Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan (Middle East Today) 3030421430, 9783030421434

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MIDDLE EAST TODAY

Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan Hewa Haji Khedir

Middle East Today

Series Editors Fawaz A. Gerges Department of International Relations London School of Economics London, UK Nader Hashemi Center for Middle East Studies, Josef Korbel School of International Studies University of Denver Denver, CO, USA

The Iranian Revolution of 1979, the Iran-Iraq War, the Gulf War, and the US invasion and occupation of Iraq have dramatically altered the geopolitical landscape of the contemporary Middle East. The Arab Spring uprisings have complicated this picture. This series puts forward a critical body of first-rate scholarship that reflects the current political and social realities of the region, focusing on original research about contentious politics and social movements; political institutions; the role played by non-governmental organizations such as Hamas, Hezbollah, and the Muslim Brotherhood; and the Israeli-Palestine conflict. Other themes of interest include Iran and Turkey as emerging pre-eminent powers in the region, the former an ‘Islamic Republic’ and the latter an emerging democracy currently governed by a party with Islamic roots; the Gulf monarchies, their petrol economies and regional ambitions; potential problems of nuclear proliferation in the region; and the challenges confronting the United States, Europe, and the United Nations in the greater Middle East. The focus of the series is on general topics such as social turmoil, war and revolution, international relations, occupation, radicalism, democracy, human rights, and Islam as a political force in the context of the modern Middle East.

More information about this series at http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14803

Hewa Haji Khedir

Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan

Hewa Haji Khedir University of Winchester Winchester, UK

Middle East Today ISBN 978-3-030-42143-4 ISBN 978-3-030-42144-1 (eBook) https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1 © The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology now known or hereafter developed. The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general use. The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication. Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, expressed or implied, with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have been made. The publisher remains neutral with regard to jurisdictional claims in published maps and institutional affiliations. Cover credit: Aanas Lahoui shutterstock.com This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by the registered company Springer Nature Switzerland AG The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland

To Lwa, Nwa and Rohin

Praise for Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan

“This book gives remarkable insights into the problems of transition to democracy, using an interesting case study. Dr. Khedir’s sociological angle grants us a window into the important and sometimes neglected question of social capital in democratic politics. The weakness of the fast-track transition model becomes evident, as its institutional design proves insufficient for a transition success without supportive social relationships in place.” —Alex Danilovich, Ph.D., Senior Associate, Institute on Governance, Ottawa, Canada “The simplistic importation of ‘democratic devices’ such as parliaments, as Hewa Haji Khedir demonstrates here in this detailed analysis, is not the same as democratisation. This extensive case study of ‘democratic’ transition in the Kurdistan region of Iraq instead identifies that ‘social capital literature fails to pay adequate attention to the historical, cultural and economic pre-transition contexts’. Khedir explains the weaknesses of social capital in Kurdistan as well. The lack of sufficient societal trust and effective civil literacy and communications to foster it all undermines the development of adequate mechanisms for accountability, and without accountability there can be no democracy.” —Pippa Catterall, Professor of History and Policy, University of Westminster, London, UK

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Kurdistan Region of Iraq (KRI), Kurds and Iraq KRI refers to territories in the four governorates of Erbil, Sulaimani, Duhok and Halabja in the North East of Iraq which fell under the control of Kurds since 1991. The area is often, especially in Pan-nationalist Kurdish circles, called Bashur (south) to point to its geographic location vis-à-vis other parts of Kurdistan: Northern Kurdistan in Turkey (Bakur), Eastern Kurdistan in Iran (Rojhelat ) and Western Kurdistan in Syria (Rojava). Due to historical disputes over vast swaths of land between Kurds and consecutive Iraqi governments the ultimate geographic territorial boundaries of KRI is not defined yet.1 The KRI is recognized by Iraqi constitution of 2005 as an autonomous region within the boundaries of the federal state of Iraq (article 117, first). Geographically, KRI’s area reaches 40,643 km2 (Kurdistan Regional Government Website). Demographically, an entirely accurate figure with respect to the population of the region is not available: the last general population census to have

1 Article 140 of the Iraqi constitution (2005) addresses the issue of Internally Disputed

Territories (IDTs) and demographic change policies of Ba’th regime by setting up a three stage roadmap (normalization, census and referendum). The article was expected to come to conclusion by December 31, 2007. Apart from partial implementation of stage one (normalization meant to be restoring the demographic and administrative normal situation of these areas), no progress has been made with stage two and three.

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been carried out in KRI2 was in 1987 which had identified the population of the region at 2,015,466. As KRI governorates were out of the control of Iraqi government, the last population census of 1997 did not include KRI governorates. However, the census provided an estimation of 2,861,701. In 2014, Kurdistan Region Statistics Office (KRSO) and the Central Statistics Office (CSO) offered an estimation of 5,122,747. Taking the last figure as the benchmark, the population of KRI counts for 14.22% of the Iraqi population (estimated at 36,004,552 in 2014). Overwhelming majority of the KRI population resides in urban settings: 75%, 84% and 85% in governorates of Duhok, Erbil and Sulaimani respectively (IOM, UNFPA and KSRO 2018, p. 14).3 Ethnically, vast majority of the population are Kurds, predominantly Sunni Muslims, who have lived for centuries with Turkmens, Christians, Arabs and other ethnic and religious communities of Yazidis, Kakais, Shabaks, Jews and Sabean Mandaeans (Map 1). Identity is a controversial issue in KRI: to begin with, variations of identification with different sources of group-identity exist: Aziz’s (2011) survey reveals this variation eloquently; whilst his survey demonstrates that Kurdistani (simply being a Kurd from Kurdistan) tended to be the overriding identity for the university students in KRI, identification with Iraq, Iraqi Kurdistan, Kurdistan Region, greater Kurdistan, Islam, region or tribe were reported among the ways his survey respondents presented themselves in. Additionally, whereas for certain communities whose identity, at least in relation to Kurds, seems to be relatively clear-cut (for example Turkmens who express them as a distinct ethnicity or Christians who mostly define themselves in terms of identification to Christianity, for other ethnic and religious communities, such as heterodox communities of Kakais (Ahli Haqq) and Yazidis the boundaries are not so sharply drawn. Bruinessen (2006, p. 23) makes a useful distinction between core

2 At the time of the 1987 census, a geographic and administrative area to be called KRI did not exist: Iraqi government would call present KRI governorates, northern governorates or governorates of autonomy area to refer to areas which were allowed to be run by Kurds according to March manifesto/agreement of 1970 between Kurdish revolution and Iraqi Government. 3 Because Halabja is a newly created governorate and that it was part of Sulaimani governorate separate official data about it is missing.

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Map 1 Areas under the administration of KRG and Internally Disputed Territories (Source Created by Dr. Hashim Yasin Al-Hadad, Professor of Geography, Salahaddin University-Erbil)

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and periphery in Kurdish identity: the core refers to an unambiguous prevailing Kurdish identity for masses of Kurds and the periphery to the outlying groups for whom an ethnic Kurdish identity is just one among many other identities. Therefore, Bruinessen (ibid., p. 21) prefers to use “Kurdish Society” or “Kurdish culture” in a relatively loose meaning to denote to Kurds and communities who “may not in all contexts identify themselves as Kurds”. Specifically speaking about KRI, it is worth noting that identity has become an exceptionally politicized issue for ethnic and religious communities who populate IDTs (see PAX for Peace 2015). The fact that KRG and Iraqi government has been in protracted conflict over the identity of these areas, each pushed hard in order to win the loyalty of these communities. In consequence, intra community identity divisions emerged to the surface reflecting conflicting community preferences in terms of future status of IDTs. With the invasion of Nineveh by Islamic State in Iraq and Levant (ISIL) and prosecution of the ethnic and religious communities, intra community divisions became further apparent. For instance, among Yazidi community, a Kurdish Identity, a Yazidi Identity and a dual Kurdish-Yazidi Identity persist. Likewise, for Turkmens, a tension has grown between a Turkmen Sunni and Turkmen Shi’a identity. Historically, in the aftermath of the World War I, KRI which would constitute largest parts of what was back then called Mosul Vilayet, in 1925 was attached to the newly formed state of Iraq. Presenting Iraq as “artificial”, created to serve the selfish interests of colonial powers, is a popular thesis among Kurdish nationalists. Research (e.g. Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Rear 2008; Saleh 2013) suggests that the attachment of Mosul Vilayet to Iraq took place to realize two central goals: firstly, the attachment of a predominantly Sunni population (Sunni Arabs and Sunni Kurds) to Iraq was essential to bring about a sort of demographic balance between Sunni and Shi’a population of the country. The frictional relationships of British occupiers and Shi’a clergies even before the creation of Iraqi state which reached its height in 1920 revolt against occupation, made occupying authorities became progressively hostile to Shi’a and, therefore, they did everything possible to prevent Shi’a leverage in Iraq to grow (see Kadhim 2012; Ismael and Fuller 2008; Saleh 2013). Secondly, the attachment of an area with enormous oil reserves was instrumental for the economic viability of the newly emerged Iraq. Up until 1997, the contribution of northern oilfield reached to nearly 50% of the overall Iraq’s oil production (Ghafur 2010, p. 27). Moreover, In Kurdish circles, the creation of Iraq is not only a colonial arrangement, but

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it also represents an obvious betrayal of a promise of independence made to the Kurds in accordance to Treaty of Sevres 19204 which was soon aborted by the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923 (e.g. see Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Yildiz 2004; Gunter 2008; Rear 2008; Aziz 2011). It is often rightly suggested that if the historical Shi’a question in Iraq is to have revolved around the legitimacy of governments , for Kurds the whole idea of legitimacy of the state itself has been in question. In reaction to reigning on Sevres promises and failure in genuine realization of the Anglo-Iraqi statement of 1922,5 regional and sporadic revolts broke out in Kurdistan. In spite of a debate that surrounds the early Kurdish revolts to have been truly nationalistic or just had been regional and tribal rebellions to achieve particularistic ends, from the onset, signs of long Kurdish struggle in Iraq were hard to be hidden (see McDowall 2004; Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Romano 2006). The early regional revolts led by religious and tribal leaders such as that of Sheikh Mahmoud in 1920s and early 1930s and Barzan revolts of 1930s and 1940s supplemented by the emergence of urban-based and educated Kurdish elite who began to provide a more inclusive meaning to Kurdish nationalism. Bengio (2012) identifies three stages for Kurdish nationalism since the foundation of Iraq until 1968: 1918–1946 is a period which witnessed minor and unorganized tribal revolts lacked a clear political orientation; 1946–1961 with the fundamental significance attached to the foundation of Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP) which provided organization and ideological framework for the Kurdish nationalism. It is worth noting that the creation of KDP was the outcome for the struggle of newly emerged Kurdish urban elites gradually appeared to the scene in 1930s and the first half of 1940s. This segment of urban Kurdish nationalists began establishing organizations such as Young Men’s Club (Komeley Lawan), Brotherhood Society (Komeley Brayeti), Wood Cutters (Darker), Hope Party 4 In articles 62–64, Treaty of Sevres stipulated creation of an independent Kurdistan to include predominantly Kurdish areas in Mosul Vilayet in the aftermath of the World War I and the collapse of Ottoman Empire. 5 The statement reads “His Britannic Majesty’s government and the government of Iraq

recognize the right of the Kurds living within those boundaries of Iraq to set up a Kurdish government within those boundaries and hope that the different Kurdish elements will, as soon as possible, arrive at an agreement between themselves as to form which they wish that government should take and the boundaries within which they wish it to extend and will send responsible delegate to Baghdad to discuss their economic and political relations with his Britannic Majesty’s government and the government of Iraq”.

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(Hiwa), Revolution (Shorsh) and Salvation of Kurds (Rizgari Kurd). Finally, stage three, 1961–1968 commences with the outbreak of September revolution (Shorshi Eilul) which allowed for an inclusive movement able to, as Bengio suggests, at least temporally, transcend the divisions of Kurdish society. This last phase ends with 1968–1970 negotiations between Kurdish revolution and newly ascended Ba’th party in Iraq. The two years of negotiations resulted in the famous agreement of March manifesto/agreement6 (see Anderson and Stansfield 2004; McDowall 2004). The agreement/manifesto granted autonomy to Kurds in majority Kurdish areas in Erbil, Sulaimani and Duhok; it recognized the use of Kurdish as a formal language in the autonomous areas; it expected the conclusion of the agreement by a census over the final status of disputed territories. However, due to inability of both sides to reach an agreement with respect to disputed territories, Kurdish allegations regarding the continuity of demographic change policies of Ba’th government, accusing Kurds for receiving external support from Iraq’s external adversaries, a distrust resulted from a failed assassination attempt aimed at the life Mustapha Barzani led to the collapse of the March agreement/Manifesto in 1974. The Algiers agreement of March 1975 between Saddam Hussein and Shah of Iran included stipulations to terminate Iran’s logistic support to Kurdish revolution. The notorious Algiers agreement inflicted a painful setback into Kurdish revolution movement. In spite of a relative swift revival of Kurdish nationalist movement, a new era began and lasted until the uprising of Kurds in the wake of Gulf war in 1991. The post 1975 setback marked by two central characteristics: firstly, the foundation of Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK) in 1975 brought an end for one-party leadership of Kurdish movement which had begun by the creation of KDP in 1946. As it became evident, the historical intradivisions of KDP in 1960s between Mustapha Barzani, on the one hand,

6 Ba’th insisted to use the terminology “manifesto” rather than “agreement” for two

reasons: firstly, to imply that the document was a unilateral/voluntary recognition from the part of the state to its Kurdish citizens. This terminology was essential to devoid the document of the connotation that describing the document as an “agreement” would have. An agreement was seen to imply an outcome reached to by negotiations between two parties on equal footing. Secondly, Ba’th hoped to free itself from any future obligation should it decided at any point to terminate or cancel the document. Describing it as manifesto and unilateral would allow Ba’th to have this margin for political maneuvers in the future.

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and Jalal Talabani-Ibrahim Ahmed, on the other hand contributed significantly to tensions and armed conflict between KDP and PUK in the years preceded the transition in KRI. The two parties and numerous other Kurdish armed political parties in exile could barely manage to set aside their disagreements in 1987–1988 when Kurdistan National Front (KNF) as an umbrella structure was set up to unite Kurdish struggle in Iraq. A second defining feature of this period manifests itself in a sharp escalation of violence used against Kurds in the county. This was coincided with the rise of Saddam Hussein to power in 1979 and the ability of Ba’th party to eliminate all forms of internal threats coming from the inside of the regime or from Shi’a opposition in other parts of Iraq. Collective guilt and punishment of Kurds (e.g. genocide of Barzanis 1983, chemical bombardment of Halabja 1987 and Anfal operations of 1988) became a conventional method of violence and large scale demographic change of ethnically mixed areas in Kirkuk, Nineveh and Diyala was implemented. Invasion of Kuwait in August 1990 by Iraqi army and the military reaction of coalition forces led by the United States coupled with economic sanction and years of Iraq-Iran war 1980–1988 made Ba’th regime to become progressively frail. In early months of 1991, for Kurds specifically in March of that year, a twin uprising in Kurdish areas and predominantly Shi’a governorates of the south broke out. The two uprisings were relatively quickly oppressed by regime forces: as allied forced became increasingly cautious about the influence of Iran on Shi’a opposition with its potential ramification for the future of Iraq (e.g. see Haddad 2011), the coalition turned a blind eye on the extreme scale of violence Iraqi government used to suppress the uprisings in north and south. By April 1991, within few weeks of the Kurdish uprising, Iraqi government forces managed to restore their control over vast swath of Kurdistan, including major cities of Erbil, Sulaimani and Duhok. Nevertheless, in spite of military success in defeating the uprising (popularly called Rapareen), Iraqi government made the decision to withdraw its forces and bureaucratic structures from Kurdistan in October 1991. As it became obvious, such a move marked the beginning of a protracted process of transition to democracy in KRI (the details of which are explored throughout this book). Finally, a remark on the Kurdish nationalism in Iraq vis-à-vis panKurdish nationalism is necessary. Obviously, Hamit Bozarslan’s observation (2018) regarding the relative success of Kurdish movement in transcending intra-Kurdish divisions by “elaborating a common language, a

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cartographic imaginary, a common flag, shared myths, a national Pantheon, and a largely unified historiographical discourse”, and his suggestion that Kurdish movement (by referring to somehow unifying panKurdish sentiments that Barzanji, Simko, Ararat, Mahabad and Barzani revolts generated in various parts of Kurdistan) began as a trans-border movement are largely correct. Consistently, it is principally evident that Kurds in Iraq, from an ethnic point of view, consider them as being part of a greater Kurdish family and politically aware that any progress/retreat in any part of Kurdistan will have favorable/harmful ramifications for other parts. Nevertheless, from a political/pragmatic standpoint, they progressively came to conclusion that any peaceful future solution for Kurdish issue, if it ever opted for by dominant nations, will need to take into account the uniqueness of Kurdish issue in each of the four countries that share the division of greater Kurdistan. Seemingly, this understanding now is the formal political discourse of the leading political parties in every part of Kurdistan.

Setting Up the Theoretical Background The publication of Making Democracy Work 1993 by Robert D. Putnam marked the beginning of the proliferation of research linking social capital to democracy and governance (see Chapter 1). Putnam and scholars of Putnamise tradition have suggested that the success of democracy and effective governance is predicated on the gradation of civicness defined in terms of the horizontal trust (trust between individuals), civic engagement and active citizenry, civic social networks and collective action. The abundance of social capital, the argument goes, will allow for the societal inputs (needs, demands, concerns, grievances and so on) to be articulated and processed in the democratic machinery, and to result in more responsive democratic outputs (policies). This line of theory has also widely been tested to study social capital as an impediment of transition to democracy in post-authoritarian regimes. In this regard, issues such as atomization of individuals, disappointment in civil society, prevalence of ethnic-nationalist dispositions, sectarianism, corruption and so forth not have only been presented to reflect a legacy of authoritarianism, but also understood to be manifestations of a certain form of social capital. Therefore, the question of social capital in its association with democracy is not only a question of how much social capital a given society possesses, but it is also a question of which quality of social capital is abundant in that

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society. A methodological implication is that quantitative indicators of social capital (for instance, number of voluntary and civil society organizations) if not scrutinized in light of further detailed data (quantitative and/or qualitative) can lead to misleading conclusions about social capital. In spite of the popularity of social capital thesis (especially in Putnam’s version), criticism, both within and from the outside of the school, has been tremendously profound. Disagreements revolved around roots of social capital, methodological measurement of the concept and its relations with democracy (see Chapter 1). With respect to the roots of social capital, critics of Putnam call for a more inclusive explanation to go beyond explaining social capital as an outcome of engagement in civic associations to encompass the role of religion and denomination, economic development and prosperity, collective experience of a society, state policies and so forth in generating forms of social capital. Putnam’s empirical conceptualization of the concept furthermore criticized on methodological grounds: his account is presented to be cyclical, tautological and, at best, inadequate to capture social capital. And lastly, critics contend that social capital can by no means be understood to be in a causal link (independent factor) to democracy; they, rather, suggest that social capital is an outcome for democracy (dependent factor). As far as civil society is concerned, for instance, structuralists overplay the impact of state policies (legal frameworks, restrictions and financial support or lack thereof and so on) on the boost and the vigor of civil society. It is even suggested that trust, as a main ingredient of social capital, can only grow when democracy persists, justice is consolidated and rule of law is enforced. A critical application of social capital theory serves several purposes. First and foremost, in contexts where politics has chiefly been studied as an elite endeavor, social capital theory makes it possible to examine politics as a grassroots activity and to bridge it to what goes into and what comes out from politics. Social capital theory not only allows to understand how elite behavior, practices and structural restraints/opportunities shape grassroots politics, it also permits to comprehend how grassroots activities, practices and expressions, in turn, form politics in the elite level. This is of exceptional significance in the case of Kurdish studies, specifically the growing literature on KRI (see Chapter 1), as the emphasis has largely been placed on party politics, elections, Baghdad-Erbil relations/tensions and so on, and in contrast, civil society, civic engagement, grassroots attitudes toward politics remained fundamentally beyond scientific enquiry.

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This book is an attempt to study social capital and transition to democracy in such a two-sided way: on the one hand, it provides a snapshot of social capital to explore its potential contribution to democracy, and, on the other hand, it offers an account for multitude structural and elite influences that have given form and content to social capital in Kurdistan. Furthermore, social capital theory can have major empowerment consequences in post-authoritarian environments where, for decades, any forms of public engagement and freedoms have been oppressed and bottom-up initiatives have been violently stifled. Social capital is an attempt to empower marginalized and oppressed individuals, groups and communities by articulating the worth of collective action in bringing about desired outcomes. Nevertheless, empowerment is not only about being grouped, raise demands and pressurize elites, it, in fact, transcends that to stress that empowerment requires citizens to acquire necessary civic skills and virtues to participate in politics. Citizens in a polity need to learn how to negotiate and express demands, set up agendas, organize meetings and rallies and so forth in order for them to be visible in public life and to carry out their civic duties. This can essentially be achieved through participation in civic associational life. Once again, this is of vital significance for the context of Kurdistan where a long history of oppression and authoritarianism disappointed, and often terrified popular enterprises and deprived citizens form boosting civic skills necessary for their empowerment in public arena. Nonetheless, a critical employment of social capital theory is indispensable to abstain from romanticizing the ramifications of social capital for democracy and effective governance. In essence, some forms of social capital such as nepotism, clientalism, tribalism and rigid ethnic/nationalist groupings, for example, constitute tangible threats for the consolidation of democracy and the establishment of functional and inclusive governance. In this fashion, social capital theory allows inspecting not only grassroots potentials, but also cultural challenges that risk a smooth evolvement of a democracy in a given context. As it will be shown in this book (especially in Chapter 5), there exist fundamental manifestations of negative social capital that requires both academic scrutiny and policy interventions.

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Presenting the Argument This book is a work in political sociology aims at providing a bottom-up insight, supported by empirical findings, into the process of transition to democracy in KRI. The book utilizes Social capital Theory to examine political culture and the ways through which social capital in KRI affects democratization of the region. Whilst, conceptually, it relies heavily on the operationalization of the concept of social capital by Putnam (1993, 2000), the book broadens the theoretical framework by examining the explanatory potential of criticism offered to Putnam’s theory (see Chapter 1). The book has examined the three elements of social capital: Trust, Social Networksand Public Interest and Civic Participation (PICP) in KRI to argue that Kurdish social capital has hardly been of a quality to grease the wheels of democratization and democratic governance in Kurdistan. Broadly speaking, in spite of regional variations across the KRI, the radius of trust does not extend to reach “generalized others”: it is evident that most people (surveyed in this book) find it challenging to trust others, beyond their immediate social circles of family or close friends, to discuss political criticisms and grievances or to engage in collective action. The political potential of social networks, most likely reflecting an overall inadequacy of generalized trust, seems to be insufficient: discussions of public issues, especially political issues, in social networks are not commonplace; issues which are of central significance for future development of democracy (such a, ethnic and religious tolerance and democratic governance checks and balances) are relatively absent in informal discussions which take place in social networks; a lack of political knowledge about political institutions is apparent (see Chapter 3). The least political potential, among the elements of social capital, is found in civic engagement and participation: civic collective action to address community-related issues is hard to be identified (see Chapter 4). This form of social capital is highly likely to prevent grassroots activism to grow and ultimately make societal inputs to democracy and government machinery to be extremely deficient. Nevertheless, this book makes the case for an inclusive account for the roots of social capital and suggests that Putnam’s theory lacks the prospective to explain social capital in non-consolidated democracies or in contexts where transition from an authoritarian regime is still in its early stages (see Chapter 5). Accordingly, the book summarizes the roots of Kurdish social capital in four major determinants: legacy of direct Ba’th

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rule (1968–1991) and Kurdish civil war (1994–1997) in the early years of transition, economic hardships and injustice, proliferation of clientalistic networks and the state welfare policy and family-centered nature of Kurdish society. The outcomes in the intersection of the four determinants are: involvement in political and collective civic activities, unfavorable by authorities, let alone “hostile considered” activities, have become largely risky; social cleavages as a result of real/perceived injustice in the distribution of wealth has further entrenched; clientalism has stifled great deal the functioning of civil society organizations; the historical centrality of state and family have left no significant room for the intermediary structures to operate in realizing societal and individual needs. This approach to social capital unravels the roots of Kurdish social capital in the interaction of a range of historical, political and cultural variables contribute together in producing a specific form of social capital. This explanation combines structural (mainly government policies) and cultural (societal norms and expectations) influences in an explanation for social capital and transition to democracy in KRI. In the end, it is fundamental to point out to, as Schuurman (2003) suggests, the possible victim-blaming potential that social capital theory inherently poses: lack of democracy or lack of potential in political culture for democracy can be mistakenly presented as an explanation, or worse as justification, for the failure of democratization and politics in elite levels. As elites fail to deliver on good governance, it becomes possible for them to blame the society and culture for hindering democracy. This explanation is mistaken, at least, for two reasons: firstly, culture, including social capital, in spite of their significance, is by no means, in their own, of decisive impact for democracy and democratization. A host of other factors such as economic prosperity, international and regional relations, elite behavior, and legal framework and so on contribute in shaping democracy in a certain way. Social capital is certainly only one among many other factors to affect the challenging process of transition to democracy. Secondly, and more importantly, social capital itself, in significant ways, is a byproduct of political process and levels of democracy in a specific context. The case of KRI is a classic example for the defining impacts that structural factors had on social capital. An epistemological consequence is that the interwoven relationship between social capital and political structures need to be studied in a broader historical context.

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Organization of the Book The book consists of five chapters: Chapter 1 explores the theoretical terrain of social capital, democracy and democratization. In so doing, the chapter devotes a great deal of space to Putnam’s contribution to the study of social capital and governance in democracies and the ways through which his theory being criticized. To explain the originality of the work, the chapter tries to place social capital in the broader context of recently mounting literature on KRI. The chapter, then, explains the methodology used to study social capital in this project. Chapter 2 is a detailed examination of the context of democratization in KRI 1991–2018. The period has been classified into three sub-periods, they are named: formative years (1991–1996), consolidation years (1997–2003) and years of deconstruction (2003–2018). Chapter 3 examines the political aspects of trust and social networks: in this regard, issues such as “generalized trust”, trust and political criticism, inter-ethnic trust are studied. Meanwhile, the political aspects of social networks are scrutinized in relations to density, composition, existence of politics in social networks, political knowledge and trust in social networks. Chapter 4, addresses PICP in KRI: the chapter begins by providing a structural overview for the legal framework that sets up the ground for the functioning of civil society in Kurdistan and explain modes of interaction between Kurdish authorities and civil society organizations. In this framework, empirical findings with respect to civic engagement and participation are presented. Finally, Chapter 5 is an attempt to unravel the roots of social capital in relations to transition to democracy in KRI: focus has been placed on legacy of Ba’th rule and Kurdish civil war, economic hardships and injustice, clientalism, state welfare policy and family-based structure of Kurdish society.

References Anderson, L., and G. Stansfield. 2004. The Future of Iraq: Dictatorship, Democracy or Division. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Aziz, M.A. 2011. The Kurds of Iraq: Ethno-Nationalism and National Identity in Iraqi Kurdistan. London: I.B. Tauris. Bengio, O. 2012. The Kurds of Iraq: Building a State Within State. Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner. Bruinessen, M.V. 2006. Kurdish Paths to Nation. In The Kurds: Nationalism and Politics, ed. Faleh A. Jabar and Dawod Hosham. London, San Francisco and Beirut: SAQI.

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Ghafur, A. 2010. The Economic Geography of Oil in Kurdistan, 3rd ed. Erbil: Kurdish Academia Publications (Original in Kurdish). Gunter, M.M. 2008. The Kurds Ascending: The Evolving Solution to the Kurdish Problem in Iraq and Turkey. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Haddad, F. 2011. Sectarianism in Iraq: Antagonistic Visions of Unity. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. IOM, UNFPA and KSRO. 2018. Demographic Survey: Kurdistan Region of Iraq. Accessed 2 February 2019. Ismael, T., and M. Fuller. 2008. The Disintegration of Iraq: The Manufacturing and Politicization of Sectarianism. International Journal of Contemporary Iraqi Studies 2 (3): 443–473. Kadhim, A. 2012. Reclaiming Iraq: The 1920 Revolution and Founding of Modern State. Austin: University of Texas Press. McDowall, D. 2004. A Modern History of the Kurds. London: I.B. Tauris. PAX for Peace. 2015. After ISIS: Perspectives of Displaced Communities from Ninewa on Return to Ira’s Disputed Territory. Available at http://www. iraqicivilsociety.org/archives/4368. Putnam, R.D. 1993. Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. ———. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks. Rear, M. 2008. Intervention, Ethnic Conflict and State-Building in Iraq: A Paradigm for the Post-Colonial State. New York and London: Routledge. Romano, D. 2006. The Kurdish Nationalist Movement: Opportunity, Mobilization and Identity. New York: Cambridge University Press. Saleh, Z. 2013. On Iraqi Nationality: Law, Citizenship, and Exclusion. The Arab Studies Journal 21 (1): 48–78. Schuurman, F. 2003. Social Capital: The Politico-Emancipatory Potential of a Disputed Concept. Third World Quarterly 24 (6): 991–1010. Yildiz, K. 2004. The Kurds in Iraq: The Past, Present and Future. London: Pluto Press.

Contents

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1 1

Theory of Social Capital, Democracy and Democratization Introduction Social Capital, Political Culture, Democracy and Democratization Robert Putnam: Social Capital and Functioning of Democracy Critiques and Alternative Explanations Studying Democratization and Social Capital in KRI Methodology Conclusions References

2 4 17 29 33 36 38

The Context of Democratization in KRI: Implications for Social Capital Introduction Formative Years 1991–1996 Consolidation Years 1997–2003 Deconstruction Years 2003–2018 Conclusions References

45 45 48 61 64 76 80

Political Aspects of Trust and Social Networks Introduction Empirical Findings: Trust

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Variations of Willingness to Talk About Political Issues Across Social Circles Relative Readiness to Talk to People About Political Criticism Absence of Generalized Trust Trust in Ethnic In-Group Versus Trust in Ethnic Out-Groups Social Networks Overview Political Aspects of Social Networks Conclusions References

91 94 94 99 110 114

4

Public Interest and Civic Participation (PICP) Introduction A Structural Overview Empirical Findings Can Empirical Findings Be Challenged? Conclusions References

117 117 120 126 141 145 147

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Framing Social Capital and Transition to Democracy in KRI Introduction A Snapshot of Social Capital in KRI Analytical Framework The Legacy of Ba’th Rule and the Kurdish Civil War: Politics as a Risky Sphere Economic Hardships and Injustice The Proliferation of Clientalistic Networks State Welfare Policy and a Family-Centered Society: Squeezing the Middle Arena Conclusions References

86 88 90

151 151 152 158 159 163 166 172 176 180

Bibliography

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Index

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Acronyms

CCBAs CSO EIU GDP GoI IDTs INGOs IQD ISIL KDP KIG KIU KLM KNA KNF KNN KRG KRI KRSO KSDP NGOs NRT OFFP PICP PTMs PUK SCR

Civic and Community-Based Activities Central Statistics Office Economic Intelligence Unit Gross Domestic Product Government of Iraq Internally Disputed Territories International Non-Governmental Organizations Iraqi Dinar Islamic State in Iraq and Levant Kurdistan Democratic Party Kurdistan Islamic Group Kurdistan Islamic Union Kurdistan Liberation Movement Kurdistan National Assembly Kurdistan National Front Kurdish News Network Kurdistan Region Government Kurdistan Region of Iraq Kurdistan Region Statistics Office Kurdistan Socialist Democratic Party Non-Governmental Organizations Nalia Radio and Television Oil For Food Program Public Interest and Civic Participation Parents-Teachers Meetings Patriotic Union of Kurdistan Security Council Resolution

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List of Figures

Fig. 3.1 Fig. 3.2 Fig. 3.3 Fig. 3.4 Fig. 3.5 Fig. 3.6 Fig. 4.1 Fig. 4.2

How often do people talk about politics? (Created by the Author) Most discussed political issues (Created by the Author) Political knowledge (how many political lists are represented in the Kurdistan Parliament?) (Created by the Author) Political knowledge (could you mention names of political parties in government?) (Created by the Author) Sources of information (Created by the Author) Trustworthiness of sources of information (Created by the Author) Interest in public affairs (mean) (Created by the Author) Obstacles of participation in voluntary sector (Created by the Author)

100 102 105 106 109 109 131 137

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List of Tables

Table 3.1 Table 3.2 Table 3.3 Table 3.4 Table 3.5 Table 3.6 Table 3.7 Table 3.8 Table 3.9 Table 3.10 Table 4.1 Table 4.2 Table 4.3 Table 4.4 Table 4.5

Trust and discussion of political issues in different social circles (factor analysis) Trust and political criticisms (factor analysis) Generalized trust (factor analysis) Trust in ethnic in-group versus trust in ethnic out-groups (factor analysis) Bivariate correlation of research variables and density of social networks Bivariate correlation of research variables and composition of social networks Bivariate correlation of research variables with discussion of political issues in social networks Bivariate correlation of research variables and discussion of political issues Bivariate correlation of research variables with political knowledge Bivariate correlation of research variables and sources of information Participation in civic activities Social capital and participation in civic activities Bivariate correlation of research variables and participation in civic activities Respondents’ reaction to lack of services in their neighborhood Respondents’ activities in normal life

87 89 91 92 95 98 101 104 107 111 126 128 129 130 133

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LIST OF TABLES

Table 4.6 Table 4.7 Table 4.8 Table 4.9

Bivariate correlation of research variables and individual vs. collective-based activities TV programs watched most Multivariate regression analysis for obstacles of participation in voluntary organizations Correlation of different components of social capital

134 135 138 139

CHAPTER 1

Theory of Social Capital, Democracy and Democratization

Introduction This chapter maps the theoretical terrain of social capital theory by examining its assumptions and the ways through which it influences democracy and democratization. In so doing, the chapter commences by situating social capital in the framework of political culture in a bottom-up approach, as opposed and complementary to top-down (mainly constitutional engineering), to understand transitions to democracy. Distinction has been made between democracy in its transitional phase and democracy in its consolidated form. In covering the bottom-up approach to democracy, major contributions of Robert D. Putnam, though in certain instances argued not to be entirely original, to the theory of social capital and functioning of democracy and democratic governance were devoted a substantial area in this chapter. In spite of the centrality of Putnam’s version of social capital theory in this book, both theoretical and empirical, criticism of Putnam has been addressed in some details. As Putnam, especially in his Making Democracy Work (1993), utilizes social capital in understanding the functioning of already democratic governments, it will be crucial to scrutinize the appropriateness of his theory to analyze democracy in its transitional phase, the way it is employed in this book.

© The Author(s) 2020 H. H. Khedir, Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan, Middle East Today, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1_1

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With the hope of originality in mind, the chapter concludes by a discussion of existing literature on the political developments of KRI to conclude that literature has left a significant room for students of social capital, political culture and civil society to provide an alternative insight into transition to democracy in KRI. Finally, a brief account of the methodology is presented.

Social Capital, Political Culture, Democracy and Democratization Putnam indicates that the first use of the term social capital goes back almost a century. L. Judson Hanifan, a social reformer in West Virginia, first utilized the term to describe the social context of education. For Hanifan, social capital points to the “good will, fellowship, sympathy, and social intercourse among the individuals and families who make up a social unit” (cited in Putnam 2002, p. 4). Ever since, although social capital has been rediscovered several times by sociologists and economic scholars, the most systematic use of social capital in modern sociology is associated with the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu in the 1980s. Bourdieu (cited in Portes 1998, p. 3) defines the term as “the aggregate of the actual or potential resources which are linked to possession of mutual acquaintance or recognition”. Later on, James Coleman puts social capital firmly on the intellectual agenda (Putnam 2000, pp. 19–20). He defines the term as “variety of entities having two characteristics in common: they all consist of some aspects of social structure, and they facilitate certain actions of individuals who are within the structure” (Coleman 1990, p. 302). For Coleman, social capital manifests itself in three basic forms: obligations and expectations; information channels; and norms and effective sanctions (Coleman 1988, pp. 101–105). In spite of differences in theoretical underpinnings and variations of contexts in which they are employed, these definitions share the focus that social networks, solidarity and cooperation do matter for individuals and communities. The chapter will elaborate on the significance of social capital in the upcoming sections. The collapse of socialist block in the late 1980s and early 1990s in Eastern Europe brought transition to democracy to the fore in sociopolitical literature. Ever since, a variety of explanatory approaches have been developed to explain this new wave of democratization in terms of its nature, directions and the factors that influence it. In this regard, existing literature has placed emphasis on political culture (Fukuyama

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1996, 2005; Pratt 2005; Inglehart 1999), the elite behavior and political parties (Herbst 1997; Kohn 1997), economic factors (Haggard and Robert 1999), and external intervention (Diamond 2005; Whitehead 2005; Kurth 2005) to understand transitions to democracy. In this framework, theory of social capital has mainly been utilized by sociologists and political scientists to explain both obstacles of transition to democracy in post-communist countries of Eastern Europe and the decline of social cohesion and a sense of community in Western democracies (Badescu and Uslaner 2003). Whitehead (2003, p. 27) suggests that “democratization is best understood as a complex, long-term, dynamic, and open-ended process”. It is a move away from tyranny and dictatorship toward building democratic institutions and consolidation of pro-democracy political culture. The move toward democracy, however, can hardly be a smooth and linear one. Challenges that face any democratization process can be enormous and may cause setback for the transition. Anderson and Stansfield (2004, p. 190) concluded that out of nearly 100 countries thought to be in transition to democracy, fewer than fifth has moved in a right direction. For them, majority of cases of transition has reverted to authoritarianism or stuck somewhere between authoritarianism and democracy. Furthermore, transition to democracy, from where it begins until it arrives in the consolidation stage, can take decades provided that it proceeds in right direction. Francis Fukuyama’s model of democracy consolidation (cited in Anderson and Stansfield 2004) suggests that democracy to consolidate requires to emerge in four levels: in the most shallow level, democracy necessitates a normative belief from the part of people in the legitimacy and necessity of democracy; democracy then requires to be institutionalized in constitutions, elections, political parties and so on; in level three, democracy is based on a vigor civil society capable of mediating between primordial groups and the state; finally and in the deepest level, a consolidated democracy involves a political culture in which civicness holds an exceptional significance. As democratization moves from the first level to the fourth level, it becomes progressively difficult, demanding and time consuming. In a similar vein, Linz and Stepan (1996, pp. 15–16), suggest that democracy cannot be defined as consolidated unless it is consolidated behaviorally, attitudinally and constitutionally. They insist that behaviorally no serious political force should attempt at overthrowing a democratic regime or to promote domestic or international violence in order to break away from the state. Attitudinally, the overwhelming

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majority of the people should, even in severe political and economic crises, believe that further political changes must emerge according to democratic parameters. Constitutionally, all actors in politics should believe that all political conflict must be resolved according to the agreed norms and standards of the constitution. Broadly speaking, proponents of social capital theory insist that social capital affects democracy in two ways: first, it can assist in creating democracy in a country which is not democratic and, second, it can preserve and maintain an already existing democracy (Paxton 2002, p. 257). The leading argument for theorists of social capital asserts that “a dense network of voluntary associations and citizens organizations help to sustain civil society and community relations in a way that generates trust and cooperation between citizens and a high level of civic engagement and participation. It is suggested that associations create conditions for social integration, public awareness and action” (Newton 2001a, p. 201). On the whole, social capital is assumed to be a source which makes people trust one another, participate in voluntary organizations and facilitate their collective action. People could engage in more politicized social networks as a result of the abundance of trust. This, in turn, increases the possibility to develop critical discourses and social movements in the period of transition to democracy. Likewise, a positive role is attached to social capital for consolidated democracies. Social capital with its potential for mass political mobilization supposedly enhances the responsiveness and effectiveness of democratic political institutions.

Robert Putnam: Social Capital and Functioning of Democracy This section reviews Robert Putnam’s contribution to the study of social capital and its association with democracy. This review focuses on his contribution as a transformation and a sizeable stretch in the conceptualization of social capital (Portes 1998). Putnam takes the theory of social capital further by establishing the explanatory value of social capital in understanding macro-level issues, including the functioning of democracy and democratic governance. Even though Putnam has not invented the concept (Putnam 2000, pp. 19–20; 2002, pp. 4–6), his works have largely stimulated recent research on democracy, civic engagement and

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social capital (Alex-Assenson 2002, p. 204). The inability of the competing theories of social capital (such as those put forward by James Coleman and Pierre Bourdieu) to influence civic engagement studies makes Putnam’s contribution to occupy a more central position in sociopolitical literature (Lichterman 2006, p. 531). Putnam’s definition of social capital comes consistent across his works: in his monograph Making Democracy Work, 1993, he defines the term as “features of social organization, such as trust, norms, and networks that can improve the efficiency of society by facilitating coordinated actions” (p. 167). In his later work Bowling Alone (2000), he introduces a more lucid definition of the term by stating that social capital involves “connections among individuals—social networks and the norms of reciprocity and trustworthiness that arise from them”. Likewise, in Democracies in Flux 2002, he asserts that social capital is about social networks and the norms of reciprocity which are associated with them (Putnam 2002, p. 8). The core idea of social capital theory is that social networks matter (Putnam 2002, p. 6) and they have value (Putnam 2000, p. 19). Social networks, in Putnam’s explanation of social capital, are central to the definition of the term (Khakbaz 2006, pp. 120–121). Trust constitutes an essential ingredient of social capital. It is a byproduct of involvement in social networks (Putnam 1993, p. 170). Putnam considers trust as the basis of any possible cooperation among social actors in different political, social and economic contexts. “Trust lubricates cooperation”. The higher the level of trust in a community, the larger is the possibility of cooperation. Simultaneously, cooperation itself regenerates trust (Putnam 1993, p. 171). Putnam draws a distinction between trust and honesty based on personal experience and familiarity with specific people and trust in “the generalized others” (Putnam 2000, p. 136). He calls the former thick trust as it relies essentially on strong and frequent social networks in which one is engaged. Moreover, this kind of trust is reduced to people whom one knows and with whom he or she has had previous personal experiences. The latter, referred to by Putnam as thin trust , depends implicitly on some background of social networks and shared expectations. This form of trust transcends the scope of our close social circles and extends to the wider society in which we live. Putnam argues that thin trust is even more useful as it extends our social networks to encompass the rest of the community (Putnam 2000, p. 136).

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In addition, trust is subject to gradations of rational calculations.1 Putnam writes: “the trust that is required to sustain cooperation is not blind”. We do not trust a person or an agency merely because they say that they will do that. On the contrary, we trust them because we know their dispositions (character), available options and their consequences. Based on these calculations, we expect that the person will choose (italic in the reference) to fulfill what they promised (Putnam 1993, p. 171). Even though Putnam pays attention to the influence of social customs, particularly in early years of the socialization process (what is called the “formative” years) trust is considerably influenced by personal experiences (Putnam 2000, p. 139). This suggests that in early childhood there is a possibility to be socialized to trust others. However, these early trusting attitudes are likely to change in light of future personal experiences. Furthermore, Putnam reckons that trust should transform from thick trust to thin trust in complex social settings. In these settings, impersonal social relationships are prevailing and we cannot rely on people with whom we are familiar. Putnam contends that this transformation (from thick trust to thin trust) takes place through two mechanisms: norms of reciprocity and networks of civic engagement. As to the first, Putnam distinguishes between “balanced” (or “specific”) and “generalized” (or “diffuse”) reciprocity. The former indicates a “simultaneous exchange of items of equivalent value”. In contrast, the latter points to “a continuing relationship of exchange that is at any given time unrequited or imbalanced, but that involves mutual expectations that a benefit granted now should be repaid in the future” (Putnam 1993, p. 172; 2000, pp. 20– 21). The pervasiveness of the generalized reciprocity as a social norm in communities is particularly significant in sustaining and enhancing trust. Networks of civic engagement such as choral societies, sports clubs and mass-based parties create a social structure for horizontal relationships between social actors. These networks provide the opportunity for developing more robust norms of reciprocity (Putnam 1993, pp. 173–174). Mutual obligation and responsibility will emerge from civic engagement (Putnam 2000, p. 21; 2002, p. 7). People in civic associations do not act in a way that may undermine their reputation. Constant contact among different actors creates the possibility for flow of information concerning each actor’s behavior. Thus, the reputation for trustworthiness will be 1 Putnam does not use this expression (rational calculation). However, his idea concerning trust is consistent with the essence of rational calculation.

