-1976 parliament renewed its own mandate several times. 33. Fida Nasrallah, "The Treaty of Brotherhood, Co-operation and Coordination; an Assessment," in Youssef Choueiri, ed., State and Society in Syria and Lebanon (Exeter: University of Exeter Press, 1993), pp. 108-109. 34. According to Iliya Harik, "Voting Participation," p. 37, voter turnout figures for the four previous elections averaged about 65 percent. 35. Forty-three percent of deputies in the 1968-1972 parliament were sons, grandsons, cousins, and so on of someone who had either been or still was a deputy. Ghassan Salame, "Lebanon's Injured Identities: Who Represents Whom During a Civil War?'' Papers on Lebanon Series 2 (Oxford: Center for Lebanese Studies, 1986), p. 22. 36. Of the 13 legislatures from 1922 to 1992, only once had a woman been seated, and this was for two years as a replacement for her father, who had disappeared in an accident. 37. The Lebanon Report 3, 9 (September 1992), p. 3. The figures cited in this section are also derived from official statistics reported in L'Orient-le Jour daily newspaper for the electoral period and from Maghreb-Machrek 13 (January-March 1993), pp. 53-83. For analysis of the 1992 parliamentary elections, see Farid alKhazin and Paul Salem, eds., Al-intikhabat al- 'uta fi Lubnan rna ba' d al-harb: Alarkam wa al-waki' wa al-dalalat [The First Elections in Lebanon After the War: Numbers, Facts and Evidence] (Beirut: The Lebanese Center for Research, 1993). 38. The Lebanon Report 3, 11 (November 1992), p. 1. 39. I. al-Riyashi, Qabl wa-ba'd [Before and After] (Beirut: Dar al-Hayah, 1953), p. 64. 40. The incidents include an explosion in fall 1993 at the Phalangists' headquarters in Siufi while a meeting was taking place. One person died, and more than a dozen were injured.

7 Monarchical Islam with a Democratic Veneer: Morocco Bahgat Korany

The King of Morocco is probably the only one in the world who has at his disposal more than 300 ministers. -Royal Speech of 31 October 1985

Morocco represents a crucial analytical case in the Arab and even in the Third World. Seemingly unrepresentative, it has been formally a multiparty political system since its independence in 1956. In this respect, it is a contrast to both neighboring Algeria and Tunisia. As we saw in the case of Algeria, its independent statehood has been shaped by the military takeover by Houari Boumedienne's team. In comparison with Zein al-'Abidin BinAli's Tunisia, Morocco did not go through the elite turnover of a "constitutional coup." In fact, the perusal of the Moroccan elite's speeches and official statements shows that "democracy" ranks as high as the two other basic themes characterizing Morocco's discourse: nationalism and national unity.! Another interesting feature of Moroccan pluralism is its conception of democracy. It is marketed as a specific mixture of the universal aspects of (Western liberal) democracy and Arab-Islamic heritage, based on a political culture of the makhzen. In Arabic, makhzen means literally the warehouse where goods and provisions are stored. In Morocco's political context, specialists use it to denote government as a network of power and grants from the top rather than balance and mutual concessions among the different organs. The top or the center is then in control, and it exercises its control through arbitration and distribution of rewards. This special brand of democratization-or Hassanian democracy, associated with the king's name-is of conceptual significance for both the analysis of Third World politics and democratization processes. It shows the overlapping of religious and political fields as it brings together the seemingly opposed societal categories of "traditional" and "modem" values. The "modern" set emphasizes the Western-inspired concepts of nation-state, constitution, and 157

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political parties. The "traditional" set brings in the concept of shari'a (Islamic law), bay'a (oath of allegiance), and umma (community). The whole is controlled and orchestrated from the top by the monarch, also known as Amir al-Mu'minin (Commander of the Faithful-the label first given to the caliph as successor to the Prophet Muhammad).2 The objective is the most cherished one-to combine authenticity and modernity. The question, then, is how does this formula work in the Moroccan context? In the first section, on contending concepts of democracy, I answer the What question. It analyzes, through speeches and official documents, the meaning of the concept for both the king-the main locus of power-and for the principal political parties. In the second section, I deal with the How: How is democratization proceeding in practice and how does political reality compare with the political discourse? Consequently, this part traces the evolution of practice from the first king, Mohamed V (19561961) to the different phases of the present one, Hassan II (1961- ). In the third section I deal with Why: the reasons for the lag of the democratization process and for the weakness of Morocco's civil society. The conclusion pulls the threads together and puts Morocco's democratization process in comparative perspective.

What: Contending Conceptions of Democratization The previously mentioned mix of authenticity and modernity is indeed essential to any understanding of the Moroccan political system and the functioning of its democratization process. A logical start to what democracy means in this context is what the monarch thinks. For Hassan II, democracy is above everything a "collective agreement at the nationallevel,"3 an organizational mode that guarantees full citizenship through participation in the conduct of public affairs.4 Here is the direct influence of the Western concept of democracy, of "government of the people by the people," making of citizens the ultimate source of authority. In fact, in official documents references abound to such basics of Western democracy as suffrage, respect of individual and collective liberties, multipartyism, and separation of powers and balance among them, including independence of the judiciary. At the same time, however, there is the emphasis on Islam as a state religion. Concomitantly, the extensive jurisdiction of Amir al-Mu' minin tends, in effect, to take away from the application of the declared rules of liberal democracy.s Islam in this case is no longer a private religion but a determining social concept of political significance. For instance, the concept of people's sovereignty-the cornerstone of liberal democracy-is indeed constrained by the application of a certain

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brand of Islamic orthodoxy. 6 According to this latter, sovereignty of a divine essence predominates over any other form of sovereignty-of state, nation, or leader; it is hakimiyyaJ As a logical consequence, basic principles of Western democracy are applied-in reality-within the confines of shari'a. Democracy in this case is liberty within bounds defined by a certain interpretation of Islam that imposes its rules on both the governor and the governed. As Hassan II made clear in his inaugural speech to parliament in November 1963: "You well know that Islam is the state religion and that its divine principles summon us to follow strictly its high spiritual values. The teachings of Islam have to inspire and condition the daily behavior of each of us. "8 This specific interpretation of Islam thus predominates in Morocco's political discourse. Indeed, religious legitimacy is the basis of the power of Hassan II, of Amir al-Mu'minin. Consequently, he is not a primus inter pares but ranks above other actors and institutions. Moreover, his claim of descent from the Prophet's family makes of him "God's shadow on earth," quasi-sacred, as he is "appointed by God to carry out a mission which can neither be ignored nor questioned."9 This sacred mission is emphasized in both constitutional texts and basic legal documents (decisions of the Supreme Court and dahirs or official decrees),lO As a result, faithfulness and submission to the monarch-formalized by the bay'a to the Alawite family since the seventeenth century-is at the basis of the regime's legitimacy. In brief, complete obedience to the head of state is the dominant characteristic of Morocco's political dynamics.ll other than [the authority attached to] the person of the monarch, whose utterances and [also] silences are at the basis of public order, acts of obedience to his [divine] authority are bolstered by the constitution, by fiqh Uurisprudence] and hagiography. [The system thus glorifies] a triple basis of obedience: civic by reference to the law; canonical by reference to shari 'a; and mystical-for obedience to the king [descendent of the Prophet] is a source ofblessing.12

The king, then, as he himself says, is the supreme head and incarnation of the country. It is inevitable that this monarchical power monopoly will limit the effective application of (liberal) democracy. To start with, royal supremacy across the board, so to speak, does offset any separation of powers. Hassan II is explicit in his inaugural speech to parliament in October 1978: "Your action will be judged by God and his prophet on earth, who is the supreme authority in the country. I thus confirm what I have always stated: whether you are a legislative or an executive body (for the separation of powers is indispensable), your power does not infringe on that of supreme authority [the monarch]."13

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The king's role is not merely to arbitrate but essentially to delegate authority-whether in the executive, legislative, or judicial branches. In this respect, Morocco's Chamber of Representatives is more a replication of the Islamic majlis al-shura (consultative assembly) than a modem parliament with effective legislative prerogatives. To conclude, then: The supreme locus of authority is the monarch, or Amir al-Mu'minin, who delegates power to others.I4 These latter act in a purely consultative capacity, building on Islam's tradition of shura (consultation)15 to guarantee a minimum of freedom of expression and democratic practice within the umma.l6 But even this controlled margin of authority is further restricted.17 Witness this ranking of sources of authority by Hassan II: From the reading of the sacred Qur'an we see that all those whom God entrusted with a responsibility-legislative or executive-have to submit to a control: firstly, from God; secondly, from a person delegated by God to be in charge of the Muslim community; and, lastly, from the electorate. IS

The problem is how to reconcile this insistence on obedience (or submission) to the head of state with a participative political culture, or how to allow the expression of diversity while maintaining unity. For Hassan II, there is no doubt whatsoever that unity comes first and predominates over the rest: "To be on the Right or on the Left is a luxury in our context. ... These concepts of Right and Left are foreign to us. Aren't we the umma, the intermediate nation [umma wasat]?"l9 The result is a clear line of demarcation established by the regime between "constructive" opposition (i.e., working within the bounds of the regime) and an opposition not permitted by the palace to function, whatever the justification given. How do Morocco's different political forces align themselves in such a context of "divine" monopoly of authority and restricted room for maneuver? Different Political Forces and the Notion of Democracy

Naturally, political parties differ in their reaction to "Hassanism." The "monarchical" parties (Rassemblement National des Independants, RNI; Union Constitutionnelle, UC; Parti National Democrate, PND) have, as one might expect, internalized official discourses and programs. Other parties, from both the left and right, both secular and Islamist, have manifested a range of opposition to the "authority coming from above." A logical starting point for the analysis of these opposition parties is with the oldest of them all, the Istiqlal, or Independence Party, established in 1920. Traditionally, the Istiqlal has been the incarnation of the anticolo-

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nial resistance movement and continues to present itself as the symbol of authenticity. It thus rejects "imported ideologies" and doctrinal "satellization" in order to maintain Morocco's specificity. The party has been consistent in its sources of doctrinal inspiration (i.e., Islam and Arabism) and in its political objectives: independence, territorial integrity, democracy, and equality.2o Toward the monarch, Istiqlal has shown ambiguity, fluctuating in its opposition to and alignment with the royal palace. It has, however, more often collaborated with the monarch than opposed him, consistent in its support of the principle of constitutional monarchy as expressed in its manifesto of 11 January 1944.21 In fact, an analysis of Istiqlal's basic writings and views shows ideological affinity with the Royal Palace. The party emphasizes that at the basis of democracy in Morocco is the coexistence of "traditional" and "modem" values. Consequently, some of its basic views of democratic rule on subjects such as popular sovereignty, separation of powers, free elections, and freedom of opinion, association, and thought are influenced by Western thought. The party believes, however, that these principles are reconcilable to the presence of the monarchy. As the party's secretary-general, M'hamed Boucetta, expressed it during the tenth congress (Casablanca, April 1978): "The Istiqlal Party is firmly attached to political democracy based on constitutional monarchy. "22 Istiqlal's actions are essentially modifications here and there to make of constitutionalism an "effective practice." Consequently, it works for the strengthening of parliamentarism, for making powers more equally balanced, and for reforming the administrative apparatus. Similar to the monarch's vision, Istiqlal's intention is to reconcile these contemporary expressions of democracy with basic Islamic principles: shura and ijma' (consensus).23 In this sense, the party is indeed faithful to its dominant salafi (original Islamic) doctrine. The recent rise in Islamic fervor among the young has incited Istiqlal to give more prominence to this salafi doctrine. Thus, in its statement during its seventh congress (1984), the party stated that "the Islamic society it aims to establish cannot emerge from a void. Consequently, the Istiqlal aims to start with establishing shari'a as the source of law and to abolish all laws inconsistent with the basic principles of Islam. "24 There is another important characteristic of Istiqlal 's doctrine on democracy: the linkage between the political and the socioeconomic. For Istiqlal theoreticians, the two are simply intertwined. The party's emphasis on democracy together with equality and egalitarianism is inspired by Islam, a religion based on social justice. Consequently, political democracy inevitably has a socioeconomic content and is a first step to, if not concomitant with, socioeconomic democracy.25 Democracy a l'Istiqlal, then, ranges more widely than the liberal variety. It is a developmental and

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socializing concept emphasizing structural reforms in different sectors of the economy; redefinition of the role of the state, of the public sector, and of national priorities in terms of economic and social policies; and liberation of the economy from foreign domination.26 This linkage of political and economic democratization is shared by other parties of the opposition, primarily the leftist parties.27 Among these, the most important is the Socialist Union of Popular Forces (USFP), which emerged in 1974. The USFP was an offshoot of the National Union of Popular Forces (UNFP), itself a left-wing breakaway in 1959 from the Istiqlal. These leftist revolts against the original party shared a vision of a society based on three central concepts: liberation, democracy, and socialism. The USFP-which conceives of itself as a mass party but essentially represents the urban middle class-is based on historical materialism and scientific socialism. It insists, however, that it does not follow blindly the precepts of Marxism-Leninism or European social democracy. Instead, it emphasizes Moroccan specificity. As the report of its political bureau stated in 1975: "Democratic socialism cannot be an abstract option. Instead it is based on specific properties of Moroccan society-its history, ArabIslamic-African values and other characteristics. "28 Its emphasis is on the establishment of a state of law and the subordination of the state apparatus to popular control. Moreover, similar to the linkage adopted by the Istiqlal, there is an emphasis on the association between political and socioeconomic democracy. For democracy and socialist construction are "indissociable aspects of a global policy aiming at the transformation of economic, social, cultural and political structures in the interest of workers."29 Its formulation of democratization, then, does not question the continuation of the monarchy but is directed to its reform. Such reform aims to establish a democratic and parliamentary monarchy as an alternative to paternalistic and "Makhzenian monarchy."30 This parliamentary and democratic monarchy goes beyond a formalistic statement to strengthen parliamentary and governmental fields of jurisdiction and better define the relationship between the royal palace and the legislative and executive domains. The objectives of USFP, like others in the opposition, are to leave to the king the privilege of arbitration among different political forces and parties; to clean up political life; and to struggle against abuse of power, favoritism, and corruption.31 Other progressive forces share many of the ideas of the USFP but add the occasional specific elements to justify their raison d'etre and promote their proposed solutions.32 This is the case the Parti du Progres et du Socialisme (PPS; established in 1974)-a successor to communist political parties and organizations dissolved by the government in the 1960s and 1970s.33 The PPS defines itself as pioneering the interests "of the working class and the poor peasantry." Though it avoids repeated reference to

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Marxism-Leninism, it is based on "democratic centralism" and "class struggle." Like its main rival within the left (the USFP), the PPS couples its adherence to "scientific socialism" with insistence on Moroccan specificity.34 Consequently, for the PPS the process of political democratization means principally extensive popular participation in the legislature; the functioning of democratic institutions at both the national and local levels; a constitution elaborated by a constitutional assembly; effective elections; and recognition of, and safeguards for, the sovereignty of the people.35 As in the case of the Istiqlal and the USFP, political democratization is inseparable from socioeconomic democratization. Thus democratization-socioeconomic as well as political-goes beyond neoliberalism to initiate agrarian revolution, reform of the tax system, nationalization of the key sectors of the economy, and basic industrialization. These are-the PPS insistsbasic prerequisites of the "national democratic revolution" leading to the long-awaited socialist society.36 Despite the differences among the various political forces, from the allpowerful monarchy to the Istiqlal and the different shades of the left, there exists a conspicuous common thread that emphasizes-in varying degrees-Morocco's specificity, principally its Arab-Islamic heritage. How do Islamic forces fare in this respect? Contrary to what is taking place in most Arab countries, forces of political Islam in Morocco are badly organized and find it hard to impose themselves in the political arena.37 This is principally because the monarch has monopolized the religious terrain. As mentioned above, the monarch is Amir al-Mu'minin. He governs with the help of the Supreme Council of Ulama, established and presided over by the king himself. The palace and the council present themselves as the guarantors of "authentic Islam" in the face of "deviationists" and "pseudo-Islamists." It is important to distinguish between activist Islamic political protest and widespread people's Islam. This latter is composed of a multitude of free preachers, brotherhoods, and religious associations. According to some analysts, there are about 20 associations, but others put the number as high as 150.38 All these associations, however, share in the refusal to give any explicit political connotation to their activities. They profess that their aim is not political power, so they concentrate their work on civil society per se. For instance, Jama'at al-Tabligh wa al-Da'wa (Association of Transmission and Predication) aims to re-Islamize Moroccan society and reestablish Islam's moral values among its members. However, talking about moral values is bound to touch on the state, its policies, and its leadership-from the monarch to the legislature and the government apparatus, especially when the discussion of moral values leads to the discussion of accountability and the presence and absence of corruption. This spillover-politically intended or not-brings political

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Islam from its marginalized status to a latent central stage in the social debate. Consequently, since the 1970s, Morocco's political Islamists have been increasingly active due to the country's multiple economic, political, and ideological crises. The movement became radicalized in 1972 when Abdelkrim Moutil established Jama'at al-Shabiba al-Islamiyya (Society of Young Muslims). The principal theoretician and spokesman of political Islam, however, is Abdel-Salam Yacine,39 strongly inspired by the ideas of the radical ideologue of Egypt's Muslim Brotherhood, Sayyid Qutb (executed in 1966).40 Yacine is a violent critic of state and society in present-day Morocco. Following Qutb's conceptualizing of Islamic revolt, he establishes a parallel between the present situation in many Muslim countries (including Morocco) and jahiliyya (pre-Islamic "dark ages") society. Yacine denounces the regime's secular orientation and its submission to "imperialist powers." In a 1973 open letter (entitled "Islam and the Deluge"), he accused Hassan II of betraying his basic sacred mission to revive Islam.41 In his various writings, he accuses the establishment ulama (scholars of religion) of being well-paid civil servants, happy to promote official Islam instead of defending social justice, denouncing corruption, and criticizing the governing elite's infatuation with the West.42 These are crucial background ideas determining Yacine's views of democracy.43 For him, democracy is an imported concept, like MarxismLeninism. Consequently, the society of tomorrow should be based instead on a "renewed Islam." Rather than individualism, parliamentarism, or multipartyism, the source of sovereignty is divine. It follows that the ultimate objective is an Islamic state based on "a new legitimacy inspired by a renewed Islam and shari'a application"; social justice; allegiance of the head of state to a council of ulama elected according to principles of ijma' and shura. As for the economy, it would be governed by the principles of Islam rather than by capitalism or socialism. 44 In such a state, liberal democracy is thus rejected as a foreign ideology, as foreign as the existing, ungodly regime. To determine how these opposed conceptions fare in practice, I tum to the second section, which takes us from political discourse to political reality.

How: Between Authoritarianism and Controlled Liberalization Mohamed V and the Formulation of a Consultative Monarchy Unlike in Algeria or Egypt, there has not been a break in Morocco's system of government. Consequently, continuity is a major characteristic. In principle, the accession of Morocco to independent statehood in 1956 was also

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to be the birth of democratic statehood on the basis of constitutional democracy. The basic 1955 Franco-Moroccan Agreement-ushering in the process of independence-was explicit in this respect.45 In practice, however, Mohamed V's consultative monarchy (1956-1961) left little place for effective democratization. On the face of it, the democratization process was on track. For instance, at the institutional level, the process started with the setting up of an assembly (the Consultative National Assembly) composed of various political tendencies (Istiqlal, Independence Democratic Party, Liberal Independents Party) and representatives of religious, socioprofessional, and trade union milieux. The appearance was democratic, but the reality was different. First, this assembly was purely consultative. Second, the personalities included were chosen by the monarch rather than elected by universal suffrage. Even an establishment and traditional political party like Istiqlal was unhappy with the little legislative power this council had. At the doctrinal level, the 1958 Royal Charter proclaimed the monarch's desire to respect and reinforce individual and collective liberties.46 The aim was to consolidate the multiparty system within the framework of constitutional monarchy. In reality, however, this process was used by the palace to fragment political forces in order to reign supreme. It was a process of divide and rule rather than one of good-faith multipartyism. In fact, the royal palace accelerated the fragmentation process by two means: It constantly intervened among the political parties. Moreover, on various occasions, it established new political organizations (e.g., the Liberal Independents Party of Reda Guedira) to counterbalance Istiqlal's dominance in the political process. Thus, during Morocco's first communal elections (spring 1960),47 the palace coopted rural elites and local notables48 to offset Istiqlal's political power and eventually to form an alternative political force. Multipartyism may be counted an indicator of democratization, but in this case it was certainly not used to promote this process. After the initial phase of national front politics that united all Moroccan political forces around the monarch and against French occupation, divisions were soon to emerge during the transition period from the colony to independent state. The question that brought the conflict to the fore was that of division of powers and the effective exercise of political authority. The contenders were the monarch versus the political parties, principally Istiqlal-the major symbol of civil society resistance to imperial presence. Istiqlal, however, shared with the palace the desire to control the rules of the game and to exclude other contenders. It hoped to be the main representative of civil society and the principal partner with the monarch. Consequently, prominent personalities of Istiqlal collaborated with the palace to outlaw the Popular Movement Party after the rebellion in the Rif and the Atlas regions.

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Despite its apparent strength, Istiqlal could not, however, impose the drive for power sharing against the will of the monarch. The party's base of support was heterogeneous and hence fragile. It consisted of such segments as the rural and urban bourgeoisie, members of liberal professions, various components of the middle class (e.g., teachers, civil servants), workers, small landowners and peasants, and merchants. As a result, a series of divisive contradictions plagued the party. These divisions concerned basic orientations of strategy and tactics such as the shape of the democratization process and the policy to adopt toward main political forces, principally the throne-both a rival and associate in the conduct of the political game. These internal cleavages intensified and finally wrecked Istiqlal. As regards the power-sharing process, two sides emerged. One sideled by the historical chief Allal al-Fassi-represented a conservative wing and generally accepted the democratization process as presented by the king. Another wing of younger leaders (e.g., Mohamed Basri, Mehdi Ben Baraka, and Mahjoub Ben Siddiq) insisted on the priority of limiting monarchical power as a first step toward more radical political and institutional reform. It was this group who finally quit the Istiqlal and, in September 1959, established their own party, the UNFP.49 What was the effect of such dissension within the ranks of the main representatives of civil society on the democratization process? On the face of it, the effects were positive because multipartyism was promoted. In reality, however, the monarch's power monopoly, as well as his national and religious bases of legitimacy, were consolidated. Consequently, by the end of the 1950s the palace single-handedly controlled the principal bases of political power: the legislature, the executive (including the army and police forces), and the local and regional administrative apparatus. For all intents and purposes, democratization was halted. Despite the establishment of a council to draw up a draft constitution, the end of the decade witnessed the dissolution of the tame Consultative Assembly.so Nothing changed very much as far as the democratization process-or its lack-was concerned until1961. This was the year Mohamed V died, to be succeeded on the throne by Hassan II. Constitutional Monarchy and Problematic Democratization in the Reign of Hassan II In a nutshell, the reign of Hassan II has been characterized by cycles of liberalization and authoritarianism, depending on the way the palace chooses to react to repeated regime crises. Given the length of Hassan Il's reign, the period is divided into three phases. 51 The first phase (1962-1965) reflected a desire to push along with the constitutional monarchy and to strengthen multipartyism and parliamentary

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life. This limited democratic tendency was a new leader's way to increase his internal legitimacy and improve his international image.52 Moreover, given the monarchy's preeminent position on the political scene and the absence of strong organized opposition, limited political liberalization did not involve any risk. Yet the first Moroccan constitution-inspired largely by post-1958 Gaullist France-was not written by any elected assembly but rather by the king and his close associates. This 1962 constitution was accepted in a referendum by about 80 percent of the population. 53 Political parties differed in their reactions. The UNFP, the Communist Party, and the Moroccan Workers Union opposed the proposed constitution, whereas Istiqlal-in the end-supported it. Liberal political elements favored the constitution because of its respect for national sovereignty (Article 2), independence of the judiciary, and multipartyism and its exclusion of one-party rule (Article 3). In reality, the constitution maintained the traditional nature of Morocco's political structure and processes. The king's prerogatives-with his double legitimacy as head of state and religious leader-were mentioned and even strengthened. Consequently, government and parliament were kept subordinate to the palace's authority. 54 The 1963 spring elections were a microcosm of this pattern of Morocco's democratization process. Forces of opposition were left free to participate and campaign, but the palace was hard at work to offset their impact.55 A pro-palace coalition-the Front for the Defense of Constitutional Institutions (FDIC)-was set up.56 This coalition regrouped the Constitutional Democratic Party (PDC), the Popular Movement (MP), and the Independent Liberals (PLI). These loyalist parties, however, did not manage to get the simple majority necessary to govern (they got 69 seats, whereas other parties got 75). They were still asked to form the govemment.57 The opposition parties-particularly Istiqlal and the UNFP (whose combined seats in parliament were 69, i.e., equal to the government's)systematically opposed government policy. The legislative impasse was compounded by the Casablanca riots (March 1965), a precursor of the "hunger riots" of 1984 and an early indicator of the worsening economic situation. 58 The first parliamentary experience of independent Morocco was obviously in trouble. Negotiations among the different political parties could not put the democratization process on track. The palace ended by putting a halt to the process altogether. In June 1965, Hassan II invoked Article 35 of the constitution to declare a state of emergency. By putting the blame uniquely on the failure of political parties to agree, the palace discredited the whole democratization process. At the same time, Hassan II got rid of any rivals or obstacles that could threaten his monopoly on political power. 59

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Thus started the second phase (1965-1970). In a nutshell, it reestablished exclusive or even absolute monarchy. Hassan II governed with the help of his own cabinet and close advisers. In this way, a presumably complicated political process of governing was reduced to "pure administration." Thus, cabinets were formed of nonpolitical personalities, of civil servants completely devoted to the power of the king. Efforts were intensified to further discredit and marginalize political parties. Obstacles were increased to limit the freedom of expression for all opposition. Propaganda campaigns mobilized the population in favor of the monarchy and its policies and questioned the motives of any alternative point of view. The army was brought in and given accrued authority to help in this massive depoliticization process.6D The 1969 communal elections reflected this administrative process of politics, since 82 percent of those elected were "neutral," that is, allies of royal power. The 1970 constitutional reform institutionalized this pattern of politics as administration rather than as a bargaining process coupled with checks and balances. Despite these efforts by the palace, political and social crises multiplied and were becoming increasingly serious. Hassan II oscillated between the carrot and the stick, without managing to reinforce the political consensus around the throne. On the contrary, some tangible bases enabling the king to impose his power were turning against the monarchy. Thus by the early 1970s, attempts by the army to assassinate the king and topple the regime multiplied (e.g., in Sekhirat in 1971; in Kenitra in 1972; and in the High and Middle Atlas in 1973). In one of these attempts, the king almost lost his life at the hands of the supposedly loyalist army officers. Traumatized, the monarch initiated yet another move toward democratization in the 1972 constitution.61 This one attempted a certain limitation of the all-embracing power of the royal palace (e.g., constitutional revision was no longer the prerogative solely of the palace but was shared by parliament; some administrative powers were delegated to the prime minister).6 2 The monarch's basic supremacy, however, was not affected.63 Consequently, opposition parties (regrouped in the National Bloc) rejected the proposed reforms as an insufficient basis for real democracy. 64 As a result, the stalemate continued. Despite the call for boycott by the main opposition parties, the proposed constitutional reform was approved by 98.1 percent of the voters. This high approval rate did not lead, however, to the establishment of a representative government or the holding of national or local elections. In this context of complete immobilism, social and political crises intensified and strikes multiplied. The monarchy reacted by increasing its authoritarian rule to defend the "threatened national security." Hard-line measures increased against opposition political parties, and associations of civil society were repressed or shut down (e.g., the National Union of Moroccan

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Students [UNEM]).65 Even the code of individual liberties was revised to increase its restrictive character.66 Compared to the 1958 original text, the new modifications seriously limited the rights of association and of meeting and the freedom of the press.67 At the same time, the regime worked systematically to refurbish and consolidate its power bases. The army was closely watched and put under the direct control of the king. Economic measures were taken to satisfy the rising middle class and "national capitalists." Thus the policy of Moroccanization was extended to the industrial and commercial sectors, land from foreign settlers was recuperated, and a new code of investment to favor the private sector was announced. 68 Moreover, some populist measures were taken-such as reactivation of land reform-to strengthen the regime's alliance base and further marginalize organized political forces. External factors are usually neglected in the analysis of the democratization process in Third World countries-an anomaly since these are highly penetrated political systems. The third phase (1976- ) in the fluctuating democratization process brings in this external factor, that is, the issue of the Western Sahara and the brewing conflict with Algeria. As a result of this conflict, a return to earlier united front politics was facilitated. A spontaneous national consensus emerged in support of the palace's demands for the Western Sahara provinces of Oued Eddebab and Saqiat al-Harnra and for its resistance to Algeria's rival attempts. The king's national legitimacy was thus revitalized. He reemerged as the symbol of national resistance, the rallying point to cement all political forces who shared this resistance. Thus the king's position was quickly reinforced, but the opposition political forces still remained in shambles. 69 Consequently, another wave of democratization policies could not sap the monarch's political power. Assured of the absence of threats to his power, the monarch embarked on the democratization process.70 In 1980 a series of constitutional modifications were initiated-modifications of an administrative rather than a structural character. For instance, the voting age was reduced from 18 to 16 years, a regency council was set up under the presidency of the head of the Supreme Court, and the parliamentary term was extended from four to six years. A modified constitution-approved in a 1992 referendum-continued this democratization process)! Its highlights include the following: 1. The preamble's notable emphasis on the "kingdom's attachment to

human rights as universally recognized." 2. The establishment-in response to the demands of opposition parties-of a constitutional council (Articles 76 and 79) to replace the constitutional chamber of the Supreme Court. According to these articles, the king appoints the president and half the members of

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this council, whereas the other half is appointed by the head of parliament after consultations with the different parliamentary groups. 3. The jurisdiction of the Chamber of Representatives is enlarged since Article 40 gives it the right to set up inquiry committees after a majority vote. 4. A new social and economic council (Article 91) was set up to act as a consultative organ and help the government and parliament in drawing up social and economic orientation plans (Article 92). 5. The modified constitutional text enunciates a more restrictive interpretation of Article 35 related to the establishment of a state of emergency: The dissolution of the Chamber of Representatives is no longer implied. Despite their liberal flavor, these modifications neither affected the structural bases of political power in the country nor weakened the authority prerogatives of the monarch.72 The monarchy remained a governing monarchy as enunciated in the 1962 constitution, but the absence of dialogue with opposing political parties came to an end.73 Elections took place in 1976-1977, 1983-1984, and 1992-1993 but did not lead to structural changes_74 The regime remained a Bonapartist one, with political power highly personalized and incarnated by the national leader. As a result, multipartyism had a very limited impact. If the opposition was permitted any influence, it was on peripheral issues rather than on what the regime considered its core issues. Elections were conducted in such a way by the palace and the administrative apparatus as to avoid too much power accruing to opposition parties. This tendency to shape election results beforehand raises the important methodological and substantive issue of how much weight should be given to elections as a valid indicator of democratization in a truncated political system. In the communal, municipal, and provincial elections of 1976 as well as the 1977 legislative ones, the so-called independent or "neutral" (royal surrogate) candidates won the majority vote. Similarly, in the 19831984 elections, as in the 1978 elections before, pro-palace political personalities (e.g., in 1978, Ahmed Osman, the king's brother-in-law; and in 1983-1984, Maati Boubid, the then prime minister) formed political parties almost on the eve of the elections in order to win the majority vote. However, the June 1993 legislative elections to renew the term of twothirds of the deputies gave results different from those expected by the palace_75 They saw the victory of opposition parties (the Istiqlal-USFP bloc won 91 of the 222 seats contested) and the decline of pro-government representatives (72 seats for RNI, UC, PND, and Parti Democratique Independant [PDI] combined). Some observers considered these results a

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"historic" milestone. Others, however, were more cynical and interpreted these results as a ploy by the regime to brighten its international image, especially at a time when its control of political power was not really at risk. These various election experiences confirmed that Moroccan democratization was more formal than real and that occasional liberalization measures were reversible. The results of the second ballot of legislative elections (111 seats out of 333) of 17 September 1993 supported the view of the pessimists. Monarchist parties-Wifaq-got 66 seats compared to the 17 won by the Istiqlal-USFP bloc. As a result, the opposition parties refused to participate in forming the government. The result was a cabinet composed of the monarch's unconditional supporters. 76 Rather than a definitive strategic choice, the monarch's last limited liberalization attempts seemed to be motivated by concern about the increasing power of Algeria's Islamic movement.77 The regime's immediate objective in opening toward opposition parties was to offset any risk from a spillover of Algerian troubles into Morocco.

Why Democratization Lagged Despite so much movement in the direction of ta'addudiyya (multipartyism), progress toward democratization has lagged behind.78 In the last part of this chapter I emphasize three explanatory obstacles to democratization.

The (Suffocating) Weight of the Sultanic State Even though Max Weber was not thinking of Morocco when he coined the term "sultanic state," his analysis fits this country well. On the surface and compared to other monarchies, especially in the Gulf, Morocco seems far ahead on the road to democratization. But I have to repeat that democratization is not to be reduced to ta'addudiyya. On the contrary, we saw that multipartyism has been (ab)used to fragment, satellize, and finally paralyze opposition forces. Despite the cycles of exclusion and inclusion of different political forces, the constant element has been the weighty presence of what the Moroccan political scientist Abdallah Saaf calls l' Etat profond, the well-entrenched and deeply rooted stateJ9 Indeed, despite fluctuations in the political process from immobilism to "elections" and the opening to opposition parties, the state's heavy involvement has been the most continuous element shaping the process of democratization, or its lack. Personalized and privatized, the state incarnated neopatrimonialleadership where demarcation between the public and private spheres has been virtually

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absent. As Abdallah Laroui puts it, "the state became the equivalent of a monarch magnified, whereas the monarch incarnated the state."80 The result is an absolute control of the political process from the top, making of it almost a monolithic process-quite the opposite of the dynamism and diversity of the standard democratic polity. As a result, in Morocco, the king is "the center of a concentric cybernetic system" where basic political command starts and ends.8I Pluralism in this case is reduced to a pure formality that cannot affect royal monopoly. To reinforce this royal monopoly, the palace revived past practices of counting on a well-developed clientelistic system of administrators and politicians: The former network of families, brotherhoods, and tribes is for the most part declining but it is strengthened by the central power through a kind of functional patronage. In the exercise of its religious, military and economic duties, the state is confronted with collective resistance that cannot necessarily be reduced by administrative means. The need for active support in areas where the administration is weak has caused the state to restore former types of authority and to institute new networks of dependents, which it can trust.82

This reproduction of the traditional makhzen state suited administrative and political clients who also felt that their interests were tightly tied to the continuation of the state in its existing form.83 As a result, ministers-usually chosen from a narrow, faithful, Fassi elite-were reduced to civil servants carrying out the palace's wishes and instructions and proving their loyalty.84 The parliament, like elections, suffered from constant state intervention, and consequently, frightened deputies remained mostly docile. Parliament was no more than a rubber stamp institution without any control over the actions of the executive.85 Members were the king's men, as Hassan II's statement at the beginning of the chapter indicates.86 Any siba (dissent) was considered treason. Witness this case: In 1980 the king believed that one of his myriad reforms should apply immediately in the current parliamentary session. The representatives of USFP thought differently and decided to send their resignation to the assembly's president. The king reacted in the following way: "The constitutional sovereign cannot rule on this case, but in application of ... [the Quran] and the Prophet's tradition, the Commander of the Faithful must judge .... These people have excluded themselves from the Muslim community."87 The result was that on core issues, opposition elements played it safe and tended to follow the monarchical majority. 88 However, the control of the political process from above is not limited to the exercise of direct co-optation or pressure on representatives of civil society. The sultanic state also conditions minds by manipulating symbols of political culture, both Arab and Islamic.

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The Manipulation of Political Culture As we have seen in discussing the basis of Amir al-Mu'minin's political authority, a principal component of his base of legitimacy is religious. This predominance of Islam and the prevalence of tradition have been monopolized and manipulated to promote obedience and emphasize the disastrous effect of dissent. The deliberate prizing of unity, consensus, and even unanimity to maintain the umma inculcates in people the notion of duties rather than rights, thus reducing the margin of public freedom and valuing explicitly the necessity of following the group. Similarly, the culture of shura is singled out and used in such a way as to relegate to second place the spirit of initiative and active political participation. Moreover, the restrictive interpretation of the concept of bay'a underlines faithfulness and complete submission to the monarch, but without reference to the latter's counterpart duties as head of the community. This politically oriented interpretation of some basic concepts of social Islam capitalizes on selected dimensions of Morocco's political traditions, notably the role of makhzen. This brand of secular authoritarianism, with its hegemonic state apparatus, is used to condition people's collective psychology and unconscious daily behavior. In both speeches and media comments, these elements of obedience, loyalism, and gratitude to authority are consistently brought to the fore and emphasized as the authentic order of things.89 The manipulation of widely diffused symbols of political culture is so strong that even educated opposition elements are not exempt from its impact. Either by conviction or by necessity, they do not contest the need to maintain the monarchy, at least to avoid worse alternatives such as a takeover by the army or radical Islamists.90 But whatever the reasons for not questioning the basic regime structure, the result is that the limits of political opposition are predetermined. At the top of the political system, any evolution is more continuity than change.91 At the level of civil society, this situation leads to a lack of political interest, except for occasional anomie bursts.92 The discrediting of the electoral process and the pettiness of political bargaining, as well as the government's manipulation to exclude activist elements, result in a political culture of passivity and apathy. These two are the exact opposites of the basic prerequisites for democracy, that is, a political culture of initiative and participation. Does this mean that Moroccan civil society is hopelessly weak, and consequently that the democratization process is definitively doomed in the short term? This question brings us to the third obstacle to democratization. The Weakness/Strength of Morocco's Civil Society A survey of Morocco's colonial history shows how robust civil society could be.93 If civil society is commonly defined as the network of voluntary

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associations, Morocco's civil society is-on the face of it-still well and prospering. Already during the 1980s, the number of associations had reached 3,000.94 Yet I emphasized earlier the elements of passivity and apathy among the populace, which indicate increasing weakness in this civil society. The contradiction, however, is only apparent. For what is important about voluntary associations as the essence of civil society is not their number but their autonomy. In the Moroccan case, the increase in the number of nongovernmental organizations (NGOs) has been part of a conscious state strategy. This strategy aimed to establish bridges with different social sectors and also to promote internationally its image in favor of democratization. Some of these associations-including ones in sensitive areas such as human rights-have been accepted and even encouraged by the government. Behind this encouragement, the government had two main objectives: (1) to relieve the state of some of its responsibilities, given its declining resources; and (2) to organize the political arena, rather than encouraging a political vacuum that could be occupied by uncontrolled or uncontrollable social forces. The quantitative increase in associative activity is thus less an indicator of civil society's strength than the state's way out of the inertia of the formal political game between the palace and political parties. It is also the state's way of capitalizing on available foreign resources (from the United Nations Development Programme; the World Health Organization; the United Nations Educational, Scientific, and Cultural Organization; and the U.S. Agency for International Development) that are virtually all channeled through NGOs. This is the only way to understand why Moroccan associations in such sensitive fields as human rights are tolerated. External rewards or pressures, however, do not seem to have guaranteed at present the autonomy of these associations-a prerequisite for an effective civil society and democratization process.95 In fact, the Moroccan state disposes of a panoply of legal and political instruments to keep the different associations under its control. Thus before any governmental authorization, every projected association is subjected to a myriad of legal inquiries concerning its objective, structure, and functioning. Moreover, associations cannot have any financial aid from the government-in some cases a precondition of their very survival-unless they fit into the state's definition of being of "public usefulness." The state practices other means of censorship, especially in spheres deemed sensitive to the regime, which are simply not to be discussed by the associations (e.g., type of regime, relation between state and religion, laws of personal status). In this case, state censorship is coupled with self-censorship by these associations in order to ensure their own survival. State control of many of these associations can even be direct: The state took the initiative, within the framework of its policy of regionaliza-

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tion, to create a few of these associations. It put at their head its faithful representatives and cronies and supplied them with financial and infrastructure support.96 This state generosity toward some associations led others to sarcastically label them as NGGOs (nongovernmental governmental organizations)! Governmental strategy went as far as the multiplication of alternative associations directly controlled by the throne, such as the Consultative Council of Human Rights (CCDH), the National Council of Youth and the Future (CNJA), the National Council of Social Dialogue (CCDS), and the Consultative Commission for the Reform of Modawana (ministry in charge of human rights). It is true that such associations and institutions meet certain social needs and allow the elaboration of consensus on basic questions in the Morocco of today and tomorrow. However, the government's main objective was rather the exclusion of alternative political forces, the co-optation of civil society, and the regulation of its demands. In order to avoid putting in question the bases of the political regime, the state worked to clientelize civil society. Opposition forces have thus denounced this satellization of civil society and the authorities' attempt to reduce political competition even further and to weaken to the maximum alternative political forces. Although state-controlled, some of these associations are not purely and simply reduced to an extension of state policies. They maintain statesociety political communication and keep Moroccan civil society barely alive, its weakness notwithstanding. Intentionally or not, associations become a link between different social groups and power circles, thus cementing vertical integration,97 in addition to performing their usual function of horizontal integration (interest representation across various social strata).98 These limited functions of associations explain the ambiguity of political parties-including opposition ones-toward many of these associations, especially at election time. Consequently, political parties and organized opposition forces have tried in their turn to develop their own civil society as a counterstrategy.99 Thus, in 1972, Istiqlal established the Moroccan League of Human Rights, and in 1979 it was USFP's turn to establish the Moroccan Association of Human Rights. Very few of these associations manage, in their turn, to distance themselves from the established political parties. The result of so much co-optation and penetration of associational life-by either government or political parties-was the blurring of demarcation lines between political society and the wider civil society. With the latter's autonomy reduced-by formal or informal rules-to an absolute minimum, some observers went as far as to question the existence of a civil society. The Moroccan state does not leave a certain independence for political

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parties and their social forces. It even tries to regulate them by limiting the autonomy of civil society. According to its vocation of being the guardian of public property and of the best interests of the community, the makhzen does not allow the formation on its political territory of the germs of any possible autonomy. Alternative forces are tolerated within absolute limits, but no competition with governmental forces is permitted,! DO It has to be admitted, however, that these restrictions on the role of civil society in the process of democratization are reinforced by limitations characteristic of Third World underdevelopment.lOl There is, first, the lack of financing and shortage of qualified personnel and relevant infrastructure. Second, the grassroots base of many of these associations is rather weak, since most of their leaders are of upper-middle-class urban origin. Third, many of these associations are further weakened because of their internal bickering and the exhaustion of their energy in fratricide. Moreover, some of the leaders of these associations use them as a means for personal promotion and influence. As a result, the public becomes disenchanted and even cynical toward many of these associations, thus unwillingly and unknowingly contributing to the organizational weakness of its own interest-aggregation.

