September, 2012:  The chairman of the Religious Scholar’s Committee (RSC), Muhammad ‘Usman Salih, publicly advocated marriage for female children during a debate organised by the United Nations Fund for Population (UNFPA) on the grounds of its justification within Islam.  This is not the first time that Sudan’s premier clerical authority has found itself under scrutiny from human rights groups; three years previous the RSC issued a fatwa endorsing female circumcision despite long-standing campaigns by Sudanese lobbyists to ban the practice that nearly 90% of northern Sudanese women have undergone and has caused maternal mortality rates to rise from 537 to 638 per 100,000 from 1990 to 2006.  Female circumcision and the legal age of marriage for children of ten years have been legally permissible in Sudan since the 1991 Muslim Personal Act; the same legal code which authorises the criminalisation of abortion, a man’s unilateral right to divorce and the approval of female labour resting on permission from her husband.

June, 2012:  After months of pressure from Sudanese and international human rights advocates, a young Sudanese woman named Intishar Sharif Abdullah was unconditionally released from months of imprisonment where she awaited her execution by stoning for the crime of adultery – a specifically gendered punishment sanctioned again by the Muslim Personal Act of the early nineties.  Whilst Intishar’s supporters celebrated her release, others criticised the attitude of international human rights organisations towards women’s rights issues in Sudan.   Speaking to the Guardian newspaper, Sudanese embassy in the UK spokesman Khalid al-Mubarak said: “It [Amnesty International] is not interested in the welfare of our women because it never mentions the positive side. Our women have achieved equal pay for equal work. They occupy top jobs as ministers and members of the high court.”

Mr Mubarak is not incorrect.  In stark juxtaposition to these restrictive gendered legal directives, the position of Sudanese women has advanced in many respects since the Islamist-backed military coup d’état of 1989 which brought current president ‘Umar al-Bashir and the National Islamic Front’s (NIF) brand of Islamism into the political foreground of the nation.  Women walk the streets of Khartoum and fill the university campuses that they share with male students, going on to serve as the country’s judges, ambassadors, managers, professors and politicians.  Four years after the NIF’s rise to power, 10% of elected seats in Sudan’s parliament were set aside for female candidates.  This increased to 25% after the National Elections Act of 2008, with Sudan now surpassing the UK’s current claim of a 22% female elected house.  In 2010, Fatima Abd al-Mahmud, leader of the Sudanese Socialist Democratic Union, became the first female presidential candidate in Sudanese history.

Sudan plays host to internationally recognised and respected women’s groups, with the headquarters of the International Women’s Union located in Khartoum.  Muslim women from sixty-five countries met for their inaugural meeting in 1996 aiming to “assist women to overcome injustices and emancipating them from degrading and other practices incompatible with Islamic values and human dignity”.  Earlier this summer, female students from the University of Khartoum organised a demonstration against government austerity measures that increased the rising costs of student housing, meals and transportation, sparking resistance over the city and fuelling the growing anti-regime ‘Sudanese Spring’ movements.

This presents a paradox where the public position of women appears to have advanced alongside regressive, gender-specific legislation that shows no sign of abating since its inception in the early nineties.  Sudanese women are at once marginal to the state and full citizenship rights whilst appearing to have increased their agency and representation.

A study of the Islamic principles of qiwama (guardianship) and nafaqa (maintenance) is illuminating in respect of this contradiction.  Qur’an 4.34 states that “Men are the protectors and maintainers of women, because Allah has given the one more (strength) than the other, and because they support them from their means”.  Here, qiwama is taken as the obligation of the man to “protect and maintain” the woman, which is to be achieved by “supporting them from their means” – the payment of a maintenance allowance, or nafaqa, from a husband to a wife, to be made regardless of the size of the women’s own income.

The brainchild of Doctor Hasan al-Turabi, onetime spiritual ideologue of the NIF turned opposition leader, obligatory nafaqa payment was incorporated into the 1991 shari‘a code and welcomed by many prominent Sudanese Islamist feminists as a safeguard of women’s security.  According to Su’ad al-Fati?, a female member of the Sudanese General Assembly: “The man serves the woman.  Islam spoils women; a woman’s rights in Islam are the man’s duty”.  With reference to the Qur’anic quote above, the contract of care between the sexes goes no further than the private sphere; a husband may have to provide nafaqa for his wife, but at work his boss may well be a woman without contradiction.  If qiwama is not conducted in a spirit of mutual respect and consultation with the female party, under Sudanese law the power lies with her to dissolve their bond.  So far, so good for Sudanese women.

However, Liv Tønnessen’s 2009 interviews in local courts and with women from the Islamist Sudan Women’s General Union reveal that disputes regarding nafaqa are the most common family court cases in rural northern Sudan.  In a country where poverty is pandemic, around 60 to 75% of the population live below the poverty line, surviving on less than $1 a day according to the 2007 joint World Bank-United Nations Development Programme mission.  War, displacement, malnutrition and poor healthcare are widespread, hitting poor, rural communities the hardest.  As a result, the overwhelming majority of men are not able to fulfil the nafaqa payment to their wives and the intended deference to women as contained in parts of shari’a law is rendered obsolete.

The example of qiwama and nafaqa can be used as an illustration of the inconsistent status that appears to be accorded to women in Sudan.  With prominent Islamist feminist discourse and shari’a interpretation located within an educated urban upper-class in Khartoum, their universalising rhetoric reflects only an elite position and fails to address the socio-economic conditions of the grassroots population.  Whilst 25% of the seats in Sudan’s national parliament belong to women, according to Section 52 of the National Electoral Act all candidates must be literate and Section 56 stipulates the payment of party affiliation fees.  Often the hardest hit by poverty and lack of access to education, the overwhelming majority of Sudanese women are thus automatically excluded from this process.  A two-tier state exists where, hypothetically at least, a woman may be able to rule as president of Sudan, but under the 1992 Public Order Act she cannot run a small business from the hours of 5pm until 5am.  With only lower-class Sudanese women supplementing their family income selling tea and nuts from street stands, the elite female strata remains unaffected.  This is supported by Sondra Hale’s 2001 interviews with upper-class Islamist women, where she reports:

“There was a great deal of agreement among the elite Islamist women I interviewed.  Muslim women subjects of the Islamic nation worked on the notion that women could have it both ways: so long as they dress respectably and act appropriately, they could work and have a career, and yet be a dutiful wife and mother, the crux of the family.  That such a life was only possible for those who could afford servants was rarely ever mentioned.”

It is thus fair to say that political Islam itself is not the root cause of women’s oppression in Sudan, but rather the problem lies with its application which appears blind to the existing classist political system.  Indeed, the inherent contradictions that Sudanese women face are not theirs alone, but can be seen as a microcosm of the ills of the modern Sudanese state as a whole – namely, the domination of the minority over the majority in an economically polarised society.  Elite Arab Muslim interpretations continue to constitute reality for an extremely heterogeneous population that aspires to exist within one national border, yielding a long and violent history still unfolding in the region.

This political centralisation dates back to the inception of the modern Sudanese nation-state under Egyptian-Ottoman auspices where northern Arab Muslim identity took social precedence as a result of the burgeoning slave trade that ravaged the African South.  Under British colonial administration, uneven regional development concentrated around Khartoum and the central northern regions furnished riverain Arabs with the human cadres and political apparatus for future rule at the exclusion of Sudan’s non-Arab western and southern territories.  These socio-racial classifications were perpetuated following independence when the ruling elite failed to expand as a result of the historical political impotence of the peripheries to break into this class and the disinclination of the elites to devolve power.

The rise of the NIF during the 1990s saw all other political parties and non-state media disbanded.  The policy of tamkin (empowerment) was implemented with impunity, removing non-party loyalists and filling their places with NIF members at all levels of the civil and state apparatus.  Leading educational facilities, electronic, radio and print media existed only in Khartoum and were staffed by the NIF who became the sole arbiters of the dissemination of socio-cultural values for the rest of the country.  The widespread militarisation of society followed, with forced conscription into the paramilitary Popular Defence Forces providing military training and religious instruction.  Government ‘peace camps’ were established for the forced Islamic indoctrination of non-Muslims and Muslims deemed by the state to be practising an ‘unsuitable Islam’ (stemming from West African rather than Arab Islamic traditions) such as the African Muslims of the Nuba Mountains.  As with the example of nafaqa payment, the authority of shari’a law lay at the whim of its elite Arab interpreters in the Khartoum regime.

The hyper-dominance of the national capital is thus the most critical reality in Sudan today, where around half of the nation’s income and assets, three-quarters of their health professionals and approximately 20% of the population are housed against the backdrop of a hinterland sunk in abject poverty and ongoing conflict.  The consequences of political centralisation have been catastrophic; Khartoum’s failure to reconcile regional differences has culminated in decades of civil war, ethnic cleansing in Darfur and the eventual secession of Southern Sudan in July 2011.  Even given the recent separation, northern Sudan remains unstable with intra-ethnic violence and state-sponsored aggression continuing in western Sudan and South Kordofan.

President al-Bashir’s grip on the regime appears to have slipped recently; shaken by an economy in freefall, student uprisings, a recent throat operation and November’s Islamic Movement conference which saw increasing dissatisfaction with al-Bashir’s ruling National Congress Party (NPC) voiced within the ranks of Sudanese Islamists.  For women, measures such as increased female political representation must be recognised as an ineffective remedy that masks Sudan’s ingrained economic inequalities.  A purely Islamist solution relying on liberating principles such as nafaqa excludes both non-Muslims and Muslims in the face of the realities of Sudan’s class-based, Arabist environment.  Without recognition of these restrictive structures and a plurality of Sudanese identities with particular reference to regional political representation, the status quo for both men and women in Sudan will not change.

The successful implementation of a number of long-term investment agreements signed by the Iraqi government with foreign oil companies over the past five years will certainly have strategic, political and economic effects. Nevertheless, oil production will continue to be constrained by domestic political and economic conditions as well as geopolitical realities. Such constraints and challenges to the expansion of the oil industry in Iraq suggest that while the increase in oil production will surely impact the country’s foreign policy and regional orientation, it would be misleading to assume that it can radically transform the country’s foreign outlook.

Before examining how the recent growth in oil power will reshape Iraq’s future, a brief overview of the role of the oil sector in the economy is required. According to one study, the oil sector contributes to 60% of the country’s GDP, 99% of its exports and more than 90% of the government’s revenue. Endowed with one of the greatest petroleum resource bases in the world, Iraq contains potential oil reserves in excess of 215 billion barrels and proven reserves of 150 billion barrels. Since the 1950s, successive Iraqi regimes including the semi-liberal, the Arab nationalist, the Arab socialist, and the dictatorial have relied heavily on oil revenues for the maintenance of the state. More notable has been the role played by oil revenues in keeping the Iraqi state intact in the post 2003 era, in which the financing of military and security forces, the increase of public expenditure, and the provision of public services were largely facilitated by those revenues. Sabri Zire al-Saadi contends that it is this acknowledgment of the fundamental importance of oil that has led many in the government and oil industry to push for increasing investment in the sector as a necessary means to both socio-economic development and geopolitical benefits.

Although Iraq has large oil and gas reserves similar to those of Saudi Arabia, its past and present production capacity has lagged behind that of Saudi Arabia. Its experience illustrates that the misuse of oil revenues since the 1950s has translated into economic problems that continue to haunt the country. Moreover, Iraq post-March 2003 has faced difficult geopolitical and economic conditions, intense power struggles between governing parties and groups in society, and weak and damaged state infrastructure. More significantly, the governing parties and successive governments in the post-March 2003 period exhibited a lack of vision of national future and incapacity to develop economic and social programs. Indeed, it is this lack of a coherent vision for long-term political, economic and social strategies and objectives which continues to exist, that has led many analysts to question whether the increase of oil production can be translated into tangible benefits.

With these problems in mind, the Iraqi government has in the past three years held four bidding rounds, the most recent one taking place in May 2012, in which 11 long term oil development service contracts and other oil and gas exploration and development service contracts were awarded to the world’s largest oil companies, including Royal Dutch Shell, BP, and ExxonMobil. These agreements with foreign oil companies are aimed at increasing crude oil production from around 2 million b/d to more than 12 million b/d by 2017. This planned increase in oil production by about 9 million b/d will have a profound impact on energy markets as it adds 38% of oil supply to OPEC in 2016, and represents 9.4% of the world demand in 2016. The expansion and development of oil production will certainly reshape Iraq’s future and its economic and geopolitical position with commentators suggesting a more prominent role for the country in the Middle East. Indeed, severely affected and constrained by war, ethnic conflict and civil unrest over the past eight years, these developments and plans for the oil sector in the next few years can alter Iraqi foreign policy and its regional orientations. 

For one thing, Iraq will increasingly come to play an influential if not a swinging role in OPEC. In particular, Baghdad’s ambitious plan to expand oil production could increase OPEC’s overall production growth, thereby pushing down prices. This creates problems for OPEC’s policy of controlling prices by limiting production as additional production from Iraq could decrease oil prices unless another member decreases their contribution. As Iraq continues to pump 3-4 million b/d, OPEC countries will either have to lower their production or agree to increase overall production levels which would spell lower oil prices and revenues accruing from those. Iraq also recently pushed forward its own candidate, former oil minister Thamer al-Ghadhban, for the presidency of OPEC. 

As the political situation gradually stabilises and expanding oil revenues feed into the economy, the Iraqi state will have the opportunity to reconstitute its foreign policy and add dynamism to its regional role. The emergence of a diffused Shia and Kurdish-led political regime instead of Saddam Hussien’s secular Sunni-dominated dictatorship could certainly change the priorities and content of Iraqi foreign policy, especially when emboldened by expanding oil production. Analysts have questioned whether Iraq will retain its traditional orientation towards Arab states as the pioneer of Arab nationalism or deepen its ties with Iran and Turkey. Just recently, Iraq supported Iran against Saudi Arabia in pushing for reduced production by OPEC members as a means to increase prices amid EU and US sanctions imposed on Iran. In addition, Iranian oil minister, Rostam Qasemi, visited Iraqi Prime Minister Nouri al-Maliki in early June 2012 and both agreed to unify their position on OPEC production. Iraq has also joined hardliners including Venezuela, Algeria and Iran in calling for OPEC to protest EU sanctions imposed on Iran. These developments suggest that Iraq is strengthening its political relationship with Iran, yet it remains to be seen whether such an expanded relationship will create conflict and as a result may become more nuanced and balanced. Iraqi-US relations exemplified primarily in the Strategic Framework Agreement and Status of Forces Agreement will certainly serve as a check on the depth of military and political cooperation between Iran and Iraq.

Although it is possible to identify some features of the evolving Iraqi foreign policy and speculate on its future orientation, an essential element absent is the lack of a single national narrative necessary for the definition and shaping of national priorities. The expansion of the oil industry as a means for socio-economic and political development can only be achieved with a strong Iraqi nationalism. Commentators have correctly pointed out that the country continues to be divided along sectarian lines with Sunni political disenfranchisement representing a major concern for stability. This goes back to Sabri Zire al-Saadi’s point that ruling parties and governments have not put forward a solid consensual vision of the national future. He argues that the efficient utilisation of increased oil revenues will require economic policies and strategies that can be solely based on some national vision of Iraq’s future. This casts doubt on the potential strategic and geopolitical benefits that could be accrued from expanding oil revenues which are more likely to be exploited by the political ruling elite and powerful social and economic groups.

More concretely, geopolitics, local politics, and poor security conditions represent three main obstacles that continue to limit Iraq’s ability to produce, export and deliver oil and gas resources in accordance with planned targets. According to many experts in Iraq’s energy sector, it is unlikely to meet its ambitious goal of reaching a production level of around 12 million b/d by 2017. Iranian interference in Iraq represents a key threat to its political stability. Iran seeks to ensure that Iraq does not serve as a base for the US by trying to eliminate American influence in terms of military personnel there. To this end, Iran has used economic ties, patronage, and military support to fund factions in Iraq and this continues to be a source of instability. Border disputes between Iraq and Iran including the Shatt al-Arab and the shipping lane leading to Basra terminal, also reduce its ability to export oil. An example that stands out is the on-going delay of the inauguration and commissioning of the first single buoy mooring at the Basra terminal that has reduced Iraq’s export capacity.

In terms of local politics, disputes between the central government and regional authorities as well as governing political parties continue to be key sources of instability and poor security. In particular, security forces have been unable to eradicate terrorism and attacks on the physical infrastructure of both public services and those related to oil production. Oil industry experts claim that violence carried out by different religious and political groups has delayed planned targets of several projects. Another equally if not more significant issue is the ongoing dispute between the central government and the Kurdish Regional Government (KRG) over domestic oil and gas rights. The dispute has involved disagreement between both governments over the right to invite and award energy contracts to international oil companies. It began in April 2012 when the KRG suspended its supply of oil through the national Iraqi pipeline, claiming that the government in Baghdad had not paid operating costs worth $1.5 billion to companies operating in the Kurdish region. The current dispute highlights the importance of a national integrated oil plan that can only be implemented by a strong federal government.

In conclusion, Iraq’s oil resources present both an opportunity and a challenge in shaping Iraq’s future. Since the 1950s and up to the present day, revenues accrued from oil and gas wealth have been the most vital element in the maintenance of the Iraqi state and economy. The recent ranking of Iraq as the second largest oil producer in OPEC constitutes a significant indication of the rehabilitation of the hydrocarbon industry in the post-March 2003 era. This rehabilitation of the hydrocarbon industry is primarily the result of efforts by the Iraqi government to expand and develop oil production as a means to socio-economic development and a more assertive geopolitical position. The agreements signed with foreign oil companies over the past four years aim to increase crude oil production from around 2 million b/d to more than 12 million b/d by 2017. Nevertheless, energy industry experts have cautioned against such high expectations, with more nuanced estimates suggesting that Iraq will be unable to reach such targets. Ultimately, the development of the country’s energy sector is limited by political crises, sectarian conflict, and war.                                                  

In spite of all the constraints, the expansion and development of oil production will certainly reshape Iraq’s future and its economic and geopolitical position within the Middle East. This is evident in the more influential role being played by Iraq in OPEC as well as creating problems for the group’s policy of controlling prices as the supply of oil continues to grow. The rapid growth of oil production has also emboldened Iraq to side with Iran and hardliners in OPEC against Saudi Arabia and other Arab Gulf states. Furthermore, the need for a political ally in OPEC and as a result of the nature of the Shia-dominated Iraqi political system, it appears that Iraq will further deepen its ties with Iran only to be balanced with the expectations and commitments of relations with the US.