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diminished by violating group norms. People meet frequently and establish norms of a good relationship. This will put the reputation of any defector in jeopardy (Putnam 1993, pp. 173–174). Therefore, it is much easier for isolated individuals to violate norms of reciprocity than it is for socially engaged individuals. It is noteworthy that Putnam avoids the linear causal language of social sciences. He states Social trust, norms of reciprocity, networks of civic engagement, and successful cooperation are mutually reinforcing. Effective collaborative institutions require interpersonal skills and trust, but those skills and that trust are also inculcated and reinforced by organized collaboration. Norms and networks of civic engagement contribute to economic prosperity and are in turn reinforced by that prosperity. (Putnam 1993, pp. 180–181)

In addition to social networks and trust, Putnam considers civic engagement as a main component of social capital. For him, civic engagement indicates “people’s connection with the life of their communities, not merely with politics” (Putnam 1995, p. 665). At this point, it is crucial to draw attention to the distinction between social capital and political participation in Putnam’s theoretical account. In spite of overlapping, social capital and civic engagement is not a synonym for political participation. While social capital, as a horizontal concept, involves relationships between people, political participation, as a vertical concept, is about people’s relation to political leaders and institutions (Putnam 1995, p. 665). Civic engagement, Putnam argues, is a result of civic virtues which are implanted in dense networks of reciprocal social relations. Social networks of virtuous individuals can transform individual civic virtues to social assets. According to Putnam, individual virtues are not mechanically transformable to civic engagement. In fact, it is the social networks of virtuous individuals which lead to the emergence of civic engagement. Putnam contends: “A society of many virtuous but isolated individuals is not necessarily rich in social capital” (Putnam 2000, p. 19). This understanding is of central significance for collective action, in the form of civic engagement and participation. For communities to strive and for democracy to flourish, the social networks of civic-minded individuals become indispensable. Apparently, isolated civic-minded individuals are devoid of the potential strengths that groups of civic-minded individuals enjoy in affecting politics.

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As to features of social capital, Putnam maintains that social capital has a private face, by serving individual private interests, and a public face, through its collective and public benefits: on individual level, social networks generate certain benefits which can help in achieving individual objectives. In other words, social networks produce “internal” effects for those who are involved in them. Finding a job opportunity, access to information about an educational opportunity or receiving support from co-networkers are common examples for a positive impact of networking. Likewise, living in a community with high stocks of social capital is valuable both for individuals and for the whole community. This is to suggest that social capital has “externalities”. A person who lives in a neighborhood where residents keep an eye on each other in the absence of householders, for instance, is able to use this social capital when he or she is away. Even those who have been less involved in social networks are likely to benefit from the abundance of social capital in their communities as normally in this type of social setting the crime rates tend to be lower (Putnam 2000, p. 20; 2002, p. 6). Putnam, furthermore, examines similarities and differences between social capital and other conventional forms of capital such as physical and human capital. To begin with, social capital like other forms of capital is productive. Just as a screwdriver (an example of physical capital) or college education (an instance of human capital) can increase individual and collective productivity, social networks can equally boost the productivity of individuals and groups (Putnam 2000, p. 19). Social capital enables those who possess it to work together to achieve shared objectives. Furthermore, social capital, similar to other forms of capital, can be employed for accomplishing social or antisocial purposes or favorable and harmful outcomes (Khakbaz 2006, p. 124). Putnam, at this point, distinguishes between intended and unintended consequences of the use of social capital. Similar to a nuclear power plant which may have radioactive material and negative impacts on society (Putnam 2002, p. 9), social capital in its negative forms is detrimental to the entire society. Sectarianism, ethnocentrism and corruption are some negative manifestations of social capital (Putnam 2000, p. 23). Additionally, social capital is similar to other forms of capital in the sense that its various forms possess unequal significance for individuals and communities. In this respect, an extended family, for instance, can influence individual attitudes and behavior in a different way than the way voluntary organization do (Putnam 2000, p. 21).

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Besides similarities, social capital possesses certain peculiar features: as a moral resource, the supply of social capital increases with its use and its stocks decrease if it is not used. The more two people exhibit trust toward each other, the larger will be their mutual confidence and vice versa. Additionally, social capital is customarily a public good as its external benefits spread beyond those who engaged in social networks in the first place (Putnam and Feldstein 2003, p. 269). Unlike the conventional capital (such as material or human capital) which the scope of its benefits confined to their private owners, social capital benefits the whole community. The reputation of a person for trustworthiness can be a motive for other people to cooperate with them. Conversely, untrustworthiness of an agent reduces the possibility of positive interaction with others which is, in turn, likely to harmfully impact wider community. Therefore, social capital is a public property, not merely an individual capital; its availability is a common good for those who have it, and it is, simultaneously, beneficial for communities (Putnam 1993, pp. 169–170). Reviewing the usage of social capital in literature, Putnam presents a classification for the main forms of social capital. This classification is predicated on the degree of formality, the strength of social networks in the associations, associational objectives and the capability of associations to bridge social cleavages. In the following, a brief description of each is offered. Formal versus informal social capital. Some forms of social capital are formal such as labor unions and parents’ organizations. These organizations are represented by recognized officers, written constitutions and membership requirements and so on. Nevertheless, there are other forms of social capital which are highly informal. Examples for this sort of social capital include family dinners and people who gather at the same pub or coffee shop. Both forms constitute networks that can produce norms of reciprocity and can be used to achieve valuable objectives. Putnam writes that though early research on social capital focused mainly on formal associations, “associations constitute merely one form of social capital (Italic in the reference)” (Putnam 2002, p. 10). Consequently, the study of social capital within a given community has to be stretched out to include studying informal social capital too. Thick versus thin social capital. Some forms of social capital are multidimensional and closely interconnected. Putnam points to the example of a group of workers who work together every day at a workplace and spend

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their weekends together, as an illustration of thick social capital. Simultaneously, there are thin or almost invisible forms of social capital. In this respect, having a nod with someone whom we see casually and irregularly comprises a form of social capital. Research indicates that merely nodding to a stranger increases the probability that he or she will come to help, if the need be (Putnam 2002, p. 10). Inward-looking versus outward-looking. There are forms of social capital that by choice or necessity are inward-looking. These forms of social capital are organized along with gender, class and ethnic lines, to mention but a few. These groups tend to serve the material, social or political interests of their own members and they try to preserve or augment the “bonds of birth and circumstance”. Contemporary labor unions and chambers of commerce are two examples of inward-looking associations. Outwardlooking social capital, however, includes associations that are concerned with public good. In this category, it is possible to mention Red Cross and environmental movements as two obvious examples of outward-looking social capital (Putnam 2002, p. 11). Bridging versus bonding social capital. Putnam makes a distinction between two brands of social networks: “bridging” (inclusive) social networks and “bonding” (exclusive) social networks. The former includes heterogeneous networks in which people from different, racial, ethnic, religious and class background are involved. In this respect, Putnam points to the civil rights movement as an example of this sort of social capital. It is argued that bridging networks are more likely to have constructive contributions as they constitute arenas for gathering of individuals who belong to various forms of social groupings. The latter is about homogeneous networks which comprise individuals from a similar social cleavage. Bonding associations tend to reinforce exclusive identities and to prolong the social distance between communities. Ethnic-based and certain nationalist organizations, with their narrow agendas, are apparent examples of bonding social networks. It should be noted that bonding social networks are not necessarily evil as they may make up a significant source of support that bridging social networks are unable to offer (Putnam 2002, p. 11). In times of economic crisis and physical insecurities, close family, tribal or ethnic circles can provide individual members with needed forms of support.

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In sum, it is possible to mark Putnam’s approach to social capital as a functionalist one. It places emphasis on the functionality of social networks, norms of reciprocity and trust in establishing cooperative relationships between social actors to achieve mutual objectives (Arneil 2006, p. 4). Social capital, in addition, is a collective feature of the whole community or even an entire nation (Portes 1998). It focuses on the centrality of social connections among people and the norms of trust and reciprocity that govern these connections. Social capital is at the heart of cooperation, civic engagement and collective action. Putnam utilizes the concept of social capital for analyzing the functioning of democratic institutions in modern Italy. By using the example of Italy for institutional design, he produces a theoretical account of the performance of democratic institutions. The main question for him is “why do some democratic governments succeed and others fail?” (Putnam 1993, p. 3). The impact of the social, economic and cultural environment on the performance of democratic institutions is central in Putnam’s work. The creation of fifteen regional governments in Italy constitutes the departure point from which Putnam began his investigation on social capital and democratic governance. The overarching question for him was why regional governments, in spite of their symmetrical constitutional structures, displayed immense differences in their performance in the ensuing decades? While northern regional governments proved to be responsive and effective, their southern counterparts were irresponsive and ineffective (Putnam 1993, pp. 63–82). This inconsistency between similar structures and mandates, on the one hand, and a considerable variation in performance, on the other hand, is the theoretical motive for Putnam’s empirical and historical inquiry into the functioning of democracy in Italy. Putnam employs the concept of Civic Community to explain the stark regional differences in institutional performance. For him, civic community includes the activeness and public-spiritedness of citizenry, egalitarian political relations and a social fabric of trust and cooperation (Putnam 1993, p. 15). In fact, Putnam links the degree of civicness of a given community to the level of institutional performance in it. The main discovery in Putnam’s work is that institutional performance in Italy’s governmental regions is fundamentally contingent on the degree of civicness of their respective communities. In northern regions, where high levels of civicness are recorded, the performance of governmental institutions was high. Conversely, in southern regions where indicators of civicness were

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low, the performance of institutions was accordingly weak (Putnam 1993, pp. 63–82). In Bowling Alone, Putnam discusses the relations of social capital and democracy through two conventional claims: the health of the American democracy requires citizens to perform their public duties and the wellbeing of democratic institutions relies, at least in part, on the participation of individuals in private voluntary associations and networks of civic engagement. These voluntary associations and civic networks embody social capital (Putnam 2000, p. 326). In this way, the interest in the performance of democratic institutions in relation to social capital remains fundamental in Putnam’s sociopolitical thought. Putnam argues that voluntary associations and social networks of civic society contribute to democracy in two ways: they have external effects on the larger politics, and they have internal effects on the participants themselves. As to the external effects, voluntary organizations constitute the effective means for the articulation of interests and demands of various groups. They are also tools which protect them from the abuses of political leaders. These organizations are arenas for the flow of information and discussions about politics. Furthermore, these organizations have the capacity to amplify and strengthen the peoples’ voice; outside voluntary organizations, it is possible to hear dispersed and weak voices of divergent individuals. These dispersed and weak voices can transform into a more unified and strong voice through voluntary organizations. Putnam, however, emphasizes that citizens’ connectedness does not require formal institutions to be effective; rather, he asserts that in some cases informal networks have had an unequal capacity to recruit people to democratic movements rather than pure ideological commitment (Putnam 2000, p. 338). Internally, associations and less formal networks of civic engagement contribute to democracy through enhancing the habits of cooperation, public-spiritedness and the practical skills necessary to partake in public life. In this respect, researchers of political psychology insist on the positive correlation between social isolation and the emergence of extremist attitudes. The more isolated the individuals are, the more likely they are to transform into extremism. Simultaneously, the associations are places to learn civic virtues such as participation in public life, trustworthiness and norms of reciprocity (Putnam 2000, pp. 338–339). In addition, voluntary associations support building social and civic skills; people within voluntary associations learn to run meetings, do presentations, write letters,

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organize projects and debate public issues in a civilized manner (Putnam 2000, pp. 338–339). Nevertheless, not all voluntary associations exercise the same influence on democracy: the difference between heterogeneous and homogeneous associations is profound. Although heterogeneous associations, in which individuals belong to diverse class, religious, ethnic and social background, are more likely to produce a positive impact for democracy, the homogeneous associations also have the probability to have a constructive impact on democracy. An example is a minority group when campaigning for realizing non-discriminatory policies in schools or on government boards. It widens the circle of political participation in society through eliminating the obstacles of participation of minorities (Putnam 2000, pp. 338–339). Therefore, Putnam tries to avoid making generalizations about the democratic potential of voluntary organization based solely on the composition of these organizations; minority right groups are cases in point as their call for broader participation and removal of discriminatory barriers can serve in democratizing political systems. Having said that, efforts need to be made not to over-romanticize voluntary organization; in fact, there are serious concerns with respect to potential harmful impacts that certain voluntary organizations can pose to democracy. At the outset, not all voluntary associations are necessarily good for democracy. In this regard, Putnam mentions the Ku Klux Klan (KKK) as an illustration of an antidemocratic association. Sectarian and extremist national associations are also classical examples for this sort of voluntary organizations. Moreover, even associations which operate in accordance with democratic norms can distort policy formations. In a pluralist political environment where various voluntary associations are active, they do not enjoy comparable capacity to incorporate their agenda into government’s policies. Putnam states that contrary to the pluralist ideal, “wherein bargaining among diverse groups leads to the greatest good for the greatest number, we instead end up with the greatest goodies for the best-organized few” (Putnam 2000, p. 340). In other words, one can suggest that organizations with higher amounts of lobbying resources and advocacy capabilities enjoy stronger potentials to affect policies. In consequence, organizations which lack these resources, no matter how legitimate their demands are, will get nowhere in formulating their preferred policies. A second concern is that associations tend to benefit those who have better self-organizing capacities. There are sections of society who by

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nature or circumstance are better equipped to organize themselves and make their voices heard. This means that people with education, money, status and close ties with their communities are more likely to get political benefit under pluralism than less educated, poor and unconnected people (Putnam 2000, p. 340). This jeopardizes the possibility for the emergence of egalitarian politics under pluralism as haves of social capital would exploit opportunities to advance their interests through using associations. In contrast, have-nots of social capital would not have significant possibilities to articulate and accomplish their interests. In a similar vein, it is argued that citizen group politics is, by nature, an extremist politics because individuals with strong views tend to become leaders and activists in voluntary associations. Frequently, moderately minded individuals are far less likely to engage in associations. This gives a disproportionate platform to extremists to engage in associational life. Thus, some critics of pluralism have suggested that pluralism can generate political polarization and cynicism (Putnam 2000, pp. 340–341). Having the seriousness of these concerns in mind, Putnam concludes: Voluntary associations are not everywhere and always good. They can reinforce anti-liberal tendencies; they can be abused by antidemocratic forces. Further, not everyone who participates will walk away a better person…voluntary groups are not a panacea for what ails our democracy. And the absence of social capital—norms, trust, networks of association—does not eliminate politics. But without social capital we are more likely to have politics of a certain type. (Putnam 2000, p. 341)

Democracy without social capital, i.e., associational life and voluntary organizations, is still feasible. But then democracy will be a different one; a kind of “plebiscitary democracy” and politics from a distance will prevail. Many scattered voices would be heard without these voices being able to engage with one another, without being able to resist or being able to offer a significant guidance to policymakers. Furthermore, the absence of real and face-to-face conversations among people about politics prevents them from a meaningful engagement with opposing views. Putnam (2000, pp. 341–342) writes “without such face-to-face interaction, without immediate feedback, without being forced to examine our opinions under the light of other citizens’ scrutiny, we find it easier to hawk quick fixes and to demonize anyone who disagrees”. The withdrawal of people from engagement in democratic debate, additionally, would make politics

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“more shrill and less balanced”. When most people skip the meetings, those who are left tend to be more extreme ones and more likely to pursue narrow and selfish interests (Putnam 2000, p. 342). On the other hand, social capital is a key to psychological and cognitive engagement. Through the psychological engagement, people are more likely to review their opinions in light of new information they receive from their friends in informal and formal discussions. Putnam states: We learn about politics through casual interactions. You tell me what you’ve heard and what you think, and what your friends have heard and what they think, and I accommodate that new information into my mental database as I ponder and revise my position on an issue. In a world of civic networks, both formal and informal, our views are formed through interchange with friends and neighbors. Social capital allows political information to spread. (Putnam 2000, p. 343)

Putnam argues against the view that stresses the senselessness of faceto-face mobilization and those who consider large national membership groups to be sufficient for the functioning of democracy (Putnam 2000, pp. 343–345). In this respect, Putnam calls for a broader understanding of democracy and politics than the one which merely lends emphasis to the advocacy of narrow interests. He contends that those staff-led, professional and Washington-based advocacy organizations are not substitutes for local organizations. In the local organizations, he argues, civic skills are learnt and “genuine give-and-take deliberation” occurs. Additionally, large professional groups are most likely to try to advance the agenda of their major patrons such as wealthy individuals, foundations and even governmental agencies. These organizations are funded by powerful people and subsequently serve their wishes, not necessarily those of their members. Finally, it is important to bear in mind that a range of important decisions are taken in local levels, not in capitals which are mechanically male local/grassroots organizations indispensable in discussion of policy agendas and policy formation. The impacts of social capital exceed its significance as an input for democracy; it can, in fact, shape what comes out of politics and democracy too. Putting it differently, civic engagement matters on both the “demand and supply side of government” (Putnam 2000, pp. 344–346). Interest

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in civic affairs and involvement in voluntary associations enables participants to manifest their demands on the government and hold the governmental agencies accountable. Simultaneously, when governmental institutions recognize that they operate in an active community, they strive to enhance their performance. In the same vein, when people know and trust one another, they will have a more robust “moral foundation” for future cooperation in various realms. This positively impacts on the government’s conduct. Putnam states: Light-touch government works more efficiently in the presence of social capital. Police close more cases when citizens monitor neighbourhood comings and goings. Child welfare departments do a better job of “family preservation” when neighbours and relatives provide social support to troubled parents. Public schools teach better when parents volunteer in classrooms and ensure that kids do their homework. When community involvement is lacking, the burdens on government employees—bureaucrats, social workers, teachers, and so fourth—are that much greater and success that much more elusive. (Putnam 2000, p. 346)

Similarly, when social capital is abundant in a society, the adherence to procedures of governmental institutions is much more pronounced. In the tax system, for instance, the actual compliance of people relies in part on the belief that others do pay their tax share. This suggests that when one sees that most people cheat on tax, the observer would not feel any motivation to pay their share. Accordingly, in a community where social capital is in abundant supply, government is “we” not “they”. In this way, social capital reinforces the legitimacy of government. I pay my taxes because I believe that others do, and I know that the tax system works as it should (Putnam 2000, pp. 347–349). In conclusion, it is conceivable to suggest that Putnam utilizes the concept of social capital in relation to democracy in two different ways: social capital as an input into politics and the democratic process, and social capital as an output of democracy by looking at its impact on the functioning and the performance of democratic institutions. As to the first usage, social capital and networks of civic engagement—formal and informal—constitute the basis for political discussions, the flow of information, for acquiring civic skills and virtues and for the articulation of group interests. In this respect, social capital assists in the formation of a more balanced and more inclusive democracy. Moreover, with concerns

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to the second usage, the same networks of civic engagements are crucial in holding democratic institutions and leaders accountable to their constituents. The accountability of democratic institutions has a positive correlation with the performance of democratic institutions. When active and organized associations are available, democratic institutions would have to improve their services to avoid protests and challenges that may arise from below. Hence, social capital in the second phase aids democracy to be more responsive and more effective one. In spite of these bright contributions that social capital is likely to bring to democracy, an eye should be kept on adverse consequences that negative social capital can cause to democracy.

Critiques and Alternative Explanations Despite an exceptional popularity of Putnam’s thesis in sociopolitical research following the publication of Making Democracy Work 1993, his main assumptions regarding the ingredients of social capital, theoretical analysis and methodological measurements have been widely criticized. As opposed to scholars of social capital who stress the values of social capital as an explanatory/independent variable, structuralists argue that social capital is at best an outcome/dependent variable that reflects the nature of political institutions. In this sense, social capital becomes devoid of any capacity for being an explanatory variable per se. In this section, major points of criticism of Putnam’s approach to social capital and democracy are presented. One of the central arguments against Putnam’s version of social capital comes from Eric Uslaner (Uslaner 1999, 2002; Uslaner and Brown 2005). Uslaner emphasizes the significance of what he calls moralistic trust , i.e., trust in strangers or trust in people whom we do not know. On the contrary to Putnam, Uslaner argues that trust in strangers does not reflect our personal experiences. It, rather, depends on a set of moral foundations. In this way, trust is based on a fundamental ethical assumption: that other people share our critical values and, therefore, are part of our moral community. Uslaner (2002, p. 2) contends that other people do not necessarily agree with us politically or religiously, but at some level they accept that there are some common bonds between us. This form of trust relies on our notion of human nature: the world will be a better place if we trust and cooperate with one another.

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In arguing for his theory that trust in others mirrors our collective experience, not individual experiences, Uslaner broadens his explanation to suggest that a sense of optimism and distribution of wealth in a given society are key elements of our collective experience, and subsequently, are determinants of our sense of trust in others. Trust stems from the presence and interaction of these two elements, optimism and equality. As countries become more equal, they become more trusting. Uslaner writes that, as the income gap increased in the USA people became less trusting (Uslaner 2002, pp. 3, 16). Although Uslaner agrees on the importance of personal experiences, particularly their indirect effects for trust, he believes that these personal experiences matter for trust in specific people or what he calls strategic trust . There is another side of trust (trust in strangers), namely that “most people can be trusted”. This faith in stranger others is what Uslaner calls “moral foundations of trust” which is based essentially on the collective experiences of a society. Moralistic trust is at odds with the strategic trust in the sense that the former is a social value marked by stability, and it is contingent on the collective and formative events of a society whereas the latter is fragile and conditional on personal experiences of individuals with specific people (Uslaner 2002, pp. 14–50). The most important predictor of trust is not engagement in civic social networks as Putnam argues. Uslaner contends that perceiving trust as a product of civic engagement, formal or informal, is mistaken because of two reasons: first, by the time we involve in civic social networks most of our fundamental worldviews have already been consolidated. Early in life we learn about trust from our parents and close families and this social learning tends to persist in the rest of our lives. Furthermore, relying on Newton’s (1999a, b) argument (which will be discussed later), Uslaner believes that we do not spend enough time in voluntary associations to change anything significant in our moral upbringing. Second, when we socialize with our friends, or when we attend meetings of civic associations, in fact, we congregate with people having similar experiences and having the same values. We do not extend the scope of our trust to people whom we do not know or people who are not similar to us. Hence, engagements in group-life are more likely to merely reinforce particularized trust, people whom we personally know, but not the generalized or moralistic trust, people whom we do not personally know (Uslaner 2002, pp. 4–5). The only exception is the positive effect of a specific sort of engagement (volunteering and giving to charity) on trust. Uslaner

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(2002, p. 250) suggests that even volunteering and giving to charity is not an outcome for socializing in these associations. In fact, it is a product of the “moral roots” of these organizations which make participants develop a positive outlook toward others. For Uslaner, trust is predicated on an economic equality, an optimistic worldview and a distinctive cultural foundation. The wealth of a given society tends not to make a major difference; rather, its distribution is what matters most for trust. In this regard, the more egalitarian a society becomes, the greater will be the likelihood of generating optimistic worldviews. This, in turn, leads to an enhancement of trust in others. Drawing on the worldwide data, a significant correlation is found between economic equality and trust; more economic equality has generated trust and more economic inequality has destroyed it. This entails that trust again echoes the collective experience. In situations where people feel that they are treated equally, they feel more of a common fate and subsequently more trust in one another. Even in economically poor countries, when people felt that equality existed, they were more optimistic and trusting (Uslaner 2002, pp. 217–242). Trust, in Uslaner’s explanation, is grounded on a cultural foundation too. Uslaner argues that Protestant societies have been more trusting than Muslim societies. A Protestant denomination is individualistic and places high value on cooperation among individuals in order to succeed in a competitive world. Uslaner believes that Muslims have less trust in others, particularly in Euro-Americans, because of a history of colonialism and efforts that were aimed at converting Muslims to Christianity. Furthermore, some core beliefs of Islam, such as the supremacy of Islam versus the inferiority of other religions, are behind a lack of trust in Muslim societies (Uslaner 2002, pp. 231–237). Apparently, in this respect, Putnam deviates from the focus on cultural elements of trust (religion) to inviting the dark experience of Muslim societies with colonialism as an explanation of Western/non-Muslim-oriented hostility and distrust. As to the link of trust to democracy, Uslaner asserts that trust is neither the prerequisite nor the consequence of democracy. Trust cannot create democracy; rather, it can assist in a better functioning of democracy. Uslaner shares Putnam’s view that democratic structures are more responsive and effective in trusting societies. In trusting societies, people display a more robust obedience to the law because they have confidence that others obey the law too. But the effects of democracy on trust are not so straightforward. Democracies can be both trusting and distrusting.

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Countries which have not had a legacy of communism scored a higher mean value of trust. Nevertheless, a democracy can generate trust only in the long run. Using Inglehart’s measure of the number of years of continuous democracy, Uslaner concludes that only countries which have had more than 46 years of continuous democracy have been able to produce a more trusting society. This is to say that it is not easy, if at all possible, to rapidly generate new values from structural changes. Transforming constitutions and rearranging them more democratically does not necessarily make people more trusting in one another. The democratic structural changes must be permanent over time so that they will be capable of enhancing trust (Uslaner 2002, pp. 219–229). In this direction, Uslaner (1999, pp. 140–141) states that democracies which confront challenges of ethnic and racial conflict and are not capable of setting up solutions for their economic insufficiencies lose the capacity to breed prosperity and optimism. Ronald Inglehart’s (1999) account on social capital overlaps with Uslaner’s in terms of its focus on cultural elements of trust. Inglehart argues that interpersonal trust is a product of the whole cultural heritage of a society. This heritage, in turn, is an upshot of economic, political and social experiences of a people. Neither economic situations, democracy nor religion, on their own, can provide an explanation for interpersonal trust. Some Catholic and Confucian societies, for instance, in spite of having same levels of economic development, have had sharp variations in interpersonal trust. Drawing on data from sixty-one societies, he concludes that societies which have been Protestant have scored higher rates of interpersonal trust than other societies. Likewise, democracy has not been the main and the only predictor of trust. Even under the most outstanding democracies such as the USA, the rates of trust have declined during the last few decades. Hence, trust becomes a characteristic of a society which is shaped through the interaction of economic, political, social and religious factors in a historical context. In Inglehart’s view, general feelings of well-being and happiness in combination with cultural dimensions, particularly Protestant religiosity, are crucial determinants of trust. Inglehart (1999, p. 99) proposes that a distinction should be made between three aspects of democracy: “its long-term stability, levels of democracy at given points of time, and short-term changes in the level of democracy”. While subjective well-being and trust constitute necessary conditions for the long-term stability of a democracy, the feelings of

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unhappiness and distrust are central for the commencement of a transition to democracy. People should feel unhappy and distrust one another so that they will be willing to spend some effort in getting rid of their unpleasant situations. In Inglehart’s explanation, the impact of trust on democracy is stage based as in each stage of pre-transition, transition and consolidation, trust plays a different role. Hence, when we talk about trust and democracy, the language of always good or always bad loses its significance. Broadly speaking, Inglehart insists that a political culture conducive to democracy stems from modernization, in general, and economic development and industrialization, in particular (Inglehart 2000, pp. 95–96). Thus “the sequence of human development” is as follows: modernization, cultural change and democracy. Inglehart (2000) argues that economic development results in two types of favorable changes for democracy: It tends to transform a society’s social structure, bringing urbanization, mass education, occupational specialization, growing organizational networks, greater income equality, and a variety of associated developments that mobilize mass participation in politics… [what is more] economic development is also conducive to cultural changes that help stabilize democracy. It tends to develop interpersonal trust and tolerance, and it leads to spread of post-materialist values that place high priority on selfexpression and participation in decisionmaking. Insofar as it brings higher levels of well-being, it endows the regime with legitimacy, which can help sustain democratic institutions through difficult times. (Inglehart 2000, p. 92)

In sum, Inglehart traces roots of social capital to cultural changes that result from modernization and industrialization of the economy. Social capital is not a product of engagement in civic social networks as Putnam has suggested. It is rather a by-product of prosperity and feelings of wellbeing which are brought about by economic progress. In this respect, Inglehart and Uslaner share the view that collective experience matters and that well-being and feelings of optimism are crucial to generate social capital. On the other hand, Newton (1999a, b, 2001a, b) criticizes the main assumptions of social capital theory, particularly in Putnam’s understanding of social capital. Newton argues that voluntary organizations do not constitute significant arenas for generating social trust: the reason is twofold: first, most participants in voluntary organizations do not spend

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any considerable time in these organizations. In the Netherlands, a country that scores at the highest levels of engagement in the Western world, the joiners spend an average of four to five hours a week in voluntary organizations. This amounts to 8% of their total leisure time. Moreover, there are other social organizations such as family, schools and workplace, to mention but few, which exercise stronger influence on individuals’ sociability and levels of trust than voluntary organizations. For young people, family and school are the two most influential institutions whereas for adults workplace and neighborhoods are the two most effective ones. On the whole, according to Newton, the small amount of time which is spent in voluntary organizations and the existence of other social contexts and more significant social institutions make voluntary organizations far less decisive than they are supposed to be. What is more, Newton questions the direction of causality between engagement and trust. On the contrary to Putnam, Newton argues that a minimum level of trust should be in place before any engagement takes place. There is no persuasive reason to believe that without having a sense of trust people can be ready to join them. As such, Newton proposes that it is more sensible to think of the causality arrow to begin from a minimum level of trust to engage in associational life. The engagement then is likely to reinforce the already existing trust. Accordingly, Newton insists on the theoretical separation of social networks, on the one hand, and social values of trust and reciprocity, on the other hand. The former is social and structural while the latter is cultural. Moreover, the origins of social capital or the interconnection of the two components is not straightforward. The question is whether it is the social networks that generate trust or it is the trust which makes the creation of social networks possible (Newton 2001b, p. 227). Another criticism of Putnam’s thesis raised by Lin (2001) who emphasizes the measurement errors in Putnam’s work. Putnam uses membership in voluntary organizations as a principal indicator of social capital. Lin (2001, pp. 210–211) agrees with Newton on the idea that Putnam should have used the amount of time spent in volunteering instead of merely membership in voluntary organizations as an indicator of social capital. Apparently, Lin believes that dedicating more time to voluntary activities signals a higher level of social capital but not membership in the voluntary organization on its own. In other words, membership in voluntary organizations without spending a substantial amount of time in these organizations cannot make up a suitable indicator to gauge social

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capital. Moreover, Lin argues that Putnam has excluded many new voluntary organizations that have emerged in contemporary American society. In addition, Lin argues that Putnam is unable to distinguish between membership in associations and the civic-mindedness or civic culture (Lin 2001, p. 211). Lin points to the pervasiveness of new forms of cybernetworks to call for a more inclusive measurement of social capital in contemporary societies. The involvements of a large number of people in these cybernetworks present an age in which the flow of information takes place with considerable speed and wide scopes. This has had enormous consequences not only on individual or national levels, but also on a global level. Although access to the capital embedded in cyberspace is not equal due to social (e.g., lack of education and language restrictions), economic (e.g., ability to acquire a computer and other communication infrastructure) and political (e.g., the access denial by authoritarian regimes) constraints, information nowadays is freer and more accessible to more individuals than ever before in human history. Additionally, the abovementioned constraints are waning as a result of decreasing costs of computer and communication devices and the capacity of technology to bypass the traditional controls of authoritarian regimes (Lin 2001, pp. 215–216). Consequently, in recent times, cybernetworks constitute a vital form of social capital which has replaced many traditional forms of social networks and associations. In addition, Lin advances two more challenges to Putnam’s methodology: using multiple indicators and falling in ecological fallacy. As to the former, Putnam uses social networks, norms and trust to measure the concept. According to Lin, relying on multiple measures induces the danger of confusion of a causal proposition (e.g., social networks generate trust or trust creates social networks). The second challenge is the danger of ecological fallacy in Putnam’s work. Lin (2001, p. 211) suggests that Putnam attempts to gather data on an individual level to draw conclusions on the collective level. Structuralists also offered another critical standpoint to Putnamise version of social capital. A line of research (Schofer and Gourinchas 2001; Mohan and Mohan 2002; Herreros 2004; Freitag 2006) criticizes Putnam for neglecting the role, or attaching a damaging role, to the state and political structures in the creation of social capital. Herreros (2004, pp. 72–73), for instance, contends that Putnam’s analysis of the institutional performance disparities between northern and southern regions of

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Italy mirrors the differences in the nature of the state which had governed these regions throughout history. Herreros (2004, p. 73) asserts that social capital research paradigm sees a civil society as an autonomous sphere from the state and that more state means less civil society. In reality, however, this relationship has not always been antagonistic and confrontational; in variety of cases, state has been willing to work smoothly with civil society and, thus, played a constructive role in building social capital. Herreros suggests that state is able to shape social capital in direct and indirect ways. Directly, certain governmental policies can ease the functioning of civil society; the state can give grants, tax breaks or access to public premises in order to lessen the “costs of participation”. The state then can encourage associational life which breeds more social capital. Indirectly, the state plays a positive role in building trust by assuring that agreements and deals between people are respected, i.e., the rule of law and effectiveness of third-party enforcement. Subsequently, this may lead to the eradication of obstacles of cooperation and collective action or what theorists of social capital used to call the “dilemmas of collective action”. Where the state is effective in sanctioning agreement-breakers, people will become more likely to feel more secure. In the same vein, the state has the potential to create social capital and a civil society by raising levels of education and boosting economic life. Relying on data from 12 developed countries in the west, Herreros (2004, pp. 73–99) finds out that there is a positive relationship between levels of educational and economic prosperity, on the one hand, and indicators of social capital on an individual level, on the other hand. In general, structuralists assign a decisive role to the nature and design of institutions, rules and legal systems for producing democracy and development; social capital itself is a by-product or an output of institutional arrangements. In this regard, Knack and Keefer conclude their study of 29 countries by suggesting that trust and norms of civic cooperation were stronger in countries where the state effectively protected property and contract rights (cited in Krishna 2002, p. 20). It is also stated that in countries where governments have permitted citizens to associate freely and initiate enterprises, not only has social capital flourished, but high rates of economic prosperity have been achieved (cited in Krishna 2002, p. 21). Accordingly, structuralists reverse the arrow to begin with governmental and economic institutions to arrive in social capital (Krishna 2002, pp. 17–22).

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Structuralists, furthermore, draw attention to other shortcomings in the social capital theory. Schuurman (2003, pp. 999–1000) emphasizes a number of theoretical and methodological pitfalls in social capital theory. In his view, the theory assumes a victim-blaming approach by which he means that theoreticians of social capital explain the dysfunctionalities of political institutions, poorness of people and high rates of crime and so on by asserting that these countries, societies or neighborhoods do not possess an adequate quantity or sufficient quality of social capital. For Schuurman, social capital (2003, pp. 999–1000) cannot per se be an independent variable. On the contrary, the stock and quality of social capital are contingent on the nature and functioning of governmental and economic institutions. Where government does not function properly and when people experience poverty, it is most likely that they will end up having a negative form of social capital. Therefore, it is more reasonable to think of social capital as a dependent variable not an independent one. Schuurman (2003, p. 1004) also contends that social capital theory is prone to the danger of tautological explanations. According to the theory, a “good society” generates good social capital in terms of deeper levels of trust, stronger engagement in social networks and denser degrees of associational life. In a feedback fashion, good social capital facilitates the creation of a better society. Although this “tautological reasoning sounds heuristic”, it does not significantly move the analysis forward in terms of social sciences and policy-oriented research. The recognition of a causal explanation is crucial in applied research and policy formations as policymakers need to realize where the starting point is located to affect future changes, i.e., do they need, for instance, to start from economic development to generate trust or they should begin with the creation of trust to produce economic development? In their view, social capital theory, even in Putnamise version, is unable to provide a conclusive answer. Another criticism has been put forward by Krishna (2002) who asserts that certain assisting factors need to be in place for social capital to be of a constructive element of social life. In this framework, Krishna (2002) emphasizes the significance of a mediating agency in order to activate the stocks of social capital in a community. In this understanding, the availability of stocks of social capital still matters for civil engagement; however, effective collective action becomes reliant on an agent/agents who is/are capable of recognizing the opportunities and constraints within the existing environment (2002, pp. 9–13). In fact, Krishna focuses on the intermediary links between grassroots networks of a civic association and

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national institutional performance. In his view, the existence of social capital does not mechanically translate to a better institutional performance, the way it is argued by Putnam. Rather, it is the mediating agencies (e.g., political parties or organized interest groups) who take on the task of “interest formation, interest aggregation, and interest representation” which, eventually, can trigger a more effective institutional performance. According to this view, social capital has the potential to enable people to engage in collective action. Meanwhile, the mediating agencies help people to select achievable objectives and the means by which the selected objectives are to be achieved (2002, pp. 22–27). Social capital then requires an intervening variable, namely mediating agency, to influence institutional effectiveness. Putting it differently, abundance of social capital in a community in terms of the existence of trust, dense social networks and robust civic engagement will not automatically enhance the institutional performance, what matters is supplementation of social capital by active agency (interest groups, political parties, elites and so on) capable of mobilizing social capital in realizing the desired changes. Krishna develops this argument through a study of 69 village communities in the two Indian states of Rajasthan and Madhya Pradesh. He examines the influence of social capital and mediating agencies in generating economic development, community peace and democratic participation (2002, Chapters 5, 6 and 7, respectively). Local leaders (who play the role of mediating agency in these cases) by the virtue of the abundance of social capital were able to achieve these three objectives. Newly educated, self-made and younger local leaders were able to obtain economic development and democratic participation. They had information related to governmental development projects and they were able to negotiate with governmental agencies to bring these projects into their communities. Additionally, these agents enjoyed the capacity to mobilize people for democratic participation. On the other hand, traditional village council leaders could achieve community harmony. In these cases, social capital required an “issue-specific mediating agency” to activate it and to realize the various community goals. Taken as a whole, the criticism of Putnam revolves around the following: 1. Overestimating the role of voluntary associations in generating social capital and their contribution to democracy. This has been accompanied by underestimating the role of new forms of cybernetworks in

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spawning social capital. Furthermore, Putnam is perceived mistaken when he asserts that all voluntary organizations are important for democracy and politics. He tends to neglect that some forms of voluntary organizations are devoid of political potentials and, therefore, cannot comprise a sphere for political discussion and engagement. 2. Neglecting the impact of the state and political structures on the formation of social capital. The structural standpoint insists that social capital is not an independent variable. On the contrary, the natures and quantity of social capital rely on the quality of political structures. Government policies in terms of support to civil society and associational life can boost social capital in significant ways. Likewise, the effectiveness of third-party enforcement is likely to generate a sense of security and optimism in a society. 3. Overlooking the cultural and moral roots of social capital. Opponents of the Putnam’s theory insist that social capital mirrors the whole collective experience of a society and not only the individual experiences. Religion, culture, early socialization, economic equality and a sense of optimism (not merely involvement in civic social networks) are crucial determinants of social capital. 4. Failure to observe the influence of the mediating agencies in mobilizing social capital to accomplish achievable goals. The amount and nature of social capital alone do not significantly influence institutional performance. Social capital matters only when a mediating agency transforms it to a political capacity. Political parties, interest groups, social movements and elites possess the potential to invest in existing social capital to mobilize for collective action. In spite of the relevance of abovementioned criticism, one can still detect pitfalls in these accounts: first and foremost is the danger of cultural generalizations. Uslaner and Inglehart’s are two cases in point. It is a wellestablished fact in social sciences that cultures are neither entirely homogeneous, nor completely static entities. Like Western civilization which embraces a great deal of country-based Western cultures, Islamic/oriental civilization also hosts many divergent country-based Islamic cultures with an enormous variety in cultural value systems and worldviews. Moreover, cultures are subject to change over time, the fact that entails that on collective level, degrees of religiosity, trust, our outlook to the social and physical world and so on can change, sometimes in a very deep way.

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A cultural explanation for low levels of social capital in majority Muslim countries is in risk of neglecting a long list of objective factors that may have undermined optimism and trust in these countries. Majority of Muslim countries suffer from incredible spread of corruption, poverty, dysfunctional education system and ineffectiveness of government. Therefore, one can reasonably ask if the nature of social capital in the Muslim world reflects Islamic religious beliefs or it echoes the objective living conditions in these countries, or a combination of both? In addition, it is true that Putnam uses membership in voluntary organizations as a central indicator to measure social capital; he does not rely on it as a decisive indicator of the concept. In some respects, Putnam places more weight on informal civic networks than formal networks of voluntary organizations for the recruitment and engagement in social movements. Furthermore, Putnam makes distinction between active membership and inactive membership in voluntary organizations. Merely membership does not measure social capital as argued by Lin in his understanding of Putnam; rather, it is the degree of activeness that signifies the quality of social capital. Putnam states “what really matters from the point of view of social capital and civic engagement is not merely nominal membership, but active and involved membership” (2000, p. 58). It is also critical to note that applying multiple indicators to measure a concept cannot be viewed as a challenge for the definition and measurement of social capital. Triangulation based on a diversification of measurements can be a productive way to develop a more adequate and robust assessment of these concepts. Instead of depending on social networks alone, it would be more precise if additional measurements (e.g., membership in voluntary organizations) are included.2 The emergence of cybernetworks, in spite of their wide proliferation and increasing significance, is hard to think of as substitutes for traditional forms of social capital. Cybernetworks tend to lack some essential elements that enable them to play a conclusive role for participation in democracy and the enhancement of grassroots interest in civic affairs (Putnam 2000, pp. 148–180). Cybernetworks do not provide the chance for face-to-face and regular intercourse between people that fact may encourage network participants to discuss issues, exchange political information

2 See Neuman (2006) for various ways through which triangulation can be achieved in social sciences research.

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and get immediate feedback from one another. Additionally, organizational commitment in terms of sticking to organizational constitution, attend meetings, division of responsibilities and so on, in net-based organizations, tends to be quite loose if not entirely weak. In the end, although a structuralist perspective adds significant insight into the study of social capital, it fails to offer a comprehensive understanding for Putnam’s theory of social capital. Consistent with structuralist perspective, Putnam does not deny the significant role the state plays in generating feelings of safety and peace through the third-party enforcement mechanisms, however, by drawing on Gambetta (1988),3 Putnam suggests that a third-party enforcement solution is costly and requires some preconditions which are not always in adequate supply. Instead of depending on the state apparatus to maintain order, it is more economical and effective if the order and compliance are achieved by widespread trust and voluntary cooperation between members of a society (1993, pp. 163–171). On the other hand, some state policies, such as concession of financial support, are a double-edged sword and could leave harmful consequences on social capital and civil society. On the whole, this issue holds a lot of relevance in developing countries where the state’s financial support has been used to exploit civil society organizations in advancing the agenda of political regimes.

Studying Democratization and Social Capital in KRI The creation of KRI in 1991 in the aftermath of Gulf War II generated unprecedented scholarly interest in Kurdish studies. Scholars, Kurdish and non-Kurdish alike, began to study the contemporary history of Kurds under Ba’th rule (1968–2003) and developments of post-1991 Kurdistan. In this respect, the motivations and impacts of genocide, specifically Anfal assaults, Arabization and rural evacuation occupied a great space of local academics interests (e.g., Abdulla 1999; Dizey 2000; Dizey and

3 Gambetta (1988, p. 221) contends, “Societies which rely heavily on the use of force are likely to be less efficient, more costly, and more unpleasant than those where trust is maintained by other means. In the former, resources tend to be diverted away from economic undertakings and spent in coercion, surveillance, and information gathering, and less incentive is found to engage in cooperative activities”.

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Shwani 2002; Ismail 2002; Naqshbandi 2002; Mohammed 2004).4 In the decades of political transition, issues of party politics (e.g., Stansfield 2003, 2005), elections (e.g., Barzinji 2002; Ahmed 2009), Kurdish nationalism and identity (Irwani 2002; Aziz 2011) have been sporadically examined. With the beginning of post-Ba’th state-building in Iraq, another wave of interest in Kurdish studies emerged. This stream of research (e.g., Dodge 2005; Anderson and Stansfield 2009; Arato 2009; O’Leary 2010; Kane et al. 2012; Danilovich 2014; Anderson 2015) placed emphasis on the crucial role Kurds played in constitutional design, establishing federalism, protracted tensions between KRI and Baghdad over Internally Disputed Territories (IDTs) and many other developments that surrounded post-Ba’th Iraq. In spite of wealth of knowledge, the literature, especially research on transition to democracy in Kurdistan or state-building in Iraq, for the most part, has adapted a top-down and elite-based account. The obstacles that confronted KRI’s transition, civil war, governmental ineffectiveness and economic dysfunctionalities were argued to have been resulted from mutual elite hostilities and incompetence. Studying the political developments in their interwoven interplay with political culture and social structure of Kurdish society remained substantially unexamined. This book is hoped to offer a bottom-up approach by investigating the potential and the ways through which social capital in KRI influenced political transition in Kurdistan. To the best of author’s knowledge, social capital has not, in any direct way, been employed in Kurdish studies. However, one can observe certain social capital-related issues which have occurred in the last two decades. In this regard, a few attempts were made to examine the newly emerged civil society (e.g., Anwar 2005; Elias 2002, 2007, 2010). These works, broadly speaking, have been critical of civil society organizations arguing that they have lacked independency in their relations with political parties and failed to demonstrate agency in bringing about social and political change. Another stream of research, relating to social capital, manifests itself in investigations about inter-ethnic relations in KRI and ethnically diverse areas in IDTs (e.g., Shwani 2005; Inglehart et al. 2006; Khedir

4 It is noteworthy to state that the contribution of Kurdish local academics remained for the most part invisible due to the fact that most of the publications were in Kurdish and published in Kurdish journals. Some of these publications included a great deal of quantitative data regarding demographic changes, rural and urban structure of Kurdish society, natural resources and so on.