Conclusion Do omnipotent state control and obstacles to the functioning of a Moroccan civil society mean that democratization in this country is a misnomer and that we, in this chapter, have been chasing a red herring? It is true that the monarchy is central and that it has manipulated cycles of political opening and exclusion in its relations with various political forces. Consequently, some opposition elements believe that no real democratization can take place without limiting seriously, or even excluding altogether, the monarch's widespread governing privileges. With the monarchy out physically, the political process would be freed from the suffocating makhzen presence and dominant clientelistic structures. There would also be the possibility for the renewal of political personnel and the strengthening of a political culture centered on political participation rather than apathy. Such transformations, however, could be a long-term project. In the case of Morocco, democratization as a process and as a potential cannot be analyzed and evaluated outside its specific Third World context. Bearing in mind this context, the Moroccan democratization process may still have great potential. First, the country has a long tradition of pluralism and multipartyism, making its process relatively advanced compared to those of regional associates dominated by military rule (Sudan, Syria) or lacking any modern form of pluralism (Saudi Arabia, Oman). Second, democratization has usually been a response by incumbent

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governments in times of crisis. Morocco is, in this respect, a crisis-ridden society. The crises are financial, economic, and social. The failure of the developmentalist state strikes at the very roots of present political organization. It is not a coincidence that massive riots against the soaring cost of living have taken place on three occasions in only one decade (1981, 1984, and 1990). Financial crisis is only the tip of the iceberg and reflects the extreme deterioration of the living conditions of society's poor strata and the increasing pauperization of the middle classes. As a result, the state is discredited and increasingly on the defensive. It is forced to disengage and initiate policies of liberalization, policies accelerated by external pressures from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and World Bank colossus. Economic liberalization could lead-though the causal relationship is neither automatic nor mechanical-to political liberalization. Third, the mention of the IMF/World Bank influence on policymaking highlights the unstudied impact of external factors on the domestic democratization process. Democratization in the new world order is not only a research industry among academics but is becoming a normative basis of an emerging world culture. In an era of globalization, what happened, say, in East European revolutions tends to undermine-of course to different degrees-both the culture and even the practicality of the authoritarian way of doing things. Even though some countries and regions might still lag behind in this respect, relevant pressures by involved international organizations (e.g., Amnesty International) or even by friends of the regime among Western intellectuals (e.g., public disenchantment in France following the publication of Gilles Perrault's influential book Notre ami le roi) could hasten the democratization process.I02 The Moroccan regime might even find its own interest in such a democratization process. Indeed in March 1998, a significant political change took place in Morocco. On the initiative of Hassan II, A. Youssoufi-head of the opposition USFPformed a 41-member cabinet, mostly of opposition parties and young technocrats. It is too early to account for the reasons and impact of this significant democratic opening; rumors have it that the monarch-suffering from lung cancer-is preparing for succession.I03 For democratization is a potential means of halting rising Islamic fervor and offsetting a "contagion effect" that could transform Morocco into another Algeria.

Notes 1. For highlights of the speeches of Hassan II, see Antonella Bassani, Analysis of Hassan II's Official Speeches, mimeo (Bologna: Johns Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies [SAIS], 1986); Mustapha Sehimi, Citations deS. M. Hassan II (Rabat: Smer, 1981), pp. 11-30. 2. Abderrahim Lamchichi, Islam et contestation au Maghreb (Paris: L'Harmattan, 1989), p. 169.

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3. Sehimi, Citations, p. 97. Excerpts from the speech of Hassan II at Bordeaux University. In the same passage, he considers democracy as "a true contract, including obligations as well as sanctions, linking individuals per se or as members of a community to the state." 4. Quoting French constitutional expert Maurice Duverger, Hassan II says that democracy is "the power of all for the common good, through an elite elected by all." Sehimi, Citations, p. 97. 5. In Morocco, the Alawi monarch is "invested of a triple mission, religious, national, and political. He sees to it that Islam is upheld, he guarantees the independence of the nation, and he finally represents the unity, the perennial nature of the State and guarantees respect for the constitution." Hassan II, Le defi (Paris: Albin Michel, 1976), p. 83. 6. Article 2 of the Moroccan Constitution, amended in 1992, states that "sovereignty belongs to the nation which exercises it directly through referenda and indirectly through the constitutional institutions." 7. Like the overwhelming majority of Arab regimes, Morocco holds Islam as the state religion (Article 6 of the 1992 Constitution). Hakirniyya in this Islamic context refers to "God's sovereignty." 8. The idea of divine sovereignty (hakirniyya) is at the center of the political doctrine of traditional Islam, which holds God as the supreme ruler and the Quran as the constitution of an Islamic state. 9. M. Sehimi, Citations, p. 33. 10. Michel Rousset, "La difficile conciliation entre l'ideologie unanimitaire et l'ideologie democratique: Le cas du Maroc," Maghreb Review 10, 1 (1985), p. 11. 11. According to Article 41 of the dahir of 10 April1973, the king is a sacred person, who cannot be subjected to criticism or be represented in a humorous manner. Moreover, the king's decisions are considered superior to all the norms produced by the state, and they can, in no way, be brought to scrutiny in a court of law (Ronda ruling of the Supreme Court, 1960). See Mohamed Tozy, "Les enjeux du pouvoir dans les 'champs politiques desamorces' au Maroc," in Michel Camau, ed., Changements politiques au Maghreb (Paris: CNRS, 1991), p. 157. 12. Mohamed Tozy, "Islam et etat au Maghreb," Monde arabe: MaghrebMachrek 126 (October-December 1989), p. 32. 13. According to King Hassan II, the Moroccan monarchy's supreme authority finds its justification in the history and constitution of the country, which highlight "the renewal of the sacred pact which has always united the people to the King." He also specifies, "It is therefore no coincidence that, in our country, the monarchy remains profoundly rooted. All our history speaks out this truth: without a popular monarchy, Morocco would not exist anymore .... More than ever, the Moroccan people need a popular, Islamic, and governing monarchy. This is why, in Morocco, the King governs; the people would not understand it if he did not." Hassan II, Le defi, p. 154. 14. Sehimi, Citations, p. 95. The Alawi monarch took a categorical stance by declaring, "I said and repeat that I, humble servant of God and first servant of Morocco, do not see a 'separation of powers': I am the father of all, of the legislator and the implementor, the young and the elderly, the strong and the weak." See Le rnatin du Sahara, 14 October 1989, p. 4. 15. Tozy, "Islam et etat au Maghreb," p. 158. 16. The association between democracy and "shuracracy" is clearly evidenced in this excerpt of the royal discourse: "Many times, I have underlined that, as far as we are concerned, democracy is by no means a new phenomenon, but that it constitutes the essential underpinning of the Muslim community as conceived by the Prophet. Indeed, consultation and the opinion of the Jama'a may not be formalized

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but they are real commitments and whoever does not abide by them is straying from the straight path." Quoted in Sehimi, Citations, p. 110. 17. It is important to underline that shura implies the acknowledgment of technical competence rather than authority, inasmuch as opinion seeking is voluntary and the opinion itself merely consultative in nature. 18. Sehimi, Citations, p. 118. 19. Quoted in Rousset, "La difficile conciliation," p. 13. 20. Sehimi, Citations, p. 22. 21. Given the multiplicity of parties and organizations on the Moroccan political scene, we will only focus in this text on the most representative organizations. For more detail, see Fayiz Sarah, Al-ahzab wa-al quwa al-siyasiyah fi al-Maghrib (Parties and Political Forces in the Maghreb) (London: Riyad al-Rayyis lil-kutub wa al-nashr, 1990); A. El Benna, "Les partis politiques au Maroc," Signes du present (1992), pp. 127-170. 22. Claude Palazzoli, Le Maroc politique, de l'independance a 1973 (Paris: Sindbad, 1974), p. 249. It must be noted that, in the past, some members of the Istiqlalleft, mainly led by Mehdi Ben Barka and M. Basri, and defended the revolutionary option. See Rkia El-Mossadeq, "Les forces politiques face au probleme de la democratisation au Maroc," Ph.D. thesis, Sorbonne, Paris (1981), pp. 427-431. 23. M'hamed Boucetta, dissertation report, in "Documents Maroc," Annuaire de !'Afrique du Nord 27 (1978), p. 790. 24. The part of the program (Ninth Istiqlal Congress, 1974) entitled "achievement of political democracy" states: "to defend the country against colonialist States, their allies and adepts, who violate its sovereignty and territorial integrity, the Istiqlal Party chose parliamentary democracy as the political system which accords itself with the precepts of Islam." See "Documents Maroc," Annuaire de !'Afrique duNord 13, (1974), p. 781. 25. Jean-Philippe Bas, "Chronique marocaine (annexes)," Annuaire de !'Afrique du Nord 28 (1989), p. 644. 26. Boucetta 's dissertation report specifies that Istiqlal "considers political democracy as the means to achieve economic and social democracy, to offer citizens equal opportunities, as well as to build a classless society where loyal and balanced competition replaces class struggles to ensure a fair distribution." See Boucetta, "Documents Maroc," p. 790. 27. For more details about Istiqlal's stance on egalitarianism, see "Documents Maroc," Annuaire del' Afrique du Nord 27 (1978), pp. 789-791. 28. Extraordinary Congress of the USFP (January 1975)-Ideological Report, quoted in "Documents Maroc," Annuaire de !'Afrique du Nord 14 (1975), p. 933. 29. USFP Congress (December 1978)-Synthesis of the Politbureau, in "Documents Maroc," Annuaire del' Afrique du Nord 17 (1978), p. 808. In a preceding document, the party's stance on this issue was as follows: "Our global conception of the ways and means of socialist building does not allow for the imitation of foreign experiences," Extraordinary Congress of the USFP, p. 937. 30. Extraordinary Congress of the USFP, p. 937. 31. Jean-Claude Santucci, ed., Chroniques politiques marocaines (1971-1982) (Paris: CNRS, 1985), pp. 156-157; Rkia El-Mossadeq, "Political Parties and Power-Sharing," in I. William Zartman, ed., The Political Economy of Morocco (New York: Praeger, 1987), pp. 60-61. 32. Apart from the USFP and the PPS, two other more marginal formations constitute the left in Morocco. The first, the Organization of Popular and Democratic Action (OADP) was created in 1980 by former members of the Movement of 23rd March (a protest group involved in the bloody March 1965 riots in Casablanca over prices of basic goods). Its action plan is inscribed in the framework of the

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"Arab struggle for liberation from imperialism and dependency." The marginalization of the second organization, the UNFP, can mainly be accounted for by its refusal to participate in any electoral consultative process prior to the establishment of a "popular government strong because of the confidence of the country's dynamic forces." Thus, the UNFP remains faithful to its principles favoring radical changes and the building of a socialist system in Morocco. 33. The PPS is an offshoot of the Party of Liberation and Socialism, which was declared illegal in 1970. This party was initially formed by members of the former Communist Party of Morocco, which was disbanded in 1960. 34. Santucci, Chroniques politiques marocaines, p. 98. 35. PPS National Congress (February 1975)-General Political Resolution, in "Documents Maroc," Annuaire de !'Afrique du Nord 14 (1975), p. 945. 36. In its political resolution, the PPS congress considered that "the current stage that (we) are going through is that of National Democratic Revolution which constitutes a specific strategy in the class struggle and a stage leading to socialism," "Documents Maroc," Annuaire de!' Afrique du Nord 15 (1975), p. 945. 37. See Mohamed Tozy, Champ et contre-champ politico-religieux au Maroc, Ph.D. dissertation, Universite d'Aix-Marseille, Faculte de Droit et Sciences Politiques, 1984; Lamchichi, Islam et contestation au Maghreb, pp. 174-183; Henry Munson Jr., "The Islamic Revival in Morocco," in Shireen Hunter, ed., The Politics of Islamic Revivalism: Diversity and Unity (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1988), pp. 133-147. 38. The exact number of Islamist groups is not known with certainty, especially because of their underground nature. Ahmed Benani and Mohamed Tozy counted as many as 20 more or less political movements, and M. Duteuil speaks of about 150 clandestine groups. A list of some Moroccan Islamist movements can be found in Fran~ois Burgat, L' Islamisme au Maghreb: La voix du sud (Paris: Karthala, 1988), pp. 186-187. 39. Tozy, Champ et contre-champ, p. 404. 40. In L'Islam ou le deluge, Abdessalam Yacine says: "The societies of jahiliyya that you model yourself after because of a situation which made you king over others-incapable of independent thought-are societies of animals because they do not ponder about the aim of man's creation by God." Quoted in Lamchichi, Islam et contestation au Maghreb, p. 124. 41. See Ahmed Benani, "Legitimite du pouvoir au Maroc: Consensus et contestation," Sou' al6 (April1987), pp. 95-128. 42. Among the works of Abdessalam Yacine, I highlight Demain l' Islam (1973); La revolution a !' heure de l' Islam (Marseille: Impremerie du College, 1979); L' Islam et le marxisme-teninisme (1987). 43. Lamchichi, Islam et contestation au Maghreb, p. 125. 44. An editorial published by radical members of the Chabiba insists that Yacine is "God willing, in the vanguard of an authentic Islamic revolution in Morocco; a revolution that enlightens the horizon of this country and liberates its people to bring them back to the Islam of Muhammad and those of his people who have known to follow him-not the Islam of the merchants of oil and the agents of the Americans," in Henry Munson Jr., "Islamic Revivalism in Morocco and Tunisia," The Muslim World 66, 3-4 (July-October 1986), p. 204. 45. This joint declaration by King Mohamed V and the French minister of foreign affairs reaffirmed the desire of the Alawite Sultan to form a government "whose main mission would be to elaborate institutional reforms which will transform Morocco into a democratic State with a constitutional monarchy." Such an option was also included in the program of Istiqlal since the publication of the Independence Manifesto in 1944. See Michel Camau, "Le Maghreb," in Maurice

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Flory, Bahgat Korany et al., Les regimes politiques arabes (Paris: Presses Universitaires de France, 1990), pp. 399, 404. 46. Michel Rousset, "Le systeme politique du Maroc," in Alain Claisse and Gerard Conac, eds., Le grand Maghreb: Donnees socio-politiques et facteurs d' integration (Paris: Economica, 1988), p. 65. 47. See Paul Chambergeat, "Les elections communales marocaines du 29 mai 1960," Revue franc;aise de science politique 11, 1 (March 1961), pp. 89-117; Bernabe Lopez Garcia, Procesos electorates en Marruecos 1960-1977 (Madrid: Centro de Investigaciones Sociol6gicas, 1979), pp. 11-15. 48. I must recall the persistence, during the first years of Moroccan independence, of many hotbeds of siba (dissent), mainly in the Berber areas of the Rif and the Atlas where a number of armed insurrections were reported between 1956 and 1959. 49. Santucci, Chroniques politiques marocaines, p. 16. 50. See Paul Ebrard, "L'assemblee nationale consultative," Annuaire de !'Afrique du Nord 1 (1962), pp. 35-79. 51. Jean-Jacques Regnier, "Monarchie et forces politiques au Maroc," in Centre de Recherche et d'Etudes sur les Societes Mediterraneennes (CRESM), Introduction a l' Afrique du Nord contemporaine (Paris: Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique [CNRS], 1975), pp. 349-350. 52. See Omar Bendourou, Le pouvoir executif au Maroc depuis l'independance (Paris: Publisud, 1986), pp. 89-119. 53. Although some parties sided with the "yes" camp (Popular Movement, Liberals, Independents), the political forces within the Moroccan left (UNFP, Moroccan Communist Party, Moroccan Labor Union) chose to boycott. For its part, Istiqlal surmounted some reservations to ultimately subscribe to the project. 54. See Bendourou, Le pouvoir executif au Maroc, pp. 92-110; Rousset, "Le systeme politique du Maroc," pp. 10-14. 55. See J. Robert, "Les elections legislatives du 17 mai 1963 et !'evolution politique du Maroc," Revue juridique et politique d' Outre-Mer (April-June 1963), pp. 254-291. 56. Concerning the establishment of the FDIC, the decisive role played by Reda Guedira, a close advisor to the king who combined the functions of head of the royal cabinet and interior minister, should be highlighted. 57. Santucci, Chroniques politiques marocaines, p. 18. The 1963 Assembly included 69 FDIC members, 41 Istiqlal members, 28 UNFP members, and six independents. 58. The March 1965 Casablanca events were part of the disturbances resulting from an increase in the price of basic necessities. 59. Paul Chambergeat, "Bilan de !'experience parlementaire marocaine," Annuaire de l' Afrique du Nord 4 (1965), p. 106; Bendourou, Le pouvoir executif au Maroc, p. 151. 60. For more detail, see Jean-Jacques Renier and Jean-Claude Santucci, "Armee, pouvoir et Iegitimite au Maroc," Annuaire del' Afrique du Nord 10 (1971), pp. 137-178. 61. See Claude Palazzoli, "Quelques retlexions sur la revision constitutionnelle du 1er mars 1972," Revue juridique, politique et economique du Maroc 1 (December 1972), pp. 143-157. 62. The 1972 delegation of regulatory powers to the prime minister does not really constitute a novelty because he had been granted similar prerogatives in the Charter of 1962. The 1970 constitutional amendment, however, had concentrated these powers exclusively in the person of the king. 63. Bendourou, Le pouvoir executif au Maroc, p. 233.

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64. Established in July 1970, the Kutlah al-Wataniyya lasted only until 1972, when it disbanded partially as a result of the split between the Rabat and Casablanca branches of the UNFP. The split was formalized in 197 4 when the Rabat branch, led by Abdelrahim Bouhabib, formed a new party, the USFP. The other branch, led by A. Ibrahim and M. Ben Seddik, would keep its original name. 65. With the Kenitra court case (June 1973), leaders and activists of the UNFP-Rabat (temporarily suspended in 1973) were arrested and subsequently sentenced in court in connection with the so-called March 3 conspiracy. Radical leftist personalities mainly belonging to Marxist-Leninist groups would share their fate following the Casablanca court case of July 1973. 66. Santucci, Chroniques politiques marocaines, pp. 58-59. 67. See Remy Leveau, "Aper~tu de !'evolution du systeme politique marocain depuis vingt ans," Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 118 (October-December 1987), pp. 15-18; Driss Ben-Ali, "Changement du pacte social et continuite de l'ordre politique au Maroc," Annuaire de !'Afrique du Nord 28 (1989), pp. 51-64. 68. See the article by John Damis in I. William Zartman, ed., The Political Economy of Morocco (New York: Praeger, 1987), pp. 201-210. 69. Remy Leveau, "Des systemes politiques confrontes aux exigences du changement social," in Camille Lacoste and Yves Lacoste, eds., L' Etat du Maghreb (Paris: La Decouverte, 1991), p. 337. 70. See Claude Palazzoli, "La mort lente du mouvement national au Maroc," Annuaire del' Afrique du Nord 11 (1972), pp. 233-251. 71. See Omar Bendourou and M. Aouam, "La reforme constitutionnelle marocaine de 1992," Revue du droit public et de Ia science politique en France eta l' etranger 2 (April1993), pp. 431-446. 72. J.-C. Santucci, "Processus electoraux et legitimation du pouvoir: Reflexions sur !'experience marocaine," in Bernabe Lopez Garcia, Gema Martin Munoz, Miguel Hernando De Larramendi, eds., Elecciones, participaci6n y transiciones politicas en el Norte de Africa (Madrid: Instituto de Cooperaci6n con el Mundo Arabe, 1991), p. 288; Alain Claisse, "Les systemes de legitimite a l'epreuve: Le cas des pays du Maghreb," in Alain Claisse and Gerard Conac, eds., Legrand Maghreb: Donnees socio-politiques et facteurs d' integration (Paris: Economica, 1988), p. 138. 73. Bendourou, Le pouvoir executif au Maroc, p. 247. 74. El-Mossadeq, "Political Parties and Power-Sharing," pp. 75-79; Michel Rousset, "Le Maroc aux urnes: Continuite ou changement?" Grand Maghreb 36, 24 (December 1984), pp. 55-58. 75. Concerning the results of this consultation, see Liberation, 28 June 1993, p. 20. Two women were elected for the first time to Parliament, this being the other significant event of this election. 76. The cabinet included K. Lamrani (prime minister), A. Alaoui (minister of state), D. Basri (minister of interior and information), and A. Filali (minister of foreign affairs). Aside from the establishment of a ministry of human rights, the current executive is also novel in that a member of the Jewish Moroccan community was nominated to the post of minister of tourism (S. Berdugo). 77. Remy Leveau, "Le pouvoir marocain entre la repression et le dialogue," in Le monde diplomatique (October 1993), p. 12. 78. See Ghassan Salame, "Sur la causalite d'un manque: Pourquoi le monde arabe n'est-il pas democratique?" Revue fram;aise de science politique 41, 3 (June 1991), pp. 307-341. 79. Max Weber, The Theory of Social and Economic Organization (trans. A. M. Henderson and Talcott Parsons) (New York: Free Press, 1966), p. 347.

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Abdallah Saaf, "Sur 1es agitations de 1'etat marocain: Entre l'etat profond et l'etat variable," in Bernabe Lopez Garcia et al., Elecciones, participaci6n y transiciones polfticas en el Norte de Africa (Madrid: Instituto de Cooperaci6n con el Mundo Arabe, 1991), pp. 175-199. 80. Abdallah Laroui, Islam et modernite (Paris: La Decouverte, 1987), p. 29. 81. Jean-Fran9ois Clement, "Maroc: Les atouts et les defis de la monarchie," in Bassma Kodmani-Darwish, ed., Maghreb: Les annees de transition (Paris: Masson, 1990),p. 63. 82. Alaine Claisse, "Makhzen Traditions and Administrative Channels," in I. William Zartman, ed., The Political Economy of Morocco (New York: Praeger, 1987), p. 47. Concerning the issue of clientelism in Morocco, see John Waterbury, The Commander of the Faithful: The Moroccan Political Elite-A Study of Segmented Politics (London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson, 1970). 83. On this topic, Jean-Claude Santucci says: "Leaving the administration of current affairs to the modem state and its technocrats, the Makhzen concerns itself first and foremost with the control of people. It controls power networks and matrimonial exchanges, arbitration and the distribution of wealth. The functioning and regulations of such a system require the establishment of networks of reliable informants and mediators under the authority of likewise reliable, and trained personalities knowledgeable in the ways of the Makhzen." Jean-Claude Santucci, "Etat et societes au Maroc: Enjeux et perspectives de changement," in Jean-Claude Santucci, ed., Chroniques politiques marocaines (1971-1983) (Paris: CNRS, 1985), p. 429. 84. Mustapha Sehimi, "Les elites ministerielles au Maroc: Constantes et variables," in Jean-Claude Santucci, ed., Chroniques politiques marocaines (1971-1982) (Paris: CNRS, 1985), pp. 209-231. 85. For more details see Bendourou, Le pouvoir executif au Maroc, pp. 248274. 86. Excerpts from the royal speech of 31 October 1985, quoted in Claisse, "Les systemes de legitimite a l'epreuve," p. 44. 87. Alain Claisse summarizes this issue in the following way: The "incident occurred when Parliament was reconvened and was extended to six years by constitutional referendum in 1980. The representatives of USFP considered that this reform was not applicable to the current parliament. They decided not to sit any more and sent their resignation to the assembly president. Neither the constitution nor the law penalizes such an attitude." Claisse, "Les systemes de legitimite a l'epreuve;" pp. 44-45. 88. Rousset, "Le systeme politique du Maroc," p. 14. 89. See Abdallah Saaf, "Tendances actuelles de la culture politique des elites marocaines," in Jean-Claude Santucci, ed., Chroniques politiques marocaines (1971-1982) (Paris: CNRS, 1985), pp. 233-249; George Joffe, "Morocco: Monarchy, Legitimacy, and Succession," Third World Quarterly 10, 4 (January 1988), pp. 201-228. 90. Santucci, Chroniques politiques marocaines, p. 429. 91. Santucci comments, "The main political choices and governmental programs belong to the Palace which negotiates more or less the modalities of support for royal initiatives with the headquarters of parties, syndicates, and other representative groups. It is true that the context imposes upon these groups objective, if not imperative, reasons to censor their own demands and silence their divergences. The Sahara issue and its socio-economic fallouts, the permanent threat of the military, and the simultaneous resurgence of Islamism, have for a long time contributed to the achievement of a minimal political consensus." Santucci, quoted in Bernabe

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Lopez et al., Elecciones, participaci6n y transiciones poUticas en el Norte de Africa, p. 291. 92. See for example John P. Entelis, Culture and Counterculture in Moroccan Politics (Boulder: Westview Press, 1989); Dale F. Eickelman, "Royal Authority and Religious Legitimacy: Morocco's Elections, 1960-1984," Political Anthropology 5 (1986), pp. 181-205. 93. See "La societe civile au Maroc," Signes du present (1992); Nadia Bradley and Zahra Mennoune, "L'heure des associations va-t.elle sonner?" Le liberal 75 (15 May 1994), pp. 19-35. The analysis presented in this part relies on the conception of civil society put forward by Camau, who associates this notion to that of "intermediation between the State and society." Michel Camau, "Democratisation et changements des regimes au Maghreb," in Bernabe Lopez Garcia et al., Elecciones, participaci6n y transiciones poUticas en el Norte de Africa (Madrid: Instituto de Cooperacion con el Mundo Arabe, 1991), p. 74. A clear distinction is established between political and civil society, the latter being the population "politically, culturally, and socially active which behaves in an autonomous manner." Ahmed Ghazali, "Contribution a !'analyse du phenom(me associatif au Maroc," Annuaire de I' Afrique du Nord 28 (1989), p. 254. 94. See Guilain Denoeux and Laurent Gateau, "L' essor des associations au Maroc: A la recherche de la citoyennete?" Monde arabe: Maghreb-Machrek 150 (October-December 1995), pp. 19-39. 95. Ghazali, "Contribution a !'analyse," p. 252. 96. Good examples are El Hadj Mediouri (head of royal security), A. Fredj (director of the King's secretariat), M. Aouad (adviser to the King), M. Kabbaj (minister of public works), and A. Osman (brother-in-law of Hassan II, former prime minister, and president of the RNI). See Jean-Philippe Bras, "Chronique marocaine," Annuaire de !'Afrique du Nord 27 (1988), p. 685. 97. Moreover, Ghazali adds: "These associations revitalize regional solidarities, reconstitute and consolidate tribal networks on new bases. Furthermore, they allow the integration of the most enterprising members in the circles of notables and hence secure the revitalization of state personnel." Ghazali, "Contribution a !'analyse," p. 253. 98. Bras, "Chronique marocaine," p. 685; Jean-Claude Santucci, "Les associations regionales marocaines, un nouveau cadre pour le clientelisme?" in Camille Lacoste and Yves Lacoste, L' etat du Maghreb (Paris: La Decouverte, 1991), p. 355. 99. Ghazali, "Contribution a I' analyse," p. 255. 100. Santucci, "Les associations regionales marocaines," p. 429. 101. Denoeux et Gateau, "L'essor des associations au Maroc," p. 39. 102. Gilles Perrault, Notre ami le roi (Paris: Gallimard, 1990). 103. For information, including biographies of cabinet members, see Maroc Hebdo International 314 & 315 (14-20, 21-27 March 1998), available on the Internet at http://www.maroc-hebdo.press.ma.

8 From Occupation to Uncertainty: Palestine Rex Brynen

For a variety of reasons, the Palestinians may seem an odd choice of subject for a book on political liberalization and democratization in the Arab world. The Palestinian people have never enjoyed political sovereignty. Instead, they have been ruled throughout the modem era by a series of outside political authorities: the Ottoman Empire (until1918), the British mandate (thereafter, until 1948), Israel (established in 1948, and occupying the West Bank and Gaza Strip in 1967), Egypt (in Gaza, 1948-1967), and Jordan (in the West Bank, 1948-1967). For almost a half-century, moreover, they have been dispersed and dispossessed. In 1948, the establishment of Israel created some three-quarters of a million Palestinian refugees; in 1967, Israel's occupation of the West Bank and Gaza added over 300,000 to the total. In the diaspora-where an estimated 3.9 million of 6.7 million Palestinians reside-political activism has often been discouraged by host govemments. 1 This summary, however, omits a central point: Since the formation of the modem Palestinian nationalist movement in the mid-1960s, the Palestinians have sustained a complex and vibrant political system, despite a lack of political sovereignty. In some times and places-in Jordan prior to the suppression of the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO) in 1970, and even more so in the "state-within-a-state" constructed by the PLO amid civil chaos in Lebanon from the 1970s until the Israeli invasion of 1982this "stateless polity" has achieved a remarkable degree of independence and institutional complexity. In the West Bank and Gaza, the structures established to resist Israeli occupation also comprised an energetic component of a Palestinian national life. Indeed, they became its effective center of gravity after 1982 and especially after the eruption of the Palestinian intifada (uprising) in 1987. Still more recently, the Arab-Israeli peace process has further heightened the significance of political liberalization, democratization, and

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Palestinian political development. Under the Declaration of Principles (DOP, or Oslo Accords) signed by the Palestinians and Israel in September 1993, the PLO was to assume interim powers of limited self-government in the West Bank and Gaza Strip, pending the later resolution of issues of final political status. Subsequent agreements in May 1994 (the Cairo Agreement) and September 1995 (Oslo II) paved the way for the withdrawal of Israeli troops, first from Jericho and much of the Gaza Strip and later the additional West Bank towns of Bethelem, Jenim, Nablus, Ramallah, Qalqilya, and Tulkarem. Much of Hebron was later added to this area under another agreement in January 1997. In these areas (Zone A), a Palestinian Authority (PA) was established with responsibility for both security and civil affairs; the PA also assumed responsibility for civil affairs in most Palestinian villages (Zone B). Israeli forces retained security control of Zone B, as well as full control over Israeli settlements and other areas (Zone C). Overall, Zone A comprised 3 percent of the territory of the West Bank, and Zone C some 70 percent; about 95 percent of the Palestinian population could be found in Zones A and B and in a FA-controlled area of the Gaza Strip. In January 1996, elections for a Palestinian president and Palestinian Legislative Council were held throughout the West Bank and Gaza, including Israelioccupied East Jerusalem. In this chapter I explore the development of and prospects for democratic governance in the Palestinian territories. In doing so, I both highlight the intense cross-pressures under which the Palestinian system operates and its extraordinary sensitivity to the dynamics of the Palestinian-Israeli peace process. Before undertaking any of this, however, it is useful to explore the historical embeddedness of the idea of democracy itself within Palestinian political thought and practice.

What: Liberation, Self-Determination, and Palestinian Democracy In an early press release in 1968, the Fateh guerrilla organization headed by Yasir Arafat looked forward to a liberated and democratic Palestine. 2 In the late 1960s and early 1970s, the PLO debated and finally accepted the notion of establishment of a "democratic Palestinian state." Throughout the 1970s and 1980s, Palestinian officials frequently expressed their "profound belief in democracy" and noted with pride that "democracy is one of the signs of soundness in our national struggle."3 By contrast, Palestinian opposition groups stressed the importance of "democratic dialogue" and frequently attributed the movement's setbacks to its lack.4 The Palestinian uprising, with its popular committees and grassroots activism, was frequently described as embodying democratic ideals. The PLO 's 1988

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Palestinian Declaration of Independence called for the establishment of "a parliamentary democratic system of governance."5 Similarly, the 1993 Declaration of Principles called for the West Bank and Gaza to be governed in accord with "democratic principles."6 A number of political figures critical of Arafat's behavior joined to establish the Democracy-Building Movement to press for democratic reform in the PA.? Such rhetorical emphasis establishes the deep embeddedness of dimuqratiyya (democracy) in contemporary Palestinian political discourse. At the same time, it is important to recognize that this one term has been used in different ways, at different times, to refer to a variety of different things. These various and changing notions are explained below. Nationalism, Populism, and Democracy One particular meaning of "democracy" in the Palestinian political lexicon has concerned the PLO's attitude toward the Jewish population of Israel/ Palestine. Thus, when in 1969 the PLO declared its support for a "free and democratic state" in Palestine, it signaled a shift from its old vision of eliminating Israel and driving Jewish "settlers" from Palestinian soil to one of replacing Israel with a state in which all Palestinians-including Jewswould coexist. The goal of "a non-sectarian democratic state" remained the PLO's main political slogan until the mid-1970s, when it was gradually supplanted by the idea of a Palestinian state alongside Israel in the West Bank and Gaza. 8 Another particular meaning has been associated with the Palestinian left, which often used the term to differentiate its supporters (the "democratic forces") from the more socially conservative backers of the dominant PLO group, Fateh.9 Aside from these particular usages, the notion of "democracy" has generally been related to the goal of self-determination and associated ideas of Palestinian national consciousness and nationalist struggle. These goals and ideas have often found expression in the form of political and ideological populism. No nationalist movement (particularly one that is, as the PLO was through most of its history, committed to popular armed struggle as its major vehicle of liberation) can succeed unless it maintains a strong popular base. Palestinian mass organizations-ranging from youth and student associations to trade unions and professional syndicates-were an important element of this. Palestinian populism was given a further boost by the eruption of the intifada in the West Bank and Gaza in 1987. In contrast to earlier activism based on the leadership of social and political notables, the uprising involved an unparalleled degree of mass resistance to Israeli occupation. The dense network of Palestinian associational groups that had arisen in the territories provided the "organizational crucible" for the intifada and sustained it in the face of Israeli countermeasures.IO The dominant

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image of the uprising-that of the stone-throwing youth confronting the might of the Israeli army-was replete with symbolism of empowerment and popular struggle against illegitimate authority. Historically, the political imperatives of populism have also been accentuated by the organizational structure of the Palestinian movement. Specifically, the PLO evolved as a broad national front organization, acting as a political umbrella for numerous parties, factions, and ideological tendencies. This inclusiveness was an important element of the independence and authenticity of the PLO and was used to advance its claim to be the sole legitimate representative of the Palestinian people. Organizationally, it found expression in the form of the PLO's highest decisionmaking body, the Palestine National Council (PNC). The PNC was structured as a parliamentary institution, comprising not only "party" members-that is to say, representatives from Fateh and the various other political-military tanzimat (organizations)-but also representatives from the various mass organizations as well as the various geographic elements of the Palestinian diaspora. Pluralism further spurred populist politics, as rival tanzimat competed for supporters. Yasir Arafat's Fateh proved the most adept at this, with its uncomplicated message of Palestinian nationalism attracting far more support than the much more complex ideological formulations of such leftist rivals as the Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP); the Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP) and its later offshoot, the Palestinian Democratic Union (FIDA); and the Palestinian Communist Party (later, the Palestinian People's Party). In the 1980s, however, the growth of the Islamist movement Hamas began to challenge Fateh's populist supremacy. Since the DOP, Fateh's populist appeal has been further blunted by its assumption of governmental responsibilities. Another effect of Palestinian pluralism was to create centrifugal tendencies within the nationalist movement. For most of the PLO's history, these were kept in check by consensual decisionmaking. Thus, when smaller PLO factions spoke of the importance of "democratic dialogue," they were not referring to broader mass participation, nor to majoritarian decisionmaking, nor to greater accountability within their own organizations. Instead, they were referring to the practice of jabhawi (frontal) representation, that is, collective PLO decisionmaking by all factions regardless of size, and their consequent ability to check the policy initiatives of the PLO mainstream. The Effects of Occupation and Diaspora Palestinian views of the nature and desirability of democratic politics have also been deeply affected by the experiences of occupation and dispersal. For Palestinians, practical contact with Israeli democracy has hardly been a

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positive experience: Israel is seen as a religiously and racially exclusivist state that discriminates against its Arab citizens in the name of its "Jewish" character while denying Palestinians in the occupied territories political or civil rights. This experience has clearly tarnished the reputation of liberal democracy, an effect further magnified both by the legacies of European colonialism in the Middle East and by the support given to Israel by the United States and other Western democracies. This effect is particularly evident among some Palestinian Islamists, who-while offering little in the way of alternative vision-are critical of the sorts of society that Western "democracy" has produced. At the same time, close contact with Israel since the onset of occupation in 1967 has also given Palestinians in the West Bank and Gaza considerable taste for the pluralism, free press, and parliamentary practices enjoyed by Israeli citizens. Ironically, despite the very substantial repression of Israeli rule after 1967, there were generally more opportunities (albeit, generally illegal) for Palestinians to engage in free political discourse and autonomous political action in the occupied territories than there are in many Arab countries. Contact with Israel has also had other effects. In the West Bank and Gaza, the occupation accelerated socioeconomic changes that undercut the influence of traditional, conservative social notables while contributing to the rise of a new Palestinian middle class that may be more supportive of democratic politics.!! As noted earlier, Israeli occupation stimulated grassroots political resistance and the emergence of a dense network of associational groups. Israeli occupation also had the effect of generating radicalism and raw anger, with uncertain implications for any future Palestinian polity. In the Palestinian diaspora, socioeconomic dislocation has also weakened traditional patterns of social authority, and relatively high levels of education and mass media exposure have likely increased Palestinian yearnings for political freedom. In the Arab world, such yearnings might be strengthened by unhappy experiences with authoritarian and exclusionary political systems. In diaspora communities in Europe, North America, and elsewhere, hundreds of thousands of Palestinians take active part in democratic political systems. Still others have acquired higher education in the West. These groups play an important and productive role in the intellectual life of Palestinian society, including both the development of the West Bank and Gaza and the implementation of Palestinian self-government. Democracy and Palestinian Politics What conclusions can be drawn from all this about the concept of democracy and its rootedness in Palestinian politics? At the elite level, the notion of

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democracy is a central issue of contemporary Palestinian debate. It is, however, a notion subject to shifting and contested interpretations. At the mass level, the embeddedness of democracy is less certain. Some surveys, for example, suggest that Palestinians generally prefer an "Islamic" system of government over a democratic one.12 For their part, Islamist groups pay little attention to issues of political pluralism (unless protesting PA repression), whereas leftist groups that embrace the term only rarely exhibit democracy in their internal decisionmaking. Haydar 'Abd al-Shafi, the widely respected founder of the Palestinian Democracy-Building Movement, states flatly that "we do not have democratic culture."13 Any such blanket assessment is, however, problematic. Quite apart from the questions that can be raised about the concept of "political culture" itself, existing survey research on Palestinian attitudes is ambiguous and contradictory.I4 Some surveys, for example, suggest that many Palestinians reject any dichotomy between Islam and democracy and that even those with a "traditional, religious and social conservatism belief system" have "repudiated elite rule and [are] coming to accept concepts of popular sovereignty and majoritarianism."15 Certainly a large majority (around 80 percent) expressed a belief in democracy and viewed elections as the appropriate way to select the Palestinian Authority. Surveys also suggest that Palestinians support the full participation of Palestinian women in elections (71.8 percent) and oppose the use of domestic political violence by the PA (73.5 percent) or the opposition (78.5 percent). Yet a majority (63.7 percent) also believe that elections may be suspended by majority decision and the constitution violated to protect the national interest (75.7 percent).l6 A more nuanced interpretation is that offered by Palestinian political scientist Ziad Abu-' Amr: that Palestinians "do not have a democratic political system," although they do have a "socio-political pluralist system" with "underdeveloped patterns of democratic thought and practice." This "fragmented" democratic tradition sustains quite high degrees of freedom of opinion but relatively little institutionalized political accountability. 17 Such ambiguity is accentuated by the shifting natures of both populism and nationalism. Thus, while notions of national self-determination clearly may complement those of democratic politics, the collective national interest can also be used to justify the suppression of individual liberties. Nationalist struggle under conditions of repression hardly provides an atmosphere for the free and open conduct of political affairs. Equally, although populism may encourage grassroots mobilization, it can also degenerate into followership and corrode tolerance for political pluralism. The Palestinian uprising demonstrated both sides of the populist nationalist coin: On the one side it generated widespread political activism; on the other, it was also characterized by lapses into social intolerance.IB Further-

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more, in the aftermath of the uprising an ingrained resistance to authority among many Palestinian youth may severely complicate the task of Palestinian (quasi-)state building. Finally, and most importantly, historical legacies and cultural attitudes will not be the sole, or even primary, factors that shape the degree of pluralism and democratic practice in any future Palestinian political entity. The Palestinian-Israeli peace process itself will also have a profound effect, as political events and arrangements open up or foreclose democratic possibilities.