In the end, whether the expansion of oil production will translate into socio-economic development and more assertive regional power will depend fundamentally on a coherent vision of Iraq’s national future that is currently absent. It is this vision which is required for the efficient utilisation of oil revenues and for reconstituting Iraq’s role in the region.

Given the geostrategic importance of Syria and Assad’s popularity and carefully constructed image as a reformer, there was early optimism inside and outside Syria over his willingness and capability to calm the situation through the initiation of meaningful reforms. As a matter of fact, there were commentators who believed that the Arab Spring had provided the reform-minded, Western-educated Bashar with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity finally to unleash a series of socio-political reforms, thereby weakening the more conservative members of his inner circle and encourage their early retirements.

Two months into the uprising, there emerged a sudden change in the stance of regional and extra-regional actors towards Syria led by Turkey. It was in this context of rising tensions that Syria lost its Arab League membership; GCC states, Britain, France, and the US closed their embassies; more economic sanctions were imposed by the EU, the US, and the Arab League, which also sent a monitoring mission to Syria that had two broad outcomes: embarrassment for the League, and the departure of Syrian ambassadors from the GCC. In response, Syria’s allies – namely, Iran, Hezbollah, Russia, and China – increased their public backing of the Syrian regime, helping to create a mini Cold War situation in the Levant; a situation that acquired a whole new dimension when China and Russia vetoed a UN Security Council (UNSC) resolution on Syria for the second time, claiming that it was unbalanced and unreasonable.

Hillary Clinton described China and Russia’s veto as a ‘travesty’; the Turkish Prime Minster called it a ‘fiasco’, and various Arab regimes accused Beijing and Moscow of licensing more killing in Syria. Russia and China, however, dismissed all these accusations and justified their veto as an attempt to seek ‘peaceful settlement of the chronic Syrian crisis’. Hence, digging beneath the surface and behind the veil of what has become a ‘war of rhetoric’, it is useful to ask why Beijing and Moscow, which have typically tried to align their policies with regional states/blocks, have disregarded and antagonised the Arab League by lending their backing to Mr. Assad, and how disruptive their support and indeed cooperation is to the international community’s efforts to end the violence in Syria.

For both Russia and China, and indeed the other members of the BRICs, NATO’s intervention in Libya was a wakeup call. As is evident in their remarks during the last meeting of BRICs leaders in 2011, the UN-sanctioned intervention in Libya was less of a humanitarian operation and more of a well thought out,  Western-engineered strategy of regime change in order to perpetuate Western dominance over the entire MENA. As such, Chinese and Russian rationale today is that they no longer want the UN to be involved in further cases of ‘regime change’. Put differently, they fear that the Libyan campaign has set up a precedent for intervention based on human rights, and this, needless to say, has raised red flags in Beijing and Moscow at a time of leadership change/elections and rising domestic discontent and public protests in both countries.

Russia has made considerable inroads in the Syrian energy sector having recently signed a $370 million contract to construct a gas pipeline leading to al-Rayyan, a gas processing plant near Palmyra, and a multibillion dollar preliminary contract to build an oil refining and petrochemical complex in Syria. Aware of the Damascus inability to purchase Western weaponries, Moscow has successfully carved out a niche market for its arms industry there with contracts worth $6 billion. In 2005, Russia wrote off 73% of Syria’s debt in return for preferential treatment for Russian businesses in the Syrian market. Assad’s fall, then, can greatly endanger all these gains, especially if members of the Muslim Brotherhood make their way to high office. This is so because Moscow, in its attempt to please the Syrian government, has included the party on its list of terrorist organisations. Finally, Russia does not wish to see the emergence of a pro-Western government in Syria since such a development could negatively affect its ability to use its only naval base in the Middle East located at the Syrian port of Tartus.

China, on the other hand, sees an opportunity in both the Syrian revolution and Iran’s standoff with the West to retard America’s newly developed ‘Pacific Century’ strategy. Washington has poked its nose into the South China Sea dispute, and recently announced a decision to station troops in Australia.  It pushed forward a framework trade agreement that does not include China, while simultaneously calling on Beijing to let its currency appreciate.  And to add insult to the injury, the Obama administration has reached out to Burma, one of China’s longstanding allies, in an effort to coax the nascent democratisation in that country into something more long-lasting. As such, Beijing is determined to prevent a quick and/or smooth end to the current crisis in the Middle East so as to ensure that the US will remain occupied there, thereby buying more time to expand its influence in its own neighbourhood.  Aware of the US commitment to Israel’s security and Israel’s vulnerability to threats emanating from instability in Syria and tensions with Iran, Chinese strategists commonly assert that Washington has no option but to remain involved in the Middle Eastern affairs, and that the more prolonged its involvement the more accelerated the American decline, and hence the lower its ability to see through its Asia Pacific strategy. As China embarks on its Silk Road Strategy, moreover, President Assad’s recently articulated Four Seas Strategy in combination with his anti-Western foreign policy orientation seems to reinforce China’s own look west strategy rather elegantly, facilitating Beijing’s efforts in both establishing a new regional security architecture and retrenching Western influences in the ‘world’s heartland’.

Not having a reliable and powerful Arab partner, and believing that Arab League decisions are driven by a handful of pro-Western states, such as Saudi Arabia and Qatar, Russia and China have therefore decided to act alongside one another, building a coalition of interest in drawing a red line under UN involvement in the internal affairs of other nations. At the same time, they may have calculated that acting in concert will enhance their strategic positions in Asia at a time of renewed US interest in the region, while it could also pave the way for the emergence of a common Sino-Russo stance on both the North Korean and Iranian standoffs with the West.

More importantly though, Russia and China are seriously concerned with the precedents that a repeat of the Libyan scenario could set for the public in Central Asia. Kyrgyzstan has already gone through two revolutions in the last five years, while forced secularism and the violent crackdown of dissent in Uzbekistan and Tajikistan have led to the rise of both Islamism and Islamic extremism. Most recently, security forces in Kazakhstan shot and killed at least 16 people in December protests in a Western oil town, followed by a smaller protest on February 25 in Almaty. As such, China and Russia are worried about the potential consequences of Islamists’ rise in the Middle East on the Islamist movements in Central Asia as well as Chechnya and Xinjiang, while fearing that UN mandated intervention in the Middle East might encourage the public in Central Asia to stage their own anti-government protests. After all, and in spite of stark socio-political differences between the two regions, there is a dangerous societal commonality between the two sides: ‘widespread popular anger at crony capitalism practised by corrupt and authoritarian elites coupled with a lack of economic opportunity for the majority’.

Yet, to single out the newly found love between China and Russia as the main cause of the ongoing crisis in Syria is naïve at best. First of all, the vote was a result of democratic decision-making in New York. As members of the UNSC, China and Russia are fully entitled to make their own judgments and decisions in the settlement of disputes. The US itself has often vetoed resolutions voted for by other countries. On the peace issue, for instance, the US has vetoed no less than sixty UN resolutions critical of the Israeli Government.

Similarly, the Russian government values its warm-water Mediterranean port at Tartus, just as much as the US Fifth Fleet values its home in Bahrain. As such, it is understandable that Moscow avoids criticising its Syrian ally in the same way that Washington remained largely silent over the events in Bahrain in 2011. This is not to endorse their behaviour, nor is it to claim that their veto has not complicated matters. It is rather, as a cynical realist would say, to suggest that the Syrian uprising is about realpolitik, and thus all the actors involved are guided by their own national interests and relative diplomatic, economic, and military might in relation to others.

Interestingly then, it is more likely that the Sino-Russo veto is being used as a scapegoat by a confused and divided international community in an attempt to buy itself more time until it can come up with an approach that is acceptable to all sides. Nearly a year into the Syrian uprising, Syrian opposition forces have yet to prove capable of forming a united front against the Government of Bashar Al-Assad. Given the internal fragmentations, Americans and their allies are reluctant to arm them, and instead wonder how these forces can be entrusted with the job of governance when they are helpless in fighting a common enemy. And to make matters worse, the intensification of internal fighting and the regime’s militaristic approach to the unrest, has had the adverse effect of militarising the once peaceful uprising, which in essence benefits the regime above all others, helping it to validate the discourse that it is fighting armed terrorist groups.

Concerned with the potential impact of a sudden regime change in Syria and how such a development could affect Israel’s security by, for example, inflaming a ‘Palestinian Spring’, Washington, along with Israel, has opted for a wait-and-see approach, limiting its contribution to moral support and deployment of drones to monitor the fighting. Britain, France, and Turkey, meanwhile, have sought to lead the efforts from behind the scenes, but without any avail. Given the sectarian composition of Syrian society, Paris and, albeit to a lower extent, London prefer to support a secular force, whereas Ankara is all too happy to empower the Muslim Brotherhood. This difference of opinion has pitted Turkey and France against one another with reports in the Turkish press linking the French government’s recent decision to criminalise the ‘denials of the 1915 events in Armenia as genocide’ to this disagreement over Syria.

As for the Arab world, any suggestion of a united Arab front mounts to nothing but mere illusion, and in fact there is a real danger of crumbling Arab consensus over Syria not least because the Arab League’s decision to suspend Syria was not unanimous: Iraq, Lebanon, and Algeria abstained. In addition, although the GCC states are keen on arming the Syrian rebels, there is an intra-GCC disagreement over who to support. Saudi Arabia and the UAE deeply distrust the Muslim Brotherhood, and prefer to utilise their tribal and Salafi connections as well as relations with disgruntled regime figures. For its part, Qatar, similar to Turkey, has heavily invested in the Muslim Brotherhood.

Even if the GCC states were to overcome their differences and use their tribal links to arm the opposition, they would still need the full cooperation of Iraq and Jordan since Sunni tribal confederations are spread in an area extending from northeast Syria to eastern Iraq to eastern Jordan to northern Saudi Arabia. Baghdad is unlikely to cooperate because it is influenced by Tehran, and is also nervous about the prospect of increased linkages between Saudi Arabia and Iraq’s Sunni tribes. As for Jordan, suffice it to say its geography and small size make the Government extremely nervous about even limited Syrian military or intelligence moves against it should Damascus perceive that there is Jordanian support for Syrian dissidents.

It is in light of these considerations that it becomes clear why China and Russia cannot be solely held responsible for the ongoing bloodshed in Syria, and why there is no sign of an immediate end to the conflict. Today’s struggle in Syria is a tussle between a determined coalition of minorities that is fighting for its life, and a divided majority that has yet to overcome its internal disputes. In the aftermath of Iran’s disputed election, Iran’s Supreme Leader made a statement that is highly applicable to the Syrian theatre: ‘at the end, the determined side will prevail in a street fight’, Khamenei stated. This is not to suggest that Assad will remain in power, but only to point out that he has a very good chance of doing so given that the domestic balance of power still tilts in his favour. No doubt, President Assad has lost a great deal of regional support as well as political and economic power, and that his days could well be numbered. Given the durability of the conflict and the resulting deepening of communal distrust in Syria, nonetheless, one can be certain that Assadism will continue to define the political reality of Syria even if Mr. Assad himself leaves the scene.

As for the evolution of the Sino-Russo partnership in the MENA, two points stand out. The first one is that the idea that Beijing and Moscow’s behaviour has led to their isolation is misleading. If anything, the Turkish Government’s pragmatic decision to ignore the Syrian issue during the Chinese Vice-President’s visit, and the upcoming visit of the GCC foreign ministers to Russia point to the contrary. In an important sense, it could be argued, Beijing and Moscow’s veto have turned them into the key external actors in the Syrian crisis since they still talk to both sides. Secondly, China and Russia’s influence over Syria ought not to be exaggerated simply because this new partnership between them is at best a fragile marriage of convenience unlikely to stand the test of time.

The US-backed global missile defence network and its newly installed radar system in Turkey, the anti-Chinese flavour of its ‘Pacific Century’ grand strategy, its recent decision not to inform Russia about the redeployment of its global armada, and indeed NATO’s misuse of the UN resolution in Libya have collectively encouraged Beijing and Moscow to develop near-identical threat perceptions. However, China and Russia are strategic rivals who are destined to go head to head over influence in Central Asia and the Middle East in the long run. One key reason behind such an assertion is that while China has a national interest in keeping the prices of oil and gas low, Russia, as a producer, has the opposite interest.

Signs of heightened rivalry between the two states have already surfaced, as evident in the rapid reduction in the volume of Russian arm sales to China since 2008. Wary of China’s rise, Russia is now refusing to sell its advanced weaponries and technology to Beijing forcing China to establish closer ties to Ukraine and Belarus; ‘production centres of advanced Russian technology’. Added to this is Beijing’s desire to institutionalise its strategic rivalry with Russia in Central Asia and beyond. The fact that Belarus became a dialogue partner at the organisation immediately after its completion of lucrative trade and military agreements with China is a testimony to this. Given the depth of historical and contemporary enmity between China and Russia, history shows that their cooperative gestures have been strongest only when their bilateral ties with Washington have suffered setbacks. Therefore, it is fair to suggest that how the Sino-Russo cooperation in the Middle East will evolve is largely dependent on how the US will shape its policies towards these two giants and whether or not it will try to improve ties with one to the detriment of the other.

When former Brazilian President Lula first visited the Middle East in 2003 in an effort to enhance relations between Brazil and Arab countries, he acted through the Foreign Policy of Diversification of Partnerships, whereby Brazil was searching for new strategic partners in order to implement its development agenda. He said in a speech in the headquarters of the League of Arab States that the Brazilian and Arab populations have strong cultural and historical ties, based on the fact that Brazil is a home to millions of Arab descendants, who were a key-factor in not only the construction of the Brazilian identity, but also in its cultural and socio-economic development. Furthermore, Brazil and Latin America are together vast economic markets, which require political incentives to facilitate both financial and cultural exchange, as well as the exchange of commodities. This has been achieved gradually: Brazil’s status as an observer to the Arab League represented a step forward in the integration process of the two regions, as well as a step forward for Brazil and Arab countries in adopting parallel positions on the international stage.

Brazil and the current international geo-political world order: an emerging global power?

Brazil is considered to be an emerging power with a wide variety of natural resources as well as a large labour force. These internal variables, along with the fact that the country was one of the first to recover from the current economic and financial crisis, give Brazil the status of leading economic power in South America, where it is perceived as a regional leader.  Therefore, Brazil’s ability to coexist peacefully with its neighbours whilst promoting and contributing to regional development is vital to the projection of its international image.

Brazilian foreign affairs currently focus on strengthening institutions with partners in order to increase technological cooperation. The diplomatic approaches of Diversification of Partnerships and South-South Cooperation with other developing countries improved cooperation in a variety of issues, as well as in different places besides Latin America.

Brazil is a reasonably stable democratic country, well-connected to the global economy; it has a conservative macroeconomic approach as well as a growing middle class; it is auto-sufficient in the agricultural sector as well as actively exploring new markets: for example, negotiated carbon credits with developed countries that have to cut emissions under the Kyoto Protocol; as well as having a significant capacity to produce bio fuels and to generate energy from a variety of resources, such as hydropower plants.

Therefore, one could argue that Brazil is a system-affecting country, a middle power or a regional power, which means that it is a state that may have an impact on the international system if it acts in conjunction with a small group of countries as well as through an international institution. As a middle power, Brazil has limitations, however it has been trying to overcome such limitations by acting in multilateral forums as well as by emphasising the benefits of regional integration.

Brazil has a variety of available natural resources as well as a vast territory that provides opportunities to develop and increase its power in the international system. Being the fifth largest country in the world, with a territory of 8,514,877 square kilometres, it shares borders with most South American countries. Furthermore, since the Lula administration, Brazil has been improving domestic macroeconomic stability, increasing foreign reserves, as well as becoming a net external creditor in 2008. For the last thirty years, Brazil has experienced a surplus in exports, as well as an increasing annual growth rate.

Brazil and the diversification of partnerships policy: possibilities to enhance trade relations with partners outside Latin America

Since the beginning of the twentieth century, Brazil has participated in international forums that have played important roles in shaping the current international system: for example, it participated in the negotiations that led to the creation of the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), and the Uruguay Round that led to the creation of the World Trade Organisation (WTO). Brazil aspires to defend the special treatment given by the WTO to developing countries and participates in regional integration movements such as Mercosur, an economic and political agreement among Argentina, Brazil, Paraguay and Uruguay, the South American Community of Nations (CASA), and the Union of South American Nations (UNASUR).

In addition, to promote closer relations with different partners and regions, Brazil participates in integration movements such as the Summit of South American-Arab Countries (ASPA), a mechanism for bi-regional cooperation and a forum for political coordination. New partnerships are emerging, and in 2010 Brazil played a key role in the nuclear agreement achieved between itself, Iran and Turkey. Despite the fact that the UN sanctions on Iran remain in place, the achievement of an agreement meant that Brazil was acting outside its regional sphere of influence, as well as with a varied range of partners outside Latin America. Brazil has been participating actively in topics at the UN level and has become a provider of foreign exchange liquidity to the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and a long-term capital provider to the World Bank. So then, Brazil’s policies have provided space to develop exports, which currently focus on agricultural commodities, textiles, aircraft, electrical equipment, automobiles and automotive parts, to the Middle East, especially the GCC countries.