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2006; Hassan 2008; Rydgrer and Sofi 2011; Rydgren et al. 2013; Khedir 2017a, b). These works by employing quantitative techniques have tried to explore the degrees of social distance, hostility and trust among ethnic and religious communities. In spite of insufficient theoretical background and lack of sophisticated methodology, variations, from modest to relatively extreme, of inter-community distrust and antagonism have been found. This book will be among the first, if not the first at all, employment of social capital theory both as a theoretical explanation and as an empirical research framework in Kurdish studies. In spite of centrality of Putnam’s theory in this book, certain theoretical and empirical developments have been suggested. Before unraveling continuities and discontinuities with Putnam, it should be noted that the context in which social capital has been applied in this book is drastically different than the contexts studied by Putnam. Putnam (1993) stretches social capital theory to explain the functioning of democracy, more specifically the effectiveness of government. Our usage of the theory, however, is used in a context of transition to/from democracy in which, as stated in the preceding sections, democratic institutions and a pro-democracy political culture are not consolidated. Therefore, the main objective of this book will not be identifying levels of government performance in relations to civicness of communities; it is rather an attempt at exploring the grassroots and political culture potentials which may enable the society to be present actively in public life. In this sense, the use of social capital in this work resembles its utilization in understanding barriers of transition to democracy in post-communist countries (Dowley and Silver 2003; Gibson 2003; Sotiropoulos 2005; Howard 2005; Iglic 2010). Empirically, although this book adopts Putnam’s definition for social capital by breaking the concept down to its three components: trust, social networks and civic engagement, it doubts the compatibility of Putnam’s operationalization for the concept in Kurdish society. In so doing, trust is not addressed as single question measurement used widely in social capital literature. Relying on a vague question “generally speaking, would you say that most people can be trusted, or that you can’t be too careful in dealing with people?” research has tried to gauge trust in various contexts. In this work, the author has tried to measure trust according to its subject, i.e., if we trust people, we trust them for what? In this book attempt has been made to examine whether or not people are comfortable trusting others to communicate about politics, criticize

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political parties or invite others to engage in collective action. Likewise, the common emphasis which has been placed on the flow of information in social networks and its impact on holding political leaders and institutions accountable (Lake and Huckfedlt 1998; Knack 2002; Claibourn and Martin 2007; Klofstand 2007; Walker 2008) is studied. This work suggests that first, flow of information is likely to become a strong source of mobilization when it is flowed between people who trust one another, and second, when flow of information is accompanied by rich levels of political knowledge, i.e., knowledge about politics, political process and the performance of institutions. In the case of the absence of trust in information we receive from our social networks, social networks instead of becoming an arena for informed political discussions and exchange of political information, they turn to be circles for discussions between individuals who do not trust one another and the information they exchange can be merely rumors about politics. Additionally, the work maintains that some indicators of civic engagement need to be examined in a more operational manner. In Putnam’s Bowling Alone 2000, TV watching is assumed to have a destructive impact on social capital and civic engagement. Conversely, newspaper readership is assumed to be an indicator of civicness in Putnam’s Making Democracy Work 1993. This book suggests that both indicators have the potential to be interpreted in contrasting ways. In spite of general acceptance of negative impact of TV watching in terms of consuming substantial amounts of time and therefore withdrawal from collective life, TV watching can also enhance civic interest in community and national affairs. TVs stations offer a variety of recreational, educational, political, social and cultural programs. When people follow programs with an element of public interest, TV can exert a positive influence in promoting civic engagement. Similarly, newspaper readership, on its own, cannot mechanically be taken as an indicator of civic interest. As it will be made clear, for certain reasons (see Chapter 4), in this research newspaper subscription, not merely newspaper readership, has been suggested as one of the indicators to capture the concept of civic interest. Therefore, to mitigate the potential mistakes that may arise from simply adapting TV watching and newspaper readership, two extra indicators are added: the particular TV programs that a viewer follows most and subscription to at least one newspaper. Finally, on explanation level, this book moved in the direction of theoretical triangulation. Although Putnam remains pivotal in this area of

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research, alternative explanations seem to add significantly to our understanding of social capital. In this respect, Uslaner’s criticism regarding the origins of trust is essential. Equally important is his notion of the ways through which social capital generally can affect democracy. In addition, the structuralists’ approach to social capital, as a product of institutional designs and frameworks, is indispensable. This has two important implications: first, Putnam’s theory although inspiring and unavoidable in this area of research, remains unable to provide an inclusive account to sources of social capital in different contexts. Second, social capital cannot reasonably be used in any causal definitive ontological explanation in relation to democracy. In other words, it is not always imaginable to think of the existence of a pro-democracy social capital prior to prevalence of some degrees of democracy. Social capital is likely to flourish when a process of transition has already initiated or when democracy has already consolidated. Social capital then contributes to enhancing democracy or making it function better. Echoing this logic, this book deals with social capital as a potential contributor, or another barrier, to transition to democracy in KRI.

Methodology The findings which are presented in Chapters (3 and 4) and further discussed in Chapter 5 are based on a primary research conducted in 2010– 2011 in the two cities of KRI, Erbil and Sulaimani. In terms of population size, according to KRG’s Ministry of Planning 2007, only in the centers of Erbil and Sulaimani (not the entire governorates) 2,050,406 persons reside which together constitute for more than 70% of KRI population. The two cities present two different examples in many significant ways: first and foremost, Erbil, the capital of KRI, since 1996 and in the aftermath of Kurdish Civil War (1994–1997), fell under the control of KDP whereas Sulaimani remained under the control of PUK. It is broadly argued that Erbil throughout the last two decades has been governed in a more centralized one-party rule way while Sulaimani in a more multipower centers way (details will be provided in Chapter 2). Consistent with the structural perspective on social capital, one can presume variations in social capital in KRI society to reflect the diversity in the political experience and environment in the two cities (a matter which will be examined empirically in the following chapters). On the other hand, ethnic composition of the two cities is significantly varied: compared to Sulaimani,

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Erbil is heavily multi-ethnic and multi-religious. Besides Kurds who constitute the overwhelming majority, other ethnically Turkmen communities have historically populated the area. Religiously, along Muslim Kurds and Turkmen, a substantial historical existence of Christian community is observable. Sulaimani, however, in spite of sporadic existence of Christians, remains largely a Kurdish city. Such an ethnic diversity is likely to have impacts on the formation of cross-ethnic social networks, trust and lowering levels of hostility and prejudiced stereotypes as proponents of Social Contact Theory argue (e.g., Allport 1979; Bratt 2002; Wessel 2009). The author designed a questionnaire to measure the three elements of social capital defined by Putnam: trust, social networks and civic engagement. Effort was made to develop the questionnaire in a cultural and context-sensitive manner. The final version of the questionnaire was preceded by a series of preliminary interviews with civic activists and ordinary people to identify the most accurate ways by which one can gauge trust in Kurdish society, as opposed to the standard question formulated in the World Value Survey (WVS) which states “would you say that most people can be trusted, or that you must not be too careful in dealing with them?”. The key issue in this regard, however, in this work trust is no longer an abstract construct, it is, on the contrary, operationalized and addressed in a subject-based approach (see previous section). Due to well-known sensitivities attached to politics in contexts like Kurdistan and in light of research objectives, the research attempted at examining the political aspects of trust; the willingness to trust others when the subject of trust is of a political nature, specifically criticism and grievance about politics. Additionally, in contexts where primordial kinship, religious and ethnic affiliations tend to be matter, trust, as will be explained later, tends to be shaped by the levels of harmony or hostility between groups. The historical relationships of Kurds vis-à-vis three dominant nations of Arabs, Turks and Persians with all the miseries attached to these relationships marked by hegemony and resistance may have had impacts on the levels of trust and harmony that Kurds may demonstrate in their surrounding nations. Therefore, any attempt to study social capital in Kurdish context will require an investigation of the collective determinants of social capital. A second element of research addresses social networks and their political dimensions. In addition to widely examined elements of social networks (size, density and composition), the research placed a special

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emphasis on the political potentials of social networks. In this regard, the abundance of trust in social networks and its significance for the inclination of people to discuss politics and grievances in social networks remains significant. Simultaneously, the research tried to identify the relative importance of politics compared to religion, kinship, recreation, family and so on. Likewise, again for the political potential of social networks, it is vital that social networks are composed of people who not only talk about politics, but also of people who are knowledgeable about politics. Hence, measuring political knowledge in social networks constituted another area of research about social networks. A third area of research addresses public interest and actual engagement in civic activities. In this framework, interest in issues of collective nature, i.e., related to the lives of many, as opposed to more individual/selfish concerns is studied. Involvement in formal associational life, volunteering and ability of local communities to launch collective initiatives are explored. Conceivably, the profusion of trust and politicized social networks will matter most when they are transformed into deeper civicness and vigor engagement in collective action. The questionnaire included a series of questions to measure this element of social capital in KRI. Regarding the sampling, Cluster Sampling technique (see Neuman 2006, pp. 233–236; Davies 2007, p. 61) was used in both cities. The centers of Erbil and Sulaimani, based on socioeconomic variables, were divided into three categories: high-class, middle-class and working-class neighborhoods. By applying random procedures, two neighborhoods from each category were drawn. A further draw was applied to select two blocks from each neighborhood, and finally, all households in the selected neighborhoods were included in the sample. The first person, over the age of 18, who would open the door, would be invited to participate in the research. In cases where participation was declined, the adjacent household would be approached. Eventually, the sample included 467 units (250 Erbil: 217 Sulaimani) with a sampling ratio (sample size/target population5 ) of .0003 for former and .0004 for the later. Where possible, findings of 2010–2011 survey are examined in light of a series of 5 The available statistics (Kurdistan Regional Government- Ministry of Planning 2007, available through (http://www.krso.net/detail.aspx?page=statisticsbysubject&c= statisticsbysubjects&id) points to a total population of 1,218,911 people in the center of Erbil city and 831,495 people in the center of Sulaimani. In both cities, people above

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surveys carried out by author and other publications came out in the last few years, among which is a survey (Khedir and Ahmed 2015) that aimed at identifying changes that occurred in several indicators of social cohesion in new neighborhoods in Erbil city. Virtually, 300 sample units were selected from newly established neighborhoods and survey participants were encouraged to reflect on their experience of social cohesion and solidarity in older neighborhoods compared to the new ones. A second survey was conducted in 2017 (Khedir 2017a) in which a sample of 220 Kurds from Erbil city participated. The survey attempted at scrutinizing the impact of social contact on attitudes of Kurdish inhabitants toward Iraqi Arabs after their settlement in Erbil in the years followed 2003 war, and especially after the assault of ISIL to central and northwestern governorates of Iraq. Another research is a qualitative work (Khedir 2017b) aimed at exploring the possibility through which ethnic and religious minorities of Nineveh can transform into agents of political participation. In this work, political party leaders, minority representatives in Iraqi and KR’s parliaments and Provincial Council of Nineveh and key informants from the area participated in this project.

Conclusions Transition to democracy is a challenging, long-term and, certainly, not a linear move. It marks the commencement of a journey away, sometimes reversed, from despotism to establishing democratic governmental institutions, civil society and political culture. After a long scholarly as well as practice-oriented interest in constitutional design and institutional engineering, and thus thinking of transition to democracy in a top-down fashion, social capital offers another angle to scrutinize social and cultural basis of politics, and hence suggests an alternative/complementary bottom-up approach to democratization. Broadly speaking, in spite of variations and disagreements over sources of social capital and the ways through which it affects democracy and democratization, theory of social

the age of 18 constituted the target population for this research. But due to the unavailability of data with respect to the exact number of people above 18, we had to consider the age cohort of 15 years and above. Thus, the target population in Erbil and Sulaimani decreased to approximately 764,758 and 582,768, respectively. Given that these figures include people between 15 and 18 (not included), the sample ratio is definitely higher than it is stated above.

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capital assigns momentous to the abundance of general/thin trust, dense and heterogeneous social networks and the vigor of associational life in promoting democracy. More specifically, it is argued that democratic institutions are likely to demonstrate higher levels of effectiveness when they are embodied in social environments marked by civic-minded and wellnetworked individuals who are capable of initiating collective action and eventually hold democratic institutions accountable. The relationship of social capital to democracy, however, is by no means a mechanical or straightforward one. Put it differently, social capital is not always conducive to democracy: quite on the contrary, some forms of social capital such as sectarianism or ethnic-based ties and associations can harm democracy. Likewise, communities which are based on closedkinship bonds can hinder formation of social networks beyond primordial groups. What matters, in essence, is, using Fukuyama’s terminology, “radius of trust”, i.e., the extent to which the range of trust extends to reach people beyond family, kinship and ethnic networks to even people whom we do not know in person, “general others” or “strangers”. A social capital which is abundant, but only abundant, within close family or ethnic circles, for example, is unlikely to serve social harmony or to enable people from various backgrounds to pursue common goals. Therefore, social capital can be of dividing nature serves the reinforcement of already ethnic, religious, traditional divisions or of uniting type aids bridging societal cleavages. In this sense, social capital resembles other forms of material and human capital as they carry the potential of performing constructive or destructive functions. Voluntary organizations and associational life are substantial for democracy and effective governance. In addition to articulation of sectional interests, and therefore, making democracy more balanced, they constitute arenas in which participants acquire necessary skills for democratic life, develop knowledge about politics and thanks to face-to-face interactions revise their attitudes and understandings. Nevertheless, associations can harm democracy in significant ways: first and foremost, associations tend to serve the interests of well-organized sections of a society. More educated people and economically better off groups have the potential to be more organized and, hence, more functional to advance their interests at the expense of marginalized, uneducated and poor segments of a society. In consequence, due to uneven pitch for political competition, policies will be at risk of echoing the interest of stronger, namely, more organized groupings in a society and neglect less presented groups of, for

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instance, women, disabled and minorities. On the other hand, associations which are formed to pursue narrow ethnic, religious and nationalist causes probably contribute to further widening and deepening the already cleavages of society. Extremism, in its manifold guises, can, at least partly, be explained as an outcome for the potency of sectarian and rigidly nationalist associations. In sum, the relationship of social capital and democracy requires moving further deep and investigate this relationship on case-by-case basis. This relationship is not permanently straightforward and positive in every context. The quality of social capital: the characteristics of trust, social networks and association do matter most. The methodological implication is that social capital measurement needs to transcend the standard international questions to rely on context-based indicators for each component of social capital. A culture-sensitive method allows, for example, to measure trust the way it is thought of in local cultures and in everyday interactions of individuals. Issues such as the meaning of “general others”, “strangers”, why do we/do not we trust others, in which regard we trust/we do not trust others can only be captured by culture-sensitive methodologies.

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Rydgren, J., D. Sofi, and M. Hallsten. 2013. Interethnic Friendship, Trust, and Tolerance: Findings from Two North Iraqi Cities. American Journal of Sociology 118 (6): 1650–1694. Schofer, E., and M.F. Gourinchas. 2001. The Structural Contexts of Civic Engagement: Voluntary Associations Membership in Comparative Perspective. American Sociological Review 66 (6): 806–828. Schuurman, F. 2003. Social Capital: The Politico-Emancipatory Potential of a Disputed Concept. Third World Quarterly 24 (6): 991–1010. Shwani, M. 2005. Difference and Diversity in the Shadow of Social Solidarity: Anthropological Study in Kirkuk City. MA thesis, University of Mosul (Original in Arabic). Sotiropoulos, D.A. 2005. Positive and Negative Social Capital and the Uneven Development of Civil Society in South-Eastern Europe. Southeast European and Black Sea Studies 5 (2): 243–256. Stansfield, G. 2003. Iraqi Kurds: Political Development and Emergent Democracy. London and New York: Routledge Curzon Taylor and Francis Group. ———. 2005. Governing Kurdistan: The Strengths of Division. In The Future of Kurdistan in Iraq, ed. B. O’Leary et al. Philadelphia: Penn, University of Pennsylvania Press. Uslaner, E.M. 1999. Democracy and Social Capital. In Democracy and Trust, ed. M.E. Warren. Cambridge: University of Cambridge. ———. 2002. The Moral Foundations of Trust. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Uslaner, E., and M. Brown. 2005. Inequality, Trust, and Civic Engagement. American Political Research 33 (6): 868–894. Walker, E.T. 2008. Contingent Pathways from Joiner to Activist: The Indirect Effect of Participation in Voluntary Associations on Civic Engagement. Sociological Forum 23 (1): 116–143. Wessel, T. 2009. Does Diversity in Urban Space Enhance Inter-group Contact and Tolerance. Human Geography 91 (1): 5–17. Whitehead, L. 2003. Democratization: Theory and Experience. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. (ed.). 2005. The International Dimension of Democratization: Europe and the America. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

CHAPTER 2

The Context of Democratization in KRI: Implications for Social Capital

Introduction In the years ensued the Gulf War, Kurds in KRI begun a challenging process of political transition. The “departure” from the tyrannical rule of the Ba’th party in KRI (1968–1991), followed by, sometimes multiple moves toward, and other times away from, democracy. A rather allegedly profound success attached to the first competitive multi-party elections in 1992, shadowed by a civil war (1994–1997) between KDP and PUK with its ramifications to exceed political and administrative division of the region to generate another layer of social cleavage along partisan lines. A peace settlement was brokered by USA in 1998 to put an end for the geographic, administrative and political partition and to establish grounds for reunification of KRI. The settlement, for a variety of reasons, was never implemented until the Iraq War 2003 became looming. Recognizing the inevitability of the war and future challenges that might face Kurds in post-Ba’th Iraq, KDP and PUK re-joined forces in the hope of creating a strong Kurdish front to advance Kurdish agenda in post-Saddam Iraq. From 2002, steps were undertaken to reunify the governmental cabinet and efforts were made, albeit less enthusiastically, to reintegrate Kurdish forces (Peshmerga) and security apparatuses. The emergence of Change Movement (Goran) in 2009, as the first popular political opposition group, posed a tangible challenge for the long hegemony of KDP and PUK over Kurdish political landscape. The © The Author(s) 2020 H. H. Khedir, Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan, Middle East Today, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1_2

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movement was extremely successful in capitalizing popular grievances over widespread corruption, nepotism, lack of basic services, social and economic inequalities and deficiency of political freedoms. However, the optimism that Goran itself contributed to its generation was soon disappointed due to a number of Goran’s, subjectively, mistaken tactical decisions, and more importantly, unrealistic perspectives developed by the movement about the desired change and objectively as a result of mounting pressures that KDP-PUK alliance exercised to paralyze Goran. Hence, for some, while the birth of political opposition was perceived as a step forward to create more democratic and responsive institutions, its failure and declining popularity, later on, were described as a setback for the transition to democracy in KRI. Contextually, the political transition in KRI, from the very beginning, was hampered by a devastated economy and domination of tribal social structures. The transition commenced where KRI had, by 1990, nearly lost its agricultural base. Thousands of villages were destroyed by Ba’th regime, hundreds of thousands of people were gathered in compulsory camps and vast numbers of educated people were employed in public sector (e.g., Abdulla 1999; Chaliand 2007; Dizey and Shwani 2002; Human Rights Watch and Middle East Watch 2004; Ismail 2002). The outcome was that Kurdish society became unproductive economically and ended up becoming nearly totally dependent on the state. The economic hardship was further exacerbated by twin economic embargos: first imposed by international community on Iraq in the aftermath of Kuwait invasion and a second economic embargo which was imposed by Government of Iraq (GoI) on the three governorates of KRI. Consequently, the living standards declined sharply and networks of nepotism became denser and more critical in securing access to the already limited available resources (e.g., O’Leary and Salih 2005; Stansfield 2003). Amid all that, in spite of a relative fast process of urbanization, in the seventies and eighties of the last century, the social structure of Kurdish society remained predominantly tribal (Bozarslan 2006; Leezenberg 2006). In the following two decades, due to social and political significance of tribes, KDP and PUK, in spite of their deep ideological and social background differences, tried hard to patronize tribes in an attempt to alter the power balance in their interest. This made tribes even more influential throughout the transition period. This chapter provides an account to the context of transition in KRI by dividing the period followed the commencement of transition in 1991,

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into three sub-periods: (1991–1996) which I name formative years in which certain developments endured decisive complications for the transitions in the decades to follow. In this regard, KDP-PUK’s model of 50-50 power sharing tangled relationship between political parties and government bureaucracy and the ability of political parties to maintain military forces is of pivotal significance. The second period is named consolidation years (1996–2003) to signal a period of time in which KDP-PUK further exploited the division of the region to consolidate their political and economic hegemony in what is popularly called yellow (KDP controlled) and green (PUK controlled) zones. The third sub-period (2003 onward) I label as deconstruction years to indicate certain changes that introduced new phenomena to KRI transition. The emergence of political opposition which to some extent blurred the dual hegemony of KDP-PUK, privatization of economy and flow of foreign investment and gradual growth of civil society and protest movements are landmark changes in these years. In covering the context of transition to democracy in KRI, the effort has been made to transcend the dichotomous mutual exclusive accounts: the malign and the benign (O’Leary and Salih 2005, pp. 25–29)1 with the former to lay emphasis on the dark sides (such as civil war, economic hardships and corruption) and the latter to focus on bright aspects (such as relatively better economic and health situations in KRI compared to the rest of Iraq and some forms of democracy and freedom of expression). This approach is essential to avoid political/ideological biased criticism/praise of the transition to offer a more inclusive explanation for multitude of factors that affected this process. Nevertheless, as the reader will

1 O’Leary and Salih (2005, pp. 25–29) contend that the story of the period between the war of Kuwait 1991 and the removal of Saddam Hussein in 2003 can be told in two ways: the malign and the benign. The former perspective focuses on negative and dark sides of the experience, such as the severe economic situation, low performance of governmental agencies, civil war and many other negative indicators of the experience. The latter, on the contrary, emphasizes the positive and bright sides of the experience such as some relative improvements in health and economy in Kurdistan compared to the rest of Iraq, separation of political parties from the government and a set of other indicators that may be evaluated in this respect. While the author believes that both perspectives hold some relevance, neither of them on its own can paint a realistic picture of this period. A combination of both may well be more helpful. Nevertheless, one can straightforward disagree with the authors in terms of their belief that a separation existed between political parties and government in this era. On the contrary, interventions of the two main political parties, the KDP and PUK, in government decisions have always been a key theme of political life of the region.

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observe, challenges that confronted KRI’s transition, especially just before the beginning of transition and throughout its formative years, have by no means been comparable to its opportunities. Therefore, devoting a larger space to explore challenges should not be understood as an attempt to downplay achievements. The guiding assumption is that a transition to democracy is a contextbased process. It is heavily influenced by many factors that surround it. A second assumption asserts that “(T)he factors that keep a democracy stable may not be the ones that brought it into existence” (Rustow 1999, p. 21). Rustow (1999) calls for drawing a distinction between genetic and functional questions with respect to democracy. The former tackles factors that have brought democracy into existence whereas the latter covers issues which shape the functioning of a democracy. In essence, this chapter examines the context of democracy as it affects the evolvement of a newly emerged process of transition to democracy.

Formative Years 1991--1996 Following the invasion of Kuwait by the Iraqi army on August 2, 1990, and the failure of international sanctions to force Iraqi troops pulling out from Kuwait, an international coalition to forcefully drive out invaders under the leadership of the USA was formed (for more details see Davis 2005, pp. 227–270). The coalition could quickly defeat the occupying forces in early 1991. In the aftermath of the event, Iraqi people, under the guidance of Iraqi exile opposition groups, were able to manipulate the weakness of Iraqi army and the support of coalition forces to break out uprising in sixteen out of the eighteen governorates of the country in March 1991.2 The uprising (both in northern governorates and in southern governorates) due to the reluctance of coalition forces to go as far as to regime change only short-lived. The Iraqi army was able to suppress the uprisings in all governorates and to restore control over the country. In October 1991, however, the GoI withdrew its forces from the three predominantly Kurdish governorates of Erbil, Sulaimani and Duhok. This area constitutes roughly 15% of the Iraqi territory (Davis 2005, p. 259). The withdrawal of Iraqi army was accompanied by withdrawal of GoI 2 The word Intifada was popularly used to describe the uprising in Arab governorates of Iraq and Rapareen in Kurdish governorates. Hereinafter, I will use the word Rapareen instead of uprising to point to the events in Kurdistan.

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bureaucracy and its unwillingness to fund government institutions and pay the state-employed personnel in Kurdistan. This situation left Kurdistan in a circumstance of administrative vacuum. Nevertheless, Kurdish areas, for the years to come, which had located above the 36th parallel, were protected by coalition forces from possible aggressions of GoI forces. The other parts of Iraq remained under the control of GoI until the Iraq War brought an eventual end for the Ba’th rule in April 2003. The rest of the chapter will examine the developments that occurred in the Kurdistan as other parts of Iraq are not within the scope of this book. Broadly speaking, the situation under which the political system in Iraqi Kurdistan developed was “difficult and anomalous” (Stansfield 2003, p. 3). It was a time that umbrella organization of Iraqi Kurdistan Front (IKF)3 had to fill the political and administration vacuum created by the withdrawal of GoI organizations. The task of running a country on day-to-day basis, in a context of extremely tough economic conditions, for IKF which itself lacked the experience of governance proved to be exceptionally challenging. Amid that, the intervention of neighboring countries,4 in particular Turkey and Iran, contributed to exacerbation of the conditions even more. Throughout the years of Kurdish Civil War, the countries through their alignment with the KDP or PUK intensified domestic tensions and, therefore, presented a challenge for the future autonomy and a “de facto state“ in Iraqi Kurdistan. From the very beginning, the IKF found itself before two demanding tasks: in short run, it had to supervise and manage the daily functioning of almost totally ruined state institutions. In this respect, the IKF allowed the state structures to persist and no structural changes were made to government bureaucracy. IKF formed committees which consisted of members from different political parties to operate as a political umbrella for the remaining governmental institutions. In the long run, the IKF had to 3 IKF was established just before the invasion of Kuwait in the late 1980s by Kurdish political parties in exile, and particularly its two main constituting political parties, the KDP and PUK. IKF’s foremost task was to reunite fragmented Kurdish opposition in a single political entity and to resist the Iraqi regime more effectively. 4 The intervention of these countries, Turkey and Iran, was mostly under the pretext

of chasing Partiya Krekaren Kurdistan’s PKK guerrillas or hunting the Iranian Kurdish opposition groups, respectively. Notions such as power vacuum or Lawlessness were used by the two countries to describe Iraqi Kurdistan in this period. This description was exploited to conduct frequent explicit military incursions into Iraqi Kurdistan (see Stansfield 2003, pp. 2–10).

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establish a framework for future governance in Kurdistan. One of IKF’s early decisions was to organize general elections to elect a representative body assigned with legislation task and forming a regional government and to elect a person to hold the title of Leader of Kurdish Liberation Movement (KLM).5 Although IKF was partially able to fill the administration vacuum and prevented an absolute chaos from happening, from an administrative standpoint it failed to function effectively. To begin with, the veto right (Barzinji 2002, p. 296) was granted to all constituting parties and, due to fierce partisan tendencies, the decision-making process was tremendously difficult. And in some cases, when the decisions were possible to be made, their implementation would remain tricky. Furthermore, harmful for the future development of the economy of the region was the fact that IKF could not bring an end to the widespread looting of Kurdistan’s public fortune. Brown (1999, p. 224) refers to reports referring to large smuggling of vehicles, building materials, agricultural equipment and even industrial plants by Kurdish entrepreneurs to Iran where they were sold very cheaply.6 The smuggling was facilitated by IKF’s high and/or local leaders (Natali 2007). Furthermore, IKF, instead of dealing wisely with Kurdistan’s revenues (these came mostly from border customs) as national and state money, distributed the revenues to political parties within the IKF.7 Accordingly, they were considered party property. Thus, it is not difficult to observe that at that time those revenues had almost no effects on public services or to deliver state personnel payments. Elections, as Carothers (2002, pp. 7–8) suggests, occupy a pivotal position in transitions to democracy due to its inevitability to endow the new elite with required legitimacy. Trying to achieve legitimacy, the choice for

5 In the early years, for domestic consumption, both KDP and PUK argued that they are the sole owner of the idea of elections and accused each other of reluctantly accepting the idea. 6 In Erbil, for instance, a report declared that out of 700 municipal vehicles before Rapareen only 90 remained by mid-1992. The police force could preserve 18 out of 345 patrol cars (Quoted in Brown 1999, p. 224). 7 According to IKF’s political arrangements, KDP received 30%, PUK 28%, Socialist Party of Kurdistan (SPK) 17%, Communist Party of Iraq (CPI) 10% and Pasok Party of Kurdistan (PPK) 8% of revenues. The portions were determined based on estimating the size, power and the degree of popularity of each party (Quoted in Barzinji 2002, p. 296).

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elections sometimes comes premature and in unfavorable conditions. Kurdish political class was in need to replace/supplement revolutionary legitimacy they acquired by their leadership of armed resistance to Ba’th rule, by popular-democratic legitimacy. Presenting no exception, as it will be shown in the coming sections, the first general election was held in wrong conditions. In May 1992, the first general election was held. The election turnout was high, estimated to exceed 90% of eligible voters. Some commentators and monitors described it as one of the most democratic elections that have ever been held in the Middle East. It was also viewed as a sign of Kurds’ true desire to establish a democratic structure in response to Saddam’s long despotic rule in Kurdistan (Quoted in Stansfield 2003, p. 129). Nonetheless, a wide array of political, technical and logistical shortcomings faced the elections. Barzinji (2002, pp. 312–329) identifies problems in the institutionalization of elections and observes major legal violations occurred on election day. With respect to institutionalization of elections, adopting closed-ticket system and setting 7% electoral threshold to enter KNA and the absence of a reliable census have been among the foremost problems. The overall outcome was voters were deprived from voting to individual candidates whom they believe qualified as they instead voted to political tickets, and by setting up 7% electoral threshold, political parties which received less than 7% were left outside KNA. On the election day, moreover, serious violations had been observed. This included violations of the principle of confidentiality and the principle of “one person one vote” which in consequence raised doubts about the integrity of elections. With respect to election of KLM leader, none of the candidates won majority of the voters. According to election law, this should have been followed by run-off elections to elect the leader of KLM. Eventually, the two main candidates Masoud Barzani and Jalal Talabani agreed not to re-hold the election for this matter. In explaining possible undesirable effects that elections could bring about in the early phases of transition to democracy, Ottaway (1995, p. 245) argues that elections appear to be the wrong place to start the process of democratization in “collapsing” and “conflict-ridden” states. In Africa, he states, elections have been organized in a hurry; elections came prior to consolidation of political parties; elections preceded the disarmament of armed movements; elections were not competed in by political parties having in hand political platforms to present to voters. In these cases, election losers rejected election results and voters voted on the

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basis of ethnic affiliations. He concludes that elections under wrong conditions, where their requirements are not met, can constitute real setbacks for democratization. Though Ottaway’s analysis is based on the cases of democratization in Africa, his argument highlights similar conditions in the Kurdish context in that specific point of time. The 1992 elections were held and KDP and PUK possessed their own armed forces and in a time when, in grassroots level, partisan affiliations were in their peak. The two parties had approximately equal power to reject election results which, in fact, it was something that happened. Therefore, one can safely suggest that the first Kurdistan’s general election lacked the minimum requirements that the success of elections would require. The dispute over election results shaped harmfully the entire upcoming political process in KRI. The two dominant and competing political parties KDP and PUK started to disseminate dissimilar figures. KDP won and the PUK denied it (Stansfield 2003, pp. 129–131; 2005, pp. 200– 201; O’Leary and Salih 2005, p. 24). The two parties went on to adopt a 50:50 solution as a model for power sharing according to which the two parties agreed on to establish KNA and a government cabinet on the basis of equal representation and responsibility. Meanwhile, the failure to elect a leader for KLM allowed for the two most influential leaders, Masoud Barzani and Jalal Talabani, to stay outside official government bureaucracy. This, in consequence, harmed the ability of KNA and government to act more decisively in many important ways (Stansfield 2005, pp. 200– 201). The 50:50 model paved the way for the formation of a grand coalition government. Ottaway (1995, p. 248) suggests that coalition governments are likely to progress in the direction of monopolization of power and absence of political accountability. In KRI’s context, the 50:50 basis of coalition and monopolization of power echoed in the highest hierarchy of bureaucracy to the lowest ranks. Ministerial, deputy ministerial, general directorial, city and town mayors, and heads of municipalities positions were all distributed between KDP and PUK on 50:50 basis. This handicapped the development of the region. Ministers and deputies had the same power, the fact that made decision making extremely difficult. More harmful was the tangled interplay of KDP-PUK, on the one hand, and government bureaucracy, on the other hand, to the extent that the distinction between what was related political parties and what was associated with government was by no means visible. As a result, government stayed in the shadow of political parties and government bureaucrats had

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to implement what would be dictated by their parties (Stansfield 2005, pp. 200–201). In addition to gloomy ramifications of 50:50 model on policymaking and implementation, Brown (1999, p. 221) argues that this arrangement reinforced networks of patronage. People would realize that securing a job opportunity in public sector is conditional on engagement in some forms of sociopolitical network. It was necessary to know, or be related to, high-ranking officials of either party to achieve something (see Chapter 5 for details). Without having patron-client relations, it was remarkably difficult to obtain access to job opportunities or any forms of available services. A mechanical outcome was the decline of meritocracy in the face of overriding culture of clientalism and partisan politics. The absence of government’s internal harmony, an entire paralysis of government structures and mounting pressures on then prime minister, Fuad Masum, on the grounds/claims of his indecisiveness led him to resign in March 1993. The second cabinet was formed by Kosrat Rasul, a popular PUK high rank from Erbil, without being able to transcend the challenges of the former government. The inability of KDP and PUK to establish a harmonious government combined by historical hostilities which were endured throughout the three decades (early sixties to 1991) preceded Rapareen paved the way for the outbreak of civil war 1994– 1997. In his analysis to political system of Kurdistan and the subsequent civil war, Stansfield states: It is perhaps more correct to see it as a function of the level of maturity achieved by the Iraqi Kurdish political system and parties. It could be argued that the weakness in the political system stems from the rivalry which exists, for whatever reasons, between the KDP, PUK and other parties and the position of these parties in relation to the west (primarily US), Baghdad, and, to a lesser extent, the Iraqi opposition. Up until 1997, at least, neither party displayed the ability to manage these rivalries in a peaceful manner, and therefore resorted to military options, often with the assistance of foreign national governments, making the possibility of any stable joint government extremely difficult. (p. 5)

The civil war in its first two years 1995–1996 led to full separation of the region into two areas: Duhok and Erbil dominated by the KDP and Sulaimani and the Garmyan areas controlled by the PUK. This brought about a sort of stability and even by some analysts such as Stansfield

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(2003, pp. 1–6; 2005, pp. 201–205), it was seen as “not a bad solution” for solving the power-sharing dilemma between the two political parties. Stansfield suggests that the separation of Kurdistan and establishing two governmental cabinets stabilized the region politically, and it relaxed the threats of unfavorable political developments to neighboring countries. Administratively, he contends that the twin governments proved to be more effective when they governed separately. This argument though to a narrow extent appears to be relevant; it remains perilous in important ways: first and foremost, one can suggest that the argument sacrifices democracy for stability. It neglects the fact that civil war and subsequent separation of the region hampered the democratic process to proceed in a pace it was hoped for. Instead of fighting a civil war, it was possible to install democratic structures and institutions, establish a healthier party politics and monopolize the use of violence in the hands of government. The success in establishing democratic structures would have created grounds for democratic political culture and civil society to flourish. Certainly, one cannot deny the amount of challenge that this task would require, however, in the availability of actors truly believe in democracy and ready to pay the sacrifices that a democratic life normally requires was still feasible. Second, the separation of the region did not happen peacefully and it did not occur as a political pact to move toward foundation of decentralized administration or anything similar to that. On the contrary, the breakup was violent; it was a consequence of failure to coexist and aimed at consolidating party-based hegemony along geographic/administrative division. Ramifications of years of civil war and separation went beyond political and administrative of the region to introduce social divisions along partisan lines: it is not an exaggeration to suggest that in the first decade of transition to democracy in KRI, party affiliations constituted the basis for the formation of friendships, neighborliness and even marriage preferences. Additionally, civil war and separation assisted in spreading a collective sense of pessimism and a relative collapse of self-confidence by Kurds that they can or deserve to have control over their fate, including self-governance. Third, even for the sake of argument if we accept Stansfield’s account, one cannot observe true indicators supporting the notion that the two cabinets were more effective after the separation. If effectiveness is solely measured in terms of cabinet stability, one can suggest that such a measurement is inadequate. The central question is whether or not the cabinets were more effective to ensure not only the physical security of residents (this again was not guaranteed) but also

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health, educational and social needs of population were satisfied. Weaver and Rockman (1993, p. 6), for instance, identify numerous capabilities that any government should enjoy in order to achieve effectiveness: this includes set and maintain priorities (Italics from the reference) among conflicting demands, target resources where they are most effective, innovation when old policies are not effective, coordinate conflicting objectives, impose losses on powerful groups, represent diffuse, unorganized interests, ensure effective implementation of policies, ensure policy stability, make and maintain international commitments, and manage political cleavages to guarantee that the society does not slip into civil war. Therefore, when the performance of the two cabinets is evaluated in light of an inclusive set of indicators, profound doubts will certainly occur. Apparently, Stansfield’s concept of effectiveness is reduced to cabinet stability and the ease of decision making at that point of time. Examining effectiveness in a broader sense jeopardizes such an understanding. Economically, the process of transition to democracy coincided with colossal economic hardships. To explore economic situations, it is necessary to look at Kurdistan’s post-Rapareen economy in three respects: (a) agricultural devastation resulted from a prolonged process of destruction of rural areas of Kurdistan by former Iraqi regimes which reached its highest in the Anfal campaigns of 1988, (b) GoI oil and industrial policy and (c) the twin economic embargos of the 1990s on KRI. As to the first, the destruction of rural areas has continuously been a policy priority for Iraqi regimes since at least the 1960s. Dizey and Shwani (2002, p. 330) point to events of 1963 when the Iraqi government evacuated 40,000 Kurds from around the oil-rich city of Kirkuk and replaced them with tribal Arabs from the middle and southern parts of Iraq. A total of 875 villages were destroyed between June 11 and July 23, 1963. In 1970s and particularly after the Algiers agreement of 1975, the GoI declared a broad bandage of land 5–30 kilometers wide and allocated along the borders with Turkey and Iran (some researchers, such as Khalil Ismail, add Syrian borders as well, see Ismail 2002, p. 269), a forbidden zone (Stansfield 2003, p. 44; Ismail 2002, p. 269). The estimates of the number of destroyed villages in this period vary between 500 and 1400 villages (Stansfield 2003, pp. 44–45). Chaliand (2007, p. 126) refers to the evacuation of the population in border areas which in 1978–1979 led to the resettlement of 250,000 villagers in obligatory settlements close to main roads and military bases of GoI. Given that up to late 1970s more than half of the population depended on agriculture and produced as much

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as 45% of Iraqi wheat and a third of its barley in 1980 (Stansfield 2003, p. 42), these policies sustained deep, prolonged and multi-dimensional detrimental consequences for Kurdish society. With Anfal campaigns8 in late 1980s, evacuation of border and rural areas and resettlements of their inhabitants in obligatory camps or sending them to unknown places intensified. Anfal campaigns consisted of a series of assaults conducted by the Iraqi army across Kurdistan. According to Naqshbandi (2002a, pp. 100–102), Anfal assault aimed at destroying footholds of Kurdish guerrillas (Peshmerga) in mountainous areas, cutting oil-rich areas from Kurdistan through the evacuation of Kurds from those areas and replacing them with Arabs, annihilating the agricultural bases of the economy of the people and damaging the young and economically productive workforce of the population by targeting mostly young males. He states that upon arrestment, Anfaled people were classified according to sex and age. As a rule, males of the age cohort 10–50 years old would be separated and their fate would be unknown. Dizey and Shwani (2002, p. 345) point to the testimony of some Anfal survivors who had stated that GoI forces, in some cases, released those who were above 65 years of age and kept the younger people. The human and economic consequences of Anfal to Kurdish society were enormous: Kendal Nezan concludes that in the aftermath of Anfal , The foundations of life were damaged because of Anfal assaults. After this senseless genocide of Kurds was over, 90% of Kurdistan villages and more than 20 towns were removed from the map. 15 million mines were buried in rural areas. Thus, the agricultural activity was difficult. 1.5 million persons were displaced (about where unknown) or resettled in obligatory

8 A Middle East Watch report classifies Anfal operations into eight phases: first phase February 23rd–March 1988 included areas of Sargalu and Bargalu and chemical bombardment of Halabja on March 16th, second phase: March 22nd–April 1st, 1988, covered Qeredax area, third phase: April 7th–20th 1988 involved Garmyan, fourth phase: May 3rd–8th 1988 included Zey Bchuk valley, fifth, sixth and seventh phases: May 15th–August 26th covered Rawanduz and Shaqlawa valleys and mountains, and eighth phase: August 25th–September 6th 1988. The report asserts that those operations comprise genocide crimes aimed at the extermination of Kurds as an ethnic group in Iraq. Although the report refers to different estimations, it states that at least 50,000–100,000 civilians were killed during the operations (Middle East Watch 2004, Kurdish Version). It is worth to note that most of the literature (Naqshbandi 2002a; Ismail 2002; Dizey and Shwani 2002) agree on the aforementioned classification.

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settlements. Almost 10% of the Iraqi Kurdish population was exterminated. (cited in Naqshbandi 2002a, p. 103)

Oil is another important issue in studying political, economic and social conditions of Iraq and Kurdistan.9 The oil policy of Iraqi regimes has constantly been formed on the basis of prejudice against and exclusion of Kurds, especially Kurdish inhabitants of oil-rich areas in Kirkuk. In this respect, Abdulla (1999, p. 8) states that oil, instead of being blessing for people, turned out to be a source enabled Iraqi regime to build a strong army and eventually contributed to the suppression of Kurdish people. Furthermore, even though geographically the northern oilfields are located in areas where Kurds claim to be part of Kurdistan, Kurds have not had any control over them. For Kurds, the benefits of the oil industry were mainly confined to those Kurds (their number was consistently reduced due to the Arabization process) who worked in the oil industry (Stansfield 2003, p. 43). Oil resources, in essence, proved to be of no value in terms of developing economic structures of Kurdistan. This even was the case in Iraq in general. Revenues generated from oil exportation were fundamentally used to fund Iraq-Iran war, suppressing Kurdish rebellion in northern areas, provision of some of the basic services and delivering state personnel payments. Therefore, the economic structure of the society remained agrarian, though not as vigor as it was few decades ago (Stansfield 2003, p. 42). In this regard, Ghassemlou (cited in Stansfield 2003, p. 42) states that: It is a peculiar feature that the Kurdish industrial proletariat arose without the simultaneous rise of a Kurdish national industrial bourgeoisie; this phenomenon can be explained by the fact [that] the exploitation of oil is exerted either by imperialist companies or by the state sectors.

9 The northern oilfields, which Kurds have historically argued to be located in Kurdish lands, during the last thirty years, have comprised a significant part of the total Iraqi oil production. The contribution of these oilfields to Iraq’s overall oil production has been (1967: 48%, 1977: 47%, 1987: 47% and 1997:47%) (Ghafur 2010, p. 27). The Kirkuk oil contribution alone amounted to 70.2% of the total oil production of the country between 1927 and 1974. Even during the economic embargo, it constituted 67% of oil production in 1997. Between 1931 and 1990, Kirkuk oil made up 63% of the country’s oil revenue (Naqshbandi 2002b, pp. 25–26).

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Bruinessen (2006, pp. 60–61), commenting on broader Kurdistan, goes further to argue that the scarcity of land and work opportunities in villages and the absence of a capable industry in Kurdish urban centers to grasp Kurdish labor force forced Kurds to migrate to the industrial centers of Istanbul, Germany and the Netherlands. Interestingly, according to him, Kurdish industrial capital behaves in a similar manner. Due to the limitation of investment opportunities in Kurdistan, Kurdish industrial capital is invested outside Kurdistan. Subsequently, Bruinessen suggests that there is a Kurdish proletariat and Kurdish bourgeoisie but outside Kurdistan. Essentially, the boom of oil revenues, beginning in mid-seventieth of last century and nationalization of oil industry by GoI in 1972 (see Chapter 5), altered state-society relations significantly in favor of the former. State became the owner of means of production and care provider to society. Thus, oil industrialization did not change the Kurdish society to an industrial society and it did not allow the emergence of complex political and economic infrastructures. Rather, the influence of oil has mostly reduced to state expenditures on certain social services with minimum industrial changes (Stansfield 2003, p. 42). Consequently, in economic terms, the whole process of transition to democracy in KRI built on the ruins of an entirely shattered economy. The systematic destruction of rural life, devastated agriculture and oil policies of GoI mark the economic context of democratization. The economic embargo of international community in Iraq rubbed more salt into the wound. In the aftermath of Gulf War, KRI suffered from twin economic embargo: it was, as a part of Iraq, under the economic blockade of the international community, according to Security Council Resolution (SCR) 661 of 1990 and the economic embargo of the GoI after the withdrawal of its forces from KRI in October 1991. Together, the two embargos deprived the region of urgently needed food, medicine and fuel supplies. The GoI did not commit itself to award salaries to civil servants who constituted 45% (roughly 200,000 employees) of the workforce in KRI. Even later on when in 1994 salaries were being paid by KRG on some sort of regular basis, salaries averaged 250–300 Iraqi Dinar (IQD) per month, when an average family did need 2000–3000 IQD for basic facilities (Brown 1999, p. 240). The consequences of the embargos were exacerbated by an overall collapse of agricultural base of economy in 1970s and 1980s. As mentioned

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before, the villages were almost totally destroyed and the majority of population resided in collective settlements or in main cities. In these circumstances, local capacity to produce food and basic services had severely diminished. Although between 1991 and 1996 rural areas of Kurdistan underwent a small-scale reconstruction,10 supported mainly by foreign aid, and a certain degree of agricultural recovery was also recorded (Stansfield 2003, pp. 47–48), the reconstruction process remained incoherent. Many villages were reconstructed without having sufficient number of schools, hospitals, roads or other basic services available in these areas. As for the education, an unequal development was recorded throughout the KRI. In some areas, where rural reconstruction took place, enough schools were lacked whereas in other areas, where enough schools had been built, they did not function well due to a lack of teachers or due to logistical deficiencies. In Sulaimani governorate in 1993, for example, there had been a 50% rise in the number of schools with a big shortage in the number of teachers. The teacher-pupil ratios varied widely from 1:20 to 1:80. In small towns of Qaladiza or Halabja, which were just rebuilt after the uprising, some secondary teachers reported that they taught two shifts of students with classes of more than 60 students in each shift (Brown 1999, p. 241). In addition to effects of the twin embargos, the reconstruction of rural life was confronted by further challenges. To begin with, the region, similar to other parts of Kurdistan in neighboring countries, did not have an advanced transportation network (Bruinessen 2006, p. 60). Roads connecting villages, or to connect villages to urban centers, were either absent or of poor quality. Other facilities such as water resources were not within a reasonable distance. The second challenge was the presence of a sizeable number of female-headed households. These were families who survived Anfal operations.11 Without support of relatives, neighbors, clan leaders or international relief organizations female-headed families would not have been able to carry out agricultural activities. Third, anti-personal landmines undermined farmers’ ability to work their farms. Landmines

10 According to Ministry of Reconstruction and Development, KRG, 2800 villages were rebuilt by 1995 (cited in Stansfield 2003, p. 53). 11 In Barzan area only, data show that in 1991 there were 3000–3500 female-headed households (Brown 1999, p. 237). This number could be larger in other areas such as Garmyan which had experienced Anfal in a larger scale.