Why: The Uncertain Path of Interim Self-Government As suggested above, any explanation of why Palestine has experienced political liberalization and democratization must rest, to a large extent, on examination of the broader contours of the peace process. In one sense, this is true because ending Israeli military occupation is an obvious and fundamental prerequisite for Palestinian self-determination. In addition, much of the answer to why Palestinian political reform has occurred as it has is rooted in specific Palestinian-Israeli agreements. As noted earlier, the Palestinian-Israeli Declaration of Principles envisages that the West Bank and Gaza should be ruled democratically during the interim period by a council chosen through "direct, free and general political elections" conducted under international observation. Although such elections were to have taken place by July 1994, implementation was delayed by a variety of Palestinian-Israeli differences. These included the size of the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC), the scope of its powers, the participation of Jerusalem residents in the election, and the status of groups and candidates opposed to the peace process.19 Finally, the elections were held in January 1996. With the exception of Jerusalem, voter turnout was high.2o Before the elections, only a small minority (11.3 percent) of Palestinians expressed dissatisfaction with the fairness of the process; afterwards, international observers collectively noted that despite "some deficiencies," the elections "can reasonably be regarded as an accurate expression of the will of voters on polling day."21 If the Why of Palestinian democratization is rooted in the course of the Palestinian-Israeli peace process, a broader question can also be asked: Why did the parties agree to such a political system? Part of the reason was expectations: Palestinians generally expected democratic institutions under both self-government and future independence, a view shared by the international community. For the Palestinian leadership, democratic practices had the added advantage of providing greater legitimacy for the PA and public endorsement of the peace process. Indeed, it was only when it

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became clear that he would win an overwhelming mandate that Arafat pressed for direct presidential elections. Finally, some semblance of Palestinian democracy had importance for Israel too, reassuring Israeli leaders and the public about Palestinian support for peace. In short, as one Palestinian parliamentarian notes, "the elections and [PLC] were valued less for their democratic significance than for other considerations of importance to Arafat.... Specifically, the precondition for proceeding with the redeployment [of Israeli forces in the West Bank] was for the PA to conduct elections .... "22

How: Democratic Tensions

in Palestinian Political Development The January 1996 Palestinian elections saw Yasir Arafat retain the presidency of the PA, with an overwhelming 88 percent of the vote. Of the 88 members of the PLC, 50 were from Arafat's Fateh group, one from FIDA, and one (Haydar 'Abd al-Shafi) from the National Democratic Coalition. The remainder were all elected as independents, although this group included about 16 members of Fateh who had failed to make the official list and seven Islamists. The opposition (notably the Islamist group Hamas and the leftist Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine) boycotted the elections, although it is unlikely they would have fared well had they competed.23 The new PA cabinet again included a substantial core of Fateh loyalists but also included independents, Islamists, and members of FIDA, the Palestinian Peoples Party (PPP), and the Popular Struggle Front (PSF).24 Five women were elected to the legislative council, and two were appointed to cabinet positions. After its election, the legislative council demonstrated significant independence, even by Fateh members. 25 Nevertheless, Arafat continued to implement most policy measures unilaterally, without reference to the council or even sometimes to the cabinet. Surveys suggested that most Palestinians found the PLC to be ineffective, unresponsive, and subordinate to Arafat and the executive branch.26 According to one PLC member, the failure of the council to play an effective legislative role was due to several factors: an unclear mandate; the inherent difficulties of political transition; the dominance of the executive branch; the (pro-Fateh) composition of the PLC; Arafat's dominant and individualistic personality; and, finally, Israeli interference. 27 The Palestinian Authority also came under growing criticism for inefficiency, patronage, and corruption. Arafat was singled out by many for centralizing decisionmaking power in his hands.28 In fact, the powers and procedures of the PA have been unclear, based variously on the Oslo and Cairo

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agreements; on PA executive orders; and on a highly uncertain local legal system comprised of old Ottoman and British mandatory laws, the pre1967 Jordanian (West Bank) and Egyptian (Gaza) legal codes, Israeli military orders (now repudiated), and the PLO's own legal code. 29 Efforts to draw up a Basic Law for the PA proceeded slowly, with Arafat apparently unwilling to ratify a Basic Law to which the PLC had given approval.3° Uncertain security conditions-marked by attacks against Israeli targets by Hamas and other opponents of the peace process-aggravated the situation. In an attempt to deal with this, the PA established state security courts, periodically suspended the distribution of critical newspapers, imposed limited bans on street demonstrations and inflammatory mosque sermons, and intimidated political opponents. However, most such measures were haphazard and only partially stifled free expression. Indeed, Israeli officials frequently complained that Arafat needed to adopt a firmer hand against opponents of the peace process. Human rights organizations, however, again sounded a growing note of alarm about "the drift away from democracy and governmental accountability, the stripping of the judiciary's independence and the removal of legal protection for the Palestinian people,"31 suggesting that "such measures are not compatible with democratic values."32 Matters came to a head in the spring of 1996 following a series of bombings in Jerusalem and Tel Aviv by the militant wing of Hamas. Concerned that the attacks would tip the current Israeli campaign against Shimon Peres's Labor Party, the PA launched an extensive clampdown against the radical opposition. More than 1,000 Hamas supportersor suspected supporters-were arrested and often held incommunicado without charges. Other critics also received the attentions of the PA's proliferating security organizations, including members of the press and wellknown human rights activists. Although the clampdown did severely weaken Hamas's military wing (and forced much of its political leadership to adopt a more conciliatory tone), it proved too late to save Peres: In May 1996 Benjamin Netanyahu was elected as prime minister of Israel, at the head of a hard-line right-wing coalition generally opposed to the Oslo agreements. Not surprisingly, the election of the Netanyahu government quickly resulted in a serious deterioration in the peace process. This was marked by periodic violence (notably, open clashes between Israeli and PA forces in September 1996), by postponement of scheduled Israeli troop withdrawals and status negotiations, and renewed Israeli settlement activity. Periodic closure of the West Bank and Gaza by successive Israeli governments had devastating economic consequences for the territories, resulting in a 36.1 percent decline in real per capita gross national product (GNP) between 1992 and mid-1996.33 All of this had profound implications for Arafat and the PA. Faced with economic crisis, political stagnation, and a consequent

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decline in popular support, the regime became less inclined to support democratization and more inclined to use other measures to ensure its stability. This tendency has also been reflected at the mass level too, with Palestinians likely to identify the economy and the peace negotiations as greater priorities than democratization.34 As is evident from these discussions, the future path of Palestinian political development is strewn with uncertainties and ambiguities. For the purposes of discussion, these can be grouped into four sets of social and political tensions: the tension between authority and civil autonomy, factionalism versus functionalism, security versus liberty, and patronage versus participation. Authority Versus Autonomy: Reconciling State Building and Civil Society Under occupation, Palestinians constructed an extensive array of some 1,000 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), including charitable associations; voluntary cooperatives; women's and students' groups; trade unions and professional syndicates; and other development, health, education, human rights, and media institutions.35 These acted not only to spur nationalist mobilization but also to provide (often with the support of PLO or international funding) an array of services not otherwise offered by the Israeli military administration. With the transition to interim self-government, many of the functions previously assumed by Palestinian NGOs passed into the control of the Palestinian Authority. In other cases, sources of NGO funding came under PA control as donors redirected the flow of development assistance to the PA. In both cases, the Palestinian Authority has seen this process as a natural part of Palestinian state building. Palestinian NGOs, however, fear marginalization and a loss of autonomy through the imposition of corporatist controls.36 Aggravating this problem is a deep-seated resistance to authority-ingrained by the Israeli occupation but now transferred to the PA-on the part of many Palestinian NGOs, as well as organizational empire building by some of the latter. For their part, many PA officials (particularly those coming from outside the West Bank and Gaza) have a poor understanding of the important contributions that the NGOs have to make. Early drafts of the PA's proposed NGO law reflected this: Groups were required to register with the government and seek approval for all external donations. Such regulations were intended to blunt the growth of Islamist and other opposition groups.37 However, criticism by NGO and international donors convinced the PA to redraft some aspects of the proposed legislation. Some of the strongest concerns have been expressed by Palestinian

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women's organizations. On the one hand, they fear that as the tasks of the Palestinian movement shift from liberation to state building, their energies will be demobilized. On the other, they also fear that their concerns will take a backseat to other interests, particularly given the potentially divisive nature of many gender issues. The best response to this dilemma has provoked much debate: Should women's (and other) groups seek to retain influence by integrating themselves into the emerging structures of the PA, or should they re-form as grassroots pressure groups?38 The evolution of the NGO-PA relationship is important in several respects. First, NGOs continue to provide-and will do so for an extended period of time-a variety of essential community services. Above and beyond this, Palestinian NGOs are the backbone of Palestinian civil society. Consequently, vibrant and autonomous associational groups will be an important guarantee of future pluralism in Palestinian politics and society. Factionalism Versus Functionalism: The "Overpoliticization" of Civil Society Some of the difficulties in the emerging relationship between the Palestinian Authority and Palestinian NGOs arise not only from the tensions between state building and the autonomy of civil society but also from the intense politicization of Palestinian associational life. Almost all mass organizations-trade unions, women's groups, student organizations, and so forth-are affiliated with one or other of the major Palestinian tanzimat.39 Many other institutions have a distinct political leaning. Similarly, an array of Islamic charitable associations, educational institutions, and local mosques provide important organizational and material resources for the Islamist movement. The services provided by these groups have often been directed not only at meeting social needs and strengthening the nationalist struggle but also at winning support for a particular faction or ideology. Because of this degree of politicization, the uncomfortable relationship between many NGOs and the "government" derives in large part from political competition between the Fateh-dominated PA and the leftist and Islamic opposition. In many cases, the latter groups use their position within civil society to mobilize resistance both to the authority of the Palestinian administration and, more broadly, to the peace process itself. Moreover, the proliferation of "political" NGOs and the factional differences between them often serve to inhibit effective functional coordination.40 In the labor sector, for example, some 6,000 workers have been served by some 161 different (and competing) unions.41 The consequences of this politicization are threefold. First, it adversely affects the planning and delivery of social services by both NGOs and the

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PA. Second, such factionalism increases the incentive for the Palestinian Authority to consolidate its control over resource flows (by, for example, encouraging external donors to redirect their assistance through PA channels). Such resources can then be directed either into PA programs (thereby undercutting the appeal of opposition NGOs) or to support pro-Fateh institutions (which would then continue to compete with the opposition within civil society). Finally, continued political confrontation also encourages PA efforts to limit the legal framework within which NGOs operate and may even lead to coercive measures against some particular groups. Security Versus Liberty: The Dilemmas of Survival If the Palestinian Authority were to take serious measures to constrain the freedoms of associational groups, one possible justification would be that of "national security." Such a pretext has been used in many countries, of course, to limit individual and collective freedoms-regardless of the nature and magnitude of the alleged threat. In the Palestinian case, however, the PA does face serious security challenges that may have adverse implications for future political pluralism. Simply put, the challenge facing the Palestinian Authority is this: The future of the peace process, and hence of both interim self-government and longer-term Palestinian aspirations for self-determination in an independent state, depends on the capacity of the PA to safeguard Israel's security interests. Some Palestinian rejectionist groups-notably Hamas, but also including the smaller Islamic Jihad as well as the PFLP and DFLP-have used armed attacks against Israeli targets inside and outside the occupied territories to derail implementation of the Oslo process. Such attacks not only undercut Israeli support for peace but also lead to greater Israeli pressure on the PA, especially through the economic closure of the West Bank and Gaza. This in turn adversely affects the Palestinian economy and weakens Palestinian support for the PA and peace process. Faced with such pressures, the PA can move to suppress rejectionist (and perhaps other opposition) forces. Initially, and despite the construction of an extensive security apparatus in the self-rule areas, Arafat appeared to view this option as undesirable, fearing that repression would provoke violent confrontation, polarizing the political environment and radicalizing many "soft" Islamists.42 Instead, most of the coercive measures taken by the Palestinian Authority appeared to be intended primarily as warnings. As such, they were combined with other measures (the generally rapid release of detained activists, the licensing of opposition newspapers) intended to de-escalate tensions and mark out the boundaries of acceptable political behavior. This strategy enjoyed mixed success. On the one hand, it did whittle

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away much of Hamas's "soft support," a decline evident at the time of the 1996 Palestinian elections. On the other hand, the hard core of militant Islamists remained untouched. It was the latter-concerned over Arafat's apparent success and hoping to derail the peace process before it gained unstoppable momentum-that launched the bombings of February-March 1996. This in tum forced the PA to launch its clampdown against the radical opposition and resulted (as the bombers intended) in the election of a new Israeli government critical of the Oslo process. The election of the Netanyahu government and consequent deterioration of the peace process, in tum, only further sharpened the security dilemmas confronting the PA. Reliance on coercive measures grew still further, as evidenced by the growth of the PA security apparatus to more than 37,000 personnel (or around 7 percent of the labor force) by early 1997. Human rights abuses also grew more frequent, with growing reports of detention without trial, torture, and the death of some 13 prisoners in PA custody in July 1997. Patronage Versus Participation: Managing Political Inclusion

As previously remarked, the widespread use of political patronage has been one significant characteristic of Palestinian self-government. To some extent, this simply represents the continuation of an established pattern of neopatrimonial politics. More important, however, such neopatrimonial mechanisms of social control are intimately related to the security dilemmas facing the Palestinian authority as well as to the challenges of factionalism and civil autonomy.43 Faced with the problems of Palestinian factionalism, as well as the constraints historically imposed on it by the PLO's "national front" structure, the mainstream Fateh/PLO leadership has long used its control over critical financial resources to manipulate rivals, sustain cliques, and reward key constituencies. Prior to the 1990-1991 Gulf War, the financial resources available to the PLO from various Arab regimes rendered this possible. After the Gulf War, such resources dried up, and their lack indeed provided one of the spurs that led the PLO to negotiate the Oslo Accord. With the onset of Palestinian self-government, Arafat has sought to use the new financial resources pledged by the international community to once more strengthen his political position. Specifically, by holding out both general achievements (the withdrawal of Israeli forces, progress in the peace process, economic development) and specific inducements (participation in the PA, access to jobs and resources) he has sought to maintain his hold over Fateh and co-opt members of the opposition. Growth in public sector employment-particularly in the security apparatus-was a key element of this patronage. As the 1996 elections showed, this strategy could be highly successful.

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However, the gap between excessive expectations and uneven performance has also generated cynicism and delegitimized the PA.44 Meanwhile, a combination of periodic Israeli closures of borders has worsened economic conditions and limited the effectiveness of political patronage. Moreover, political patronage is a double-edged tool: Although it may serve to consolidate political power in the short and medium term, it has adverse implications for long-term institution building. Neopatrimonialism may delegitimize political leadership, particularly if inefficiency and corruption become rampant. Moreover, a patronage-based political system undercuts the very logic of democratic participation, suggesting to citizens that connections-rather than the electoral process and constitutional order-hold the keys to effective political power. Finally, patronage can have a corrosive effect on popular attitudes toward the political system. Reflecting this, the Palestinian Legislative Council issued a stinging report on PA corruption in July 1997, subsequently calling for the resignation of the entire cabinet. The issue, however, was sidelined by Arafat and overshadowed by worsening Palestinian-Israeli relations, suggesting that little may have changed.

Conclusion: The Prospects for Palestinian Democracy There is much that might be taken as pessimism in the preceding analysis. Democracy is significantly but ambiguously lodged in Palestinian political discourse. Despite some irregularities, democratic elections were held in the West Bank and Gaza in January 1996. However, the role of the Palestinian Legislative Council-indeed, the entire Palestinian constitutional order-remains unclear. Meanwhile, the Palestinian authority finds itself facing the pressures of security and state building, engaging in a tugof-war with segments of civil society, and utilizing widespread patronage to maintain its governing coalition. There are widespread complaints of corruption. Human rights groups have raised growing concern about intimidation, detention, and even torture by the PA. And Yasir Arafat himselfalthough a populist tending to political inclusion (albeit through co-option rather than independent participation)-is clearly not much of a democrat at heart. The balance sheet of Palestinian political development also contains some positive elements, however. Despite the temptations of power and the acute political and security challenges faced by the emerging Palestinian entity, its leadership reluctantly resorted to widespread political repression. Palestinian civil society, although factionalized and still in the process of working out a modus vivendi with the Palestinian administration, remains vibrant and active. Pluralism remains firmly established, and Palestinians

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continue to sustain human rights groups, pro-democracy organizations, and a varied mass media. Many members of the legislative council have shown outspoken independence. And Yasir Arafat, whatever his doubtful democratic credentials, clearly understands the value of a democratic mandate. It should also be remembered that democracy arises not only from individual agency and societal inclinations but also from real political situations and particular historical circumstances. In this contest between Palestinian democratization and more authoritarian futures, therefore, external political factors may be critical. The dynamics of the peace process and the policies of Israel in particular will have a substantial effect. As the Netanyahu government sought to roll back the Oslo process and foreclose future Palestinian sovereignty by constructing additional Jewish settlements in the West Bank, Palestinian support for the peace process declined, and militant rejectionists were slowly strengthened. This threatened to unleash further violence, resulting in even greater economic hardship for the Palestinians and even greater pressure on Arafat to adopt repressive means. As Arafat's political support erodes, his relationship with the legislative council may grow more problematic and his tolerance of dissent narrow still further. At the same time, there remains neither a political heir apparent within Fateh (a deliberate situation on Arafat's part) nor an organized democratic movement with the support and resources to effectively press an alternate agenda. Having come farther than ever before in creating both a pluralist, democratic polity and the institutions of the state, the Palestinians face an uncertain future.

Notes Financial support from the Social Science and Humanities Research Council of Canada, the Fonds FCAR, and McGill University is gratefully acknowledged. 1. Projected 1996 population, according to the Center for Policy Analysis on Palestine, Facts and Figures About the Palestinians, Information Paper 1 (Washington, D.C.: CPAP, 1992), p. 4. This population is distributed as follows: West Bank/East Jerusalem/Gaza Strip (1,950,000); Israel (800,000); Jordan (2,170,000); Lebanon (390,000); Syria (360,000); other Arab states (520,000); rest of world (500,000). For extensive Internet sources on the Palestinian issue, see Palestinian Development lnfonet/Palestinian Refugee Research Net at http://www.arts.mcgill. ca/mepplmepp.html. 2. Text in International Documents on Palestine 1968 (Beirut: Institute for Palestine Studies, annual), p. 305. 3. Yasir Arafat, quoted in A Discussion with Yasser Arafat (Beirut: PLO Foreign Information Department, 1985), p. 14. 4. Nayef Hawatmeh, PLO Crisis: Roots and Resolution (Damascus: Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine, Central Bureau of Information, 1985).

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5. "Palestinian Declaration of Independence, 15 November 1988," Journal of Palestine Studies 18, 2 (Winter 1989), p. 215. 6. "Israeli-PLO Declaration of Principles, 13 September 1993," Journal of Palestine Studies 23, 1 (Autumn 1993), p. 116. 7. Palestine Report, 19 March 1995, p. 16. 8. For a discussion, see Alain Gresh, The PLO: The Struggle Within (London: Zed, 1983). 9. Due to its leftist connotation and its association with the jabhawi model of PLO decisionmaking (discussed later), Fateh was much less likely to use the term. For this reason, it also rarely appeared in the joint communiques of the intifada leadership. As for Islamist groups, the leftist and Western connotations of the term damned it still further. There is, for example, no mention of "democracy" (or, for that matter, anything that might look like it) in the founding charter of the major Palestinian group Hamas. 10. Salim Tamari, "The Palestinian Movement in Transition: Historical Reversals and the Uprising," in Rex Brynen, ed., Echoes of the Intifada: Regional Repercussions of the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict (Boulder: Westview Press, 1991), p.22. 11. For a detailed analysis of these changes, see Glenn Robinson, Building a Palestinian State: The Incomplete Revolution (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1997). 12. According to a 1995 poll by the Jerusalem Media and Communications Center, 40 percent of Palestinians prefer an "Islamic" political system, whereas 26 percent prefer "representative" democracy. These findings are similar to a 1993 FAFO survey, which found support for democracy was weakest among women, the younger intifada generation, and those with least education. Similarly, a 1986 survey found that 33.5 percent of Palestinians favored either a "democratic-secular," "democratic-Palestinian," or Western European or U.S.-type government, whereas 56.1 percent favored a state based on "Islamic law" or "Arab nationalism and Islam." Palestine Report, 28 May 1995; Marianne Heiberg and Geir 0vensen, Palestinian Society in Gaza, West Bank and Arab Jerusalem: A Survey of Living Conditions (Oslo: FAFO, 1993), pp. 266-270; "Al-Fajr Public Opinion Survey," in Journal of Palestine Studies 16, 2 (Winter 1987), p. 201. 13. Interview with Haydar 'Abd al-Shafi, Palestine Report, 7 May 1995, pp. 8-9. 14. Lisa Anderson, "Democracy in the Arab World: A Critique of the Political Culture Approach," in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives. 15. Thomas Weaver, J. David Gillespie, and Ali al-Jarbawi, "What Palestinians Believe: A Systematic Analysis of Belief Systems in the West Bank and Gaza," Journal of Palestine Studies 14, 3 (Spring 1985), p. 119. It is also noteworthy that few Palestinians identify with existing "Islamic" systems in Iran or Saudi Arabia. 16. Jerusalem Media and Communication Center survey (May 1995), in Palestine Report, 28 May 1995. Center for Palestinian Research and Studies survey (October 1994), in Journal of Palestine Studies 24, 2 (Winter 1995), pp. 147-148. 17. Ziad Abu Amr, "Palestinian Political Parties: Between Democracy and Pluralism," in Center for Policy Analysis on Palestine (CPAP), Whither Palestine? (Washington, D.C.: CPAP, 1994), pp. 34-35. See also the contribution by Mamdouh al-Aker, "Toward a New Palestinian Political Order," in this same research report.

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18. Examples of this negative side include an often overzealous and often brutal campaign against alleged Palestinian collaborators, as well as efforts by Hamas to force women to wear the hijab (Islamic head covering) in Gaza. 19. For an analysis of the interim PA cabinet, see Rex Brynen, "The Dynamics of Elite Formation," Journal of Palestine Studies 14, 2 (Spring 1995). 20. Some 90 percent of registered voters voted in Gaza, and 70 to 80 percent in the West Bank (excluding Jerusalem). In Jerusalem, voter turnout was apparently depressed by heavy Israeli security and Palestinian fears that they might be stripped of their Jerusalem residency status if they voted. 21. Palestine Report, 24 January 1996, pp. 13, 18. The most serious electoral violations included unilateral modification of the election timetable by Arafat; unequal coverage of candidates in the official media; inaccuracies in the voter registration lists; and, in some locales, incidents of apparent intimidation by security forces and tampering with ballot boxes. 22. Ziad Abu-Amr, "The Palestinian Legislative Council: A Critical Assessment," Journal of Palestine Studies 26, 4 (Summer 1997), p. 95. 23. Pre-election polls showed Hamas with the support of 12.3 percent of Palestinians, and the PFLP with 2.3 percent-compared to 38.9 percent for Fateh. Palestine Report, 19 January 1996, p. 10. The electoral system, which used a "firstpast-the-post" system in 16 multimember constituencies, clearly favored larger parties. Some seats were reserved for Christians. 24. See the cabinet profile in Palestine Report, 21 June 1996, pp. 10-11. 25. For example, of those members present, 50 voted in support of Arafat's new cabinet, but 24 voted against. 26. Palestine Report, 19 September 1997, p. 12. 27. Abu-Amr, "The Palestinian Legislative Council," p. 5. 28. In one survey in Gaza, 57 percent of respondents expressed dissatisfaction with the functioning of the PA, 69 percent complained of an absence of democracy, and 90 percent expressed the view that administrative positions were filled unfairly. Ma' ariv, 16 March 1995 (via Israeli Information Service). 29. For background on this, see Raja Shehadeh, The Declaration of Principles and the Legal System in the West Bank (Jerusalem: PASSIA, 1994). 30. The draft Basic Law calls for Palestine to be "a democratic parliamentary system based on political and party pluralism" (Article 4) in which "the Palestinian people are the source of all authority" (Article 2) and "the principle of the rule of law is the basis of government" (Article 6). A variety of freedoms-belief, opinion, political participation, organization, and press-are guaranteed, although this is usually qualified by the ambiguous phrase "in accordance with the law." See http://www.pal-plc.org/laws/blaw.html. 31. These comments by human rights activist Raji Sourani led to his brief detention by Palestinian police and subsequently his dismissal (under pressure from the PA) from the Gaza Center for Rights and Law. Washington Post, 11 April1995. 32. A statement by the West Bank human rights group al-Haq, cited in United Press International, 7 October 1994. See also the Human Rights Watch report of 12 February 1995 and Amnesty International's press release of 27 April1995. 33. UNESCO, Economic and Social Conditions in the West Bank and Gaza Strip (April1997), online via http://www.arts.mcgill.ca/mepplunsco!unfront.html. 34. Greatest priority: economy (39.8 percent), negotiations with Israel (23.1 percent), democracy and freedom of expression (11.8 percent), order and security (10.9 percent), and religious observance (10.8 percent). Middle East Report, 11 April1997, p. 7.

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35. For an overview, see Muhammad Muslih, "Palestinian Civil Society," Middle East Journal 47, 2 (Spring 1993); and Mustapha Barghouti, "Popular Organizations and Their Future Role," in CPAP, Whither Palestine? (Washington, D.C.: CPAP, 1994). The latter notes that, prior to the DOP, NGOs provided 60 percent of primary health care, 49 percent of hospital care, 100 percent of preschool education, and a significant portion of schools. 36. Barghouti, "Popular Organizations and Their Future Role," pp. 20-21. 37. Denis Sullivan, "NGOs in Palestine: Agents of Development and Foundation of Civil Society," Journal of Palestine Studies 25, 3 (Spring 1996). 38. Rita Giacaman and Penny Johnson, "Searching for Strategies: The Palestinian Women's Movement in the New Era," Middle East Report 186 (January-February 1994). For the economic and political status of Palestinian women, see United Nations Development Programme, At the Crossroads: Challenges and Choices for Palestinian Women in the West Bank and Gaza Strip (New York: UNDP, 1994). 39. For a detailed analysis, see Joost Hilterman, Behind the Intifada: Labor and Women's Organizations in the Occupied Territories (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1991). See also Tamari, "The Palestinian Movement in Transition," pp. 20-22. 40. For a satirical but insightful comment on this, see Sahar Khalifeh, "The Women's Movement," in CPAP, Whither Palestine? (Washington, D.C.: CPAP, 1994). 41. Graham Usher, "Palestinian Trade Unions and the Struggle for Independence," Middle East Report 194/195 (May-August 1995), p. 22. 42. Graham Usher, "The Politics of Internal Security," Journal of Palestine Studies 25, 2 (Winter 1996). 43. Rex Brynen, "Neopatrimonial Dimensions of Palestinian Politics," Journal of Palestine Studies 14, 3 (Summer 1995). 44. Salim Tamari, "Fading Flags: The Crisis of Palestinian Legitimacy," Middle East Report 194/195 (May-August 1995), p. 10. According to an Apri11997 poll, 34.8 percent of Palestinians thought there was a great deal of PA corruption; 44.0 percent believed there was a "fair amount." Palestine Report, 11 April1997, p. 10. It should be noted, however, the PA corruption-although undoubtedly significant-seems less pervasive than in neighboring Lebanon, Syria, or Egypt.

9 Democratization in a Fragmented Society: Sudan AnnM. Lesch

On the map, Sudan and Egypt seem an extension of the same Nile Valley. Yet rarely are two neighboring countries so different. Egypt's social homogeneity contrasts with Sudan's ethnic and tribal fractionalization, and the former's well-established central authority is the opposite of the latter's regional political divisions and weak state. From this point of view, the Sudanese case could shed an important light on basic theoretical issues in the analysis of present-day democratization. Intuitively, it can be argued that the multiple cleavages in Sudanese society preclude the establishment of a stable democracy and ensure that any political system will be fragile. Ethnic and religious heterogeneity and a geographically dispersed population, coupled with the concentration of political and economic power in the hands of the people living in the center, reinforce inequalities and breed resentment by the marginalized peoples. Moreover, the sectarian bases of the dominant political groups in the north exacerbate divisions within that largely Arab and Muslim area. Such multiple loyalties tend to inhibit the development of a sense of common citizenship and promote inflexible and unquestioning allegiance to political parties that claim to represent particular religious or ethnic groups. Yet, a counterargument might be made that heterogeneity could foster tolerance, since no group can monopolize power for long. If a decentralized political system were established, the regionally based ethnic groups could gain a stake in the political system and promote their own economic development. Ethnic and sectarian groups would be obliged to form coalitions in order to rule and thereby learn to take into consideration each other's needs. Each group would recognize that acceptance of differences and sharing of power and resources would be preferable to the attempt to monopolize power, since the latter could generate resistance to authoritarianism and cause the breakdown of the political system. Regional political divisions, particularly the problem of the south, in this sense would be an expression of the lack of democracy rather than an obstacle to it. 203

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Thus, social structures do not suggest, per se, a specific and univocal impact on democracy. Such an impact depends, to a large extent, on the way in which actors represent and respond to these structures. Only by meshing structural constraints and actors' choices can a meaningful explanation of the Sudanese democratic experience be provided. The Sudanese case also shows that the wider the gap between the ways in which actors define democracy, the more democratization is at risk. In this sense, the What, the Why, and the How of democratization should be addressed together in an interactive way. In spite of its cleavages and divisions, Sudan showed a persistent quest for democracy compared to other, much more homogeneous, countries in the Middle East and North Africa. Nonetheless, political life has shifted abruptly three times between a parliamentary system and military rule. The Sudanese people have experienced vibrant associational life during the democratic periods, alternating with severe repression of autonomous institutions and government efforts to enforce uniform social and cultural codes on the population. The dominant politico-economic forces have manipulated ethnic and sectarian cleavages to enhance their own power and assert their particular political vision. Those actions have undermined attempts to inculcate democratic values and to foster tolerance toward the diverse peoples within the borders of the country. Since a civil society has only been partly constructed, parliamentary regimes are relatively easily undermined by antidemocratic forces. To examine this shifting situation, after dealing with the What, I consider the difficulty of entrenching a democratic system in Sudan by simultaneously focusing on the Why and the How. I argue that the impact of social structures depends, to a large extent, on the ways in which actors interpret and deal with them, and I identify ways in which such structures have been represented in the past. Then I explore the extent to which the presence of a multiparty system promotes democracy, assess which groups benefit or suffer during the democratic period, and examine the actions that marginalized groups take to counter their diminished status. Thus, the objective of the chapter is to learn more about the probability, possibility, and types of risks involved in establishing a democracy in a socially fragmented society.

What: Conceptions of Democracy The definition actors give to democracy plays an important role in determining the fate of democracy. In the Sudanese case, there are distinct differences among political groups concerning the meaning of democracy and

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the nature of a legitimate political system. These cleavages render political ideology as fragmented as the social structures. One major cleavage has been between parties that view the democratic system as intrinsically valid and those parties that see the democratic process as a means to establish a state based on their ideology. In the past, the latter included the Communist Party and Arab nationalists. They used democratic means, when convenient, to promote a system conforming to their ideological views, but some of their leaders were willing to align with the military to force upon the country a political system that would follow their beliefs. Today, however, those groups see themselves as one among many actors in the political arena and do not claim ideological exclusivity. Since the mid-1980s, the National Islamic Front (NIF) has been the principal political movement that has used democracy not as an end in itself but as a means to establish an Islamic state based on shari' a (Islamic law) that would mold society according to its particular vision. When the NIF could not achieve its aims through the parliament, it used force to seize power. NIF leaders emphasize that they cannot make compromises on the issue of shari'a, "which is the foundation of our orientation."! Similarly, the NIF rejected the negotiated and widely supported agreement between the Sudan Peoples Liberation Movement (SPLM) and the Democratic Unionist Party (DUP) in November 1988 on the grounds that it "prevents Islam's and Arabism's extension to the continent" and that it "refuses to recognize an Arab Muslim Sudan."2 When the democratic decisionmaking process failed to respond to the objectives of the NIF, the latter did not hesitate to reject not only the outcome of this process but the process itself. Other political actors appear committed to democracy in the procedural sense, that is, as a means of conflict resolution. A southern politician defined democracy as a peaceful means to settle differences, the results of which are acceptable in principle to everyone: "Instead of stirring up [religious] sensitivities thus keeping the war raging, let us turn to the war of democratic dialogue and present ideas to the constitutional conference and accept its results."3 It is also according to this definition of democracy that al-Sadiq alMahdi, leader of the traditional Islamic Umma Party, declared after the parliamentary election in 1986 that applying the shari'a is only acceptable if the majority of the people opt for it in a democratic way. This conformed with his view that democracy is a process of conflict resolution by consent. As he stated, "what is more important ... is adherence by consent to democratic decision-making, even if the decision is in conflict with the ideology of this or that party. "4 Nonetheless, one must emphasize that there have been distinct limits to the willingness of politicians such as al-Mahdi to accept that democracy

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could lead to outcomes to which they would object ideologically. Although al-Mahdi-and most other Muslim-oriented politicians-stress that the varying political trends in Sudan should be reflected within the parliament, they also emphasize that the minority must accept the outcome of elections and parliamentary votes. They tend to assume that, given the majority held in parliament by parties that are based on Islamic religious movements, no fully secular laws would be passed that would dilute the country's Islamic character and Arabness. They have felt secure in upholding majority rule, since their core religious and cultural values could not be challenged. Conversely, African, Christian, and secular political forces comprise permanent minorities. Outvoted in parliament and playing only marginal roles in the executive branch, they have had disincentives to support the political system and to view the democratic process as an effective means to address their needs. Violence, nonparticipation, and alienation have resulted from that disadvantaged position. In addition, almost all political actors maintain that democracy should maximize public freedoms. In a petition to the government, for example, the Federation of Sudanese Workers and Trade Unionists called on it to commit itself to "real democracy," which means "allowing citizens public freedoms and guaranteeing the press access to national information. " 5 Freedom of association for trade and professional unions, freedom of speech and publication, and the right to form political parties have been emphasized in constitutional documents and valued during democratic periods. In any case, these diverging conceptions of democracy have two main consequences. First, coalitions become difficult to build, and once they are built, they tend to be temporary and unstable as every party considers their purpose to be merely tactical. Second, public participation tends to destabilize the process of democratization when it is not well channeled in the democratic game.

Why: The Manipulation of Sudan's Communal Structures The structural factors affecting democracy in Sudan are not simply given but rather are manipulated by political movements. Undeniably, Sudanese society is characterized by diversity rather than homogeneity. The most politically salient distinctions revolve around language and religion. Only half the Sudanese speak Arabic as their native tongue. About 70 percent are Muslim, nearly a quarter profess traditional African beliefs, and an estimated 6 percent are Christian; the Muslims are concentrated in the north, and the others live largely (but not exclusively) in the south. The estimated 26 million citizens are further grouped into more than 50 ethnic groups that, in tum, consist of some 572 subgroups differentiated along linguistic,

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religious, racial, and cultural lines. Many peoples in the outlying areas of the north-the Beja, Nuba, Fur, and Nubians-have ancient cultures and political systems that differ from the Arabs of the central Nile River Valley. In the southern third of the country, linguistic and ethnic diversity is particularly pronounced, with 100 indigenous languages spoken and numerous cultural and religious differences among the peoples. Social differences were intensified by economic inequalities and varying historical experiences. Government policies have favored the expansion of infrastructure, education, agriculture, and industry in the Nile Valley and tended to neglect the south, where most African and non-Muslim citizens live. These policies, in turn, are the result of the political dominance of the Nile Valley Arabs and, in particular, the key roles played by the Khatmiyya Sufi order through the Democratic Unionist Party, the Mahdist Ansar movement through the Umma Party, and the urban-based National Islamic Front. Leaders of the Khatmiyya and Ansar have controlled significant agricultural resources in the north, and the three movements have vied for control over internal and foreign trade and banking. In fact, the political manipulation of social cleavages goes back to the Anglo-Egyptian condominium (1898-1956). British administrators cultivated traditional tribal leaders and heads of large Muslim religious orders (tariqas) and encouraged the rivalry between the Khatmiyya and Ansar. By independence, their two mass movements dominated politics in the north. Urban-based intellectuals and trade unionists, alienated from those movements, gravitated to the Communist Party or the Muslim Brotherhood (embodied today in the National Islamic Front). Their intense rivalry helped polarize political life in the north. The situation was further complicated by the separation of the north from the south that was instituted by British policymakers in the 1920s. Northern Sudanese had to obtain permits to live or travel in the south. Arabic was banned in the south, and Muslim preachers were prohibited from proselytizing in the region. Instead, the British government required English to be the language of instruction in southern schools, encouraged Christian missionaries to convert residents, and formed a separate Southern Corps within the Sudan Defense Forces. By the time Britain reversed this policy in 1946, southerners' political and cultural distinctiveness had been reinforced, and they feared domination by their better educated, more politically skilled northern compatriots. These developments intensified the negative impact of social diversity on democracy. The Ansar-Khatmiyya rivalry, secular-sectarian split, and north-south division translated social fragmentation into political factionalization. The economic and political marginalization of outlying regions reduced the sense of loyalty of their peoples toward the center. Politically manipulated socioeconomic tensions also tempted authoritarian rulers to

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use force to overcome fragmentation, impose uniformity, and solve complex problems. Such force, however, exacerbated the underlying economic problems and reduced still further the allegiance of disadvantaged groups toward the country. Therefore, the institutionalization of democracy in Sudan has been inhibited by two fundamental factors: the factionalization within the Muslim Arab political forces in the north and the conflict between the ruling Muslim Arabs of the Nile Valley and the largely non-Muslim and nonArab peoples of the south and west. Moreover, one could mention the lack of adaptability of the parliamentary system. Imported from England, this system could not operate smoothly or build a generalized legitimacy when adopted wholesale in a fundamentally different society. The creation of an elected multiparty national assembly with a prime minister selected from the leading political party could not, in itself, ensure democracy, especially in a context in which the basic rules of the game-and even the national identity of the country-continued to be contested. Since support for the political parties was based on a combination of ethnicity, religion, and regionalism, the African- and secular-oriented groups were automatically and permanently in the minority. Continually outvoted, they had little incentive to support the political system. Conversely, the Islamic- and Arab-oriented political parties were assured a majority in parliament and control over the cabinet. Therefore, they had little incentive to heed other perspectives, aside from offering token positions in the cabinet to southerners, Beja, Nuba, and Nubians. Thus, even though the parliamentary system enabled diverse groups to gain representation, the existence of an automatic and permanent majority undermined that benefit. Moreover, sectarian-based factionalism within the governing elite continually paralyzed elected governments, encouraged self-serving jockeying for power among party leaders, and alienated the public. Coalition governments were preoccupied with holding onto positions, not making policies. The history of democracy and antidemocratic backlashes is the sad story of unfortunate encounters between fragmented socioeconomic structures and actors who proved unable to supersede this fragmentation. In the following section I show how a dual fragmentation-among the northern elites and between them and the south-structured Sudanese political life and obstructed attempts at democratization.