The Middle East and its economic interests

As an emerging power, Brazil aspires to develop its economy whilst expanding its spheres of influence. The Middle East is a promising source of income for Brazil because of demand for agricultural commodities, which represent a significant part of Brazilian production. Brazil is right to focus on the GCC countries because 90% of their food related products are imported. The GCC is a market that has hundreds of millions of people where conditions to grow agricultural products to meet demand are limited. Brazil has an opportunity to increase exports to the region, especially because it is already a popular food partner among the products certified by Cibal Halal (Brazilian Islamic Centre for Halal Food Stuff Association).

Even though the Arab Spring may end up having a range of impacts on different governments, the demand for agricultural products will not be significantly affected. Currently, over 30% of all Brazilian poultry exports go to the Middle East, and in 2010 around US$141.8 million worth of poultry were exported to the region, which represented an increase of 37%. Between 2003 and 2009, the trade flow between Brazil and some Middle Eastern countries such as Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Bahrain, Kuwait, and Oman, among others, increased from US$2.54 billion to US$6.89 billion.  As far as trade relations with the Middle East are concerned, Brazilian exports to GCC countries are seeing a continued increase. To keep trade flows on the up, events are being promoted to bring the GCC countries closer to Brazil, such as the Brazil Trade Middle East event that happened in 2010 to consider ways to enhance commercial ties.

Moreover, the Second Latin America Middle East Investors Forum (LAMEIF) discussed how the regions enhance their economic ties. As a region, Latin America has the potential to receive billions of dollars worth of capital investment from GCC countries, which in total are more than one trillion dollars a year. Also, GCC countries import more Brazilian products than Brazil imports from them due to the fact that GCC exports are mainly based on the energy sector, which is already widely developed in Brazil. Relations among countries of these two regions are evolving into strategic partnerships, since GCC investors are now looking at Latin America as a source of goods required to develop the Middle East, such as agricultural commodities and infrastructure materials.

The two regions have lots of things in common and the governments of these countries are enhancing ties through the implementation of agencies, such as the Brazil-Arab News Agency (ANBA), which deals with issues related to commerce, politics, energy, cultural exchange, and tourism, among others; the Arab-Brazilian Chamber of Commerce, which has been promoting economic, cultural, and tourist exchanges between Arab and Brazilian populations in order to develop, consolidate and expand the relationship and knowledge transfer flow between them. Among developing countries Brazil is ranked number two when it comes to attracting foreign direct investment. Whilst it is keen on maintaining closer ties with possible trade partners, Arab countries also have an interest in Brazil and Latin America as a whole.

In 2008, the former Secretary-General of the LAS said that South America was crucial to Arab countries. Brazil is attracting investors from GCC countries, especially after the Focus Country Briefing held in Dubai in April 2011. This briefing focused on the promotion of trade opportunities in Brazil, aided by the opportunities related to Brazil’s nomination to host the FIFA World Cup in 2014 and the Olympic Games in 2016. From 2005 to 2009, Brazilian exports of products not related to oil to Dubai, for example, increased by over 100%. There are now direct flights from Rio de Janeiro to Dubai, which is facilitating new trade opportunities. Relations between the UAE and Brazil are steadily improving, particularly since a trade deal between Dubai, Rio de Janeiro and São Paulo in the construction, finance and retail sectors was agreed. Due to the increase in trade between Brazil and the UAE, freight flights are also on the rise; two large helicopters were handed over to the Brazilian oil company, Petrobras, in order to enable direct transportation between São Paulo and Dubai.

For many developing countries, multilateral approaches to foreign policy are widely seen as crucial to successful implementation and this is certainly true of Brazilian foreign policy, given that it has been investing in the creation and maintenance of regional integration movements such as BRIC, IBAS, the G-4, G-20, Mercosur, CASA, and UNASUR.  With regard the Middle East, Antonio de Aguiar Patriota, the Brazilian Minister of Foreign Relations, has expressed a desire to intensify relations with the Arab world economically in order to develop the Policies of Diversification of Partnerships. Due to the fact that Brazil is home to a large Arab community, the pursuit of closer ties with the Middle East is a natural move. Brazil has already been a non-permanent member of the UN Security Council ten times, and has participated in efforts to reform the council based on the premise that it should include more permanent members with veto power in order to make it more representative, since the world order has so drastically changed since its creation in 1946. Following the Brazilian approach of acting multilaterally, BRIC leaders have jointly supported reform of the UNSC, where Brazil, India and South Africa are not only currently non-permanent members, but also aspire to a permanent seat on the council, while Russia and China, currently permanent members, support the role these countries can play in international politics.

The Brazilian Foreign Minister also stated that the maintenance of closer relations with Arab countries would help promote a sophisticated level of political dialogue on regional issues, for example, the Israeli-Palestine conflict, especially because Brazil has good relations with both sides of the equation. Since India and South Africa also have good relations with both sides, these countries could engage jointly – in the IBSA context – in order to assist in the peace process.

Concerning Brazil’s role in the Middle East Peace Process, Lula went to the region to try to portray Brazil as a mediator. To the Brazilian Government it meant a great step forward, since it showed that the efforts put in to enhancing ties with the Middle East can provide positive outcomes. After efforts to bolster peace between Palestine and Israel, the Brazilian Government recognised the Palestinian State in December 2010 according to the 1967 borders. Brazil’s partners within BRIC and IBSA also recognised the Palestinian State while maintaining sound relations with Israel. Since 2006, Brazil has played an active role in assisting in the construction of the Palestinian State through the supply of resources, as well as being active in international conferences, funds, and agencies, whilst having increasingly good relations with Israel, which became the first to sign a FTA with Mercosur, shortly to be followed by Palestine. Taking Brazil’s lead, other countries from the region also recognised Palestine within the 1967 borders. After Brazil recognised Palestinian sovereignty over the 1967 borders, former US President Jimmy Carter publicly stated that Brazil could not only help, but also lead in the peace process in the region.

In the current context of events in the Middle East, the Brazilian President Dilma Rousseff defended dialogue with the Syrian Government based on the argument that force should not be applied before all other options are exhausted. According to the President, the decision to use force should come from an international consensus, and following this approach, Brazil, India and South Africa through IBSA engaged in direct negotiations with the Syrian Government, during which Brazil defended the UN statements against the use of violence. It is possible to argue therefore that Brazilian power outside its regional sphere of influence is increasing, based on the fact that negotiations among the IBSA delegation and the Syrian Government led the latter to admit that mistakes were committed by the police forces in repressing rioters. The IBSA delegations not only condemned the practice of violence from both the Government and rioters, but they also called for adherence to international law, as well as for the creation of a special commission to analyse the situation.

Brazil passed through two decades of dictatorship, whereby student organisations were dissolved, leaders of the trade union movement were attacked and the press was censured. Nowadays Brazil is a consolidated democracy, so parallels can be drawn between what Brazil went through in the past and what is happening in parts of the Arab world today. Brazilian democracy was gradually developed and reinstituted. The same might be expected from some Middle Eastern countries, since religious institutions together with members of the political opposition and human rights activists were the stepping stone to democratic rule in Brazil. Current events are creating a new political paradigm in the Middle East, but the region could take Latin America’s example of gradually constructing solid democracies in the near future. Even President Obama said in a visit to Rio de Janeiro that Brazil is proof that authoritarian governments can be transformed into solid democracies. One could argue that Lula created the space for a new strategic frontline for Brazilian foreign policy, at the same time as having an active role in South America, since the region is the launch pad from which Brazil can project itself internationally.

If Middle Eastern countries gradually install democratic systems, relations between the two regions will likely improve. Currently, the main focus of relations among them is trade – the largest Brazilian trade surplus is with Arab countries. It can be argued that through the foreign policy of Diversification of Partnerships, Brazil has been increasingly involved in political issues outside its regional sphere of influence, having received visits from the Presidents of Israel, the Palestinian Authority and Iran, who are all clearly key players in current events in the Middle East.

Such events are the result of a foreign policy approach implemented gradually since the time of the Lula Administration, wherein the Middle East started to receive particular attention. Since 2003, the number of presidential and ministerial visits to the region increased significantly, as well as the number of visits accompanied by business missions, and the participation in fairs and exhibitions. It could be argued that Brazilian economic growth was the stepping stone to the development of new partnerships of trade and investment: after the ASPA Summits, for example, relations between the region and Brazil encroached on issues beyond purely trade related matters, culture and politics being two examples.

Conclusion

Being South America’s regional leader, Brazil’s foreign policy is formulated in order to guarantee autonomy while enhancing power, at the same time as combining praxis with theory in order to develop new ways of strategic insertion in the international sphere. Integration movements in this region are the stepping stone for Brazil, since as a middle power, it has more chance of achieving its foreign policy goals via multilateral approaches. The policy of Diversification of Partnerships is part of the Brazilian grand strategy to portray itself as a player within the centre of international politics, a new yet innovative player both inside and outside of Latin America.

Having said that, Brazil has been increasingly searching for international forums in order to obtain formal consensus in key issues, instead of just engaging in bandwagon initiatives and therefore, it would be fair to say that Brazil is an emerging global power. Since Brazil also has been growing at high rates and it is expected to continue on growing annually around 5% per annum until 2014, the opportunity is there to enhance development whilst expanding political ties with possible trading partners and regions in order to bolster its profile as a neutral power that actually has the potential of acting outside its usual regional sphere of influence.

As far as the Middle East is concerned, Brazil is neither dependent on Middle Eastern oil, nor does it have any direct national security interests; Brazil has no colonial legacy in the region, not is it a large arms exporter. But Brazil regards the region as a crucial trade partner, so through an improvement in trade relations Brazil aspires to portray itself as a legitimate emerging global actor.

As far as new possible markets for Brazilian products are concerned, the GCC countries are populous, and are increasing at a rate of 3.3% per annum on average, three times more than the global annual rate for the past decade. Relative to population growth, demand for food will naturally increase. Currently, even though the per capita rate of food consumption for the GCC countries is below the average of developed countries, such rates are expected to grow significantly. The estimated per annum increase for food consumption in GCC countries is 4.6% between 2011 and 2015. Such consumption rates, combined with the fact that the region is benefitting from rising oil prices, result in rising per capita levels of income, which are likely only to continue rising.

Fundamentally, the Middle East is a huge potential market for Brazilian exports, a crucial plank in Brazil’s Diversification of Partnerships agenda. Besides trade, Brazil has also an opportunity to engage in cultural exchange, sustainable development, expertise, and technology transfer initiatives, among others, which in turn might also enhance relations in other areas besides trade with the countries in the Middle East.

Brazil is not only a country in which millions of Arabs and Jews peacefully coexist in a daily basis, but Latin America as a region has also recently passed through a process of re-democratisation, where the population protested against authoritarian governments. A comparison can be made with the recent events in the Arab Spring, where due to an emerging middle class people fought for better treatment generally and better employment prospects specifically. Events like the ASPA Summit can facilitate the exchange of knowledge between the two regions, given that a declaration has already been made concerning political issues, the peace process, and economic cooperation.

As far as the viability of strategic foreign policy approaches such as the Diversification of Partnerships is concerned, the Middle East is a determining factor in the Brazilian quest to be perceived as a global power, since the region, and particularly the GCC countries, can offer Brazil opportunities to diversify and enhance economic relations. Such economic relations are the stepping stone for Brazil to act extra-regionally, as well as a good way for Brazil to resist systemic pressures whilst improving the state economically in order to increase investment rates and public savings, which in turn will provide the domestic conditions to compete in an interdependent international anarchic system.

As is always the case in any evolving political development in the Middle East and North Africa, there are a number of external and internal factors which have collectively reduced the Yemeni public’s ability to form a united front against the elites in Sana.

Externally, exaggerated accounts of AQAP’s presence and strength in Yemen have discouraged Western powers, in particular the United States, to pressure President Saleh to comply with protesters’ demands.  Western officials tend to see in Saleh a staunch ally in their fight against Islamic extremism, and thus they fear that his sudden departure will create a power vacuum which AQAP will then fill.  And the recent occupation of Zinjibar, where AQAP joined forces with local militants in a group calling itself Partisans of Islamic Law, only reinforced this rather misguided view in various Western capitals.

The fact of the matter, however, is that AQAP’s core membership, according to various estimates, does not pass 400 in Yemen, and it seems to have been cultivating a weak network of support with certain politically ambitious tribes in the southern governorates of Abyan, Shebwa, Hadramawt, Aden, and Lajh.  As such, the rather temporal cooperation between tribes and AQAP ought to be understood as a coalition of necessity against the government of Ali Abdullah Saleh and on the basis of the logic of ‘the enemy of my enemy is my friend’ and not ideological affiliations.  The very fact that local tribes eventually turned against Partisans of Islamic Law and joined government forces in an effort to recapture Zanjibar is evidence of this. It is therefore more plausible that President Saleh, in a similar fashion to his counterparts in Pakistan, has been manipulating Washington’s paranoia with AQAP to his own advantage, seeking to consolidate his power.  Such assertion becomes all the more likely when one takes into account the timing of the death of Anwar al-Awlaki.  Given that Washington was tipped-off about his whereabouts at a time when Saleh’s government was at its weakest point – right after his return from Saudi Arabia – there is the suggestion that Sana had been using al-Awlaki as a bargaining chip.

Another important external factor is Saudi Arabia’s counter-revolutionary policy in its immediate neighbourhood.  Since the fall of the imams in Yemen, Yemen’s weakness has arguably benefited Saudi Arabia.  For many decades, Saudi Arabia has conducted what many Yemen analysts call ‘dollar diplomacy’ in order to influence developments inside Yemen.  And given the economic situation of Yemen, this strategy has, to some extent, been successful in ensuring Saudi influence.

Today, Riyadh has no shortage of Yemeni clients keen on ruling the country.  Yet, Saudi Arabia is struggling to install its allies who will be able to put an end to the ongoing political crisis in Yemen, not least because there has been an internal dispute on who to support in Yemen.  More importantly though, youth activists who operate outside of the formal political process have emerged as decisive players in Yemen’s ongoing political turmoil, and this poses a serious limit on Riyadh’s ability to influence outcomes in Yemen.  Saudi’s historical influence has antagonised the population somewhat.  Moreover, the anti-regime youth movement neither has a recognised leader nor established links to Saudi Arabia, and hence Riyadh has found it hard to influence their behaviour and objectives.  Finally, Saudi Arabia needs to find a person, or a coalition of individuals, who is acceptable to the public so there can be a modicum of stability.  The trouble here is that Riyadh’s principal Yemeni clients are unacceptable to the majority of Yemenis since they are all perceived to be deeply ‘complicit in Saleh’s corrupt and authoritarian system’, and hence unlikely to pave the way for the emergence of a democratic political order.

Fearing both civil war – and how this could empower the Huthis – and sweeping political reform in Yemen, Saudi Arabia would probably prefer Saleh’s system of family rule to remain intact.  To this end, it now seems that Saudi Arabia has decided to support Saleh, believing that his continuing hold on power will further weaken the grassroots coalition of activists, Yemen’s weak political parties, and parliament, and hence the prospect of a representative government in Sana.  And with Anwar al-Awlaki dead, Riyadh is now optimistic that this endeavour will receive Washington’s blessing.

Internally, one needs not to go beyond Saleh’s style of governance to understand why the Yemeni public has proved so hopeless in its efforts to confront the government in a cohesive and well-coordinated manner.  Throughout his 32 year rule, President Saleh – a military general by profession – has managed to concentrate all powers in the Office of the President.  As a consequence, the cabinet, parliament, and other state institutions have, to a large degree, been marginalised from relevant decision-making processes.  He has established an inclusive patronage structure binding tribes, opposition politicians, businessmen, and religious figures into a web of personal loyalty through the distribution of oil rents.  In the tribal context of Yemeni politics, this formula has indeed ensured Saleh’s survival but it has also distorted party politics, stifled grassroots political participation, increased corruption, and, most importantly, retarded efforts towards meaningful integration of the north and south.

In this context, analysing the ‘Southern Question’ and the evolvement of a political movement affiliated with it will help to shed some lights on the dynamics of today’s political crisis in Yemen and how the Arab Spring is leading to the collapse of the Republic of Yemen.  In 2007, a broad-based popular protest movement known as the Southern Movement (SM) and consisting of mainly retired and/or sacked southern military officers emerged as a rights-based movement seeking ‘equality under the law and a change in relations between north and south within a united country’.  Their immediate demands included an increase in salaries and retirement wages, as well as an end to the northern discrimination towards southerners, both in commerce and wider society.  For its part, Sana responded to these demands with repression and targeted co-option, and so the SM began to call for southern independence by 2009.  Interestingly, as the winds of change in the Arab world were approaching Yemen, the SM’s influence and popularity in the south were clearly on the ascent.

Initially, the uprising facilitated new cooperation and coordination between protesters in the north and south.  Realising that insistence on southern independence would potentially undermine the shared and immediate goal of regime change, the SM members, for example, agreed to cooperate with anti-regime protesters in the north in order to precipitate the regime’s collapse.  Similarly, independent activists as well as opposition party members in the south unaffiliated with the SM joined anti-regime protests.

However, 32 years of discrimination combined with the central government’s weakness and nation-wide unpopularity ensured that this cooperation was not only tactical but also a short-lived one.  Gradually, disagreements with regards to negotiations with the regime over a transition of power emerged between southerners and northerners with the former demanding Saleh’s immediate resignation.  Southerners were, and still are, antagonised by northern parties’ lack of acknowledgment of their contributions to the ongoing protests, and once the two sides failed to reach an agreement on ‘how to prioritise the southern issue in a post-regime transitional period’ the initial euphoria in the south over coordination with the north was replaced with vocal calls for both regime change and independence.  And to make matters worse, the dangerous discourse of ‘us versus them’ – that is, ethno-cultural differentiation – has now (re)entered the political discourse of southerners, who increasingly justify their calls for independence on the basis of cultural distinctiveness between ‘a predominantly tribal north and an allegedly civilian south’.  This is why the recent meetings of southern activists in Cairo and Brussels, where they called for a ‘federal state divided into a northern and a southern region with each region having the right to form an independent parliament and exercise absolute authority over its natural resources’ and ‘complete and unrestricted independence in accordance with southerners’ collective will, and without outside interference’ are extremely worrisome.