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caused many human casualties among rural inhabitants.12 Fourth, the policy of international organizations and the KRG by concentrating on specific areas led to an unequal rebuilding of rural areas (Brown 1999, pp. 236–239). With respect to urban life, the impacts of evacuation of rural life, growth of oil industry with its related phenomena of state expansion intensified urbanization in an unprecedented way. As the state became, nearly, the sole job provider and that villages were no longer suitable for residence and agriculture, substantial numbers of population headed to major city centers. The emergence of a “culture of dependency”, namely dependence on state, became a landmark cultural change in that period of time and persisted over decades to come. As such, the availability of subsidized food prior to 1991 and work opportunities in the public sector not only encouraged urbanization, but it made employment in agriculture extremely unattractive (Stansfield 2003; Leezenberg 2006; Natali 2010). The overriding “culture of dependency” was, moreover, detrimental as it harmed the abilities of population to cope with the effects of economic embargos. An important feature of this period was a rather active presence of International Non-Governmental Organizations (INGOs). These organizations had a defining impact on the relief activities and reconstruction of certain rural areas of Kurdistan. In essence, throughout 1990s, twothird of overall external fund to Iraq was directed to KRI (Natali 2010). However, from a developmental standpoint, the activities of INGOs, contrary to many other examples of transitions to democracy, did not focus in any significant way on institutional building. To sum up: in the first years of political transition, the dual hegemony of KDP-PUK persisted; old institutional government bureaucracy continued with declined levels of effectiveness; patron-client relationship and a “culture of dependency” flourished further. Economically, new sources of income generation did not emerge and economy remained fundamentally agrarian and statedependent. Socially, the traditional loyalties remained salient and effective 12 Most of those landmines were buried during the Iraq-Iran war 1980–1988, Gulf War with concentrations on Iraq-Turkey borders, and eventually, there were mines buried by the Turkish government inside Iraqi territories to prevent PKK guerrillas from penetrating Turkish lands. A total of ten million landmines are estimated to have been buried in KRI and they left 2126 dead and 3651 wounded between 1991 and 1996 (Brown 1999, p. 238). Moreover, Hirani (2006, p. 68), relying on UNOPS data, states that 1022 Kurdish villages are affected by landmines.

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in both urban and rural areas, albeit with slight differences (Natali 2007, pp. 1112–1116).

Consolidation Years 1997--2003 The Washington Agreement signed on September 17, 1998, by Masoud Barzani and Jalal Talabani offered the chance for a relatively stable political situation in KRI. The agreement set a road map to reunification of KRI, both politically and administratively. In the years to follow, the two KRI governments were capable of coordinating their activities particularly in the public service sectors such as health, education and reconstruction (Stansfield 2003). In other areas related to security and military, governments acted nearly completely independent of each other. Undoubtedly, in light of historical decades-long animosity and years of civil war, KDP and PUK did need time and a suitable atmosphere to build mutual trust and to learn to work together. However, up to 2002, it is not straightforward to observe signs of a serious commitment of both parties to a real political reunification and no significant indicators of trust building could be observed. By the end of 2003 and with the real possibility of invasion of Iraq by USA, a change in KDP-PUK relations occurred. The new post-Ba’th Iraq demanded the two parties to be more coordinated and less hostile to each other. The creation of a more unified Kurdish front with a robust agenda for post-Ba’th Iraq was certainly not achievable if the status quo of division and hostility was to prolong. In response to the emerging conditions, which many thought of as a unique opportunity to advance Kurdish agenda in post-Saddam Iraq, KDP and PUK sped up government reunification. The reunification began by election of new Kurdistan Parliament (KP)13 and formation of a unified government. The KNA election was held on January 30, 2005, in which KDP and PUK run jointly through a unified election ticket. Together they won (89.55%: 104 seats) of 111 KNA seats (see Kurdistan Parliament Website available at: http://www.kurdistan-parliament, 2005).14 13 In this election, the name of Kurdistan National Assembly was changed to Kurdistan Parliament. Hereinafter, Kurdistan Parliament (KP) is used to refer to the older KNA. 14 In 2005 KP elections, 13 political election tickets competed. However, only three of them could make their way to the parliament: Kurdistan Democratic National List (104) seats, Kurdistan Islamic Group (6) seats and Kurdistan Industrious Party and Independents (1) seat.

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On economic and social life level, in 1996 with the SCR 986 or what was called Oil-For-Food Program (OFFP) a new phase started. The GoI was allowed to sell 2 billion US$ worth of oil in 180 days. The resolution was a political and economic response to Iraq’s disastrous human situation. In spite of fierce opposition from GoI to any special treatment of KRG, UN insisted to separately allocate 13% of the total oil revenues to KRI and the UN, not GoI, to take the responsibility of implementing the resolution in KRI (Irwani 2015, pp. 46–47). Although GoI’s resistance to any formal inclusion of KRG in the deal seems to have worked, KRG was still able to affect the funds into reconstruction and relief operations. The OFFP was effective in releasing the extremely dreadful humanitarian situations from which the population of KRI would suffer. However, as side effect, the availability of subsidized food ration led to re-emergence and reinforcement of the “culture of independency” (Stansfield 2003, pp. 54– 55). In spite of corruption and incompleteness of the OFFP,15 the UN spent between 4.1 and 6.1 billion US$ worth of humanitarian goods in KRI. During the first four phases of the program, KRI received 260 million US$ biannually. This amount increased to 520 million US$ every six months after the GoI was able to increase its petroleum selling (Natali 2007, p. 1117). The flow of external resources and services helped in lessening the economic hardship which was imposed on the region as a result of the policies of the former Iraqi regime and the double economic embargos. Thanks to OFFP, people were able to obtain basic food items and the region began to witness certain levels of reconstruction (Stansfield 2003). Nevertheless, the OFFP mission remained largely humanitarian and ineffective to bring about economic recovery of a developmental nature to KRI (Natali 2007, p. 1118). In fact, some of OFFP stipulations proved to be detrimental to the local economy: the program, for

15 Natali (2007, pp. 1116–1117) points to some controversial figures with respect to corruption and incompleteness in the OFFP. Only 51% of the total initial allocations of the program to KRI were received during the six-year period. The remaining 49% was left in a French bank for five years, accruing interest to Saddam Hussein, UN and private entrepreneurs. She also insists that although the program targeted the medical sector, by August 2002, the region was able to receive only 29% of total allocations to this sector. When the program terminated in November 2003, about $3.1 billion remained in unspent funds. This amount was then transferred to the Coalition Provisional Authority (CPA) after the Iraqi War in 2003 for the development fund of Iraq (see also Stansfield 2005, p. 209).

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instance, had specified that oil revenues would not be used to purchase local products. Thus, even though the region was capable of producing rather large quantities of agricultural products, the local products did not have any marketing opportunities. During the implementation of OFFP, due to the availability of a very fertile land, Kurdish farmers would produce large amounts of agricultural products. However, instead of purchasing 500,000 tonnes of high-quality wheat from local farmers in KRI, the UN purchased 700,000 tonnes of lower-quality wheat from Australia, at much higher prices, and distributed in the region (Natali 2007, pp. 1118– 1119). Additionally, the cost of local products was higher than the cheap price of imported food. This situation did not allow local products to compete with foreign products. Consequently, the motivation to engage in agricultural activities reduced and people opted for dependence on subsidized food again (Stansfield 2003, pp. 54–57; Natali 2007, p. 1119). In sum, even though the OFFP had certain short-term positive effects for ordinary people in terms of reducing economic hardship, launching some reconstruction projects and encouraging the private sector, the OFFP failed to produce any macro changes in the political, economic and social aspects of Kurdistan society at that time. By 2002, 60% of KRI’s population lived below the poverty line with a family income of less than 280 US$ per annum and 25% lived under extreme poverty with annual incomes below 200 US$ (FAO 2002 cited in Irwani 2015, p. 55). The OFFP rather intensified the “culture of dependency”, deepened the monopolization of the market by KDP and PUK, and strengthened traditional political loyalties (Natali 2007, pp. 1116–1119). Natali (2007, p. 1119) describes the basic characteristics of the region’s economy in that period of time as “partially privatized, highly centralized, nonindustrialized and dependent on external import”. Politically, KDP and PUK had their separate single-party-dominated regional governments, and thanks to the absence of any form of challenge, each, in their controlled territory, began to appoint party-related individuals in government administration from the highest positions to the lowest in the hierarchy of bureaucracy. The cabinet reunification in 2005 failed to reverse this trend as reunification chiefly confined to ministerial level and did not extend to lower layers. Even now after nearly two decades of a unified KRG government, government institutions in Erbil and Duhok are run by KDP and Sulaimani and areas of Garmyan by PUK. Hence, one can safely name the years between 1996 and 2003 as the years of KDP-PUK consolidation of power in well-defined separate Kurdish territories in KRI.

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Deconstruction Years 2003--2018 This period starts with the demise of Ba’th regime of Iraq in 2003. In the years to follow, the dual hegemony of KDP-PUK found itself challenged by new actors: a rather strong political opposition emerged and made its way into Kurdistan Parliament (KP). With general parliamentary elections of 2009, Change Movement (Bizutnewey Goran) presented itself as the harshest and most direct oppositional forum to KDP-PUK government. In fact, prior to the birth of Goran movement, political parties such as Kurdistan Islamic Union (KIU), Kurdistan Socialist Democratic Party (KSDP) and Kurdistan Islamic Group (KIG) unsuccessfully and sporadically tried to present themselves as political opposition. However, compared to Goran movements, none of them were, firstly, popular enough and able to attract votes from the constituency of other political parties the way Goran movement did, particularly in its first years, and second, none of them were so direct in their confrontational position to KDP-PUK. As opposed to other abovementioned actors who rotated between sometimes cooperation with KDP-PUK and other times, confronting KDP-PUK, from the very beginning, Goran took the position of confrontation and openly presented itself as a departure from and an alternative model to KDP-PUK model of governance. Overall, the opposition groups, Goran and light color opposition, took 40 out of 111 seats of the KP that emerged from 2009 election.16 Since 2009 elections, the clearcut division of KRI to yellow and green zones, in certain ways, faded. As Goran movement initially split from the PUK, in the following elections 16 In 2009 and according to the Kurdistan Parliament Website, the distribution of the parliament seats is as follows: Kurdistani List, KDP_PUK (57 seats), the List of Change Goran (25 seats), the Service and Reform List (13 seats), the Liberty and Social Justice (1 seat), the Islamic Movement (2 seats), the Rafidain List (2 seats), the List of Assyrians, Sriani and Kildani’s populist council (1 seat), the Turkmen Democratic Movement in Kurdistan (2 seats), the List of Turkmeni Erbil (1 seat), the Arman List (1 seat) and the List of Turkmani Reform (1 seat) (Source Members of the Kurdistan Parliament 2009, available through http://www.perleman.org/default.aspx?page=Parliamentmembers&c=PresidencyMember2009). The list of change and the largest part of the Service and Reform List fall into the category of political opposition in the KP. Though this distribution is available on the parliament Website, it is not accurate. In fact, some of these lists such as the Service and Reform split once the list entered the parliament. The distribution of the seats is as follows: Kurdistani List (59 seats), the List of Change Goran (25 seats), the Turkmeni List (5 seats), the Assyrians (5 seats), the KIU and KIG (10 seats), the Arman (1 seat), the Zahmatkeshan (1 seat), the KSDP (2 seats), the Islamic Movements in Kurdistan (IMK) (2 seats) and the Liberty and Social Justice (1 seat).

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it created its largest constituency at the expense of PUK’s constituency in Sulaimani governorate. In popular language, people tend to describe KRI humorously as yellow zone and green-indigo (Goran symbol) or colorful zone to indicate the erosion of decades-long hegemony of PUK in this area and the multitude of political parties each competing to take the largest share of constituency in Sulaimani. Having said that, the erosion of PUK’s popularity in its historical stronghold (Sulaimani), as it was proven to be the case, did not bring a parallel loss of PUK’s influence in Kurdish politics. The fact that similar to KDP, PUK has its own military forces and managed to persist its grip on substantial parts of economy made it to remain unforgettable force. In spite of intra-ideological and organizational differences, the opposition was united in terms of the standpoint from which it attacked KDPPUK, the widespread corruption in KRI. Although corruption was not a new phenomenon (Natali 2007; Saeed 2009, pp. 143–144), it would not have been brought to the fore and discussed so broadly in public sphere should it have not been raised that loudly by opposition.17 Within opposition, Goran went even further to criticize the role of families (Barzani and Talabani) in politics presenting itself as fighting for foundation of a meritocratic system in which membership in political parties or one’s family lineage would not affect their life chances. The political discourse of Goran, predicated on fighting corruption, justice and standing for meritocracy soon became popular and substantial with sections of population, especially a new generation, coalesced around it. In this framework, the possession of special mass media by opposition parties made their discourse reach a much bigger populace. Even before he splits from PUK, Goran’s charismatic leader, Nawshirwan Mustafa, had already established Wshe (word) company, which later on became nucleus for Kurdish News Network (KNN). KNN proved to be influential in promoting Goran’s critical discourse and mobilization of protests during the protest of 2011–2012. Other political parties, KIU and KIG, have established Spede and Komel satellite TVs and, in turn, and unevenly, offered further

17 The results of a survey show that 94.25% of respondents in the three governorates of the Kurdistan Region believe that corruption is a widespread phenomenon. What is more, 69.25% assumes that corruption is the most central problem in the region (see Saeed 2009, pp. 110–112).

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critical media forums.18 This was also a new phenomenon as in previous times; KDP and PUK had monopolized media and, therefore, had virtually exclusive control over political discourse. With the opposition media, this significantly changed. A fairly wide-scale protest and grievance movement constitutes a major development in this period of time. Though since 2006 KRI witnessed sporadic demonstrations, in 2011–2012, in interaction with regional changes of Arab Spring in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya, protest movements in KRI reached their peak. On February 17, 2011, the largest, inclusive and broad-based demonstration took place in Sulaimani (see Watts 2016), and following Cairo’s Freedom Square, protesters named Sulaimani Sara (the location of protesters’ gathering), Sarai Azadi (Sara Freedom). Thousands of people, from various ideological and social backgrounds, men and women gathered for a few months calling not only for provision of basic services, but also insisting on structural and political changes in KRG. Calls included separation of political parties from government, social justice, combatting corruption and nepotism, professionalization of military and security services and so on. Watts (2016) describes this movement as second wave of Kurdish political identity as opposed to the first wave of Kurdish political identity which had formed from Kurdish resistance to impositions of non-Kurds who ruled Kurds in Iraq. The second wave of Kurdish political identity, now, represents Kurdish resistance to Kurdish model of governance and in so doing offers an alternative model for a more just and effective government. In spite of relatively wide-scale, inclusiveness and longer age of February 2011 demonstrations, they fell short in bringing about structural and long-term changes to KRG. First and foremost, compared to Arab Spring demonstrations in which hundreds of thousands and millions of people across these countries took to streets, February demonstrations were both numerically and geographically limited as protesters were estimated at tens of thousands, at most, and that demonstration confined to the city of Sulaimani mainly and then, to certain degrees, other areas which had located in green zone, PUK’s control. The demonstration would most likely have major effects had they had the contagious capacity of spreading to yellow/KDP’s zone, particularly the city of Erbil. In this regard, 18 In addition to the daily and weekly newspapers, Kurdish News Network (KNN), Spede TV and Payam TV are three very popular satellite TV channels possessed by the Goran Movement, the KIU and the KIG, respectively.

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at least three factors can explain as why February demonstrations did not reach yellow zone despite many similarities in the context that triggered the demonstration in green zone in the first place: most important was the fact the newly emerged opposition was, and still is, much more active and popular in Sulaimani and therefore did not possess comparable mobilization capacity in Erbil. The opposition was born in Sulaimani as a result of internal schism of PUK, Goran’s main headquarter remained in Sulaimani and its key figures were from Sulaimani and Garmyan. On the other hand, despite the fact that KRG in Erbil was by no means free from endemic corruption that existed in KRG bureaucracies in Sulaimani, basic services were provided more effectively, more new roads and streets were established and stronger monopoly of the use of violence was observed in Erbil. In Chapter 1, it was suggested that KRG’s model of governance in Erbil (led by KDP) since the partition of KRG in the aftermath of civil war tended to be of a more centralized, one-party rule whereas Sulaimani, since then, was run in a more of multi-power centers model. In this context, political position backed by its media resources and what was called “free media” had a more political maneuver capacity and proved successful in capitalizing on multi-power nature and internal divisions of the PUK. February demonstrations were, paradoxically, harmed by being motivated and backed by political opposition: even though political opposition, mainly Goran, tried hard to keep distance from demonstrations in an attempt to portray them as grassroots initiative and thus apolitical, the influence of Goran on the demonstrations was too evident to be hidden: very important was the political discourse of demonstrations. The slogans and demands raised by demonstrators were virtually the same that Goran had presented to the public one year ago: calling for a more transparent, just, anti-corruption and meritocratic government was all at the heart of Goran’s discourse. KDP and PUK tried hard, with certain levels of success, in order to exploit this to color demonstrations as political and as opposition’s tactic to challenge them. KDP and PUK would widely argue that if the demonstrations were apolitical—not motivated by opposition—they should logically be about basic services, job opportunities and combating corruption. The fact that demonstrators went one step further to call for political changes and KRG’s step down was used by KDP and PUK as an indicator of standing a political agenda behind the demonstrations. Furthermore, key organizers of February demonstrations were either organizationally affiliated or ideologically sympathetic to

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political opposition or were active figures of “free media”. Hence, the ideological and the close overlapping between demonstrations and political opposition though brought some popularity and strength to the February demonstrations; it proved to be detrimental to the movement in significant ways. Moreover, KDP-PUK was also successful in raising the alarm regarding the potential danger that protest and internal divisions would invite for the very existence of KRI. Watts (2016) is correct about the vulnerability of the environment in which February 2011 demonstrations took place. The fact that KRI is surrounded by hostile regimes of the neighboring countries makes it vulnerable should it challenged by internal threats. In such contexts, sometimes concerns about national security can tend to overdo democratic aspirations for good governance. KDP and PUK could capitalize on this matter in February demonstrations, in particular, and since the first foundation of KRI, in general. February 2011 demonstrations although, as correctly argued by Watts (2016), did not bring about large-scale changes and did not pose a major challenge to KDP-PUK hegemony, they sparked a wide-scale debate about governance in KRI. Thanks to the emergence of political opposition, “free media” and demonstrations, people began talking in public about their grievances with respect to corruption, nepotism, and limitations of freedom of expression and lack of basic service and job opportunities and so on. These issues, since then, and even in KDP-PUK media, have extensively been covered; political activists, researchers and politicians, from all walks of life, started to discuss them. In short, even if one takes a minimalist approach, opposition and February 2011 demonstrations were successful in conveying a message that something important goes wrong with KGR’s KDP-PUK model of governance and there has to be something done before it becomes late. Providing a platform for public grievances, especially through its KNN19 kept Goran popular in the years preceding 2013 parliamentary elections in which the movement secured 24 seats of parliament ahead of PUK with 18 seats and behind KDP with 38 seats (Kurdistan Parliament Website available at: http://www.kurdistan-parliament.org/Default.aspx? page=page&c=xol4). Success of Goran in occupying second position and climbing up the ladder marked a significant change in KRI’s politics as 19 Ali Hamma Saleh, a TV host in KNN due to his critical program Zmani Jmarekan (Language of Numbers), could receive 140,027 votes, much higher than any other candidates who run on Goran list or other lists.

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it had imperative ramifications not only for the status of Goran vis-à-vis KDP-PUK, but also for KDP and PUK relations. Since then, KDP came to conclusion that it is no longer necessary, neither from political nor from a legal standpoint, to deal with PUK on equal footing. In essence, from 2013 elections, in many important ways, 50:50 model of power sharing between KDP and PUK gradually disappeared. The popularity of Goran soon after the elections began to steadily diminish. This was chiefly due to a tactical mistake of participation in the grand coalition KRG led by KDP which allowed Goran’s Yousif Mohammed to hold the position of parliament speaker and two of his candidates to occupy important ministerial posts of Peshmerga Affairs and Finance and Economy. The rationale for participation in government, the way it was promoted by Goran’s key figures, was realization of the fact that the change Goran envisioned was not realizable by solely pressurizing government or its KDP-PUK backers from the outside; the change, they suggested, would require Goran to be part of the process and to struggle for the change from inside. Therefore, holding important positions in different branches of government, especially legislative and executive, was thought to enable Goran to push the government in a direction they preferred for the government to move in. While this explanation cannot be ruled out, a factor of equal significance was the political culture of KRI which had deeply been characterized by clientalism and nepotism made large sections of Goran’s constituency and high-ranking officials to pressurize its leadership to choose to be in government. Government resources of whatever kind, in clientalistic cultures, are only accessible when one is an insider to government. This might have been especially true for many ex-PUK figures in Goran: those who had lost their positions and privileges as a result of splitting from PUK and were in rush to exploit any opportunity to regain positions and privileges. Whatever it may be, from an organization and partisan-based point of view, involvement of Goran in government, particularly as it did not have tangible positive impacts on the functioning of government, in interaction with certain future developments (will be explored in upcoming sections) turned out to be a political error. The coalition of Goran-KDP soon became a war of attrition due to at least two reasons: from an issue-based perspective, disagreement emerged over the extension of presidential tenure of then president of KRI Masoud Barzani (2005–2017) with KDP trying to secure a second extension, after the first one being made in 2013, for Barzani’s tenure under the pretext

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that in a context of fierce fighting against Islamic State in Iraq and Levant (ISIL) a presidential election was politically and practically not possible, and Goran which resisted this tendency suggesting that the extension is against democracy and serves to establish life-long presidential tradition in Kurdistan. Amid that, one can also add that KDP did wish for Barzani to stay until the war against ISIL ends and holding the referendum of independence becomes a possibility, an idea that emerged to surface since 2014. Holding referendum of independence, KDP tried hard to take place under Barzani’s presidency due to the enormous national pride that it could bring to Barzani and his party. In the context of historical partisan-based animosities, one would find it difficult to doubt that other parties, especially PUK and Goran, would be happy to see that happening on the hands of Barzani. In other words, PUK and Goran, at least the way they argued, have historically been pro-independence and creation of a Kurdish nation-state, but still if such independence was a leeway, they did not want to see it taking place under Barzani’s leadership. From a governmental standpoint, Goran played a contradictory role in government: its representatives in parliament sincerely maintained the oppositional tone it began with back in 2009. Quite on the contrary, Goran’s team in government functioned in harmony with other components of the government. Therefore, KDP used to criticize government for “having a foot in government and another foot in opposition”. As KDP and Goran failed to reach an agreement in these two respects (extension of Barzani’s tenure and contradictory role of Goran’s in the government), further detrimental developments followed. In 2016, Barzani interpreted burning KDP offices in green-indigo zone as being instigated by Goran movement. In a disproportionate reaction, Barzani chose not to allow Yousif Mohammed, parliament speaker, to return to Erbil and the whole Goran’s ministerial team in government was put on mandatory leave. Consequently, parliament was completely shut down and was not able to resume its function until few months prior to independence referendum of September 2017. September 2018 parliamentary elections dealt a blow for Goran movement losing 50% of its seats compared to 2013 elections. In contrast, the other regional player, PUK, won 21 seats. Meanwhile, KDP recorded an outright victory by securing 45 seats of parliament (Kurdistan Parliament Website, available at: http://www.kurdistan-parliament, 2018). Explanations for the setback ranged from election fraud in favor of KDP and PUK, especially in Sulaimani for PUK, Goran’s collaboration with KDP

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(2013–2015), absence of Nawshirwan Mustapha for health reasons in the beginning and his death afterward, and disappointment in the ability of Goran in achieving proposed changes. Nevertheless, the occurrence of Newey Nwe (New Generation) in Sulaimani was certainly at the expense of Goran and PUK. In September 2018 elections, Newey Nwe gained 8 seats. The relative success of Newey Nwe is significantly traceable to its extreme position to KDP, PUK and Goran movement. Fighting against Barzani and Talabani families, prosecuting corrupt officials in government and criticizing KDP and others for conducting independence referendum were ill-judged in terms of timing all have been key themes of Newey Nwe’ s discourse. Furthermore, from the outset, it provided a pro-Iraq platform calling for a more harmonious and peaceful relation with Baghdad and Iraqi Arab forces. It is worth mentioning that the emergence and demise of political groupings which based in Sulaimani are for the most part at the expense of parties which share the political constituency of Sulaimani, i.e., PUK, Goran and Newey Nwe. Any rise or fall in each of the three, generally is accompanied by a rise or fall for others. Other political parties such as KDP, KIG and IUK with their base mostly located in Erbil and Duhok tend to be less affected by political changes. As stated above since 2013 elections and the rapid growth of Goran movement, KDP found itself in a position of strength. With elections of 2018 and increase of its seats in parliament from 38 to 45 seats, such a trend was reinforced even further. In essence, the growing hegemony of KDP in KRI politics commences from 2005 when in a political arrangement Barzani and Talabani decided to divide the posts of Iraqi presidential and KRI’s presidential between them. As per the arrangement, Talabani became president of Republic of Iraq and Barzani ended up becoming president of KRI. Since then, Talabani dedicated most of his time and energy for his position in Baghdad, the fact that left Barzani without a real competitor in Kurdish politics. Barzani’s influence became further entrenched thanks to wide array of executive and legislative authorities attached to the president of KRI as per KRI Presidential Law 2005 (available at: http://www.kurdistan-parliament.org/Default. aspx?page=byyear&c=LDD-Yasa&id=2005). Talabani’s influence on KRI was additionally declined by his illness in 2012. Since then until his death in October 2017, Talabani remained almost outside of political life. The internal schism of PUK in 2009 and creation of Goran movement under Talabani trail mate, Nawshirwan Mustafa further harmed PUK and Talabani’s leverage in KRI’s domestic politics. In spite of the fact that PUK

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has been able to maintain its grip of power in green-indigo zone since the early days of civil war, as stated previously, the 50:50 model of power sharing since 2013 progressively blurred. For more than a decade, the two most influential posts of KRI: president and KRG’s prime ministerial, have been run by Masoud Barzani and Nechirvan Barzani, respectively. Other important posts such as KRI’s Security Council, Office of Foreign Relations and Ministry of Natural Resources are all run by KDP members. This has had implications for a variety of important political and economic policies of KRG: to mention a few due to close political relations of KDP and Turkey in the years preceding the 2017 independence referendum, the only oil pipeline for exporting20 KRI’s oil is set up to go through Turkey; in terms of regional politics, KRG maintained a much functional relation with Turkey, Saudi Arabia and other Gulf countries but not with Iran or Syria for example; the decision of holding independence referendum was initially a KDP-Barzani decision and then with persistence of Barzani to hold it, PUK and others, apart from Newey Nwe, endorsed the decision. Now after 2018 elections, PUK and Goran raised the concept of “true partnership” implying such a partnership in which they would have a say in political, economic and administrative spheres of KRI did not exist and that KDP has had exclusive power over strategic issues. Given that KDP constitutes the largest parliamentary bloc, entitled to the legal right to form government and it will fill the KRI’s presidential post after its activation21 can make it reluctant to return to the old model of equal footing partnership with PUK or with Goran or with both of them together. This may open room for future political tensions in KRI. Economically, during this period of time, two legislations were passed by KP which afterward proved to have enormous effects: Law of Investment 2006 (available at http://www.perleman.org/files/articles/

20 This is a pipeline completed in 2013 with the capacity of 700,000 barrels of oil exportation per day (Mamshae 2019, p. 101). 21 In the aftermath of independence referendum and expiration of Barzani’s tenure and the impracticality of holding a new presidential election, the presidency post of KRI was suspended according to KP’s law numbered 2, passed on October 29, 2017. All authorities of KRI’s president were distributed between executive, legislative and judicial branches of government until a new president will be elected for KRI (the Kurdish Version of the Law of Distribution of Authorities of Regions Presidency on Constitutional Institutions of the Region is available at: http://www.kurdistan-parliament.org/Default.aspx?page=byyear& c=LDD-Yasa&id=2017).

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070708085112pdf) and Oil and Gas law of 2007.22 These legislations were critical in the emergence of local private sector and flow of foreign investment into KRI. Figures disseminated by KRG’s Board of Investment point to an investment of 13,770,035,514 US$ between August 2006 and August 2010 (Board of Investment, the KRG) of which 66.77, 24 and 4.83% belonged to local, foreign and joint investments, respectively. The investment targeted various sectors: housing has had the largest share accounting for 44.50% of total investment; agriculture and industry constitute slightly more than 30% of investment projects; the remaining part invested in communication, banking, arts, services and other sectors. It is estimated that between 2006 and 2014 KRG was successful in attracting 38 billion US$ (Mamshae 2019) from foreign and local investors. Consequently, the Gross Domestic Product (GDP) per capita increased by 15 times between 2004 and 2013, with 350 US$ to 5500 US$. The economic growth by 2012 reached 13%, and in 2013, it was at least 8% (Mamshae 2019). The Law of Investment 2006, though remained deeply controversial, through offering certain incentives such as land allocations and tax exemptions paved the ground for unprecedented investment rate in KRI. However, the pro-investment and private sector legislations were not adequate to animate such a large amount of investment if it was not accompanied by prevalence of certain levels of peace and stability in KRI. In fact, the massive waves of conflict and violence in central and southern parts of Iraq drove national and foreign investors further toward Kurdistan (Natali 2007, p. 1121). In this regard, investment and its vital need for stability and peace as a general rule proved its applicability to the case of KRI: without confidence in the future fate of capital, investors, especially foreign investors, would not pour their capital into unstable and fragile region. A series of developments in 2014 contributed to a harsh downturn in economic growth trends: the advance of ISIL to Nineveh and other predominantly Arab Sunni governorates in central and western parts of Iraq caused a major flow of displacement into KRI as only in the span of few months the population of KRI increased by 28%; the sharp decline of global oil prices to as low as 20 US$ per barrel further squeezed 22 Some estimates refer to an amount of 6.7 billion barrels of reserved oil in KRI, though KRG’s claim for underground oil points to much larger reservations of 40–45 billion barrels of oil (Mamshae 2019).

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KRG’s available funding; the growing tensions between KRG and GoI over exportation of KRI’s oil led to GoI’s decision to cut the annual budget of KRG. In consequence, the annual economic growth fell from 8% in 2013 to 3% in 2014. All these developments coupled by long-term structural and administrative inefficient policies of KRG, especially in terms of recruiting roughly 1 million and 249 thousand of labor force in KRI (Mamshae 2019), made KRG and the population suffer enormously in the years to come. By 2015, KRG was almost unable to transfer the payments of its employees on any regular basis, let alone to continue spending on developmental projects. As a result, KRG adopted austerity policies according to which it designed a harsh mandatory saving program which made public servants, in certain payroll levels, to receive less than 30% of their overall salaries on irregular basis. According to Economic Intelligence Unit (EIU) 2017 which provides rankings for the prevalence of democracy across the world countries in line with indexes of Electoral Process and Pluralism, Civic Liberties, The Functioning of Government, Political Participation and Political Culture, the index for Functioning of Government in KRG scored the lowest (2.1 point out of a scale of 10) among other indexes.23 The major concerns with functioning of government in KRG are stated to revolve around supremacy of legislature, checks and balance on government, government accountability, transparency, control over territory, confidence in government and political parties and so on (Mamshae 2019, p. 106). Overall, on average and across all indexes, KRG scored a democratic recession from 6.10 in 2014 to 5.69 in 2017 with drastic decline of functioning of government to have detrimentally affected other indexes of democracy. It is worth noting that even prior to 2014 which witnessed an economic boom, tangible improvement in populations’ living conditions and a rather progress in provision of basic services, dissatisfaction with KRG’s governance was still prevailing. The blurred boundary between what was politics and what was business, i.e., a belief that market is monopolized by KDP and PUK and that networks of clientalism and patronage define investment opportunities, was commonplace. A survey (Saeed 2009, pp. 143–144) demonstrated that 76.25% of respondents in KRI believed that from 2003 onward corruption rates have risen. 23 On other indexes, KRG scored the following: Electoral Process and Pluralism: 5.83, Political Participation: 7.2, Democratic Political Culture: 5.6, Civil Liberties: 7.3 (Mamshae 2019, pp. 104–105).

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The theory of Relative Deprivation can help explaining why people even under certain improvement of living condition can still remain unhappy and dissatisfied: according to the theory, people compare improvements achieved to their expectation and/or compare their living conditions with that of other segments of population. With respect to scaling achieved improvements against expectations, people in KRI tended to believe that further improvements were possible should KRI’s resources were used more wisely and should public wealth was distributed more equally. On the other hand, people also found themselves deprived as they compared themselves to others and found deep disparities between what they achieve and what others, particularly those who connected with KDPPUK through clientalistic networks, can achieve unjustly. Therefore, one can argue that pre-2014 economic growth and improvement of living conditions in KRI took place in a context in which feelings of relative deprivations shaped the overall populations’ perceptions with respect to life opportunities and achievements. To conclude this section, it can be suggested that the emergence of political opposition, in spite of relative loss of popularity between 2013 and 2018 parliamentary elections, remains to be a major change in Kurdish politics. It is true that political opposition has so far not been able to present a vital challenge for KDP-PUK, especially the former’s, hegemony; it generated debate and promoted critical discourse in Kurdish public sphere. In spite of tactical mistakes, it provided a platform for organization and mobilization of mass grievances. This era witnessed a growing bottom-up/grassroots pressure, provoked largely by widespread corruption and nepotism and mobilized rather effectively by opposition and its media outlets. Nevertheless, one can suggest that calls for democratization and better governance, or what Watts (2016) names Second Wave of Kurdish Political Identity, do not seem to have been detrimental to classic conception of Kurdish nationalism, again in Watts’ terminology, First Wave of Kurdish Political Identity. The independence referendum, though was held in a context of bitter divisions and animosity between Kurdish political parties, is an articulation of constant popularity of Kurdish nationalist project with its ultimate goal of creation of an independent Kurdish nation-state. Even though partisan-based hostilities, particularly between KDP, Goran and KIG and PUK’s hesitation to fully back referendum, on the one hand, and the presence of an anti-referendum movement sponsored by Newey Nwe, on the other hand, proved to have had impacts on referendum turnout, or rather regional differences in

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turnout, more than 90% of voters voted in favor of independence. Therefore, one can safely suggest that if referendum was held in a harmonious context and if KDP and Barzani would go about it in a more inclusive way (more genuine participation and inclusion of other actors), the referendum turnout would have risen significantly and regional differences in turnout levels and vote against independence would substantially vanish. In light of that, Watts’ typology of first and second wave of Kurdish political identity can only make sense if they are thought of as parallel waves, rather than thinking of them as sequential waves: that classic Kurdish nationalism has disappeared altogether and has been replaced by a new identity predicated on democratization and good governance. Finally, a key theme of the deconstruction years has been gradual and struggling demise of 50:50 model between KDP and PUK. The demise of 50:50 has not been on geographic/military control of yellow and green-indigo zones; rather, its ramifications have been most apparent in growing upper hand of KDP in shaping KRG’s policies, domestically and in regional politics.

Conclusions Scholars of political culture (see Chapter 1) have argued that consolidation of democracy is predicated, among other conditions, on a belief, from the part of “subjects”, that democracy is a favorable mode of governance. In other words, democracy needs to be legitimate and desirable as in the absence of such a view, movement toward consolidation of democracy remains to be extremely problematic. How did “Kurdistanis” think about democracy in 1991? How did they understand democracy to be? Were people familiar with complexities of democratic structures such as separation of powers and governance checks and balances? Were people aware of, and did people believe in, democratic values such as majority rule, democratic political participation, the value of civil society, separation of religion and public life and many other key democratic values? The answer to these questions, at the best, is that we do not know for sure. However, for a people who had never had any form of collective experience living in a democratic environment, it is highly likely that they would not exactly realize what democracy is all about. For roughly forty years, since the fall of monarchy in Iraq (1958) and then the grip of power by Ba’thists in (1968), not only Kurds, but also other Iraqis, lived under the most extreme forms of tyrannical regimes. For almost two generations, no one,

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as individuals or as communities, had a chance to experience democracy, in any way. Research has shown that democratization and state-building have been smoother in contexts where a democratic tradition had already existed in the past. Arato (2009) suggests that on contrary to Iraq, in post-World War II Germany and Japan, the democratic experience which preceded Nazism, in the case of Germany, had helped people in these countries to restore to democracy after the democratic interruption that took place in these two countries. Therefore, it is safe to argue that Kurdistanis in 1991 and then other Iraqis in 2003 began democratization without any historical memory of democracy. At that moment of time, people did know what dictatorship and despotism would look like, but hardly, if at all, knew what democracy was and what it includes. On the other hand, Kurdish political struggle in Iraq has historically been resistance to ethnic-based discrimination and extermination and then struggle for democracy had come as a secondary priority. It is true that Kurdish E’ilul (September) 1961 uprising began with the slogan of “democracy for Iraq and Autonomy for Kurdistan”; in practice, such a slogan proved to have had limited implications. For Kurds who constitute roughly 15–25% of the population, with a geographic concentration only in the northern parts, it was, and it is still, hard to take democracy forward in Iraq. Kurdish political figures have constantly stated that Kurdish question in Iraq is a qewmi (national) question. Hence, in 1991, when Kurds commenced democratic transition, on the one hand, they started it from scratch (due to the historical absence of democracy as stated above) and, on the other hand, because of the popularity of ethno-nationalist ideology, the attention was diverted to nationalist and ethnic agendas at the expense of democracy and human rights agendas, for example. The abovementioned account should not be interpreted to suggest that Kurds were not in favor of democracy in the early days of democratization. It is rather to suggest that democracy, as a concept and practice, was entirely unaccustomed. In this regard, political culture theory, instead of being obsessed with superficial/misleading question of whether people want or do not want democracy, has to go deeper and ask what exactly people, in cases of transition, think democracy is and whether or not core democratic values and structures have any potential of growth in those contexts. Though handful of surveys, such as WVS (cited in Hakim 2011) and EIU (2017 cited in Mamshae 2019), support the existence of prodemocracy attitudes in Iraq (in the first survey) and Kurdistan, still further

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investigation is needed to examine value systems on grassroots level in their relations with preferred political systems. KRI’s institutionalization of democracy proceeded in a troublesome path. Kurds repeated a mistake, albeit hard to avoid, that many cases of democratization begin with, untimely elections or elections in wrong conditions. In the absence of state, capable of monopolizing the use of violence, political parties which are backed by military wings are likely to reject election results. 1992 elections were held in a deeply problematic context: KDP and PUK had possessed more or less equally strong armed forces; population was deeply polarized along partisan affiliations; no signs of civil society would be seen in the horizon; free and independent media did not exist. Election results not only did not help in solving KDP-PUK power struggle, it rather transformed a kind of party-based hostility into a struggle running harsh inside government bureaucracy. The 50:50 model did solve nothing apart from preventing the civil war in 1992 and delaying it to break out in 1994. Since then, elections, or rather respecting election results, proved to be a chronicle institutional challenge for KRI’s transition to democracy. Kurds began democratization in an extremely unfavorable context. Twin economic embargos, disappearance of agricultural base of economy, political parties’ (constituting parties in KNF) monopoly and unfair distribution of KRI revenues contributed to produce dreadful living conditions. In the consolidation years , when KDP and PUK, each on its own, established territorial control, they began to exploit economic revenues in a strict clientalistic manner (will be elaborated on in Chapter 5). This included the reinforcement of an already existing patron-client relation inherited from Ba’th era, in addition to creating new clientalistic relations in which KDP and PUK played the role of patrons and small political parties and “civil society organizations” played the role of clients. In the consolidation years, the society became organized in line with KDP-PUK polarization: every aspect of life, from family and friendships to access to job opportunities and state resources, were all organized in a framework of KDP-PUK effort to consolidation of their power. Throughout formative and consolidation years, a rather vigor existence of INGOs seemed to be of minimum significance with respect to bringing about developmental and institution-building goals. Echoing the difficulties of living conditions on day-to-day basis, the focus of INGOs confined to humanitarian/shortterm needs. From an institutional standpoint, moreover, critical is the absence of a constitution for KRI. Iraqi permanent constitution in article 120 (Iraqi

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constitution available at) recognizes the right of regions to have their own constitutions, provided that they do not contradict the provisions of Iraqi constitution. Commenting on the impacts of absence of constitution, Danilovich (2014) states: “politics within Kurdistan Region seems less formally regulated. In a sense, the current political system in Iraqi Kurdistan holds on gentleman agreement, treaties between political parties, legislative acts, executive orders and cabinet edicts”. It is evident that disagreements between KDP, PUK and Goran presented serious challenges for the enactment of the draft constitution of 2006.24 Although the struggling parties tried to describe the disagreement as a debate about designing the constitution in line with presidential democracy systems or parliamentary democracies, the core of the problem was contrasting views on the authorities of president of KRI: on the one extreme, KDP pushed for having a president to be elected directly by people and to enjoy substantial authorities, and on the other extreme, Goran (and to some extent PUK) favoring a president to be elected by parliament and to remain significantly ceremonial. Nevertheless, as Danilovich (2014) contends, KRI’s proposed constitution faces further challenges: first, the failure in the implementation of article 140 of Iraqi constitution, which sets a roadmap for solving the problem of disputed territories in Kirkuk, Diyala, Salahaddin and Nineveh, makes Kurdistan constitution unable to plainly define the political and administrative boundaries of KRI. Second, Iraqi constitution in its article 1325 binds regional constitution to stick to Iraqi constitution as a framework for regional constitutions. In this regard, for example, though Kurds wish to attach a more moderate role to religion in state affairs, it can pose potential contradiction to Iraqi constitution in which religion/Islam is assigned a central position. Kurdish constitutional makers, therefore, will have to deal with a range of complicated issues in the future. Deconstruction years, the way it is named in this chapter, have been marked by two significant shifts: from 2009 onward, thanks to emergence of a rather popular political opposition and “free media”, democratization turned out to be seen as a question of governance. The ensuing years witnessed growth of protest movements echoing dissatisfaction with the way 24 A draft constitution was prepared by KP in February 2006 and was approved by parliament in June 2009. It was scheduled to be put in a referendum on 25 July 2009. 25 Article 13 of Iraqi constitution reads “any text in any regional constitution or any other legal text that contradicts this constitution shall be considered void”.

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KRI has been governed by the coalition of KDP-PUK. Protesters called for better living conditions and pressed for establishing a meritocratic system. Even though most of demonstrations tend to be concentrated in green-indigo zone, they had substantial ramification for the entirety of KRI: people began to express grievances and to discuss their concerns in a much more open way. In this era, signs of grassroots politics began to occur. A second shift in this era embodied itself in gradual and rough blurriness of 50:50 model of power sharing between KDP and PUK. This shift started by split of Goran movement from PUK in 2009 and entrenched by Goran coming as second election winner ahead of PUK in 2013 elections. Since then and until 2018 elections, the distance between KDP, on the one hand, and PUK-Goran, on the other hand, grow even wider. In consequence, KDP found itself unchallenged by any counterpart political party in Kurdish politics the way it was the case for virtually two decades. Having said that the blurriness of 50:50 model, the way it has started and the way it evolves, is unlikely to happen in traditional style of a change in military balance or geographic control of KRI between KDP and PUK, it rather embodies in growing and unchallenged influence of KDP in shaping strategic policies of KRG. Put it differently, even though KDP and PUK are likely to maintain their control over certain territories of KRI and that they will prolong their grip over security and military forces and economic resources, strategic policies in the last few years have tended to be largely shaped by KDP. In this respect, the choice to hold independence referendum and strategic economic relationships with Turkey and KRG’s regional policy in terms of developing a more functional relationships with Turkey and Gulf countries are cases in point for mounting supremacy of KDP in Kurdish politics. Yet, a quick look at postreferendum events reveals the extent of challenges that such a new power balance will face: PUK will resist KDP’s supremacy and collaboration of certain fractions of PUK with Iraqi forces, and inviting them to control Kirkuk and disputed territories in October 2017 was an incarnation for such a resistance.