How: The Historical Experience of Democratization

Between Parliamentary and Authoritarian Rule (1956-1985) Sudan has witnessed several experiences of democratization, all of which demonstrate the importance of the How in determining the fate of democra-

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cy in a fragmented society. The 1953 election (prior to independence) resulted in a parliament in which the National Unionist Party (a coalition of the Khatmiyya and a secular group that originated in the Graduates' Congress) commanded 51 percent of the seats and in which Umma controlled another 24 percent. Together, the two mass-based sectarian movements dominated three-quarters of the seats, enabling them to form a seemingly powerful coalition government after independence in 1956. However, personal rivalries-as well as tensions between adherents of the Khatmiyya and Ansar and between sectarian politicians and secularists-prevented the partners from producing substantive policy changes and kept them preoccupied with parliamentary maneuvers. The situation was exacerbated in 1958 when elections resulted in a triangular struggle among Umma, the then-secular National Unionist Party (NUP), and the new Khatmiyya-linked Peoples Democratic Party (PDP). Any coalition of two parties risked being overturned by a shift in alliance to the third party. Overbidding between the two sectarian movements resulted in demands to institute the shari 'a as the sole source of law, a move that the PDP felt would consolidate its support in the north and that Umma could not disavow without appearing to deny its own religious roots. From November 1958 until October 1964, Sudan was ruled by General Ibrahim 'Abbud, the former commander of the armed forces, who had seized power in part to end the jockeying among the party leaders. When his regime crumbled and parliament was restored in 1965, the same pattern of unstable coalitions and indecisive governments reemerged. Fifteen parties contested the 1965 elections: Umma and the NUP won most of the seats, in part because the Khatmiyya's PDP boycotted the election. For the first time, regional ethnic parties and ideological parties in the north gained a presence in the legislature: the Beja Congress, the Nuba Mountains Federation, the Sudanese Communist Party (SCP), and the Islamic Charter Front (ICF, now called NIF). The SCP had a strong base in the railway and tenant farmer unions and fought with the ICF for support from students and professionals. The Muslim parliamentary majority's intolerance of secularism was demonstrated when it defied the constitutional court by banning the SCP. In the 1968 elections, fragmentation was even more evident, and public confidence in the parliamentary system eroded rapidly. Since Umma had split into two factions, the Democratic Unionist Party (the reunited NUPPDP) could play those factions off against each other in forming coalition governments. Once again, politicians were primarily preoccupied with personal rivalries, but they also renewed their call for an Islamic constitution. Just as there had been relief when General 'Abbud stepped in to end the political maneuvers, there was relief within the secular opposition when Colonel Ja'far al-Numayri seized power in May 1969.

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In addition to the endemic instability among the northern political forces, the mere fact that citizens of African origin comprised a permanent minority in parliament constituted a potential problem and weakened the legitimacy of the political system. Their status as a minority had been compounded by the weakness of southern party structures and the outbreak of civil war in the south in 1955, just prior to independence. In 1965, the intense fighting prevented elections from being held in the south. Regional movements in the south and among the Fur and Nuba sought a federal system with power decentralized to the regions and opposed a constitution based solely on Islamic law. As fighting escalated, some southern politicians and guerrilla forces declared that secession was the only solution. Ethnic, religious, and regional identities can serve as the basis of political movements in a democratizing system so long as they are not exclusivist in their demands. The civility inherent in civil society requires both tolerance of pluralistic discourse and moderation in actions to accommodate the needs and perspectives of other groups. In Sudan, such civility remained weak: The give-and-take of parliamentary life degenerated into personalistic jockeying for power within the Arab-Muslim elite, and their automatic majority enabled that elite to ignore the needs of the minority groups. A structure established to accommodate differences contributed instead to stalemate and alienation. Military rulers were also unable to overcome the serious ethnic tensions. Al-Numayri followed 'Abbud's example by closing the parliament and banning political parties. However, he soon established a national assembly in which elections could only be contested by the newly created Sudan Socialist Union (SSU). Under both regimes, the former parties maintained a sub rosa existence, challenging the legitimacy of the military government with varying degrees of persistence. 'Abbud rejected secularism and the devolution of power to the regions.6 He tried to Islamize and Arabize the south, actions that further inflamed the civil war and accelerated demands for secession. In contrast, al-Numayri reached an accord with the leaders of the southern rebels that allowed for considerable political and socioeconomic decentralization and recognized the distinct religious and cultural identity of the south. This recognition halted the civil war until alNumayri promulgated an Islamic penal code in 1983 and annulled the south's special regional status. Full-scale civil war immediately resumed, led by the SPLM, which called for decentralization, secularization, and the formation of a central government that would represent all the Sudanese peoples. At the time of al-Numayri's overthrow in 1985, all political parties except the SSU were illegal. DUP politicians kept a low profile; some had lived abroad since 1970. The Communist Party functioned underground after al-Numayri purged its ranks in July 1971. Ba'th leaders were charged

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with apostasy under the Islamic laws. The fiery Nuba Mountains politician, Rev. Philip Ghabbush, was implicated in an attempted coup d'etat by Nuba soldiers. Al-Sadiq al-Mahdi, head of the Umma Party, was detained for 15 months for opposing the Islamic decrees and denouncing al-Numayri's dictatorship. Only the National Islamic Front (then known as the Islamic Charter Front) had been allowed by al-Numayri to consolidate its power in the judiciary, professions, and education.

The 1986 Experience: The Interaction Between the What, the Why, and the How The most recent democratization process was marked by a cleavage over the definition actors gave to democracy. On the one hand, the National Islamic Front viewed democratization basically as a means to seize power gradually and implement its Islamizing program. (But even NIP leaders declared to the public that its Islamization program should be implemented through democratic debate in parliament, rather than imposed by force.) On the other hand, other actors viewed democracy as a form of governance based on public participation. However, the leaders of traditional parties based on religio-political orders, such as Umma and the DUP, assumed that the priority given to Sudan's Islamic and Arab identities could not be challenged by the African parties and secularists in the north. They allowed space for African parties in the legislature and even, to a limited extent, in the government, and they were not disturbed to have a token presence of the SCP in parliament, since their own power and tenets were not threatened. Al-Numayri was overthrown on 6 April1985 by the combined effort of a National Alliance of unions and political parties and the high command of the armed forces.? After a one-year transition, parliamentary elections were held, and an elected government was installed in the spring of 1986. The National Alliance, comprising virtually all the underground unions and parties, had drawn up a Charter for National Salvation that called for a democratic system of government based on the provisional constitution promulgated at independence in 1956. The charter affirmed the rule of law, independence of the judiciary, and freedom of organization, expression, and belief. Political parties rapidly reestablished themselves and prepared for elections for a four-year constituent assembly that would draft a permanent constitution. The uprising showed the vitality of popular forces, despite 16 years of authoritarian rule, but it failed to incorporate the SPLM, the main politico-military movement in the south. The SPLM criticized the transitional government for not annulling al-Numayri's Islamic codes and for offering only limited self-rule for the south. The SPLM sought, instead, to

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restructure the entire political system to enable African peoples to share in policymaking at the center as well as in their provinces. In assessing the elections, the mere fact that they could be held in a reasonably fair and nonviolent manner after so many years of repression was significant. They permitted the open and frank expression of widely varying views and introduced a healthy competition among the political forces. However, political and institutional problems associated with the elections impeded the development of an effective representational system. Four problems (re)emerged that complicated or skewed the outcome of the elections. First, since the new electoral system was established and political parties were reorganized in less than one year, parties had inadequate time to regroup. It gave the advantage to a well-organized party such as the NIF. Umma and the DUP could count on networks of religious adherents in the countryside, and regional ethnic parties could attract specific constituencies. But other parties lacked the infrastructure to campaign on such short notice. Second, the winner-take-all electoral system generally results in the election of relatively few political parties and thus minimizes fragmentation. Nonetheless, since no restrictions were placed on forming parties, nearly two dozen parties contested the elections, most of whom had no serious prospects of gaining seats. Their "wasted" votes meant that a candidate could win with support from as little as 20 percent of the voters. Moreover, the DUP-and Umma to a lesser extent-ran more than one candidate in many constituencies, with the result that the party vote was split and an opponent could win. In contrast, when parties formed informal electoral alliances-notably, to block the election of the NIF's two senior leaders and to support the election of Nuba leader Ghabbush and SCP leader Muhammad Ibrahim Nuqud-those coalitions achieved their objectives. Third, the electoral system was based primarily on geographic constituencies, but nearly 10 percent of the seats were set aside for graduates of postsecondary institutes and universities. s The graduates' seats were structured so that voters could select the district in which they would vote. The NIF benefited the most from this provision since its organizational discipline enabled leaders to mount a coherent strategy to capture those seats. The strong showing in the graduates' constituencies compensated for the NIF's relative weakness in the geographic districts. Fourth, election results were skewed by the impossibility of voting in the south, caused both by the intense fighting and the boycott by the SPLM, which had wanted the Islamic laws canceled prior to the elections. As a result, the south was severely underrepresented in parliament. Southern MPs comprised only 10 percent of the parliamentarians, even though the south could claim a third of the country's population. Moreover, most of the southern MPs came from Equatoria, where politicians supported

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al-Numayri's division of the south into three regions and opposed negotiations with the SPLM.9 The south's numerical weakness was compounded by fragmentation among the parties, which undermined their ability to present a common front against Islamic-oriented political forces. The leaders of the southern parties all argued that they should receive a third of the ministerial portfolios, but when al-Mahdi approached them individually, they scrambled for whatever posts he offered, not wanting to lose out in the distribution of spoils. A complex picture emerged (see Table 9.1). Umma won 39 percent of the seats, not enough to form a cabinet on its own. The DUP gained 24 percent of the seats, and the NIF won 20 percent, based heavily on the graduates' constituencies. The southern, Nuba, Beja, and Communist parties together totaled barely 17 percent of the seats. The election results, which overrepresented the NIF and underrepresented the south, made al-Mahdi beholden to the other two Islamic-oriented parties. He had to include either the DUP or the NIF in the cabinet in order to gain a majority. In particular, the NIF's unambiguous statement that annulling al-Numayri's Islamic laws would be blasphemy put al-Mahdi on the defensive. Rather than reaching out to a wider constituency and seeking to cancel the Islamic laws, as he had proposed during the election campaign, al-Mahdi offered African (Nuba and southern) parties merely residual cabinet posts and said he would modify the Islamic codes only slightly. The African parties that sought a secular constitution recognized that they were marginalized. Angered by this outcome, their leaders charged that the dominance of traditional Muslim political forces remained intact.IO They boycotted the sessions that elected the assembly speaker, the members of the sovereignty council, and even the prime minister. The Nuba leader Ghabbush and al-Mahdi exchanged accusations of undemocratic behavior-an inauspicious way to launch the new parliament. The characteristics of the democratization process aggravated the impact of socioeconomic heterogeneity. These tended to marginalize the south and the Nuba from the process while at the same time rendering political fragmentation of the northern parties more visible. Given the characteristics of the electoral system, the NIF had the power to prevent the new regime from addressing constitutional and identity issues in a way that could reduce the political salience of social cleavages. The following period witnessed the consolidation of this trend that, at the end, would lead to the collapse of the democratization process altogether. Jockeying for Power: Putting Democracy at Risk

The strategies of political parties jockeying for power in a context of "permanent majority" and "permanent minority" had a debilitating effect on the

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Table 9.1 Northern Parties

Sudanese Political Parties in 1986 Parliamentary Role

Leader

Members

Al-Sadiq al-Mabdi, great grandson of the Mabdi; prime minister 19661967, 1986-1989

Ansar movement, 3 million adherents; northern landlords, farmers, and peasants

lOOmembers of parliament (MPs) (39%)

Religion-based but upholds freedom of religion; supports popular elections; opposes military rule

Muhammad Osman Democratic al-Mirghani, head Unionist Party (DUP), of the Khatmiyya formerly NUPandPDP

Khatmiyya; northern merchants, bankers, and landlords

63MPs (24%)

Religion-based, Islamic law the source of legislation•

Urban, educated professionals, and businesspeople; student, professionals, youth and women's organizations; Islamic banks and charities

51 MPs (nearly 20% ); a!-Turabi and the general secretary failed to win seats

Islam the official religion, Arabic the official language, Islamic law the source of all laws and economic, educational, and social programs; regions with nonMuslim majorities can exempt themselves from the Islamic Penal Code; critical of Sufi movements and the traditionalism of Ansar and Khatmiyya

UmmaParty

National Islamic Front (NIF), formerly Islamic Charter Front

Hasan al-Turabi; law professor, attorney general, and presidential adviser under al-Numayri

Sudanese Communist Party (SCP)

3 MPs, Muhammad Ibrahim Professionals and Nuqud, secretaryaffiliated movements including of women, students, Nuqud general and workers

Sudanese National Party (SNP)

Rev. Philip Abbas Ghabboush

8MPs, NubainNuba Mountains and including Omdurman; Ghabboush electoral coalition with other western parties-Southern Darfur Development Front, General Funj Union (Blue Nile), North and South Funj Unions, and General Union of Nuba Mountains

Tenets

Secular, democratic constitution

Autonomy of the Nuba; give priority to economic development in deprived areas and their representation in the center

(continues)

Table 9.1 (continued) - - - -

Northern Parties Ideological parties on the left

Leader

Members

Parliamentary Role

A few professionals, None elected Arab Ba'th students; urban; Socialist Party northern (Iraqi-hacked), Ba'th Party (Syrianbacked), Arab Nasserite Socialist Party, Islamic Socialist Party, and Popular Revolutionary Party (Libyan-hacked)

Beja Congress Muhammad Tahir Abubakr

Tenets Socialist, pan-Arab

Bcja ethnic group, eastern province (Red Sea coast)

Represent the 1 MP; most Beja supported interests of the Beja DUP, due to people their affiliation with the Khatmiyya order

Southern Parties Southern Sudanese Political Association (SSPA)

Samuel Aru Boi

Strongest in Bahr al-Ghazal (mostly Dinka)

7 MPs from all 3 southern provinces

Unity of south, federalism, secularism

Sudanese African Congress (SAC)

Walter Kuni Jwak

Secularist intellectuals

2MPs from Upper Nile (Shilluk)

Unity of south, federalism,

Sudanese African National Union (SANU)

Andrew Wren Riak

Pre-1973 politicians No seats (mostly Dinka)

Sudanese Peoples' Federal Party (SPFP)

Joshua Dai Wal

Nuer

People's Progressive Party (PPP)

Rev. Eliaba James Surur

lOMPs from Leaders served in the post-al-Numayri Equatoria transitional government ( 19851986)

Sudan African Peoples' Congress Organization (SAPCO)

Pacifico Lado Lolik (not elected)

Leaders served in al-Numayri's regional government (1983-1985)

I MPfrom Upper Nile (Nuer)

7 MPs from Equatoria

sccularisn1

Unity of south, federalism, secularism

Anti-SPLM (pro-Anya Nya II); unity of south, federalism, secularism Anti-SPLM; opposes reuniting southern provinces; supports secularism

Anti-SPLM; opposes reuniting southern provinces; supports secularism

a. DUP revised its position in late 1988 after al-Mirghani signed an accord with the SPLM.

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democratization process. These strategies contributed to the alienation of important sectors from the parliamentary system; instead, these sectors sought redress for their grievances through extraparliamentary means, including strikes and violence. Given the multiplicity of groups and of potential alternative alliances, those maneuvers tended to weaken the political system. In examining the political game from 1986 to 1989, the interrelation of policy and political maneuvering will be underlined. The continuing maneuvering among the three principal political parties (Umma, DUP, and NIF) led the DUP and NIF to take opposing stands and to forge alliances designed to reduce each other's influence. The DUP and NIF adopted divergent policies toward the war in the south, Islamization of the legal system, foreign policy, and economic reforms. The tensions over those differences climaxed in 1988-1989. Interparty rivalry was an important factor in preventing the government from adopting coherent and lasting policies. A coalition government consisting of Umma and the DUP was formed in May 1986 and lasted until May 1988. The coalition was stymied because the two parties could not agree on a legal formula to supersede al-Numayri's legal codes or even on foreign and economic policies. They were divided by personal tensions and rivalries among ministers. In foreign policy, the DUP foreign minister sought improved relations with Egypt and the West, whereas Prime Minister al-Mahdi courted Iran and Libya. In economic policy, the government had to contend with protests against shortages of food, escalating prices, and unemployment while seeking to respond to demands from the International Monetary Fund (IMF) for less public expenditure and the privatization of public sector corporations. The government tended to cave in to the trade unions' demands for wage increases and price controls.I 1 Despite these concessions, union leaders were angered by the Umma-DUP rivalry, which blocked government from taking significant initiatives, and were concerned that the government's failure to end the costly civil war compounded the country's economic problems and debt burden. The NIF also criticized the government for its contradictory economic policies and, while in opposition, organized demonstrations against electricity and water shortages, high prices, and negotiations with the IMF.I2 (Once the NIF joined the government and the DUP was sidelined, it was the latter's turn to encourage protests against price increases and the IMF.) By the summer of 1987, al-Mahdi was actively courting the NIF as a counterbalance to the DUP. In response, the DUP moved toward the African parties, a move that was surprising given its Islamic and Arab orientation. The DUP's pragmatic shift was indicated in its support for a charter in January 1988 that endorsed negotiations with the SPLM, stated that

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the final decision on "the issue of religion in politics shall be dealt with" at a national constitutional conference, and proposed the formation of a broad-based government of national reconciliation. 13 The government would include the DUP and the African parties but exclude the NIF. AlMahdi strongly opposed forming an inclusive government, which would dilute his power. He halted official contacts with the SPLM. Al-Mahdi made his countermove in May 1988, when he added the NIF to the governing coalition thereby marginalizing the DUP and the African parties. The new government was immediately controversial. NIF leader Hasan al-Turabi became the new minister of justice; he insisted that the government promulgate a comprehensive Islamic code within two months.J4 DUP leaders opposed the new coalition, aware that their role was weakened by the inclusion of the NIF and increasingly concerned about the government's hard-line policy toward the rebellion in the south. Leading DUP figures warned against forming an antisouthern and anti-Nuba government that would polarize the country.

Islamic Law and the South: Narrowing the Scope of the Democratization Process Southern and western parties faced an automatic majority of northern and Muslim-based parties in parliament since the former groups held less than 15 percent of seats in the assembly, far less than their demographic weight. Their walkout from the assembly in the spring of 1986 was repeated in September 1988 when the African MPs refused to attend the session that voted to promulgate new Islamic legal codes demanded by the NIF.I5 They knew that they would be outpolled and did not want their presence to be misconstrued as accepting the legitimacy of the vote. Their only opportunity to shift the political balance came through the DUP's concern to create a political bloc that could checkmate the UmmaNIF alliance. Despite the DUP's long-standing support for an Islamic constitution, its leaders contacted the SPLM in order to negotiate an end to the civil war. Fearful of the economic and social cost of the war as well as of the NIP's enhanced power, DUP leaders viewed a peace accord as the only way to revive the economy, restore social stability, and clip the NIP's wings. Those negotiations resulted in a dramatic accord between the DUP and SPLM in November 1988 that called for freezing Islamic laws until a constitutional conference could be convened in which the SPLM would play a prominent part.I6 The DUP thus placed the value of including all the Sudanese peoples in the constitutional consensus above the value of creating an Islamic state, although its leaders assumed that such a conference would still uphold an essentially Muslim identity for the country.

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The accord was strongly opposed by al-Mahdi and the NIF. Al-Mahdi saw the accord as a threat to his personal authority, and the NIF rejected the return to a secular legal system. Although the DUP had lined up support from the African parties, the SCP, and the professions and trade unions, alMahdi wielded his power as prime minister to refuse to discuss the accord in the cabinet and to insist that the parliament grant him the exclusive personal authority to negotiate with the SPLM and to organize a constitutional conference.17 Checkmated, the DUP ministers resigned from the cabinet in December. Both sides turned to extralegal methods to pressure the government. The NIF organized a march in Khartoum that degenerated into violent attacks on southerners. Once the DUP left the cabinet, it encouraged demonstrations and a strike by civil servants that merged economic and peace issues, using the slogan "Against hunger ... against war."IS When the trade union federation threatened a general strike, al-Mahdi canceled price increases; he did not budge, however, in his opposition to the DUPSPLM accord. Thus, the government and opposition used both parliamentary maneuvers and extraparliamentary pressure to counter each other. The Umma-NIF government had a narrow base of support. AI-Turabi, who became foreign minister, wielded his enhanced power to step up arms purchases, intensify fighting in the south, and press for additional Islamic laws.19 Those actions generated strong reactions. The DUP, African parties, and professionals participated in talks with the SPLM that called for "a government of national salvation composed of all political forces committed to peace, including the SPLA-SPLM."20 Most significant, the defense minister resigned on 20 February 1989; he opposed the NIP's leading role, supported the DUP-SPLM accord, and argued that negotiations were essential, in part because foreign governments were no longer willing to supply Sudan with arms with which to pursue the war.21 Three hundred senior officers signed a supportive memorandum the next day that gave al-Mahdi one week to meet their demand to either supply the armed forces with adequate military equipment or negotiate a peace agreement.22 The trade and professional unions endorsed the memorandum and called for a broad-based government (including the SCP and unions) to negotiate a peace accord. Al-Mahdi initially rejected the ultimatum as an illegitimate intrusion of the armed forces into a political matter. The NIF was even more adamant in rejecting cabinet changes since that would undermine its central role and ideological tenets. However, al-Mahdi capitulated on 25 February. He renounced the alignment with the NIF and formed a broad-based government that excluded it. This government and parliament then endorsed the DUP-SPLM accord, and parliament voted to shelve debate on Islamic laws until the constitutional conference could convene. NIF members of

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parliament stormed out in protest, and al-Mahdi avoided attending the session.23 Government negotiators met with the SPLM in April and June, and al-Mahdi initiated on 29 June the bill that would suspend the Islamic laws instituted by al-Numayri. The cabinet and parliament were due to vote on 30 June-1 July, after which government negotiators would meet with their SPLM counterparts on 4 July, as the final step before convening the constitutional conference on 18 September. Although al-Mahdi's personal commitment to suspending Islamic law and negotiating with the SPLM remained in doubt, he was boxed in by the political forces that supported negotiations. However, on 30 June, the NIF engineered a coup d'etat with the support of a small group of middle-rank officers. The entire democratic edifice was dismantled overnight. Subsequently, NIF civilian and military cadres have ruled the country, having banned all political parties, autonomous professional and trade unions, and non-NIF associations. The banned political forces coalesced into the National Democratic Alliance (NDA) in October 1989, which only became a significant political-military threat to the regime in the mid1990s. In June 1995, the NDA, together with the SPLM, resolved to base a future political system on democracy and religious pluralism, in which shari'a-based laws would be annulled. Moreover, the NDA acknowledged the south's right to self-determination in the form of a referendum at the end of a four-year transitional period. Unity would be voluntary, not coerced. This accord, which challenged long-standing notions of majority and minority and opened up the prospect of a genuinely multiethnic regime, remained entirely hypothetical until and unless the NDA could overthrow the narrowly based Islamist government.

Conclusion: Democratization in a Fragmented Society The Sudanese case demonstrates the extent to which the interaction between actors and social structures determines the fate of the democratization process. In Sudan, the cleavage over the definition of democracy increased the risk of clashes. Although most actors emphasized the importance of public participation and open debate, Umma and (for most of the period) DUP leaders assumed that majority support for broadly Islamist and Arab cultural policies could not be seriously challenged. Furthermore, NIF viewed democracy as a temporary vehicle by which it could gain power and impose its ideological agenda. Al-Mahdi played a major role in weakening the democratic process when he tried to subvert negotiations with the SPLM that would reduce his personal power and lead to a redefinition of the constitutional structure in a secular, multiethnic direction. The NIF

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decided to impose an Islamic regime by force when it could not win majority support for its aims. The emphasis on full-fledged public participation from the onset of the democratization process weakened much-needed stability. The empowerment of social forces through democratic forms led to creative debates and enhanced civil rights but also exacerbated underlying differences and fragmented the political forces. The democratic period provided significant opportunities for groups and individuals to articulate their views and mobilize supporters, but it failed to aggregate those views into coherent policies. Extraparliamentary actions (strikes, demonstrations, and coup threats) remained potent weapons that could achieve results unattainable inside parliament. The temptation to do an end-run around the democratic system remained strong. The shape of the process itself also influenced the fate of the democratic regime in Sudan. The pace of change, especially the very short period of transition between authoritarian rule and general elections, favored the NIF since it was the only political force active under al-Numayri. In addition, the format of the elections and the way in which constituencies were devised gave disproportionate power to the NIF and underrepresented the south. This configuration handicapped the democratization process from the start. Moreover, the strategies of certain actors and the choices they made also played an important role. The long resistance of al-Mahdi to incorporating African political movements reinforced instability and gave the NIF a precious opportunity to consolidate its position, thereby contributing to the final breakdown of the process. Finally, the role of socioeconomic structures is undeniable in explaining the fate of the democratic experience in Sudan. The politicized social fragmentation led in its turn to a crisscrossing of political purpose and action. The inability of political actors to supersede the antagonistic representation of diversity played an important role in reinforcing this fragmentation. The very definition of majority and minority was decisive. Results differed depending on whether one defined the majority by religion or language. The NIF, Umma, and the DUP (until 1988) argued that the majority was Muslim and therefore Islamic law was the majority's right so long as the religious minority was guaranteed freedom of worship. African political forces retorted that imposing a religious majority's views on the entire country denied the minority basic political (not only religious) rights. They also argued that Sudan could be redefined as half-Arab, half-African-or even a majority African-based on language and culture. Only in 1989 did the government take significant steps toward resolving this core issue: defining a Sudanese identity that included all religious and linguistic groups. Those efforts remained incomplete. This failure

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underlined the difficulty of instituting an enduring democracy in a country in which the basic national identity was still contested and in which acceptance of the democratic rules remained fragile and tenuous. Instead of depoliticizing diversity, the political elite retained a strong drive to Arabize and Islamize all the peoples, a drive that generated a powerful backlash and tore the country apart. The consequent fragmentation of political life undermined the capacity of actors to reach an agreement on the constitution. Governing institutions and political processes remained fragile so long as no accord was reached concerning the constitutional framework. Indeed, no consensus may have been possible on that issue. At times when secular, constitutional rule was in place, influential Muslim movements pressed to alter the system. When Islamist trends were paramount, southerners rebelled. Parliaments cannot function effectively in such circumstances. However, dictatorship yields an imposed, temporary solution. The dilemma of establishing a viable, popular-based political system in this multiethnic society has remained unresolved.

Notes 1. Yassin al- 'Umar al-Imam, interview with al-Sharq al-Awsat, 25 April 1989, p. 3. 2. A1-'Umar al-Imam, interview. 3. Angela Beda, chairperson of the Council for the South, interview with alTadamun (London), 6 February 1989, pp. 19-20. 4. Al-Sadiq al-Mahdi, interview with al-Ahali (Cairo), 16 April 1986, pp. 8-9. 5. Memorandum of the Federation of Sudanese Workers and Trade Unionists, 27 February 1989. 6. For analysis of the military governments, see Ann M. Lesch, "Military Disengagement from Politics: The Sudan," in Constantine P. Danopoulos, ed., Military Disengagement from Politics (New York: Routledge, 1988), pp. 19---46. 7. Ann M. Lesch, "Transition in the Sudan: Aspirations and Constraints," Universities Field Staff International (UFSJ) Report no. 20 (1985), p. 3. The report also contains the text of the alliance's charter. 8. The graduates' seats were created to respond to the argument that since the adult public was 80 percent illiterate, educated citizens should have special voting rights. Details on the electoral system and parties can be found in Ann Lesch, "Party Politics in the Sudan," UFSI Report no. 9 (1986); and Lesch, "The Sudanese Parliamentary Elections in 1986," in Conference Proceedings of the Sudan Studies Association, Northeast African Studies, vol. 1 (East Lansing: Michigan State University Press, 1995), pp. 2-3. 9. The disaffection of Equatorians with the union of the three provinces from 1972 to 1983 was largely due to the predominant role played by the Dinka in that union. As the largest ethnic group within the south, comprising 40 percent of its population, the Dinka obtained the most important positions in its regional

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government. Their presence in the capital city, located in Equatoria, was resented by many residents of that province. This could be seen as another case of automatic plurality (if not majority) leading to disaffection by smaller groups. 10. Interview with Rev. Philip Ghabbush, 27 May 1986. Details on the Ghabbush-al-Mahdi debate can be found in Lesch, "Party Politics," pp. 12-13. 11. Abbashar Jamal, "Funding Fundamentalism: The Political Economy of an Islamist State," Middle East Report (MERIP) 172 (September 1991), p. 15. 12. Interview with al-Turabi in al-Majalla, 15 April1987. 13. Omdurman Radio, 10 January 1988; on al-Mahdi's reaction, see Ann Lesch, "Negotiations in Sudan," in David R. Smock, ed., Making War and Waging Peace: Foreign Intervention in Africa (Washington, D.C.: United States Institute of Peace Press, 1993), p. 120. 14. Al-Sharq al-Awsat, 3 June 1988. See also al-Turabi 's interview in alSha'ab (Cairo), 30 August 1988. 15. Sudan News Agency (SUNA), 12 September 1988; Agence France Presse, 20 September 1988. 16. SUNA, 16 November 1988; SPLA Radio, 18 November 1988. 17. SUNA, 14 and 19 December 1988; for further discussion, see Lesch, "Negotiations in Sudan," p. 122. 18. SUNA, 27 December 1988. 19. Interview with al-Turabi in Le Monde, 24 December 1988; SUNA, 10 January 1989. 20. Abel Alier, Southern Sudan: Too Many Agreements Dishonoured (Exeter: Ithaca Press, 1990), pp. 283-284. 21. Kuwait News Agency (KUNA), 21 February 1989; Omdurman Radio, 21 February 1989. 22. Middle East News Agency (MENA), 22 February 1989; text broadcast by Omdurman National Unity Radio, 25 February 1989. 23. British Broadcasting Corporation (BBC), 10 April1989.

10

Calculated Decompression as a Substitute for Democratization: Syria Raymond A. Hinnebusch

Is Syria a case of "Middle East exceptionalism"-in which a specific history short-circuits the supposed relationship between an increasingly com-

plex, mobilized society and political pluralization? Certainly, it is one of the Arab countries where political liberalization remains the most modest. Nowhere, however, is there a simple causal association between modernization and democratization. Intervening variables, including social structure, state interests, and the values of political leadership, may not only raise the pluralist threshold but shape outcomes substantially different from those in the West. The greater impact of these factors in Syria may make it a limiting case, chiefly illustrative of the obstacles to democratization in the Arab world. Yet, Syria is not totally immune to the forces making for political liberalization elsewhere, and its authoritarian regime is adapting to similar pressures under a policy of calculated political decompression. That the regime must resort to this safety valve may be an indicator of deeper democratization pressures building up in Syrian society.

What: Regime Conceptions of Political Adaptation President Hafiz al-Asad and his colleagues, in a series of speeches after the unraveling of the East bloc, depicted their conception of political reform, and they reveal little loss of confidence in the viability of the political system. Asad argued that his 1970 rise to power initiated a Syrian perestroika-political relaxation, opening to the private sector-long before Mikhail Gorbachev rose to power in the USSR. He insisted that the regime's political institutions accommodated political participation and pluralism. "None of us wants bogus institutions," he declared; if they were not sound, they would not have survived. "The popular democracy is not 223

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despotic; anyone who wanted despotism would not have created a structure organizing peasants, women, youth, students, professionals and expanding the trade unions."! Local councils were also elected. The National Progressive Front (NPF) (in which Syria's small officially approved parties sit with the dominant Ba'th) accommodated seven parties, had been expanded to include the heads of the popular organizations, and was a key institution for exchanging views on policy. The role of the People's Assembly was to hold the government accountable: Its committees had the right to control and investigate the state apparatus. Prime Minister Mahmud al-Zubi explained that democracy meant greater government consultation of parliament in the making of decisions regarding the adjustment of interests. In fact, parliament may not criticize the president or foreign policy but can criticize government management of the economy and services and promote the particular interests of its constituents. Economic pluralism, Asad explained, undergirded Syria's political pluralism: The state sector had built Syria's economic foundation, but the constitution guaranteed the right of ownership, and investment laws now encouraged the private and mixed sectors. 2 Asad insisted that Syria would not blindly imitate the Western model of democracy: "we benefit from the experiments of others but we never copy what others do."3 He added, "The phase through which the country is passing is not suitable for implementing [a fully competitive electoral system] ... despite the fact that many in Syria are convinced this is the best method."4 A balance, Asad explained, was needed between the level of development of political structures and laws and the cultural and economic level of the country, for if one was more advanced than the other, the result was instability: "I told a Western visitor that when we have a high per capita income like yours we can talk about your form of democracy. Our culture is different, so how can we have the same Western form?"5 "We have no quarrel with freedom," Asad insisted, "but ... freedom needs order; freedom disappears if its orderliness disappears."6 Then Vice President 'Abd alHalim al-Khaddam, justifying the lack of competing candidates in Asad's 1991 reelection, insisted that each nation had its own version of democracy, and Syrians accepted their system as guaranteeing stability and welfare. The loss of both in the USSR showed the dangers of uncritically adopting the Western formula without taking account of a country's particular conditions.? Asad acknowledged that there was room for reform in Syria's system and that the NPF should be "enriched and reinforced." He conceded the desirability of greater ta'addudiyya (pluralism) to give a wider range of interests greater access to policymakers. Indeed, the greater opening of parliamentary elections to independent candidates representing business-

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people, religious leaders, and professionals signified the legitimation of interests outside the regime's original coalition and the government's desire to incorporate the more complex social coalition it is putting together. Also, As ad explained, "to increase real competition in the elections, we don't now include independents in the front [NPF] list as before because people thought, to some extent correctly, that this was the one which would win."8 Party regional secretary Sulayman Qaddah claimed that NPF lists would not be nominated from above, either, and anyone could nominate themselves to them. Moreover, anyone could form a list, and all lists would get media access. The 1990 elections, Asad declared, infused parliament with new blood: It had 133 new members, 70 percent of the 250-member assembly.9 By contrast with limited liberalization in other Arab states, however, even controlled multiparty elections are eschewed in Syria, and no legalized opposition party or independent opposition bloc in parliament is permitted. Asad also approved a greater relaxation of state control over society. He admitted shortcomings in the legal system--executive decrees had been used to update and fill gaps in old laws; the better course was to legislate through parliament. Since Syria was still at war, it needed some emergency laws, but these should be restricted to matters of state security and public order.IO Large numbers of political prisoners were released, but the limits on free speech were quickly underlined thereafter when the activists of the newly formed Committee for Defense of Democratic Reform and Human Rights were put on trial.ll Asad warned that government adherence to the law was critical, for otherwise people would seek other methods of redress (personal relations, corruption).l2 However, the Ba'th state, in permitting almost no judicial or press independence, is far behind other Arab states in creating mechanisms for curbing abuse of state power. Why is Syria's politicalliberalization so modest?

Why: The Forces for and Obstacles to Political Change The Ba'th State as Obstacle to Democratization The Ba'th forged an authoritarian state peculiarly resistant to political liberalization. This is partly because of its origin: It grew out of a populist movement against the upper classes that linked rural intellectuals and army officers, peasants, and deprived minorities, notably the Alawis. After its 1963 power seizure, the Ba'th carried out a populist revolution from above that substantially changed the balance of class power, as Table 10.1 indicates. Democratization may depend on independent, normally propertied, social forces able to check the state; however, the Ba'th's nationalizations and land reform broke the great latifundia and nearly eliminated the

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Indicators of Change in Syrian Class Structure (1960-1970) 1960

Industrial and commercial bourgeoisie Rural bourgeoisie Salaried middle class Traditional petite bourgeoisie Working class Small peasantry Agricultural proletariat

1970

Numbers

%

Numbers

%

19,750 39,640 132,530 110,900 159,720 243,460 182,720

2.2 4.5 15.0 12.5 17.9 27.4 20.5

10,890 8,360 234,930 216,090 257,380 608,540 130,400

0.7 0.6 16.0 14.7 17.6 41.5 8.9

Note: Numbers refer to economically active population. Source: Adapted from Elizabeth Longuenesse, "The Class Nature of the State in Syria," MERIP Reports 9, 4 (1979): 4, note 20.

industrial bourgeoisie. The bourgeoisie as a class declined, losing or exporting its capital and exiting Syria in considerable numbers. The considerable parallel expansion of the state-dependent smallholding peasantry and salaried middle class made for a great deal of plebeian upward mobility. This produced a social terrain suitable for As ad's creation of an autonomous Bonapartist state, balancing above Syria's fluidized classes and largely invulnerable to countervailing class power. All authoritarian states are threatened by democratization, but their receptivity to liberalization varies according to their social base. Thus, the conservative authoritarianism typical of Latin America originates in the repression of the masses on behalf of the bourgeoisie and liberalizes under pressure from the latter, which prefers a liberal state once the threat from below is tamed. By contrast, in the case of the Ba'th's populist authoritarianism, the bourgeoisie is a historical rival, and the regime's original plebeian constituencies have a stake in the status quo-a big public sector, cooperative agriculture, populist regulation of the market, and the role of the army and party as paths of upward mobility for peasant youth and minorities. As such, liberalization depends on the regime transforming its social base by reaching a modus vivendi with the bourgeoisie. One has been developing, on and off, since at least 1970, but if its consolidation requires the regime to shed its populist constituency, it would risk becoming vulnerable to a still mistrusted bourgeoisie. The regime has, therefore, persisted in its Bonapartist strategy of balancing between social forces. The ability of an authoritarian state to resist liberalization also depends on its structures, and the Ba'thist state structures have proven highly durable and resistant. The state is in good part the handiwork of Hafiz alAsad, who concentrated power in a "presidential monarchy" through a mix

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of strategies and instruments: the command of the three levers of institutional power-party, army, and state; alliance building with key Sunni officers and Ba'thist politicians; detente with the Damascene bourgeoisie; and a network of Alawi kin and clients dominating the security apparatus and key military units. Asad balances the rivalries of a divided elite who lack the independent power bases that might provide the seeds of pluralism. The regime is legitimized by the nationalist struggle it claims to lead against Israel. Asad has the power to liberalize the regime, and those seeking change without compromising stability, particularly the bourgeoisie, look to him to initiate it. But his style is to make incremental, not radical changes. Criticism of the established order cannot be much tolerated because it would be criticism of Asad's work. The Alawi core of the regime is a major obstacle to liberalization, in contrast with the Egyptian case, in which intermarriage between Free Officers and wealthy families quickly bridged the state-bourgeoisie gap. The Alawi clans around Asad, which dominate the security forces and have been transformed into a privileged political elite, have a special stake in the survival of the regime, and the massive 1982 repression at Hama shows the lengths to which they will go to defend it. The strategy of deploying Alawi 'asabiyya (primordial solidarity) in the regime's primitive power accumulation meant too little political capital was invested in legitimate institutions, such as parliament, which could become vehicles of political liberalization. The institutional pillars of state power do not lend themselves readily to liberalization. The professionalization of the army, which might foster "constitutionalist" officers, is less advanced than in Egypt. It is politicized, ideologically indoctrinated, and controlled through a network of Ba'th party cells, and the disproportionate recruitment of Alawis, especially to top operational commands, infects it with 'asabiyya; that it could be deployed during the Islamic uprising against Syrian cities without unraveling along sectarian lines indicates its reliability as a repressive apparatus. Moreover, the national security state absorbs the resources of civil society. The army, including active reserves, represented an enormous 21 percent of the male labor force in 1984. Military spending (if the estimated value of Soviet arms deliveries is included) may have reached an average of 30 percent of gross domestic product (GDP) over the period 1977-1988.13 The huge military machine became a burden on political life and extended its tentacles into the economy as well. The Ba'th Party is the most well-institutionalized political structure in Syria. By contrast to Egypt's flimsy Arab Socialist Union (ASU), the party is no mere creation of the president but an important vehicle through which he attained and protects his power and legitimacy. The Ba'th had a long history as an authentic ideological movement with local roots before coming to power. Thereafter, it developed an elaborate Leninist party apparatus

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through selective recruitment and indoctrination of militants from the lower and lower-middle strata. Through the party, the regime incorporates some 500,000 members, overwhelmingly teachers, students, state employees, peasants, and workers, as Table 10.2 shows. Only about 1 to 2 percent of members are upper or upper middle class, whereas 60 to 70 percent are lower class.1 4 The social character of the party base constrains any radical departure from the statist and populist policies that favor these groups. The party cannot be wholly shunted aside, for it remains the regime's main connection to the provinces and villages, its original power base; the Alawi dominance of the elite makes it all the more crucial to the regime's capacity to sustain support among the Sunni majority. IS

Table 10.2

Occupational Composition of Ba'th Party Membership (1980 and 1984) 1980

Occupation

Numbers

Doctors, pharmacists Engineers Lawyers and judges Nurses Teachers Public officials Workers Artisans Peasants Students Other Totals

298 1,104 401 752 19,668 31,390 51,224 3,547 65,859 183,355 15,879 373,477

1984 %

0.08 0.30 0.11 0.20 5.27 8.41 13.70 0.95 17.63 49.10 4.25 100.00

Numbers 1,255 3,739 688 1,853 40,598 48,103 73,965 4,220 74,665 267,255 21,523 537,864

%

0.23 0.69 0.13 0.35 7.55 8.94 13.75 0.78 13.88 49.70 4.00 100.00

Source: Hizb al-Ba'th al-Ishtiraki, Taqarir al-mu'tamar al-qutri al-thamin wa muqarraratihi [Reports and Resolutions of the Eighth Regional Congress], Damascus, 1985, pp. 35-58.