Simultaneously, the disruption of the patronage system in conjunction with the political opportunism of regime insiders has led to what could be called ‘mass regime defections’ as many ‘outsider officials’ – those who do not come from President Saleh’s own tribe – no longer see a (political) benefit in being seen as associated with the government.  In contrast, they appear to think that the more they distance themselves from the President’s inner circle, the more their political fortunes will improve.  Interestingly though, defections and the prominent role played by existing political parties and former regime insiders have only managed to frustrate ‘original protesters’ for two broad reasons.  Youth activists view today’s defectors as part of the very status quo that they wish to change, while the instances of violent conflict between regime loyalists and their forces have jeopardised the overwhelmingly peaceful nature of their movement, thereby decreasing their creditability in the eyes of regional and international observers.

Looking into the future therefore, it is clear that what started as an anti-government movement led by the Yemeni youth and women is now turning into a traditional rivalry between forces loyal to the government and the JMP – a coalition of five opposition parties including Islah, the YSP, the Nasirist Popular Unionist Party, al-Haqq, and the Union of Popular Forces.  This is clearly evident in the fact that the main reason behind today’s political deadlock is no longer the protesters’ rejection of the transitional compromise proposed by the international community, but the JMP’s call on their supporters to reject the compromise so as to strengthen their own bargaining position vis-à-vis the regime.

As such, what could have been a youth-led democratic revolution is now experiencing its last dying days, and the emergence of a semi-democratic Yemen is a distant possibility.  With a disillusioned youth, widespread poverty and corruption, and intensified tribal and political rivalries, instead, it is very likely that the Arab Spring paves the way for an eventual disintegration of Yemen over the long-run.  Political activism in the south has begun to focus on two possible ways forward: immediate separation, or a federation consisting of two regions.  This first option ‘resonates most powerfully in the two governorates that lost power after the 1994 civil war and have constituted the SM’s core support base since its inception; namely, Dalia and Lahj’.  Meanwhile, the federal option, which found support among only a few southern intellectuals prior to the uprising, has gained backing from a wide range of southerners to the extent that some analysts argue that a key result of the uprising has been ‘to put federalism on the bargaining table as a serious and viable way forward’.

The trouble here is that for federalism to work there needs to be a successful dialogue so that political foes can reach an agreement on the details of a power transfer deal from Sana to Aden.  Alas, there is no sign Yemen is heading towards that direction and, in the words of a Yemeni activist, ‘if there is no dialogue or failed dialogue, then the result will be separation’.  What this means for Yemen and the international community, in turn, is that an enduring political impasse is in the making which will certainly cause more unrest and instability in an already volatile environment.  At the same time, a fully-fledged civil war between northern rival elites cannot be ruled out which, should it occur, would almost certainly prompt southern stakeholders to pursue a serious bid for independence – an effort that will be resisted by the north and could spark a violent conflict involving external actors.  The reasoning behind such an assertion is that southern politicians have already spoken of their desire for the international community to back their call for independence should they proceed with it.  If no helping hand emerges, they warn they will be left with no option but to turn to Tehran for assistance.  The extent to which all this has the potential to affect Iranian-Saudi relations, western policy in the Middle East, and the west’s counterterrorism and anti-piracy efforts should, in short, suffice to encourage the international community to seek an end to the current crisis in Yemen before it is too late.

Before any discussion of the compatibility between Islam and democracy can take place, it is necessary to understand that the ‘totality’ of either Islam or democracy does not actually exit. In other words, Islam, Islamist politics and democracy do not represent monolithic terms and can be interpreted in various ways. In its classical sense, democracy is understood as ‘direct rule by the people’. The triumph of a liberal understanding of democracy is linked to the increased importance of the rights of individuals, private property, party politics and electoral politics. The conventional definition of democracy used by many social scientists often identifies it with major elements of the political traditions of Western Europe and the United States; hence, debates on democracy reflect the primacy of the Western experience. This narrowly defined conception of democracy tinted by a hegemonic liberalism precludes the perception of different forms of democracy that are linked to particular social contexts out of which they emerge. A more useful understanding of democracy should emphasise its malleable nature. Different social and political theorists have correctly pointed out that democracy is an ‘essentially contested concept’ that requires the recognition of the validity of rival definitions. John Dryzek asserts that democracy instead of being understood in procedural terms must be defined as a ‘project’, one that is the product of political struggle over the degree to which the public can participate in ordering the conditions of their lives. Even in Western countries, democracy is constantly debated and re-conceptualised to suit the social, economic and political conditions it is in. The official insistence on a single, relatively specific model of democracy is detached from a reality in which a very broad debate over the definition of democracy occurs in the West and globally.

In terms of reviewing Islamist attitudes towards democracy, there has been a tendency to overlook the diversity of opinion within the Islamic political camp. Although Islam is considered to be a religion which directs all spheres of life based on the Quran and path of the prophet Mohammed, numerous aspects and issues within the religion are open to discussion and can be interpreted in different ways. One such issue-area is the proper form of political organisation of an Islamic society. Since Islamic groups and Muslim thinkers vary in their understanding of and orientation towards democracy and pluralism, it is unfeasible to locate a unified perspective on the issue of democracy and pluralism. There are militant and radical voices within the Islamic camp that are firmly opposed to democracy and what it entails, leading many to point out the authoritarian tendency in Muslim politics. Yet, this is but one narrative/viewpoint out of many and it is vital to be aware that there are those who believe that genuine democracy can exist in an Islamic context. Those who take this line of thought claim that within the Islamic heritage is a reserve of concepts and principles that encourage a democratic organisation of society. Islamic principles of Tawhid, Khilafah, Shura, Ijma and Ijtihad can be re-defined and re-envisioned in ways that can accommodate and strengthen the process of democratisation in Muslim societies. Thus, a discussion of the compatibility between Islam and democracy necessitates the broadening of the scope of definition of both terms while also recognising the variety of perspectives and opinions on the issue.

An examination of the variety of works by Islamic political thinkers, the different concepts and principles within the Islamic heritage, and Islamist movements and organisations will explicitly reveal different attitude towards democracy. One important theme in democratic theory and in the ongoing process of democratisation in Muslim society is opposition and dissent. In simple terms, the democratic tradition perceives opposition and pluralism as essential elements in the functioning of democratic governance. Since no political system is perfect, then principles of democracy dictate that individuals and groups in society are entitled to disagree with their governments. This is further supported by the postmodern attitude of multicultural pluralism that stresses conflict, division and negotiation in society. Within the Islamic heritage, the two concepts of Fitnah and Ikhtilaf and the ways in which they can be interpreted define the limits of opposition and the appropriate form of dissent in society. Fitnah is defined as some kind of civil disorder, an opposition that threatens the Islamic community and the very faith of Muslim believers. John Esposito asserts that Fitnah is often a label given to opposition or disturbances that diverge in their doctrinal substance from the Islamic heritage in a way that endangers the purity of the Muslim faith. Such dissent and disturbances are to be condoned and actively opposed. The implication of this is that freedom of expression is limited in a way that does not allow certain groups in society to express views that lie outside the confines of an Islamic framework. Nevertheless, what is often neglected is that the concept of Fitnah can also be used to legitimise opposition. In addition to limiting oppositional forces in society, the concept can be reversed and lead to a struggle by the citizenry against oppressive rulers. This suggests that citizens or the ummah in Islamic political thought hold a central position in commending the good and prohibiting the evil. It can further be inferred that according to this view a more participatory role is assigned to the masses in judging government policies and actions.

The other concept of Ikhtilaf further endorses a plurality of opinion within an Islamic framework of thought. Keeping in mind the emphasis on Tawhid and the fundamental principles of Islam, within an Islamic society it is seen legitimate and at times commendable to have a diversity of views. Ikhitalf is often related to Islamic jurisprudence; however, it shows a more general attitude towards the acceptance of diverse perspectives on Islamic issues. Disagreement in the Muslim community throughout history has led to the development of four schools of law, each having their own interpretations and norms of Islamic conduct. This Fatima Merniessi claims is usually ignored in Western analysis of Islamic politics where emphasis is placed on the intolerance and militancy of Islam. Yet she shows that the rationalist tradition which is often forgotten provides a way of establishing diversity and opposition in Muslim communities. Islam as religion is never about complete obedience or ta’a, but rather it advocates the use of reason and the cultivation of individual thinking. The Mutazila tradition is a strong testament to the importance of the use of reason, thinking and discussion, and the openness of Islamic culture in preventing the despotism of rulers. Diversity and openness are not only found in Islamic legal thought, but also in political thought where in the Sunni tradition there is no one definitive form or theory of a caliphate. It is this aspect of Islam which is often ignored; consequently, much of the discourse reinforces the idea that opposition within Muslim communities is impossible. Furthermore, Islamic acceptance of diversity is further demonstrated by the treatment of non-Muslims. Although non-Muslim groups, called Dhimmi, had important restrictions on their activities and were considered second-class citizens, overall their treatment is evidence of the Islamic recognition of the legitimate diversity of opinion and customs and the acceptance of non-Muslim/minority participation.

Perhaps more important is the way in which the Islamic tradition can be redefined to strengthen the dynamics of democratisation. One such example is the principle of Tawheed (Unity of God- recognition that there is no God but God) in Islamic doctrine. Frequently, the principle of Tawheed is acknowledged by conservative Muslims and non-Muslims alike as a formidable barrier to the development of an Islamic democracy since the concept of sovereignty of God is very different from the sovereignty of the people. Various commentators following this line of thought believe that there is no place for democratic ideals within Islamic political theory because of the rigid adherence to God’s word and therefore the limitations imposed on the role of the community. Again, Tawheed can be reinterpreted in a different manner so as to produce a stable synthesis between democracy and Islam. John Esposito shows clearly how the insistence on Tawheed by Muslim scholars does not preclude the possibility of a democratic political system. Abu al-Ala al-Mawdudi claims that in an Islamic ‘theo-democracy’: ‘The entire population runs the state in accordance with the Book of God and the practice of His prophet… The executive under this system of government is constituted by the general will of the Muslims who have also the right to depose it.’ From this it is possible to conceive of a more participatory role for the Muslim community in the conduct of their political and social affairs. In addition to this, the Muslim individual is responsible and entitled to interpret the law when it becomes necessary. Another dimension often not noticed is how human hierarchy becomes impossible when the absolute sovereignty of God is accepted since all humans are equal before one God. The point is that all this should be carried out within the framework and worldview of Tawheed, but the insistence on Tawheed should not prevent such democratic workings being carried out.

The interrelation between the three concepts of consultation (shurah), consensus (ijma) and independent interpretive judgment (ijtihad) in a specific way further enhances the prospects of an Islamic democracy. The concept of ijma, or collective judgment of the community, can also be used to encourage a conception of an Islamic democracy. Within Sunni doctrine, the notion of consensus features prominently, being a fundamental source of law and legal norms. Throughout Islamic history, consensus as a source of Islamic law was limited to the learned religious scholars – ulema – and this kind of consensus is often labeled as ‘exclusive consensus’. The modernist critique of this exclusive consensus is one that perceives it to be a mechanism of ‘traditional authoritarianism’ coloured with undemocratic procedures. As with shurah, efforts in the 19^th and 20^th centuries were carried out to extend the concept of ijma so as to include a wider range of voices in a changing consensus. Muhammad Qasim Zaman demonstrates how the modern Islamic thought of Muhammad Abduh and Muhammad Rashid Rida attempts to broaden the scope of consensus so that the jurists and ulema become but one component out of many. Thus emerges the attempt to weaken the monopoly of consensus by the ulema. In addition to this is the realisation by modern Islamic thinkers that the consensus of the jurists should not be deemed infallible and authoritative for all times and places. Rather, those deliberating on important issues are not immune from error and therefore consensus should take into consideration the public interest. The implication of this line of thought is that ijma would take on a more important, formal and institutional role where it would be equated with a collectively undertaken ijtihad. This comes from Muhammad Iqbal’s idea which is: ‘The transfer of the power of Ijtihad from individual representatives of schools to a Muslim legislative assembly which, in view of the growth of opposing sects, is the only possible form ijma can take in modern times, will secure contributions to legal discussion from laymen who happen to possess a keen insight into affairs.’ What is important to note is that ijtihad, or judgment that concerns the affairs of the community, need not be monopolised by the ulema, rather, it should include a more diverse and popular dimension to it. With this in mind, John Esposito points to the vital argument that since in the Quran there is no explicit formulation of state institutions and that the legitimacy of such state institutions is derived from ijma, then ‘consensus can become both the legitimation and the procedure of an Islamic democracy.’ A more inclusive consensus that includes various groups within society and the ability of such an institution to legitimate majority rule represent important shifts that have the potential to strengthen the process of democratisation.

After looking at the theoretical dispositions of Muslim thinkers and Islamic doctrine towards democracy, it is necessary to see how Islamist groups in different Muslim countries and settings have engaged with the process of democratisation. The case of Islamic political activism in Egypt illustrates the ways in which the dominant literature has not acknowledged how the Muslim Brotherhood is an organisation that stimulates change in Egyptian society through its participatory character. Within the literature, there is an evident argument that the activities of the Muslim Brotherhood and the greater Islamic movement in Egypt are in many instances different from the liberal democratic civic activism found in Western democracies. This line of thought examines the ways in which associational life dominated by Islamist institutions and ideas in Egypt does not correspond to the conventional model of civil society devised by democratic theorists. In Benjamin Barber’s participatory democracy groups and individuals in civil society compete, engage and cooperate with each other in a sphere that is guided by principles of toleration, liberty and civility. This is not only Barber’s view, rather democratic theorists from Tocqueville to Dryzek to Putnam have stressed that civil society is a public sphere where individuals and groups come and debate issues and preferences within a framework that does not lend superiority to one group or idea.

Evidence suggests that in different examples, the Muslim Brotherhood being the key player in civil society does not correspond to what such democratic theorists propose. In Mustapha Al-Sayyid’s study of civil society, he shows that one of the essential features of civil society is the large measure of respect to freedom of conscience and thought or in other words a spirit of tolerance. This condition he claims is not met in Egypt because of the lack of tolerance demonstrated especially by young Islamist militants but also by some members of the Muslim Brotherhood. This has taken the form of assaults, condemnations, assassination and threats of assassination to those individuals and groups that do not conform to their idea of an Islamic state and society. The assassination of Farag Fouda in 1992 by the radical Al-Gama’a al-Islamiyya group is testament to the limits imposed on tolerance and freedom of thought, conscience and belief in present day Egypt. Therefore it would be difficult from the evidence above to notice any correspondence between Barber’s vision of participatory democracy and the Islamist groups in Egypt precisely because dissent and opposition to a specific Islamist political order cannot be tolerated. Furthermore, John Esposito and other authors illustrate the ways in which Islamists in Egypt during the 1980s and 90s adopted an uncooperative violent attitude towards other non-Muslim groups within Egyptian society, especially the Christian Copts.

Yet, the Muslim Brotherhood and Islamist political activism in Egypt are not monolithic categories; rather, within Egyptian society Islamist groups are different in their understandings and orientations. This is in accordance with the interpretation that although there might be the presence of one culture influenced predominantly by Islam in Egypt, this gives rise to different types of behaviour and attitudes concerning democracy, dissent, and authoritarianism. This allows for a greater consideration of groups within the Islamist camp that do not condone the use of violence against opposition and even those that call for a more democratic, pluralist and moderate approach to politics. One such group is the Centre Party, which has defied the common perception of the incompatibility between democratic politics and Islam. The chief goal of the party was to attain a more prominent role in civic life within a more democratic environment. Keeping in mind some of the essential principles in democratic theory, the party’s encouragement of dissent, tolerance and multiplicity of views within a framework of an inclusive community makes it an important actor in the attempt to construct a viable Islamic democracy.

A critical aspect of a stronger democracy is ways in which interaction, participation and engagement come to define the self and community. In other words, through participatory deliberation and ongoing dialogue, we define and redefine the crucial terms that we in turn use to define our common identity and lives. In Egypt, the literature on democratisation and liberalisation has tended to focus on changes in the formal political arena – rules, laws and procedures. Instead, the political and social change that Islamist movements have brought about in Egypt should be located at the informal realm outside political structures and elites. As with Barber, Islamic activists in Egypt developed an alternative domain in which values are being cultivated and new styles of participation being forged. Carrie Wickham argues that what is often ignored is how the Muslim Brotherhood and Islamist organisations in Egypt created independent sites of social and political expression that define new models of political leadership and community while also posing a moral alternative to the secular state. This Islamic alternative sphere/domain has been forged as a result of the successful development of a parallel network of Islamic institutions and mass institution-building from below. It is important to note that the Muslim Brotherhood and Islamist movements did not impose their activities and order on Egyptian citizens, rather, the emergence of the Islamic political and social alternative to the state is the result of the gradual interaction and participation of Egyptian citizens with and in such Islamic socio-economic institutions. John Esposito claims that: ‘The major accomplishment of the Islamic movement and the Brotherhood in particular, and the source of its strength and credibility, is the extent to which, motivated by religion as well as political, social and economic considerations, it has created an alternative, normative order.’ In practice, Islamic values and norms have come to inform the political, economic, social, and educational spheres of Egyptian society. Central to Barber’s argument for strong democracy is that participation, interaction and public activities should in the long-run alter the way in which we see and understand the world. This is in turn will create a community defined by participation. In Egypt, Islamic political activism has transformed society in just this way. As many authors observe, the Islamic alternative public domain has changed how individuals in Egypt perceive problems in society and how they seek to resolve them.