References Abdulla, S. 1999. Evacuation of Villagers in Kurdistan Region. Brayeti Centre: A Scientific Quarterly for Strategic and Intellectual Studies 12: 4–21 (Original in Kurdish).

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Arato, A. 2009. Constitution Making Under Occupation: The Politics of Imposed Revolution in Iraq. New York: Columbia University Press. Barzinji, S.H. 2002. Iraqi Kurdistan Region Elections Between Theory and Practice: A Comparative Study. Erbil: Mukriyani Centre (Original in Arabic). Bozarslan, H. 2006. Asabiyya and Kurdish Politics: A Socio-Historical Perspective. In The Kurds: Nationalism and Politics, ed. Faleh A. Jabar and Dawod Hosham. London, San Francisco and Beirut: SAQI. Brown, S.G. 1999. Sanctioning Saddam: The Politics of Intervention in Iraq. London and New York: I.B. Tauris. Bruinessen, M.V. 2006. Kurdish Paths to Nation. In The Kurds: Nationalism and Politics, ed. Faleh A. Jabar and Dawod Hosham. London, San Francisco and Beirut: SAQI. Carothers, T. 2002. The End of the Transition Paradigm. Journal of Democracy 13: 5–21. Chaliand, G. 2007. The Kurdish Tragedy, translated into Arabic by Abdulsalam Naqshbandi. Erbil: Aras Centre. Danilovich, A. 2014. Iraqi Federalism and the Kurds: Learning to Live Together. Surrey: Ashgate. Davis, E. 2005. Memories of State: Politics, History, and Collective Identity in Modern Iraq. Berkeley: University of California Press. Dizey, Y., & Shwani, M. 2002. Objectives of Anfal Operations and Destroying Kurdish Human Resources. Brayeti Centre: A Scientific Quarterly for Strategic and Intellectual Studies 24: 328–347 (Original in Kurdish). Ghafur, A. 2010. The Economic Geography of Oil in Kurdistan, 3rd ed. Erbil: Kurdish Academia Publications (Original in Kurdish). Hakim, M. 2011. The State of Values in Iraq. PhD, University of Salahaddin Erbil. Hirani, H. 2006. The Role of Governmental Institutions and International Organizations in Taking Care of the People with Special Needs-Physically Disabled. MA thesis, University of Salahaddin-Erbil (Original in Arabic). Human Rights Watch and Middle East Watch. 2004. Genocide in Iraq: The Anfal Campaign Against the Kurds, translated into Kurdish by Mohammed H. Tofiq. Sulaimani: Tishk Printing House. Irwani, K.M. 2015. Clientelism and Implementing Social Security Programmes in Post-conflict Iraqi Kurdistan Region. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing. Ismail, K.M. 2002. Distinguishing of Anfal Assaults’ Areas in Iraqi Kurdistan Region. Brayeti Centre: A Scientific Quarterly for Strategic and Intellectual Studies 24: 268–286 (Original in Kurdish). Leezenberg, M. 2006. Urbanization, Privatization, and Patronage: The Political Economy of Iraqi Kurdistan. In The Kurds: Nationalism and Politics, ed. Faleh A. Jabar and Hosham Dawod. London, San Francisco, and Beirut: SAQI.

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Mamshae, A. 2019. Kurdistan’s Democratic Developments amid a Rentier Oil Economy. In Iraqi Kurdistan’s Statehood Aspirations: A Political Economy Approach, ed. Anwar Anaid and Emel Elif Tugdar. Cham: Palgrave Macmillan. Naqshbandi, A.M. 2002a. Anfal Operations: Some Remarks and Their Main Themes. Brayeti Centre: A Scientific Quarterly for Strategic and Intellectual Studies 24: 94–112 (Original in Kurdish). ———. 2002b. Geopolitical Evaluation of Natural Elements of the Geography of the Region. Brayeti Centre: A Scientific Quarterly for Strategic and Intellectual Studies 23: 6–20 (Original in Kurdish). Natali, D. 2007. The Spoils of Peace in Iraqi Kurdistan. Third World Quarterly 28 (6): 1111–1129. ———. 2010. Kurdish Quasi-State: Development and Dependency in Post-Gulf War Iraq. New York: Syracuse University Press. O’Leary, B., and K. Salih. 2005. The Denial, Resurrection, and Affirmation of Kurdistan. In The Future of Kurdistan in Iraq, ed. B. O’Leary et al. Philadelphia: Penn, University of Pennsylvania Press. Ottaway, M. 1995. Democratization in Collapsed States. In Collapsed States: The Disintegration and Restoration of Legitimate Authority, ed. W. Zartman. Boulder and London: Lynne Rienner. Rustow, D.A. 1999. Transition to Democracy: Toward a Dynamic Model. In Transition to Democracy, ed. L. Anderson. New York: Columbia University Press. Saeed, S.S. 2009. The Issue of Corruption: The Causes and Socioeconomic Outcomes. MA thesis, University of Salahaddin-Erbil (Original in Kurdish). Stansfield, G. 2003. Iraqi Kurds: Political Development and Emergent Democracy. London and New York: Routledge Curzon Taylor and Francis Group. ———. 2005. Governing Kurdistan: The Strengths of Division. In The Future of Kurdistan in Iraq, ed. B. O’Leary et al. Philadelphia: Penn, University of Pennsylvania Press. Watts, N. 2016. The Spring in Sulaimani: Kurdish Protests and Political Identities. In Political Identities and Popular Uprisings in Middle East, ed. Shabnam J. Holliday and Philip Leeche. London and New York: Rowman and Littlefield International. Weaver, R.K., and B.A. Rockman. 1993. Assessing the Effects of Institutions. In Do Institutions Matter? Government Capabilities in the United States and Abroad, ed. R.K. Weaver and B.A. Rockman. Washington, DC: The Brooking Institution.

CHAPTER 3

Political Aspects of Trust and Social Networks

Introduction Apart from handful anthropological efforts, research on Kurdish society and culture in KRI is of short supply. The anthropological research on Kurdistan (such as Barth 1954; Leach 1940 cited in Lalik 2017; Bruinessen 1992) in spite of the typical richness of the data that anthropological fieldwork largely generates has focused mainly on more traditional segments of Kurdish society and paid a special attention to the internal structure of Kurdish tribes, tribal feuds, tribal intra- and external power relations, tribe and state and so on. Additionally, the existing sparse anthropological research is chiefly confined to a timeframe preceded the 1991 and the emergence of KRI. While one can observe plethora of indicators of social and cultural continuity in Kurdish society and culture, fundamental novel changes also recently swept Kurdistan and its culture. This is to suggest that anthropological research, though remains significant, its foremost focus on traditional/primitive areas of Kurdistan and failure to stretch to the recent times, makes it less helpful in understanding more modernized urban settings in contemporary Kurdistan. Furthermore, the recently growing literature on KRI (see Chapter 1) has largely addressed issues associated with genocide, demographic changes, party politics, KRG-Baghdad relations and so forth. The common dearth of

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both streams of research (anthropological and the most recent sociopolitical) is their inability to establish links between grassroots culture and politics in urban settings in KRI. Contemporary Kurdish society in KRI seems to embrace elements of continuation of traditional Kurdish society and more novel shifts occurred in the last three decades. On a traditional level, Diane E. King’s (2014) observation of Kurdistan as a “socially very rich place, a place in which people invest very deeply in social relations [as opposed] to advanced economies where most people’s time allocation centers around work and the nuclear family” is indeed relevant. Furthermore, her employment of Charles Tripp’s notion of community in Iraq, with enormous applicability to Kurdish society, “the community is not one of citizens, but of family and clan members, fellow tribesmen, co-sectarians or conspirators” (2007 cited in King 2014, p. 5) is a reasonable fact. In this regard, the substantial influence that collectivities (families, tribes, neighborhoods and narrow communities) exercise on individual and, on the other hand, individuals’ persistent attempt to conform to cultural norms is a traditional element of Kurds in KRI. Apparently, the rapid growth of urbanization, enormous expansion of modern education and the massive flow of modern technology into Kurdistan in the last fifteen years have not led to an entire erosion of many forms of social relationships, including the primordial-based linkages. Even in urban settings, for a variety of reasons, some form of tribal relationship tended to prolong themselves (Bozarslan 2006; Leezenberg 2006). The general theme of a modern Kurdish society, therefore, is one of persistent centrality of social relationships, with slightly less applicability to middle class in urban centers, and the significance of traditional social institutions of family, kinship and tribe. The empirical findings presented in this chapter which are drown from a sample of predominantly middle-class Kurds in the urban centers of Erbil and Sulaimani articulate how modern and traditional influences shape the characteristics of social capital in Kurdistan. By using social capital terminology, social networks of middle-class urban Kurds tend to be less dense and to concentrate mainly around workplace colleagues, friends outside the workplace and to less extent on relatives and neighbors (modern influences) and the central prevalence of particularized trust based on family, close friend and relatives (traditional influence). To put it in its simplest, although middle-class urban Kurds are willing/or forced because of necessity, to heterogenize their social networks (having social networks

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beyond family and other traditional circles), trust tends to still concentrate on traditional family and kinship networks. Manifestations of this trend are explored further in the framework of presenting the empirical findings. This conclusion is highly likely to be different in less urban and traditional settings where social networks are denser and in which kinship and neighborhoods constitute the major pool from which social networks are formed and that particularized trust is also more dominant. This chapter explores in a relatively detailed empirical manner the political aspects of trust and social networks in KRI. With respect to trust, as mentioned elsewhere in this book, what matter is the extent to which trust is of generalized type and of depth to allow individuals to discuss politically sensitive issues in social networks? This is associated with a previous remark made that trust can only be understood in its relation with its subject: people may trust other not to deceive them or to have their support in situations of difficulty, but can really people, particularly in contexts where politics has been a dangerous zone, trust one another to discuss politics, criticize politicians and converse about collective action, regardless of the extent of intimacy in social networks? Moreover, in contexts such as of Iraq, where communal identities, sometimes have been violently antagonistic (e.g., see Davis 2010; Yousif 2010; Haddad 2011), are rampant, can the “radius of trust” extend beyond in-group boundaries? Likewise, social networks are discussed in terms of density, composition, prevalence of politics in social networks and the degree of political knowledge in social networks. On individual level, demographic variables such as gender, place of residence, income and education are statistically examined in their correlation with indicators of social capital. A peculiar feature of this work is that elements of social capital (in this chapter trust and social networks) are operationalized in a fashion which permits to detect the theoretical concepts as accurate as possible in Kurdish society and culture. The main argument of this chapter goes to state that social networks and trust reflect the outcome of interaction of modern and primordial influences: the formation of social networks in urban locales, specifically in workplace settings, transcends traditional blood or regional-based relationships to include network partners from diverse ethnic, tribal or family backgrounds. On the paradox side, trust remains to be largely shaped by traditional constraints: the diversity of social networks is not accompanied by a remarkable extension of the “radius of trust” to reach “generalized others”. The constructive effect of this form of social network and trust

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in enabling individuals to engage in democratic citizenships can be of a minimum level: as diversity of social networks results largely from the necessities imposed by workplace not a voluntary disposition of individuals and when individuals stay unwilling to trust “generalized others”, the possibility of creation of politicized social networks in terms of discussion of political issues and criticism in social networks and engagement in collective actions is likely to be harmed. Moreover, the legacy of the past, including the oppressive era of Ba’th rule and the years of civil war with its consequence, is highly likely to have affected “generalized trust” (see Chapter 5).

Empirical Findings: Trust The results of factor analysis for the component of trust in social capital in the two cities of Erbil and Sulaimani demonstrate the following key themes: variations of willingness to talk about political issues across social circles; distrust in nations with whom Kurds have had direct contacts (Erbil) and a semi-blurriness of trust in in-group versus trust in outgroup in Sulaimani; a relative readiness, again stronger in Sulaimani, to talk with people about political criticisms; and the domination of particularized trust. Variations of Willingness to Talk About Political Issues Across Social Circles Results of the factor analysis exhibit that respondents in Erbil are generally willing to talk about politics in different social circles. However, respondents are varied in terms of their preferred social circles for political discussions.1 In this respect, the highest loadings2 are scored for items that show inclination to talk about political issues with religious fellows

1 Many traditional factor analysis interpretations highlight loading factors of 0.8 and higher. However, we shall focus on loading factors of magnitude 0.7 and higher as significant predictors for such a tendency. Factors that do not load this high are not considered. Our choice for a slightly lower loading factor stems from the fact that our data size is modest for both Erbil and Sulaimani and due to the fact of a preponderance of subjectivity in expressing self-disclosed trust. 2 Loading indicates the relative significance of a factor. Factors with high loading have a higher explanatory strength.

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(.780), same-gender friends (.779) and close friends (.722). Lower loadings, however, are scored on items of talking about political issues with family members (.581), nation fellows (.596) and relatives (.556). The item of talking with members of political parties does not hold any significant loading (.498). With respect to the sample from Sulaimani city, a comparable trend is observable: broadly speaking, the highest loadings are scored for items of willingness to talk about political issues with religious fellows (.801), same gender (.807), relatives (.795) and close friends (.773), while the lower loadings are achieved for items such as family members (.591) and members of the political party (.587) to which one belongs. Interestingly, although loadings are higher in Sulaimani, their pattern of strength is similar across social circles. For instance, in both cities, the willingness to talk about political issues with the same religious fellows, close friends and same-gender friends is the highest one in the list (Table 3.1). The strong readiness of respondents to talk about politics within the religious in-group is consistent with the fact that religion is one of the most important issues for respondents. This trend is obvious as 96% of respondents stated that religion is a very important or fairly important issue in their life and that 68% of respondents expressed trust in their religious in-group. Furthermore, the high loading for readiness to talk about politics with same-gender and close friends reflects the fact that in Kurdish society people tend to have close friends from the same gender. Except for students in higher education institutions and some governmental organizations, in other arenas of life, opportunities for building cross-gender Table 3.1 Trust and discussion of political issues in different social circles (factor analysis) To what extent are you willing to talk about political issues in the following social circles? With family members Your political party/if applicable Your nation fellows Your close friends Others from the same gender With your relatives Your religious fellows Created by the Author

Loading—Erbil

Loading—Sulaimani

.581 .498 .596 .722 .779 .556 .780

.591 .587 .767 .773 .807 .795 .801

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social relationships tend to be limited. In this regard, approximately 40% of respondents demonstrated that they have social networks that include same-gender individuals. This percentage, after networks with colleagues in the workplace and relatives, is the highest among social networks. This means that close friends, who are mostly from the same gender, constitute a trustworthy social circle for political discussion. Interestingly, respondents expressed a fairly weak tendency to talk about politics within family and social circles of relatives. One can suggest that people’s reluctance to talk about politics within family social circles does not necessarily mean that family is not a trustworthy social unit, but rather that they consider politics in general as not a very crucial issue. Results of the study indicate that politics is the least important—roughly 48% of respondents reported that politics is not an important issue for them. In fact, the results of some questions show that family constitutes one of the main and most trustworthy sources of information for respondents. In this regard, more than 90% of respondents displayed trust in the information they receive from family members. This holds a great deal of relevance for relatives as well. Likewise, 73% of respondents reported that they trust their relatives a lot or do so completely. Moreover, one can suppose that size of the family may matter as well: the survey sample in Erbil includes 41 and in Sulaimani 49% of sample units who live in smallsized families of 2–4 persons. It is likely that as number of adult members decline in small-sized families, the interest in political discussions diminishes accordingly. Hence, in the two cities, the significance of social circles does not change considerably, what varies is mostly the intensity of trust in social circles. Relative Readiness to Talk to People About Political Criticism Trust should be robust enough to allow individuals in social networks to reveal their criticisms about the performance of political leaders and institutions. This means that social networks ought to be governed by a degree of generalized trust in order for the social networks to be arenas in which discussion of grievances becomes a possibility. Without trust and politicized social networks (will be discussed in the upcoming sections), the formation of a grassroots critical political discourse is hard to arise. Results of factor analysis show that there is an obvious strength of trust in general other in Sulaimani, compared to sample from Erbil city, with regard to political criticism. On the three statements which had been

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designed to measure trust in relations with political criticism (If I criticise the performance of politicians I can talk about it with most of the people, I cannot talk about violations of human rights in my country with most of the people and I can talk about my criticism if they are related to politicians in high positions ), higher loadings are scored for Sulaimani sample. The three statements in Sulaimani scored loadings of (.700, .718 and .739), respectively, while the only statement with a significant loading in Erbil sample is scored on the statement on the readiness to talk about violations of human rights with general others (.762) (see Table 3.2). Apart from consistency across statements for the Sulaimani sample, for Erbil sample, the subject of political criticism affects the loading: in this regard, being able to criticize the performance of politicians, politicians at the top of hierarchy rankings are of the lowest scores. According to results presented in Table 3.2, violations of human rights constitute the most sensitive political issue about which people are willing to talk with most of the people. Nevertheless, in other respects, specifically respondents for Sulaimani city expressed willingness to speak out about their political criticism, even where the target of criticism is key political figures. Broadly speaking, however, it is evident that as the subject of political discussions is criticism of political leaders or the functioning of political institutions, as opposed to less sensitive discussion of political issues in general, tendency to trust “general others” becomes more problematic. In other words, in spite of the fact that discussion of political issues is largely confined to narrow social circles, political criticism, at least for the sample surveyed in Erbil, is even less likely to happen in social networks which include general others. Table 3.2 Trust and political criticisms (factor analysis) Statements If I criticise the performance of politicians I can talk about it with most people I can’t talk about violations of human rights in my country with most people I can talk about my criticism if they are related to politicians in high positions Created by the Author

Loading—Erbil

Loading—Sulaimani

.571

.700

.762

.718

.530

.739

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Absence of Generalized Trust Additionally, results of factor analysis point to the prevalence of particularized trust and an overall absence of generalized trust. For the survey sample of Erbil, among a series of demographic in-groups that one could belong to, items such as trust in the same religious in-group, relatives or kinship in-group, and gender in-group have scored high loadings. By contrast, trust in nation fellows and members of political parties has achieved the lowest loadings. In essence, high loadings in items of trust in religious fellows (.739) reflect the significance of religion for respondents as 95% of surveyed respondents indicated that religion is very important or important for them. Apparently, any question concerning the religious group has the possibility to be interpreted as a question of religion itself. Likewise, high trust in relatives (.68) again mirrors the heavy significance of kinship relations in the life of respondents. Results of this survey demonstrate that 93% of respondent consider kinship relations as an important or a very important issue. Furthermore, as to gender in-groups in which respondents displayed a high loading of trust (.612), supposedly respondents have interpreted gender as the same as the close friends. As stated before, in Kurdish society, close friends are largely from the same gender. Meanwhile, as the social circle becomes wider, as is the case with broader nation fellow in-groups, trust declines. Results of factor analysis indicate that tendency to trust nation fellows scored a low loading of (.418). Ostensibly, dominance of particularized trust is accompanied by the absence of general trust, i.e., trust in “general others”. Results of factor analysis display that statements such as most people circulate information about each other in a negative way and that most people cheat on me or exploit me if they have the opportunity to do so score high loadings in Erbil and Sulaimani. In contrast, positive statements such as I believe that most people are ready to help me if I need their help (.197) and that most people keep their word (promises) (.45) have achieved low loadings (Table 3.3). The above four statements, in fact, reflect the expectations that one could have from the “general others” beyond their immediate family or primordial groups such as ethnic or religious groups. The highest loading is scored for statements which point to potential exploitation one may face in their relations with others or that others do not tend to keep their promises. Both statements indicate a subjective negative judgement which

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Table 3.3 Generalized trust (factor analysis) Statements I believe that most people are ready to help me if I need their help Most people circulate information about each other in a negative way Most people keep their word (promises) Most people cheat on me or exploit me if they have the opportunity to do so

Loading—Erbil

Loading—Sulaimani

.197

.231

.638

.689

.45 .796

.123 .722

Created by the Author

surveyed respondents report on in their environment. In unsafe environment, objectively identified or subjectively perceived, it will be improbable for individuals to display trust in others beyond close trusted social circles. Trust in Ethnic In-Group Versus Trust in Ethnic Out-Groups A list of ethnic groups was presented to respondents and they were encouraged to report on the degree of trust in these groups. The list included ethnic groups with which Kurds have had direct contact, especially the experience of living in the same country, and ethnic groups with whom such a direct contact, on group level, has never existed. The first category consisted of Arabs, Turks, Persians, Turkmens and Christians while the second category included groups such as Swedish, Mexican and British. Results of factor analysis reveal different findings for samples from Erbil and Sulaimani: to begin with, participants in the survey in Erbil have shown trust in nations that have not had direct contact with Kurds such as Swedish (.774), Americans (.774) and British (.683). On the contrary, respondents reported low levels of trust in nations such as Persians (.385), Arabs (.002), Turks (.150) and Turkmens (.194), groups who have had direct contact with Kurds. The only exception in this regard is Christians of Kurdistan (.602). Meanwhile, respondents demonstrated an absolute trust in Kurds as their in-group. These results can be understood in the broader context of political and historical experience of Kurds with these groups, or more accurately, the experience of Kurds in countries which have been dominated by other dominant ethnic groups (Table 3.4).

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Table 3.4 Trust in ethnic in-group versus trust in ethnic out-groups (factor analysis) To what extent do you trust the following nations? Swedish Americans Kurds British Turkmens Persians Christians of Kurdistan Arabs Mexicans Turks

Loading—Erbil

Loading—Sulaimani

.774 .695 1.00 .683 .194 .385 .602 .002 .732 .150

.318 .643 .039 .592 .799 .708 .308 .531 .559 .761

Created by the Author

Interestingly, respondents from Erbil sample displayed distrust in Turkmens as the only exception of the nations that have had direct geographical contact with the Kurds and yet have not been ruled by them. In contrast, interviewees exposed trust in Christians of Kurdistan as the only exception among nations who have had first-hand contact with Kurds. With respect to low loading on trust in Turkmens, one can point to two possible explanations: firstly, the perceived or factual attachment of Turkmens of Kurdistan to the state of Turkey and, in fact, some allegations of Turkey that Turkmens are an ethnic extension of Turks in “northern Iraq” considerably shape the negative attitudes of Kurd toward Turkmens, or at least some elements of Turkmen community. Secondly, the tensions in Turkey’s policies toward the KRI, especially in the first fifteen years of KRI’s transition (1991–2005), can partly explain negative attitudes articulated by the sample from Erbil. A different attitude apparently does exist with respect to Christians of Kurdistan. In spite of the fact that Christians coexisted with Kurds and are different from them in many religious and cultural facets, this ethnic group, for Kurds, is considered to be a trustworthy ethnic community. In this regard, a threefold explanation can be put forward: firstly, Christians of Kurdistan generally adopted a more positive approach to the political experience of transition to democracy in Kurdistan. This had manifestations in their participation in various parliamentary elections and involvement in different governmental cabinets of

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the KRG since the first general election in 1992. Secondly, Kurdish political elites, especially from KDP and PUK ranks, seemingly have been more inclusive toward Christians than to Turkmens. It is apparent that KRG since its foundation worked hard in order to win the hearts and minds of Western powers. To this end, the protection of religious minorities, especially Christians, has been of crucial significance. Finally, Christians of Kurdistan are not perceived to be an ethnic or a political extension of any of the neighboring countries (Iraq, Iran, Syria and Turkey) that divide Kurdistan. Expectedly, respondents showed a robust trust in their in-group, Kurds. This is quite consistent with survey findings that 76% of respondents in Erbil stated that they trust their nation fellows. Apparently, when respondents were asked, even not overtly, to compare the extent to which they trust their nation fellows to other nations, the extent of the positiveness of their attitudes toward their in-groups has increased. This is to suggest that there may be a reasonable difference in the attitudes of respondents when they are required to express trust in their ethnic ingroup alone and when they are required to do so in comparison with other ethnicities. Unpredictably in contrast to the results of Erbil, respondents of Sulaimani have shown more trust in out-groups. Moreover, the distinction between ethnicities who have had direct contact with Kurds and those who have not geographically coexisted with Kurds blurs as the clearcut demarcations reported by respondents from Erbil becomes rather weak in Sulaimani. Results of a factor analysis demonstrate that despite the well-known historical experience of Kurds with other nations or at least with their states, respondents showed substantial levels of trust in Turks, Persians and Arabs with high loadings of (.761, .708 and .559), respectively. These results are not in harmony to those of Erbil. Moreover, again in contrast to Erbil, trust in Turkmens has achieved a considerable loading (.799) and trust in Christians of Kurdistan has a weak loading (.380). The only exception in this regard is the case of trust in Americans (.643) and British (.592) with whom Kurds believe they have had a satisfying experience since 1991 until the collapse of the Ba’th regime in 2003. This may have had a positive effect on the levels of trust in these two nations. A surprising aspect is the weak loading of trust in respondents’ in-group in Sulaimani, Kurds. Results of Sulaimani’s sample prevent the development of a coherent explanation for it. Any explanation for this trend on levels of trust in these nations requires further investigation.

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Social Networks Overview This section examines the nature of social networks for the two samples surveyed in Erbil and Sulaimani. The examination includes exploring social networks in terms of density, composition and functions they serve. A particular emphasis is placed on the political aspects of social networks measured in respect to discussion of political issues, the flow of information, the extent of trustworthiness of information which flows in social networks and political knowledge of respondents. In terms of density of social networks, survey results show that (30: 6.4%) of respondents have no constant contacts beyond their family members and a moderately large section of respondents (165: 35.3%) possesses (1–3) constant contacts. A large number of respondents (110: 23.6%) are also those who have (4–6) permanent contacts outside their family circle. Additionally, a smaller number of respondents (61: 13.1%) have contacts with (7–9) persons. (95: 20.3%) of respondents have the densest social networks of more than 10 regular social contacts beyond their close families. Therefore, it is possible to categorize respondents based on the density of their social network into three general categories: the largest category consists of respondents who tend to be either entirely socially isolated or involved in a small number of social networks outside family. This category comprises (195: 41.7%) of the sample. A smaller category (171: 36.7%) is made up of respondents who have a medium-sized social network between (4–9) members. And finally, the smallest category (95: 20.3%) includes respondents who possess the densest social network of 10 and more persons. This means that, in terms of density, the majority of respondents are either isolated or are involved in small or medium-sized social networks beyond family units. Only a few respondents possess very dense social networks. With respect to correlation of individual demographic variables with density of social networks, findings point to statistically significant correlations between gender, education and income and density of social networks: the value of (r) for gender and density of social networks is (−.280) which signifies a negative correlation between gender and density of social networks. This is an expected result as females in the Kurdish society are largely culturally expected to build social networks within the immediate family, nuclear or extended, and are less projected

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to expand social networks beyond family relationships. Although the available statistics about the involvement of women in public sphere in Kurdistan (Ahmed 2010; IOM, UNFPA and KSRO 2018) indicate a growing presence of women in non-traditional areas of society, the general societal attitude does not seem to have radically changed. As to the (r) values for the other two variables, education and income, the results are consistent with the existing literature asserting a positive correlation between education and economic situation, on the one hand, and social capital, on the other hand. The values of (r) for correlation of education and income with density of social networks reach (.142) and (.138), respectively. In this respect, in addition to the impact of education on broadening one’s outlook toward the outside world, it is also a highly likelihood that education increases the possibility of access to denser social networks which come up as a result of engagement in various workplace settings. Likewise, high income, which itself is in a positive correlation with education as scholars of human capital suggest (see, for example, Schultz 1961; Becker 1993), has the possibility to generate a more optimistic worldview. This eventually may encourage economically haves to form denser social networks. Nonetheless, arguably, eventually, social networks of more educated and economically haves are likely to have a strong class dimension. In other words, more educated and economically better off people tend to have social networks with partners from the same educational and economic strata (Table 3.5). Other research variables, although have not demonstrated statistically significant correlation with the density of social networks, a few expected Table 3.5 Bivariate correlation of research variables and density of social networks

Research variables

Density of social networks Pearson’s r

Gender Place of residence Age Education Marital status Income Size of family N

−.2801 −.070 .024 .1422 −.071 .1383 −.016 467

Significant at 1 .000, 2 .002, 3 .003 Created by the Author

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correlations emerged from the data: the values of (r) for variables (place of residence, marital status and size of family) in relation to the density of social networks are (−.070, −.071 and −.016), respectively. This signifies a negative correlation with density of social networks. To begin with, results show that place of residence (Erbil and Sulaimani) is in negative correlation with the density of social networks as residents of Sulaimani have demonstrated to have relatively denser social networks. Moreover, results indicate that married respondents have a smaller social network outside their family than single respondents. This again can be explained by the observation that this section of research sample due to family commitments has less spare time or inclination for social networking beyond the immediate family. This observation may be more relevant for respondents who have dependent children at home. Furthermore, the value of r for the variable size of family points to the fact that the smaller the family, the denser the social network. This result is quite consistent with the result of r for marital status of respondents. The only exception among insignificant correlations is the positive correlation between the age of respondents and the density of their social network. Although the survey data do not specify the number of children and their age, it is probable that older respondents who have released from the social burden associated with having dependent children are more likely to reach out and build social networks outside their family. A second facet of social networks is the composition of social networks in terms of the multitude of social categories with which respondents have established social networks. In order to explore this area, a list of potential social categories is presented to respondents to state whether or not they have contacts with them. The list included members of primordial groups, friends beyond primordial groups and professional colleagues. The largest section of respondents (234: 50.1%) reported social networks with colleagues at their workplace and a lesser portion of respondents (189: 40.5%) state that they have social networks with friends outside their workplace. Meanwhile, networks with relatives (173: 37%) and same-gender (168: 36%) rank as the third and fourth on the list of social networks. Social networks with people from the same religion (152: 32.5%) and nation fellows (106: 22.7%) occupy fifth and sixth positions. Finally, networks with neighbors turned out to be the weakest type of social networks as it reaches (67: 14.3%). These results show that the strongest type of social networks is professional networks which are built significantly in workplace settings. It is worth noting that workplace

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social networks are mainly not the type of network which people create by necessity not as a result of an absolutely free choice. These networks, in contrast, are produced as an outcome of physical proximity and professional interdependency of individuals in the workplace. Putnam suggests (2000, p. 87) that workplace social networks largely lack depth, sympathy or a common objective beyond work. Putnam states “Workplace ties tend to be casual and enjoyable, but not intimate and deeply supportive”. An important caveat regarding the above findings needs to be illustrated: as findings regarding the composition of social networks reveal, primordial groups-based social networks (such as social networks with relatives, nation fellow and fellow religion) are not scored as the largest type of social networks. Such a finding should not necessarily be taken to indicate a diminishing significance of the primordial groups in the lives of respondents: on the contrary, the fact that respondents surveyed have elsewhere pointed to the vitality of many forms of primordial institutions and loyalties prevents any such conclusion to be drawn. A combination of two factors can explain this superficial finding: as stated before, significant section of respondents surveyed is urban middle-class Kurds who enjoy the privilege of employment in state or public sector. For this section of population, due to necessity or choice, workplace contacts outside primordial circles are more likely. And second, the context in which the question is also asked matters. In this regard, the fact that Erbil and Sulaimani are predominantly Kurdish and less diverse (though Erbil remains to be more heterogeneous) may have allowed respondents to define themselves less in terms of primordial affiliations. If the same question were presented in a more heterogeneous ethnic and religious setting, the answers might have been different. Moreover, the heterogeneity of social networks also needs to be taken into account: as the composition of workplace settings in Kurdistan tend to be predominantly homogeneous, workplace-related social networks become progressively likely to be homogeneous accordingly. Bivariate correlations between research variables and different social network categories point to significant findings: in this respect, the only positive correlation (although statistically insignificant) is the correlation of gender with same-gender social networks (.018). This means that consistent with cultural expectations and social restrains women are more likely to have social networks with women. Additionally, place of residence (Erbil and Sulaimani) holds a statistically significant positive correlation with workplace colleagues (.140) and friends outside the workplace

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(.107) and a negative correlation with all other primordial and neighborbased networks. This could be a pointer to a relative weakness of the significance of primordial groups in Sulaimani city. The only anticipated positive correlation is that of age with relatives (.106): older respondents are more likely to have social networks with their relatives which can be considered as an indicator of stronger commitment of older individuals to traditional kinship networks. Moreover, older respondents are more likely to have already established their families which eventually bind them in more narrow family-related social networks. Expectedly, education is in a positive correlation with colleagues at the workplace (.136), friends outside the workplace (.070), same-gender (.031) and nation fellows (.016) as the only primordial group. Highly educated people plausibly involve more in workplace networks. Furthermore, due to relatively more open outlook, they might have been able to expand their networks beyond the existing workplace networks. This result is consistent with the literature on social capital which emphasizes the denser social networks of educated people (Chapter 1) (Table 3.6). Consistent with age is marital status which possesses a positive correlation with social networks of relatives (.071). This again may reflect Table 3.6 Bivariate correlation of research variables and composition of social networks Research variables

Gender Place of residence Age Education Marital status Income Size of family

Composition of social networks Pearson’s r Colleagues at workplace

Friends outside workplace

Relatives

Same gender

Neighbors

−.079 .1402

−.2121 .1073

−.040 −.057

.018 −.072

−.058 −.1494

−.069 −.054

−.066 −.1165

−.044 .1368 −.09910

−.056 .070 −.013

.1066 −.2497 −.052 .031 .071 −.16011

.027 −.1519 −.015

.000 .016 −.015

−.036 −.002 −.048

.14612 −.007

.12413 −.016

.036 −.080

−.037 .051

.079 −.008

−.016 −.018

−.11614 .046

Nation Religious fellows fellows

Significant at 1 .000, 2 .002, 3 .021, 4 .001, 5 .012, 6 .022, 7 .000, 8 .003, 9 .001, 10 .033, 11 .001, 12 .002, 13 .008, 14 .013 Created by the Author

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marriage-based commitments and the influence of the related traditional age-related obligations. Moreover, income exercises a similar influence compared to education: higher income earners have more social networks with colleagues at the workplace (r = .146), friends outside workplace (r = .124), relatives (r = .036) and countrymen fellows (r = .079). This may also be a result of more engagement of this category of people (high earners) in job-based networks. It also should be taken into account that it is very likely that high earners are those who have a higher level of education. Here, the two variables become close to one another in exercising a similar influence on the identification of respondents with nation fellows. Finally, another important correlation is that of family size with neighbors (.051). Larger families are more likely to have networks with neighbors. This could be attributed to various social facts: most important are the potentially relative oldness of partners, more commitment to traditional values and having dependent children and the need for social support and so on. Political Aspects of Social Networks An important element of social networks is the degree of politicization, i.e., the existence of political issues in social networks. This includes a discussion of issues associated with political process, performance of leaders and political institutions, political criticism and so on. To examine the political aspects of social networks, respondents surveyed in Erbil and Sulaimani were asked to report on the discussion of political issues, nature of political issues discussed, the heterogeneity versus homogeneity of social networks, political knowledge and flow and reliability of political information in social networks. Survey findings demonstrate that (78: 16.7%) of respondents do not talk about political issues in their social networks and the largest segment of respondents (162: 34.7%) hardly ever talk about politics. Moreover, a large number of respondents (142: 30.4%) state that sometimes they talk about politics and only (85: 18.2%) of respondents discuss political issues a lot in their social networks. These results show that slightly more than half of respondents (51.3%) do not talk about politics or they hardly ever talk about it. In addition, a close portion (48.6%) of respondents converse about politics sometimes or they commonly talk about political issues. Supposedly, the relative absence of political issues in social networks can

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be attributed to two main factors: first, lack of generalized trust, particularly in the context of Kurdistan where politics has been considered to be a sensitive issue for many. And second, it can be the case that politics itself is not a topic of interest for substantial fragments of the surveyed individuals. As mentioned before, surveyed respondents presented politics to be the least important subject for them. In fact, it is probable that lack of generalized trust, where people will be reluctant to discuss political issues in social networks, can eventually lead to disinterest in politics. Here, the principle of homophile can help explaining this equation. Broadly speaking, people tend to get together with others, who, in important respects, share their outlooks. When politically uninterested individuals build social networks with politically uninterested partners, the possibility of interest in politics declines significantly (Fig. 3.1). Results of a bivariate correlation analysis show that variables gender and marital status are in negative correlation with talking about politics and variables place of residence, age, education, income and family size possess a positive correlation with discussion of politics in social networks. The value of (r) for correlation of gender with talking about politics is (−.146) a value which is statistically significant. Female respondents seem to talk less about politics than their male counterparts. Marital status is also in negative correlation (although not statistically significant) with talking about politics. The value of r for marital status is (−.007) which signifies that married people discuss politics less in social networks. As to the positive correlations, place of residence is in positive correlation (r = .054) with discussion of politics in social networks. According to this result, respondents from Sulaimani sample reported on having 162 142 78 85

never

hardly ever

sometimes

alot

Fig. 3.1 How often do people talk about politics? (Created by the Author)

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stronger presence of political discussions in social networks than respondents from Erbil sample do. This result is reasonably consistent with the results of the factor analysis (see previous section on trust) which show that respondents of Sulaimani are more ready to talk about politics in different social circles and more inclined even to speak out political criticism with most people. Furthermore, the value for the correlation of age with talking about politics is (.101) which is statistically significant. Older people talk about politics more than younger ones. Expectedly, education holds a positive, statistically significant correlation (.115) with talking about politics: more educated people tend to talk about politics more than less educated respondents normally do. In addition, income has a statistically significant and positive correlation (.183) with talking about politics in social networks. These results show that high-income earners talk more about politics than low-income earners. Finally, family size holds a statistically insignificant and a positive correlation (.035) with talking about politics: when family size becomes larger, the possibilities for political discussions increase accordingly. We think this is true in particular for families that have more adult members. Such a possibility may decrease for nuclear families where adult members, apart from parents, are not permanently present in the family (Table 3.7). It should be noted that a question on “talking about politics” itself may be an ambiguous question. The ambiguity can result from two sources: in the first place, it is not obvious how respondents perceive politics or what politics means for them. In the second place, it is not clear which political issues are discussed most in social networks. Knowing which political Table 3.7 Bivariate correlation of research variables with discussion of political issues in social networks

Variables

Talking about politics Pearson’s r

Gender Place of residence Age Education Marital status Income Family size N Significant at 1 .002, 2 .029, 3 .013, 4 .000 Created by the Author

−.1461 .054 .1012 .1153 −.007 .1834 .035 467

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issue/s is/are discussed widely is important to identify if the respondents discuss issues of significance for democracy. In addition, knowing what issues are discussed most can allow prediction of the type of political and civic enterprises that people may involve in. In order to unravel the ambiguities and to examine the contribution of the political discussions for democracy, respondents were asked to state the extent to which they discuss a list of political issues. Findings exhibit that corruption is the most discussed political issue in respondents’ social networks and ethnic and religious tolerance is the least discussed political issue. The ranking of other political issues according to the extent of their occurrence in social networks is as following: freedom of press, performance of politicians, civil society and the independence of the legislative, executive and judicial branches of government. Findings show that the largest section of respondents (60.4%) reported on having had discussion about corruptions in the social networks most of the time. This can simply be explained by widespread corruption in Kurdistan and its tangible impact on peoples’ life (see Chapters 2, 4 and 5). In fact, by looking at Fig. 3.2, it will be possible to draw a distinction between two categories of political issues: the first category includes issues such as corruption, freedom of press and performance of politicians. These issues possess very direct and palpable impact on the life of masses of the population. The second category consists of issues such as civil society, the independence of the three branches of government (executive, legislative and judiciary) and ethnic and religious tolerance. These issues are not, or thought to not have direct effect for the day-to-day living condition of people. Therefore, the first category occupies greater

civil society

1.51

corruption ethnic and religious tolerance in kurdistan performance of politicians

2.30 1.40 1.61

freedom of press the independence of hree authorities

1.80 1.43

Fig. 3.2 Most discussed political issues (Created by the Author)

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space in informal discussions of respondents as opposed to the second category. Additionally, bivariate correlations of research variables with discussion of political issues reveal some general trends. On the one hand, there is a group of variables which present positive correlations with discussion of all or most of the political issues. In this regard, the place of residence is in a positive correlation with the discussion of political issues. This result is consistent with previous findings demonstrating that the place of residence is in a positive correlation with discussion of politics in social networks. Another general trend is a positive correlation of education with the level of discussions of political issues. The third general trend is the positive correlation of income with five, out of six, of the political issues. The only political issue which is negatively correlated with income is the discussion of ethnic and religious tolerance which is, in itself, the least discussed political issue in social networks for respondents. On the other hand, there are variables that hold a negative correlation with all or most of the political issues. Gender negatively correlates with the discussion of all political issues that respondents were asked about. In this respect, age and marital status are also the two variables that possess a negative correlation with the discussion of most of the political issues. Overall, it can be suggested that respondents from Sulaimani, more educated respondents and higher income earners discuss political issues more than others do. Contrariwise, women, older people and married respondents tend to discuss political issues less (Table 3.8). Political knowledge in terms of information about political processes, political institutions, and political events is very likely to be significant in transforming informal political discussions in social networks into actual civil and political engagement. In this direction, Milner (2002) argues that social networks of informed people are the ones which are crucial for the functioning of democracy. The mere political discussions among ordinary or less informed citizens do not play a positive role for democracy. Thus, an element of the research problem is to discover the extent of political knowledge possessed by respondents and explaining it in correlations with research variables. An index of three questions (simple and more complicated questions were included) designed to examine this aspect: respondents were encouraged to list the political lists in Kurdistan Parliament, to mention whether the KRG cabinet was a single-party or multi-party base and to mention the parties in government and, lastly,

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Table 3.8 Bivariate correlation of research variables and discussion of political issues Research variables

Discussion of political issues Pearson’s r The independence of executive, legislative and judicial branches of government

Gender Place of residence Age Education Marital status Income Size of family N

Freedom of press

Performance of politicians

Ethnic and religious tolerance

Corruption

Civil society

−.1061 .2104

−.074 .1435

−.1652 .2376

−.1003 .027

−.022 .2757

−.081 .1518

.078 .1529 −.016

−.031 .11710 −.025

−.003 .21011 −.085

−.030 .008 −.12214

−.017 .18112 .006

.024 .13113 −.042

.014 .007

.16416 −.043

−.026 .046

.053 −.064

.077 −.011

.12715 .026

467

Significant at 1 .029, 2 .001, 3 .039, 4 .000, 5 .003, 6 .000, 7 .000, 8 .002, 9 .002, 10 .015, 11 .000, 12 .000, 13 .007, 14 .012, 15 .009, 16 .001 Created by the Author

respondents were asked to mention the date of the first general parliamentary elections in KRI. Survey findings indicate that (191: 40.9%) of respondents have not got any correct answer about the political lists of the parliament and (173: 37%) of respondents have been able to identify (1–3) correct answers. In addition, (87: 18.6%) of respondents have been able to give (4–6) correct answers. Finally, only (16: 3.4%) of respondents have been able to answer all questions correctly. Hence, a large portion of respondents (77.9%) either have no idea about political lists in parliament or they could not mention more than three correct names. And only a very small percentage of respondents (3.4%) had accurate information about all political lists in parliament (Fig. 3.3). Similarly, respondents have demonstrated inadequate information about the composition of the current cabinet of KRG. Although most of respondents (324: 69.4%) versus (140: 30%) of them had the right answer about the fact that the current cabinet of KRG consists of more than one

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all answers are correct 4-6 correct answers 1-3 correct answers no correct answer

105

16 87 173 191

Fig. 3.3 Political knowledge (how many political lists are represented in the Kurdistan Parliament?) (Created by the Author)

political party, only (2.1%) of respondents have been able to mention the names of all the political parties in the government. In this respect, (114: 24.4%) of respondents could not identify any correct answer and (189: 40.5%) have been able to state (1–3) correct answers. Additionally, (80: 17.1%) of respondents mentioned (4–6) correct names. Meanwhile, on the last question, which was designed to be the least tricky one, majority of respondents (289: 61.9%) could correctly mention the date of the first general parliamentary elections of the KRI and only (178: 38.1%) of respondents cited a wrong date. The relative easiness of the question and the fact that answering question did not require spending any considerable time or energy may have made respondents to come with correct answers. It is possible to suggest that respondents, to a substantial extent, lack adequate political knowledge about the two main political institutions (parliament and government) of the region. In this regard, two central explanations can be put forward: first, there is the likelihood that respondents really do not have sufficient knowledge about political processes in the region largely due to lack of interest in politics. And second, there is the possibility that some of the questions (specifically questions which required respondents to state the names of political lists in parliament and political parties in the government) due to the amount of cognitive effort and time involved in answering the question made respondents to rush and give answers and avoid taking the burden of giving correct answers. As such, many respondents when asked about the name of political lists in parliament rushed to mention KDP and PUK and failed to realize in 2010 Kurdistan Parliament KDP and PUK were not separate parliamentary blocks. In fact, both had a parliamentary coalition in parliament. The same was true as considerable section of sample surveyed mentioned KDP and PUK as constituting elements of government and did not mention

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all answers are correct 4-6 correct answers

10 80 189

1-3 correct answers no correct answer

114

Fig. 3.4 Political knowledge (could you mention names of political parties in government?) (Created by the Author)

other political parties. Therefore, it is quite obvious that people tend to not pay equal attention to all political actors: in this case pointing to KDP and PUK was very frequent in the answers on the political knowledge questions (Fig. 3.4). Political knowledge of respondents is correlated with research variables in significant ways: the bivariate correlation of gender with political knowledge reveals that gender is negatively correlated with three of the political knowledge questions. The only exception is the last question about the date of the first general election of the parliament (correct vs. incorrect answer).3 But overall, the bivariate correlation presents the fact that females demonstrated less political knowledge compared to male respondents. This result is consistent with women’s less interest in politics and discussions of political issues. Moreover, the place of residence (Erbil and Sulaimani) correlates positively with two of the political knowledge questions and negatively with questions three and four. But generally, results of the bivariate correlation exhibit that respondents from Sulaimani possess more political knowledge than respondents from Erbil about three out of four questions on political knowledge. Again, this result comes in consistence with results regarding interest in politics and political discussions in the two cities. Likewise, variables such as age, education, marital status and income are positively correlated with questions of political knowledge. The only exception is question four. These results demonstrate that older people, more educated people, married respondents and high-income earners possess more political knowledge than others do.