The Ba'th state is also linked to society by an array of corporatist associations. Ba'thists created and led popular organizations (munazzamat sha'biya) of peasants, youth, and women, and they dominate the leadership of the trade unions. Although most corporatist regimes favor privileged groups such as businesspeople's associations, the Ba'th, seeking to mobilize a popular base against the old classes it overthrew, organized previously excluded popular sectors and accorded them privileged access to power denied its bourgeois rivals. This populist corporatism was, at least initially, a strategy of inclusion rather than demobilization. Thus, the General Federation of Peasants (al-ittihad al- 'amm lil-fallahin), a key pillar of the

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Ba'th's corporatist order, recruits its leaders from the mainstream peasantry and enjoys institutionalized access to the regime. It gives peasants a measure of societal power: Having organized them to counter larger proprietors and middlemen, it is today seen as a major obstacle by investors seeking a more liberal agrarian relations law. The peasant union also promoted a system of agricultural cooperatives. Although most agricultural land is privately owned, about two-thirds of the land held by small and middle peasants, along with 85 percent of all peasant families, is organized in these statedependent cooperatives.I6 This gives the regime a populist rural base analogous to the large landowners who typically support conservative authoritarianism. The Ba'th's corporatist structures co-opt the masses, who would be needed as part of any effective democratic coalition. The state also enjoys an economic base relatively independent of society. By 1970, the public sector had become the core of the economy. The public and private sectors each accounted for roughly half of national production, but in industry the state sector towered over a multitude of small undercapitalized artisan and family enterprises, 98 percent of the 40,000 or so private manufacturing enterprises employed less than 10 workers.17 In 1984, public industry employed a third of the labor force in industry but produced 78 percent of gross industrial output.18 The public sector is crucial to state autonomy from society: For example, from 1966 to 1976, public sector surpluses financed more than a third of all state expenditures and amounted to an average of 9.1 percent of total GDP. Syria also received "rent" as a "frontline" state from the Arab oil states, which in the 1980s amounted to a quarter of the budget. This economic base provided the regime with patronage resources, relieved it of much need for a social contract with the bourgeoisie, and allowed it to trade representation for taxation-which has never far exceeded a fourth of state revenues.I9 In summary, the Ba'th regime is a patrimonial-Leninist hybrid that, founded on an ideological movement, nationalism, a bureaucratic apparatus, and the liberal use of 'asabiyya, may have greater survival assets than purer regime types, including its East European counterparts. But the use of 'asabiyya ignited opposition among those outside the favored in-groupnotably urban Sunnis-depriving the regime of the broad legitimacy that would allow wider power diffusion without threatening its survival. The regime appears strong enough to survive, but not strong enough to survive full democratization.

Social Structural Change and the Potentia/for Pluralization Democratization requires a balance between a plurality of strong social forces and an autonomous state that allows space for a "civil society" wherein a democratic political culture can develop. This balance has been

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lacking in Syria. In premodern Syria, bureaucratic empires obstructed the rise of independent classes able to extract power sharing from the sultan. In postindependence Syria, the state, captured by the landed oligarchy, lacked the autonomy to incorporate the rising new middle class and was destabilized, opening the door to the Ba 'th, which restored the imbalance in favor of the state. Nevertheless, three elements of a partially autonomous civil society-the traditional suq (bazaar), the modem middle class, and a reviving bourgeoisie-have the potential to foster a greater state-society balance. The survival of "traditional civil society." Although the Ba'th regime at times aspired to totalitarian control, it never atomized civil society, where family, religious, and neighborhood solidarities still retain their integrity. A civil society largely outside of state control survived almost intact in the traditional quarters and suqs. Far from declining under the Ba 'th, the artisan and merchant petite bourgeoisie flourished in the vacuum left by the demise of the haute bourgeoisie, doubling in size (from 110,900 to 216,090) even during the socialist decade of the 1960s.20 Numbers of merchants grew substantially in the more liberal decades from 1971 to 1991; the labor force in trade grew about 7 percent per year and, despite the austerity of the eighties, had increased its proportion of the labor force from 9 percent to almost 12 percent by 1989.21 The state made an effort to co-opt artisans and small textile manufacturers into its Syndicate of Artisans, through which they were entitled to buy inputs from state firms and obtain export licenses, but many of them preferred to participate in the parallel free market dominated by larger merchants, thus sacrificing state benefits for greater freedom. This represented an autonomous civil society flourishing in the gaps left by state control.22 The large informal and black market sectors of the economy also escaped the state. The main political expression of the suq was Syria's Islamic movement, the only force that seriously challenged the Ba'th's political monopoly. Islamic political association arose in the urban quarters and suqs because here religious institutions, which resented the secular minority regime, and the trading economy, hurt by Ba'th social reforms, came together. The ulama (men of religion), organized in no state-controlled institution comparable to al-Azhar (Egypt's religious university), retained considerable autonomy from and capacity to resist the regime; the mosques and shari'a (Islamic law) schools were the breeding grounds of activism, and it was from the minaret that the call to anti-Ba'th rebellion was often made. The antistatist Islamic movement demanded an Islamic economy that would legitimate free enterprise and the "natural incentive" of a fair profit. In its mortal conflict with political Islam in the early 1980s, the state ratcheted up its control over society. A purge of mosques and religious associations eliminated these as bases of opposition. Massive repression deadened

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political life. But political Islam remains deeply rooted in the suq and in the pervasive religious sensibility nurtured by the ulama. With a partially autonomous economic base and a counterideology, the traditional city remains the milieu most resistant to state penetration. The broadened new middle class. Under Ba'th rule, earlier political pluralization was reversed, but continuing modernization, by fostering a proliferation of social forces enjoying more diversified resources, has broadened the potential bases of civil society. Syria is now a middleincome country with a per capita gross national product (GNP) quite a bit above that of democratic India.23 Modernization has eroded the primordial isolation of village and minority sect, incorporating them into a larger-scale society. The 1970s were a period of sustained economic growth, which accelerated social mobilization and significantly widened the educated middle class. The decline of the agricultural workforce, from 51.6 percent of all workers in 1960 to 26.4 percent in 1989, indicates the growth of a modern, differentiated workforce. The proportion of the labor force with secondary or university education climbed from about 5 percent of the population in 1970 to about 28 percent in 1989, and literacy climbed from 36.6 percent in 1960 to 77.2 percent in 1989.24 As professionals and wage workers have proliferated, so has membership in syndicates and associations, as Table 10.3 indicates.

Table 10.3

Associational Membership (1974 and 1990)

Trade unions Housing cooperatives Lawyers' syndicate Engineers' syndicate Agronomists' syndicate

1974

1990

184,918 79,415 1,661 6,573 1,979

522,990 270,972 5,291 36,198 12,442

Source: Syrian Arab Republic, Statistical Abstract, 1976: 782-1996; 1991: 412-1920.

But rising social mobilization is not, in itself, enough to bring about democratization. The threshold at which mobilized social forces can no longer be contained without political pluralization varies greatly, and whether modernization vests control over the economy in the state or disperses it among autonomous groups and classes is a decisive variable. In Syria, the government employs perhaps 40 percent of the workforce, including a large part of the educated and even professional classes. The regime has incorporated the educated classes within an array of govern-

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ment-controlled professional associations (niqabat mihaniya). The syndicates of doctors, lawyers, and engineers retained a certain independence until their leaders were replaced by state appointees during the Islamic rebellion (1978-1982). The teachers' and agronomists' unions were always Ba'th-dominated. The numbers of presumably more autonomous artistic, cultural, and charity associations actually declined from 609 in 1975 to 504 in 1990.25 However, the more autonomous housing and transport cooperatives, in which members pool resources, have grown. Over the longer term these organizations may acquire enough autonomy to give expression to or shelter civil society, as they have in Egypt. Allowing professional syndicates greater freedom could satisfy some pent-up participation demands, but this stops far short of democratization. As Syria's expansionary period ran out of steam in the 1980s, economic opportunities failed to keep pace with social mobilization. Educational expansion generated legions of educated unemployed, and government austerity measures in the late 1980s cut back on social safety nets. The sheer increase in the numbers of educated job-seekers put pressure on the state: To contain the brain drain, to meet expectations for jobs the state can no longer provide in sufficient numbers, and to avoid the political threat of the educated unemployed, the regime is moving incrementally to accommodate expectations for greater economic and personal freedom. Moreover, the decline in the state's ability to provide resources stimulated the formation of autonomous associations outside its control. For example, after 1976, as inflation radically reduced the purchasing power of salaries, governmentemployed professionals, to enhance their fixed incomes, pooled resources to import smuggled goods; and in the 1990s, private investment companies pooling middle-class savings sprang up. The educated classes, especially the intelligentsia, are often constituents of democracy, but they have not become a political force that can challenge the regime. To be sure, as the credibility of both Ba'thism and Marxism decline, liberalism is reviving among the intelligentsia, although, being associated with Western hegemony and resurgent capitalism, it is far from uncontested. The secular left appears to be the potential liberal force; some leftists, let out of jail under U.S. human rights pressures, are converted to the virtues of democracy. But there are no credible liberal opposition parties comparable to the Wafd in Egypt. Some liberals see the regime as a bulwark against Islamic fundamentalism. Divided, with little organized support, the intelligentsia poses little threat to the regime but will try to take advantage of whatever limited liberalization it seeks to initiate. Retreat of the state and bourgeois resurgence. An independent bourgeoisie is, in theory, the force most able to check state power and carve out room for civil society. By the late 1970s, the state ceased to break down and had started to reconstruct class stratification. A "state bourgeoisie" took

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form as the political elite used office to acquire illicit wealth and went into business on the side, whereas a new private bourgeoisie and a revival of the old one were fueled by state contracts and liberalization of commerce in the 1970s. Out of the business, political, and marriage alliances among these groups, a new upper strata took form, with a "military-mercantile complex" of Alawi officers and Damascene merchants at its core.26 The former antagonism between the state and the private bourgeoisie gradually declined. The reemergence of these new bourgeois class "fractions," together with economic contraction in the 1980s, prepared the way for a resurgence of the private sector. The rent-driven expansion of the state during the 1970s exceeded Syria's economic base, and when rent and growth declined in the 1980s, the state sought to shed some of its economic functions. Private business had to be given concessions to fill the economic gap. The decline of the East bloc as an economic partner combined with the global ideological triumph of capitalism hastened the regime's turn to the private sector. By the 1990s, the regime regarded it not just as an auxiliary to the public sector but as a second engine of growth. The significant spurt of private investment this policy has elicited may prefigure the emergence of a more autonomous bourgeoisie. This situation has not yet, however, produced an independent bourgeoisie poised to launch capitalist development and democratization. The bourgeoisie is not strong enough to force greater economic liberalization than the state wants. It presents no common front to the regime, since much of it is dependent on state contracts and protection from market competition. Important segments of the bourgeoisie have little interest in political liberalization. The state bourgeoisie has acquired a personal property stake in the status quo (which Eastern Europe's apparatchiki lacked and hoped to get through abandoning communism). The new, sometimes illicitly acquired wealth of the pro-regime private bourgeoisie will long need the protection of an authoritarian state, and although the rule of law would make the new rich more secure, it would also curb the illicit privileges they thrive on. It appears that an authoritarian regime with a mixed economy can more readily generate a supportive dominant-class base than can a communist state. Finally, state and private, Alawi and Sunni wings of the bourgeoisie have yet to fully amalgamate into a reconstructed bourgeoisie comparable to Egypt's. To be sure, some upwardly mobile Alawis have married into the Sunni merchant bourgeoisie and a few into the old aristocracy. The children of the Alawi elite, now going into business with Sunni partners, lack their parents' fear of the bourgeoisie, and, having been raised privileged, feel a part of the upper class. They may be on their way to amalgamating with the Sunnis in a new cross-sectarian upper class with an interest in greater liberalization, but this process has not yet matured.

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Still, two segments of the bourgeoisie, relatively independent of the state, have the long-term potential to foster civil society. First, new entrepreneurs have risen from the petite bourgeoisie, such as the Seif brothers, now Syria's largest private employers.27 They produce internationally competitive goods while providing their employees with a welfare networkthe seeds of civil society outside state sway. Second, Syrian expatriates with fortunes abroad are showing an interest in Syria that could propel capitalist revival. To the extent that the exhaustion of statism requires the regime to depend increasingly on private capital, it will have to make greater concessions to pluralism and accord business the autonomy within which a bourgeois civil society can be constructed. The recent project to create a stock market and the consideration given to demands for private or joint venture banks are signs of greater tolerance for such a civil society.

How: Regime Strategies and Societal Pressures

Leadership values and strategies are the most immediate determinants of democratization. The current elite is fundamentally illiberal. It was shaped in a period when liberalism was discredited in Syria as an artifact of the West or a luxury of less importance than the strong state required for defense and modernization. The generation that built the Ba'th state is, unlike the Soviet apparatchiki, not about to dismantle its work or give up power without a fight, but the elite is pragmatic and prepared to adapt to the new conditions of the post-bipolar world. For one thing, the contest with Israel, always Asad's first priority, now requires a realignment toward the West, and this, in turn, spurs some measure of internal liberalization. Major political liberalization still holds too many perceived political dangers for the regime. Until the social cleavage between state and bourgeoisie is fully bridged, the Alawis would be threatened by a possible return of power to the Sunni-dominated business establishment. Fuller political liberalization risks Islam's becoming a vehicle of antiregime mobilization. The regime is determined to prevent the Algerian and East European scenarios, and the security forces have the firepower and personal stake in the regime's survival to defend it. The regime is, however, pursuing a policy of calculated political decompression and detente with the bourgeoisie. The draconian controls of the 1980s are being relaxed as the Islamic threat recedes, the security forces are being reined in, and there is greater press freedom; for example, ministers may now be criticized. The president is broadening his base beyond the party to the business class. With the global collapse of socialism, the Ba'th Party is ideologically exhausted and no longer a threat to private business.

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A cult of personality is displacing downgraded party ideology and organization. A revision of Ba'thist ideology stresses its long-neglected liberal component, which accepted democracy, freedoms, and a private sector. These changes may be enough to enable the regime to adapt to new conditions. As yet, the state cannot be forced into more than limited political liberalization. So far there is little overt societal pressure for democratization. Although events in Eastern Europe, Algeria, and Jordan at first stimulated some yearning for democracy among the educated classes, the accompanying disorder and Islamic fundamentalism have made its natural constituents-businessmen and intellectuals-wary of democracy. Patrimonial strategies such as clientelism remain viable, since the large public sector and oil rent give the state the ability to stand above, play off, and coopt the rival sectors of a fragmented society. Corporatist forms of statesociety linkage may be enough to accommodate increased societal complexity for some time. The mukhabarat (security forces) target any threat, and massive repression is held in reserve. But the seeds of potential pluralization can certainly be detected. Political Liberalization and the Bourgeoisie The bourgeoisie, as yet, has neither the desire nor the power to demand political liberalization as the price of capital investment. To be sure, expatriates may have some leverage to press for liberalization; Omran Adham, a Paris-based expatriate, published an open letter to Asad insisting that "economic and political freedom go together."28 But the bourgeoisie values stability as well as an increase in personal and economic freedoms more than democracy. The regime still tolerates no bourgeois pretensions to political independence; large merchants who tried to win public stature through press advertisements were broken by the enforcement of currency laws. Vice President Zuheir Musharka asserts that business and politics can be separated: Traders are kept happy if they prosper. In fact, in return for business freedom and security, the bourgeoisie seems prepared to defer demands for political power. Rather than leading a democracy movement, members of the bourgeoisie look to Asad to distance himself from the Ba 'th, co-opt more of them into government, and accord them greater political access. The bourgeoisie has, in fact, achieved access to decisionmakers. The formerly populist-dominated corporatist system has been opened to the bourgeoisie, which is included on key economic decisionmaking councils. Parliamentary elections, though controlled, give some outlet to the politically ambitious. Some 10 millionaires in parliament are quite outspoken, and a bloc of independent merchants and industrialists sometimes coordinates for common interests. This new, more inclusive corporatism may foster habits of accommodation between state and bourgeoisie.

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As the bourgeoisie's economic power grows, can the regime deny it institutionalized power sharing? Having opted to depend on private capitalist investment, the regime will have to be responsive to bourgeois demands for greater rule of law and a general rollback of the boundaries of state power. Yet, since the inegalitarian consequences of capitalism are likely to heighten popular discontent, neither bourgeoisie nor regime will want full democratization. As such, a strategy resembling Egypt's, in which the persisting authoritarian presidency accords the bourgeoisie a share of power through the ruling party and parliament, might accommodate Syria's bourgeoisie. However, the Ba'th Party cannot readily be transformed into a party of business such as Egypt's National Democratic Party; it is overwhelmingly a party of those dependent on the state or threatened by economic liberalization, and its egalitarian ideology can hardly serve to legitimize the inequalities of capitalist development. An alternative is to permit the bourgeoisie to form its own party and compete with the Ba'th in relatively free elections while obstructing its access to the masses by a continuing strategy of populist patronage, a game long played by Mexico's ruling party. Liberalization and the Islamic Opposition

There is little prospect that political liberalization can much advance until a historic compromise between the Ba'th state and the main opposition, political Islam, is reached. Political Islam is an obstacle to democratization insofar as it fosters communal conflict in a mosaic society and a counterculture not readily incorporated into the secular state. Yet the Islamic movement is not necessarily antidemocratic: In the pre-Ba'th era, the Syrian ikhwan (Muslim brotherhood) participated in electoral politics rather than creating secret organizations as in Egypt. In an attempt to broaden its appeal in the 1980s, the movement advocated a semiliberal state. The notion of violent revolution has now been discredited in most Islamic circles. To the considerable extent that the Islamic movement expressed the reaction of the private sector to economically damaging Ba'thist socialism, economic liberalization could advance a detente between political Islam and the regime. The Aleppine bourgeoisie, which supported the Islamic rebellion out of resentment at its marginalization under Damascus-centered hatisme, has been increasingly appeased by new business opportunities, such as the chance to cash in on export deals to pay off the Soviet debt. Syria's suq petite bourgeoisie may be well positioned, with accumulated capital and traditional know-how, to move into the economic space being vacated by the state. Thus, the economic roots of the cleavage between the regime and the Islamic opposition are melting away.

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Politically, the regime is trying to co-opt the Islamic mainstream while marginalizing radical elements. Moderate Islamic leaders who have cooperated with the government, such as Muhammed Said Rahman al-Buti and the Mufti Ahmad al-Kaftaro, do have some followings in Sufi brotherhoods and old quarters like al-Midan. An ikhwan leader from Dera who brokered the return of Ikhwan exiles from Jordan won a seat in parliament as an independent. There was a major 1992 release of Islamists from prison; Islamists are allowed to publish a magazine; and people are no longer afraid to go to mosques, as they were at the height of the anti-Islamic repression. The most favorable scenario for the incorporation of political Islam into the system would be parliamentary elections that resulted in power sharing between the regime and moderate Islamists. At the time of Nicolae Ceau~escu's fall, a nervous regime wanted al-Buti to form a moderate Islamic party, but nothing came of this. It is quite possible that the Ba'th could hold its own in elections; in the only free elections of the Ba'th era, those of 1972 to provincial councils, traditional and Islamic forces won in the cities and the Ba'th in rural areas. The Ba'th could count on the support of many Westernized Sunni families and working women fearful of fundamentalism or an Algerian scenario.

The Mass Public and Political Liberalization So far, the masses have not been significant actors in the politics of liberalization, but if they become the victims of economic liberalization, can they be prevented from challenging it? The trade unions have bitterly complained about pro-capitalist policies, but when a faction proposed pulling out of the Ba'th-dominated corporatist system, Asad warned that freedom had to be understood "within the framework of responsibility," not "contradiction and fragmentation. "29 As the regime becomes increasingly committed to capitalist development, business associations will acquire a growing capacity to argue that this requires new pro-business concessions, and popular syndicates may be fighting a losing battle in regime councils. Unless they attain greater autonomy to protect popular interests, alternative leaders are likely to emerge outside of, or covertly within, the corporatist system, as has happened in Egypt. Yet the mobilization of mass opposition to procapitalist policies requires a populist ideology that is currently lacking: Marxism has lost credibility, and the Islamic movement, which has elsewhere mobilized the victims of economic liberalization, espouses an ideology of the free market in Syria. An alternative outcome is that those popular elements able to take advantage of economic liberalization may gradually split off from the Ba'th. For example, the skilled workers deserting the public sector for new, higher-paying private firms, as well as rich peasants able to raise their

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income on the market, could realign with the bourgeoisie in a liberal coalition. The less ambitious or skilled popular strata might then be left all the more dependent on state protection and unlikely to challenge the regime.

Conclusion The Ba'th state's weakening of independent social forces, its populist and statist constituency, its patrimonial and Leninist structures, and its independent economic base make it an obstacle to democratization. Against this, economic modernization has created a more pluralized, mobilized society and a broadened middle class, and economic liberalization is reconstituting a semi-independent bourgeoisie and revitalizing the autonomous civil society of the suq. Given the relative stalemate between forces for and against political change, elite strategies are decisive in determining the extent of political liberalization. Syrian elites are not democrats, and modest regime legitimacy makes full political liberalization too risky. But the need to advance economic liberalization and the modus vivendi with the bourgeoisie make calculated decompression a viable strategy for enhancing regime legitimacy with minimal political risks. In the short term, this appears sufficient to contain pressures for democratization. The balance of state-class forces has not been sufficiently altered, or civil society sufficiently deepened, to decompose a state enjoying the diverse power resources of the Asad regime. Indeed, in the short term, the emergence of competing social groups could put the regime in a better position to play off a divided society. In the intermediate term, the outcome of the Middle East peace process may be decisive. Acceptance of a peace offering far less than called for in UN Resolution 242 would so dissipate regime legitimacy that the regime would be poorly situated to pursue even limited political liberalization, for fear its enemies would use the issue to mobilize against it. If a peace agreement were perceived as honorable, however, Asad could invest the political capital thereby won in further liberalization; the national security state would contract; and, as capital flowed in, a larger, more independent bourgeoisie would emerge. Until Asad departs, there is little prospect of fullblown liberalization, but rivals for the succession will need to bid for the support of newly revived societal sectors. The winner may, like Egypt's Anwar Sadat, have an interest in building a base beyond the core Alawiarmy-party complex by mobilizing those desirous of change and trading political concessions for support. In the longer term, capitalist development is bound to deepen civil society, and continuing social mobilization in this context will generate

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stronger, more autonomous social forces that cannot readily be controlled except through greater political liberalization. This may well mean, as in Egypt, simply more power for the "haves." If corporatism is not to become the instrument for disciplining popular forces on behalf of capitalist development, the associations representing them must attain the autonomy to defend their interests in a postpopulist era. Conversely, the most autonomous part of civil society, the Islamic suq, must be integrated into the state without destabilizing it. Only through such a political incorporation of an autonomous and inclusive civil society can democratization advance.

Notes 1. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 1 March 1990. 2. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 1 March 1990, 14 May 1992. 3. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 18 May 1990. 4. Foreign Broadcast Information Service, 17 May 1990, p. 27. 5. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 14 May 1992. It is interesting to note the similarity between Asad's argument and that of Samuel P. Huntington in Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1968). 6. Foreign Broadcast Information Service, 9 March 1990, pp. 29-30. 7. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 5 December 1991, 14 May 1992. 8. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 9 May 1990. 9. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 17 April1990, 13 June 1990. 10. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 10 March 1990. 11. Middle East Mirror, 9 March 1992. 12. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, 14 May 1992. 13. Patrick Clawson, Unaffordable Ambitions: Syria's Military Build-up and Economic Crisis, The Washington Institute Policy Papers, 17 (1989), pp. 3-5, 10-11, 18-19. 14. To arrive at class estimates, students, whose class status is undetermined, were excluded, whereas doctors, pharmacists, engineers, judges, and lawyers were counted as upper to upper-middle class. 15. On the formation of the Ba'th state, see Raymond Hinnebusch, Authoritarian Power and State Formation in Ba'thist Syria: Army, Party and Peasant (Boulder: Westview Press, 1990), pp. 120-196. 16. Raymond Hinnebusch, Peasant and Bureaucracy in Ba'thist Syria: The Political Economy of Rural Development (Boulder: Westview Press, 1989), p. 177. 17. World Bank, Syrian Arab Republic Development Prospects and Policies 4 (1980), pp. 54, 166. 18. Syrian Arab Republic, Statistical Abstract, 1989, pp. 77, 170-171. 19. World Bank, Syrian Arab Republic, p. 88; Clawson, Una/fordable Ambitions, appendices 4 and 5. 20. Elizabeth Longuenesse, "The Class Nature of the State in Syria," MERIP Reports 9, 4 (1979), pp. 4-5. 21. Syrian Arab Republic, Statistical Abstract, 1976, pp. 151-152; 1991, pp. 76-77. 22. Jocelyne Comand, "L'Artisanat du textile a Alep survie ou dynamisme?" Bulletin d' Etudes Orientales (Institut Franc;:ais de Damas) 36 (1984), pp. 111-114.

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23. Syria's per capita income was estimated at $2,300 in 1993. When adjusted for relative domestic purchasing power of currencies, it climbs to $4,700, which places it among the richest of the Arab countries excluding the major oil producers (see Augustus Richard Norton, Civil Society in the Middle East [Leiden and New York, 1995], p. 26). According to John Waterbury, few noncommunist countries whose per capita income exceeded $4,000 (in 1988 prices) have been able to avoid pluralization. Waterbury, "Democracy Without Democrats: The Potential for Political Liberalization in the Middle East," in Ghassan Salame, ed., Democracy Without Democrats? The Renewal of Politics in the Muslim World (London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 1994), p. 24. 24. Syrian Arab Republic, Statistical Abstract, 1976, pp. 90-91, 144; 1991, pp.52,60,62, 74-76. 25. Syrian Arab Republic, Statistical Abstract, 1976, p. 784; 1991, p. 413. 26. This concept is attributed by Patrick Seale to Sadiq al-Azm. See Seale, Asad: The Struggle for the Middle East (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988), p. 456. 27. Volker Perthes, "The Bourgeoisie and the Ba'th," Middle East Report 21, 3 (May-June 1991), p. 33. 28. The Middle East, September, 1991, p. 21. 29. Quoted in Fred Lawson, "Domestic Pressures and the Peace Process: Fillip or Hindrance?" in Eberhard Kienle, ed., Contemporary Syria: Liberalization Between Cold War and Cold Peace (London: British Academic Press, 1994), p. 148.

11 Pluralism, Polarization, and Popular Politics in Yemen Sheila Carapico

Among the nations of the Arabian Peninsula, Yemen is the most populous, the poorest, and the most politically liberal. It is the only republic where sovereignty theoretically rests with its 16 million inhabitants, not with a monarch. The constitution promulgated in 1991 and amended in 1994 guarantees many basic rights and liberties to all adult citizens, including rights to vote, run for office, and join political parties. Since Yemeni unification in 1990, two rounds of contested, multiparty parliamentary elections in 1993 and 1997 involved women as well as men in the political process as voters, candidates, volunteers, and reporters. Yemenis enjoy relatively greater freedom of movement, expression, and association than most Arabs. Within the Yemeni political arena there is a wide range of legitimate political opinion, from the socialist left to the Islamist right, that cuts diagonally across the particularistic claims of region, tribe, sect, social status, or gender. Indeed, this political pluralism is more a property of society than of the state. As Volume 1 of Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World makes clear, scholars debate the applicability of democratic theory to Arab countries. In the wider comparative discourse on this topic, one almost intuitive hypothesis is that great leaders such as Mikhail Gorbachev, Nelson Mandela, V iiclav Havel, Mahatma Gandhi, or Thomas Jefferson initiate democratic ideas, rules, and practices. A second argument is that liberalization flows from exogenous influences: aid, models, investment, culture contact, "conditionality," constructive criticism, and even intervention. Third, some contend that the state apparatus or state-class, in other words the ministries, parliaments, and courts acting as an organic whole, must establish the legal-institutional framework for peaceful, competitive politics. Fourth, the leading premise in classical democratic theory is that social forces, often including middle-class professionals, students, small business owners, skilled workers, and farmers, effectively organize to

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force the government to implement meaningful reform. A fifth potential line of reasoning-that revolutionary change could transform the regionis rarely considered nowadays. There is vociferous debate over the application of the first four theories to the Arab world. The region's strongest, most dynamic, long-lived, and charismatic leaders-Gamal 'Abd al-Nasser, Muammar Qaddafi, Saddam Hussein, Hafiz al-Asad, Yasir Arafat, and in neighboring Iran, Ayatollah Khumayni-have symbolized the antithesis of Western liberalism. So one might hope for enlightened leaders but not bet on them. International influence might work, and there are programs based on this premise in Egypt, Jordan, Palestine, Yemen, and other countries. But even high standards of living and membership in what students of international relations know as the Kantian "pacific union" (the Western military alliance against "rogue" states) have not brought enlightened governance to the Gulf monarchies. Also, despite Western influence and the "moderation" of several contemporary leaders, notably Jordan's King Hussein and Egypt's President Husni Mubarak, most scholars are pessimistic about the prospects of reform within stable polities where the state-class lives on rents and the state apparatus consists disproportionately of the national security establishment. Finally, the liveliest scholarly debate is over the potential for social forces in the Arab world to imagine, articulate, and finally institute good government. For although we have some excellent critiques of the Orientalist stereotype of retrograde cultural antipathy to liberalization, we have few studies that consider the wide spectrum of political movements that have swept the Arab region in the twentieth century. Yemen is a special case, a country whose two halves were unified at the end of the Cold War and whose experience thus in different ways echoes that of reunified Germany and Vietnam, the newly independent postsocialist states of Central Asia, and the fledgling national administrations of Eritrea and Palestine. The new Yemeni polity is unquestionably more liberal and democratic than either of its predecessor states, for unification heralded competitive parliamentary elections, political parties, newspapers, voluntary associations, court battles for freedom of the press, and even more open access for foreign researchers. The question is, what is the force for this process of democratization, halting and endangered though it might be? The answer, for purposes of this chapter, is as follows. First, the Yemeni president shows little appreciation for the nuances of democratic governance. Second, the influence of the international community has been at best ambivalent, with modest Western encouragement offset by the hostility of neighboring Gulf monarchies to Yemeni unity, much less democracy and women's rights. Third, the behavior of the state-class that controls the public coffers and the military security apparatus follows a pattern

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observed in other Arab polities, namely, status quo maintenance. This leaves, by deduction as well as by evidence, the argument that civil society generates pressures for constitutionalism, representation, and tolerance. For civilians to generate a civilizing influence does not imply their unanimous a priori endorsement of liberal Enlightenment ideals; rather, civic potential lies in the very breadth and diversity of models and ideologies alive in the body politic. For within Yemen's contemporary political society, a wide array of historically rooted political tendencies vie for seats in parliament and for influence in the courts, the schools, the intellectual imagination, and public opinion.

What: Democracy Envisioned When the two Yemens united in May 1990, pluralism was built into the new system wherein the leaders of what had been the Yemen Arab Republic (the YAR, or North Yemen) and the People's Democratic Republic (the PDRY, or South Yemen) agreed to share power equally in the "transition" parliament, council of ministers, and presidential council. A constitution drafted by the nation's best jurists, adopted in popular referendum in 1991, offered a significant bill of rights and promised a democratic form of government. In addition to universal adult suffrage, the constitution guaranteed "freedom of thought and expression by speech, writing, or pictures within the law"; "equal treatment" without discrimination due to "sex, color, racial origin, language, occupation, social status, or religious beliefs"; and the presumption of "innocent until proven guilty." Political rights, including freedom of association "inasmuch as it was not contrary to the constitution," were also affirmed. The Parties and Political Organizations Law guaranteed ballot secrecy and entitled all adults to run for office and form or join political parties. Democracy was thus defined in terms of multiparty elections and guarantees of basic political rights and civil liberties. A range of parties and candidates campaigned in the 1993 and 1997 parliamentary elections, which international observers saw as flawed but fundamentally free and fair. Yet many aspects of the constitution remained open to debate: the nature of executive authority, the competence of local government, the role of the military in politics, the legal character of the family, and the relationship of legislated to religious law. The country's top leadership, those with the least to gain and the most to lose from democratic governance, lightly dismissed the accords that had brought them together, proposing amendments to the constitution soon after its ratification and acting in disregard of its provisions. Under these circumstances, and after a long, divisive, rancorous exchange of ultimatums between the Northern and Southern leaders,

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civil society generated its own proposals for a social contract. As the unity accords collapsed, a National Dialogue Committee of Political Forces, armed with resolutions from scores of local and scholarly conferences, produced an Accord of Contract and Agreement, signed in Aden on 18 January by members of the committee and in Amman, Jordan, on 20 February 1994, by the president, vice president, and speaker of parliament. It stipulated limitations on executive powers, depoliticization of the military, administrative and financial decentralization, greater independence for the judiciary, downgrading of the Ministry of Information to an office or committee, and other reforms. The national dialogue amounted to a pro-democracy movement, albeit one eclipsed by the civil war in the summer of 1994 and subsequent silencing of many dissident voices. In the interim, however, the wide range of political opinion within Yemen revealed itself openly for the first time. Although the top leaders of the three major parties were not themselves democratic and did not abide by the democratic process, among the rank and file, in the press, and in public forums citizens and political elites did engage in civil debate. The range included a well-rooted socialist legacy; a centrist party that is something of a cross between Mubarak's and Saddam Hussein's ruling organizations; a variegated Islamist movement influenced by the three major Islamic sects of southern Arabia; and other affinities for constitutional monarchy, Arab nationalism, and Western liberalism. Party Pluralism Unlike other "democratizing" systems, united Yemen inherited two ruling parties, each determined to retain power in the enlarged polity.! Temporarily, they balanced one another through control of information, security, and public assets in what seemed at first to be a bipartisan order. The ultimately victorious ruling party of the North, the General People's Congress (GPC), defies ideological characterization. After the overthrow of the last imam in 1962, North Yemen had been ruled mostly by republican officers-the last of whom, 'Ali 'Abdullah Salih, gained the helm as an unlettered lieutenant colonel in 1978 after the assassination of two predecessors in the previous year. The GPC was founded in the 1980s as an "umbrella for all political forces" within the regime and became the quasigovernmental organization of armed and civil services members until unification, when it constituted itself as a party. Its leader, who two weeks before unity warned that pluralism would be "dangerous," described the military as a democratic institution.2 Although he led the country through its first competitive multiparty parliamentary elections and tolerated considerable freedom of press, expression, and association, he favored presidential appointment over election of legislators and administrators and

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maintained power partly by appointing fellow clansmen from the Sanhan tribe of the Hashid Confederation to top military commands and partly by dispensing material favors and political sinecures. In addition to Sanhan, however, the GPC's inner circle contained educated technocrats from every major social group, some of them articulate spokesmen of the "Chicago school" recipe for paternalistic authoritarianism in the name of structural economic reform. It is, then, a liberal party in the economic sense, favoring private property and open doors, but also a party whose posters display military hardware and major state engineering projects as symbols of republican power. Since the 1994 civil war, the GPC has fashioned itself as the party of national unity. Yemen had, and perhaps still has, the Arab world's strongest, most authentic, and most enduring socialist legacy. After the rest of the region gained independence, Aden remained a Crown Colony (like Hong Kong), the hub of British military operations throughout the Middle East as well as commercial shipping between Europe and Asia. Southern Arabia became the site of a bitter liberation struggle based in the Aden syndical movement but also deeply influenced by wider Arab nationalist and early neo-Islamist currents. After London's decision to withdraw east of Suez, revolutionaries drove the semifeudal British vassals from the rural Southern Arabian protectorates and established a state based on Marxist-Leninist principles) This state, later called the People's Democratic Republic of Yemen, was ruled by what became the Yemeni Socialist Party (YSP), which dominated the ranks of the bureaucracy and armed services. Socialism also gained something of a following in the populous southern uplands of North Yemen in the 1970s, among peasants and students favoring unification with the South; it was this progressive movement in the "middle regions" that the GPC was founded to suppress. Although in the late PDRY period, South Yemenis seemed ready to vote against the ruling YSP, after 1990 many of them romanticized the PDRY, recalling law and order, jobs, stable prices, a form of local autonomy, and more freedom for women than in any other Arab country. In fact, the top leadership of the PDRY had been a querulous lot, exchanging power in bloody shoot-outs every few years, and at the time of unification was deeply divided between those who came to power in the 1986 intraparty bloodbath and those who fled. Most revolutionary-era leaders were abroad or dead. Still, in the late 1980s, during glasnost in the communist world, there was a serious critique of democratic centralism, a loosening of restrictions on the press, electoral reform, and tolerance of nonpartisan political organizations.4 After unification, the YSP articulated the most progressive, modern agenda of the three major parties. Despite the left-liberal ideological orientation of the party as a whole, however, the post-1986 leadership maintained a stronghold on the central committee,

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refused to accept the results of the 1993 elections, and ultimately launched an ill-considered irredentist movement. Although as a result of their strategic errors the party is now defeated and divided, there is still a rank and file of hundreds of thousands of Yemenis of socialist or social democratic orientation, a constituency for social welfare, women's rights, syndicalism, cooperatives, and secularism. The third major party, on the right of the political spectrum, is the Northern-based Islah (Reform) Party, encompassing the mainstream Yemeni wing of the neo-Islamist movement from Afghanistan to Algeria. There is nothing traditional about this stridently "fundamentalist" movement. Through the 1960s, the Zaydi imams of North Yemen and the Shafa'i sultans who governed parts of the South had insisted that Islam confers special political privileges and responsibility on sayyids, the aristocracy of descendants of the Prophet. The earliest waves of neo-Islamist thinking in the first half of the twentieth century, influenced by the Arab enlightenment, the Muslim Brotherhood, and Muslim innovators from Pakistan, Sudan, and Indonesia, challenged sayyid domination and religious interpretations. In context this was radical egalitarianism, part of revolutions against the traditional theocracies. This tendency, which gained credibility among the tribal and non-sayyid majorities, faded into the peasant and bourgeois revolutions of the 1960s. Unlike some countries where aging 1970s leftists subsequently embraced the radical right, Yemen's recent-vintage neo-Islamist movement flourished among the large Yemeni community in Saudi Arabia and the Gulf, which comprised the exiled colonial-era South Yemeni elite and a million-strong workforce of economic migrants. The neo-Islamist current resurfaced in the 1980s as part of a deliberate policy decision to foster the religious right against all forms of communism and socialism, similar to the policy of Israel in the occupied territories, the United States in Afghanistan, and Arab governments such as Egypt and Algeria. Proselytized inside Yemen through religious "institutes of learning" modeled on the schools in Pakistan that ultimately produced the Taliban (who in 1998 controlled most of Afghanistan), the neo-Islamist movement was encouraged by the Salih regime as part of his campaign against the unificationist left in the Southern uplands. In the mid-1980s, this puritanical Wahhabi Islamist element found a very political partnership with the famous shaikh of the Hashid tribal federation, Abdallah Bin Hussein al-Ahmar, a hero of the North's republican revolution, broker of the 1970 truce between republicans and royalists, friend of Saudi Arabia, early supporter of Salih, and spokesman for cowboy tribalism-but no Islamist. The third element in the reform coalition was some ardently anticommunist merchants who had lost property in the Southern revolution. Together, and with public and private Saudi financial backing as well as connections to the city of San'a's security establishment, they helped defeat

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the North Yemeni left by driving many of its leaders, including Marxist faculty, south into the PDRY. In an era of strict censorship, Yemen's first neofundamentalist organ, al-Sahwa, began publishing in 1986. Islah, which organized as a party after unification, is a thoroughly modem party, critical of many Yemeni religious and folk traditions, but a conservative, anticommunist party valorizing private property, family values, capital punishment, gun ownership, and close relationships with neighboring monarchies. It does not encompass the whole Islamist movement, for to its right are some militant extremists who call themselves salafis (puritans), Afghan-Arab, or advocates of jihad (holy war) on the peninsula. In addition to the three main political organizations, 40 other parties surfaced after unity, some representing historically viable ideological perspectives, others one-person efforts to secure a following, all running as "outsiders." It should be noted in this context that although many former renegades, political prisoners, and exiles were allowed to participate in politics after unity, some very prominent people, including the families of the imam and sultans and the leaders of defeated factions of the YSP, remained abroad. Still, the surfacing of tendencies reminded folks of local history. There were several strands of 1960s-style Arab nationalism. The Yemeni Ba 'th Socialist Party, very active in the revolutionary era, still had some partisans for its brand of republicanism, among them some prominent Yemeni nationalists with positions of power in the San' a government as well as Iraqi-trained officers and intellectuals. Pan-Arabism was also represented by several factions of what had been a formidable Nasserite movement in both Yemeni revolutions, defeated in the 1970s and 1980s by the left and the right, respectively, in the PDRY and the YAR. Several parties based their appeals on a combination of Yemeni traditions and regional models. One was a traditionalist Islamist group, al-Haqq (the right), whose sayyid leadership sought a revival of Zaydi theocracy. Headed by a charming, respected, elder republican quranic scholar from a famous family, al-Haqq challenged Islah's neofundamentalist wing, especially in the Zaydi heartland near the Saudi border where there was a heated contest over control of religious institutes and foundations.5 Its model seems to be a cross between the imamate and the Islamic Republic of Iran. A second party also composed mainly of Zaydi sayyids, the Federation of Popular Forces, bearer of the banner of the significant 1948 constitutional movement within the imamate and a 1965 constitutional proposal, portrayed the contemporary Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan as an appropriate modem governance model for Yemen. A third party that claimed to represent an Islamic vision harkened back to one of the prerevolutionary South Yemeni parties, the League of the Sons of Yemen (Rabitah Abna' alYaman, or RAY), whose English-educated leaders remained in Saudi Arabia throughout the PDRY era, advocating restoration (and separation) of the

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federation of sultanates of Southern Arabia along the model of the United Arab Emirates. Both San'a and Aden dubbed all three "royalist." Finally, the liberal tendency in Yemeni politics was articulated by one or two of the smaller parties, including the Unity-Nasserite Party and the Unificationist Gathering (Tajammu' al-Wahdawi) popular among some intellectuals and professionals who had become disenchanted with the YSP; by up to 1,000 independent intellectuals, including at least half of the 50 women who ran for parliament in 1993; by many journalists, attorneys, and other educated professionals across the party spectrum who organized the constitutional debates and the "peace movement"; and by a small but growing segment of the Western-educated merchant class who run franchises for international corporations. In associating political liberalism with both education and Westernization, it is necessary to distinguish the three. Only a fraction of the Yemeni intelligentsia, mainly from the generation educated in colonial Aden, know English well, for the majority were educated at Arab or East European universities. Just as some Oxford students remained true to their education while others embraced Marxism, students in Cairo or Prague became immersed in the intellectual trends in those places, and those flow into the discourses in San' a and Aden universities. The nonruling parties, several of whom formed an Opposition Coalition, and independents, who were over three-quarters of parliamentary candidates, tended to interpret democracy as a system in which figures outside the three major parties have a say in decisionmaking, as might be the case in a proportional electoral system. The smaller parties whose role in formal governing institutions was minor or nonexistent emphasized the need to strengthen the institutions of civil society.6 And, indeed, although their voice in government was limited, in extragovernmental forums they represented a kind of "missing middle."