Another Muslim country that is appropriate for the current discussion of the relationship between Islam and democracy is Iran. In many ways, the Iranian model represents an important experiment in trying to create a modern-religious state, one that attempts to include democratic practices in an Islamic context. The predominant staring point for such analysis is the examination of the constitution of Iran and the institutionalisation of the notion of Vilayat -e- Faqih. The final version of the constitution declared in November 1979 was based upon Ayatollah Khomeini’s concept of Islamic government, or more aptly rule by the jurisconsult, thus establishing the ultimate authority of clerics in the management and guidance of the state. While the primary purpose of the clerical majority in the assembly of experts was to enshrine the supremacy of the Faqih/jurist and Islamic law, it also provided a framework for popular participation and democratic governance.

A comparison between Maimon Schwarzchild’s views on constitutionalism and the Iranian constitution will show that such a constitution is inherently undemocratic. In accordance with Isaiah Berlin’s liberal tradition, Schwarzchild argues that in a liberal democratic society it is indispensable to defend individual freedom and the natural, private rights of individuals to determine what values and ends are worth pursuing. As with Berlin, the plurality of irreconcilable values for individuals in society necessitates the recognition that ‘human values are many, not all of them commensurable, and in perpetual rivalry with one another’. This leads Shwarzchild to propose the ‘state action’ doctrine, which is basically: ‘the principle that the laws and policies of government must respect due process, equal protection, and free speech, but that there is no constitutional obligation on the private citizen or private organisation to do likewise. Laws must be constitutional, but not private acts unless the private act is prescribed by public law – and then it is the law, not the private act, that is subject to challenge’. Succinctly put, the state action doctrine implies that in the public sphere, the state using the constitution has a monopoly over the determination of public values that govern the ‘vertical’ relationship between the state and its citizens. The private sphere is considered the place where citizens in their ‘horizontal’ relations with each other are not bounded by the monopolistic values governing the public sphere. Instead, the private sphere is where genuine value pluralism can be found and state toleration is mandatory.

Taking into consideration the social and political context out of which the Iranian constitution emerged, it attempts to combine a diversity of ideologies and principles which in certain instances has lead many to point out its contradictory nature. As Tamadonfar claims: ‘On the one hand, this document accounts for the secular principles of rights, equality, and justice and, on the other hand, it acknowledges the supremacy of restrictive Islamic views on rights, justice and equality.’ What constitutional and democratic theorists worry about is that the Iranian constitution and the way it has been set up gives unprecedented absolute power to the clergy to govern the affairs of the state and society in a way that mainstream Islamic political thought does not. For reasons of space only a few examples from the constitutions and the way it is implemented will attest to the undemocratic nature of the Iranian constitutions. The most evident clash in the constitution is between article 5 and article 56. The question here is not about general sovereignty which in Islam belongs only to God, but instead the debate centres on temporal sovereignty. Article 56 states that: ‘Absolute sovereignty over the world and man belongs to God, and it is He who has placed man in charge of his social destiny. No one can deprive man of this God-given right, nor subordinate it to the interest of a given individual or group’. This is contradicted by article 5 which establishes that the sovereignty of God on Earth is exercised by deputies – the Shi’i clergy. Once this is accepted then the Faqih and the clergy enjoy paramount, absolute and extensive and executive powers that are further entrenched by other articles in the constitution such as 107, 109, and 110. These three articles make the election of the Faqih the responsibility of the committee of experts, not by a popular mandate, while recognising the infallibility of such a figure, thus giving the supreme leader a wide range of executive absolute powers. The Iranian constitution does not correspond to the liberal/democratic blueprint of Shwarzchild because it allows the values advocated in the public sphere by the state to be extended to the private sphere, thus reducing the pluralism and toleration in that sphere.

In addition to the undemocratic elements in the Iranian constitution, the conduct of affairs by the Fuqha and religious establishment is evidence of an increasingly authoritarian Islam in power. Although the populist revolution of 1979 enjoyed mass support from the population, once in power the clerically run state began to resemble the royal authoritarianism of the Shah’s period. As part of the project of imposing an Islamic order while Islamising society, Khomeini and the militant clergy supporting him were repressive and intolerant of dissent and opposition. Even after after Khomeini’s death, under the new Faqih, Ali Khamenei, imprisonment, arbitrary trial, torture and censorship, along with the widespread repression of dissent continued. This has led many to claim that the ‘royal reign of terror’ of the previous era was replaced with a ‘clerical reign of terror’ in which repression was justified in the name of Islam. All this and more suggest emphatically that in the practical application of some form of an Islamic democracy, the tendencies of authoritarianism are the ones which reign.

However, Anthony Shadid attempts to present the case that in post-revolutionary Iran, there has emerged a trend that continues to re-consider the relationship between Islam (the revolution and Islamic resurgence) and ideas of democracy and individual freedom. One obvious proponent of this trend is the former president of Iran, Mohammad Khatami, who endorsed an evolutionary Islamic theology that can accommodate modern day democratic values. He strongly criticised the inflexibility of religious theology and warned of the dangers of the monopoly of interpretation by the ulema and clergy. For him any interpretation is fallible and human; therefore, the right of interpretation should be broadened where a multiplicity of views becomes the norm. Khatami’s work and perspective is critical in debates on Islam and democracy because he shows an appreciation of the Western development of democratic institutions and proposes that the foundation of any Islamic democracy should be that of a democratic civil society. Such an Islamic civil society is defined by its pluralism and one where the concept of Fitna does not obstruct genuine diversity. Shadid contends that: ‘They (Khatami and his supporters) were not against the idea of an Islamic Republic. But like others, they wanted to blend it with democracy, individual freedom, civil society and tolerance, and by the end of the 1990s, they had drawn many of the revolution’s staunchest defenders to their ranks.’

Although Iran’s political system lacked many of the attributes of a fully democratic state, in its regional context when compared with the neighboring Arab countries, it appears to be more democratic. Concentrating solely on the undemocratic nature of the Iranian political system obscures the democratic elements in that system as well as making difficult the possibility of perceiving more participatory behavior and attitudes at the informal political landscape. In the first place, the Iranian constitution does include democratic institutions, and this becomes apparent in the parliamentary system of government with legislative, executive and judicial branches. Furthermore, within the Iranian regime is a system of checks and balances in which the president is elected popularly and the ultimate word is that of the Faqih. The heavy emphasis by the regime and its proponents on public opinion and electoral politics attests to the centrality of political participation. The importance of electoral politics is derived from the fact that the president and representatives of the National Consultative assembly are elected by the masses. John Esposito presents the most persuasive argument for the democratic effectiveness of the Islamic Republic when he claims that the major achievement of the regime was closing the paralysing gap between state and society that has long existed in Iran. He believes that: ‘Whether or not this bridging of the gap between state and society marks a move in the direction of a more democratic political system can be debated. However, it has provided the basis for greater public debate and for a consensus allowing for the successful transition to the post-Khomeini era.’ From this perspective, the post-revolutionary state in Iran is more democratic than its predecessor as it has involved more regime bargaining, national debate and the forming and reforming of a consensus to which the majority approve of. In other words, democracy in some sense implies that people, if not actually in control their future, at least have a say in it. Compared to the neighboring Arab countries, the Islamic Republic’s greatest achievement is getting people more involved in their country’s future. Thus, Iran represents an evolving attempt to implicate democracy in an Islamic context.

In conclusion, the complexities and contested nature of both Islam and democracy along with the different ways in which they are articulated makes the task of finding whether they are compatible extremely difficult and one that is beyond the capacity of this article. Nevertheless, any analysis of the compatibility between Islam and democracy should not be based on narrow definitions. Such analysis should not use both terms in an essentialist or monolithic manner, rather, it should acknowledge their flexibility and adaptability and the diversity of actual experiences. A liberal conception of democracy is but one, and a militant/radical Islamist worldview is also but one. An important aspect of the debate surrounding the relationship between Islam and democracy often ignored in the literature is the ways in which Islamic principles and themes can be redefined and re-envisioned in ways that can accommodate and strengthen the process of democratisation in Muslim countries. Within Islamic tradition, concepts such as Fitnah and ikhtilaf can be interpreted to limit opposition and diversity in an Islamic society, but they can also be reinterpreted to provide means for legitimate opposition and encouraging diversity of opinion. The history of Muslim societies attests to their pluralism and diversity, with the Mutazila tradition and Muslim treatment of non-Muslims being prime examples. Perhaps more important is the process of revisiting the Islamic tradition in order to redefine essential principles and ideas so as to accommodate democratic forms of governance. This will allow for a more participatory role for the Muslim community in the conduct of their political and social affairs to be conceived. The concepts of shurah, ijma, and ijtihad can be understood in a manner which empowers the Muslim community to take collective action while also broadening the scope of those included in decision-making procedures. The case of Egypt demonstrates how certain strands within the Muslim Brotherhood can be considered undemocratic because of their intolerant treatment of social and political affairs. Yet this is just one strand and the Centre Party is an example of an Islamist party that supports a vibrant civil society infused with democratic principles. At the more informal political level, the Muslim Brotherhood in the past four decades has been able to change the ways Egyptians defines themselves and their common problems and solutions. While often neglected in the secondary literature, the Muslim Brotherhood in many ways corresponds to Barber’s vision of a strong democracy. The case of Iran shows that although the constitution can be perceived to be undemocratic and not in accordance with the liberal conception of democracy (not applying the state doctrine), there exist groups in society that fully endorse an evolutionary Islamic theology that can accommodate modern day democratic values. At the more informal political level, the Islamic Republic of Iran has narrowed the gap between state and society that in the post-Khomeini era has involved more regime bargaining, national debate, and the forming and reforming of a consensus of which the majority approve. In addition to these examples, the case of Turkey illustrates the general acceptance of democratic principles and mechanisms, such as elections, by the major political Islamist parties. Bearing in mind Schumpeter’s argument for a representative kind of democracy, elections in Turkey have served to increase the importance and influence of an Islamic ideology that has to contribute to the social and political spheres.

What this article has attempted to argue is that in a discussion of the compatibility between democracy and Islam, the underlying mode of analysis should be as broad as possible. To elaborate, different religious traditions have sets of symbols that believers use to construct narratives about all great issues of human life. A more sophisticated outlook recognises that symbols can be put together in different packages and as such there can be no single or ‘total’ Islam that is compatible with democracy. Accordingly, just as it is possible to construct a Christian political theology of authoritarianism as was done in the divine right kings (religious doctrine of royal absolutism), similarly, it is possible to construct a worldview or political programme that is authentically Islamic and authoritarian. Yet, as a Christian theology of democracy developed, so too can an Islamic political theology of democracy. Not only is this feasible in theoretical terms, but also in empirical terms where the growing support for democratic institutions and norms is evident in the dispositions of Muslim thinkers and masses alike.

The concentration of so much of the world’s hydrocarbons in this geographical location, in turn, means that for as long as our economies remain dependent on the supply of oil and natural gas, the Middle East will inevitably play a key role in global politics.  Barring a major technological transformation, therefore, global dependency on the region is only going to grow, leading to heightened geopolitical competition amongst developed and developing nations in their attempts to secure their access to the region’s vast resources.

At the same time, the International Energy Agency (IEA) estimates that between now and 2030, world oil addiction will rise by about 60 per cent. with China and India set to witness the highest rate of growth in their energy consumption.  It is not surprising, therefore, that Chindia’s, as they are commonly referred to, interests in the region have grown steadily in pace with their energy interests, resulting in an ‘Eastern type’ of socio-political activism in regional affairs.  Worried that such activism might potentially diminish their regional dominance, Western powers, and in particular the United States, have begun to voice concerns over the consequences of a more aggressive Chinese and Indian diplomacy in the Middle East.

It ought to be remembered that neither China nor India are total strangers to the region, as some western analysts and politicians assume them to be.  As the ‘jewel in the crown’ of the British empire, India was intimately involved in nearly all the major wars and/or armed conflicts in which Britain was a participant.  Indian troops participated in major military campaigns across the region and were indeed instrumental in the defeat of German forces in the Western desert, the Vichy French forces in Syria, and the pro-Nazi government in Iraq.  However, after Britain abandoned the subcontinent in 1947, its role diminished dramatically as India was preoccupied with its own security and economic challenges.

China too has ancient roots in the region.  Historical records reveal that from the first century AD, merchants from Aden and Muscat sailed down the Malabar coast to trade with India and then on to Ceylon to meet Chinese merchant ships.  Arab traders exploited the ‘maritime silk road’ to China via the Straits of Malacca.  During the 15^th century, Zheng He, a Chinese Admiral, famously sailed ships as far as East Africa.  These historic ties, however, were severed in the period of Chinese weakness in the 1800s and the 1900s.  In the decades after the establishment of the People’s Republic of China in 1949, there was little interaction between Middle Eastern states and China as an overwhelming majority of regional actors disapproved of the militant atheism and communism espoused by the PRC leadership.

This diplomatic passivism began to change in the 1980s as both countries embarked upon a path toward astonishing economic development and therefore increased energy needs.  In other words, as emerging, yet resource-poor, powers they have both become important players in the Middle East.  With their economies projected to expand at a rate of 7 to 9 per cent. over the next decade, Chindia is under pressure to secure long-term access to oil and gas resources in the Persian Gulf.  Hence, the fundamental driver of Chindia-Middle East relationship is energy, but it is not the sum of it.

Chindia views the Middle East not only in terms of its value as a source of oil, but also in the context of its huge potential as an oil services market and trade partner.  By 2001, for example, China had signed almost 3,000 contracts with the six GCC states for labour services worth $2.7 billion.  Meanwhile, the GCC is home to over 5 million Indian nationals who are estimated to generate $15 billion of annual remittance flows to India; an issue that made India extremely nervous about the spill-over effects of the Manama uprising, to the extent that the Indian Prime Minister deemed it necessary to reassure the Gulf monarchies of India’s ‘steadfast support’ for the regimes there.

While oil wealth drives the economies of the GCC and Iran, they are also major aluminium and phosphates producers with various estimates judging they account for 18 per cent. of the world’s aluminium output by 2015.  Considering that the smelting process required for producing aluminium is oil intensive, both Beijing and New Delhi are now eyeing the GCC and Iran as major suppliers of their much needed aluminium.  This is clearly evident in the Aluminium Corporation of China decision to open an aluminium production plant in Saudi Arabia.  These two Asian giants are also interested in the GCC as a key player in the global plastics conversion market given that the block accounts for up to 11 per cent. of total market share.

In addition, both Indian and Chinese business elites and policymakers are pursuing opportunities in investment, sale of consumer goods, and tourism throughout the region.  Due to their geographical proximity, China and India are looking strategically to export goods and services to third markets in Africa and Eastern Europe, using MENA countries as a platform to access these markets.  For instance, Hebei Zhongxing Automobile of China has partnered with the Iyas Company for Manufacturing Automobiles, Jordan’s first car manufacturer, and the Jordan Investment Board to build a $30 million facility to produce cars for sale in Arab and Eastern European markets.  Similarly, Dubai has now become the main hub for rebranding and re-exportation of Indian products destined for African markets.

Also significant are the low-level, but potentially important, military-to-military contacts between Chindia and Middle Eastern states including Iran, the GCC, and Israel.  To be sure, Beijing and New Delhi tread far more lightly compared to the US, Russia, and the EU when it comes to military affairs.  China’s military engagement in the Middle East has included arms sales and the transfer of dual use technologies to Iran, Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Syria, and Egypt, participation in the UN peacekeeping mission in Lebanon, and very limited military-to-military contacts.  For its part, India has limited its defence cooperation with the region to the signing of MoUs for the establishment of bilateral strategic consultation groups as well as joint military exercises with the GCC, particularly Oman, and Iran.

However, it is Chindia’s arms purchases from Israel that are a constant irritation to the US.  Their interest in Israel’s, and by proxy, America’s weapons, is at a record high with Israel as their second largest weapons supplier, next only to Russia.  Despite its small size, Israel remains an important investor in both Chinese and Indian development projects and supplier of high-technology weapons.  In fact, it is fair to suggest that Israel’s superiority in military affairs was the main reason behind both China and India’s efforts to improve ties with Tel Aviv in the early 1990s.  Even the Israeli Prime Minister, Benjamin Netanyahu, seems to have acknowledged this when he told Chinese visitors that ‘Israeli know-how is more valuable than Arab oil’.

There are two other elements in the rising Chindian activism in the Middle East.  The first one relates to their own domestic fight against Islamic extremist groups and their efforts to obtain diplomatic support from Muslim countries to cut off any financial, political, or other support for these groups.  As recent knife attacks vividly illustrate, China has serious security concerns along its north-western border where the 10 million Uighur Muslims in Xinjiang have preserved a distinct, non-Chinese ethnic identity.  This explains why Chinese officials were ‘over-the-moon’ when China won the bid to build the first rail line connecting Mecca with nine holy sites in Saudi Arabia in 2009.  Officials in Beijing are of the opinion that such projects are valuable public diplomacy tools helping China to improve its image in the Muslim world.  India too has its own legitimate concerns with Islamic extremism as it is home to the second largest Muslim population in the world.  In this regard, Saudi Arabia is of paramount importance to India given Saudi’s unrivalled influence over India’s historic adversary Pakistan.  The second element, put briefly, is their desire to expand their support base in the UN.  China is keen to cultivate its close ties with the region in order to have the regional states backing in the UNSC, whereas India seeks to utilise the goodwill that exists between herself and the region in order to boost its UNSC membership bid.