3 Question four is entered to the dataset as (1 = correct answer, 2 = incorrect answer) so the negative correlation with this question indicates that when the value of research variables decreases, political knowledge increases.

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Finally, family size shows a negative correlation with three of the political knowledge questions (Table 3.9). Finally, empirical findings address the political homogeneity or heterogeneity of social networks in which political discussions take place. It is argued that politically heterogeneous social networks possess more potential for democracy than homogeneous ones, as respondents in heterogeneous social networks will have chance to encounter with different opinions and revise their viewpoints in light of counterarguments (see Chapter 1). Additionally, it is suggested that heterogonous political networks are also significant for developing civic and political virtues such as tolerance (Putnam 2000). The results of the survey demonstrate that most of the respondents (308: 66%) have political discussions with people from the same social class and a smaller segment (252: 54%) has political discussions with people in the same educational strata. Finally, the smallest fragment (125: 26.8%) belongs to respondents who have political discussions with people who have the same political view. Thus, social networks in which political discussions take place tend to be homogeneous in terms of social class and to a lesser extent in terms of educational composition. Table 3.9 Bivariate correlation of research variables with political knowledge Research variables

Gender Place of residence Age Education Marital status Income Size of family N

Political knowledge Pearson’s r How many political lists are represented in Kurdistan Parliament?

Do you think the current cabinet of KRG consists of one political party or more?

Mention names of political parties that form current KRG cabinet?

−.1111 .1352

−.064 .1083

−.030 −.002

.079 −.1794

.0985 .065 .035 .20311 −.087

.1546 .1118 .10910 .18312 −.047

.036 .1569 .001 .19313 −.009

−.1127 −.067 −.027 −.15814 .077

When did the first general parliamentary election in KRI take place?

467

Significant at 1 .016, 2 .003, 3 .020, 4 .000, 5 .035, 6 .001, 7 .016, 8 .017, 9 .002, 10 .019, 11 .000, 12 .000, 13 .000, 14 .001 Created by the Author

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However, politically, these networks are largely heterogeneous. This result is quite consistent with previous findings indicating to respondents’ weak interest in politics and the fact that workplace is the strongest source of social networks. Workplace-based networks are typically developed among people who have a similar educational and economic background, but not necessarily similar political standpoints. The research examines respondents’ sources of information. In this respect, respondents were asked to cite the most important sources from which they acquire information. A list of potential sources of information was presented to respondents. The foremost aim of these questions was to examine how much social capital (in terms of various social networks in which one would engage) is considered to be a potential source of information. Findings demonstrate that media channels constitute the major source of information (291: 62.3%) to be followed by social networks in workplace (230: 49.3%). The third main sources of information for respondents are family members (207: 44.3%). The fourth main source of information is social networks outside the workplace (146: 31.3%). Finally, social networks of relatives constitute the weakest source of information for respondents (78: 16.7%). The pervasiveness of media channels as the main source of information for respondents is rather explainable by the widespread diffusion of new media channels and the easy access of people to TV sets, satellite, radio sets and recently the Internet. Likewise, the significance of workplace-based social networks is consistent with the fact that most of the respondents have social networks which are shared with their colleagues at the workplace. Interestingly, social networks of relatives are the weakest source of information. It should be noted that this research was conducted in an urban setting (Erbil and Sulaimani) of Kurdistan. These urban centers are characterized by a rather weak presence of kinship relationships compared to more rural and traditional areas. This might have reduced the respondents’ reliance on traditional networks to obtain information (Fig. 3.5). Paradoxically, even though media channels constitute the major source of information for respondents, they constitute the least trustworthy source of information. Figure 3.6 shows the measure of trustworthiness for the aforementioned sources of information. It demonstrates that on a continuum 0–3 (not trusted at all to completely trusted) media channels scored a mean of 1.94. This result can mainly be explained by a common popular notion that all media channels belong to political parties and that

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109

78

relatives

207

family members

291

Media channels 146

friends outside workplace

230

friends at workplace

Fig. 3.5 Sources of information (Created by the Author) 2.55 2.11

Colleagues at workplace

2.05

Friends outside workplace

2.07

1.94

Media channels

Family members

Relatives

Fig. 3.6 Trustworthiness of sources of information (Created by the Author)

they try to advance political agendas. As media becomes affiliated to political parties and turn to be an agent in political conflicts, their credibility as a reliable source of information will be at risk. Interestingly, although family and relative-based social networks are the third and last source of information for respondents, they are seen by respondents as the first and second source of information in terms of the credibility of the information that comes from these networks. It follows that although respondents receive a limited amount of information from these two social networks, they strongly believe in the reliability and accurateness of that information. In the opposite direction, although workplace networks were a strong source of information, they are not a very trusted source of information. The same is true of social networks outside the workplace.

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Results of the bivariate correlation between research variables and sources of information reveal that gender is in a negative correlation with all sources of information, except family members. Female respondents tend to gain information mostly from family members while males depend on the other four sources of information. Moreover, the place of residence (Erbil and Sulaimani) holds a negative correlation with friends outside work, family members and relatives and a positive correlation with colleagues at the workplace and media channels. This shows that respondents from Sulaimani rely more on workplace networks and media channels whereas respondents from Erbil depend on information which comes from relatives, family members and friends outside the workplace. Additionally, age correlates negatively with colleagues at the workplace, friends outside workplace and family members, and it is positively correlated with relatives and media channels. Older people seem to rely more on their relatives and media channels, but younger people depend more on family members, workplace networks and friends outside the workplace. In addition, education has a positive correlation with friends outside the workplace, workplace-based networks and media channels, and it is negatively correlated with family members and relatives. This indicates that more educated people rely more on their workplace, friends and media channels while lower educated people depend more on family members and relatives. The general trend shows that marital status is negatively correlated with the first four sources of information and the only positive exception is a correlation with relatives. Married people tend to rely on relative-based networks as a source of information and get less information from other sources. However, as has been observed previously, the correlation of income with various sources of information is entirely consistent with findings related to education: both variables have a positive correlation with workplace-based networks, friends and media channels and a negative correlation with the family and relatives as sources of information. Lastly, family size is in negative correlation with friends and media channels whereas it is positively correlated with relatives, workplace-based networks and family members (Table 3.10).

Conclusions Empirical findings presented in this chapter indicate obvious regional differences in social capital in the two cities of Erbil and Sulaimani. While

3

Table 3.10 Bivariate information Research variables

correlation

of

research

variables

and

sources

of

Sources of information Pearson’s r Colleagues at the workplace

Gender Place of residence Age Education Marital status Income Family size N

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−.080 .087 −.1124 1236 −.1089 .16510 .009

Friends outside the workplace

Media channels

Family members 1462 −.079

Relatives

−.1971 −.073

−.045 .087

−.052 .1327 −.009

.090 .0958 −.055

−.1265 −.076 −.010

.047 −.074 .029

.12811 −.025

.14512 −.002 467

−.15213 .007

−.055 .028

−.035 −.1413

Significant at 1 .000, 2 .002, 3 .002, 4 .015, 5 .006, 6 .008, 7 .004, 8 .041, 9 .020, 10 .000, 11 .006, 12 .002, 13 .001 Created by the Author

an overarching similarity does exist in terms of an overall deficit of “generalized trust” and the confinement of trust in intimate social circles of family, relatives and close friends, when trust is measured in relation to its political implications, considerable differences occur: the sample taken from the city of Sulaimani articulated stronger dispositions to talk about politics and share political criticism with “general others”. Although the difference between the two samples is not clear with respect to interest in politics or discussion of political issues, palpable differences emerge as readiness to speak out about more sensitive political criticism becomes less evident in Erbil. As stated in Chapter 2, the two cities have passed through remarkably different trajectories since the outbreak of civil war in 1995: the structural experience of Erbil was described as that of more centralized/single-party rule while Sulaimani’s experience labeled as more of multi-power centers model. Apparently, the fact that the city of Sulaimani embraced, though not always handled smoothly, the beginning of free media/shadow media and the first emergence of political opposition since 2009 created a more open sphere for political discussions and criticism. The sporadic wave of protest movements (will be discussed in

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Chapter 4) centered largely in green zone, on the one hand, embodies how more open discussions in a sharply polarized setting feed protest movements and, on the other hand, how protest movements, in turn, enhance the potential of political discussions and grievances to be released publicly. Nevertheless, when politics is practiced in a political unsafe context, trust in “general others” diminishes significantly. The two settings display outright differences in relation to trust in ingroup versus out-group: in more ethnically diverse Erbil, a disposition to display trust in nations with who Kurds did not happen to have direct experience of physical proximity and distrust in nations that divide Kurdistan and with who Kurds have had first-hand experience. This, to a large extent, comes in consistence with existing literature (e.g., Inglehart et al. 2006; Khedir 2006, 2017a, b; Anderson and Stansfield 2009; Rydgren and Sofi 2011; Rydgren et al. 2013) pointing to the presence of xenophobic attitudes, distrust and hostilities among Iraqi communities, albeit not equally entrenched across communities or to have similarly echoed in every aspect of life. This trend is almost entirely reversed in empirical findings associated with Sulaimani sample. Unexpectedly, findings indicate the prevalence of trust in nations that share division of Kurdistan. In this regard, multiple explanations can be put forward: a real demise of ethnicbased hostilities and dominance of liberal values in Sulaimani; the impact of social desirability effect made respondents (especially that the sample is mostly of a middle-class background) to express sober inter-group attitudes; the supremacy of a more moderate version of Kurdish nationalism championed by PUK and Goran as opposed to a ethnic-based version of Kurdish nationalism advocated by KDP in Erbil. None of these possible explanations are tested in this book, however, they still can create basis for future investigations of social capital in KRI. Politics reportedly is among the least interesting issue for the samples surveyed and accordingly is hardly discussed in social networks. However, a question to be asked is whether politics itself is really not of interest or it is that the absence of “generalized others” made surveyed respondents to avoid bringing it up in social network discussion. Both explanations can be supported: on the one hand, unpleasant experience of the public with politics in KRI in terms of widespread grievances resulted from civil war, administrative and political division of the region, economic crisis, poor provision of basic services and so forth might have created a sense of alienation from political life. What makes this explanation relevant is the fact that among a list of potential issues to be discussed, corruption

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has come at the top of the list. Social capital research has placed emphasis on the responsiveness of political structures in enhancing social capital: while an active social capital is essential to hold government responsive, the responsiveness of political structures, in turn, can encourage boosting social capital. Dissatisfaction with responsiveness of KRG to grassroots demands has always been a pivotal issue in KRI. Nevertheless, it is also sound to suggest that in the absence of a satisfactory level of “generalized trust”, politics cannot take its way into social networks. Findings of this chapter, in essence, point to confluence of a stated disinterest in politics and lack of trust in “generalized others” in harming the political potential of social networks. Issues with long-term significance for the evolution of democracy seem to be of less presence in social networks: as mentioned above, plausibly, corruption with its straight impacts on the lives of the public and its wide coverage in Kurdish media, especially opposition media, is mostly discussed in social networks. However, other issues such as the development of civil society, ethnic and religious tolerance, separation of branches of government and democratic checks and balances are not of equal significance. This can have adverse effects for citizen participation and activeness in areas which on the surface does not seem to affect the day-to-day lives of individuals, but in essence, the growth and maturity of democracy will depend on them. Related to that is the quality of political knowledge owned by individuals and processed in social networks: the political knowledge of respondents sampled in the survey tends to be largely shallow and less systematic. When respondents, for instance, were asked to name political lists in Kurdistan Parliament 2010, majority rushed to mention KDP, PUK and Goran. A correct referencing to names of political lists in the parliament or political parties in the KRG was hard to be found. In terms of sources of information and the degree of trustworthiness of each source, findings indicate that social capital does matter: in spite of the fact that media is the largest source of information about various aspects of life, including politics, it is reported to be of minimum reliability. It is likely that the public in KRI has come to a conclusion that media channels represent political parties, whether in power or opposition, and the information they are marketing is biased and expresses political sectional interests. Meanwhile, although family and relatives are among the tiniest sources of information, in terms of reliability, they ranked as the

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most trusted. This can be an additional indicator for the prevalence of “particularized trust” in Kurdish society. In the end, individual demographic variables appear to exert indiscernible trend of impact on different indicators of social capital. Nevertheless, four variables are exceptional: gender, place of residence, education and income. Findings demonstrate that women are most likely to develop particularized trust in family, relatives and close friends; they have less dense social networks and their social networks involve largely other women; women discuss politics significantly less than their men counterparts do; and they reported on the possession of less political knowledge. This resonates the traditional gender-based differences of Kurdish society according to which the involvement of women in public life remarkably reduced. With respect to place of residence, in addition to the abovementioned differences between Erbil and Sulaimani in relation to the component of trust in social capital, it has had impacts on social networks and their political potentials. Respondents from Sulaimani displayed denser, more politicized social networks and relatively richer political knowledge. Furthermore, education and income tend to pose a uniform influence on social capital: in essence, education and income are virtually the same, especially for the middle class as their level of income reflects largely their level of education. Both variables have displayed positive correlations with social networks and the political aspects of social networks: more educated and economically better off individuals, having denser social networks, relatively active in political discussions and possess richer knowledge about politics.

References Ahmed, L.A. 2010. Gender and Uneven Accumulation of Capital in Kurdish Society. MA thesis, University of Salahaddin-Erbil (Original in Kurdish). Anderson, L., and G. Stansfield. 2009. Crisis in Kirkuk: The Ethnopolitics of Conflict and Compromise. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press. Barth, F. 1954. Father’s Brother’s Daughter Marriage in Kurdistan. Southwestern Journal of Anthropology 10 (2): 164–171. Becker, G.S. 1993. Human Capital: A Theoretical and Empirical Analysis with Special Reference to Education, 3rd ed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Bozarslan, H. 2006. Asabiyya and Kurdish Politics: A Socio-Historical Perspective. In The Kurds: Nationalism and Politics, ed. Faleh A. Jabar and Dawod Hosham. London, San Francisco and Beirut: SAQI.

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Bruinessen, M.V. 1992. Agha, Shaikh & State: The Social and Political Structures of Kurdistan. London: Zed Books. Davis, E. 2010. Introduction: The Question of Sectarian Identities in Iraq. International Journal of Iraqi Studies 4 (3): 229–242. Haddad, F. 2011. Sectarianism in Iraq: Antagonistic Visions of Unity. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Inglehart, R., M. Moaddel, and M. Tessler. 2006. Xenophobia and In-Group Solidarity in Iraq: A Natural Experiment on the Impact of Insecurity. Perspectives on Politics 4 (3): 495–505. IOM, UNFPA and KSRO. 2018. Demographic Survey: Kurdistan Region of Iraq. Accessed 2 February 2019. Khedir, H.H. 2006. Prejudiced Attitudes Among Ethnic Groups: A Field Research in Kurdistani Region of Iraq. MA thesis, University of Salahaddin-Erbil (Original in Arabic). ———. 2017a. Attitudes of Kurdish Inhabitants of Erbil City Towards Iraq Arab IDPs: Social Capital Approach. Zanko Journal for Humanities 21 (6): 86–102 (Original in Kurdish). ———. 2017b. Ethnic and Religious Communities of Ninewa: From Scapegoats to Political Actors. Journal of University of Duhok 20 (1): 1–10. King, D.E. 2014. Kurdistan on the Global Stage: Kinship, Land and Community in Iraq. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Lalik, K. 2017. The Continuity of Settlement of Social Feuds Among Kurds in the Kurdistan Region: The Case of Mektebi Komellayei. Anthropology of the Middle East 12 (2): 92–107. Leezenberg, M. 2006. Urbanization, Privatization, and Patronage: The Political Economy of Iraqi Kurdistan. In The Kurds: Nationalism and Politics, ed. Faleh A. Jabar and Hosham Dawod. London, San Francisco and Beirut: SAQI. Milner, H. 2002. Civic Literacy: How Informed Citizens Make Democracy Work. Hanover and London: University Press of New England. Putnam, R.D. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon & Schuster Paperbacks. Rydgren, J., and D. Sofi. 2011. Interethnic Relations in Northern Iraq: Brokerage, Social Capital and the Potential for Reconciliation. International Sociology 26 (1): 25–49. Rydgren, J., D. Sofi, and M. Hallsten. 2013. Interethnic Friendship, Trust, and Tolerance: Findings From Two North Iraqi Cities. American Journal of Sociology 118 (6): 1650–1694. Schultz, T.W. 1961. Investment in Human Capital. The American Economic Review 51 (1): 1–17. Yousif, B. 2010. The Political Economy of Sectarianism in Iraq. International Journal of Contemporary Iraqi Studies 4 (3): 357–367.

CHAPTER 4

Public Interest and Civic Participation (PICP)

Introduction This chapter examines public interest and civic participation (PICP) in KRI. In so doing, attention will be paid to the broader context of KRI and the ways through which the context may influence variations of PICP in the region. Furthermore, from the empirical point of view, the data gathered by author in 2010–2011 will be utilized to make conclusions with respect to indicators of PICP. The overarching theme of this chapter is that relative strength of interest in issues which can affect broader communities in KRI is not effectively translated to actual and factual participation of people in civic initiatives. Put it differently, a wide breach exists between, on the one hand, individuals who display interest in issues such as democracy, human rights, rising prices and cleanliness of cities, and, on the other hand, the same individuals who demonstrate inability (not necessarily stated) to organize collective action to address issues that interest them collectively. Hence, there exists a situation of inconsistency between civic interest on attitudinal level and collective action on the behavioral level in the context of KRI. PICP constitutes a central element of social capital. Research shows (Chapter 1) that interest in issues which affect the broader communities motivates people to take part in civic activities (not supported by this empirical work). It is also suggested that PICP is in correlation with other elements of social capital such as trust and social networks: the prevalence © The Author(s) 2020 H. H. Khedir, Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan, Middle East Today, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1_4

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of trust and involvement in politicized social networks increases the possibility of a more active participation in civic initiatives. Simultaneously, engagement in civic activities and associational life strengthens trust among participants and provides the space for intensification of social networks (Chapter 1). Therefore, the relationships between the three elements of social capital remain to be mutually reinforcing. This empirical investigation aims at exploring the extent to which survey participants interested in public affairs, participate in any form of civic activity, the impact of social capital on the participation and what sort of activities survey participants engaged in for the purpose of solving their community problems. As various forms of social capital are influenced by individual characteristics, the chapter tries to establish the statistical correlations between demographic variables such as gender, place of residence, age, education, marital status, income and family size and indicators of PICP. Forms of PICP are also influenced by what people do most in their normal life: collective-based actions, which are done in presence or with others (examples include hanging out with friends, participation in athletic events, attending reading book circles and so forth), and individualbased activities which are done in absence of others and as such do not generate a sense of social life (examples are radio listening, book reading, TV watching and so on). It is argued (Putnam 2000) that more intense engagement in collective-based activities is likely to fortify social capital and to enhance the prospect of engagement in civic activities. On the contrary, spending more time on individual-based activities increases the possibility of disengagement in civic and collective actions. To empirically examine this part of research, survey participants were encouraged to list the most common activities they do in their normal life routines. An additional element of the empirical work is an attempt to examine two controversial indicators of civic engagement in Putnam’s theory: TV watching and newspaper readership. This work suggests that Putnam’s conclusion with respect to adverse effects that the spread of TVs in the second part of twentieth century posed to civic engagement in USA requires a serious operational scrutiny: put it in its simplest, the book suggests that the impact of TV watching needs to extend beyond a quantity question of how much people sit before TV screens to be supplemented by an extra question of what TV programs people follow most. TV programs are not of equal significance to civic engagement: programs which are related to politics and issues which affect the lives of the masses not only can be helpful in generating civic participation, but also following

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these programs, in itself, can be considered as an indicator of public interest. Likewise, newspaper readership, which Putnam (1993) again lists in the category of indicators of civic engagement, also needs further inspection in Kurdish context; a more robust indicator would be newspaper subscription as it signifies a stronger commitment from the part of readers to pursue public issues. In this regard, the fieldwork tries to capture TV programs which are pursued most by survey participants and how common newspaper subscription for them is. Voluntary organizations are the more organized and goal-oriented forms of civic engagement and collective action. It is argued that voluntary organizations have external and an internal influences on democracy (Chapter 1). Externally, voluntary organizations link participants to political participation and institutions. Furthermore, they assist in articulating various interests of the different sections of society. In due course, this prepares the ground for competition and cooperation in a pluralist society (Newton 1999a, b). Internally, the voluntary organizations comprise what Alexis de Tocqueville calls “large free schools” of democracy where members of a community attend to learn the arts of association (1840, pp. 124–125). These organizations provide an arena to socialize individual members to the political culture and they strengthen the trust and cooperation among them. Additionally, participants of these organizations are able to develop arguments and to learn how to respect counterarguments.1 This, however, does not imply that voluntary organizations are inherently helpful in strengthening democracy and its functioning. Organizations which are built along closed nationalist, ethnic or religious lines are potential antidemocratic endeavors (Putnam 1995, p. 665; 2000, pp. 21–24; Paxton 2002, p. 273). Contrary to the initial plan of the research to examine involvement in voluntary organization, the available data for this work are not substantial enough to examine this element of social capital: vast majority of survey participants pointed to be not member in any types of voluntary organizations. Therefore, the research problem, in this respect, is reduced to identify key obstacles of participation in voluntary organizations. Finally, research on social capital has tackled two mutually contradictory approaches: an approach advocated by Putnam who suggests that social capital, including levels of trust, is a product of our personal experiences and a second approach which is promoted by Eric Uslaner who 1 For two informative works on democracy and associations, see (Warren 2001) and (Fung 2003).

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contends that social capital is an outcome for our collective experiences (Chapter 1). While Putnam suggests the one’s level of engagement in diverse social networks and active engagement in associational life determines the level of general trust, Uslaner places emphasis on the impact of general feelings of happiness and optimism vs. pessimism on trust, social networks and civic engagement. Therefore, Uslaner proposes a positive connection between feelings of happiness and optimism, on the one hand, and pro-democratic social capital, on the other hand. Descriptively, the empirical work tried to identify the overall level of happiness and density of social networks (examined in the previous chapter) and raised the analysis level to compare the impact of feelings of happiness and optimism, on the one hand, and density of social networks on the other hand on trust as an indicator of social capital.

A Structural Overview A structuralist perspective on social capital suggests that the quality of social capital is profoundly determined by state policies and the legal framework in which association operates (see Chapter 1): state policies can facilitate the emergence of a vigorous civil society by designing a legal framework that allows for the creation of non-governmental associations, relaxing restrictions on their activities, guaranteeing their access to information and so forth. The state, however, can play an opposite role by illegalizing the associational life or imposing harsh constraints on their activities. Furthermore, the state’s social welfare philosophy exerts dissimilar impacts for the associational life: in Iraq, for example, the universal provision of services (employment, health and education services, accommodation and so forth), fashioned in line with socialist parameters, left no space/or need for voluntary organizations to contribute to the lives of the population (see Chapter 5). The state was the exclusive provider of the most important services to the degree that in the popular worldview the state had often been described as “the father” with the exclusive obligation of caring about “citizens”. Although the KRG was incapable of maintaining such a fatherhood role in the years of economic sanctions (1991–2003), it, in many respects, prolonged the same socialist welfare policy of former Ba’th regime up until 2010. A closer review, from the inception of KRG, reveals that the relationships of KRG, specifically speaking its two major elements (KDP and PUK), have ranged from attempts to build a harmonious relationship with civil society by formulating an inspiring legal framework to domestication and cooptation through

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illegitimate and unfair provision of financial support and intervention in internal affairs of civil society organizations to confrontation with “unfriendly” civil society. In the following, the three policy options are examined in some detail. The legal codification of the formal part of associational life2 has been an issue from the early years of transition to democracy in KRI. KNA passed Associations and Organizations Act, number 18 in 1993 (available at: https://www.kurdistan-parliament.org). Apart from recognizing the right of creation of issue-based associations and professional organizations, the act outlines the procedures for the foundation, registration, financial independence and the guiding principles according to which the associations are instructed to function. The law requires the associations to act according to democratic principles and human rights charters, and importantly, it bans associations from adapting any agenda that may lead to create divisions and discrimination on the basis of gender, religion and denomination (Article 4). The act in Articles 5 and 6 allows associations to employ peaceful means, such as protests, gatherings and festivals to express their demands and advance their agendas. A new piece of legislation was adopted by Kurdistan Parliament in 2011, the Act number 1, Non-Governmental Organization in Kurdistan Region-Iraq Act (available through: https://www.kurdistan-parliament.org). In terms of the essence, the act does not differ much from the previous act. However, due to rising complaints regarding KRG’s/political parties’ illegitimate and unfair funding of NGOs, the act this time specifically adds government grants as one of the financial resources of NGO and it stipulates that government’s financial support would be determined on project-byproject basis (Article 13-4). This was a crucial amendment to the act 18, 1993, and proved to have major consequences for NGOs which in the past used to receive financial support from KRG/political parties on some form of fixed-rates basis without demonstrating any forms of impact. The act also relaxed registration procedures as the founding signatures needed on the registration bid to reduce to three signatures (Article 10-1, Act 2011) after it was specified to be 15 signatures in the act of 1993 (Article 7). Moreover, the 2011 Act of NGOs in KRI paved the way for the creation of department of NGOs integrated to Council of Ministers, and 2 The informal part of associational life includes any forms of social and cultural ties which are shaped around kinship relations, friendships, informal empathy and altruism networks and so on. These associations are marked by lack of internal constitutions which can highlight the formal purposes of an organization, membership criteria, decision making and financial resources and so forth.

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as such, the authority of registration and financing was transferred to this new department. Another piece of legislation which is of direct linkage to certain forms of PICP was Act number 11, 2010, the Organization of Demonstrations in KRI Act (available at: https://www.kurdistan-parliament.org). The act in Article (1-3) defines demonstration as “an organized or semi-organized grouping of people, who peacefully march across squares, streets and public spaces for a specific time, with the aim of creating a unified opinion (public gathering for the purpose of demonstration, strike and sit-inns) to achieve a specified objective”. The act recognizes the constitutional right of citizens to demonstrate (Article 2-1); it postulates that this right must not be banned illegally (Article 2-2); and importantly, it forbids the organization of demonstration that aims at mobilizing a group against another group on the basis of religion, nationalism and gender and so on (Article 2-3). What is more, to guarantee the responsiveness of authorities, the act (Article 5-3) proposes that related authorities must receive the demands of demonstrations after they are publicly red out and to meet with demonstration’s organizing committee to work out a suitable solution and to be realized within an appropriate time framework. Nevertheless, the act proved to be controversial in its Article 3 where the organization of any demonstration is postulated by issuing a prior written permission from the Minister of Interior, governors or town mayors (Article 3-2) and it authorizes the minister and heads of administrative units (governors and mayors) to decline demonstration bids should they found it harming the “order and public morals” (Article 3-3). The act, moreover, provides for an appeal path to demonstration’s organizing committee to appeal the decision of the minister or heads of administrative units in the court within three days from the decline notification. A binding court decision on the matter must appear within 48 hours (Article 34). Critics of the act, as stated in Chapter 2, argued that protection of “order and public morals” is likely to be used as a ready pretext to turn down any demonstration bid detested by authorities. They furthermore question the ability of courts to neutrally scrutinize appeals and to verdict against executive branch of the government. Therefore, the critics, mainly from opposition and civil society circles, in 2011, requested an amendment of the act in a way that a prior permission of authorities would be replaced by a mere upfront notification of authorities. As the proposed amendment was not accepted by KDP and PUK, many demonstrations which followed February 2011 Sulaimani demonstrations, specifically the

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ones which were organized in green zone, were organized without having formal permissions. The Right to Access Information in KRI Act, numbered 11, 2013 (available at: https://www.kurdistan-parliament.org), is another significant legislation as it passed in order to consolidate the principle of transparency and to guarantee the right of citizens to access to reliable information (Article 2). The act instructs governmental and non-governmental bodies to produce and update information and to make them accessible on the electronic Websites (Article 6). Articles 8 and 9 eloquently specify access to information procedures and a mechanism according to which data providers should respond to the applications. Article 14, moreover, outlines several exceptions which allow data provider to refuse access to information: it importantly includes security and defense-related information (Article 14-2-1), information which may affect KRI’s negotiation with other parties if both sides agreed to keep the negotiations confidential (Article 14-2-2), information that may harm investigation and court procedures (Article 14-2-3), information that violates fair competition and intellectual property rights (Article 14-2-4), information about individual educational or health records, personal bank accounts without a prior permission from the individual concerned (Article 14-2-5) and information which because of its accessibility might be leaked to electronic Websites with the potential of loss and piracy (Article 14-2-6). In spite of multitude of procedural and political obstacles such as a lack of IT expertise and skills which hinder data providers from generating adequate data, the reluctance of certain authorities to share data under various pretexts and unfamiliarity with the provisions of the act which all together prevented effective implementation of the law, the act itself can reasonably be considered as a significant step toward a more functioning and transparent form of governance. The act, at least in theory, allows media, human right defenders and civil society activists to demand access to information, and it obliges authorities to respond positively to those demands. On the whole, one can safely suggest that the legal framework with respect to the legalization of associational life, facilitation of civic activities and the right of citizenry to information indicates to a harmonious relationship between KRG and intermediary civic bodies. However, the deeds do not always match the words. I will discuss this matter in the framework of domestication and cooptation and confrontational relationships between civil society and KRG/KDP and PUK.

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The roots of domestication and cooptation policy go deep into the years of Kurdish nationalist struggle in Iraq: Kurdish nationalist political parties (mainly KDP and PUK) in exile began to establish students, teachers, women, writers and artists association as integrated party bodies for the purposes of mobilization in Kurdish nationalist cause. For example, KDP established the first Student Union of Kurdistan in 1953, Kurdistan Women Union in 1952, Kurdistan Teachers Union in 1961 and Kurdistan Writers Union in 1970. Likewise, PUK, as part of its nationalist project and to counterweight the hegemony of KDP on these sections of Kurdish society, immediately after its foundation in 1976, began to create its students, teachers, women and writers branches: in 1976, Kurdistan Students Association and in 1991, Kurdistan Women Association were established. While it is important to note that these association did serve particularistic purposes related to students, teachers, women, writers and so forth, the overarching goal behind their foundation remained to be twofold: first, mobilization of various sections of Kurdish society in the nationalist struggle in an environment in which all other professional and particularistic causes were suppressed in favor of a broader and portrayed as holly Kurdish nationalist project and, second, to mobilize greater masses of Kurdish society in a polarized party politics and rivalry. The years which followed the transition period witnessed the manipulation of these associations, this time more intensively in party politics and rivalries. KDP and PUK tried to extend their hegemony beyond the organizations which they had once established to include and co-opt civil society organizations which had newly emerged to the surface in the region. To this end, a patron-client relationship between KDP and PUK, each separately on their own, and civic associations was developed according to which financial support was provided to these organization and in return the two parties secured loyalty of the organizations. The sporadic literature on civil society in Kurdistan (Anwar 2005; Elias 2002, 2007, 2010; Shafiq 2015; Abdullah et al. 2018) indicates serious challenges such as intervention of KDP/PUK in different organizational aspects of associations, lack of financial transparency and absence of independency that put the very idea of the existence of civil society under question. As the boundaries between political parties and civil society became progressively blurred, in the everyday language, some people pejoratively began to call the organizations political retails (dukani siasi) to label organizations as locations where commodities are sold for the purpose of gaining financial profits.

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A parallel form of confrontational relationship has occurred between KDP/PUK and KRG, on the one hand, with another front of civil society with whom a peaceful or cooptation relationship was not possible. A profound example is unfriendly relationship which developed with media agencies operated outside of KDP/PUK media apparatuses. The relationships tended to grow worse during periods of political and economic crisis and where the tensions between authorities and opposition reached its peak. A report by Advocacy Committee for Journalists in Kurdistan (2017) states: One of bitter realities, which is revealed by 2017 report, is that the more political rivalries get exacerbated, the more and abundant get the violations against journalists, and media channels end up becoming targets of revenge as, because of the reality of Kurdistan, political parties perpetuate their rivalries through media (preface).

Another report by the same body (Advocacy Committee for Journalists in Kurdistan 2011) points to a drastic rise of violations against journalists between January 1 and June 30, 2011, i.e., the context of February demonstration of Sulaimani in that year. The report indicates to 250 cases of violation of rights and violence against media channels. It is worth noting that overwhelming majority of violations stated in this report and other reports published regularly by the Advocacy Committee later have been committed against journalists and media channels which belong to opposition groups or claim to be professional/neutral media activists. Hence, most of the violations targeted workers in KNN, NRT, Spede and Komel, and in certain instances, offices of NRT in Sulaimani, Spede TV office in Duhok and Goran radio in Erbil were burnt altogether. The same pattern of confrontation has been manifested with civil society organizations which promoted agendas perceived to be antagonistic to that of KDP/PUK and KRG. Examples include, but not limited to, prevention of protests and demonstrations, cases of detention of activists and attacks on offices. In sum, organizations which pursue anti-corruption agendas, struggle for free media or advocate an anti-neighboring state (especially Turkey and Iran due to the former’s close relationship with KDP and latter’s close ties with PUK) policies tend to be at the center of most of violations. It should be mentioned that KDP and PUK try to minimize the number of manifest demonstration against Turkey and Iran believing that hostilities of this kind are highly likely to harm economic and security

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relations between KRI and these two countries. While such an argument is momentously relevant, one cannot deny the significant attributes that these relationships can produce to KDP and PUK.

Empirical Findings The third component of social capital as stated above is the PICP. To examine this component of social capital, the survey included a series of questions which dealt with the respondents’ interest in public affairs, actual engagements in civic activities and their involvement in the voluntary sector, TV interests and newspaper readership. At the beginning, respondents were asked to report on their participation in a number of activities in the community and the national level during the last year. The results display that a large number of respondents (234: 50.1%) have participated in parents-teachers meetings (PTMs). The second most practiced activity has been attending an election rally in which (198: 42.4%) of respondents participated. These figures drastically decrease for other community-based activities. In this respect, only (55: 11.8%) of respondents reported a participation in a campaign to clean their neighborhood. This percentage decreases further for attending a meeting concerned with neighborhood issues in which (35: 7.5%) of respondents participated. A similarly low participation score is reported for serving on a committee (21: 4.5%). Finally, a fairly large portion of respondents (102: 21.8%) have not participated in any of the above forms of civic activity (Table 4.1). Results (Table 4.1) do not indicate a high level of participation in civic activities: having a high participation in PTMs largely mirrors the fact that Table 4.1 Participation in civic activities Civic activities Parents-Teachers Meetings (PTMs) Attending a meeting about your neighborhood Attending an election rally A campaign to clean your neighborhood Serving on a committee None N Created by the Author

Frequency

%

234 35 198 55 21 102

50.1 7.5 42.4 11.8 4.5 21.8 467

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in Kurdistan, parents’ attendance in this sort of meetings is to great extent mandatory. Parents are required by school administrations to attend a few (usually one or two) meetings annually. Therefore, in practice the chance to miss these meetings is limited. This, however, should not entail that participation of all parents in these meetings reflect the mandatory nature of the meeting and that participation does not mirror parents’ interest in the school performance of their children. Nevertheless, the mandatory nature of PTMs explains the high participation rate at PTMs. Furthermore, it is possible to explain a relative high attendance in election rallies by saying that in Kurdistan elections usually are emotionally charged and significant sections of population are engaged in party politics. This is exceptionally true of all national and regional elections that preceded Iraqi May 2018 and Kurdistan Parliament Elections of September 2018 in which election turnout dwindled significantly. As usually the case is, in context where ethnicity is deeply politicized (Iraq is a classic example) or where politics became extensively divisive, voters tend to vote on ethnic/religious or partisan-based basis, no matter what the real agenda of competing parties is (Kirmanj 2013). Iraqi elections since 2003 and Kurdistan elections since 1991 expressively echo the impact of divisions on voting behavior. By contrast, participation in other forms of civic activities, particularly with respect to issues which affect closer communities, remains to be feeble: respondents reported on infrequent engagement in meetings about neighborhood issues, serving on committees or campaigning to bring about a positive change in their local communities. It should also be mentioned that one fourth of respondents have not participated in any form of civic or community-based activity. Interestingly, social capital has been influential for participation in the above activities: a substantial portion of respondents (132: 28.3%) stated that they participated in these activities because of a request from somebody else and (95: 20.3%) of respondents reported that they sometimes participated in civic activities as a result of a request from someone. Hence, roughly 49% of respondents did some activities as a result of a direct request from people within their social network (Table 4.2). Furthermore, the results of a bivariate correlation analysis of research variables and the participation in civic and community activities reveal that gender is in negative correlation with all forms of civic activities, except for its positive correlation with PTMs. Females participated more, on a statistically significant level, in PTMs and participated less in other civic and community-based activities. On the contrary, the place of residence

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Table 4.2 Social capital and participation in civic activities

Engagement in above activities was based on a request from somebody Always Sometimes Never N

Frequency

%

132 95 177

28.3 20.3 37.7 404

Missing 63 Created by the Author

positively correlates with all forms of activities and the only negative correlation is the attendance in an election rally. Moreover, age positively correlates with all types of civic engagement. Older people are more engaged in civic and community activities than younger respondents. Unexpectedly, education is in negative correlation with three forms of engagements: participation in PTMs, attendance in neighborhood meetings and campaigning to clean neighborhood. In the same vein, education correlates positively with non-engagement. Educated people are more likely to avoid participation in civic activities. Nevertheless, educated people served more on committees, which requires human capital and perhaps because certain community committees are less time consuming. More educated people also have attended election rallies more than less educated people have. Additionally, similar to age, marital status is in positive correlation with all forms of civic engagement, although it is statistically significant only with PTMs. This reflects the fact that married people are more likely to have school-age children which necessitates their attendance in those meetings. At the end, the size of the family is in positive correlation with PTMs, election rallies and a campaign to clean neighborhoods. Unexpectedly, although larger families may have more children, they participate less in neighborhood meetings: this can be explained by either a rare occurrence of this sort of meetings (which is most likely to be the case) or the lack of interest in attending neighborhood meetings. It should be stated that the only form of civic and community-based engagement which has a positive correlation with majority of the research variables is PTMs. These meetings constitute the largest sort of civic engagement and all the research variables (except education) showed a positive correlation with it (Table 4.3).

PTMs

.071 .1037 .039 .082 .013

.034 −.038 .015

.003 −.031 467

.21111 −.048

−.014 .029

.016 −.019

−.0995 .046 −.089 .1414 .0949 .053 .022 −.1038 .023

None

−.070 .027

Serving on a committee

−.088 .046

−.1042 .033

Campaign to clean neighborhood

Significant at 1 .000, 2 .024, 3 .000, 4 .002, 5 .032, 6 .010, 7 .027, 8 .026, 9 .042, 10 .002, 11 .000 Created by the Author

−.058 −.026

Attendance in an election rally

−.050 .012

Attendance in a neighborhood meeting

Correlation with civic activities Pearson’s r

Bivariate correlation of research variables and participation in civic activities

Gender .2041 Place of .045 residence Age .2243 Education −.1196 Marital .14210 status Income .047 Family size .033 N

Research Variables

Table 4.3

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To examine respondents’ engagement in community affairs in a more comprehensive way, respondents were encouraged to report on their collective or individual reaction in case of a problem resulted from lack of services in their neighborhood. Most of the respondents (230: 49.2%) stated that they only have discussed the problem within their neighborhood circles. The second most common reaction has been collecting signatures (124: 26.6%). These numbers declined sharply for forming a committee to address relevant authorities (73: 15.6%) and writing an article (38: 8.1%) about the problem. Meanwhile, a sizable segment of respondents (178: 38.1%) reported a total passiveness in terms of having had no reaction (individual or collective) to the lack of services in their neighborhood (Table 4.4). The results of Table 4.4 demonstrate a weak tendency of respondents to engage in actual civic reactions to community problems. In addition to a significant entirely passiveness, most respondents have discussed problems in their neighborhood without being necessarily engaged in any sort of collective or individual initiative to address the problem. Engagement in none of the three forms of active reaction (forming a committee to address related authorities, writing a newspaper piece about the problem and collecting signatures) exceeds a quarter of respondents. These results indicate an obvious weakness of actual engagement of respondents in civic and community activities. The feeble participation of respondents in community and civic activities is not consistent with the relative robust interest they showed in public affairs: on a continuum from 0 to 3 (not interested at all to strongly interested), the cleanliness of the city scored the highest mean of (2.62), to be followed by the second strongest interest in protection of natural resources of Kurdistan (2.39). Moreover, interest in the increase of prices Table 4.4 Respondents’ reaction to lack of services in their neighborhood Options for action You You You You You N

have discussed the problem in your neighborhood formed a committee to address relevant authorities have written an article have collected signatures have done nothing

a Respondents had the choice to choose more than one option

Created by the Author

Frequency

%

230 73 38 124 178

49.2 15.6 8.1 26.6 38.1 467a

4

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PUBLIC INTEREST AND CIVIC PARTICIPATION (PICP)

3 2.5 2 1.5 1 0.5 0

Fig. 4.1 Interest in public affairs (mean) (Created by the Author)

and interest in the situation of human rights have scored means of (2.20) and (2.19), respectively. With a mean of (2.12), the development of agriculture is another important issue for respondents. Meanwhile, the two significant issues: democracy in Kurdistan and performance of politicians occupy sixth and seventh places with means of (2.07) and (1.51), correspondingly. Finally, the lowest mean of (1.43) is scored for interest in international relations (Fig. 4.1). With respect to results of interest in public affairs, two remarks seem to be relevant: first, interest in issues related to democracy itself and the performance of politicians is not as strong as interest in some other topics. Survey participants have exhibited a more robust interest in issues associated with economic aspects of life such as protection of natural resources, the rise of prices and the development of agriculture. The only exception is interest in the situation of human rights which, itself, makes up a central issue for democracy. This finding is of particular significance as it is associated with the attitudinal aspect of democracy, namely beliefs and attitudes on grassroots level regarding democracy as a preferred and legitimate system for governance. Inglehart’s theory, in this regard, seems to be helpful: Inglehart discusses a value shift which occurred in Western post-industrial societies in the second half of the twentieth century. Relying on an extensive time-series data, he argues that value systems in Western countries transformed from material value system, with its focus on survival needs, to post-material value system, which centers on quality of life including advanced levels of democracy, economic prosperity, clean

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environment and so forth. In contexts where people have not been able to satisfy the basic needs of survival, a transformation to issues relating to democracy or of having a say in government or demands for more beautiful cities and cleaner environment becomes unlikely (Inglehart 1990; Inglehart and Wetzel 2005). Nevertheless, the exception to Inglehart’s theory is survey participants’ high-scored interest in the cleanliness of cities. An explanation to this can be twofold: cleanliness of environment, on the contrary to what Inglehart suggests, particularly in terms of its impact on health conditions of a population, can be regarded as survival value. This makes it significant irrespective of the commonness of one set of values or the other. Furthermore, due to the impact of social desirability factor, many people would not find it easy to express disinterest in having a cleaner city. A second remark is that respondents’ strong interest in public affairs such as interest in having a cleaner city has not been accompanied by initiatives to address this issue. Therefore, although respondents exhibited a hefty interest in the cleanliness of their cities, they have rarely involved in any campaign to clean their neighborhood (see Table 4.1). This constitutes a gap which exists between civic attitudes and actual civic behavior across almost all indicators of PICP. Research supports the link between what people generally do in their normal life and indicators of PICP (see Chapter 1). In this respect, a distinction has to be made between collective-based activities versus individual-based ones. The results of the survey demonstrate that individual-based activities tend to be more pervasive in respondents’ normal lives. In this respect, the largest section of research sample (331: 70.9%) reported watching TV in their normal life. Likewise, other individual-based activities such as newspaper readership, shopping, staying at home, reading a book, using the Internet and radio listening constitute activities that people practice widely. On the other hand, collective-based activities absorb much less of respondents’ daily time. The highest portion of collective-based activities is scored for visiting friends (123: 26.3%). The two other collective-based activities are engagement in sport and collective hobbies and going to the mosque (largely) or church. In each of the two categories, (93: 19.9%) of respondents participate (Table 4.5). It should be noted that work (which has a relatively high participation rate of respondents, 271: 58%) cannot be properly listed under the individualbased or collective-based types: for most of adults, work remains to be indispensable to ensure physical survival and social recognition. In order to demonstrate the correlation of research variables with individual-based and collective-based activities, the first and most pervasive activity from each category (individual and collective) is examined.