Social Groups Ascribed status certainly affects political attitudes and activities, but not necessarily in the expected ways. Enough of the top offices in San'a are controlled by men who are Northerners, Zaydis, and Rashid tribesmen for all others-women, Southerners, Shafa'is, members of tribes other than Rashid, sayyids-to see themselves as grossly underrepresented. Members of tribes affiliated with the Bakil and Madhaj confederations thought that their larger numbers should give them more voice in the presidential and ministerial councils and more military commands, relative to Rashid. The Shafi'i (Sunni) majority who predominated along the Red Sea coast (the Tihama), the southern uplands regions of Taiz and Ibb, and the southern and eastern governorates (formerly in the PDRY) all resent the disproportionate power of Zaydi tribespeople. Southerners typically associated

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democracy with a high degree of decentralization, perhaps a federal arrangement, but within the North too, several regions continued to press historical claims for local autonomy) Even the sayyid nobility, who tended to be better educated than other groups, claimed that since the revolutions that stripped them of their former privileges they were unfairly excluded from high public office. A couple thousand professional women felt ostracized from public life by a masculinist political culture; Southern women felt stripped of their rights by the repeal of socialist legislation. AfroYemenis, including the traditionally low-status akhdam (street sweepers) and the so-called muwalidin children of African mothers and Yemeni fathers (the latter often well educated), were victims of bigotry and discrimination. Even at the height of the democratic experiment, during the 1993 electoral season, cynicism prevailed among a public conditioned to mistrust the state as a source of violence and perfidy. The 1994 armed confrontation hardly allayed these misgivings. Women in particular tend to regard government with great suspicion. My inquiries about elections, pluralism, human rights, and the like were often rejoined rhetorically with a counterquestion: "Do you believe that?" The majority condition support for their rulers on diminution of security surveillance; less resort to arms; curtailing of corruption and cronyism; truthful television and radio reporting; and, more generally, an environment where honest working folk can earn a decent living. Taxi drivers, who are a very well-organized group in Yemen as well as a perennial source of folk commentary, expressed some bemused admiration for the idea of "a peaceful transition in power." The real issues for most families were jobs and services, and many who voted did so for the party most likely to deliver to them-the GPC or YSP where they ruled, Islah through its charitable wing. Despite alienation from politics as usual and a viable potential to "withdraw" into primordial forms of association such as tribe, sect, status group, and the "harem," however, many people were also drawn to party membership, to volunteer as poll workers, and to vote in parliamentary elections. Moreover, ascribed traits like gender, tribe, and region do not predict partisan affiliations: women, Bakil, Shafa'is, and other groups are divided in party loyalties, and most parties garner some support among diverse segments of the population. Note, for instance, that Islah conducted the first nationwide women's voter-registration drive for the 1993 elections.

Why: Dictators, Donors, and Democrats Three sets of pressures conspired to launch Yemen on the rocky road toward political liberalization.s First, international and economic circum-

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stances favored unification, the necessary precondition for liberalization of either or both systems, but did not generate direct pressures for democratization. Second, both sets of leadership were in danger of collapse in 1989 and acted to save their positions in a way that led them to share power with each other, and then, to balance the other, with third parties. Finally, societal pressures starting with the unified Writers' Guild, the Aden press, and Northern intellectuals gained considerable momentum after unification, during the Gulf War, and in the lead-up to the elections, culminating in conferences and the National Dialogue that pushed leaders to uphold their promises to share power. These pressures, unfortunately, seemed to leave only two alternatives: genuine reform or civil war. Indirectly, international conditions favored unification and thus liberalization. Gorbachev's perestroika encouraged a certain "opening up" in the PDRY, both economic and political. A few years later, the end of the Cold War eliminated the Soviet assistance so essential to the PDRY's survival and the military arsenals of both Yemens and reduced Western interests in inter-Yemeni tensions. Aid from Warsaw Pact, Western, and Arab sources had plummeted even before the Gulf War cut Yemen off from most of its remaining benefactors. Simultaneously freed of Cold War tensions and driven by economic pressures to maximize returns from oil discovered along their common frontier (and from their grossly underdeveloped farm, fishing, industrial, and services sectors), both San'a and Aden had new incentives for merger.9 But the net balance of external pressure was against, rather than for, political pluralism. The main external funders of the YAR and the PDRY, respectively, Saudi Arabia and the USSR, were hardly advocates of liberalization. And the West, particularly the United States, did not wholeheartedly endorse the introduction of pluralism in Yemen. Saudi Arabia was less than enthusiastic about Yemeni unity to begin with, and its abhorrence increased after the Gulf War and in light of what it regarded as the dangerous precedent set by the elections.lO During the Gulf crisis, when the newly unified Yemen maintained a "neutrality" that looked to Riyadh like ingratitude, it not only cut assistance but revoked work permits for Yemenis in the kingdom, sending up to a million people home and precipitating a deep economic recession. Twice, later, Riyadh issued letters to international oil companies warning them against working in Yemen. No secret was made of Saudi disdain for Yemen's electoral processes, and it was often alleged, as the al-Haqq Party leader stated, that the kingdom was "pouring lots of money into Yemen to promote its own version of Wahhabist Islam," supporting in particular "various tribo-religious sectors" and "pseudo religious schools" in order to sustain "Saudi hegemony over Yemen."ll In the midst of U.S. policy proclamations about democratization and human rights, Yemen's "wrong" position on the Gulf War12 weighed more

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heavily in Washington's policy toward Yemen than elections and an improvement in human rights conditions.B Although the United States and the European Community offered some assistance to the Supreme Elections Committee, training for independent election monitors, and financing for international observers and balloting materials in 1993, the Western influence on the process was minimal. The U.S. reaction, in particular, was qualified by fear that pluralism could destabilize the peninsula; although major donors Germany and the Netherlands, along with France, more warmly welcomed the electoral process, because of their active aid programs they also took greater pains to avoid the appearance of involvement in domestic politics. There was, in short, less outside lobbying for political liberalization in Yemen than in Egypt or Jordan and far less journalistic and scholarly scrutiny. Neither of the two ruling cliques comprised enlightened democrats, either before or after unification. Both had come to power through violence, less by initiating coups than by taking cover under fire; both lacked legitimacy; and both were losing their external backing. The PDRY barely survived its last intraparty bloodbath in 1986 and was part of a dying breed of states of socialist orientation. Inside the YAR political tensions were simmering under the tight lid of security, while external relations with neighboring monarchies were slowly burning off. Dissidents from each polity sought refuge in the other's capital. Both states were tottering on the edge of bankruptcy. Unity was a very popular political cause and the only possible basis for nationalist appeals. In short, contingent power sharing was a power maintenance strategy for both regimes, each hoping to buy time and each confident of its ability to dominate the new state: the YSP by virtue of its superior organization, and the San'a regime via its larger army. Despite their promises to abide by the will of the people, between them they maneuvered to delay the elections, override the constitution, undermine contrary political movements, retain their separate pre-unity praetorian guards, and deploy these when conventional political tactics failed. Moreover, San'a and Aden each seemed loathe to negotiate their differences through constitutional mechanisms, resorting instead to unilateral threats to withdraw from the union (by the YSP) or eliminate opponents by force (from San'a). The argument advanced here, therefore, is that this sort of diagonal pluralism is a force, probably the main force, for democratization. Few parties are democratic by virtue of an a priori commitment to the U.S. Bill of Rights, but to the extent that they negotiate in the public arena, compete in the marketplace of ideas, advance alternative visions of the nature of legitimate governance, and counter governmental authoritarianism, they constitute a force for civility. The game is not a tug-of-war between dictators and democrats but a grand negotiation for space, a process of compromises and

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concessions among a plurality of interests and concerns. In the immediate aftermath of unification, the pluralism stemming from a bipartisan balance of power also represented the best hope for mediating the political differences between two ruling parties, for if left to themselves it was clear they would rather play gladiator than chess. However, instead of just the two players, there were additional contenders: Islah, not an insignificant actor if less than neutral by virtue of its historical ties to the Salih regime; the opposition parties with limited institutional representation, who could seize the initiative in this free-for-all game of kickball; and the diagonal forces of tribe and region, who in effect left the stands to join the fray on the political playing field but withdrew once the action moved to the battlefield. It was pluralism run amuck, not only not playing by the rules but uncertain of what game was being played. The balance between competition and chaos was delicate. Yet the very turbulence offered an unusual and at least potentially historic opportunity for the myriad "third" forces, bolstered by something approaching popular consensus, to advance proposals for rules of the game, for a social contract.

How: Modes of Political Competition The Republic of Yemen's "social contract" is still very much open to negotiation. As in so many countries, rulers' concessions to liberalization have been contingent on their political advantage: Regimes have signed and then superseded a series of agreements to abide by the rules of civility, established democratic processes only to supersede them, and issued laws that apply to others but not to themselves. As in the colonial, theocratic, and Cold War states that preceded it, the state-class has repeatedly resorted to violence and capricious legislation in a vain effort to rein in societal forces. Not surprisingly, under these circumstances, the formal electoral and parliamentary institutions were only one arena for politics; when state institutions failed, the center of action shifted to extra-governmental arenas. The state does not provide a legal-institutional framework for civil society; to the contrary, civil society counteracts the military state. The first major postunity crisis, in the fall of 1992, whose result was postponement of the elections, surely indicated the end of the honeymoon between the two former presidents. The GPC and its allies claimed the Southerners wanted to retain parity of representation in parliament and the Presidential Council in spite of having only a quarter of the population, and thus both the GPC and the Southerners hoped to avoid elections. Progressives countered that the GPC never intended more than token balloting and the shallowest facade of democratization. The nonruling parties, nonHashid tribes, professional syndicates, and independent political figures asserted that only constant public pressure could impel the leadership to

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implement the constitution. There were other indications of something amiss, especially a string of assassinations and attacks on leftist political figures. Yet there was also popular pressure to make the liberal experiment work. The series of mass conferences during the transition and pre-election period were both an expression of diagonal pluralism and a strong pressure to hold elections. Tribal and regional mass conferences in 1992 each issued written demands for the rule of law, pluralism, economic development, and a degree of local autonomy. At least 20 parties, 40-some syndicates and popular organizations, and independent political personalities convened a National Conference in September 1992, which issued a series of resolutions and a Code of Political Conduct. The Code's Preamble called for "free, peaceful and democratic dialogue among various segments of society, the political parties, the popular organizations, and public personalities" to "enable all the political and social forces to participate in the political decision-making process." Democracy, it continued, "whatever else it means," implies "the real contribution and participation of individuals and groups in the dynamics of society to arrive at good solutions."14 The National Conference defied the efforts of both San' a and Aden to delay, co-opt, and eventually upstage the popular event. Well publicized in the opposition press but ignored by state media, the conference issued resolutions insisting on pluralism, separation of powers, public safety, and fair multiparty elections.15 This and other conferences, both rural and urban, involving tens of thousands of people, were among the transition period's most important political developments, forcing the regime to adopt its own Code of Political Conduct, accept the principle of local elections, and adopt the rhetoric of electoral and human rights. Without unduly romanticizing the nature of these gatherings, it is fair and accurate to say they launched a nationwide debate involving men (mostly) in and beyond the three major parties. There were also several spontaneous outbursts of popular frustration. What began as a strike by Taiz taxi drivers prompted by a precipitous rise in petrol prices in December 1992 spread into generalized urban demonstrations of outrage over collapse of the value of the riyal, inadequate services, mounting unemployment, government corruption, political assassinations, and postponement of the elections.16 Along with strikes and threatened strikes by groups ranging from garbage collectors to judges, the near-riots reminded the government of the power of popular wrath, and prompted the leadership to order that elections go forward. The 1993 Elections Once the 10-day 1993 official campaign period was launched, campaigning was intense and bargaining complex. Candidates, their supporters, and

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party activists canvassed private parties, held public rallies, published platforms, and plastered walls with handbills. At the same time, deals were struck to withhold or withdraw a candidate here in favor of another there; military camps were redeployed to constituencies where soldiers' votes could affect the outcome; and in at least a handful of cases parties or candidates resorted to violence, theft of ballot boxes, or other illegal means of securing an election-day victory.17 One such incident occurred in Habur, a district of Hajjah province in the North where local tribes were affiliated with Hashid, but partisan loyalties were decidedly mixed. A university student son of Shaikh al-Ahmar, running on his family name and the Islah banner but no local or political experience, challenged a local, 40-something Socialist. During the elections the local YSP party office was attacked with rocket-propelled grenades, and armed associates of the al-Ahmar family carried off the ballot boxes. Such shenanigans in relatively few districts notwithstanding, the atmosphere of anticipation among both citizens and party leaders as the counting began confirmed that the results were not entirely a foregone conclusion. When the preliminary results were released on 1 May, the GPC had won 123 constituencies; Islah came in second with 62 seats; the YSP took 56, mostly in the former PDRY; independents had 48; the Ba'th won seven; three Nasserite parties each gained one seat; al-Haqq had two; and two remained to be decided. However, these returns resolved the neck-and-neck race for second place in a purely statistical way, since the uncertain affiliations of independents left the real balance of power unresolved. The YSP announced that in addition to party members elected, 13 socialist independents won with its support, and an additional 17 genuinely independent deputies-elect shared its "vision of the future." Some journalists calculated that Islah had some 30 supporters elected under the GPC banner, plus three independents. Many political actors and observers were also keenly aware that the outcome did not perfectly reflect the popular vote: 28 percent for the GPC, 18 percent for the YSP, 17 percent for Islah, 29 percent for independents, and the remainder for 10 smaller parties led by the Ba'th (with 3 percent) and the Unity Nasserite Party. IS In many African and West Asian countries, electoral results amount to ethnic or tribal censuses, for people support politicians from the same community or clan. In Yemen, apart from the fact that the GPC ruled in the North and the YSP in the PDRY, partisan identification cannot be reduced to parochial or regional affiliations. Of all the parties, Islah had the most "national" appeal, finishing well in virtually every province nationwide, with the YSP a close second. Within Hashid and Bakil and individual tribes within and beyond these confederations, and in regions including the Southern uplands and the Hadhramawt, indeed in most villages and many families, people voted for different party and independent candidates,l9

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In any case, no party won a clear national majority, and the division of seats mandated a coalition government. Al-Ahmar of Islah became speaker of parliament, joined in the leadership by one each from the GPC, YSP, and Ba'th. The Socialist prime minister formed a Council of Ministers representing all three major parties. President Salih remained president. This left the difficult and delicate division of seats on the five-person Presidential Council among the three coalition partners.

Constitutional Conferences In lieu of resolving this issue constitutionally, the president's office proposed far-reaching amendments to the constitution that would replace the Presidential Council with a strong president. Simultaneously and provocatively, the GPC offered to merge with the YSP. The amendments proposal from the ruling party raised a new constitutional debate that was only resolved in the end by force. The Socialist vice president, who by this time had retreated home to Aden, countered with eighteen conditions for his participation in the government. The GPC, then the Opposition Coalition, issued its own list of conditions, widening the debate still further. From this moment, there was a sharp disjuncture between the preparations of military commanders for war and the mediating efforts of civil society. The mediation project had three levels. At the top, a very elite group of prominent politicians outside the government invited representatives of the three coalition partners to join a National Dialogue Committee of Political Forces. The National Dialogue committee comprised three members from each of the leading parties, one from each of a half-dozen prominent lesser parties and the opposition coalition, and several independents, or a total of 27 men, all with national reputations, selected to represent every major region and social group from within the body politic.2o The weight of this committee needs emphasis, for it included, among others, the best-loved republican shaikhs of Rashid and Bakil, one of the authors of glasnost in the PDRY, persons who had been exiled on both sides of the border, the most reasonable of the prominent Islamists, university professors, current and former ministers, civil society activists, and nationalists of impeccable credentials. The effort had considerable credibility and was linked through its members into partisan, professional, and regional networks. On the second level, the intelligentsia-faculty, legal scholars, journalists-seized the opportunity to present research and proposals in a densely packed calendar of seminars, symposia, and round tables. There were detailed, interesting sessions on local government, the line between censorship and libel, women's rights, parliamentary systems, shari'a (Islamic law), and a range of other topics. Excerpts and full transcripts of academic papers and debates were published in the many cheap weekly newspapers

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that flooded urban kiosks, thus influencing wider discourse and ordinary conversation. Journalists and attorneys, enjoying newfound possibilities for non-civil service careers, animated their syndicates to defend the press from a string of charges brought by the Ministry of Information. Mass regional conferences-often colorful, folksy, disorganized, and contentious-considered both local and national issues. Hajjah stressed the twin issues of local government and local development.2I The al-Bayda' Meeting for the Defense of Democracy, Unity, and Justice focused on the concentration of military units in residential areas along the border region. 22 Meetings in tribal areas like Khawlan and Sa'dah called for an end to local blood feuds. Many demanded better health, education, and social services. Yet the written resolutions issued at the end of each meeting also reflected common, national themes: public safety, removal of the military from population centers, elections for local administration, judicial independence, a serious plan to limit government corruption, and the building of modem state institutions. These issues in tum were incorporated into the accords issued by the National Dialogue Committee on 18 January 1994. However, the accord went beyond popular expectations in its specific proposals. It called for limiting executive powers, fully merging and depoliticizing the armed forces, and redrawing provincial and administrative decisions. Public reaction was ecstatic: Politicians had finally produced a document expressing the popular will. Both San'a and Aden resisted pressure from the National Dialogue Committee, popular conferences, the press, and further mass demonstrations late in 1993, maneuvering to avoid signature of the accord and finally signing it abroad, in Amman, Jordan, on 20 February 1994. That same evening the first military clash of what was to be the civil war occurred in Abyan, a place near Aden where both armies were stationed in close proximity. At this crucial juncture, civil society swung into action once more. More conferences affirmed the work of the National Dialogue Committee and its proposals. Urban scholars, attorneys, and other professionals held weekly seminars to examine each section of the document. The Sa'adah, San'a, and Lahij meetings, follow-up activities from the Ibb meeting, a conference of tribes in Hadhramawt, and other gatherings in the provinces called for prompt, full implementation of the accords, and the Shabwah meeting condemned military actions and endorsed the accords.23 Even the unsuccessful Aden conference adopted as its slogan, "There is no alternative but to submit to the judgement of the dialogue as a means of achieving security and stability."24 Bakil gathered thousands of armed men clamoring for the accord, economic development, and the arrest of high-profile swindlers.25 Members of the National Dialogue Committee now met in San'a,

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Aden, Taiz, and elsewhere to plan a strategy to disable preparations for war through popular action. They devised a program of regular, peaceful, sit-in protests that began in early March under the slogans, "No to War, No to Separation, Yes to the Document." These protests were unprecedented not only because of the involvement of children, the coordinated use of simple symbols like white flags and armbands, and simultaneous action in cities and towns throughout the country, but also in the extent to which the GPC, the YSP, and other parties and organizations each tried to associate themselves with a movement that clearly represented majority public sentiment.26

The Civil War of 1994 Yet the armies, still under command of their pre-unity leaders, continued to square off, exchanging fire in a series of noisy clashes throughout the spring. While the San'a and Aden airwaves and press aired increasingly vituperative mutual recriminations, and foreign emissaries engaged top officers in "joint" discussions, preparations for war were unmistakable. Direct, army-to-army combat erupted on the evening of 4 May, when soldiers filled the darkened streets of San' a, and rocket fire spread down the backbone of the country in the wee hours of 5 May. By the time 16 "separatists" declared a provisional Democratic Republic of Yemen in the territory of the former PDRY on 21 May, Southern forces were on the defensive.27 The popular uprising they presumably anticipated failed to materialize. When the secessionist political and military commanders escaped from South Yemen to neighboring Oman in early July, their troops surrendered and the shooting ceased. Besides the top echelons of the post1986 YSP leadership, the heads of two smaller parties fled after the war: the RAY, the obvious conduit of Gulf assistance to the Socialists, and an early advocate of reseparation; and a Northern officer-shaikh in charge of one of the Nasserite factions who had been trying to overthrow Salih since his rise to power in 1978. The response of the international community to both the elections and the war was predictably ambivalent, for both were viewed against the backdrop of Gulf security considerations. Riyadh now viewed its former client with trepidation, as a large, lawless representative of the sort of Arab republicanism that has threatened Arab monarchies since the 1950s. The Saudi government abhorred the 1993 elections and female suffrage as "unlslamic," while its London-based opposition, in an Arabic journal whose English masthead is al-Jazeera at-Arabia (the Arabian Peninsula) ran an article entitled, "The Message of the Yemeni Elections to the Kingdom," praising, among other things, the participation of 700,000 Yemeni women.28

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Because of the new state's refusal to back its Desert Storm alliance, the United States all but eliminated its modest assistance program and issued a rather lukewarm statement on the 1993 elections. Some of the documents produced by U.S. elections monitors also showed a Cold War bias. The International Republican Institute's background briefing, for instance, reported that the GPC "is made up of local leaders" and that its "strength" comes "from the popularity of its members at the local level," although the party "suffered the most from the creation of new parties." The YSP, by contrast, was identified with a Marxist-Leninist, communist past, a "critical weakness," and had "lost a great deal of its active membership since abdicating its monopoly on power."29 The subdued U.S. reaction to Yemen's elections contrasted with U.S. enthusiasm for polling experiences in Kuwait.3D The Europeans, especially the Netherlands and Germany, were relatively more positive. When the marriage of convenience between San'a and the Adeni YSP leadership went sour, Riyadh and other Gulf governments were quick to capitalize on the impasse by encouraging the separatist aspirations of some Southern leaders. Top YSP figures toured the Gulf in the spring of 1994 and led their hosts to believe they were importing weapons. It seemed that the house of Ibn Saud, in particular, fancied a weak, divided Yemen.3I In the meantime, the Jordanian and Omani monarchs each invited the Yemeni president and vice president to high-level talks, and U.S., French, and British military attaches tried peace-maintenance techniques with army commanders. U.S. negotiator Robert Pelletreau arrived in early May, when the die was already cast, and caught the last commercial flight out before San' a airport was bombed. During the war, Washington called for a ceasefire, as did European governments, but no visible steps were taken to halt the fighting. Saudi patronage of the separatist movement discredited the mutineers and was one reason they marshalled so little popular support. Civilians moved out of the way of the somewhat desultory rocket exchanges, and large numbers of Southern troops surrendered without a fight. Yet once the war began, and even after it ended, San'a's armed and security forces and their plainclothes agents waged a low-intensity war against critics. Southern Adeni Socialist establishments were looted, and civil service files burned; in San'a and other Northern cities, the offices, newspapers, and homes of officers of the YSP and several other, neutral, parties, were firebombed. Journalists were detained without warrant during the war and mugged in broad daylight afterwards. Hundreds if not thousands of Socialist bureaucrats were laid off. Radical Islamists attacked Shafa'i mosques and secular hair salons. Individuals, including female professionals and the Kuwaiti charge d'affaires, were harassed. Record numbers of Yemenis applied for asylum in countries including Canada, Germany, Britain, and the United

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States. The YSP, the Ba'th, and a couple of smaller parties were split into two or more factions each, with ineffectual leadership. The constitution, suspended for 90 days during the wartime state of emergency, was amended after the war in the ways proposed by the GPC, to replace the executive council with a strong president, establish an appointive upper house of parliament, and eradicate socialist secularism as a basis of law.32 Other legislation tightened up party registration, instituted a Wahhabi personal status code reducing women to legal wards of male relatives, imposed a criminal code allowing such sentences as crucifixion and eye gouging, and further centralized local administration. After the war tens of thousands of Northern soldiers and administrators were stationed in the South, where they represented a sort of occupation army indoctrinated by the neo-Islamist anticommunist ideology that zealots learned in Afghanistan.33 Southern women endured the sanctioned harassment of soldiers, unless they accepted a proposal to be a second wife. Many people lost their jobs, and privatization tended to mean sale of local assets to carpetbaggers and scalawags. Saudi Arabia, however, offered another opportunity in the contested, oil-producing regions of Shabwa and Hadhramawt: Vehicle licenses and even passports were readily available to Yemenis in these regions. All of this was accompanied by economic austerity wrought by the cumulative effects of unpaid Cold War-era debts, the Gulf War, plunder of PDRY assets, and endemic corruption within the public sector. Pressed by foreign creditors through the Paris Club and advised in particular by the Netherlands government and the World Bank, San'a agreed to widereaching economic reforms in 1995-1996 that included privatization, streamlining the public payroll, and the removal of energy and staple food subsidies. The austerity measures and the resulting slide in the value of the riyal (which lost an average of 100 percent a year for six years) prompted street demonstrations of the sort seen in 1992 and again in 1993, wherein unemployed youth filled urban streets. The protests in San'a, Taiz, and other cities in the spring of 1996 resembled so-called IMF riots in other countries, while in the Hadhramawt candlelight vigils called attention to electrical brownouts and marches denounced police molestation of local women. Although tight security curtailed the sorts of freewheeling intellectual seminars and mass regional conferences that enlivened the 1990-1994 democratic interlude, a sort of pro-democracy movement persisted. The 1997 Parliamentary Elections By 1997, the government was motivated to hold multiparty elections as scheduled on 27 April to enable the GPC to consolidate its majority in the 301-seat parliament, to legitimize its rule in the eyes of citizens and the

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world at large, to assert Yemen's identity as a republic on an island of monarchies, and to bolster its claim to represent the popular will of the whole nation. The world community, especially the European Union (EU), had a certain stake in the elections, as indicated by millions of dollars in electionsrelated assistance, dozens of missions to train for and observe participation, and a new cooperation agreement signed by Yemen and the EU barely a week before the elections. Pleased with the effects of austerity in reducing arrears on about U.S.$9 billion in debt (over half to the former USSR), creditors also allowed a relaxation of interest rates in advance of polling. The Netherlands government, broker of the debt-restructuring package, financed civil society programs, an electricity project for Hadhramawt, and many other activities. Unified Germany, in some respects having taken Yemen under its wing, also bankrolled initiatives to strengthen both the regime and its institutions. By the same token, in early April the European Parliament called on San'a to rectify documented human rights abuses, and the Joint International Observer Group in Yemen criticized the open presence of as many as 60,000 security forces deployed for the election.34 Washington conditioned its posture on the rocky state of Yemeni-Saudi relations, which had deteriorated badly from 1990 through 1995 but improved somewhat in time for the elections. San'a had accused Riyadh of arming the separatist movement and opposition-party-in-exile (known only by the acronym MAWJ), whereas Riyadh hinted that Yemen harbored Saudi dissidents and tolerated drug- and gun-runners. As a 1934 agreement demarcating the boundary in the far west, near the Red Sea, came up for renegotiation, the monarchy pressed obscure territorial claims on its southern frontier, in the far east near the Empty Quarter, through a variety of means.35 By 1997, however, extension of the 1934 treaty, lucrative concessions to Saudi-Yemeni investors including the Bin Mahfuz family, and promises by the Yemeni government to crack down on anti-Saudi activities and publications led to a thaw in bilateral relations. Saudi Prince Sultan was rumored to have congratulated Shaikh al-Ahmar on keeping both his parliamentary seat and the speakership. The 1997 elections provide a good excuse to use the analogy of the half-empty or half-full glass. Yemeni dissidents derided the entire exercise as a mere demonstration election, pointing out that the role of parliament in lawmaking was in any case marginalized and that an upper house was in the process of being appointed. Moreover, the environment was far more restricted than in 1993, with only two of the three main parties running and only half the number of smaller parties. Only four parties won seats. The elections occurred in the context of worsening human rights circumstances criticized by Amnesty International, and 11 or 12 people lost their lives in election-related violence. The GPC controlled television, radio, the daily

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newspapers, all printing presses, security arrangements, and what Americans call "the pork barrel" (graft). Many of the other parties were under new leaders and their papers under new editors. Socialists and their allies boycotted the election because of the so-called coordination agreement between the GPC and Islah, rumored to guarantee 160 seats to the GPC and 80 to Islah, with about 60 constituencies left to the others. Consequently, turnout as a proportion of eligible voters was lower than in 1993, especially among Southern males. The process of registering 4.6 million voters and over 2,300 candidates, the polling-day experience, the ballot count, and the outcome stood up reasonably well to the scrutiny of international monitors, however, and this legitimized the experience. Some U.S. observers considered the relatively trivial retail irregularities a sort of backhanded evidence of the absence of wholesale rigging. Women were a larger share of the electorate than before, 30 percent; ran on every party banner except Islah's; and again won two seats, both in the South, the only two female parliamentarians on the peninsula. The GPC's 187 deputies, though a comfortable majority and reportedly padded with over three dozen independents in its camp, was not the suspiciously overwhelming landslide ruling parties win in some other countries, such as Egypt. Islah, now the most serious rival to the president's organization, won 53 seats, nine fewer than in 1993, mainly along the Saudi frontier, the former inter-Yemeni border region, and in places with a legacy of opposition to the GPC. Independents and other parties won a respectable 54 seats, apparently guaranteeing some opposition within the Chamber of Deputies. Donors were pleased to see the business community well represented. A member of the Akhdam strata was elected as such. The response of international monitors was similar to that of 1993, with the American National Democratic Institute issuing a qualified positive report; many Western journalists applauded the mere fact of holding multiparty elections in the Arabian Peninsula and took special note of female participation.36 In the end, Islah-having in the interim boasted of being the first party of Islamist orientation to enter government through the ballotbox-complained that the ruling party reneged on its agreements. Leading neoWahhabis suffered embarrassing defeats. The GPC's simple majority in parliament enabled it to constitute the Council of Ministers. Yet, in a magnanimous gesture, an independent became prime minister. One portfolio went to a non-GPC member-and this one, Awqaf (Islamic endowments), to al-Haqq, an obvious slap in the face to the religious wing of Islah because it symbolically restored administration of Islamic endowments to Zaydi sayyids. In advance of the elections, and after announcing his candidacy for the first national executive elections in 1999, Salih exercised his newly given constitutional authority to appoint 59 men to the Consultative

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Council or Senate, chaired by a GPC stalwart. The appointments were very wisely made to include a wide spectrum of prominent personalities. By the summer of 1997, parliament and the ministries were the province of GPC loyalists, as they had been before unity. As elsewhere in the region, it seemed that now that the left was in full retreat, an administration could move to reduce the influence of the ideological right. (See Table 11.1.)

Table 11.1 Results of 1993 and 1997 Yemeni Parliamentary Elections, 301 Constituencies Party

1993

1997

General People's Congress Yemeni Reform Grouping Yemeni Socialist Party Yemeni Ba'th al-Haqq N asserite-Unity N asserite-Democratic Nasserite-Correctionist Independents (nonpartisan)

123 62

187

56 7 2 1 1 1 48

53 0 2 0 2 0 0 54

Source: Supreme Elections Committee (San'a).

Conclusion The evaluation of democratization thus depends on the timeline and universe of comparison. Compared with classical Western idealism that some Yemenis do apply, it is pretty bad; against the record of neighbors like Sudan, Somalia, Bahrain, and Iraq, it is pretty good. The trajectory is uneven and unstable, with mixed policies of liberalization and corporatism reflecting the diverse domestic and international pressures on a regime whose main objective is to remain in power. Outside pressures will almost certainly continue to privilege Saudi security and investor confidence over political liberties, and as long as opponents can be dismissed as communists, Ba'thists of Iraqi persuasion, Shi'ites with Iranian connections, or Islamic fundamentalists, the West will tolerate a "reasonable" level of oppression. San'a knows the risks of underestimating the country's diverse social and political forces. For despite intimidation of independent and opposition parties and publications, political movements in Yemen have a certain longevity, and there are many legacies and alternative centers of legitimacy

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to be dealt with. The president, whose genius has always been for cultivating influential critics, demonstrated a keen appreciation for this fact in appointing to the Consultative Council not GPC cronies but prominent independents such as several members of the National Dialogue Committee, including the two initiators and at least one Socialist; some prominent Islamists defeated in the election; the longtime ambassador to the United States and former prime minister, an old Ba'thist; and the editor of the Yemen Times who had won an international press award after several detentions and beatings. Beneath the parliamentary level, the government needs to cope with the real, rooted tendencies within its own educational and court systems, which include valuable professionals trained in a range of Islamic, socialist, Arab nationalist, and Western settings, and with the capacity of women, Zaydis, Bakil, Hadhramis, and others to withdraw into "promordial" circles not fully penetrated by the state. One of the contradictions in Yemen is that almost everybody has guns, but only forces commanded by the ruling cliques seem to be using them. Tribes acting as such do sometimes engage in a form of banditry known as "cutting the road," and it is a serious problem for oil companies and tourists in the east and southeast that local men hijack cars and sometimes take foreign hostages. These forms of banditry are so ritualized that the Associated Press ran a humorous account, and instances of physical harm are rare.37 Despite some very deep resentments and good opportunities, however, tribesmen armed with kalaznikovs and bazookas have not engaged in extended armed rebellion since colonial days. To the contrary, even for the sheep ranchers, small farmers, and military reservists who constitute "the tribes," the preferred modes of political expression have been the mass conference and the ballot box. In cities, where thousands of men, women, and even children gather unarmed for political events, security agents perpetrate most of the criminal and political violence. Yet the regime's capacity to rule by the sword is not unlimited, for as small individual tribes show when they detain foreign guests or their all-terrain vehicles, the state can barely police its own oil fields. Yemen provides an interesting case where a popular militia may need to protect communities from the central government. What does the case of Yemen, so different from others in the region, tell us about prospects for democratization in the Arab world? A few things, perhaps. First, the range and variation of political orientation are quite wide, encompassing various national, Arabian, pan-Arab, and internationalist ideologies. The ebb and flow of political currents is considerable, and each wave molds the contours of the landscape. Gravity is not the only political force. Second, in the context of political pluralism a constitutional debate has been under way for more than two generations, one that is not simply about tradition and modernity or about secularism and Islam or

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about tribe and nation but about all these things and more. The discourse of this debate well and truly blends classical Arabic concepts like shura (consultation) with terms that came to Arabic from the Greek philosophers, including dimuqratiyya (democracy) and terms translated from contemporary usage abroad, such as huquq al-insan (human rights). Third, although participation in the institutions and opportunities offered by government is one option, withdrawal and rebellion are also possibilities for a politically weary and wary citizenry. Compared with other regional states whose superstructures rest on a legacy of colonial institutions and the fiscal foundation of oil rents, then, as an adolescent state whose hegemony over civil society is by no means guaranteed and whose geographic boundaries have yet to be mapped, Yemen may be the one country where a regime can be forced to move, incrementally and unwillingly, to incorporate the real pluralism of its society into the practice of statecraft. For, lastly, although Yemen is certainly one of the region's "softest," most fragile state structures, its recent experience also serves as a reminder to the whole Arab world that just as rulers' concessions to democratization are contingent, so too are the loyalties of a public whose aspirations for state civility are continually thwarted.

Notes 1. On their rivalry, see Michael C. Hudson, "Bipolarity, Rational Calculation, and War in Yemen," in Jamal S. al-Suwaidi, ed., The Yemeni War of 1994: Causes and Consequences (Abu Dhabi: Saqi Books, 1995), pp. 19-32. 2. On the history of contemporary Yemeni parties, see Ilham M. Manea, Alahzab wa-l-tanzimat al-siyasiya fi-l-Yaman (1948-1993) [Parties and Political Organizations in Yemen, 1948-1993] (San'a: Kitab al-Thawabit 2, 1994). For the party platforms, consult Rashad M. Al-Alimi and Ahmed A. Al-Bishari, Al-Baramaj al-lntikhabiyya l' al-Ahzab w' al-Tanzimat al- Siyassiyya fi al-Jumhuriyya alYamaniyya: Darasa Maqarana [The Electoral Programs of the Parties and Political Organizations in the Republic of Yemen: Comparative Studies] (San' a: Athawabit Books, 1993). 3. On the PDRY revolution, see Fred Halliday, Arabia Without Sultans (Middlesex, UK: Penguin Books, 1979); and Halliday, Revolution and Foreign Policy: The Case of South Yemen 1967-1987 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1990). 4. For other background, see Charles Dunbar, "The Unification of Yemen: Process, Politics, and Prospects," Middle East Journal 46, 3 (Summer 1992), pp. 456--476. 5. Shelagh Weir, "A Clash of Fundamentalisms: Wahhabism in Yemen," Middle East Report 204 (July-September 1997), pp. 22-23, 26. 6. See, for instance, the interview with Muhammad Rawah Sa'id, of the Federation of Popular Forces, Yemen Times, 30 September 1992, p. 3. 7. On the history of center-periphery relations, see Sheila Carapico, Civil

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Society in Yemen: The Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998). 8. For further background on the unification agreement, see Robert D. Burrowes, "Oil Strike and Leadership Struggle in South Yemen: 1986 and Beyond," Middle East Journa/43, 3 (Summer 1989), pp. 437-453; Gregory Gause, "Yemeni Unity: Past and Future," Middle East Journal42, 1 (Winter 1988), pp. 33-47. 9. Sheila Carapico, "The Economic Dimension of Yemeni Unity," Middle East Report 184 (September/October 1993). 10. Mark Katz, "Yemeni Unity and Saudi Security," Middle East Policy 1, 1 (1992), pp. 117-135. 11. Interview with Ahmad Muhammad Bin 'Ali al-Shami, Yemen Times, 1 July 1992, p. 3. 12. For some further details, see Sheila Carapico, "Elections and Mass Politics in Yemen," Middle East Report 185 (November/ December 1993). 13. On these conditions, see George Lerner for Middle East Watch, "Yemen: Steps Toward a Civil Society," 4 November 1992 and 10 November 1992. 14. An English translation of the "The Code of Political Conduct" appeared in Yemen Times, 23 September 1992, p. 10. 15. Renaud Detalle, "The Yemeni Elections Up Close," Middle East Report 185 (November/December 1993). 16. Eric Watkins, "Yemen's Riots Prompt Talk of Reform," Middle East International 444 (19 February 1993), p. 18. For analysis, see Abdu Sharif, "Yemeni Unification: Perspective on Economic Crisis and Political Conflict," presentation to the International Symposium on Economic Cooperation and Reunification, Pusan, South Korea, 29-30 September 1995. 17. See the Islah expose of electoral malpractice by Hamud al-Hitar, "Primary Report on the Yemeni Elections Issued by EPC of the Unity and Peace Conference," Unity and Peace Conference (UPC) Election Protection Committee (EPC), 5 May 1993. 18. For analysis of the electoral process, see Iris Glosemeyer, "The First Yemeni Parliamentary Elections in 1993: Practicing Democracy," Orient 34, 3, pp. 439-451. 19. For further discussion, see Paul Dresch and Bernard Haykel, "Stereotypes and Political Styles: Islamists and Tribesfolk in Yemen," International Journal of Middle East Studies 27,4 (November 1995), pp. 405-431. 20. Al-Hayat, November 23, 1993, pp. 1, 4; Al-Sharq al-Awsat, December 16, 1993, p. 1. 21. Al-Multaqa al-jamahiriyya al-awal abna' muhafaza Hajjah [The First Popular Conference of the Sons of Hajjah Governorate], conference resolutions, January 1994. See also Sawt al-'Ummal, February 3, 1994, p. 5. 22. Sawt al-'Ummal, January 20, 1994, p. 1; al-Mustaqbal, February 6, 1994, p. 2. 23. 22 May, 16 February, 1994, p. 3. 24. Sawtal-'Ummal, 17February, 1994,p.l. 25. See also Sheila Carapico, "Yemen Between Civility and Civil War," in Augustus Richard Norton, ed., Civil Society in the Middle East, vol. 2 (New York: E. J. Brill, 1996), pp. 287-316. 26. See press accounts in newspapers that heretofore rarely covered the same events: al-Thawra, 11 March 1994, p. 1; al-Wahda, 9 March 1994, pp. 1, 2; alShura, 6 March 1994, pp. 1, 2; and also al-Ayyam, 9 March 1994, pp. 1, 2.