Regional states themselves have been receptive to the increasing presence and involvement of Chindia in regional affairs.  Middle Eastern countries recognise the capability of these countries to play major roles in international stability and security based on their political positions and membership of international organisations, their economic and industrial achievements, and last, but certainly not least, their nuclear power status.  Arab League persistence on Chinese and Indian involvement in the Arab-Israeli conflict is a case in point.

Further integration between Chindia and the region, moreover, is considered a win-win situation economically thanks to the complementarity of their interests in each other’s markets.  Chindia is now the single biggest market for Middle Eastern oil and those oil producing nations have all attempted to ensure that they have a stake in those markets.

Deterred from developed markets by hostile US and European reactions to Arabs’ holding sizeable stakes in Western companies, which was epitomised in the row over Dubai Ports World’s bid to manage a set of American ports, sanctions as in the case of Iranian investors, and the current economic stagnation in the West, a considerable number of Middle Eastern investors have been pushed to consider the alternative markets that Chindia offers.  The Middle East is both a supplier and a recipient of capital.  As a supplier, it seeks markets that promise the highest returns, and Indian and Chinese markets offer them just that.  One high-profile example is the purchase by the Kuwait Investment Authority of $720 million worth of shares in China’s largest bank, the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China.

Regional states, including Israel, are clearly not in favour of putting all their eggs in one basket anymore.  Travelling in the region and talking to locals and officials alike, one senses a general belief, and at times excitement, that the 21^st century belongs to Asia.  Therefore, regional states are now willingly pursuing a new strategy in order to forge separate alliances in the security and economic spheres with Asian powers; a policy that is commonly referred to as the ‘look East’ policy.  In all likelihood, this is not a replacement for their traditional ally – the US – but it could very well be an effort to restrict Washington’s influence, especially since the US response to the Egyptian uprising has utterly diminished Arab royals’ trust in Washington’s steadfastness at difficult times.

What is more, regional actors are at ease dealing with Asian countries because they carry no excess political baggage.  India and China are not interested in linking political reforms to economic ties.  Both have come to terms with the need for greater liberalisation and are positioning themselves to take advantage of a globalised business environment.  China’s emphasis on economic reform over political reform and its criticism of Washington democratisation plans for the region are definitely in sync with literally every single ruler in the Middle East, with Israel as an exception.

Finally, and putting aside the immense potential for bilateral co-operation between the region and Chindia, especially India, in the fields of IT, science and technology, food security, and tourism, efforts to establish closer ties to China and India could also be seen as an unfolding balancing game initiated by regional actors.  Convinced that Iran is a hegemonistic power and is well on its way to becoming a nuclear power, Arab states may be looking to Beijing and New Delhi to act as mediators to influence Tehran’s actions.  As a case in point, both Tehran and Abu Dhabi have taken their dispute over the three islands to Beijing and not Washington.  As the recent Indo-Saudi oil agreement illustrates, the GCC states may also be keen to use their natural resources in order to prevent Chindia’s growing energy relationships with Tehran from developing strategic dimensions.

For its part, Tehran has been seeking closer ties with Chindia in order to compensate for its isolation in the West and to buy time for its nuclear programme by playing-off China and the US against each other.  Convinced that US power is in decline, Iran is trying to position itself as Chindia’s key ally in the region to be able to exert more influence once the opportunity arises.  Lastly, Palestinians have demanded Chindian mediation in their conflict with Israel because they no longer believe in the US and Europe as neutral mediators, whereas Israel is seeking to expand relations with them so as to ensure that the Asian heavyweights will not revert back to their pre-1990s stance which saw Israel as a violator and Zionism as a form of racism.

Overall, as political and economic ties have deepened, cultural, religious, educational, and other forms of exchange have also widened.  And despite all the difficulties ahead – the general public view on the inferiority of Chindian goods compared to western products, regional actors’ political dilemmas in terms of positioning themselves vis-a-vis the Sino-Indian as well as Sino-American rivalries in the region and further afield, potential flare-ups between the US and China over their control of sea lanes, the possibility of the formation of strategic alliances between extra-regional states against each other and its negative effects on the Middle East security environment, and the near-total dependency of some regional actors on the US for their security which could hamper efforts at greater integration – ties are set to go from strength to strength.

Contemporary Middle Eastern views of Chindia are similar to Middle Eastern views of the US a century ago when many in the Middle East looked to the US to rescue them from European imperialism.  The US was in the habit of sending business people, not viceroys, and was welcomed in the region because of it.  And today, these views are echoed in the regional perceptions of Chindia.  Arab regimes and intellectuals hold China and India as models who are lucrative trading partners and objective observers in international affairs, and yet are absent from their domestic politics.  These countries are new to the contemporary Middle East and offer an inspiring model for how ancient civilizations can grow and prosper in the modern era.

This does not and should not mean that any rise in Chindia’s regional influence will come at the expense of US power in the immediate future.  Not only does Chindia lack the resources to match American military supremacy, they also prefer to preserve the current status quo as this is a considerably cheaper option for them.  In spite of all their differences, Chindia and US tend to share the same strategic interests in the region.  These include a Middle East free from nuclear weapons, anti-terrorism, and maritime security.  Currently, the US spends approximately $40 to $50 billion per year to protect the free flow of oil from the Persian Gulf to the global economy.  Chindia, by comparison, spends virtually nothing on Gulf security, while pursuing their strategy of building political and economic relations with oil-rich countries in order to secure oil for their growing economies.  Given the divergence of their strategic interests, therefore, it would be unwise for Beijing and New Delhi to spend money on something that is already being paid for by the US Government.  Also, domestic factors in India and China, such as poverty and the need for greater domestic expenditure, will limit governments’ abilities to play the role now hold by the US.

In the long-run, however, all this can, and most probably will, change as China and India continue to increase their presence in the region, while modernising their armed forces.  So far, Chindia has avoided taking side in regional affairs, but as their national interests become more intertwined with the Middle East, they will be left with no option but to pick and choose allies.  Put differently, it is highly unlikely that Chindia will remain capable of sustaining their hands-off approach to other countries’ internal matters in a region which is so ridden with unresolved ideological, historical, and emotional conflicts.  And once this approach is replaced with a more interventionist stance, one can be sure that there will only be minimal changes in the regional security environment: the political realities of the region will remain intact; that is, regardless of who the key security provider(s) is/are, they will have to build and maintain relationships with local regimes in return for oil and gas.

All empires rely to a certain extent on prestige to maintain authority.  For subjects of the British empire, prestige was derived from the psychological fillip of over three centuries of expansion, economic wealth based on a global trading network and technological superiority.  In contrast, the Ottoman empire had ceased to expand following defeat at the battle of Vienna in 1683 and struggled intermittently with Russian expansionism throughout the nineteenth century.  In the aftermath of the hugely damaging Russo-Ottoman war (1877-78) and the ensuing Berlin congress, the Ottoman empire lost a string of territories to either foreign administration, independence or autonomy, including Cyprus to British administration in 1878.  Tunisia became a French protectorate in 1881; Egypt was occupied by the British in 1882; Crete became autonomous in 1898, and Kuwait became a British protectorate in 1899.  Ever increasing foreign penetration naturally raised questions about the authority of the incumbent regime, the Ottoman sultanate.  Dominic Lieven’s comments on imperial legitimacy neatly sum up the Ottoman predicament at the end of the nineteenth century: ‘It is difficult to preserve rulers’ prestige and their hold on their subjects’ loyalty if the state they govern is seen as weaker, poorer and less effective than its foreign competitors.  History and fortune are perceived to have abandoned the regime.’  This is not to make the argument for the inevitability of Ottoman decline, but in terms of relative scale and success in the imperial mission, the British and Ottoman empires were set on conflicting trajectories.

A large part of the relevance of the Ottoman empire for the British was based upon its strategic position.  In particular, an Ottoman sultan derived a degree of his prominence in international politics from control of the two narrow straits, the Dardanelles and the Bosphorus, on which communications between the Mediterranean and the Black Sea were dependent.  This control proved a toxic mixture of power and vulnerability on the basis that no one of the British, the French, the Austro-Hungarians nor the Russians were willing to allow any one other to dominate the straits, passage through which was regulated by a number of treaties agreed throughout the nineteenth century.  It was also a core belief of the ruling Ottoman sultan, the enigmatic Abdülhamid II (r.1876-1909), that various of the great powers coveted different parts of his empire – typically, the Russians wanted Istanbul, parts of Anatolia and more generally to take under their protection the Slavic and orthodox communities of the Balkan peninsula, the British wanted Iraq, Arabia and the Persian gulf, the Italians wanted Libya and the French had extensive interests in the Levant.  To benefit most from the competitive tension between the powers and maximise his room for manoeuvre, Abdülhamid ostensibly based his diplomacy on a policy of strict neutrality.  As such, for the British, the Ottoman empire evolved into a necessary evil for the maintenance of the European balance of power; for the Ottomans, the British were an expansionist power that threatened their rights based on, in some cases, centuries of precedent.  Both at times wished the other did not exist.

But the very fact that the British and the Ottomans put their names to two co-existent empires meant that there was an inevitable overlap of practice and perspective.  Abdülhamid would probably not accept this comparison, but at the end of the nineteenth century both he and Queen Victoria ruled large amounts of territory encompassing diverse ethnic communities and religions.  Both empires were locked in their own distinct struggle for modernisation in the context of managing a multi-ethnic empire.  In search of legitimacy, Abdülhamid craved acceptance into the club of European royal families and, to a certain extent, the British accepted him as a peer monarch.  In 1908, Edward VII sought permission from his ‘brother and cousin’ to appoint a temporary head of mission in Istanbul.  The extreme longevity of both empires was to a large extent based on pragmatism and adaptability, neither adopting a ‘one size fits all’ approach to imperial management.  Similarly, while the bulk of military man-power for both empires was drawn from the imperial heartlands (the home nations for the British, Anatolia for the Ottomans), both were bolstered by significant numbers of fighting men from non-core territories.  For example, Indian soldiers formed the overwhelming majority of British forces who fought in the Iraq campaign of 1914-18, while the V and VI Corps of the Ottoman army were largely composed of Arabs.

For the Ottomans in this period, there was a strong emphasis on the preservation of imperial territory, a theme which ran through the core of all Ottoman policy, especially foreign policy.  The first of 119 articles of the ill-fated 23 December 1876 Ottoman constitution made clear that the Ottoman empire was one geographical unit, ‘an indivisible whole, from which no part can ever be detached under any pretext whatever’.  The policy of territorial integrity soon became the Ottoman foreign ministry’s raison d’être so that no conversation could take place between an Ottoman and British official without the phrase being used and Ottoman rights being energetically defended.  This imperial mission was independent of dynastic rule: when the second constitutional period began in 1908 after the Young Turk revolution and the end of Abdülhamid’s autocratic regime, there was no diminution in the ethic of imperial self-preservation.  If anything it was invigorated by the coming to power of the Young Turks.  The subsequent conflicts over Bosnia-Herzegovina (1908), Libya (1911-12) and, once again, the Balkans (1912-13) were ultimately fought for the same reasons as the Crimea war (1853-56) and the Russo-Ottoman war (1877-78).  Maintenance of territorial integrity was the driving force behind the momentous decision to enter what became the First World War in 1914.  As Mustafa Aksakal has recently argued, the Ottomans were not duped by the Germans into forming the wartime alliance, but rather were willing partners who saw war as a means of escape from imperial decline.

The two empires collectively administered millions of people and therefore shared common fears about innovations in the popular reaction to empire.  After all, the nineteenth century was marked by the rise of different nationalisms, from Ireland and South Africa for the British, to Serbia and Bulgaria for the Ottomans.  When the British suffered early setbacks in their war against the Boers in South Africa (1899-1902), in contrast to the glee expressed in some quarters in Istanbul, Abdülhamid was privately disquieted by the British inability to deal with what he described as an ‘ill-armed rabble’.  Some members of the main Ottoman opposition movement, the Young Turks, drew attention to the nationalist angle of the conflict, lauding the heroism of the Boers in their struggle for independence.  Abdülhamid, however, set himself apart from the highly critical mood prevalent in Europe, expressed his sympathy with Britain and even offered to send Ottoman troops to assist British forces in South Africa.  There were implications for the Ottomans if the British with all their naval and military advantages could be embarrassed by a rebellious minority in this way.

Critically, the British and the Ottomans also shared a common enemy in Russia, the key ingredient in the British-Ottoman ‘special relationship’ of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries.  This bond is easily overlooked because of the heat generated by British liberals in the decades after British troops fought alongside the ‘grand old Turk’ in the Crimea.  As early as 1867, Abdülhamid had personally experienced what he saw as the religious single-mindedness of the British during a state visit to London with his uncle, Abdülaziz I (r.1861-76).  While of course later frustrations with British policy might have coloured his perception, it is still interesting how Abdülhamid sensed detachment and coolness, in stark contrast to the summer glitz of a royal concert at Crystal Palace and a state banquet at Windsor.  As Allan Cunningham put it, on account of events in the Balkans, the British exhibited civility, but not cordiality.  In power later, as Europe’s only Muslim representative in a sea of Christian states, Abdülhamid was constantly criticised for atrocities committed against Ottoman Christian communities.  The Ottoman state was perceived as administratively inefficient and organisationally anachronistic.  Despite its close proximity to the heart of Europe and its participation in the European diplomatic system, it was still considered as somehow different and was treated as a special case.

Nevertheless, there remained a lingering tradition of sympathy for the Ottomans which the liberal movement could not entirely efface and which was unaffected by the pendulum-like swing of Conservative and Liberal governments in London.  For some Ottoman observers, the concepts of British conservatism and pro-Ottomanism were inextricably linked.  A prominent British Turcophile and Conservative politician, Earl Henry Percy, recalled Abdülhamid’s comments after an audience in the summer of 1899: ‘At the close of my interview with His Majesty he expressed his pleasure in knowing that among the supporters of Lord Salisbury’s Government there still prevailed the friendly and sympathetic sentiments towards his country which are among the oldest of the political traditions of the Conservative Party.’  The opening pages of John Buchan’s Greenmantle, written mid-First World War, are interesting not so much for the oft-quoted line about ‘a dry wind blowing through the East’, but more for the affinity the British ruling class felt for ‘old Turk’, portrayed as a ‘proud race’ who had been misled by radical elements into an alliance with Germany and conflict with their ancient ally.  While Abdülhamid and his closest policy advisers became increasingly sceptical about British willingness actively to help them against the Russians, there remained an irreducible association between partnership with Britain and the struggle against Russian aggression.

The period of Sir Nicholas O’Conor’s embassy in Istanbul from 1898 to 1908 is something of a black hole in the history of British-Ottoman relations, sitting as it does in the diplomatic mini-dark age of the period after the 1894-96 Armenian troubles, which was a defining moment in the relationship, and the supposedly inevitable cataclysm of 1914.  Within that time frame, a series of significant events after 1908, which resonated on the international stage, have typically received more attention.  These include the Young Turk revolution in 1908 followed by the elections, the Austro-Hungarian annexation of Bosnia-Herzegovina later that year, the counter-revolution in 1909, the Italian invasion of Libya in 1911, the Balkan wars in 1912-13, the Committee of Union and Progress (?ttihat ve Terakki Cemiyeti) coup in 1913, and finally the First World War of 1914-18.  In an effort to understand the 1914-18 war in the Middle East, these events are often linked together to form a teleological progression from the end of Abdülhamid’s sultanate through to the rise of the CUP, the formation of the triumvirate of ?smail Enver, Ahmed Cemal and Mehmed Talat, and finally the Ottoman alliance with Germany.  But while this decade is temporally located in the period before the First World War, O’Conor’s term can only be representative of Britain’s relations with the Ottoman empire during that period, not used as the basis for a study of the origins of the First World War, or rather, the 1914-18 war in the Middle East, which would assume a degree of inevitability that did not exist.  There is no sense that the two empires were marching inexorably towards war with each other.  Indeed, the fluidity of these relations is remarkable, quite at odds with the standard narrative of mutual disinterest and German ascendancy.

For a decade, O’Conor and his staff were the main interface between the British policy making establishment in all its guises (the Diplomatic Service, Foreign Office, India Office, Government of India and the British Agency in Egypt), and the inner workings of Abdülhamid’s administration in its twilight years.  Central to understanding the nature of this relationship are the themes of power and authority.  Power cannot be exercised in isolation.  It is exerted by one party over another and so is relative rather than absolute and quantifiable.  The performance of the Ottoman military from the victory against Greece (1897) to the different campaigns of the First World War highlighted the flaws in the perception of Ottoman weakness, or lack of power.  As an article in the International Review in 1893 presciently argued, British, French, and German observers were fond of decrying the Ottoman army and representing it as stagnating.  In fact, it had been remodelled on European lines with some success despite well-documented financial difficulties.  So while the Ottoman army ultimately proved itself highly capable of waging a long-term war against the most sophisticated of the great powers, what mattered was that this power was still relatively less than British military power.  As the two pre-eminent powers in the Middle East, it is impossible to understand the British and Ottoman performance in that region without understanding how one exerted power over the other.

Nowhere did British power and interest combine more effectively than in disputes over Ottoman borders.  A key test of power is whether a state can protect its own borders, but from Kuwait (1899) to the Aden hinterland (1901-05) and the Sinai peninsula (1906), the Ottoman state was unable to resist British demands.  Power is not necessarily applied directly but can be used through an intermediary as part of an alliance.  But a state must enjoy power in order to be attractive as an ally in the first place.  These years of intense diplomatic upheaval are replete with examples of new British alliances – the Anglo-Japanese alliance (1902), the Anglo-French entente (1904), and the Anglo-Russian agreement (1907) – each of which affected the position of the Ottoman empire in the international system.  It may justly be argued that Britain negotiated these agreements out of a position of increasing relative weakness but, with one possible major exception in 1905, there was no Ottoman participation in the profound diplomatic realignment of the 1900s.  Given Abdülhamid’s precarious strategic position and extremely poor public image in Europe, the disadvantages of a publicly announced alliance outweighed any benefits a power such as Britain could derive.  In this period, any Ottoman alliance would need to have been secret with clearly defined aims.  A broad defensive alliance could be neither.  Every agreement Britain signed strengthened its hand in some way against the Ottoman empire, from the more secure position in Egypt following the entente to Abdülhamid’s immediate volte-face concerning the British in Iraq after 1907, before which he had been an energetic opponent of British penetration.  At root, Britain occupied an entirely different position in the balance of world power and as such was able to negotiate significantly better agreements than the Ottoman empire could ever hope to at this stage.