4

Table 4.5 Respondents’ activities in normal life

PUBLIC INTEREST AND CIVIC PARTICIPATION (PICP)

Activities Visiting friends Watching TV Reading newspaper Listening to a radio Staying at home Working Sport and hobbies Reading a book Shopping Using the Internet Going to the mosque or church N

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Frequency

%

123 331 177 97 169 271 93 151 170 141 93

26.3 70.9 37.9 20.8 36.2 58 19.9 32.3 36.4 30.2 19.9 467a

a Respondents were given the chance to select more than one option

Created by the Author

The results of a bivariate correlation analysis reveal three contrasts: gender is in a positive correlation with TV watching as an individual-based activity (.013) while it is correlated on a significant level with visiting friends as a collective activity (−.146). This suggests that female respondents have engaged commonly in individual-based activities and, in contrast, males have had more involvement in collective-based ones. In addition, age correlates positively with TV watching (.050) and negatively with visiting friends (−.063). This entails that older respondents have largely practiced individual-based activities whereas younger survey participants have shown common interest in collective activities. Correspondently, age and marital status are variables which are in contrast correlation with these two activities. Marital status is in a positive correlation with TV watching (.034) and in negative, but statistically significant, correlation (−.133) with visiting friends. It follows that married people are more engaged in individual-based activities and by contrast, single respondents are more engaged in collective-based activities (Table 4.6). Additionally, to study public interest and civic engagement in a more detailed manner, TV watching and newspaper readership have been included in the survey. Putnam (1995, 2000) argues that TV has been the “culprit” behind a slow progressive erosion of America’s social capital. He suggests that the extensive availability of TV sets in almost every home in America in the second half of the twentieth century pulled Americans back from social life and engagement in the community and civic activities. By contrast, in Making Democracy Work 1993,

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Table 4.6 Bivariate correlation of research variables and individual vs. collective-based activities

Research variables

Activities Pearson’s r Individualbased TV watching

Gender Place of residence Age Education Marital status Income Family size N

Collective-based Visiting friends

.013 .049

−.1461 .008

.050 .045 .034 .050 .003

−.063 .1132 −.1333 .039 .006 467

Significant at 1 .002, 2 .014, 3 .004 Created by the Author

Putnam regards newspaper readership as an indicator of civic interest and engagement. It is suggested elsewhere in this book that these two indicators should be operationalized more to see whether or not they can accurately be employed as indicators of PICP. In addition to watching TV, respondents were asked to report on TV programs they follow most. Results of the survey, as presented in Table 4.5, exhibit that a significant proportion of respondents (331: 70.9%) watch TV in their normal life. In fact, TV watching is two times larger than any other activities respondents have reported to do in their normal life. Nevertheless, it is not necessarily an indicator of civic disengagement as people may consume substantial time on TV watching, yet they may watch programs associated with societal problems, government functioning or community issues. In reality, survey findings show that the highest portion of respondents (259: 55.5%) follows social programs that largely cover social issues in the society. The second and third most-watched TV programs are scientific documentary programs (212: 45.4%) and art programs (189: 40.5%). Furthermore, political programs and news come as the fourth most followed programs with (178: 38.1%) of respondents reporting following these programs. The two least followed TV programs are athletic programs and cosmetic shows in which, respectively, (149: 31.9%) and (93: 19.9%) of respondents are interested (Table 4.7). These results indicate that it is difficult for the TV to exert a positive influence on political participation or community engagement: TV

4

PUBLIC INTEREST AND CIVIC PARTICIPATION (PICP)

Table 4.7 TV programs watched most

TV programs Artistic Athletic Social Scientific Cosmetic Political programs and news N

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Frequency

%

189 149 259 212 93 178

40.5 31.9 55.5 45.4 19.9 38.1 467a

a Respondents were given the chance to select more than one option

Created by the Author

consumes an excessive fraction of respondents’ normal life but it is, to some extent, unlikely to enhance interest in political affairs. This result, in fact, is fairly consistent with previous results which show that politics is not a very important issue for respondents. Therefore, when something is not considered to be an important issue, the probability of it, to be on the top TV watch-list, declines. However, considerable segment of individuals sampled reported on watching social programs which in Kurdish context includes programs about community problems or interesting individual cases. This can play a part in linking individuals with broader communities. Newspaper readership is largely a common practice in survey participants’ normal life. Results presented in (Table 4.5) display that (177: 37.9%) of respondents read a newspaper in their daily life. However, the free access of employees (majority of respondents in this survey) to newspapers in almost every public office, coupled with the availability of a substantial level of spare time in the workplace, makes newspaper readership a less representative indicator of PICP.3 Hence, to overcome this measurement insufficiency, we added a further indicator to newspaper readership, the newspaper subscription. In this regard, survey data show that only (39: 8.4%) of respondents reported having a subscription to a newspaper. As such, there is a wide gap between newspaper readership and newspaper

3 Although my dataset does not include information about the occupational status of respondents, the sample includes a large section of educated people with BA degrees. This section of the population is more likely to be employed in the public sector. Up to the last few years, nearly every graduate student had the opportunity to be employed in the public sector.

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subscription. In the context of Kurdistan, subscription to a newspaper is very likely to be a more persuasive indicator of public interestedness as opposed to a mere newspaper readership. The last indicator of PICP in this survey is participation in voluntary organizations: voluntary organizations are perceived to be a central element for transitional or consolidated democracy (see Chapter 1). Findings demonstrate that only a slight section of respondents (12: 2.6%) have a membership in one voluntary organization only. To illustrate this definite disengagement in the voluntary sector, a list of possible reasons was presented to respondents. They were encouraged to reflect on the major obstacles. Findings show that the most important obstacle (194: 41.5%) for disengagement is busyness (lack of time), to be followed by the second most significant barrier, disappointment with and pessimism about voluntary organizations. In this respect, (141: 30.2%) reported on disengagement because of a belief that organizations cannot do anything. In addition, the influence of social capital ranks as the third most important factor where (138: 29.6%) of respondents mentioned that they have never been asked to join any voluntary organization. General disinterest in voluntary organizations accounts for the disengagement of a section of (135: 28.9%) of respondents. The fifth most important factor as stated by (100: 21.4%) respondents is perceived independency and attachment of voluntary organizations to political parties. The two least significant factors are a negative perception by society about activists (especially women activists) in voluntary organizations (65: 13.9%) and a lack of skills and expertise (53: 11.3%) by respondents (Fig. 4.2). A combination of several reasons such as busyness, disinterest, disappointment about the effectiveness of voluntary organization and the absence of active recruitment accounts for this observation. Furthermore, a cluster of other issues, for instance skepticism about the independency of voluntary organizations, societal negative attitudes and a lack of human capital in terms of skills and expertise, constitutes secondary reasons for disengagement in voluntary organizations. In spite of the impact of lack of spare time as the major obstacle for participation in voluntary sector, two remarks seem to be relevant: the order of busyness option on the list of obstacles of disengagement and respondents’ general reluctance to talk about sensitive issues. As to the first, the busyness was the first option on the list of options that had been presented in the questionnaire. This may have allowed some respondents to tick it as an option, though not necessarily to have been the most important one, for certain sections of the surveyed sample. More importantly,

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Disinterest in These These I do not have The society's Nobody has asked me to organozations organizations voluntary negative skills and organizations are not cannot do join attitude expertise independent anything towards participants in the voluntary organizations and women in particular

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Busyness

Fig. 4.2 Obstacles of participation in voluntary sector (Created by the Author)

busyness reduces the possible annoyance which could result from talking about other issues associated with disinterest, disappointment, dependency of organizations to political parties and so forth. This is especially the case in contexts where an adequate conception of research and/or trust in researchers is of short supply.4 Results of a multivariate regression analysis display that the whole set of aforementioned factors of disengagement explain (.070 = adjusted R2 ) of the disengagement. This percentage, according to the significance of each factor, is broken down as the following: busyness explains the major portion with (.191); disinterest in voluntary organizations (.163); disappointment with the effectiveness of voluntary organizations (.138); lack

4 The influential Iraqi sociologist Ali Wardi (2005, pp. 7–8) points to political sensitivities and cultural difficulties that confront social researchers. Social researchers are often seen by people as agents of the state which, in itself, is seen as a source of destruction and damage in people’s life. Moreover, gender boundaries, as a cultural issue, prevent male researchers from going to households and conduct interviews with female family members. In fact, due to these reasons, Wardi avoided quantitative methods of social research in his academic investigations.

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of recruitment (.129). Other factors such as lack of human capital, a societal negative outlook and the dependency of voluntary organizations form the least important factors. None of these explanatory reasons exceeds a significant level of (.100) (Table 4.8). Table 4.8 Multivariate regression analysis for obstacles of participation in voluntary organizations Model

1. (Constant) Business I am not interested in these organizations These organizations are not independent These organizations are not able to do anything Nobody has asked me to join The society does not look positively at those who participate in these organizations I do not have skills and expertise

Unstandardized coefficients

Standardized T coefficients

Sig.

B

Std. Error

Beta

Std. Error

1.891 .061 .057

.015 .015 .016

128 .191 .163

.307 4.176 3.542

.000 .000 .000

.017

.017

.045

.989

.323

.048

.016

.138

3.011

.003

.045

.016

.129

2.855

.004

.036

.021

.078

1.702

.089

.047

.023

.094

2.083

.038

B

Dependent Variable: participation in voluntary organizations Created by the Author

The last element of the findings is comparative analysis between Putnam and Uslaner’s assumptions with respect to the causal link of different components of social capital. While Putnam argues that engagement in social networks generally and engagement in civic social networks in particular explain the abundance of generalized trust, Uslaner places the emphasis on the general worldview of optimism and feelings of happiness in generating generalized trust. Due to several methodological limitations of this survey data, it is not possible to test these assumptions accurately. Nevertheless, attempt has been made to examine these assumptions in the

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Table 4.9 Correlation of different components of social capital Independent components

Correlation with generalized distrust Pearson’s r Most people circulate information about each other in negative ways

Density of social networks Feeling of happiness Optimism N

Most people cheat on me or exploit me if they have an opportunity to do so

−.067 −.016 .001

−.074 .048 .1241 467

Significant at1 .007 Created by the Author

framework of establishing correlational relationships between the components of social capital (Table 4.9). Broadly speaking, results of the bivariate correlation analysis support Putnam’s assumptions regarding the correlation of the density of social networks and generalized trust. The density of social networks is negatively correlated, though not statistically significant, with the two indicators of generalized distrust.5 Conversely, the two causal factors which were used by Uslaner—optimism and feelings of happiness—are positively correlated with generalized distrust. The only exception is a slightly negative correlation of feelings of happiness with one indicator of generalized distrust. Thus, it is possible to suggest that the individual experience of people in social networks—pleasant or unpleasant—is crucial for the generation or the damage of trust in others. When one lacks a positive intimate experience with others, it is more likely that level of trust in others to diminish or to become entirely absent. Likewise, a general worldview of optimism, when challenged by negative individual experiences, is likely to lose its significance for generalized trust. This is to suggest that even those who grow up in an optimistic environment and go through a pro-trust socialization may end up becoming pessimist and less trusting individuals after having been exposed to negative individual experiences with others.

5 These two indicators are selected relying on results of factor analysis conducted in the Chapter 3. The two indicators hold high loadings in the two cities of Hewler and Sulaimani.

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To sum up this section, a few overarching themes can be articulated from the empirical findings, presented above: first and foremost, a noticeable crack does exist between interest in public affairs of Kurdish society and politics, on the one hand, and, actual-behavioral collective action to address issues which interested individuals surveyed. Nevertheless, it is apparent that public issues which disturb the lives of individuals in a more direct manner such as environmental problems, rising prices and protection of natural resources are overweighed compared to issues perceived to be less important such as international relations. In this regard, the exception is a general actual disinterest and/or a desire, due to political sensitivities, not to report of having interest in the behavior of politicians. Whatever the case may be, the general impression is that irrespective of the intensity of interest in public affairs, publicly interested individuals have failed to work together to address issues of interest. A situation of passiveness seems to be ubiquitous: close-community-related problems (such as lack of clean water or alike) are for the most part discussed in informal social networks. Second, and related to the first remark, formal aspect of the associational life lags far behind the informal associations: disengagement in voluntary organizations and an excessive consumption of normal daily time on individual-based activities are two profound manifestations. In addition to claims about lack of time, a general distrust, lack of confidence in the ability of voluntary organization to bring about change, skepticism over alleged annexation of voluntary organization to political parties and a fair absence of a civic-oriented social network explain the dearth of participation in the formal associational life. Third, PICP in the Kurdish context is resistant to be explained by differences in individual demographic variables. In this regard, in spite of the ability to sporadically discern some general trends (e.g., negative correlation of gender and positive correlation of marital status and place of residence with most of the indicators of civic participation), in most of the cases, these correlation remain to be statistically insignificant. What is more, with some variables, although certain statistically significant correlations have been established, a consistent trend, such as a positive or negative correlation between an independent variable with several independent variables (in the same category), can hardly be found. For example, education, family size and income have displayed positive correlation with some of the indicators of civic participation and negative correlations with other indicators. The outcome is twofold: first, PICP is more accurately understood in light of the general context of Kurdish society (as stated before), not

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significantly in line of demographic individual differences, and second, the impact of individual demographic variables, although this survey presents it to be of no major significance, needs to be studied in separate relations with different indicators of civic participation as each form of civic participation (ranging from a PTMs to serving on a community committee) tends to pose unique impacts in relation to individual variables.

Can Empirical Findings Be Challenged? From the face, a relatively large proliferation of associational life in KRI can pose a serious challenge to the validity of data presented in the preceding section. According to Directorate for NGOs, KRG (2015 cited in Shafiq 2015), 2100 civil society organizations and 887 professional associations are registered in KRG; together virtually, 3000 NGOs are operating in the region. This figure rises significantly to reach at (4851) civil society organization and networks (cited in Shafiq 2019). These figures for a population of less than six million do not seem to be insignificant.6 Interestingly, 561 civil society organizations and 588 associations, from the 2015 data, classified to operate in areas related to human rights and democracy. The lion share of democracy and human right NGOs is matched negatively by 50% of respondents surveyed reported no significance of politics in their lives. In spite of the fact that civil society in KRI, since 1991 and, specifically after the Iraqi War in 2003, has found a level of necessary ground to put its roots, a more critical review is needed to prevent misleading conclusion to emerge from quantitative figures. To begin with, the above-cited data cover a period of more than two decades, 1993–2015. It is uncertain which bulk of civil society organizations have disappeared during this period of time. It is highly likely

6 Shafiq (2015) presents an activity type-based classification for the NGOs: with respect to civil society organizations, the classification is as following: socialization, family and social development, 566 organizations, women and gender 94, education, human rights and democracy 561, legal education 47, media organizations 44, charity and medical 201, research institutes 59, environment 136, youth, children and students 253, economic 51, people with special needs 2 and art 86. Meanwhile, the classification for professional organizations is as following: socialization, family and social development associations 30, women and gender 30, education, democracy and human rights 588, legal education 13, media 11, charity and medical 53, academic and research 20, environment 10, youth, children and students 54, economic 26, people with special needs 15 and art 32.

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that significant number of the NGOs, due to lack or an outright rupture of government funding, resulted from the enactment of Act number 1, Non-Governmental Organization in Kurdistan Region-Iraq 2011 (see section “Introduction”) and economic crisis which deleteriously harmed KRI in 2014 and onward have led to a situation where sections of civil society have not been able to continue their activities. While disappearance of many organizations in the last few years is a certainty, an actual figure with respect to exact number of disappeared organizations is missing. It is moreover, a great probability, those local NGOs who lack links with international NGOs and funders, for whatsoever reason, have been affected most. Furthermore, data with respect to membership and specifically active membership in NGOs are not available. As suggested in Chapter 1, a methodological deficiency of social capital has reflected in researchers trying to use number of associations as an indicator of the vigor of associational life. In the case of KRI, researchers have often trapped in the mistake of employing hard numbers, not supported by further quantitative details and/or qualitative accounts, to develop conclusions about democracy in Kurdistan. Further data about number of active members of civil society, the amount of time and energy spent by individuals on civil life and, equally important, the impact of the organizations in the lives of local communities and Kurdish society, in general, need to be made available before making any judgment in favor or against the associational life. Our data, despite inclusion of a question with respect to membership in voluntary organizations and a series of sub-questions examining internal democracy of NGOs and active memberships, due to accidental weak participation of sample units in NGOs, failed to produce a more comprehensive data on associational life in KRI. What is more, the above data include certain sections of organizations which are formally part of political parties, including but not limited to KDP and PUK. It is undoubtedly that KDP and PUK tend to possess the largest number; other political parties also have women, students, youths and other sectional organizations. Therefore, from a normative viewpoint, question rises with the general suitability of organizations which are formally, not in the shadow, part of ruling political parties, as part of civil society. This is more likely to apply to organizations founded before 2003 when the grip of KDP/PUK on civil society was much tighter. In the years followed the 2003 war, with the massive flow of INGOs, supragovernmental organizations and the availability of foreign state funds, a

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more fertile environment was created and a brand of civil society, beyond the domains of KDP/PUK began to come to the surface. Nevertheless, once again, this observation, similar to many other aspects of associational life, has largey been understudied. Therefore, I suggest that the existing data which point to a substantial presence of NGOs is not of necessary quantitative and qualitative depth to challenge the empirical findings of this survey which refers to feebleness of associational life and collective action in KRI. More importantly, the wellestablished fact concerning the domination of political parties over NGOs is detrimental to any normative description of many NGOs as neutral meso-level actors linking state/government and society in Kurdistan. A second challenge to empirical findings is associated with the infrequent outbreak of protest movements in KRI. Protest movements which occasionally involved degrees of violence7 began to occur more significantly by 2006 protests in the small town of Halabja, now a governorate. Since then, a second wave, of larger scale, protest took place in February 2011 in the city of Sulaimani and some other areas within the administrative borders of Sulaimani governorate. Protests erupted in 2016, though geographically once again confined to PUK-Goran-dominated areas, demonstrated harsher levels of violence as protester set fire in almost all political parties’ local offices and a number of demonstrators were killed and wounded. A last wave of protests broke out in the wake of independence referendum of 2017, although lasted less and was more geographically concentrated, these protests took place amid an extremely vulnerable context produced by the referendum and the military advance of Iraqi forces toward Kurdish-controlled territories in disputed territories. A detailed explanation of the causal roots of KRI protests is beyond the scope of this book, however, by using the conceptual framework of social movement theory, protest movements in KRI triggered by multiple grievances associated with lack of basic services, employment opportunities to include political grievances related to widespread corruption and nepotism. In terms of political opportunities, protest movements benefited from semi-openness of KRG, the monitoring capacity of INGOs and diplomatic representation of foreign, including Western countries, and the general regional developments as articulated eloquently by the

7 For a detailed account on Halabja protest of 2006, see (Watts 2012) and February 2011 protest of Sulaimani see (Watts 2016).

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impact of Arab Spring on 2011 protests. Protests, furthermore, demonstrated instances of successful mobilization of resources such as, but not limited to, the use of modern communication technology to coordinate protest activities and communicate their messages with the external world and, importantly, access to opposition media. Nonetheless, the robustness of the protest movements as an indicator of civic engagement can be challenged on several grounds: first, protest movements remained to be sporadic across time, specifically speaking, they raised to the surface in times of economic and political crisis. This is particularly the case with 2011, 2016 and late 2017 protests. While this may not be peculiar to the Kurdish context, yet for collective action movements to be effective, a degree of continuity over time is likely to be essential. Furthermore, concentration of protests in times of crisis, particularly because they have blatantly supported by opposition media, allowed KDP and PUK to somewhat successfully present the movements as political/partisan-based movements which occasionally led to jeopardizing the most legitimate and fundamental objectives of protest movements. Second, protest movements showed a pattern of spatial concentration as well. As has already been mentioned in other parts of this book, protests have focused on Sulaimani governorate and Garmyan areas and failed profoundly to penetrate Erbil and Duhok governorates. Although the commonsense refers to KDP’s tighter grip of power and its more oppressive capacity in areas under its control, an explanation which cannot be ruled out, a “horizontal social inequality”,8 a more developed Erbil as opposed to less developed Sulaimani and Garmyan, is palpable and rather helpful to understand scarcity of protests in the former and their commonness in the latter. Research (e.g., Valdez 2011; Shafiq et al. 2014; Klandermans 2015; Juan and Wegner 2019) places emphasis on the impact of subjective feelings of relative deprivation, resulting from comparisons which individuals and groups conduct between their individual or groups life situations with others, on grievance and participation in protest movements. Consistent with research, protest movements in KRI have largely erupted in less developed areas. Whatever the case may be,

8 According to Frances Stewart, horizontal social inequalities refer to “unequal social outcomes such as life expectancy, infant and child mortality, educational attainment and access to services across groups that differ in terms of geographical, behavioral, language, or physical characteristics” (Stewart 2000, 2002 cited in Juan and Wegner 2019).

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both timing (crisis concentration) and geographic confinement of protest movements radically minimized their potential impacts. It is worth noting that similar to associational life, data (quantitative and qualitative) about protest movements are of extremely short supply. Information about frequency, objectives, participants, location of demonstration, even those which took place after the enactment of the Law of Demonstrations of KRI 2010 when demonstrations were legally required to apply for permission from the local authorities, is not available. In any case, protest movements (mostly street demonstrations) in KRI are not significant challenges to the key theme of this chapter, i.e., a rather vigor interest in public affairs subdued by an overall absence of a potent form of collective action.

Conclusions An evident inconsistency between interest in public affairs (issues which are of collective significance such as human rights, rising prices, cleanliness of cities, and protection of natural resources and democracy), on the one hand, and actual collective action (collective responses to issues interest people such as involvement in civil society associations, serving on community committees and campaign organizations), on the other hand, is observed. This entails that a transformation from public interest to collective action will not run in any spontaneous and mechanical manner. Therefore, the availability of certain cultivating intervening factors is necessary for that transformation to happen. Social capital theory, itself, can be part of the formula: public-minded individuals, in the absence of civic social networks and generalized trust, find difficulty cooperating with one another. Putnam’s already cited (2000, p. 19) phrase “A society of many virtuous but isolated individuals is not necessarily rich in social capital”, with a minor, but essential, revision seems to detect the mystery more efficiently: while in the Kurdish context, the isolation which Putnam refers to is less obvious in social relationships (kinship, friendship, neighborhood relations and so on), it has manifestations in the lack of civic and active social networks. Hence, to bridge the gap (between PICP), other elements of social capital (trust and civic social networks) are of vital importance. Nevertheless, social capital theory is by no means a completely selfexplanatory theory: that is, the deficiency of one element of social capital (such as civic participation) is hard to entirely be understood by a dearth

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in other elements. From here, the essentiality of structural factors, particularly, state policies, becomes part of the explanation. In this regard, the state policies need to be examined on two levels: the legal framework which state establishes to the functioning of civil society and the actual responses that state institutions display toward civil society. This is particularly significant in the case of formal associational life in KRI. Importantly, KRG from the very beginning, due to international expectations and portraying it as an emerging democracy in the Middle East (Stansfield 2003; Jabary and Hira 2013; Lalik 2017), had no choice but to send out democratic-friendly messages to the external world. The legalization of civil society (see section “A Structural Overview”) and progressive relaxation of constraints on civil society, access to information and the right of public to protest (except for a few controversial articles in the Organization of Demonstrations in KRI Act 2010) are partly and importantly responses to external incentives and pressures. However, the reality has not been an entirely striking resonance of the theory. In this chapter, the policies of KRG and its two main wings (KDP and PUK) have been examined in a framework of harmonious, domestication-cooptation and confrontational relationships. The harmonious approach refers to friendliness of the KRG’s legal framework for the genesis and functioning of civil society. In this realm, a text-based review (see section “A Structural Overview”) of the four important acts (Associations and Organizations Act 1993; Non-Governmental Organization in Kurdistan Region-Iraq Act 2011; Organization of Demonstrations in KRI Act 2010; The Right to Access Information in KRI 2013) shows that the legal framework is meaningfully free from significant restrains on civil society and collective actions. In practice, however, a mixture of domestication-cooptation and confrontation has been prevailing: a substantial element of civil society has grown in the shadow of political parties, funded by them and therefore has been devoided of any form of independency in terms of internal structure and agendas. The existence of a friendly legal framework, international expectations, funds and skills (the proliferation of INGOs) and the emergence of political opposition since 2009 paved the ground for the occurrence of another significant section of civil society outside the hegemony of KRG and KDP/PUK. This element of civil society has occasionally, especially on the eve of political and economic crisis, been in confrontational relationship with KRG and the two main parties.

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The numerical proliferation of civil society organizations and protest movements is hard to pose a serious doubt regarding the abovementioned observations. In this regard, quantitative and/or qualitative data with respect to active membership, internal democracy and the impact of civil society organizations are awfully of short supply. But more than that, it is the well-established fact that substantial part of civil society is formed by political parties (mainly KDP/PUK and to less extent other political parties) and that the available figures cited in the above section (“Can Empirical Findings be Challenged?”) fail to distract organizations disappeared after the pass of 2011 Act of Non-Governmental Organization in KRI and the detrimental impacts of economic crisis of the years 2014– 2018. Furthermore, protest movements tended to be sporadic both in time and in place: protest movements emerged to surface in the times of crisis and therefore lacked the continuity and persistence it requires for them to exert a major influence. They have also largely been confined to certain areas in the KRI. The fact that protest movements have largely been backed by opposition has shown to be a double-edged sword for the protest movement in Kurdistan: on the strength side, the opposition support secured the protest activists access to media and modern communication technologies and widened the public participation in street and square protests, and on the weak side, it allowed KDP/PUK to present most of these protests as partisan-based and politically motivated movements the fact that led to putting the whole legitimacy of protest movements at risk. It should not be forgotten as well that the vulnerability of the context of KRI and potential threats coming from regional countries, argued to be fabricated pretexts, or presented as real excuses, has occasionally been used to oppress protest movements. Altogether, protest movements, in spite of a margin of success, are far behind becoming an essential form of social capital in KRI.

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CHAPTER 5

Framing Social Capital and Transition to Democracy in KRI

Introduction Previous chapters provided an account on the theoretical domain of social capital and transition to democracy, context of transition in KRI and empirical findings regarding the political aspects of social capital in the two major cities of Erbil and Sulaimani. This chapter attempts to bolster analytical aspect of the book by a discussion of the core findings presented in Chapters 3 and 4 and by tracing the roots of social capital in the broader historical, political and cultural context of Kurdistan. This chapter argues that social capital in Kurdistan has been formed in a context of objective and subjective insecurity: legacy of Ba’th rule in Kurdistan and its reliance on violence on community and individual level, the years of civil war whose effects continued way after the peace settlement of 1998, economic hardships of 1991–2003, perceived injustice, corruption and proliferation of clientalistic networks and finally state social welfare policy and a family-centered culture have all had adverse effects for grassroots politics and civic participation in KRI. The outcome has manifested itself in a constant absence of collective action in the form of participation in civil society, social movements, volunteering and other guises that collective action may take.

© The Author(s) 2020 H. H. Khedir, Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan, Middle East Today, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1_5

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A Snapshot of Social Capital in KRI In terms of trust, broadly speaking the two cities of Erbil and Sulaimani demonstrated similarities in some respects and differences in others. Generalized trust, i.e., trust in “general others” (irrespective of their ethnic background, religious beliefs, social class, and other forms of social identifications), is feeble. There is a relatively dominant belief that most people circulate information about each other in a negative way and that most people would cheat and exploit if they had the chance to do so. Additionally, in the two cities, among a variety of primordial groups to which one could belong, trust in people from the same religious group has been the most important form of particularized trust. Interestingly, despite the strength of nationalist beliefs, particularly among the younger generations as revealed by some researches (such as Aziz 2011) it seems that religious affiliations and religion-based trust still overshadow same nation-based trust. Furthermore, the unwillingness to talk about politics in various social circles may well reflect the extent to which generalized trust is dominant in Kurdish society. When it comes to discussion of political issues in social networks, “the radius of trust” (using Fukuyama’s 2000, p. 99 terminology) does not extend beyond very close and intimate social circles. As it will be pointed to, this will have unfavorable impacts for the third element of social capital, PICP. Nevertheless, variations exist with respect to willingness to share political criticism in social networks between Erbil and Sulaimani. Survey findings demonstrate that respondents from Sulaimani are more comfortable to reveal their criticism about political topics and institutions. Consistently, the two samples exhibit different results in terms of readiness to talk about political criticism when they are related to the performance of politicians and especially of politicians in high positions. Interestingly, in spite of a remarkable difference in trust in its relation to willingness to talk about politics or to discuss political criticism in various social circles, respondents from both cities showed notable similarity with respect to actual engagement in collective actions endeavors. Neither of the samples (Erbil and Sulaimani) scored substantial loadings on the statement relating to trusting others and to engage with others in political and social movements. What is more, the two cities are different in terms of inter-ethnic trust: results from Erbil sample are quite consistent with the expectation that a dichotomy exists between ethnic groups with whom Kurds have had direct contact of domination and subordination and those with

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whom such a relationship has been absent. Respondents in Erbil exhibited deep distrust in nations such as Turks, Arabs, Persians and Turkmens1 as examples for the first group of nations. The only exception is trust in Christians who have historically coexisted with Kurds in the same region. Meanwhile, interviewees displayed more trust in members of other geographically remote nations such as Swedes, Americans, Britons and other nations. Nevertheless, trust in Kurds, as an in-group, has been absolute in Erbil. Unexpectedly, results of inter-ethnic trust in Sulaimani are different. Quite contrary to Erbil, respondents showed trust in nations who have had direct contact with Kurds. The only exception, I this regard, are Christians in whom respondents did not exhibited any considerable level of distrust. Additionally, in-group trust, i.e., trust in Kurds, in Sulaimani did not score any significant loading on the factor analysis. In fact, the boundary between nations with which Kurds have had direct contact and those with whom they have not blurs significantly in Sulaimani. Social networks constitute the second element of social capital which has been examined in this book. Findings related to density of social networks indicate that respondents are largely engaged in small and mediumsized social networks beyond the immediate family. Complete isolation or a perfect involvement has rarely been reported in the survey. However, as to the individual demographic variables with the density of social networks results are as expected. Male respondents from Erbil, as well as highly educated people, tend to possess a denser social network. Moreover, the workplace constitutes the most significant source for the creation of social networks. Interestingly, with regard to the composition of social networks, there has been less focus on co-affiliation to primordial groups such as ethnic, religious or kinship groups as survey participants described the composition of social networks. This finding has to be received with a great caution as one may mistakenly consider it as an indication of irrelevance of such social network determinants. A threefold explanation can be offered: first, as it is suggested, identity is a relational concept. One defines themselves in relation to different others and in the absence of different others, be it ethnic, religious, gender and so forth, one may find

1 Kurds at least since the creation of Iraqi state have not been in any significant form of subordination relationships to Turkmens. Quite on the contrary, since 1991 and the creation of KRG, Kurds have taken upper hand vis-à-vis Turkmens. However, due to factors mentioned in Chapter 3, a level of negative attitude from the part of section of Kurds toward Turkmen has developed.

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no need to think or accentuate primordial affiliations. Second, workplace social networks, by their nature, are involuntary and as long as we are in the workplace we are obliged to involve in some sort of social networks with colleagues. Related to that is the fact that people spend considerable amount of time in workplace settings the fact that increases the potential for the creation of workplace-based social networks. Third, it should be noted that for substantial number of survey respondents still family, religion, nation, kinship, as primordial affiliations and institutions, remain significant. In this respect among a range of primordial groups, social networks with relatives and same-religion fellows strongly dominate the composition of social networks. Chapter 3 has examined the degree of penetration of politics in social networks. In this regard, findings indicate that social networks are not strongly politicized in terms of the discussion of political issues in social networks. More than half of survey respondents reported of no discussion or very limited discussion of political issues in their social networks. This result is consistent with relative absence of generalized trust in the Kurdish society and reportedly weak interest of respondents in politics. Nevertheless, there are differences in the level of politicization of social networks according to different demographic variables. Expectedly in a Kurdish context, women discuss politics less than men. On the contrary, women are more inclined to stay within the private sphere and to engage in family and personal-based rather than public-based issues such as politics. Moreover, consistent with results of the research concerning political aspects of inter-personal trust in Sulaimani, respondents reported on more political discussions in social networks. Respondents of Sulaimani had expressed an increased level of readiness to talk about politics in different social circles and a stronger willingness to convey political criticism. This fact may somewhat explain the existence of politics as a discussion topic in their social networks. Furthermore, and again in agreement with existing literature, educated people are more likely to discuss politics in social networks. Apparently, education has the potential to increase people’s interest in politics and to discuss political issues. Consistent with education, high-income earners revealed a stronger interest in politics. Moreover, older respondents have denser politicized social networks than younger respondents. On the other hand, political discussion, in spite of their relative paucity, takes place in heterogeneous social networks. Respondents have reported of having had social networks with people with different political views

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and affiliations. Apparently, compare to the first decade of transition, political consideration tends to have lost their significance in peoples’ life. For almost a decade in the 1990s, Kurdish society was deeply polarized in line with KDP/PUK cleavages. In many ways, the most social issues which in the first place seem to be apolitical were entirely political and as such many would tend to build friendships, decide about future spouses and so forth on the basis of political homophile principle. However, it is likely that due to an overall disappointment in the performance of political parties and the harmful consequences of civil war, for many hardline partisan attitudes gradually loosened and a kind of separation between what is political and what is social to have emerged into the surface. Not all political issues are of equal significance for respondents. The most discussed political issue in social networks is corruption in Kurdistan. However, broadly speaking, a differentiation can be made between two categories of political issues: political issues that are thought to have a direct and immediate effect on the lives of people and issues that are perceived to exert an indirect effect on their lives and as such doom to be of less presence in private discussions. Examples of the first category are corruption, the freedom of press and the performance of politicians. These are the topics which respondents talk about most as opposed to issues such as ethnic and religious tolerance, civil society and separation of authorities. Furthermore, political knowledge in terms of possessing information about political institutions, events and political process is another indicator for the level of interest in politics and motivation for civic engagement and political participation. Though one can argue the other way around too that political participation can augment knowledge about politics in general. Apparently, political knowledge about politics is not extensive. In the two cities surveyed, substantial portions of respondents failed to provide accurate knowledge to few questions that addressed some elements of political life in Kurdistan. Meanwhile, the level of political knowledge varies according to individual demographic variables. Once again, and in accordance with previous findings, male respondents from Sulaimani, older people, highly educated people and high-income earners, articulated higher levels of political knowledge. The categories that had exhibited interest in politics and engaged more in political discussions possess a richer political knowledge. This result affirms the relationship between interest in a given issue, on the one hand, and the inclination to accumulate knowledge about the same issue, on the other hand.

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Social capital, more specifically the degree of trustworthiness of social networks, should also be examined in relation to our confidence in the validity of information received from social networks. It is evident that media in Kurdistan, with its plural channels, conventional and new social media, constitute the major source of information about politics, economy, society, crime and so forth. To a lesser extent, our traditional social family and friend networks provide us with some knowledge about what goes on in our environment. Yet, when it comes to the extent to which we trust the information received from various sources, social capital-related sources tend to be trusted more. To put it in its simplest, though media channels in contemporary Kurdish society provide us with much of our information, it is reported to have been the least source of reliable information. On an opposite side, family members and relatives who make up for the minimum quantity of information received, they are perceived as the most trusted sources. Such a reality offers a further indicator for the dominance of particularized trust in the Kurdistan society. Hence, one can suggest that although we obtain a great deal of information from media, we largely confide information that comes from our very close or primordial social circles. The absence of generalized trust and a widespread disinterest in political discussions (in spite of regional and individual demographic variables) in social networks have resonations for the third element of social capital, PICP. In spite of unequal interest demonstrated to engage in public issues, one can straightforwardly discern a trend: it is obvious that issues related to economic development, basic needs and day-to-day living conditions are described as more important than issues that are associated with politics and democracy in long-run. Interest and inclination of communities to engage in collective action to address their common issues represent an extremely central element of social capital (see Chapter 1). In agreement with other elements of social capital (trust and social networks), detrimental low levels of collective action is observed. In the two cities surveyed, absence of Civic and Community-based Activities (CCBAs) is palpable. Among a variety of CCBAs, most respondents reported on participation in PTMs. However, the least participation is scored in serving on community committees. More importantly, a considerable portion of respondents reported on a complete disengagement in all forms of CCBAs. The correlation of individual demographic variables with engagement in CCBAs reveals some general trends: expectedly females are less likely to

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participate in almost all forms of CCBAs, except in PTMs in which they participated more. Another general trend is an increased level of engagement of respondents from Sulaimani, compare to Erbil, in all forms of CCBAs. This may echo relatively stronger level of generalized trust and a sturdier inclination to trust others with respect to discussion of political issues, the density and composition of social networks and their stronger interest in political and public issues. Surprisingly, however, is a decreased commitment and engagement of highly educated respondents in CCBAs. Although education has been correlated with having a politicized social network, more political discussions, and a denser social network, it is negatively correlated with CCBAs. Thus, there is an inconsistency between these two components of social capital, trust and social networks, for educated people and their level of civic participation. Finally, a positive correlation, though not statistically significant, between income and engagement in CCBAs is discernible. It is worth noting that although engagement in CCBAs is not vigorous in KRI, social capital remains significant for the engagement. Majority of surveyed respondents reported that their engagement in CCBAs has always been or has sometimes been based on a request from somebody in their social network. Hence, it would be possible to suggest that engagement in social networks, within which others are involved in CCBAs, will increase the possibility of a person’s potential engagement in civic activities. Additionally, in relation to CCBAs, there is a low level of engagement not only in collective, but also in individual reactions to problems of lack of services which occur in Kurdish communities. The bulk of respondents surveyed in the two cities of Erbil and Sulaimani have reported on chatting with their neighbors about the problem without being necessarily involved in any sort of action to solve the problem. Other possible reactions (such as forming a committee to address related government authorities, writing an individual article or a letter and so on) have rarely been reported on. Moreover, a substantial section of respondents stayed completely passive toward lack of basic services in their neighborhood. Overall, general trend is that of minimal engagement in CCBAs as a component of social capital in the Kurdistani society. Apparently, disengagement in CCBAs goes hand in hand with a general disengagement in collectivebased activities. Most activities that are practiced by interviewees in their normal life are of the individual-based type, i.e., activities that are done

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individually and in which the presence of others is not required. Additionally, in the context of examining indicators of PICP, findings demonstrate that political programs attract the least proportion of Kurdish TV viewers. A similar finding is detected with regard to newspaper subscriptions: results demonstrate that although vast majority of survey participants reported of reading newspapers, only an extremely tiny section of them have referred to newspaper subscription. The weakness of civic participation has further reflected in the excessive low levels of engagement in voluntary organizations: immense majority of surveyed participants in Erbil and Sulaimani have reported of having no membership in voluntary organizations. Obstacles, according to their importance, have been busyness (lack of time), disappointment with voluntary organizations’ effectiveness, disinterest and inactive recruitment for participation. Importantly, social capital seems to matter: a substantial proportion of surveyed respondents have pointed to “not being asked” as an explanation for disengagement in voluntary organizations. This implies that if they were invited by their social networks, they would have been more likely to participate in these organizations. Such a reality is another indicator for the significance of informal recruitment and obsoleteness of formal mobilization procedures in the Kurdish context. While the methodology of this work does not allow us to establish causal link between the three components of social capital (trust, social networks and civic engagement), it is obviously the case that three components are mutually reinforcing, in either negative or positive directions. To put it in its simplest, for social capital to turn to a democracy conducive political culture, a satisfactory level of harmony between the three components remains to be essential: social networks no matter how dense and heterogeneous they are, if not accompanied by pervasiveness of generalized trust can hardly pave the ground for political discussions and especially where the discussion deal with sensitive political criticism. The aforementioned findings confirm how the three ingredients of social capital (trust, social networks and PICP) go together and produce a form of a social capital which its potential for grassroots politics and civic participation diminishes expressively.

Analytical Framework This section attempts to unravel the broader context that contributed to the molding of social capital in KRI. In so doing, the section commences by an examination of legacy of Ba’th’s oppressive and extremely violent

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rule in Kurdistan and the impact of civil war on social capital. The analytical framework then is stretched to scrutinize the potential impacts of economic hardships of 1991–2003 and the overriding sense of injustice on social capital. In this framework, a special attention will be devoted to mass proliferation of clientalistic networks and corruption. Finally, the section will examine state social welfare philosophy and the centrality of family as a prevailing social institution in Kurdish society. Although state and family have often been portrayed to function radically differently, as it will be argued, they proved to have had similar ramifications for social capital. The Legacy of Ba’th Rule and the Kurdish Civil War: Politics as a Risky Sphere The grip of power by Ba’thists in Iraq since 1968, and specifically since the ascendancy of Saddam Hussein to the top hierarchy of Ba’th party and the state in 1979, marks a radical surge in the scale of violence in the country. The state under Hussein put in place the harshest forms of violence and punishment against political rivals collectively and individually: collective guilt of communities or perceived threat coming from communities shaped much of state’s violent strategies against Kurdish and Shi’a Arab communities of Iraq. In this regard, atrocities of the expulsion of hundreds of thousands of Kurdish Shi’a Failis in early 1980s, the genocide of Barzanis in 1983, the chemical bombardment of Halabja town in 1988 and the same year’s Anfal campaign and drying out the marshlands in the wake of Shi’a population uprising of 1991 are obvious examples of violence which targeted a whole community irrespective of individual responsibilities in anti-regime actions. Amid that, and perhaps most inimical to social capital was more subtle forms of oppressive mechanisms that Ba’th developed to monitor the society and to chase clandestine activists. Dina Rizk Khoury (2010) while suggests that Ba’th party was not sectarian the way the Iraqi state turned to be in the aftermath of 2003 war is right when she argues that the “logic of security and obedience” fundamentally shaped the behavior and policy of Ba’th to Shi’a and Kurdish communities. As the threat was perceived to come most likely from certain communities (Shi’a and Kurds), much of oppressive and brutal practices of the regime targeted these communities. Whatever it may be, whether Ba’th oppressive policies were molded by sectarian concerns, shaped by rigid Pan-Arab nationalist frameworks or just reflected

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concerns about regime survival, the ultimate result remained to revolve around spreading extensive form of violence against rivals and to reward the state cooperators. Ba’th was exceptionally successful in terrifying its subjects not only by forms of collective punishment, but also through implanting wide-spread, what I call horizontal networks of citizenry espionage. Local Ba’th informants were recruited and implanted in every corner of life: from families, to neighborhoods to state offices and so forth. I personally came across many of my acquaintances in the first years of the removal of Ba’th in Iraqi Kurdistan, who would say that “we did not dare to talk badly about regime or Saddam even in the presence of our children”. By this, they did not mean to say that they were suspicious of their children, however, they were fearful that their children may reveal what their parents would say in casual chatting with other children with the possibility of this being leaked to other “suspicious parents and adults”. In certain instances, Ba’th tried to arrange the physical environment for such a horizontal network of citizenry espionage to function as smooth as possible: for example, in compulsory settlements created in many parts of Kurdistan in the 1980s, where mostly people from rural and mountainous areas were gathered and because they were thought to be supporters of Kurdish guerrillas, they were instructed to share a single exterior wall of their houses with their adjacent neighbors. In this case, each two adjacent houses would share a wall made of one vertical layer. The purpose behind such a physical arrangement, as I was told by many, was to allow sound to easily transmit across walls and, therefore, to let neighbors to eavesdrop on each other. These oppressive policies, though understudied and if studied it has mostly been in the context of Ba’th macro-policies, proved to have hazardous micro-level consequences as subjects ended up becoming harshly guarded of one another and the tendency to trust others regarding political activities reduced to its minimum level. Ba’th sectarian and ethnic policies, furthermore, left destructive imprints for inter-community social capital. An enormous body of research (e.g., Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Anderson and Stansfield 2009; Davis 2010; Dawisha 2008; Khoury 2010; Haddad 2011; Rydgren and Sofi 2011; Rydgren et al. 2013) has recently examined how these policies affected communal relations between Shi’a and Sunni Arabs; Kurds, Arabs and Turkmens; and how minorities have been prosecuted. These policies have had more noticeable and direct complications in ethnically diverse parts of the country in Baghdad, Kirkuk, Nineveh, Diyala

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and al-Salahaddin. More object accounts have gone to suggest that diversity of Iraqi communities on its own has never been the root cause of latest sectarian and ethnic conflicts, it is rather the state policies and discrimination formed around sectarian or ethnic agendas which have triggered conflict and violence. Bob Dodge (2003) correctly suggests that among the four structural problems he identifies for Iraqi state to have struggled with throughout its history, the manipulation and exacerbation of communal divisions as a strategy of rule is an important one.2 In the years followed 2003 war, the violent expression of sectarianism and ethnic conflict and growing social and geographic segregation (e.g., Damluji 2010; Haddad 2011; Rydgren et al. 2013; PAX for Peace 2015) was partly, but importantly, a reaction to nasty injustices of Iraq’s Ba’th past. Another theme of Ba’th rule in Iraq was imposing a taboo on any form of party politics and civil society in the country. A kind of vigor multiparty system which thrived under monarchy 1921–19583 since the 1958 republic coup was radically eliminated. In certain cases, even a simple membership in opposing political parties was sentenced to death. In fact, under Hussein, the Ba’th itself as a party lost its significance to the power of one person. Anderson and Stansfield (2004) correctly summarize the evolvement of Iraq from multi-party monarchy to the rule of single Ba’th party 1968–1979 to one-person rule from the arrival of Saddam Hussein in 1979 and onwards. Consistently, any signs of a civil society independent from the state did not exist in Iraq under Ba’th’s rule: professional syndicates and unions were all under the shadow of the Ba’th and media was altogether state media. From a social capital standpoint, the legacy of Ba’th manifested itself in the creation of a suspicious society where individuals were not able to trust one another and wide-scale deprivation from engagement in political and civic life. Essentially, politics and civil life were clearly divided

2 Dodge (2003, p. 169) points out to four interlinked structural problems that shaped Iraqi history from its foundation to the collapse of Ba’th in 2003: the excessive use of organized violence by the state to dominate and shape the society (this is impeccably true of Ba’th rule 1968–2003); the use of state resources (jobs, aid and patronage) to buy the loyalty of society or certain sections of society; the use of oil revenues to strengthen the state’s autonomy from the society; and finally, the manipulation and exacerbation of communal divisions as a strategy of rule. 3 For an account on political pluralism in Iraq during the Monarchy Iraq see (Batatu 1978; Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Dawisha 2005).