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27. See Chuck Schmitz, "Civil War in Yemen: The Price of Unity?" Current History (January 1995), pp. 33-36. On military maneuvers, see David Warburton, "The Conventional War in Yemen," Arab Studies Journal 3, 1 (1995), pp. 20-44; Joseph Kostiner, Yemen: The Tortuous Quest for Unity, 1990-1994 (London: Chatham House, 1996). 28. Fu'ad Ibrahim, "Risala al-Intikhabat al-Yamaniyya ila al-Mamlaka" (The Message of the Yemen Elections to the Kingdom), al-Jazira al- 'Arabiyya 29, 3 (June 1993), pp. 23-25. 29. International Republican Institute, "1993 National Elections in the Republic of Yemen: Political Background Briefing," January 1993, pp. 7-10. 30. Ahmed Noman Almadhagi, Yemen and the United States: A Study of a Small Power and Super-State Relationship 1962-94 (London: I. B. Tauris, 1996), p. 153. 31. For further analysis, see Robert D. Burrowes, "The Yemeni Civil War of 1994: The Impact on the Arab Gulf States," pp. 71-80; and Mark N. Katz, "External Powers and the Yemeni Civil War," pp. 81-93, both in al-Suwaidi, ed., The Yemeni War of 1994: Causes and Consequences (Abu Dhabi: Saqi Books, 1994). 32. The Constitution of the Republic of Yemen and Yemen Human Rights Organization Basic Statute, Yemen Human Rights Organization Publication no. 1, San'a, January 1995. 33. Including, inter alia, the sermons of 'Abd al-Majid al-Zindani to Northern troops in April 1994 and a wartime fatwa from Abdullah al-Daylimi giving them "permission" to the women of Aden. See Sheila Carapico, "From Ballotbox to Battlefield: The War of the Two 'Alis," in Middle East Report 190 (SeptemberOctober 1994), p. 27. 34. See Economist Intelligence Unit, Yemen Country Report, first quarter 1997. 35. Petroleum Finance Market Intelligence Service, Yemen: Border Disputes and Relations with Saudi Arabia (Washington, D.C.: Petroleum Finance Company, May 1992). 36. National Democratic Institute, "Statement of the National Democratic Institute for International Affairs (NDI) Pre-Election Assessment Delegation," San'a, 23 March 1997; and "Preliminary Statement of the NDI Observer Delegation to the April 27, 1997 Parliamentary Elections in the Republic of Yemen," San'a, 30 April1997. 37. Anthony Shadid, "Yemen Called Kidnap Capital," Associated Press, [email protected], 25 April1997.

12 Conclusion: Liberalization, Democratization, and Arab Experiences Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble

In the early 1990s, the political changes under way in the Arab world excited growing interest from scholars, who wondered whether the region might undergo some of the political transformation experienced by Latin America, Eastern Europe, and parts of East Asia and sub-Saharan Africa. By the latter half of the 1990s, this optimism for some seemed misplaced, with remarkably little of so-called third wave democratization reaching this particular part of the developing world. The general impression left by the contributions to this book is that expectations should best be set somewhere between these two extremes. On the one hand, the last decade has seen very important political changes in a region where democracy has been the exception rather than the rule for most of the postcolonial period. Collectively, the case studies herein confirm a point made in the first volume of this series: namely, that discourse on democracy has become widespread throughout the area. I The emphasis placed by regimes on the "democratic" character of their systems confirms that the very language of dimuqratiyya has come to acquire considerable symbolic value in regional politics as a standard against which political processes and structures are measured. On the other hand, little of contemporary Arab politics could be described as fully democratic. Even many of the high points of the 1990s-the reactivation of parliaments in Jordan and Kuwait, or historic elections in Palestine, postunification Yemen, or post--civil war Lebanon-demonstrate as many disappointments and limitations as they do breakthroughs and new departures. Understanding why this has been so and what prospects might exist for more far-reaching political reform requires a comparative examination of the cases presented. In so doing, this final chapter revisits the three core questions of the analytical framework that have structured the contributors' various analysis, namely What is democracy, or more accurately, how has it 267

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been portrayed and understood; Why liberalization and democratization have come about (if at all) in each of the countries studies; and How this process has unfolded.

What: Defining (and Defying) Democracy As noted both in the Introduction and by various contributors to Volume 1 of this series, attempts to explore, much less assess, varied notions of democracy immediately run into several difficult obstacles.2 The first, normative and epistemological in character, concerns the definition of democracy itself. On the one hand, rigid definition gives rise to potential ethnocentrism, such that only "our" democracy is recognized as a possible model, and indigenous variants are rejected for departing from it. On the other hand, too much flexibility allows almost any political system to claim the mantle, thereby giving rise to an ambiguous relativism that denudes the term of both its conceptual utility and any desired moral force. A second and related dilemma concerns the relative importance of what has generally been referred to as "political culture." Put simply, do political attitudes and societal concepts of democracy matter, or are structural and other factors more important? If ideas and attitudes do matter, how much do they matter, and how best can we examine their causal impact in shaping politics? The preceding empirical case studies shed valuable light on these questions. Democracy and Pluralism

In these volumes, we have repeatedly emphasized the difference between liberalization (involving an expansion of public space and political liberties) and democratization (involving an expansion of political participation and political accountability). This distinction proves to be an important one: Although some Arab countries have experienced a significant (if still limited) degree of the former, there has been, by contrast, very little of the latter. The result has been the emergence of ta 'addudiyya (pluralism, albeit in constrained form, or multipartyism) without dimuqratiyya (democracy). In Egypt, for example, a varied press and vibrant civil society exist, but under various legal constraints, occasional repression, and a constitutional process marked by a weak parliament and some electoral irregularities. In Jordan, fewer measures are taken against the opposition, but civil society is still remarkably self-censored; elections are fair and free, but the monarch enjoys a very substantial degree of prerogative and power. In Kuwait, political debate has flourished since the 1990-1991 Gulf War, with the opposition sometimes dominating parliament; however, the opposition has also

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been constrained, the ruling family influential, and the electoral franchise restricted to a minority of the population. In Lebanon, the Ta'if Accord brought an end to the civil war; however, both the 1992 and 1996 elections were marred by irregularities, the government has shown periodic intolerance of opposition, confessionalism remains entrenched, and Syrian political influence remains powerful. In Morocco, liberalization has seen expanded public space but no real diminution of the substantial powers of the monarch. Elsewhere in the region, the picture is less mixed and more authoritarian. In Algeria, liberalization unleashed social forces that so alarmed the old guard: the result has been an aborted democratization process amidst a bloody civil war. In Sudan, liberalization and democratization also unleashed destabilizing forces, in this case creating deep social cleavages that ultimately overwhelmed reform. In Syria, by contrast, there has been little political opening, although there has been a significant degree of economic liberalization. In short, to the extent that the Arab world has experienced political reform, it has been toward ta 'addudiyya rather than dimuqratiyya. But what accounts for this?

Contextualizing "Political Culture" This question brings us to the second thorny issue raised above: that of political culture. Certainly, attitudes seem to play some role in shaping political outcomes. Yet there is clearly not some timeless and overarching Arab-Islamic political "culture" that determines the politics of the region. If this were true, one would expect political homogeneity rather than the heterogeneous group of political systems that characterize the Arab world today. Instead, the case studies reveal complex societies that offer an array of political ideas and a range of social views on how state-society relations might be ordered. In Chapter 7 on Morocco, for example, Bahgat Korany notes the simultaneous existence of both "modern" and "traditional" conceptions-the former emphasizing constitutionalism and multipartyism, the latter emphasizing the role of the monarch as both "commander of the faithful" and the neopatrimonial makhzen (warehouse) from which political patronage and benefits flow. Similarly, in Chapter 8 Rex Brynen suggests the history of Palestinian nationalist mobilization reveals a variety of conceptions of both populism and democracy, both complementary and contradictory. In Chapter 6 on Lebanon, Judith Palmer Harik points to both the intolerances and tolerances that arise within that plural society. What is important to recognize in all of these cases is that this array of ideas itself reflects both the complex interaction among underlying social

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forces and the existing constellation of political power. In Chapter 5, Jill Crystal and Abdallah al-Shayeji demonstrate this well in the Kuwaiti case: The historical political quietism of the merchant class arises from particular circumstances, having been "bought" (or more accurately "rented") during the boom days of Kuwaiti rentierism. At the same time, Kuwait's underlying social structure has sustained a degree of practical pluralism thatunder changed conditions-manifests itself as demand for a return to more representative and participatory politics. The decline in oil revenues and the Iraqi invasion encouraged the decline of the former quietism and a (re )emphasis of the latter impulse. In Chapter 9 on Sudan, Ann M. Lesch demonstrates how "traditional" social cleavages were reinforced and given greater voice by the particular patterns of liberalization and democratization that took place in the period after the 1985 overthrow of Ja'far alNumayri. This same process could be seen, in a somewhat different form, in Lebanon. There, elite bargaining resulted in the 1943 National Pact and its resurrection in the 1989 Ta'if Accord-consociational agreements that institutionalized the country's communal divisions and hence assured the continued social salience of sectarianism. In Jordan, today's apparently widespread social acceptance of the monarchy arises not from its "traditional" roots-both the monarchy and the country itself are colonial inventions of the early 1920s-but rather from the bitter political conflicts of the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970-1971, which convinced most social actors that a stable and fairly liberal monarchy was preferable to either repression or civil strife. These findings-namely, that political behavior is shaped to a substantial degree by political context and that political attitudes are often adaptive or responsive to social settings-are replicated when one examines the experience of lslamist movements. Echoing the argument presented by Gudrun Kramer in Volume 1, it is clear that both pluralist and antipluralist tendencies can be found in the writings and pronouncements of Islamist groups, which themselves vary in important respects.3 In those settings where Islamists groups have been given the greatest opportunity to participate in electoral politics (Jordan, Kuwait, Yemen), they have done so moderately. In those cases where participation is constrained (Egypt), a more confrontational relationship between state and Islamist opposition can easily become a self-fulfilling prophecy. Amid settings of growing political confrontation and chaos, Islamist groups can be just as opportunistic and equally repressive as other actors, if given access to the appropriate levers of power (Sudan). Where the state has actively suppressed the Islamist political activity, violence and counterviolence have become the norm (Algeria). This is not to say, of course, that Islam does not matter in shaping the behavior of an Islamist group. Obviously it does, particularly regarding the objects, symbols, and issues of value to the group's leaders

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and supporters. It is to say, however, that the self-described Islamist character of a movement tells us nothing useful about its behavior unless placed in the appropriate political and social context.

Why: Initiating Reform Regime openings can be driven by overwhelming mass pressures ("from below"), by external imposition ("from outside"), or as part of an initiative voluntarily taken by existing authoritarian elites ("from above"). In the cases studied here, Algeria's bloody process and Sudan's 1986-1989liberal democratic experiment are clearly examples of "reform from below," in the Sudanese case the overthrow of Ja'far al-Numayri. Palestine might be termed a case of liberalization and partial democratization "from outside," not in the sense that democratic political structures were unwanted by or imposed upon local actors, but rather because they have their institutional origin in diplomatic agreements between the Palestinian leadership and Israel. Lebanon and Yemen defy clear categorization: In the former case the return to parliamentary life followed civil war and a subsequent (externally mediated) peace accord; in the latter case it grew out of the unification of two formerly sovereign republics. All the rest of the cases of reform presented herein, however, constitute liberalization "from above." The changing political economy of the region has been an important trigger for this. In some cases, the decline of rentierism (in Algeria, Jordan, and Kuwait) has been a factor, as regimes have looked to other mechanisms to co-opt support as the resources available for political patronage have shrunk. More broadly (including in Egypt and Morocco), the introduction of some degree of economic liberalization and structural adjustment has also provided a motive for political reform, with liberalization and a limited expansion of political participation intended to diffuse responsibility for painful economic reforms or quell the social tensions arising from economic adjustment by offering the quid pro quo of greater political freedom. By labeling these cases as examples of liberalization "from above," we do not suggest that regime decisions were unconnected to significant popular demands "from below": The 1988 economic riots in Algeria, the 1989 riots in Jordan, or the domestic pressures on the al-Sabah family arising from the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait are cases in point. Faced with a potential social explosion, an Algerian government bereft of political resources chose the route of political opening. In Jordan and Kuwait the incumbent regimes were perhaps in stronger positions but under substantial social pressures nonetheless. However, it is also clear that reforms in Algeria, Egypt, Jordan, Kuwait, and Morocco have all assumed the character of

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what Daniel Brumberg referred to in Volume 1 as a "political survival strategy." The most important characteristic of such reform is that it is not intended to substantially devolve power or to weaken the control of existing authoritarian elites; on the contrary, it is intended to protect, preserve, and even enhance it by restructuring the political support base of the regime. Regarding Morocco, Korany observes that pluralism is reduced to mere formality that cannot affect royal monopoly. In the Kuwaiti case, Crystal and al-Shayeji suggest that "exclusionary and inclusionary politics, rather than being opposites, [are] in fact intimately related." In this process, playing the political game is typically made dependent on playing by certain rules, central among them accepting fundamentals of the existing political order. It is unclear, however, whether existing regimes can manage this process indefinitely. Economic challenges may increasingly limit the patronage at a regime's disposal, a process that Crystal and al-Shayeji note is at work in the Gulf. Other sources of political dissatisfaction-for example, discontent arising in both Jordan and Palestine from an uncertain ArabIsraeli peace process-can also challenge governments, leading them to slow down or even reverse the process of liberalization. Perhaps the most serious threat of all is that (as has happened in countries ranging from Augusto Pinochet's Chile to much of Eastern Europe) political liberalization itself unleashes new social and political forces with which the old regime is unable to contend. This was certainly the case in Algeria, where the army and National Liberation Front old guard responded to the threat of an Islamist victory by suppressing the 1991 parliamentary elections. Regarding Syria, as Raymond A. Hinnebusch notes in Chapter 10, it is a parallel fear that motivates the decision of the Syrian Ba'th to engage in a modest "calculated decompression" rather than any broader liberalization that might ultimately destabilize the regime.

How: The Politics of Political Opening In analyzing how political openings unfold as they do, the interplay between the state and civil society becomes crucial. 4 The cases studied herein suggest that this process has both "zero-sum" and "positive-sum" characteristics. These two characteristics have often been portrayed in the academic literature as contending theoretical approaches, the former emphasizing "state-society relations" and the latter conceptualizing the relationship in terms of the "state and society" or the "state in society." The case studies here, however, suggest that these are best seen not as competing perspectives but rather as two sides of the same complex coin.

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The State Versus Civil Society The growth of multiple centers of autonomous social institutions counterweighs the power of the state, sustaining greater pluralism and providing an organizational foundation for the articulation of various group interests. Autonomous social organization also provides a possible framework for resisting authoritarian state power or perhaps forcing the state elites into an accommodation with influential social groups. It is for this reason that state elites may view the growth of civil organizations with alarm and therefore attempt to constrain their growth or autonomy. In the most authoritarian systems, this may be accompanied by a combination of exclusionary and inclusionary corporatism: exclusion through the suppression or prohibition of "undesirable" groups and "inclusion" of other, unthreatening institutions through the maintenance of statecontrolled professional associations and trade unions. This, as Hinnebusch notes, has long been the pattern in Syria. However, although this model may be effective at preventing the emergence of formally organized autonomous social formations, it does not (in the absence of massive repression) have similar effects on informally organized social formations, such as families, clans, tribes, and even communal groups. Tight constraints of this sort also inevitably stifle policy debates and the generation of new ideasan outcome with negative implications for economic innovation and development, as even the Syrian leadership seems to have noted. Elsewhere in the region, a different model is frequently employed by regimes alarmed at potential challenges from within civil society but reluctant to use wholly repressive measures to deal with this challenge. Instead, an array of other policy instruments has been utilized, generally in combination:

• Legal and regulatory arrangements. Although these fall short of direct corporatist state control, they may allow for selective government intervention. The Egyptian government's 1993 Law to Guarantee Democracy in Professional Associations permits the government to control the boards of professional associations when voter turnout is repeatedly low and is clearly intended to blunt Islamist successes in association elections. Palestine's proposed nongovernmental organization (NGO) law is another prime example cited in the case studies: Early drafts required government registration, required government approval for foreign donations, and permitted the Palestinian Authority to withdraw registration at will. • State patronage. Such patronage is designed to co-opt and hence neutralize civil associations. This pattern has been particularly common in rentier and semirentier states (where state resources are

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overwhelming) and in monarchies (where royal patronage is a frequent feature of the largest and most important associational groups)-a point underscored by the case studies of Kuwait, Jordan, and Morocco presented herein. • Divide and rule strategies. Another frequent state tactic has been to weaken some associational groups by encouraging their internal fragmentation or by promoting state-supported alternatives. Although the latter groups may enjoy less political credibility than the more autonomous alternatives they are intended to displace, their superior access to state resources may provide countervailing benefits. • Control of information. Without access to an open media, the ability of civil associations to mobilize support or articulate a social project is limited. Widespread censorship and self-censorship, as well as outright government ownership of many media organs (particularly in the broadcast sector), reflect state realization of this fact. • Intimidation. Short of outright suppression, the state can also attempt to stunt the growth of autonomous social organization by intimidating activists who demonstrate too great a proclivity to question the status quo. Such intimidation can be overt-periodic Egyptian arrests of Islamist NGO activists would be a case in point. However, intimidation may be more subtle, with even a "routine" police visit sending signals to NGO organizers that they risk overstepping the red lines of tolerated political behavior. Ironically, many of these state countermeasures, taken to blunt the growth of autonomous social and political groups, may have the least effect in the sector where many regimes have increasingly focused them: among Islamist organizations. Drawing upon the established network of Islamic charitable groups, able to make use of the communication mechanisms of mosque and religious instruction, and using symbols and ideological language with potential mass appeal, Islamist organizations may be among the most resistant to state efforts to manage associationallife. Synergy: The State and Civil Society The assessment above underscores that the growth of civil society can be (and often is) seen by authoritarian state elites as a zero-sum process, whereby greater civil autonomy challenges the power of the existing regime. Regime countermeasures reflect this. At the same time, however, the relationship between state and civil society can also be a synergistic one. Indeed, without the state it may be difficult for civil society to flourish and develop in a productive way.

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Perhaps the clearest negative examples of this can be found in Lebanon and Sudan: In both cases, growing mobilization and associational activity assumed sectarian and factional form, ultimately overwhelming the weak state. The result in both cases was bitter civil conflict. Yemen presents further evidence: There, lack of agreement on the framework of the new state between former Northern and Southern elites also resulted in a period of civil war. In Palestine, the proto-state holds responsibility for the maintenance of security and public order. Although it is true that its efforts to do so have tarnished the Palestinian experiment with liberalization and democratization, it is also clear that failure to do so could result in the collapse of both the peace process and the very Palestinian polity that has come to depend on it. More positive examples can be found in Egypt, Jordan, and Kuwait. In Egypt, a degree of judicial independence has sometimes been important in keeping open a space for civil society. In Jordan, the constitutional character of the monarchy and the general respect for the rule of law has also been important in encouraging pluralism. Much the same could be said in Kuwait, where the institutionalization of the National Assembly is an important safeguard for continued political liberalization and future democratization. In short, just as the state can restrict pluralism, it can also uphold it, protecting free speech, free assembly, free association, and other critical rights. Conceptualizing the relationship between state and society as a synergistic one also highlights another key issue: the weaknesses of civil society itself. Too often in the region, associational groups willingly partake of state patronage, muting their articulation of social interests accordingly. Furthermore, relatively few associational groups-like many political parties-are organized along democratic lines internally; instead, many are based on neopatrimonial networks or on communal identities and hierarchies. From a zero-sum conception of the state and civil society this may not matter much, of course. Indeed, there is some comparative evidence to suggest that more centralized groups are better able to strategize their interactions with an authoritarian state.5 However, in terms of the synergistic interconnections that democratic consolidation requires, authoritarian civil associations are in little position to inculcate the values of democratic participation. The Peculiar Dynamics of Monarchical Liberalization

One final and rather different observation that might be made about how political liberalization has unfolded in the Arab world concerns the role of the monarchy. In Jordan, Kuwait, and Morocco alike the king (or amir, in the Kuwaiti case) has played a key role at the center of the process. On the one hand, this has slowed democratization: Clearly, none of these monarchs

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intends to surrender substantial royal prerogative to an elected, effective, and truly representative parliament. In all three cases, written constitutions provide a legal underpinning for the exercise of such royal power. On the other hand, the absence of widespread opposition to the institution of the monarchy-in the Jordanian case, one might even speak of widespread support for it-has a certain stabilizing impact on what might otherwise be an uncertain process. In other transitions, political pacts have been necessary to establish a modus vivendi between old authoritarian elites and opposition forces.6 In the absence of such agreements, political competition and conflict can overwhelm fragile transitions, or skittish authoritarian elites can halt the process altogether. In the Middle East, lack of general agreement on the rules of the game was fundamental to the military coup that ended Sudan's democratic experiment in 1989, to the military termination of parliamentary elections in Algeria in 1991, and to the eruption of the civil war in Yemen in 1994. Conversely, agreement on the political rules was essential for the ending of the Lebanese civil war and the return to constitutional and parliamentary life there. What is interesting about the monarchies is that they appear to be in a position to establish many of these rules and to thereby act simultaneously as both interested players and far-from-impartial umpires in the political reform process. This observation, perhaps, only holds true for stable and well-entrenched monarchies; the process was rather more difficult in the 1960s and 1970s when both the Jordanian and Moroccan monarchies faced serious challenges from within. Today, however, both King Hussein and King Hassan face little major internal threat, both employ palace patronage with considerable political skill, and, indeed, both may be seen by many citizens as preferable to the uncertainty that might exist in their absence. What are the implications of all this? We cannot conclude that this pattern will hold true across the region; after all, Jordan, Kuwait, and Morocco have long histories of at least some form of both parliamentarianism and constitutionalism, however constrained. By contrast, these legal institutions and traditions do not exist in most of the Gulf monarchies. Moreover, it is not clear whether, in the long term, the monarchical institutions established within some Arab countries will ease future reform (by providing greater stability), delay it (by controlling its progress), or act as a serious obstacle (given the difficulty of reconciling monarchy and democracy). It is also not clear that monarchs can continue to be both umpire and player; they may be delegitimized by internal or external crisis, or present monarchs may be succeeded by future monarchs with less political skill or legitimacy. In the medium term, however, Jordan, Kuwait, and Morocco represent an interesting set of cases in which incremental political change may, to some degree, be facilitated by the coexistence of pluralism, monarchical institutions, and some tradition of constitutionalism.

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Conclusion Viewed collectively, do the case studies in this volume suggest a particularly "Arab" pattern of political liberalization and democratization? Certainly, common elements do appear: the contemporary role of political Islam; the political economy of petroleum and the impact of economic decline in rentier and semirentier economies; the role of monarchs in political change; and the impact of regional politics and conflict. But not all of these factors apply to all cases or apply in equal measure. Moreover, a variety of historical, structural, and other factors particular to each case loom large in any explanation of their political dynamics. Consequently, although the analyses in both Volumes 1 and 2 underscore the need to pay close attention to certain sets of variables, they also suggest that politics in the region is simultaneously diverse and comparable to the experience of many developing countries. At the end of Volume 1, we noted: In most of these countries, political elites are reluctant to release too much power, or to allow too much energy or autonomy in civil society. The state remains strong enough to revert to more authoritarian measures if required. A degree of ambiguity between the "carrot" of limited pluralism and the "stick" of authoritarianism is purposefully cultivated: repression if necessary, but not necessarily repression .... Given ... both the ambiguous character of the [regional environment] and the inherently contingent nature of transition processes, it would be premature to speak of an inexorable democratic "trend" in the Middle East. Instead, the preceding analyses suggest that "interesting possibilities" and potential "trajectories" of eventual democratization may more accurately portray the potential for political change now present within the region.?

Such observations are generally confirmed by the case studies in Volume 2. Much of the region has experienced significant liberalization in the past two decades and much smaller degrees of democratic reform. The result is a state of ta'addudiyya, in which degrees of political pluralism exist, but meaningful political participation and accountability is generally absent from the policy process. The implications of this are uncertain: Is ta 'addudiyya halfway to dimuqratiyya, or happening instead of it? The answer is almost certainly contingent on a complex array of social and regional factors. The reversals of recent years-the uncertainty of democratic experiments in Algeria and Sudan, the disappointments of post-civil war Lebanon or post-Oslo Palestine, the one (or two)-stepforward, two (or one)-step-back reform process in Egypt or Jordan-all represent credible grounds for pessimism. But many of the case studies in this volume also present some grounds for longer-term optimism. The

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transitions of the Arab world may not be those of Eastern Europe, rapid and massive and fundamental. Instead, the region's path may be far more winding. But the seeds of some kind of change are widely sown through the societies, economies, and even regimes of the Arab world. And the resulting complexities-far from deserving inattention from scholars of comparative politics-surely warrant sustained investigation and reflection.

Notes 1. Salwa Ismail, "Democracy in Contemporary Arab Intellectual Discourse," in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives. 2. See Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, "Introduction: Theoretical Perspectives on Arab Liberalization and Democratization"; Michael C. Hudson, "The Political Culture Approach: The Case for Bringing It Back In, Carefully"; and Lisa Anderson, "Democracy in the Arab World: A Critique of the Political Culture Approach"; in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1995). 3. Gudrun Kramer, "Islam and Pluralism," in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives. 4. For a useful introduction to these issues, see Jillian Schwedler, ed., Toward Civil Society in the Middle East? A Primer (Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 1995). For a fuller treatment, see Augustus Richard Norton, ed., Civil Society in the Middle East, vols. 1 and 2 (Leiden: E. J. Brill Publishers, 1994 and 1995); and the chapters by Saad Eddin Ibrahim, Mustapha Kamel al-Sayyid, Lise Garon, Janine Astrid Clark, and Mervat F. Hatem in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives. 5. Samuel Valenzuela, "Labor Movements in Transitions to Democracy: A Framework for Analysis," Comparative Politics 21, 4 (July 1989). 6. On the importance of pacts, see Guillermo O'Donnell and Philippe C. Schmitter, Transitions from Authoritarian Rule: Tentative Conclusions About Uncertain Democracies (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986). 7. Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany, and Paul Noble, "Trends, Trajectories or Interesting Possibilities? Some Conclusions on Arab Democratization and Its Study," In Brynen, Korany, and Noble, eds., Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World, vol. 1: Theoretical Perspectives.

Appendixes: Selected Data compiled by Maren Zerriffi

Due to a shortage of comparable data, the Comoros, Djbouti, Palestine, and Somalia are not included herein.

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Appendixl

0

Social Indicators

Education Indexb

Urban Population Annual Growth Rate 1994-2000 (%)

Gender Development Index 1994C

Female Earned Income Share 1994 (%)

67.8 72.0 64.3 57.0 68.5 75.2 69.0 63.8 52.1 65.3 70.0 70.9 70.3 51.0 67.8 68.4 74.2 56.2

0.62 0.85 0.57 0.56 0.79 0.71 0.86 0.80 0.37 0.43 0.43 0.77 0.60 0.40 0.68 0.66 0.80 0.45

3.6 2.9 2.6 3.6 4.7 0.5 2.9 4.0 4.6 3.0 7.7 2.2 3.6 4.7 4.4 2.7 2.7 6.6

0.614 0.742 0.555 0.433 NA 0.769 0.708 0.655 0.341 0.515 NA 0.713 0.581 0.306 0.646 0.668 0.727 NA

19.1 14.7 24.9 13.9 NA 24.5 22.5 16.0 37.2 28.4 NA 9.7 9.7 22.7 20.6 24.5 10.0 NA

68.2 77.5 68.2

0.68 0.88 0.75

3.1 2.1 3.7

NA 0.872 0.737

NA 32.9 33.2

Population 1994 (millions)

Human Development Index 1994a

Life Expectancy (in years)

Algeria Bahrain Egypt Iraq Jordan Kuwait Lebanon Libya Mauritania Morocco Oman Qatar Saudi Arabia Sudan Syria Tunisia United Arab Emirates Yemen

27.4 0.5 60.9 19.6 5.1 1.8 2.9 5.2 2.2 26.0 2.1 0.5 17.8 26.1 13.8 8.8 2.2 14.3

0.737 0.870 0.614 0.531 0.730 0.844 0.794 0.801 0.355 0.566 0.718 0.840 0.774 0.333 0.755 0.748 0.866 0.361

Iran Israel Turkey

66.7 5.0 59.9

0.780 0.913 0.772

Industrialized Countries 1,228.3 All Developing Countries 4,325.5 Arab States 236.0 Sub-Saharan Africa 535.4 SoutbAsia 1,270.0 Southeast Asia and Pacific 478.8 Latin America and the Caribbean 463.9

0.911 0.576 0.636 0.380 0.459 0.672 0.829

74.1 61.8 62.9 50.0 61.4 64.3 69.0

0.8 3.7 3.6 5.1 3.5 3.8 2.5

0.856 0.555 0.537 0.374 0.412 0.641 0.729

37.7 31.7 21.7 35.5 25.3 34.9 26.9

Source: United Nations Development Program (UNDP) estimates. United Nations Development Program, Human Development Report 1997 (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 148, 151, 192-195,217,218,224--228. a. The Human Development Index (HDI) is a measure of typical living conditions which ranges from 0 to I. This measure is based on three indicators, each given equal weight: life expectancy, educational attainment (including literacy and combined primary, secondary, and tertiary enrollments at 2/3 and 1/3 ratios respectively), and real gross national product (GNP) per capita. b. This index is based on literacy and combined primary, secondary, and tertiary enrollments. Literacy is given 2/3 weight in the calculation, with enrollments receiving 1/3 weight. c. The Gender Development Index (GDI) uses tbe same variables as the HDI, yet adjusts tbe figures to accurately represent gender disparities in life expectancy, educational achievement, and income.

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Appendix2

Economic Indicators Debt as Percentage of GNP 1995

GNP per Capita 1995

Average Annual Growth Rate 1985-1995 (%)

External Debt 1995 (millions)

Algeria Bahrain Egypt Iraq Jordan Kuwait Lebanon Libya Mauritania Morocco Oman Qatar Saudi Arabia Sudan Syria Tunisia United Arab Emirates Yemen

$1,600 $7,840 $790 $J,020C $1,510 $17,390 $2,660 NA $460 $1,110 $4,820 $11,600 $7,040 NA $1,120 $1,820 $17,400 $260

-2A 0.2 1.1 NA -4.5 1.1 NA NA 0.5 0.9 0.3 -4.2 -1.9 0.2h 0.9 1.9 -2.8 NA

$32,610 $3,2ooa $34,116 $85,oood $7,944 NA $2,966 $3,5ooe $2,467 $22,147 $3,107 $5,7oof $18,900g $18,500i $21,318 $9,938 $14,00oi $6,212

83.1 8J.6b 73.3 425.2b 126.2 NA 25.5 NA 125.5 71.0 29.5 98.3b 15.Jb NA 134.8 57.3 36.6b 155.2

Iran Israel Turkey

$1,874k $15,920 $2,780

-1.5 2.5 2.2

$22,7001 $28,300h $73,592

37m 35.6b 44.1

High-Income Countries Low and Middle Income Countries Middle East and North Africa

$24,930 $1,090 $1,780

1.9

OA -0.3

NA $2,065,676 $216,046

NA 39.6 37.3

Sub-Saharan Africa South Asia East Asia and Pacific Latin America and tbe Caribbean

$490 $350 $800 $3,320

-1.1 2.9 7.2 0.3

$226,483 $156,778 $404,458 $636,594

81.3 30.5 32.9 41.0

Source: World Bank World Development Report (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 214-215,246-248, except as noted. a. 1995 estimate CIA World Factbook (1997) "Bahrain" (http://www.odci.gov/cia/publications/nsolo/factbook/ba.htm) b. This figure was derived from multiplying GNP per capita (World Bank, World Development Report [New York: Oxford University Press, 1997], pp. 214-215, 248; or CIA World Factbook [1996]) by the population estimates (United Nations Development Program Human Development Report [New York: Oxford University Press, 1997], pp. 194-195). The debt (World Bank, World Development Report [New York: Oxford University Press, 1997] pp. 246-247) is tben divided by tbis total GNP figure. c. This figure was calculated based on a gross national product (GNP) of ($20 billion), Development Assistance Committee (DAC) of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), Development Cooperation 1996 (Paris: OECD, 1997) divided by population figures, taken from United Nations Development Program, Human Development Report (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 194-195. d. 1989 estimate (50 billion plus 35 billion owed to Gulf countries) CIA World Factbook (1996) "Iraq" (most recent data available). e. 1995 estimate CIA World Factbook (1997) "Qatar." f. 1996 estimate CIA World Factbook (1997) "Yemen." g. 1989 estimate (includes short-term credits) CIA World Factbook (1996) "Saudi Arabia" (most recent data available). h. Development Assistance Committee (DAC) of the Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), Development Cooperation 1996 (Paris: OECD, 1997). i. 1996 estimate CIA World Factbook (1997) "Sudan." j. 1996 estimate CIA World Factbook (1997) "United Arab Emirates." k. This figure was calculated based on GNP ($125 billion), Development Assistance Committee (DAC) of tbe Organization for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD), Development Cooperation 1996 (Paris: OECD, 1997), divided by population figures, taken from UNDP estimates United Nations Development Program, Human Development Report (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 194-195. I. United Nations Development Program, Human Development Report (1997), p. 190 (data for 1994). m. UNDP, Human Development Report, p. 190 (data for 1994). n. 1996 estimate CIA World Factbook ( 1997) "Israel."

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Appendix3

Communications Indicators, 1994

N

00

Newspapers/100 People Algeria Bahrain Egypt Iraq Jordan Kuwait Lebanon Libya Mauritania Morocco Oman Qatar Saudi Arabia Sudan Syria Tunisia United Arab Emirates Yemen Iran Israel Turkey Industrialized Countries All Developing Countries Arab States Sub-Saharan Africa South Asia Southeast Asia and Pacific Latin America and the Caribbean

5

Radios/100 People

Televisions/! 00 People

16 2

23.6 55.6 30.7 21.8 24.3 44.5 88.9 22.6 14.7 21.9 58.3 42.8 29.4 25.8 25.7 19.9 31.2 3.2

7 42 9 7 16 41 26 10 4 7 73 43 25 8 8 9 29 27

2 28 4

23.7 47.8 16.2

12 30 27

26.4 4.0 4.5 1.1 NA 3.6 7.3

101.8 17.8 25.9 14.9 8.8 15.4 34.9

50 14 12 3

13 6 3

5 40 17 1 NA 1 3 15

5 2 2

5

5 14 21

Source: UNDP estimates, United Nations Development Program, Human Development Report (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 164-165, 184-185,204,211,224-228.

.!:>

Appendix4

Political Indicators Freedom House Rating 1998-Political Rights 3

Freedom House Rating 1998-Civil Liberties

Algeria Bahrain Egypt Iraq Jordan Kuwait Lebanon Libya Mauritania Morocco Oman Qatar Saudi Arabia Sudan Syria Tunisia United Arab Emirates Yemen

6 7 6 7 4 5 6 7 6 5g 6 7 7 7 7 6 6 5

6 6 6 7 4 4 5 7 6 5 6 6 7 7 7 5 5 6

44 456 42 128 100 2,091 102 259 12 49 978 600 699 14 142 41 1,044 24

0.4 2.1 0.7 2.0 1.9 0.9 1.5 1.5 0.7 0.8 2.1 2.2 0.9 0.5 3.1 0.4 3.2 0.3

4 5 0 0

0 2.3f NA 0.7 0.6 sf NA NA 5.3 9.6f 6.7 0 0.6f

Iran Israel Turkey

6 4

7 3 5

38 1,279 98

0.8 3.4 0.8

0 9.8 5

4 7.5 2.4

Industrialized Countries All Developing Countries Arab States Sub-Saharan Africa South Asia Southeast Asia and Pacific Latin America and the Caribbean

2.1 3.7 6.1 4.5 4.4 4.4 2.3

2.5 3.9 5.8 4.3 5.3 4.4 2.8

526 35 143 14 12 39 43

0.6 0.3 1.0 0.2 0.2 0.4 0.3

12.5 5.5 2.0 6.6 5.2 5.9 11.3

13.6 12.7 NA NA 6.9 11.1 9.6

Per Capita Expenditure on Armed Forces 1995 (in dollars)b

Armed Forces as Percent of Population 1995C

Women in Government 1995 (%)d

Seats Held in Parliament by Women 1997(%)e

---···---

jh

2 0 2 0 7 6 0 0 5 I

4 2 0 I

6.6 NA 2 NA

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Appendix 4 (continued) a. Freedom House, The Comparative Survey of Freedom (1998), pp. 11-12. The Freedom House Ratings are included herein as they are often cited in the media. The rating system operates on a 7 point scale, with 1 being "most free" and 7 being "least free." Although the Freedom House data are included, there are potential problems with the rating system. For example, Algeria, which has been experiencing a civil war since 1992, whose death toll is nearly 80,000, is rated 6 for both political rights and civil liberties. Egypt, a country with an independent and outspoken press and multiple functioning political parties, is also rated 6 for both political rights and civil liberties. Additionally, Turkey, whose military deposed the democratically elected government and which is waging a military campaign against the Kurds, is rated a 4 for political rights and a 5 for civil liberties. Yet, Iran, whose most recent elections brought about a dramatic change in government, is rated a 6 for political rights and 7 for civil liberties. The regional figures are calculated from the Freedom House ratings. The regional aggregation used in these calculations is that of the United Nations Development Program (UNDP), Human Development Report (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997). Like the UNDP aggregation, this table includes Eastern Europe and CIS in the "Industrialized Countries" category. b. UNDP, Human Development Report (New York: Oxford University Press, 1997), pp. 188-189,215,224-228. c. This figure is derived from dividing the "Total Armed Forces" (1995) UNDP, Human Development Report, pp. 188-189, 215, by the "Estimated Population" (1994) UNDP, pp. 194,218, 224-228. d. At the ministerial and subministeriallevel, UNDP, Human Development Report, pp. 172, 206, 224-228. e. Unless otherwise noted, figures are from UNDP, Human Development Report, pp. 152-154, 224-228. f. Taken from State Country Reports for Human Rights Practices for 1997 (http://www.state.gov.lwwwlglobal!human_rights/1997_hrp_report/ 97hrp report nea.html). g. Freedom House also ranks the Western Sahara: 7 (political rights) and 6 (civil liberties). h. Freedom House also ranks both the Israeli-occupied territories: 6 (political rights) and 5 (civil liberties) and Palestinian Authority-administered territories: 5 (political rights) and 6 (civil liberties).