Abdülhamid was the thirty-fourth Ottoman sultan, directly descended from Osman I (r.c.1299-c.1324), and was therefore identified with the traditional and legal authority vested in that office.  But in dealing with the foreign powers, there was a lack of proportion between his authority and his power on account of relative Ottoman weakness.  For Abdülhamid, authority was an aspect of his rule which allowed him to compete on more equal terms with the powers, which explains the emphasis he placed on how he was perceived by the governments and peoples of the foreign powers.  He had relatively little scope for exerting power through coercion on the British government but, as caliph, he had a degree of authority in respect of the world’s sunni Muslims, many of whom were British subjects, which ensured his religious position was a factor in the British-Ottoman relationship.  Similarly, foreign powers could not cultivate commercial interests in the Ottoman empire without permission, in the form of a concession, from Abdülhamid.  His authority to award such concessions was therefore a tool of his foreign policy knowing as he did that the major powers viewed the Ottoman empire as fertile commercial territory, rich in increasingly important natural resources, such as oil.  As Abdülhamid readily admitted, the relevance of certain high profile enterprises, especially the railways, was political, not just economic.  To summarise, there was only a limited correlation between conventional Ottoman state power and diplomatic activity and success.  At times, the Ottoman diplomatic machine deftly managed events to achieve its goals.  In ?ükrü Hanio?lu’s words:

‘…as opposed to what has been claimed by most diplomatic historians, the turn-of-the-century Ottoman Empire had its own internal dynamic.  It was not merely a puppet that was animated at the whim of the Great Powers; rather, like other members of the European concert, the Ottoman Empire pursued policies in inventing tradition, creating a self-portrait, and reinterpreting religion to imperial advantage.’

There was then an inherent imbalance in Abdülhamid’s power and authority, but such imbalances existed elsewhere in the British-Ottoman relationship.  Within the Ottoman foreign policy establishment, Abdülhamid centralised power such that his ambassadors, while legitimate representatives of the Ottoman state, were less able to influence events than their predecessors.  Technological change was undoubtedly a factor too.  For example, O’Conor’s personal power was lessened by the immediacy of communications, notably the telegraph, by which Istanbul was linked to the continent in 1855.  For O’Conor also, internal changes in the British empire served to undermine his authority.  The rise of Cromer as head of the British agency in Cairo and his influence over the British cabinet shifted the focus of British policy making in the region from Istanbul to Cairo.

Turning now to O’Conor himself, as Britain’s representative at the Sublime Porte from 1898 to 1908, he was understandably a personality of central importance in the British-Ottoman relationship.  His private papers provide a record of not only British diplomatic activity in Istanbul but also, in part, the Ottoman response – O’Conor had relationships with key Ottoman figures during a period in Ottoman history when it was impossible to divorce foreign policy from domestic policy.  To quote Paul Kennedy, if you want to know what was really happening in Elizabethan England, you need to read the reports the Venetian ambassador was sending home.

O’Conor has never been the subject of a major biography.  Where reference has been made to him in monographs, his skills and successes are alluded to, but little more.  There are a couple of likely explanations for the lack of a detailed work, especially on his service in Istanbul, the climax of a long diplomatic career.  First, he managed to avoid a number of major diplomatic events through which he might have attracted more interest and the one issue with which his embassy is often associated, the uprising in Macedonia from 1903 onwards, is more noteworthy for Britain’s disinterest than action.  Secondly, O’Conor was quietly critical of British policy toward the Ottoman empire, which he saw as unfocussed and frequently lacking in guile.  Gaining public support for this attitude was problematic during the period of overt Turcophobia in Britain during Abdülhamid’s final years in office, but became impossible after the outbreak of the First World War, with Britain and the Ottoman empire on opposing sides.

The availability of source material on him is not an issue.  Throughout his life, he was an inveterate recorder and correspondent.  His letter writing ethic was a boarding school habit he never lost.  In Istanbul, his private letter writing was not only a means of keeping in touch with friends and colleagues in Britain but also provided an outlet for some political views which he could not express so frankly in official despatches.  As O’Conor once told his Sir Thomas Sanderson, ‘I find pen in hand almost without knowing it’.

It was possibly his untimely demise in March 1908 that prevented O’Conor from following the standard practice of the day and writing his memoirs.  There is evidence his devoted wife, Minna, was already considering such a project in 1909.  Edwin de Lisle, a fellow Catholic and former Conservative MP, then spent 11 weeks at the end of 1916 reading O’Conor’s private and official correspondence at Minna’s invitation.  The point of the exercise was clearly to prepare a biography but, despite de Lisle’s admiration for O’Conor’s achievements, the idea was dropped, no doubt because of the inherent conflict between O’Conor’s pro-Ottoman sympathies and the war then raging in the Middle East.  By 1916, British-Ottoman relations prior to the Young Turk revolution were from another age with events at Gallipoli and Kut so raw in the national consciousness.

O’Conor’s life was influenced by three inter-connected characteristics: his social class, his Irishness, and his Catholic faith.  His class, and the education it allowed access to, eased his entry into the Diplomatic Service where it was the norm for diplomats to rely on a private income to top up their allotted pay and rations; his Irishness coloured his political outlook and marked him out as an outsider (not necessarily in a negative way); and, lastly, his faith underpinned his natural conservatism.  At first glance, O’Conor was a natural entrant into the aristocratic ranks of the Diplomatic Service of nineteenth century Britain.  While it was not unknown during this period for Irishmen to dwell upon familial connections to the last Irish kings, in O’Conor’s case his claim was well-founded and can be clearly traced.

O’Conor’s roots never failed to provoke comment by the Ottomans, who struggled to understand how a Catholic Irishman could be in the service of a Protestant empire.  In an early mention of him in Ottoman state papers, the embassy in London picked up on his Irishness when reporting his transfer to Istanbul from St. Petersburg in 1898.  Abdülhamid himself was highly critical of what he saw as fanatical English Protestantism and welcomed O’Conor for both his Catholicism and his Irishness.  Understandably interested in how different empires managed their multinational communities, Abdülhamid once remarked at how common it was for an Irish Catholic to be in the service of a Protestant empire.  He made reference to the British ba?kumandan in the Boer War who was also an Irish Catholic, the irony being that the English had sent the Irish to put down a nationalist rebellion thereby restoring English rule.  It is a wonder that Abdülhamid found this practice so unusual because inclusivity was standard Ottoman practice.  In the 1900s within the scope of Ottoman foreign affairs alone, Abdülhamid employed an Armenian in the upper echelons of his Foreign Ministry (Artin Dadyan Pa?a) and an Albanian (Mehmed Ferid Pa?a) as Grand Vizier.  Both Ottoman ambassadors in London between 1895 and 1907 (Antopulo Pa?a and Musurus Pa?a) were Greek.  Abdülhamid was indeed wise to cultivate O’Conor, not because he was a fellow traveller who might cooperate with him against English tyranny, but rather because O’Conor was a high conservative imperialist who understood the threat of separatist tendencies.  O’Conor, for example, like other British ambassadors before him struggled to embrace fully the concept of constitutionalism in the Ottoman empire.  It is also interesting how both O’Conor and Abdülhamid were deeply impressed by Europe’s great territorial uniter, Otto von Bismarck.  Above all, O’Conor’s distinctive background gave him the critical perspective of an outsider operating from the inside.  His criticisms of both British and Ottoman policy are all the more credible because of this.

O’Conor’s life before arriving in Istanbul was dominated by his career and by his marriage.  The diligence he first showed at school continued during his early diplomatic postings to a variety of embassies throughout the world.  His letters home portray a quietly ambitious character, not wholly at ease with the social whirl that life on the diplomatic circuit in the nineteenth century involved.  While not especially scholarly, he was certainly open-minded and receptive.  He was delighted, for example, to meet Leopold von Ranke during his service in Germany, when he would visit Ranke at his house (though there is the impression O’Conor used the meetings more to improve his German than to enjoy the historical debate).  When ambassador, he would badger his juniors to travel throughout the countries in which they served.  In Istanbul in particular, he was adamant his staff should aspire to look at life from the Ottoman point of view.

O’Conor married late in life, primarily a function of his innate caution and professional ambition, although a life overseas and a slightly solitary nature no doubt also played their part.  A letter to his mother in 1868 (of the ‘not to be published’ kind) reveals both his ambition and social conservatism.  He wrote how: ‘Marriage does not rest on my cards for some years to come at least… to me a wife should have many qualifications both as to fortune and social position before I would decide on the move.’  When he did finally marry, nearly two decades later in 1887, he was 44 years old and his new wife, Minna Hope-Scott, was 19 years younger (the age gap concerned him in subsequent years, especially after he turned 60).  Other than this difference, his personal life followed a not unusual trajectory.  His marriage to Minna appears to have been largely a happy one and they had three daughters together.  There was the sad death of a baby son in January 1888 in Sofia and at least one miscarriage during the Istanbul years.  Minna struggled with life in Istanbul with the result that she spent long periods either in Britain, where they had a house in Wimbledon, or on the continent, where she was a regular at the spa resorts frequented by the international rich, such as Baden-Baden or its upcoming rival Vichy.  Nevertheless, she comes across as a loyal and loving wife who would write to her husband almost everyday.  ‘This is a dreary way of spending the best part of one’s life – always separated,’ she once complained.  When O’Conor died, Minna was utterly inconsolable, unable even to attend his funeral.  Gerald Fitzmaurice, the British dragoman who quite loathed O’Conor, described her reaction: ‘I have assisted at many sad scenes but I confess to having been affected when I accompanied her into the mortuary chamber and she flung herself on the corpse – broke down absolutely – covering his face with tears, kisses and wailing laments.  It was very sad.’

O’Conor was steadily promoted until he began a series of more senior appointments which shared a common theme.  In 1883 he was appointed secretary of legation in Beijing, in 1887 agent and consul-general in Bulgaria, and in 1895 he was appointed ambassador to St. Petersburg.  The common thread running through his career from 1883 onwards and continuing until his death in 1908 was Britain’s management of the Russian threat.  Postings to China, Bulgaria and Russia marked O’Conor out as a Foreign Office ‘easternist’ ever alive to Russian expansionism and unsympathetic to Russian claims on Istanbul. 

The early streak of ambition never left O’Conor so that he could not bring himself to view his posting to Istanbul as his final appointment.  In the Spring of 1903 shortly before his first five year term in Istanbul was due to end rumours began to spread that his name was under consideration for the Paris embassy.  In terms of pay alone, Paris was the best paid ambassadorship in the Diplomatic Service, whereas Istanbul sat roughly in the middle, above Rome, Madrid and Tokyo.  Valentine Chirol soothed that the Foreign Office would not want to send a Catholic to Paris at that point in time and O’Conor began another five years in Istanbul.  Soon after this disappointment, health problems which had begun in China grew worse so that at the end of 1904 he returned to London for surgery to remedy some ill-defined gastric complaint.  The operation allowed O’Conor to go on for over three more years but his health did not properly recover and he was never able to work to the same level of intensity as he had before. 

His deteriorating health coincided with a change in administration in London at the start of 1906, which accentuated his sense of distance from power.  The personnel changes in the Foreign Office marked a generational shift.  Charles Hardinge, who replaced Sanderson as Permanent Under-Secretary, had served under O’Conor in Sofia, an experience Hardinge did not recall fondly.  Edward Grey, the new Liberal Foreign Secretary, was just 44 years old, whereas Lansdowne had been a contemporary and fellow Irish landowner with whom O’Conor had formed a relationship of mutual respect.  O’Conor began to feel old and out of touch.  In particular, he became more critical about the reluctance to support German interests in the Ottoman empire, which, he believed were not detrimental to Britain but were a good obstacle to the Russians.  His health deteriorated sharply in late 1907 and he died in March 1908.  He chose to be buried in the Crimea war cemetery in Istanbul.  His association with the Ottoman position cost him dearly: he died not knowing his recall had been decided upon.

Geographical proximity does not always automatically result in close ‘political attention’, as was the case with the European Community (EC) and the Mediterranean during the early stages of the European integration experiment.  The EC did not have a Mediterranean policy for a long time.  From 1958 to the early 1970s, bilateral relations and commercial agreements represented the basis of the European approach toward the region.  The situation changed only in the early 1970s with the launch of the Global Mediterranean Policy of 1972, which signalled the beginning of an era of greater attention.  Shortly after, the Euro-Arab dialogue was also implemented, the first European reaction to the shock caused by the oil crisis of 1973.

The activism of the 1970s gradually dwindled in the following decade.  However, during the 1980s, the accession of three southern European countries to the EC – Greece in 1981, followed by Spain and Portugal in 1986 – marked a major change in the configuration of the EC, increasing the weight and importance of the Mediterranean region to the community.  At that time also, a major global shift occurred with the implosion of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold war, which offered the opportunity to Europe to play a major, independent role in the Middle East.  The end of the ‘strategic box’ created by the Cold war freed the energies of many actors, no longer forced to modulate their interests according to bipolar logic.  Its end also led to the complete emergence of globalisation, whose historical roots were far older but whose emergence was only clear after the end of the Cold war.  This systemic breaking point implied an overall re-evaluation of the political and security priorities of Europe, which faced enormous challenges on its eastern borders as well as to the south.

At that time, the geopolitical picture of the Mediterranean was also complicated by the interaction of peculiar regional dynamics with these wider systemic changes.  The Gulf crisis of 1991 was a key, regional catalyst for major change.  First, it marked the increasing, direct activism played by the US in the region, culminating in the occupation of Iraq twelve years later.  Moreover, the outcome of the 1991 conflict opened a new window of opportunity for a comprehensive settlement of the Arab-Israeli conflict, the key strategic issue for regional balance.  The Madrid conference of 1993 and the subsequent Oslo accords inaugurated a new era in the history of the conflict.  The optimism sparked by these regional developments, as well as the optimism connected with the perceived victory of liberal-democracy and the spread of western values – successfully synthesised by Fukuyama’s brand of the ‘end of history’ – helped develop the framework in which the European Union (EU) implemented a new initiative to govern the relationships with its Mediterranean neighbours: the Euro-Mediterranean partnership.  Convened in Barcelona in 1995, the 15 members of the EU and 12 Mediterranean countries signed the Barcelona declaration.  Stressing multilateralism and discourses of regional unity, the document was organised in three parts, called ‘baskets’ or ‘volets’: the first part focused on economic and financial cooperation; the second aimed at addressing the political and security dimension of the relationship, and the third basket paid specific attention to the socio-cultural and human aspects of the partnership.  The philosophy characterising the partnership was typical of the emerging European stance in international politics: achieving political aims through economic means.  

Using its considerable economic power to influence political outcomes is a classic EU trait.  It is the largest trade bloc in the world and represents the largest export market for the countries of the Mediterranean basin.  Therefore, it holds considerable economic and commercial leverage over them.  However, these two dimensions are not always directly correlated.  Political influence does not automatically flow from economic power – trade relationships with many countries of the Mediterranean have clearly shown that.  Indeed, the overall result of the Euro-Mediterranean partnership did not satisfy the original ambition and the causal link between economic and political reform has not been supported by any empirical evidence.  After a few years, the EU decided to launch a new policy.  The limited results of the Barcelona process; the institutional challenge of EU eastern enlargement; the transformed conditions of the international system post-9/11; the deterioration in the Arab-Israeli issue, and the intra-European divisions on the Iraqi dossier in 2003: all these elements oriented the EU to implement a new strategy to govern relations with its neighbours, the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP).  The ENP emerged not as a substitute for the Barcelona process – rather it was designed to incorporate it.  Increased attention was paid to bilateral relations and the holistic ambitions of 1995 were de-emphasised.  The latest institutional step of the EU approach toward the Mediterranean was represented by the launch of the ‘Union for the Mediterranean’ in 2008.  Based on a French attempt to ‘revitalise’ the Euro-Mediterranean dialogue – and to guide EU foreign policy toward this region – its results once again did not meet expectations.

Generally speaking, significant normative tension was prevalent in the different official approaches of the EU toward the Mediterranean in the post Cold war era.  Since then, the EU has become an active player in the field of democracy promotion.  Mediterranean countries were major targets for these efforts, which were strictly related to the ideological core of the EU as a normative power.  However, the Mediterranean was also an interesting case study of the structural tension between normative goals and more immediate security aims.  The Mediterranean is a meaningful regional sample of the post-Cold war global system: state relations are based on fear, distrust and self help; domestically, political stability is harmed by situations of latent internal tension, fostered by ethnic, religious, social and economic cleavages and by the lack of democracy.  This region is also a perfect example of how culture can influence international relations.  The eruption of these crises has showed, once again, the difficulties that the EU faces when dealing with this region.   

The first major issue to analyse is the impact on the EU of the ‘narratives of democratisation’ spreading through the southern rim of the basin.  The EU suffers from a sort of eternal dilemma, which can be synthesised with the formula ‘normative pureness versus stability interests’.  Given the specific historical conditions in which European integration has emerged, and given its philosophical roots, characterising its foreign policy stance with a normative tension has represented a sort of ‘ontological duty’ for Europeans.