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between either being member in Ba’th party and its oppressive apparatuses or being active in clandestine opposition circles. It is important to note that survival of clandestine opposition circles throughout the Ba’th rule should not be regarded as an indicator of general trust. The reason is twofold: first, most of clandestine political circles (what broadly in Kurdish called rekhstni nehyni: Secret Organizations, rekhstnekani Shar: city organizations) would consist of handful individuals who due to fears of being dismantled, tried hard to keep the circle size as small and as trustable as possible and second, that clandestine activists would do their best to keep themselves as unobservable as possible not only by state apparatuses but also by many other local networks of citizenry espionage. In important ways, the legacy of Ba’th rule was prolonged in the years of transition: the Kurdish civil war 1994–1997 between KDP and PUK, not only throughout the years of the violent conflict, but also in the years followed the 1998 peace settlement, proved to have harmful ramifications for social capital in Kurdistan. Civil war and violent division of Kurdistan between exclusively KDP and PUK controlled zones established the ground for the prosecution and chasing members of the two political parties in their respective territories of control. The two parties utilized various methods to monitor the society in general and specifically to screen the behavior of members of the rival party. In this regard, the fact that the two parties enjoyed having party-based intelligence services assisted them significantly to detect any suspicious or real aggressive activities committed by members of the other political party. In this framework, the notorious was the role played by what in everyday language have been called “report writers” (raport nus or the Arabic word of teqrir nus ). Report writers have been and are still those who are expected to report on the behavior and speeches of others, especially in workplace or public settings, to political party offices or intelligence services. Many people, particularly in public settings, are reluctant to reveal their true positions and ideas feared that report writers will report on them which ultimately may bring about harmful consequences for the person or for the entire family of the person. In the era of violent conflict, the reaction to antagonistic ideas or undesirable behavior was a physical punishment or arrest. Later on, reactions became more subtle and revolved mostly around institutional discrimination and deprivation from state privileges and resources. Even with the reunification of the region from 2005 forwards, the composition of state personnel in the two KDP and PUK zones reflected almost perfectly the political division of the region: overwhelming majority of employees

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in well-paid and high in the hierarchy in KDP zone are occupied by KDP members and vice versa. Another wave of discrimination took place with the rise of Goran movement as this time PUK launched a massive purge of Goran supporters (what Goran would name them szadrawany siasi: politically punished individuals) from state institutions. Furthermore, as stated in Chapter 4, civil society and media, apart from a thin stream of more “independent” civil society which rose to the surface in the last decade, civil society in Kurdistan has mostly grown in the womb of political parties and that similarly most of media tended to be party medias. All in all, the key legacy of civil war was that politics entrenched further as risky endeavor: engagement in any form of perceived antagonistic party activities could have brought a range of unfavorable consequences. Likewise, an independent civil and political life did not find a fertile soil to put its roots in. Economic Hardships and Injustice As elaborated on in Chapter 2, KRI as a result of a twin economic embargos imposed on the region underwent a severe economic hardship in the 1990s. The economic hardship had already been exacerbated by Kurdistan’s almost entire loss of its agrarian base in the 1980s and the civil war that swept the region in the years to come. Unprecedentedly, state resources and opportunities, furthermore, became scarce. In this context, harsh competition over the rare available resources became a bitter reality for many and resort to clientalistic (will be discussed in upcoming sections) and corruption became the only available route to secure a minimum level of life necessities. In the broader context of Iraq, a recent line of research (e.g., Dawisha 2008; Yousif 2010; Haddad 2011, 2013) has placed emphasis on the impacts of economic hardships of the 1990s on the rise of sectarian identities and an overall re-emergence of primordial identities of tribalism, clan or family lineages. Consistently, from an existential theory perspective, Inglehart et al. (2006) have shown that the belief that one’s safety and physical survival is at risk explain greatly Iraqi grassroots tendency to recede to primordial family and ethnic in-groups and that it has made sections of them to be xenophobic about others. Inglehart et al. (2006) suggest that extreme economic hardships coupled with the wide-scale violence of the first decade of transition in Iraq are likely to have strengthened primordial social ties and to have prevented cross-sectional trust to develop in the country. These remarks seem to

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be relevant to KRI’s context as well: the inability of Kurdish authorities, especially, in the formative and consolidation years (Chapter 2) to maintain the high “distributive capacity” (in Martin Bunton’s 2008 terminology) of Ba’th regime (particularly in 1970s and even to some extent throughout the years of Iraq-Iran war 1980–1988) allowed the informal networks based on kinship to fill in the vacuum left by the recession of the state. Equally important is, as it has widely been the case, the prevalent sense of injustice: a belief that resources are not distributed equally. A survey shows that (73.7%) of respondents in the two cities Erbil and Sulaimani, believe or strongly believe, that the wealth in Kurdistan is not distributed in a fair way. Uslaner (2002) establishes the link between feelings of injustice to the creation of widespread feelings of hatred and antagonism: as people come to believe that they are not treated equally and some have larger illegitimate access to resources, specifically to public resources, antagonistic cleavages between privileged and deprived grow widely. This has been a central theme of Kurdish society in the first decade of transition and entrenched even further from 2005 onwards. After the 2003 war and the recognition of KRI as an autonomous part of Iraqi federal state according to Iraqi constitution of 2005, much greater resources poured into KRG’s hands.4 Thanks to the flow of financial resources from Baghdad, KRG managed to restore much of the distribute capacity it had lost before5 : by 2008 per capita GDP increased from 524,426 IQD to 4,754, 942 IQD (cited in Noori 2018, p. 167). Although in the years preceding

4 Figures presented by Ari Mamshae (2019, p. 101) point to a drastic rise of KRG’s financial resources between 2004 and 2014: for example, between 2003 and 2008, the KRG’s national income rose from 4373 billion IQD to 30,224 billion IQD in 2008; the budget of Sulaimani governorate from 2003 witnessed an increase from 200 million US$ to 1 billion US$; in 2013, KRG received 15 billion US$ from Baghdad making up 96% of the total KTG revenues. 5 In many areas of life noticeable developments took place: for example, number of schools almost doubled between 2004 and 2011 (with 3280 schools in 2004 and 5, 921 schools in 2011). Additionally, number of public hospitals in the same period of life rose from 14 to 64 hospitals (cited in Noori 2018, p. 167).

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the 2014 economic crisis6 and the fight against ISIL, noticeable improvements happened in the living conditions for wide sections of Kurdish society, it never led to disappearance of feelings of injustice and deprivation in Kurdistan. In the previous chapter, a brief reference was made to relative deprivation as a trigger of most of grievance and protest movements of 2011 and other waves of protest that followed. As resource began to be distributed unequally on the basis of clientalistic networks, feelings of deprivation grew rapidly. It is worth noting, that compare to the years of 1990s economic hardship where people tended to accept their bitter reality in terms of the impacts that external factors, beyond the will of KRG, had on the scarcity of resources, lately, despite the living improvements, the dominant commonsense went to accuse KRG of mismanagement and of sharpening the gulf between an extremely rich minority and larger segments of the population. Critics accused KRG of pouring large amounts of money or by guaranteeing business project to its clients. Therefore, the gap began to widen between those who in a blink of an eye turned out to be most prosperous and those, not necessarily poor in its absolute meaning, whose life improvements, lagged far behind the prosperous ones. What made these feelings to get further ingrained was twofold: first, are the physical manifestations of the inequality embodied in the creation of new highclass and luxurious neighborhoods in the major city centers and other apparent expressions of consumption behavior such as possessing expensive cars and modern technologies and so on. In certain instances, special names were coined to convey pejorative messages to these neighborhoods: for example, a neighborhood in Duhok and in Sulaimani are called hey ferai’’ine (neighborhood of Pharaohs), in Erbil a neighborhood is named dolarawa (neighborhood of dollars). Second, the wide coverage of injustice and corruption in media, especially the opposition media, and its resonance on social media made it an issue of extensive existence not only in public sphere, but also in private and casual conversations. As already stated in Chapter 3, corruption has been among the most discussed issue in social networks.

6 The 2014 economic crisis resulted from a combination of multitude factors: a drastic fall of global oil prices, Baghdad-Erbil disagreements and the cut of KRI’s budget, fight against ISIL, the massive flow of Iraqi IDPs and Syrian refuges, corruption and mismanagement of KRG.

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In brief, injustices, real or perceived, accurately described or just exaggerated, is suggested to explain the social stratification of Kurdish society: the division of society, for the most part, is not an absolute division of haves and have-nots: it is rather a division between who secured an illegitimate access to public resources and those who deprived from having an equal right to access to resources. In this context, relative progress of living conditions prior to 2014 for masses of the populace did not bring about a comparable generation of feelings of life satisfaction. This form of relative deprivation resulted from a comparison an individual, or a group of people, hold between their resources and that of others, has been quite commonplace and it shapes great deal the attitudes of hate and hostility toward privileged sections of society. It is worth noting that despite of the economic aspect of these grievances, they have never been formulated in terms of a class struggle. The grievances, rather, have been presented as an outcome of corruption and governance mismanagements and to have affected large segments of the population. The Proliferation of Clientalistic Networks Apparently, a suitable definition of clientalism for the purposes of the section is the one provided by scholars of political exchange theory: according to Eisenstadt and Roniger (1984 cited in Irwani 2015, p. 29), clientalism is “a form of personal, mutual exchange usually characterized by a sense of obligation and often also by an unequal balance of power between the sides involved”. Examples of clientalism are many ranging from offering jobs, land, salaries, pensions, protections and so forth. In the context of these relationships, the patron (e.g., state, political parties, influential figures and so on), in exchange for securing the backing and loyalty of client/s, is willing to offer certain privileges to the client/s. Abdullah et al. (2018) list the main features of a clientalistic relations to revolve around differences (diversity of material transactions such as job, land, pensions and so forth), longevity (the continuation of clientalistic relations over time as opposed for it to be confined to a single transaction in a specific point of time), Obligatoriness (this is especially true of older forms of clientalistic relations, perhaps in feudal societies where in return for protection, peasants were expected to maintain loyalty to the patrons), Collective/dyadic (as a clientalistic relation could consist of two individuals or between patrons and groups of people such as a having a community

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or a group of people as a client) and reciprocity (which entails that the client complies with the obligations resulted from the relationship). Clientalism is by no means a phenomenon to have been born after the commencement of political transition in KRI after 1991: it is, rather, has been a long-standing cultural practice and, in parallel, a state policy before any transition to take place. Culturally, clientalistic relations in the traditional context of Kurdish society, though not necessarily always has been limited to non-urban settings, manifested itself in the forms of protection that traditional leaders such as Aghas and Sheikhs would provide to their parishes in return for them to stay loyal to the patrons by serving in Diwekhans (guest house) or by working for the patron’s in agrarian related activities such as farming or raising animals. Up until very recently it was commonplace that in the cases of tribal feuds, parties of the conflict, to take refuge in the houses of traditional leaders, sometimes, for relatively long periods of time serving the protectors until a tribal feud settlement could become possible. In certain cases, this form of patron-client relations would last for long times. Clientalistic relations could not be confined to protection-based examples: it has been also conventional that those traditional leaders who occasionally themselves engaged in clientalistic relations with state authorities (institutions and/or officials) where they were in positions of clients to state patrons, played the role of intermediaries and served to secure the access of their clients to state resources: in this scenario, a multi-layer clientalistic relations could develop where state at the top served as the main patron, to be followed by traditional leaders in positions of client to state but also patron in their relations to the third layer of clients who would rely on them to have access to the resources of the patron located at the top of hierarchy. In the absence of an effective rational/legal power (by using Max Weber’s terminology) and a historical lack of meritocracy, these forms of clientalism have always found a fertile soil to flourish on. Moreover, clientalism tended to be state policy in both pre- and posttransition KRI: the preferential treatment of tribal structures, or rather tribal and other traditional leaders, is as old as the age of the Iraqi state. In his book The Old Social Classes and The Revolutionary Movements in Iraq 1978/first book, Hanna Batatu points to Tribal Disputes Regulations of 1918 issued by English authorities before the creation of Iraqi state to have the force of law and how, as a result of insistence of British mandate authority, the law of land throughout the monarchic Iraq as per to the articles 113 and 114 of the Iraqi constitution of 1925 excluded

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the countryside from the purview of the national law. In consequence, as Batatu suggests down to 1958 republic revolution, Iraq remained to be governed by two sets of norms: one for cities and for countryside (p. 24). Martin Bunton (2008) reads it in the framework of Primordialization legacy of English rule in Iraq. Bunton suggests that relying on conservative and tribal leadership was instrumental in achieving two important goals: maintain what in colonial circle would be called “the natural order of society” as conservative leadership could play an essential role in the protection of order and, second, the enforcement of tribal leaders was indispensable to prevent any outright consolidation of King’s power to happen, divide and rule principle. Regime change in 1958 did not bring about an end to this policy: quite on the contrary, especially in Kurdistan, the reinforcement of tribal leader power was followed in much larger scale. This time, tribes and tribal leaders were manipulated heavily in the counterinsurgency practices against Kurdish nationalist movement. Pouring state resources into many tribal leaders’s hand and, through them, to their patrons and their mobilization against Kurdish fighters was a common policy of different regimes. Under Ba’th, the tribal leaders and their armed individuals who fought their co-ethnic Kurds were named Fursan al-Salahaddin (Knights of alSalahaddin as a reference to Salahaddin Al-Ayyubi) whereas they were pejoratively called by Kurds as Jash (young of donkey). In certain situations, the rivalry between tribes was influential as to which side the whole tribe would take: if a rival tribe was on government’s side against Kurdish movement, the other direct tribal rival, normally from the same geographic area, would alliance with Kurdish movement against government. Hamit Bozarslan (2006) contends that Kurdish nationalist movement has always had to take into account tribal leaders whether as an ally or as an enemy not in Iraqi Kurdistan but also in other parts of Kurdistan divided by neighboring countries. He suggests that as central states were able to mobilize tribes against Kurdish movement, by the same way, Kurdish movement was also capable of mustering tribes against central movements. This paved the way, as Martin Van Bruinessen (1992) describes it for an ambivalent relationship between Kurdish movement and tribal structures. Bruinessen eloquently states: Kurdish nationalism and the tribal and religious loyalties stand in an ambivalent relation to each other. On the one hand, the first Kurdish nationalists were from the ranks of the traditional authorities, shaikhs and

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aghas. It was, in fact, precisely because of the primordial loyalties to these leaders and to the values they embodied that the nationalist movement acquired its mass character. On the other hand, the perpetual conflicts and rivalries between these traditional leaders prevented and still prevent the Kurds from really uniting. The very fact that a certain chieftain participated in the nationalist movement was often sufficient reason for his rivals to oppose it, and most commoners followed their chieftains without question. Even in Iraqi Kurdistan in 1974, when nationalist sentiment was quite general, and when a decisive war between the Kurdish national movement and the Iraqi regime broke out, it was in many cases the chieftains’ position that decided whether a tribe would join the Kurdish movement, try to remain neutral, or actively oppose it. P. 7

Iraqi government policy with respect to the manipulation of tribal structures in counterinsurgency paved the ground for further consolidation of massive multi-layer clientalistic networks: as abovementioned, tribal leaders stand in the middle in a dual simultaneous client and patron relations to the state and tribal fellows. Their close ties with state allowed them to use multiple resources to secure employment (real or ghost), salaries, land, protection and so forth. In this context, employment in the name of ghost employee was commonplace. In essence, a ghost employee is a recent description for an old phenomenon in Kurdish and Iraqi society: basically ghost employees were those who were on salary payrolls of government without for them to be in active service. Occasionally, even the name was all imaginary and therefore the whole salary would go to the patron. In other instances, patron and client would agree on an arrangement for the distribution of the salary: often the patron would deduct half of the client’s salary and, in return, the client would receive half of the payment but without engagement in any work-related activities. As it will be clear similar practices prolonged in the transition period. Throughout the transition period, the same clientalistic relations were conventional; however, still an important difference was there to be noticed: the new development in clientalism reflected in the emergence of multiple patrons as opposed to the existence of one single and main patron at the top of hierarchical multi-layer clientalistic network, the state. This is what it meant by proliferation of clientalistic networks. As mentioned in Chapter 2, according to IKF’s arrangement in the early days of transition, the entirety of KRI’s revenues was distributed among political parties represented in IKF in accordance with their estimated constituency in Kurdistan. This arrangement allowed political parties to

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misuse what was used to be state resources to expand clientalistic networks and ultimately to broaden their constituency. As KDP and PUK enjoyed the largest access to resources, they had much greater latitude of forming this sort of networks. After the creation of KRG in 1992, state resources turned out to concentrate rather extensively in the hands of parties in the government. This time although resources would not directly be distributed to political parties the way it would happen under IKF, still parties in government, thanks to their participation, had a room to use resources to serve partisan ends. Each party in government, in accordance with their share of government, could provide employment opportunities and other financial resources to their members, mostly on nonmeritocratic basis. Individuals with stronger ties with influential people in government or political parties were more likely to secure better access to the available resources. This has been an endemic structural characteristic in KRI. It is worth to note, that the development of clientalistic networks has not always been an outcome of political calculation and the attempt of political parties to enlarge their constituency: in fact, clientalism has transformed to a cultural expectation. In a survey in (2007), Khedir finds that vast majority of respondents expect their relatives or friends in government to offer them a preferential treatment. In many cases, patron-client relationships are formed irrespective of the political affiliation of patron or that of the client: when your cousin, for instance, is city mayor, you expect him to offer you a special treatment even if one does not belong the same political party of them. In spite of the scarcity of data, available figures point to massive proliferation of clientalistic relations in KRI7 : a member of Kurdistan Parliament had stated that 1026 people have been retired with ranks of minister, deputy minister and general directors in spite of the fact that so far KRG has only had six governmental cabinets. Another MP had referred to 404 retired women in different military hierarchies of KRG without having any previous involvement in military services (cited in Abdullah et al.

7 Clientalistic relations are as common in Baghdad government: in his first speech in

Iraqi parliament the then Prime Minister Haider al-Abadi (2014–2018) had said that “in four Iraqi army sections, which included 100,000 soldiers, 50,000 were unreal and called ghosts”. Moreover, According to a former official in Baghdad, ‘people may be employed for 1–5 days and then retire, based on their affiliation to a specific political party (cited in Abdullah et al. 2018).

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2018, p. 673). Interestingly clientalism, in many ways, has shaped government policies: Irwani (2015) makes comparison between two social welfare policies of KRG (Social Security Program [SSP] and The Rights and Privileges to Families of Martyrs and Genocide Survivors [RPFMGSs]) and finds that beneficiaries of the later, due to the fact that overwhelming majority come from the ranks of KDP and PUK, are treated in preferential way compare to beneficiaries of SSP whose beneficiaries belong to non-politically affiliated individuals. It is worth mentioning that clientalistic relations transcend individuals to include civil society organizations as well. As stated in Chapter 4, political parties have established and funded many organizations and without the financial support of political parties, they would find difficult to survive in any meaningful way. Perhaps the exception is a fragment of civil society which arose after 2009, that managed to establish organizational networks with international funders and civil society. Nevertheless, this newly emerged section of civil society is also likely to not fully have freed itself from clientalistic relations: it is true that they are not in clientalistic relations with KRI’s political parties, but they still could engage in a new form of clientalism, this time it is with international patrons. Finally, clientalism can be seen as a manifestation of what Putnam (2000) names the dark sides of social capital. Clientalism, itself, is a form of social capital which allows for the formation of a sort of social networks that serve the private and, often, selfish interest of the ones involved, patron and client. In KRI’s context, clientalism left many beyond and deprived from state resources, simply due to lack of involvement in clientalistic networks not as a result of merit deficits. Furthermore, as clientalistic networks have often developed along tribal or regional lines, primordial divisions tended to become rather evident. Even in urban contexts, clientalism on the basis of tribal affiliations not only has not disappeared, but it has recently become further ingrained. Michael Leezenberg (2006, p. 152) correctly suggests that tribalism should not be understood as a past leftover, it is, rather a mechanism for continuation of patron-client relations in the urban settings. What is more, although clientalism itself is a form and a consequence of the existence of corruption, it, in turn, has heavily breed corruption. Clientalism involves expectations which most often are about allowing clients to gain access to something they are not entitled to or to secure easier access to resources they are according to the law are entitled to. To explain this point an example could be helpful: according to the rules and regulations, every eligible citizen has the right

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to apply for an Iraqi passport and for one to apply a clear track route is in place. However, many in order to skip long queues and to get their passports faster, they resort to patrons who are willing to support in this regard in the hope of having a return from the client in the future or simply to satisfy cultural expectations. Meanwhile, clientalism seems to have harmed civil society in much worse way: civil society organizations ended up becoming clients of political parties or their important figures. As they depend on the financial backing of their patrons, they largely lost much of their independence and agency. In certain situations, any line between what is a political party and what is a civil society organization disappears completely. Reflecting fundamentally this reality, many tend to consider civil society as annexes to political parties. What has made this tendency stronger is the fact that substantial number of civic activists, who used to be influential icons of civil society, became members of political parties, took important bureaucratic position in government or run for parliamentary or provincial council elections. State Welfare Policy and a Family-Centered Society: Squeezing the Middle Arena The growing state revenues resulted from a drastic increase of oil wealth since the end of the 1950s directed Iraq’s economy to fit powerfully with what is called a rentier economy.8 State revenues witnessed a sharp rise from 1.5 million in 1941 to 79.8 million USD in 1958 (Bunton 2008, p. 637) and reached its height with the Nationalization of Oil Industry in June 1972. In 1974, oil revenues were expected to be ten times higher than it was in 1972 (Anderson and Stansfield 2004). From state-society relations standpoint, this paved the ground for the occurrence of unfavorable consequences: to begin with, thanks to the new revenues, Iraqi state, specifically under Ba’th, managed to strengthen the arm which would hold the carrot alongside the arm which would grab the stick. In the first section of this chapter, the focus was placed on the use of violence as a Ba’th strategy to control the society, but certainly that was not enough;

8 Bablawi identifies the main characteristics of a rentier economy to revolve around (1) predominance of rent situation, (2) reliance on substantial external rent, (3) engagement of a minority of the population in the production and the involvement of majority of the population in its distribution and utilization, and (4) the government is the main recipient of the rent (cited in Mamshae 2019, p. 100).

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the state also was in dire need to have adequate resources to reward collaborators or to tame segments of its rivals. Research on Iraq (Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Bunton 2008; Dawisha 2003, 2005, 2008, and 2009; Haddad 2011) has shown how economic incentives and modernization (specifically education) used to integrate Iraqi Shi’a population into Iraqi state. Additionally, but not peculiar to Iraq as a rentier economy, not only the state became categorically independent from society, but the society also progressively turned out to be dependent on state. Toby Dodge (2003) provides an insightful political economy account on how growing oil revenues created the ground for the emergence of what he calls shadow state with enormous economic capacity to produces flexible networks of clientalism (examined in the previous section). A major articulation of the increasing hegemony of state was tying individuals up directly to state and removing any form of civil society and professional unions to function in the middle arena between state and individuals. Available figures with respect to outright reliance of society on the state are striking (Dodge 2003, p. 160): for example, the number of Iraqis employed by state from 1958 to 1977 rose from 20,000 to 580,000 with an additional estimated 430,000 recruited in army and security forces. In the aftermath of Gulf War 1990–1991, figures point to employment of 21% of the labor force by state and the direct dependence of 40% of household on state payments. This in addition to state’s universal ration system which would provide food baskets on monthly basis almost to all Iraqis irrespective of individual/family economic situations and needs. Although throughout the years of economic sanctions running the ration system was exceptionally difficult, the USC resolution 986 in May 1996 or what was called OFFP (see Chapter 2) allowed for the restoration of the system. While it is true that the years of Iraq-Iran war (1980–1988) and later on economic sanctions of 1990–2003, damaged greatly the economic capacity of state and that most of the scarce available resources was distributed on clientalistic basis, the dependence of society and individuals on the state remained to be defining feature of Iraqi’s political economy.9 9 The scarcity of state resources forced the state to distribute the available resources on the basis of clientalism: to protect regime and its ultimate survival, the resources had to go to the hands of those who remained sincere to regime. In this regard, sections of republican guard, security services and close tribal groups to the family of Saddam received the most. As already stated in this chapter, many argue that economic hardships and the intensification of clientalistic networks was instrumental in re-emergence of sectarian and tribal identities in Iraq (e.g., see Dodge 2003; Bunton 2008; Yousif 2010; Haddad 2011).

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KRI prolonged and even intensified this trend: once again existing data point to not only how large sections of society kept to rely on the government, but also to endemic corruption in the state employment sector. According to Demographic Survey: Kurdistan Region of Iraq (2018), the public sector constitutes the main source of income in KRI: with two-thirds of households on the government payroll because at least one person from the family is on payroll list (47%) or is a petitioner (18%). Meanwhile, private sector provides jobs for nearly 30% and agriculture for 6% of individuals. The recently conducted mandatory biometric registration of KRG refers to the employment of 1,249,000 individuals on the public payroll. Previous number (Mamshae 2019, p. 102) estimated 1,378,000 on the payroll list: 682,000 in active public service and the rest are pensioners. Interestingly, the biometric registration had detected the existence of 62,000 individuals with double or more payments from the government and an overall 55,000 ghost employees. Furthermore, from 2010 onwards mislead by high oil prices, the flow of budget from Baghdad and as a reaction to 2011 demonstrations, KRG launched expensive social welfare programs such as social benefits; business, agricultural and marriage loans; subsidized energy and health care; Human Capacity Building Program and so on. The outcome of that all has been the emergence of extremely expensive government to run and a highly dependent society on state’s direct payments and social benefits it exclusively runs. This has been the case in KRI which inherited this form of state and prolonged it until 2010s when KRG began to implement relatively enormous structural changes in line with neoliberal policies. Yet KRG failed to change grassroots perception about the role of state in society. In accordance with neoliberal reforms, KRG implemented sharp reductions in the number of people it recruit; it privatized large parts of education and health services which resulted in growing number of private schools, universities and hospitals. According to figures of Ministry of EducationKRG, 310 private kindergartens, primary and secondary schools and institutes have operated in the region for the academic year 2017–2018. A total 59,995 pupils and students enrolled in private schools and institutes with 6202 teachers in service (Ministry of Education-KRG’s Web site). Likewise, a wave of privatization has been recorded in higher education: statistics of Ministry of Higher Education and Scientific Research-KRG (2019) point to the existence of nineteen private universities and fourteen private institutes in the region while no private university had ever

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run in KRI in 2004. Nonetheless, privatization of sectors which have traditionally used to be exclusive domain of state has not been accompanied by changes in the grassroots expectations about the state. State in KRI has commonly been expected to practice the typical tasks associated with the role of Father in a patriarchal society: many tend to believe that state must employ youths, provide them with marriage loans, guarantee free education and health services, offer accommodation and so forth. Recent waves of protest and grievance in KRI, partially but importantly, resonate the tension between a state unable or unwilling to deliver most of its conventional responsibilities and a society which expect the state to perform those old responsibilities. Whatever it may be, from a social capital viewpoint, one can suggest that the fact that state has almost been exclusive provider of jobs and a host of social benefits and services, even during the recent neoliberal reforms, eliminated any need for other intermediary structures (civil society and other forms of associational life) to share the responsibilities that state had tasked itself to. Interestingly, up until recently KRG had a special ministry for human rights before it realizes that such a task would better be left to independent state bodies or civil society. Therefore, one of the central explanations for the absence of a vigor associational life in KRI is the historical enormous role the state played in the lives of people. Overtime, a grassroots attitude toward state as a father, responsible to feed its subjects, has consolidated. Additionally, the centrality of family, immediate or extended, has been at the expense of civil society in KRI. In a post-communist context, Sotiropoulos (2005) and Howard (2005) have examined the impact of primordial groups on engagement in voluntary organizations and found that the ability of primordial groups of family, informal social networks or racial and ethnic groups to provide individuals with a range of needs ultimately made any reliance on secondary organizations unnecessary. This observation has great applicability to the Kurdish context: family and tribal-based networks, even in urban settings, alongside with state, have often contributed to fulfillment of individual needs for security and physical needs. This role has often been more obvious in times of crisis and insecurity where state has been unable to maintain those needs. Besides, in certain situations, family and tribal structures saved individuals from the tyranny of state and its oppressive apparatuses. In the days of Ba’th rule in KRI, where a member of family or tribe was chased by the state, they would be guaranteed a safe haven by other members of family or

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tribe. In most of the cases, trust in family members or even in extended family is taken for granted and up until very recently, internal marriage was the most preferred form of marriage. Although state and family have functioned in accordance with different frameworks and rationales, their centrality in Kurdish society squeezed any need for intermediary structures of civil society and voluntary organizations. Essentially, for whatever needs, an individual would have resorted to state or family or to both of them together, but not to other actor in any significant way.

Conclusions Social capital in KRI reflects impeccably the reality of state-society relations which preceded the commence of transition to democracy and the one which was prolonged relatively significantly throughout the years of transition. To put it in its simplest, social capital in Kurdistan is the outcome of interaction of a host of structural (chiefly state policies) and cultural (mainly societal fears and expectations) influences that defined state and society (communities, groups and individuals) relationships. In this chapter, it was argued that social capital in Kurdistan locates in the junction where four major influences join: to begin with, Ba’th overarching policy predicated on “security and obedience” resulted in the rising of a monster state: suspicious of its subjects and ready to use severest methods of violence against (potential) rivals. While large parts of violence targeted specific communities as collectives, the violence and tyranny went further down to direct individuals as well. Implanting horizontal networks of citizenry espionage was crucial not for the state to fulfill its task of monitoring and chasing rivals, but also to spread mutual fear and suspicion among people. Kurdish civil war, separation of the region in its aftermath and mutual hunting campaigns against rivals contributed to the consolidation of the legacy that had made political activism risky and a scourge for individuals and communities in the first place. A second central thread is traced to economic hardships, though more importantly to the impacts of injustice and corruption. Injustices, perceived or real, associated with distribution of wealth in the region explains great deal the existence of a sense of pessimism and hostility between those who have larger, often illegitimate, access to state resources and those who deprived from having the same access. Feelings of injustice further entrenched since the flow of resources into KRG became fundamentally evident in the years followed

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2003 war toward the 2014 economic and political crisis. As access to the mounting resources was not, or perceived, not to be just, the general improvement of living conditions in this period of time did not eliminate popular grievances. A third thread of social capital is closely intertwined with the proliferation of clientalistic networks. Clientalism has its deep cultural roots and has been itself, a state policy. From a social capital perspective, clientalism as a state policy has stifling ramifications for civil society: up until recently vast majority of civil society was organizationally part of Kurdish political parties or covered by their clientalistic networks. Additionally, the vicious circle of clientalism and corruption constitutes a dark aspect of social capital in the region. Finally, the similar impact of the growing significance of state and family (immediate and extended) has further been harmful to certain elements of social capital: while it is evident that state in the decades preceded the transition in 1991, tended to be source of fear and oppression, the same state was also the main source of services and jobs in the society. Likewise, family and extended networks of kinship made up another primary source of protection and needs. The outcome of the joint influence of state welfare policies and the dominance of family has been the same: a categorical nonnecessity of intermediary structures (civil society and alike) to play a role in the lives of people. To seek protection or to satisfy needs, one has had two options to resort to: state and/or family. In the intersection of the major four abovementioned influences, a form of social capital exists of which the defining characteristics can be summarized in: an overall lack of generalized trust when the subject of trust is a discussion of a “sensitive” political issue or engagement in collective action; relative absence of politics in social networks; a collective attitude obsessed by immediate economic and social needs and tend to disregard the significance of issues that affect democracy in long-run; a severe absence of modes of collective action which can persist over time and are not confined to times of crisis. Speaking from the development of democracy perspective, this form of political culture, which is grounded on an overarching citizenry passivism, is hard to enjoy a great level of potential to facilitate transition to democracy and to consolidate democratic governance. Essentially, a political culture to grease the wheels of democracy seems not to be of abundant supply. It is fundamental to emphasize that social capital in Kurdistan resonates the collective experience of the population over a history of, at least, half

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a century. This is especially true when social capital is associated with politics in macro-level as the impacts of a common history of oppression and tyranny leave their imprint on people’s attitude and disposition to engage in politics. Put it differently, to return to the theoretical debate on the roots of social capital, apparently Putnam’s theory (articulated perfectly in his 1993 and 2000 works) can have a marked relevance in already democratic countries, but not the same explanatory value in contexts of transition to democracy where the legacies of past authoritarian rule and violence shaped state-society relations. For instance, his emphasis on the vital role that civic associations exert in generating generalized trust and in making governments more sensitive and responsive can only be examined in a context where this type of associations do exist and active, but not in an environment where civic associations have historically been absent or systematically eliminated or, at best, patronized by state. Atomization of societies and the related mounting centrality of primordial affiliations, clientalism, the frail of civil society and formal associational life as an outcome for the historical existence of monster states and family-based societies can hardly be understood by utilizing the explanatory framework that Putnam offers. It is more persuasive that the theoretical framework which Eric Uslaner and Ronald Inglehart (see Chapter 1) provide, with their focus on collective experience and macro-level cultural, economic and historical influences, enjoys greater value to understand social capital and democracy in transitional contexts. Obsession with the larger picture should not turn our sight on minor, but important, scenes: in spite of the weight of previous remarks, two further specifications are necessary to be mentioned: first, particular political dynamics in KRI seems to have had certain unique regional consequences. In this regard, the genesis and future evolvement of political opposition and the popularity of free media/shadow media tended to have had vital consequences for larger political activism in Sulaimani compare to Erbil. Surveyed respondents from Sulaimani expressed stronger, though not always statistically significant, tendency to discuss politics or to reveal their criticism in public sphere. The sporadic eruption of protest movements in Sulaimani and the surrounding areas, at least, can partially be traced to prevalence of a more politicized social capital compare to Erbil. Second, from a cultural angle, it is substantially evident that social capital in Kurdistan is deeply formulated along gendered lines: differences on almost every indicator of social capital, and very often statistically significant, between men and women are striking: results of this survey, despite

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the fact that it was conducted in an urban setting, demonstrate more confinement of women in close social circles of family and close friends, less politicized social networks and larger disengagement in civil life. In essence, gender differences in politicized social capital are more prominent than regional variations. Lastly, it is worth noting that this book can be considered as an invitation for a critical re-examination of social capital theory in terms of both its theoretical underpinnings and its methodological measurements. On a theory level, as far as the relationship of social capital and democracy is concerned, students of the theory need to be able to study this relationship in different phases of the evolution of democracy. Due to relatively long-run defining impacts that social capital-related values and norms can have in the transitional phase, it is of particular significance to explore the nature of social capital before transition to democracy begins. Much of social capital literature fails to pay adequate attention to the historical, cultural and economic pre-transition contexts and how such broader/ deeper contexts shape the future developments of democracy. This work demonstrated how clientalism, for instance, is rooted in a deeper cultural repertoire of Kurdish society and what mechanisms did Iraqi state put in place to its consolidation. Its continuity and proliferation in the transition period can sufficiently be understood only should it put in the cultural and historical perspective. The case study of Kurdistan shows the intensifying challenge of certain cultural continuities (clientalism, nepotism, incapacitating of civil society and so forth), sometimes deliberately perpetuated by political elites, in the era of transition to democracy. Therefore, we are in dire need for a theory/ies which allow understanding the nuances of social capital and democracy/ society-state relations in contexts where transition just began; a historical tradition of democracy is of extreme short supply, if not non-existing at all; a civil society, independent of state, to truly articulate community and sectional interests is not breathing; economy is controlled and planned by state and legacies of a rentier state are commonplace; family constitutes the basis of social structure and so forth. Methodologically, the employment of social capital theory should be accompanied by context-sensitive operationalization of the concept. The application of standard and internationally applied questions to capture trust, for instance, can lead to misleading conclusions. This book attempted to stretch this methodological line by suggesting that trust can best be examined in relations to its subject, i.e.,

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trust to what? This is particularly true where un/willingness to trust others about politically sensitive issues is at stake. In this respect, for example, a detailed understanding requires going deeper to explore whether or not people can express their true political attitudes and beliefs, when they are not favored by political regimes, in their social networks or whether or not, they can trust others when engagement in collective action is concerned. In certain contexts, due to the lavishness of informal forms of social support and cultural expectations and obligations, one, in times of need and difficulty, can expect to receive the required support from their surroundings. However, this form and level of trust may not be available when the subject of trust is a political issue. Social capital research should be advanced enough to detect the many context-based details that the employment of standard questions failed to cover.

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Index

A Advocacy Committee for Journalists in Kurdistan, 125 The Algiers agreement, xiv Anfal , xv, 29, 55, 56, 59, 159 Arabization, 29, 57 article 140, 79 Associations and Organizations Act, 121, 146 B Ba’th party, xiv, xv Batatu, H., 167 Bengio, O., xiii bottom-up, xix, 1, 30, 37, 75 Bourdieu, P., 2, 5 Bozarslan, H., 84, 168 Bruinessen, M.V., x Bunton, M., 164, 168 C Christians, x

civic collective action, xix Civic Community, 11 civic engagement, xix, xxi, 4, 6, 7, 11, 12, 15, 16, 18, 26, 28, 31, 32, 118–120, 128, 133, 155, 158 civic interest, 32, 117, 134 civic skills, 12, 15, 16 civic virtues, 7, 12 clientalism, xx, xxi, 53, 69, 74, 166, 167, 169, 171, 172, 177, 178 Coleman, J., 2, 5 collective action, xix, 4, 7, 11, 24–27, 32, 35, 37, 85, 86, 117–119, 140, 143–146, 151, 152, 156, 177 collective experience, 18, 19, 21, 27, 76, 177, 178 collective guilt, 159 collective settlements. See obligatory settlements colonialism, 19 communism, 20 confrontation, 64, 121, 123, 146

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2020 H. H. Khedir, Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization in Kurdistan, Middle East Today, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1

195

196

INDEX

consolidation years, xxi, 47, 78, 164 constitution, ix, 3, 29, 78, 79, 164, 167 cooptation, 120, 123, 146 corruption, 8, 28, 46, 47, 62, 65–68, 74, 75, 102, 112, 113, 143, 151, 155, 159, 163, 165, 166, 171, 174, 176, 177 crisis, 10, 112, 125, 142, 144–147, 165, 175, 177

D deconstruction, xxi, 47, 76 democracy consolidation, 3 democratization. See transition to democracy distributive capacity, 164 domestication, 120, 123, 146

E ecological fallacy, 23 economic development, 20, 21, 25, 26, 156 economic hardships, xx, xxi, 46, 47, 55, 151, 159, 163, 165, 176 egalitarian, 11, 14, 19 elite-based, 30 equality, 18, 19, 27 existential theory, 163

F family-centered, xx, 151 February demonstrations, 66–68 formative years, xxi, 47, 48 free media, 67, 68, 79, 111, 125, 178 Fuad Masum, 53 Fukuyama, F., 2, 3, 37, 152 Fursan al-Salahaddin, 168

G generalized trust, xix, xxi, 86, 88, 90, 100, 111, 113, 138, 139, 145, 152, 154, 156–158, 177, 178 Goran, 46, 64, 65, 67–72, 75, 79, 80, 112, 113, 125, 143, 163 grassroots activism, xix grievance, 34, 66, 143, 144, 165, 166, 175, 177

H harmonious relationship, 120, 123 heterogeneous associations, 13 historical memory, 77 homogeneous associations, 13 horizontal networks of citizenry espionage, 160, 176 horizontal social inequality, 144

I identity, x, 76 Inglehart, R., 3, 20, 21, 27, 30, 112, 131, 132, 163, 178 injustice, xx, xxi, 151, 159, 161, 164, 165, 176 Iraqi Kurdistan Front, 49 Islamic State in Iraq and Levant, xii

J Jash, 168

K Kosrat Rasul, 53 Kurdish civil war, xx, xxi, 33, 49, 162, 176 Kurdish nationalism, xiii, xv Kurdish News Network (KNN), 65, 68

INDEX

Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP), xiii, xiv, 33, 45, 46, 49, 52, 53, 60, 61, 63–72, 74–76, 78–80, 93, 105, 106, 112, 120, 122–125, 142–144, 146, 147, 155, 162, 163, 170, 171

L Law of Investment, 72, 73 Leezenberg, M., 46, 60, 84, 171 legitimacy of governments , xiii legitimacy of the state, xiii logic of security and obedience, 159

M March manifesto/ agreement, x, xiv Masoud Barzani, 51 material value, 131 mediating agency, 25–27 monster states, 178 moral community, 17 moralistic trust , 17, 18 Mosul Vilayet, xii, xiii multi-layer clientalistic relations, 167

N Natali, D., 50, 60–63, 65, 73 nationalization of oil industry, 58, 172 Nawshirwan Mustafa, 65, 71 neoliberal policies, 174 Non-Governmental Organization in Kurdistan Region-Iraq Act, 121, 146

O obligatory settlements, 55, 57 Oil and Gas law, 73 Oil-For-Food Program (OFFP), 62, 173

197

oppressive capacity, 144 optimism, 18, 20, 21, 27, 28, 46, 120, 138, 139 the Organization of Demonstrations in KRI Act, 122, 146 P Pan-Arab nationalist, 159 Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), xiv, xv, 33, 45–47, 49, 50, 52, 53, 60, 61, 63–72, 74–76, 78, 80, 93, 105, 106, 112, 113, 120, 122–125, 142–144, 146, 147, 155, 162, 170, 171 patronage, 52, 74, 161 Paxton, P., 4, 119 plebiscitary democracy, 14 political culture, xix, xx, 1–3, 21, 30, 31, 36, 54, 69, 76, 119, 158, 177 political opposition, 45–47, 64, 67, 68, 75, 79, 111, 146, 178 political participation, 7, 13, 36, 76, 119, 134, 155 politicized social networks, 4, 35, 86, 88, 114, 118, 154, 179 post-material value, 131 protest movements, 47, 66, 79, 111, 143–145, 147, 165, 178 Public Interest and Civic Participation (PICP), xiv, 117 public-spiritedness, 11, 12 Putnam, R.D., xix–xxi, 1, 2, 4–19, 21–23, 26–29, 31–34, 97, 118, 119, 133, 134, 138, 139, 145, 171, 178 R relative deprivation, 144, 165, 166 The Right to Access Information in KRI Act, 123

198

INDEX

S Saddam Hussein, xiv, xv, 159, 161 Sarai Azadi, 66 sectarian, 38, 159–161, 163 shadow media, 111, 178 shadow state, 173 Shi’a Failis, 159 Social Contact Theory, 34 social networks, xiv, 34, 83, 94, 99 state, ix, xii, xiv, xx, 3, 23, 24, 27, 29, 30, 46, 49, 50, 57, 58, 60, 75, 78, 79, 83, 85, 92, 93, 96, 97, 99, 102, 105, 120, 137, 142, 143, 146, 151, 153, 159–164, 166–178 state welfare policy, xx, xxi strategic trust , 18 structuralists, 23, 25, 29

T Talabani, Jalal, xv, 51, 52, 61 tautological explanations, 25 thick trust , 5

thin trust , 5, 37 Tocqueville, A.D., 119 transition to democracy, xv, xix, xx, xxi, 2–4, 21, 30, 31, 33, 36, 46–48, 51, 54, 55, 58, 78, 92, 121, 151, 176–178 Treaty of Lausanne, xiii Treaty of Sevres, xiii tribal leaders, xiii, 168, 169 trust, xix, 5, 18, 19, 34, 86, 88 Turkmens, x, 91, 92, 153, 160 U Uslaner, Eric, 3, 17–21, 27, 33, 119, 120, 138, 139, 164, 178 X xenophobic, 112, 163 Y Yazidis, x Yousif Mohammed, 69, 70