00 0\

Appendix 5 Civil and Political Rights Killings and Disappearances

a. State-sanctioned discrimination

Torture

Due Process

Freedom of Speech

Freedom of Association

Worker Rights

Discrimination Against Womena

Discrimination Against Minoritiesa

288

Appendixes

Methodological Notes for Appendix 5: Civil and Political Rights This appendix is based on information from both the U.S. State Department Country Reports for Human Rights Practices for 1997 (http://www.state.gov./www/global/human_ rights/1997 _hrp_report/97hrp_report_nea.html) and the Amnesty International Annual Report for 1997 (http://www.amnesty.org/ailib/countries/index.html). Quantifying civil and political rights is a challenging task. Several such challenges were posed in the compilation of this table. The amount of information on rights abuses may be misleading regarding the extent of the problem. First, extensive international media attention of one country's abuses may lead to an overestimation of the level of abuses. Second, a more active nongovernmental organization (NGO) sector may result in increased reporting on abuses. Countries with minor violations in freedom of speech and freedom of association (and thus with active human rights organizations and other NGOs) may be given a lower rating in torture. Therefore, due to the strength of the press and the NGO sector, a country may have more reported cases of torture violations than another country with an equal level of violation but a less active press and NGO sector. There are violations of both a qualitative and quantitative nature. One country may have no legal protection of rights, but few actual cases occur. Another country may have legal protections on the books, yet there are numerous violations. Although there are differences in the types of torture (minor sleep deprivation is not equivalent to electric shock), all forms of torture are treated as the same herein. In some countries, current "anti-terrorist" campaigns lead to severe, yet circumscribed and localized violations. Although these may affect smaller portions of the population, they constitute significant violations of civil and political rights and are thus treated as such herein. Despite varying interpretations of shari'a in Arab countries, a personal code based solely on shari'a qualifies a country for a rating of "substantial violation" as the codes often limit female marriage, divorce, and inheritance rights. However, Tunisian law is based on a civil code and thus receives a rating of "minor violation." Other forms of state-sanctioned discrimination against women were included in the determination of violation level. The selective enfranchisement of the population qualified a country for the rating of "gross violation." Thus, Kuwait, a state otherwise more socially liberal than many Gulf countries but where women are denied the right to vote, is given a rating of "gross violation." Although other countries may not extend suffrage to any member of the population (and thus oppress both sexes) this category measures discrimination not oppression. The deliberate and selective exclusion of women from political power is the basis for a "gross violation" rating. In the Gulf countries, the treatment of foreign workers was included in the violation rating for state-sanctioned discrimination against both minorities and worker's rights. In addition to the challenges described above, there are several countries that pose additiona! challenges. There are mixed countries (e.g., UAE with regional variation), transitional countries (e.g., Lebanon), and countries about which it is difficult to obtain information (e.g., Libya).

The Contributors

Saad Amrani is lecturer in the Arab Studies program at the Universite de Montreal. He has contributed a chapter to La fin de Ia guerre froide and is coauthor of a series of articles, including "Le Maghreb dans le systeme regional et international," in Revue d' etudes internationales. Rex Brynen is associate professor of political science at McGill University. He is author of Sanctuary and Survival: The PLO in Lebanon, editor of Echoes of the Intifada: Regional Repercussions of the Palestinian-Israeli Conflict, and coeditor of The Many Faces of National Security in the Arab World. In addition, he has contributed articles on Middle East politics to the Arab Studies Quarterly, the Canadian Journal of Political Science, International Perspectives, the Journal of Palestine Studies, and elsewhere. Sheila Carapico is associate professor and chairperson of the political science department, University of Richmond. She is noted particularly for her extensive research on Yemen, which has resulted in a series of articles and book chapters, as well as Civil Society in Yemen: A Political Economy of Activism in Modern Arabia. Her current research interests center on international assistance for democratization in the Islamic greater Middle East and democratic movements within the Arabian Peninsula. Jill Crystal is associate professor of political science at Auburn University and director of the graduate program in Auburn's political science department. She is the author of Oil and Politics in the Gulf: Rulers and Merchants in Kuwait and Qatar and Kuwait: The Transformation of an Oil State. In addition, she has contributed articles to Comparative Politics, World Politics, and other journals. Judith Palmer Harik is associate professor in the department of political studies and public administration at the American University of Beirut. She is author of The Public and Social Services of the Lebanese Militias and has contributed articles on the Lebanese elections, Hizballah, and the Druze of Mount Lebanon to such journals as Arab Studies Quarterly, Democratization, the Journal of Conflict Resolution, and Middle Eastern Studies.

289

290

The Contributors

Raymond A. Hinnebusch is professor of international relations and Middle East politics at the University of St. Andrews, Scotland. He is the author of numerous articles and books on Syria, including Authoritarian Power and State Formation in Ba'thist Syria: Army, Party and Peasant and Peasant and Bureaucracy in Ba'thist Syria: The Political Economy of Rural Development. He is also coauthor, with A. Ehteshami, of Syria and Iran: Middle Powers in a Penetrated Regional System. Bahgat Korany is professor of political science at the Universite de Montreal and director of the Inter-University Consortium for Arab Studies. For 1998-2000, he is visiting professor in the Department of Political Science at the American University in Cairo. He is a contributor to and editor of The Foreign Policies of Arab States. He is also author, coauthor, or editor of Regimes politiques arabes, The Many Faces of National Security in the Arab World, How Foreign Policy Decisions Are Made in the Third World, Analyse des relations internationales, and Social Change, Charisma and International Behavior. In addition, he has written more than 30 articles in such journals as the Revue franqaise de science politique, the International Social Science Journal, and World Politics. Ann M. Lesch is professor of political science at Villanova University. She is author of The Sudan-Contested National Identities (forthcoming, Indiana University Press). In addition, she has contributed numerous book chapters on Sudan, including "The Destruction of Civil Society in the Sudan," in Civil Society in the Middle East and "Negotiations in the Sudan" and "External Involvement in the Sudanese Civil War," in Making War and Waging Peace. She is current president of the Sudan Studies Association. Paul Noble is associate professor of political science and chair of the Middle East studies program at McGill University, as well as associate director of the InterUniversity Consortium for Arab Studies. He is coeditor of The Many Faces of National Security in the Arab World and has contributed articles and chapters on the Arab regional system, Arab cooperation, inter-Arab relations, and Canadian policy regarding the Palestinian question to Arab Studies Quarterly, International Perspectives, and a number of edited volumes. Abdallah ai-Shayeji is assistant professor of political science at Kuwait University and political adviser to the Kuwaiti National Assembly. He has published several articles on democratization, the Kuwaiti legislative experience, Gulf security, and U.S. foreign policy in the Gulf region. Maren Zerriffi is a Ph.D. candidate in the Department of Political Science at McGill University and a research fellow at the Inter-University Consortium for Arab Studies (Montreal).

Index

'Abbud, Ibrahim, 209-210 'Abd al-Nasser, Gamal, 13, 39,47-48, 56-59,62,66,132,242 'Abd al-Samad, 'Adnan, 117 'Abd al-Shafi, Haydar, 190, 192 Abdullah, King, 72-73,76--77, 94 Abu al-Magd, Ahmad Kamal, 44 Abu Rizk, Elias, 148 Accord of Contract and Agreement, 244 Aden,244-245,255-257 Adham, Omran, 235 Afghanistan, 246--247, 259 Africa, II, 206--207, 212, 216--218, 220, 249, 254; statistical data, 281-287 al-'Ahd Party, 85, 90 al-Ahmad, Sabah, 119 al-Ahmar, Abdallah Bin Hussein, 246 al-Ahmar, Sheikh, 254--255, 260 Ahmed, Hocine Ai:t, 14 al-Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1-2 Akhdam strata, 249,260 al-Akkar region, 132 Alawi (Moroccan dynasty), 159, 178 Alawis (Muslim sect), 225,227-228, 233-234,238 Aleppo, 236 Algeria, ix, 5, 7, 11-38,41,46, 64, 152, 157, 164,169,171,235,237,246,269-272, 277; civil society in, 23, 27-29, 97; civil warin, 11-12,31-32, 177,234,269-270; conceptions of democracy in, 13-18; constitution of, 21-23, 30, 35, 37; elections (1991), 12, 14-15, 26, 36-37; elections (1997), 32; impact of economic crisis in, 12, 20--21, 29-31, 34--35; political opening in, 21-26; role of army in, 12, 18-19, 26; statistical data, 280--287 Algerian National Movement (MNA), 24 Algerian National Party (PNA), 15 Algerian Party of Human Capital (PACH), 15

291

Algerian People's Party (PPA), 24, 36 Algerian Renaissance Party (PRA), 15, 36 Algiers, 5, 177 'Ali, Muhammad, 39-40 Amal militia, 134, 140, 142 Amman, 73, 244, 256 Amnesty International, 76, 177,260 Anderson, Lisa, 5 Ansar movement, 207, 214 AOHR. See Arab Organization for Human Rights Arabism. See Arab nationalism Arab-Israeli conflict/peace process, 47, 50, 56--59,67,72-74,90-91,93,98, 132-133, 140-141, 149, 151, 185-187, 192-193, 199,234, 238,272. See also Israel; Jordan; Oslo Agreement; Palestine Arab League, 2, 74, 127, 135, 152 Arab nationalism, 14,73-74, 86, 116, 132, 200,205,216,219,221,244-245,247, 263 Arab Organization for Human Rights (AOHR), 76, 99 Arab Socialist Union (ASU), 46-49, 55, 57-58,66,227 Arafat, Yasir, 186, 188, 192, 196--199,201, 242 Armenians, 153 al-Asad, Hafiz, 134, 223-224, 226-227, 234-235,237-238,242 al-As'ad, Maha al-Khuri, 142 Asia, 245; Central, 242; East, 267; statistical data, 281-287; West, 254 ASU. See Arab Socialist Union Atlas region, 165, 168, 181 al-'Aun, Jasim, 117 'Awn, Michel, 134-136, 140 Ayubi, Nazih, 4, 39 al-Azhar, 40, 44, 230

292

Index

Badran, Mudar, 75, 86 al-Baghli, 'Ali, 117 Bahrain, 7, 76, 262; statistical data, 280-287 Baldi, 248-249, 254--256, 263 al-Banna, Hassan, 63 Baqir, Ahmad, 117 Basri, Mohamed, 166 Ba'th Party, (Jordan), 85; (Sudan), 210, 214; (Syria),224--232,234--238,272; (Yemen),247,254--255,262-263 bay'a, 158-159, 173 Bedouin, 117-119 Beirut, 130--131, 134, 140 Beja, 207-209, 213 Beja Congress, 209, 215 Belhadj, 'Ali, 15-17 Ben Baraka, Mehdi, 166 Ben-Dor, Gabriel, 6 Ben Siddiq, Mahjoub, 166 Berbers, 14, 25-28, 181 Bethlehem, 186 Bianchi, Robert, 4 Bin Ali, Zein al-'Abidin, 157 Bin Jadid, Chadli, 18, 23, 36 bin Tiflah, Saad, 108 Biqa'a Valley, 130, 141-142 Birri, Nabih, 134, 148 al-Bishri, Tariq, 44 Black September, 74, 132 Boubid, Maati, 170 Boucetta, M'hamed, 161 Boudiaf, Muhammad, 28 Boumedienne, Houari, 18, 23, 157 Britain, 72, 92, 102, 107, 129, 185,207-208, 245,258 Bromberg, Daniel, 6, 272 Buayz, Faris, 147 business associations, 8, 28, 40, 60, 230 al-Buti, Muhammed, Said Rahman, 237 Cairo, 5, 64, 248 Cairo Agreement, 186, 192 Camp David Accords, 53 Canada, 60, 258 capitalism, 48, 237 Casablanca, 167 Ceau~escu, Nicolae, 237 censorship, 79-80,247,255,274,287 Center for Arab Unity Studies, 1 Charter for National Salvation, 211 Chile, 272 China, 39, 151 Christians, 129-135, 138-142, 144-147, 151, 201, 206. See also Armenians; Copts; Greek Orthodox; Maronites Circassians, 88 civil society, 2, 4--6, 101, 243, 268; and the

state, 7-8, 272-275. See also business associations; human rights organizations; media; non-governmental organizations; political parties; professional associations; trade unions; and individual countries clans, 4, 84, 245, 254, 273 class structure, 89, 101, 109, 169, 177, 189, 226,231,235-236,241 Cold War, 14, 242, 250, 252, 258-259 colonialism, 11, 13, 20-21,45, 72-73, 102, 129-130,157,185,189,207,264 Committee for Defense of Democratic Reform and Human Rights, 225 communalism, 203,206-208,210,219-221, 254,270,273,275 Communist Party, 233, 246; (Algeria), 14; (Jordan), 85; (Lebanon), 153; (Morocco), 167, 180, 182; (Sudan) 205, 209-210, 214 confessionalism. See sectarianism conflict (international), 225, 277. See also Arab-Israeli conflict; Gulf War; Iran-Iraq War; Western Sahara consociationalism, 127, 131, 136, 149, 151, 270 Constitutional Democratic Party (PDC), 167 Constitutional Group, 118 constitutionalism, 14, 244, 275-276 Constitutionalism Movement, 105 Consultative Commission for the Reform of Modawana, 175 Consultative Council of Human Rights (CCDH), 175 Copts, 54 corporatism, 4, 59, 66,229,237,239,262, 273 corruption, 104, 192, 198,249, 253, 256 Cultural and Democracy Rally (RCD), 14, 25-26,36 Cultural Revival Society, 117 Damascus, 227, 233, 236 debt, 20, 81, 93, 216,236, 259-260; statistical data, 282-283 Declaration of Principles (1993). See Oslo Agreement democracy: definitions of, 3-4,41-46, 158-164, 186-188, 268; preconditions for, 8, 43. See also democratization Democratic Forum, 115-117, 119 Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine (DFLP), 188, 196 Democratic Movement for Algerian Renewal (MDRA), 15 Democratic Unionist Party (DUP), 205,207, 209-214,216--220

Index democratization: and civil society, 6, 8, 83, 273-275; defined, 1-3, 268; future of, 277-278; literature on, ix, 1-5, 83-84, 92,123,241-242, 267; "third wave," 3, 267. See also individual countries DFLP. See Democratic Front for the Liberation of Palestine dimuqratiyya, 7, 268-269, 277. See also democracy Dinka,215,221-222 diwaniyyas, 112-113, 121 Document of National Accord, 127-128, 134-136,141,143,147,269-270 Druze, 129, 132-133, 147 DUP. See Democratic Unionist Party economic development, 6, 53, 256 economic liberalization, 2, 8, 15, 21, 29-31, 48,56,64,177,224,233,236-238,269, 271. See also structural adjustment/ reform economic stabilization. See structural adjustment/reform Egypt,3,5-8, 13,17,34,36-69,102,164, 185,202-203,227,232,236-237,239, 242,246,270-271, 277; civil society in, 8,40,59-61,66,268,273,275;conceptions of democracy in, 41-46; coup (1952), 39, 41-42, 47-48, 55-56; elections (1984), 51-52; elections (1987), 52-53; elections (1990), 52; elections (1995), 54-55; multipartyism in, 48-55, 61-63; statistical data, 280-287 Egypt Arab Socialist Forum, 49 elections, 3, 12,24-26,31,42-43,49-55, 72-73,75-77,79,83-84,86-88,90-92, 102-105, 114-122, 140, 142-143, 146-148, ISO, 165, 167, 170-172, 186, 191-192,198,201,241,243,253-255, 259-262,268,276 Emara, Muhammad, 44 Equatoria region, 212, 215, 221-222 ethnicity. See communalism Ettehadi, 14 Europe, 189, 245; East, 113, 177,229, 233-235,258,272,278 European Union, 260 Farouk, King, 56 Farsoun, Samih, 6 al-Fassi, Allal, 166 Fateh, 186-188,192,195-197,200-201 Faysal, King, 58 Faysal, Toujan, 88, 98 federalism, 136, 215, 249 Federation of Popular Forces, 247 FFS. See Socialist Forces Front

293

FIDA. See Palestinian Democratic Union PIS. See Islamic Salvation Front FLN. See Front de Liberation Nationale foreign aid, 6, 60, 71, 81, 137-138, 174, 194, 196-197,241-242,251,257-260 France, 11, 13,60, 127,129-131,134, 151-152,165,167,177,180,258 Franjiyya, Sulayman, 132 Franjiyya family, 138 Free Officers, 39, 47, 56 Front de Liberation Nationale (FLN), 12, 14, 19,21,23-25,27-28,31-33,36-37,167, 272 Front for Defense of Constitutional Institutions (FDIC), 167 Fur, 207, 210 Gandhi, Mahatma, 241 Gause III, F. Gregory, 6 Gaza, 185, 193, 201. See also Palestine Gaza-Jericho Agreement. See Cairo Agreement gender. See women General Confederation of Labor (GCL), 145, 148 General Federation of Jordanian Women, 88 General Federation of Peasants, 228-229 General People's Congress (GPC), 244, 249, 252,254-255,257-263 General Union of Jordanian Women, 88 Germany,242,258,260 Ghabbush, Philip, 211-213, 215 Gorbachev, Mikhail, 223, 241, 250 GPC. See General People's Congress Gramsci, Antonio, 18 Greece, 3 Greek Orthodox, 131,153 Guedira, Reda, 165 Gulf states, 64, 76, 92, 242, 246, 257, 272, 276,288-289 Gulf War (1990-1991), 83, 101-102, 106-107, 112, 116, 119, 123, 140, 197, 250,258,268,271 Habur region, 254 Hadhramawt region, 254, 256, 259-260, 263 Hamas, (Algeria), 32, 37; (Palestine), 91, 98, 192-193,196-197,200-201 al-Haqq, 247, 254, 261 al-Hariri, Bahiyya, 143 al-Hariri, Rafiq, 143-146, 148 Hasan, Crown Prince, 82, 93, 97 Hashid, 245, 248, 254-255 Hassan II, King, 157-160, 166-172, 276; as amiral-mu'minin, 158-160,173 Hassanin, Tawfik Ibrahim, 55 Havel, Vaclav, 241

294

Index

Hayat, Habib Jawhar, 117 Hayka1, Muhammad, 47 Hebron, 186 Himdan, Gama1, 39 Hirshid, 245, 254-255 Hizbal1ah, 17, 45; (Lebanon), 140, 142, 149 Hong Kong, 245 Hrawi, Ilyas, 134, 140, 143 Hrawi, Ron, 143 Hubayqa, Eli, 133-134, 147 Hubaysh, Fawzi, 148 al-Hudaybi, Ma'mun, 63 Hudson, Michael, 5 human rights, 15, 145, 148, 169, 232,251, 253, 260; comparative data, 285-287; organizations, 2, 28, 76, 99, 174-175, 193, 197-199 al-Huss, Salim, 134 Hussein, King, 71-77, 82-83, 86, 91-93, 96, 242, 276. See also Jordan Hussein, Saddam, 116, 242, 244 Huwaidi, Fahmi, 44 IAF. See Islamic Action Front Ibb region, 248 Ibrahim, Saad Eddin, 6 IMF. See International Monetary Fund Independence Democratic Party, 165 India, 39 Indonesia, 246 Infitah. See economic liberalization Interim Agreement. See Oslo II Agreement International Monetary Fund (IMF), 21, 28, 30,60-61,81,177,259 International Republican Institute, 258 Intifada, 113, 185, 187, 190 Iran, 111, 117, 142,200,216,242,247, 262; statistical data, 280-287 Iran-Iraq War, 114, 117 Iraq,64,92, 102,104,120,134,140,214, 24 7, 262; statistical data, 280-287 Islah (Reform) Party, 246, 252, 254-255, 261-262 Islam, 2, 14-15, 158-161, 163, 172-173, 178, 180,206,211,221, 246; and democracy, 4, 44-46, 190, 200. See also Islamist groups; Muslims; shari'a; shura Islamic Action Front (IAF), 86-87, 89, 95, 98 Islamic Charter Front (ICF), 209 Islamic Constitutional Movement (ICM), 116-117 Islamic Jihad, (Egypt), 44; (Palestine), 196 Islamic Salvation Front (FIS), 12, 15-17, 25-26,33-34 Islamic Umma Party, 205, 207, 209, 211-214, 216-220

Islamist groups, 4, 8, 12-13, 15-17, 19, 24-29,31,33-34,36-37,40,48,50-53, 58-63,65,75, 78,86-87,89,91,93,99, 105, 108, 112, 115-117, 119, 122, 160, 163-164,171,173,177,180,184,205, 209,211-214,216-220,230-232, 236-237,241,244-250,252,254-55, 258-259,261-263,270-271,274,277; attitudes toward democracy, 43-46, 164, 189,205-206 Ismail, Selwa, 5 Israel, 57, 86, 90, 140-141, 145, 150, 185-187,189,191,193, 199,246,271; statistical data, 280-287 a!- 'Is sa, Khalid, 117 Istiqlal, 160-161, 165-167, 170-171, 175, 181 Ja'ja', Samir, 134, 136, 145-146 Jam'at al-Shabiba al-Islamiyya (Society of Young Muslims), 164 Jefferson, Thomas, 241 Jericho, 73, 186 Jerusalem, 63, 87, 191, 193 Jihad. See Islamic Jihad Jordan,2,5, 7, 72-100,235,242,258,267, 270-271, 275-276; and the Arab-Israeli conflict, 72-74,90-91,93, 98, 272; civil society in, 40, 83-86, 268, 274-275; constitution of, 76-77, 95, 275-276; economic policy in, 71-72, 81-82, 93; elections (1956), 73; elections (1989), 72, 75, 79, 83-84, 86, 88; elections (1993), 75, 77, 84-85, 87-88, 90; elections (1997), 76-77, 84-85, 87-88, 92; historical overview of, 72-75; Islamist groups in, 75, 78, 86-87, 91, 93; monarchy in, 71-72, 76-79,82,84,92-93,96; Palestinians in, 72-74,78, 80, 82, 86, 89-91, 99, 185, 199; political opening in, 80-83, 271; statistical data, 280-287. See also National Charter Jordanian Popular Democratic Party, 85 al-Ju'an, Hamad, 118 Jubayl, 142 al-Jumayil, Amin, 133 al-Jumayil, Bashir, 133, 139 al-Jumayil, Pierre, 132 Junblat, Walid, 133, 147 Kabariti, 'Abd al-Karim, 75 Kabylia region, 28, 36 al-Kaftaro, Ahmad, 237 al-Karak, 82 Karami, 'Umar, 140, 145 Karami family, 137 Kenitra, 168

Index Kerr, Malcolm, 137 al-Khaddam, 'Abd al-Halim, 224 Khartoum, 218 Khashan, Hila!, 138 al-Khatib,Ahmad, 104,113, 115-116,122 Khatmiyya religious order, 207,209,215 Khawlan, 256 Khumayni, Ayatollah, 242 al-Khuri, Bishara, 130, 145 al-Khuri, Nasri, 142 Kramer, Gudrun, 270 Kuwait, ix, 2, 76, 92, 101-125, 152,258, 267-268, 270-272, 275-276; civil society in, 112-113, 122, 124; 274; constitutional and parliamentary institutions of, 101-108; elections (1992), 114-120; elections (1996), 120-122; impact of Iraqi occupation on, 101-102, 106-107, 112, 123; impact of oil on, 102, 104, 108-110, 122-124; political culture, 113; role of merchants in, 102-103, 105, 108-109, 118-119, 122; social structure of, 109-112; statistical data, 280-287 labor migration, 64, 81,112-113,246,250 Labor Party, 193 Lahij, 256 Laroui, Abdallah, 172 Latin America, 92, 267; statistical data, 281-287 League of the Sons of Yemen (RAY), 247-248,257 Lebanese Forces, 133-134, 136, 140, 145-146 Lebanon,ix, 127-155,185,199,202,267, 269-271, 277; civil society in, 40, 148-149, 275; civil war in, 127-128, 130, 132-134, 137-138, 149-151, 155; consociationalism in, 127, 131, 136, 149, 151; elections (1992), 140, 142-143, 146; elections (1996), 146-148; political culture of, 128, 136-139, 149; statistical data, 280-287. See also Document of National Accord; National Pact; Syria legislatures, 3, 12, 16, 26,32-33.37,39-41, 48-49,53,67,72-77,79-80,82-83,88, 90-93, 101-108, 114-122, 131, 141-143, 145-148,155, 159, 161, 166-172,188, 191-193, 198,204-206, 208-217, 221, 224-225,235,237,241-244,248, 254-255,259,261-263,268,276 Leninism, 13, 161-162, 182,227,229,238, 245,258 Liberal Independents Party (PLI), 165, 167, 181 liberalization. See economic liberalization; political liberalization

295

Liberal Party, 34, 49-50, 52-53 Liberation Rally, 57, 66 Libya, 64, 92, 214, 216; statistical data, 280-287 Upset, Seymour Martin, 41 Luciani, Giacomo, 6 Ma'an, 82 al-Ma'an II, Fakhr al-Din, 129 Madani, 'Abbasi, 15-16,25-26, 33-34, 37 ai-Mahdi, al-Sadiq, 205-206,211,214,216, 218-219 al-Mahjub, Rif'at, 48 al-Majali, 'Abd al-Hadi, 85 al-Majali, 'Abd al-Salam, 75 Majlis Movement, 102, 109, 112 makhzen system. See neopatrimonialism Mallat, Fawzi, 148 Mamluks, 129 Mandela, Nelson, 241 Mann, Michael, 39 Maronites, 128-132, 134-136, 138, 140-142, 145-146, 150, 152-153 Marxism, 2, 13, 162-164, 182,232,245, 247-248,258 Masri, al-Tahir, 75, 86, 90 Mauritania, statistical data, 280-287 al-Mawdudi, Abu Al'a, 44 MDA. See Movement for Algerian Democracy media, 15, 66,79-80, 84, 96, 118, 121, 144-145,169,194,199,201,225,234, 249-250,253,255-256,258,260-261, 263, 274; statistical data, 284. See also censorship Mexico, 236 military, 2, 12, 18-19,26,39-41,47,56-58, 74,133-134,140,168,173,184,204, 207,209-211,219,225-227,238, 243-244, 252, 256-258; statistical data, 285-286. See also mukhabarat MNL See Movement of the Islamic Nahda Mohamed V, King, !58, 164-166, 180 monarchy, 71, 124, 159-160, 164-173, 178, 181, 244, 269-270, 272, 274; liberalization/democratization of, 92, 10 I, 275-276 Moroccan Association of Human Rights, 175 Moroccan League of Human Rights, 175 Moroccan Workers Union, 167, 181 Morocco, ix, 5-7, 12, 41, 46, 60, 76, 92, 152, 157-184, 269, 271-272, 275-276; civil society in, 158, 173-176, 274; concepts of democracy in, 158-164; controlled liberalization in, 164-171; makhzen system in, 35-36, 157, 162, 172-173, 183; political culture of, 173; political parties in,

296

Index

160-164, 166-168, 170-172, 174-175; statistical data, 280-287 ~ountLebanon, 129-130,144,147 ~ovement for Algerian Democracy (~DA), 15,36 ~ovement for Berber Culture (~CB), 27 ~ovement of the Islamic Nahda (~NI), 24, 32,37 ~ovement of the Society for Peace (~SP), 32 ~uawad, Nayla, 142 ~uawad, Rene, 140 ~ubarak, Husni, 40, 50-52, 54, 62, 65, 242, 244 ~uhammad, Prophet, 86, 158-159, 178, 180 ~uhieddin, Khalid, 63 mukhabarat, 58, 79, 113-114, 166, 168, 197, 227,234-235,241-242,246,249,258, 260,274 al-~urr, ~ichel, 145-147 ~usharka, Zuheir, 235 ~uslim Brotherhood,116, 246; (Egypt), 17, 34,44,51-53,61-63, 164;(Jordan), 75, 86-87, 98; (Syria), 236 ~uslims, 16-17,45, 158, 130-133, 140, 150-151,153,160,173,203,206-208, 220-221. See also Alawis; Druze; Shi'ites; Sunnis; Zaydis al-Mustaqbal al- 'arabi, 1 Nablus, 186 al-Nabulsi, Sulayman, 73, 77 al-Nahda, 17 al-Naibari, Abdallah, 115-116 Nasser, President, See 'Abd al-Nasser, Gamal Nasserism, 42, 58, 63, 214, 247, 254, 257 N asserist Party, 42 National Alliance, 211 National Bloc, 168, 182 National Charter (Egypt), 42, 47 National Charter (Jordan), 71, 76, 78-79, 85-86,95 National Conference, 253 National Constitutional Party (NCP), 85 National Council of Social Dialogue (CCDS), 175 National Council of Youth and the Future (CNJA), 175 National Democratic Alliance (NDA), 219 National Democratic Institute, 261 National Democratic Party (NDP), 39, 50-52,236 National Democratic Rally (RND), 32 "-Totional Dialogue Committee of Political l:'OH.-~-, '>44, 250, 255-256 National Islamic Loalition, 117

National Islamic Front (NIF), 205, 209, 211-214, 216-220 National Liberal Party, 145 National Liberation Front, See Front de Liberation Nationale National ~ovement, 132, 153 National Pact, 127, 130-132, 135, 270 National Progressive Front (NPF), 224-225 National Progressive Unionist Party, 42, 49-50,63 National Socialist Party, 73 National Union, 57,66 National Unionist Party (NUP), 209 National Union of ~oroccan Students (UNE~), 168-169 National Union of Popular Forces (UNFP), 162, 166-167, 180-182 NDP, See National Democratic Party neopatrimonialism, 83, 136-137, 147, 197-198,229,238,261,275. See also ~orocco, makhzen system in Netanyahu, Benjamin, 91, 93, 193, 197, 199 Netherlands, 60, 258-260 NIF. See National Islamic Front Nile Valley, 39, 203, 207-208 nongovernmental organizations (NGOs), 6, 60-61,174-175,194-196,202,273-274, 288. See also civil society NorthAmerica, 189 Nuba,207-212,215,217 Nuba ~ountains Federation, 209 Nubians, 207-208 al-Numayri, Ja'far, 209-211, 213-214, 216, 219,270-271 Nuqud, ~uhammad Ibrahim, 212,215 October ~anifesto, 47-48, 59 oil. See petroleum Oman, 176, 257-258; statistical data, 280-287 Opposition Coalition, 248 Organization of Popular Democratic Action (OADP), 179 Oslo Agreement, 90, 186, 191-193, 199,277 Oslo II Agreement, 186 Osman, Ahmed, 170, 184 Ottoman Empire, 40, 129-130, 185 PA. See Palestinian Authority Pacts, 2, 276. See also Charter for National Salvation; Document of National Accord; National Charter; National Pact; Tripartite Peace Accord PAGS. See Socialist Avant-Garde Party Pakistan, 246 Palestine, 6, 185-202, 242, 267, 269, 271, 275; civil society in, 40, 187, 189,

Index 194-196, 198-199, 202, 273; economic conditions in, 193-194, 199, 201; elections (1996), 186, 191-192, 198, 201; impact oflsraeli occupation on, 187-189, 191; international donors and, 194, 196-197; nationalism in, 74, 187-188; political patronage in, 192, 197-198; prospects for democracy in, 198-199. See also Gaza; West Bank Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 74, 89-91,94,185-188,193-194,197 Palestine National Congress, 188 Palestinian Authority (PA), ix, 186-187, 190-191, 193, 195. See also Palestine Palestinian Democratic Union (FIDA), 188, 192 Palestinian diaspora, 72-74, 78, 80, 82, 86, 89-91,99, 107, 120, 132, 185, 189; distribution of, 199 Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC), 191-193, 198 Palestinian National Authority. See Palestinian Authority Palestinian People's Party (PPP), 188, 192 Paris Club, 259 parliaments. See legislatures Parti du Progres et du Socialism (PPS), 162-163, 180 Parti National Democrate (PND), 160 patron-client relations. See neopatrimonialism Pelletreau, Robert, 258 People's Democratic Party (PDP), 209 People's Democratic Republic of Yemen (South),243,245,247-248,250.See also Yemen Peres, Shimon, 193 Perrault, Gilles, 177 petroleum, 11, 20, 35, 48, 81, 102, 104, 108-110,115,117,122-124,229,235, 250,259,263,277 PFLP. See Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine Phalange Party, 132, 155 PLC. See Palestinian Legislative Council PLI. See Liberal Independents Party PLO. See Palestine Liberation Organization pluralism. See ta'addudiyya PNA. See Algerian National Party political culture, 5, 8, 29, 113, 128, 136-139, 149, 173, 190-191, 268-271; Orientalist approaches to, 242 political economy, 6, 81-82, 101, 271. See also class structure; debt; economic development; economic liberalization; foreign aid; labor migration; neopatrimonialism; rentierism; structural adjustment

297

political liberalization: and civil society, 83, 273-275; defined, 268; future of, 277-278; relationship to democratization, 3-4, 277. See also individual countries political parties, 3, 8, 11-12, 14-15, 19, 22-26,31-32,34,36-37,43,48-55, 61-63,77-78,85-86,94,97,115-122, 132, 137, 140, 142, 160-168, 170-172, 174-175,205-220,241,243-248, 251-255, 257-263. See also individual parties Popular Forces Congress, 47 Popular Front for the Liberation of Palestine (PFLP), 188, 192, 196, 201 Popular Movement Party, 165, 167, 181 Popular Struggle Front (PSF), 192 populism, 3, 59, 132, 188,269 Populist Islamic Group, 116-117 PPA. See Algerian People's Party PPP. See Palestinain People's Party PPS. See Parti du Progres et du Socialism PRA. See Algerian Renaissance Party Prague, 248 press. See media professional associations, 28, 48, 60, 66, 82, 84,91,97, 143,187,194-195,206,231, 252,273 PSD. See Social Democratic Party Qaddafi, Muammar, 242 Qaddah, Sulayman, 225 Qalqilya, 186 al-Qaradawi, Yusif, 44 Qatar, statistical data, 280-287 al-Qattami, Jasim, 116 Quran, 16-17, 44-46 Qutb, Sayyid, 44, 164 al-Rabi',Ahmad, 116,122 Rabin, Yitzhak, 91 Ramallah, 186 Rassemblement National des Independants (RNI), 160 RAY. See League of the Sons of Yemen RCD. See Cultural and Democratic Party regime openings, 271-272 Reglement Organique, 130 rentierism, 11, 20-21, 29, 35, 71, 81-84, 108-109,123-124,233,235,242,264, 270-271,273,277 Rifa'i, Zayd, 82 Rifregion, 165, 181 Rustow, Dankwart, 4 Saad,Sadeq,39 Saadi, Saad, 14 Saaf, Abdallah, 171

298 al-Sabah, 'Ali Khalifa, 121 al-Sabah, Amir Abdallah Salim, 102 al-Sabah, Amir Ahmad, 102 al-Sabah, Sheikh Jabir, 114 al-Sabah family, 102, 123, 271 Sabri, 'Ali, 58 Sa'dah, 256 Sadat, Anwar, 39-40,46-51,55,57-59,62 al-Sa'dun, Ahmad, 118 al-Sakr, 'Abd al-'Aziz, 118 al-Sakr, Jasim, 118 Salibi, Kamal, 138 Salih, 'Ali 'Abdullah, 244,252,255 Salim, Sheikh, 106 Salt, 82 San'a, 256-259 Sanhan,245 Sarkhu, Nasir, 117 Sartori, Giovanni, 3 Saudi Arabia, 58, 76, 105, 120, 133, 135, 143, 176, 200; involvement in Yemeni affairs, 246-247, 250, 257-262; statistical data, 280-287 al-Sayyid, Mustapha Kamel, 6 sayyids, 246-249, 261 Scandinavia, 92 sectarianism, 108, 137-139, 149-150, 241, 270,275 secularism, 5, 13-15, 116, 142, 209-210, 215,232,259,264 security services. See mukhabarat Sfayr, Nasrallah Butros, 141 Shafa'is, 246, 248, 258 Shakib Affandi regulations, 129 Shakir, Zayd bin, 75, 82, 88 Shalak, al-Fadl, 144 Sham'un, Kamil, 132, 146 shari'a, 13,15-17,33-34,46,53,86,117, 121,138,158-159,205,209,213-214, 216-218,220,230,255,288 Sharif, Layla, 88 Shihabi governors of Lebanon, 129 Shi'ites, 103, 111-113, 117-119, 129, 131-132,138,140,142,153,262 al-Shubaylat, Layth, 87, 91, 96 Shuf, 129, 144 Shukri, Ibrahim, 50 shura, 13, 16-17,34,46,160-161,173,179 Sidon, 130 al-Siyassa al-dawliyya, 1 Social Democratic Party (PSD), 15, 36 SocialistAvant-Garde Party (PAGS), 14, 32 Socialist Forces Front (FFS), 14, 26, 33, 36-37 Socialist Labour Party, 34, 42, 50-53 Socialist Union of Popular Forces (USFP), 162-163, 170-177,183

Index Social Liberal Party (PSL), 15 Social Reform Society, 116 Somalia, 262 Southern Sudanese Political Association (SSPA), 215 South Lebanon Army, 140 Soviet Union, 59, 113,223-224, 227, 236, 250,260 SPLM. See Sudan People's Liberation Movement SSNP. See Syrian Social Nationalist Party structural adjustment/reform, 8, 12, 15, 30-31,60,81-82,245,259,271.See also economic liberalization Sudan,ix,2, 7,176,203-222,246,262, 269-271, 275-277; civil society in, 204, 210; civil war in, 210, 212, 216-218, 221; concepts of democracy in, 204-206, 219; elections (1986), 211-215; impact of social cleavages on, 203-204, 206-208, 217-221; statistical data, 280-287 Sudan African People's Congress Organization (SAPCO), 215 Sudanese African Congress (SAC), 215 Sudanese African National Union (SANU), 21 Sudanese National Party (SNP), 215 Sudanese People's Federal Party (SPFP), 215 Sudan People's Liberation Movement (SPLM), 205, 211-213, 215-219 sufi orders, 40, 59, 207 Suleiman, Michael, 137 al-Sulh, Riyad, 131 Sunnis, 44, 112, 116-117, 128, 130-132, 135,137-138,142,152-153,227-229, 233-234,237,248 Sweden, 60 Switzerland, 133 Syria, 7-8, 51, 64, 102, 176, 199, 202, 214, 223-240, 269, 272-273; civil society in, 227,229-232, 239; conceptions of political adaption in, 223-225; obstacles to political change in, 225-229, 235-237; role in Lebanon, 127, 131-133, 135-136, 139-144, 149-151; statistical data, 280-287 Syrian Social Nationalist Party (SSNP), 142, !53 ta'addudiyya, 3-4, 7, 23-24, 224, 268-269, 277 Ta'if Accord. See Document of National Accord Taiz region, 248, 257,259 Tala!, King, 73 al-Talfilah, 82

Index Taliban,246 Third World, 2, 19,39-40,43, 157, 169, 176 trade unions, 24, 28, 66, 84, 143, 145, 187, 194-195,206,209,216,218,224,228, 231,237,273,287 Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination, 141-142 tribes, 72,84-85,98,102,108,118,203, 206-208,210,241,245-246,248-249, 254-256,263,273 Tripartite Peace Accord, 133-134 Tripoli, 130 Tulkarem, 186 Tunisia, 2, 7, 17, 25, 157; statistical data, 280-287 al-Turabi, Hasan, 214 Turkey, statistical data, 280-287 umma. See Muslims UNFP. See National Union of Popular Forces Unificationist Gathering, 248 Union Constitutionelle (UC), 160 United Arab Emirates (UAE), 248; statistical data, 280-287 United States, 53,59-60, 114, 120, 127, 132-134, 140, 151,246, 251, 258, 261, 263 Unity-Nasserite Party, 248 USFP. See Socialist Union of Popular Forces

West Bank, 73-74, 77, 89-91, 185, 193, 199, 201. See also Palestine Western Sahara, 169, 184 Wittfogel, Karl, 39 women, 50, 53-54, 87-89, 98-99, 104, 108, 113, 115, 120, 142-143, 155, 182, 190, 195,214,224,228,237,241-242, 248-249,255,257-259,261,263, 280-281, 285-289; statistical data, 280-281,285-289 Women's Union in Jordan, 88 World Bank, 21, 28, 30, 177, 259 World War I, 130 World War II, 104 Yacine, Abdel-Salam, 164 Yemen, ix, 2, 5, 92, 241-266; civil society in,97,248,252,267,270-271,275; civil war (1994), 257-259; elections (1993),241,243,246,253-255, 257-258, 262; elections (1997), 241, 243, 259-262; party pluralism in, 244-248; social groups in, 248-249; statistical data, 280-287; unification of (1990), 242-245,250-251. See also Saudi Arabia Yemen Arab Republic (North), 243, 247, 250-251. See also Yemen Yemeni Socialist Party (YSP), 245,249,251, 254-255,257-258,262

Vietnam, 242 Wafd,34,40,52,232 Wahhabi (Islam), 246, 250, 259 Weber, Max, 171 West, 1, 16, 45, 60-61, 127, 157-159, 232, 234,242,244,262

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Zacharia, Christina, 6 Zaydis, 246-248,261, 263 Zayek, Elias, 146 Zeroual, Lamin, 12, 26 al-Zubi, Mahmud, 224 Zughbi, Ghanem, 148

About the Book

Drawing on the theoretical insights offered in its companion volume, this book examines the processes of and prospects for political reform in 10 Arab countries-Algeria, Egypt, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Morocco, Palestine, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen-selected to demonstrate a broad range of contexts, trajectories, and political potentials. The authors have gone beyond the traditional case-study approach to create a cohesive, comparative collection organized around a common analytical framework. Among the specific questions explored in each chapter are: How do governments and the various groups in civil society define their brands of democracy, and what is the degree of convergence/divergence? What are the reasons behind the present democratization process? How reversible or credible is that process? What is the chemistry of government-civil society interaction? Bahgat Korany is professor of political science and director of the InterUniversity Consortium for Arab Studies at the University of Montreal. His books include How Foreign Policy Decisions Are Made in the Third World and (with M. Flory et al.) Regimes politiques arabes. Rex Brynen is associate professor of political science at McGill University. He is author of Sanctuary and Survival: The PLO in Lebanon. Paul Noble is associate professor of political science and chair of the Middle East studies program at McGill University, as well as author of numerous articles on Arab politics.

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