However, in more practical terms, this theoretical soul has not turned into an effective pursuit of these normative aims.  More immediate strategic interests have often hampered its practical declination.  Democracy promotion in the Mediterranean provides a paradigmatic case.  The commitment to encouraging democratic reforms reflects an innate understanding of EU values.  It was also one of the main pillars of all the key documents shaping European foreign policy, both on the wider global level and the narrower Mediterranean dimension.  That said, the history of the past few decades has shown that Europeans were far more concerned about guaranteeing stability – the status quo – rather than pursuing effective strategies to promote democratisation to the south.

The words of the European Commissioner for Enlargement and the ENP, Stefan Füle, are typical of this attitude:

‘Europe has a vital interest in a democratic, stable, prosperous, peaceful North Africa in its immediate neighbourhood.  Europe must and will rise to the challenge of supporting democratic transition in North Africa, as it did after the revolutions in Eastern Europe in 1989… we must show humility about the past.  Europe was not vocal enough in defending human rights and local democratic forces in the region.  Too many of us fell prey to the assumption that authoritarian regimes were a guarantee of stability in the region.  This was not even Realpolitik.  It was, at best, short-termism – and the kind of short-termism that makes the long-term ever more difficult to build.’

The EU has frequently decided to prioritise stability over democratisation.  Often, there are short-term conflicting aims: when a country experiences an opening of its political system, its stability is affected.  However, in the long-term, democracy guarantees a greater degree of political sustainability and it affects positively the stability of a country.  It is this ‘temporal clash’ that harms EU effectiveness.  Given its features and tools of influence, the EU is much more focused on milieu goals rather than immediate possession goals.  However, immediate political and security needs, if not satisfied, risk harming the attainment of these milieu goals.

Southern Mediterranean revolutions will likely increase pressure on this European stance.  Democratisation involves the creation of new political cleavages within a society and the pluralisation of power centres.  Moreover, the role played by the military in Egypt and Tunisia suggests that the optimistic idea of a sort of mechanic democratic destiny for these countries seems groundless.  This ‘fourth global wave’ of democratisation is still far from being completely deployed.  That said, the EU and its credibility as a foreign policy actor must again face this eternal dilemma.  These revolts will put enormous pressure on the EU over democracy promotion in the coming years.  Many observers have already considered these implications, suggesting that the EU must abandon its shyness over support for democratic reform.  The EU could try to ‘seize this democratic momentum’ and effectively support countries through the lengthy and difficult process of democratisation.

Another salient effect of these crises is represented by the split among the Europeans, above all concerning the international intervention in Libya.  These southern Mediterranean crises are the first post-Lisbon tests for EU foreign policy.  Formally, the EU has all it needs to play a more effective and coherent international role now.  It finally has a legal personality.  It has brand new foreign policy institutions and players: a permanent president of the council, Herman Van Rompuy, and a high representative for foreign security and defence, Catherine Ashton, a sort of EU minister for foreign affairs, mixing the two hats of the CFSP high representative and the commissioner for external relations.  The creation of the new European External Action Service (EEAS) should support a consistent EU foreign policy.  It should be a tool for European governments to develop shared opinions on political and strategic problems, advancing common interests on the basis of common analyses.

It should be pointed out that these institutions are very young, so it is hardly surprising that they are not yet as effective as they might be.  However, the reaction of the EU after the eruption of these crises was particularly slow, and member states have tended to advance their own national agendas.  The Libyan crisis was the catalyst for these inner tensions.  France, the UK, Italy, Spain, and Germany have all acted according to their own agendas, trying to advance their own, narrower interests, and at the same time harming some foundational principles of the EU, as with the case of the French-Italian dispute over migrants and free human circulation in the Schengen area.  These crises have shown that what the EU misses the most is not ‘institutions’ but a shared ‘geopolitical feeling’, the main reason for the recurrent internal divisions.  The EU has the institutions to enact a proper foreign policy, but it does not have its own geopolitical soul yet.  

The eruption of these Mediterranean crises has shown, once again, the two major weaknesses of the European approach to the region and, more generally, of its foreign policy.  The points stressed here – the lack of an effective translation of normative intentions into concrete political choices and the repeated splits among member states – represent two recurrent criticalities of EU foreign policy, above all in its Mediterranean dimension.  As mentioned before, the ‘temporal clash’ here represents a major issue the EU needs to address to increase the consistency and coherence of its foreign policy.  The Mediterranean region, given its structural features and its geographical proximity, will often test the EU on these two specific points and the way in which the Europeans manage them will impact their future foreign policy.

It is not only expats who are getting to grips with a new Egypt; the Egyptian public are equally bewildered as they find their feet post revolution.  Amid the chaos of the power vacuum the emboldened public are capitalising on the atmosphere of change to push for labour reforms.  In the public sector of the Egyptian economy there has already been progress; in February Samir Radwan, the Finance Minister, announced a pay rise of 15% for workers.  The question now, for multinationals, is what effect this will have in the private sector.  But with investment coming widely from Arab, Western and pan-Asian countries there is no single answer.  Another question entirely, is what the revolution will mean for expatriates working in the development sector, who find themselves torn between exerting maximum influence in this period of transition and sitting back to allow an Egyptian-run revolution.  One thing is for sure for the expatriate community: in the heart of the Arab spring change is rife both personally and professionally; for expats as individuals, and more widely for the firms they work in.

To start with a look at changes in the personal sphere of expat existence, it is necessary briefly to outline a mini ethnography; expats can be split, very broadly speaking, four ways.  The most significant population are Arab and Gulf nationals working in construction, engineering, textiles, ceramics or other factory based industries (though a lesser percentage of secondary sector industries are also run by pan-Asian multinationals) or in managerial roles of large privatised businesses, such as Omar Effendi.  Tending to be relatively well integrated into Egyptian life, Arab and Gulf expatriates have settled against the backdrop of a close friendship between Mubarak and the Gulf states.  During Mubarak’s push for privatisation in the 1990s many state owned companies were sold off to Arab investors and it’s no secret that the low sale prices for land and other national assets were off-set by money passed directly to Mubarak.

Another significant demographic, Western expatriates, can be split loosely into three groups; teachers and those in the tourist industry, Westerners working in NGOs, development roles or embassies, and, most prominently, workers for oil and gas companies such as BP, Shell or BG.  BP alone has produced more than 40% of Egypt’s oil and gas yields and has invested over $17 billion in the country to date.

There is also a broad spectrum of Western multinationals for whom the main workforce are Egyptians.  In the retail sector, Carrefour has been operating in Egypt since 2002 and the German company Metro is Egypt’s self proclaimed ‘largest supermarket chain’.  In banking, Citibank, HSBC and Barclays all operate in Egypt.  Egypt also has a thriving telecommunications industry in which, notably, Vodafone is a powerful player.  The revolution has unveiled the scope of varied priorities held by the expat demographic and the Egyptians they work alongside.  Reactions are typified by confusion, optimism and alarm; whilst most Western expats fear for their personal security, their Egyptian colleagues are eager for change.  NGO workers are excited by a potential pace of transformation they would not have dared hope for in January.  Meanwhile, the non-Western investors worry that, in a changing labour market and as-yet unsettled political structure, they will be pushed into unfamiliar territory.

For many expatriates the events of February will have marked a permanent end to their time in Egypt as worries over security heighten.  An estimated 40% left during the revolution and it will be unclear for many months what percentage of those will return.  Anti-Western sentiment is not the main issue; those who attended the protests reported little tension towards Westerners, although some did note an increase in xenophobia after Al Jazeera’s Arabic channel was taken off air, leaving only state news to inform the Arabic speaking public.  Rather, the issue is security, especially for expats with young families.  Having enjoyed a notably low level of violent crime, there has been a sharp increase in petty theft and muggings since the police, their integrity shattered, have all but vanished from the streets.  The British Foreign and Commonwealth Office report that crime has risen since the 11^th of February, especially in expat-heavy areas like Maadi and Zamalek, where shops were looted and even gunfire heard during the revolution itself.

Additionally, there are political disruptions to worry about.   Thousands still gather in Tahrir square in reaction to clashes between conservative Muslims and Coptic Christians (who make up 10% of Egypt’s population).  Although Muslims and Christians marched together during February’s protests, the impending election is bringing religious conflict back to the fore of Egyptian life.  

Whilst expats hope that the passing of the referendum and securing of early elections in September will allow greater security in the months to come, many do not realise the extent of Egyptian dissatisfaction with the poll.  Most of those at the forefront of the revolution, for example the Youth Coalition, wanted a NO vote and, having failed to get it, will be stepping up the pressure before the coming elections.  Even amongst those who voted YES, disappointment is rife since, in retrospect, the supposed first ‘free election’ is seen by many as a farce.  The referendum consisted of a yes/no vote on changes to nine articles of the Egyptian constitution but, after the referendum was over, the army made some changes to the remaining 60 articles, under the pretext that the whole constitution had been rendered void by their own (unconstitutional) seizure of power.  Legitimacy qualms are nothing new for Egyptian elections but it comes as a frustration that there is still a lack of transparency.  Furthermore, having had their aspirations for democracy kick started in January, Egyptians are watchful not to now be short-changed, and troubles in September seem an unhappy inevitability.

But what worsens the situation for expats in Egypt is that their fear is bounded by impotence.  Expats have never had a voice in the running of Egypt and even those who attended the protests are quick to point out that the revolution was, from the start, exclusively Egyptian.  Up until as late as March there were strict restrictions from Western firms like BP on travel to Tahrir square, assuring a literal distance between expat workers and Egyptian revolutionaries.  Even within NGOs, Western expatriates are careful to give newly forming Egyptian parties and movements space to evolve independently.  There has, of course, been a rush to assert influence in this pivotal period.  Sixteen NGOs together making up the Forum of Independent Human Rights Organizations, provided a ‘Roadmap for a Nation of Rights and the Rule of Law’ which outlined recommendations for constitutional and legislative reform.  This collective, including the Cairo Institute of Human Rights Studies, The Arab Network for Human Rights Information and the Hisham Mubarak Law Centre, have grouped to engage in dialogue with political parties like the Social Democratic Party as well as less structured movements like the Youth Coalition.  There is even a push towards talks with the Muslim Brotherhood.  But newly forming political parties are wary of too much connection with foreign NGOs, wanting to preserve the revolution and all it hopes to bring as an Egyptian victory.  For expatriates working in the development sector, this is an exciting time steeped in intellectual debate and the euphoria of possibility, but tempered by the need to take a back seat and assist rather than lead the developing democracy in the coming months.

But one area in which Western NGOs are particularly supportive is the labour reform movement which has rejuvenated since the revolution.  It is these labour reforms, from which the potential professional changes for expats stem, which affect how the companies they work in do business in Egypt going forward.

On May 1^st thousands of Egyptians returned to the symbolic Tahrir square to celebrate Labour Day, rejoicing in new rights to congregate for political purposes but also calling for labour reforms.  These include the raising of the minimum wage  (private sector workers want to see the 15% rise in public sector wages echoed across the board), improved access to trades union, fairer ethics in the work place and the assurance of longer term contracts or, for those currently working non-contractually, any kind of formal contract.

These changes should have a limited effect on Western multinationals, who already pay Egyptian workers a decent salary (though, to be clear, this is when compared to fellow Egyptians, not expatriate colleagues) and operate by Western norms when it comes to employment conditions.  For them, cheap labour is not and has never been the reason to locate in Egypt.  Rather, expansive oil and gas reserves and strategic trade links have been the root cause of Western investment.  Furthermore, for oil, gas and construction industries who work closely with Egyptian partner firms, better industrial standards will facilitate smoother development and operation of projects.

But for Arab and Asian multinationals, labour protests threaten their current methods of operation and it is these firms who have seen protests in recent weeks.  As yet, the response is limited.  International construction consultants Dar Al Handasha who are based in Lebanon experienced protests by their ‘Coffee Boys’ in the wake of the revolution.  These workers wanted increased salaries and complained that the amount of overtime they were allowed to work had been reduced.  Their demands have yet to be met but are representative of the sorts of issues that will have to be addressed if labour reforms are successfully implemented by the future government.

The most serious protests have been in companies which were relatively new to private ownership.  Under Mubarak there was a push towards private sector investment and participation in the global economy.  Many formally state run industries were sold off to foreign investors who, looking to increase profits, slashed benefits and lowered salaries.  After the revolution, the pent-up grievances of workers are finding a platform.  For such companies, increases in minimum wage and trades union might be a deterrent to work in Egypt, pushing Arab and Asian investors out and leaving leeway for growth for Western multinationals already operating to international labour standards.

Of course the system in Western companies is still far from ideal.  Whilst workers are contracted, the contracts are often short term and therefore lack the benefits of more permanent members of staff and allow swift dismissal.  Discrepancies in wages between Egyptian and expat staff also exist across the board; not only in multinationals but in NGOs as well.  One NGO worker confirmed that most donors insist that a cap be placed on local wages so that the money they give cannot be used to top up the salaries of Egyptian workers.

But these are issues which are unlikely to be addressed in the initial wave of post-revolution changes.  Basic contracts and decent salaries are the first battle to be fought and so in the months to come it will be Arab and Asian multinationals rather than Western companies who face the majority of strikes and who are called to reconsider their approach to Egyptian workers.

Also capable of shaking non-Western multinationals is public demand for an end to corruption.  Since the fall of Mubarak, there has been widespread criticism of his drive for privatisation.  In April, Major General Mohammed al-Assar announced that the military were opposed to the ‘selling of Egypt’, complaining that Mubarak had sold off too much for too little to private investors in exchange for money handed directly to the government, causing redundancies and cuts to benefits for workers.

That is not to say that Western multinationals have had no complicity with the Mubarak Regime.  Vodafone Egypt, which is 55% owned by the Vodafone Group (Telecom Egypt make up the remainder) was also criticised for compliance with the government after shutting down phone networks in Egypt on the command of Mubarak.  BP too have been accused of letting the American Chamber of Commerce in Cairo pressurise the US into renouncing suggestions that Mubarak should hold fair elections.  Even the American University in Cairo has faced condemnation for its ties with the former government and dubious conduct during the revolution.

But whilst Western companies are not exempt from criticism of being hand in glove with Mubarak’s government, what sets them apart from Arab and Asian investors is that they are fully capable (and fully willing when needs must) of complying with the due processes of ethical business.

One young man working for Vodafone Egypt praised his employers for their fast response to revolution-inspired objections.  Previously, ‘outsourced’ employees working the same jobs as those hired directly by Vodafone Egypt received lower salaries, fewer benefits and enjoyed less authority, but this has been amended post-revolution.  Western multinationals, he said, have faced few protests because ‘they already have the experience of dealing with these sorts of critical issues’.

The crucial role of the trade union movement, therefore, is to push for greater protection for workers in non-Western multinationals.  There is hope that the new government will assist in enforcing fair standards across the board, but in the interim more dialogue is needed between employers and employees.  In an era where Egyptians have publicly divorced themselves from their governmental leaders, their police force, and in many cases their bosses too, direct discussion with employees is the only way to ensure a stable and happy work force.

However in the short term, eager though Egyptians are for labour reform, jobs are too scarce for workers to push their luck with demands.  The continuing difficultly of forming trades union in Egypt leaves many without any option but to cling to the jobs they have.  The CTUWS (Centre for Trade Union and Workers Services) has recently voiced concerns about a law drafted on the 23^rd March which would permit the imposition of fines and in some cases periods of imprisonment against those who stage sit-ins and protests.  Egypt has a poor history when it comes to trades union.  All must affiliate with ETUF (Egyptian Trade Union Federation), which had strong links to Mubarak’s government in order to be legal, and even this is made difficult by imposing a minimum membership requirement of 50 people from the same company as well as a government-set joining fee.  What’s more, two thirds of ETUF have to be in favour of action for a strike to get the go-ahead.

The desire to push for early elections – which may limit the extent of reform – is understandable in the context of Egypt’s current chaos.  There is widespread worry about Egypt’s economy (the Minister of Finance reported a 7% shrinking of the economy between January and March); furthermore, until the political situation settles it is virtually impossible for firms to get planning permission or funding for new projects.  But likewise, progress is near impossible without a stable, satisfied and adequately paid work force.

Whilst some of the emerging left leaning parties, such as the Workers Democratic Party, are eager for increased nationalisation, most welcome investment from overseas.  The interim government are already taking steps towards making it easier for multinationals to invest and operate in Egypt, simplifying procedures for setting up projects and expanding into multiple franchises.  A fund of LE1 billion has also reportedly been created to encourage investment.  But encouraging investment is only half the game.  If Egypt is to facilitate more equal, business-like relations with multinational investors, then labour reforms are a crucial starting point.  By renouncing Mubarak’s ‘selling’ of Egypt, and aligning itself with the clearer (at least nominally) business models of western nations, the new government can move toward a future where multinationals provide much needed jobs for Egyptian employees rather than contribute to labour malaise and national underemployment.  And expats, though they may be justifiably wary in the short-term, should look forward to working within a fairer, more productive state come 2012.  What the Arab uprisings have proved is that true stability requires a fair labour market in which workers are treated with dignity, an asset that cannot be bargained for any less than the fair price.

However, this is only one scenario of how the future will play out in Egypt.  It is also possible that continued strife will make business-as-usual impossible for Western multinationals for a prolonged period, re-opening the door to Gulf investors more used to dealing with Arab nations.  And even if Egypt does democratise its government, there is the question of where the rest of the Middle East will be left if Egypt turns its economy west.  Having shifted its stance towards Israel, Egypt’s political movements look to be eastward bound, in which case labour policies deterring Arab investment could leave the nation doing the splits, as it attempts to stride one way economically and another geopolitically.  The answers to these questions lie beyond the horizon of the expatriate perspective.  The one clear issue is that Egyptians have a unique opportunity to steer the course of their country, leaving expats and their firms little choice but adapt to the demands of a new Egypt, whatever those may be.