Ben Ali's 'New Tunisia' (1987-2009): A Case Study of Authoritarian Modernization in the Arab World 3879973660, 9783879973668

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Steffen Erdle Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’

ISLAMKUNDLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN • BAND 301 begründet von Klaus Schwarz herausgegeben von Gerd Winkelhane

ISLAMKUNDLICHE UNTERSUCHUNGEN • BAND 301

Steffen Erdle

Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’ (1987–2009) A Case Study of Authoritarian Modernization in the Arab World

Bibliografische Information der Deutschen Bibliothek Die Deutsche Bibliothek verzeichnet diese Publikation in der Deutschen Nationalbibliografie; detaillierte bibliografische Daten sind im Internet über http://dnb.ddb.de abrufbar. British Library Cataloguing in Publication data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. http://www.bl.uk Library of Congress control number available http://www.loc.gov

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© 2010 by Klaus Schwarz Verlag GmbH Erstausgabe 1. Auflage Herstellung: J2P Berlin Gedruckt auf chlorfrei gebleichtem Papier Printed in Germany ISBN 978-3-87997-366-8

To my Family, in Love

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TABLE OF CONTENTS

Acknowledgements.............................................................................11 I

Introduction..........................................................................................13

II

The First Republic, 1956-1987: Evolution and Crisis of an Authoritarian Regime........................56 1. Tunisia at the Crossroads: The Moment of Independence................56 2. The Political Evolution of the Bourguibist Republic..........................63 A) First Phase, 1956-1960: Landmark Choices....................................61 B) Second Phase, 1961-1969: The Collectivist Experiment.................69 C) Third Phase, 1970-1980: The Infitâh Period....................................76 D) Fourth Phase, 1981-1987: Fire Fighting..........................................85 3. The Root Causes of the System Crisis................................................89

III

The Second Republic, 1987-2009: Redefinition and Change of an Authoritarian Regime................96 1. The ‘Velvet Revolution’ of 7 November: Back to the Future?...........96 2. The Three Phases of Ben Ali’s ‘New Regime’....................................99 A) First Phase, 1987-1989: The ‘Tunisian Spring’...............................99 B) Second Phase, 1990-1995: The Authoritarian Turnaround..........104 C) Third Phase, 1996-2009: The Authoritarian Reconfiguration......117 3. Ben Ali's ‘New Era’: ‘Old Wine in New Bottles’?............................138

IV

The New Ruling Elites: The Technocratization and Makhzenization of Power...............143 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6.

V

The Presidency: The Power Station of the ‘System Ben Ali’...........143 The Bureaucracy: Implementing Policy...........................................154 The Destour: Communicating Policy...............................................161 The Parliament: Simulating Democracy...........................................169 The Judiciary: Upholding Legality....................................................176 Ben Ali's ‘New Regime’: Techno-Bureaucratic Governance, Neo-Patrimonial Rule........................................................................178

Economic Intermediary Elites: The Reconfiguration of the Old Ruling Coalition.......................192 1. The Public Sector: From Regulator to Facilitator.............................192 7

2. The Private Sector: From Client to Patron.......................................202 3. The Employers’ Organizations: From Transmission Belt to Driving Force................................................................................210 4. The Labor Unions: From Counter-Weight to Mouthpiece..............214 5. The Professional Associations: Influence beyond Politics...............223 6. The Reconstitution of the Ruling Coalition: From ‘State to Market’, from ‘Plan to Clan’.....................................224 VI

Political Contesting Elites: The Unraveling of the Anti-Bourguibist Opposition Movement.......................................................................237 1. 2. 3. 4.

Political Opposition Parties: ‘Divided they fall’...............................237 Civil Society Organizations: ‘Walking the Line’.............................257 Political Micro-Entrepreneurs: ‘Occupying the Niche’...................267 Tunisian Contesting Elites: Disintegration from Within, Deconstruction from Without..........................................................273

VII The Re-Invention of Authoritarianism: From Single Party Rule to ‘Guided Democracy’...........................286 1. 2. 3. 4. 5. 6. 7.

La ‘Tunisianité’: Ex Oriente or Ex Occidente Lux?.........................286 The ‘Politics of Culture’: Change and Continuity...........................290 The ‘Republic of Tomorrow’: Change and Continuity....................297 The Institutionalization of Political Pluralism.................................304 The Neutralization of the Public Arena............................................310 The Establishment of a Police State..................................................315 Democracy à la Tunisienne: Representation without Competition...............................................318

VIII The Political Economy of the ‘New Era’: From Direct Regulation to Indirect Control.................................334 1. The Comeback of the Market: Transition by Design or by Default?................................................334 2. Change of Paradigms or Change of Tactics? The Economic Strategy of the Benalist Regime...............................337 3. Reforming the Public Sector: The Politics of Disengagement.........343 4. Strengthening Private Business: The Politics of Industrialization........................................................351 5. Maintaining Social Cohesion: The Politics of Welfarism................365 6. Emerging Market or Economic Mirage? The Ambivalent Political Economy of a Patrimonial Capitalist System...................................................370

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IX

Engaging with Globalization: From Cold War Ally to Neo-Liberal Role Model.........................387 1. Back to the Umma: The Quest for a Viable Regional Order............387 2. From Autarky to Integration: The Globalist Turnaround of the Early 1990s..............................................................................393 3. ‘Tunisia takes the Plunge’: From Marrakech to Barcelona.............397 4. ‘Tunisia takes the Lead’: The New International Marketing Strategies of the Ben Ali Regime......................................................414 5. From ‘Cold War Ally’ to ‘Neo-Liberal Success Story’: The Political Reconversion of a Semi-Rentier State.........................420

X

Conclusion: Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’: A Case Study of Authoritarian Modernization............................435

XI

Appendix..............................................................................................478 List of Abbreviations.............................................................................478 Bibliography..........................................................................................484 List of Interviewees...............................................................................509 Annexes 1-11.........................................................................................517

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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS This book is a revised and updated version of the Ph.D. thesis which I submitted in October 2006 and defended in June 2007 at the Department of Po litical Science of the Humboldt University in Berlin. It is based on insights gained as a result of my participation in the research project on ‘Elite Change in the Arab World’ directed by Volker Perthes at the Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik (SWP) from January 2001 until December 2003. Data obtained during five field research trips played a particularly important role. Research has been made possible thanks to two research grants received from the Thyssen Foundation (from January 2001 until June 2003) and the Forum Ebenhausen (from July 2003 until February 2004). I would like to use this opportunity to offer them my warmest thanks for their generous support. The process of writing was temporarily interrupted due to my work as a policy adviser at the Federal Ministry of Economic Cooperation and Development (BMZ) (from July 2004 until December 2005) and as a Regional Officer at the International Cooperation Department of the Konrad Adenauer Stiftung (from August 2006 until August 2008). Editing was resumed in January 2009, and finished in June 2010. The data on which this work is based were further refined as a result of my participation in the research project on ‘Industrial Policy in Developing Countries’ coordinated by Tilman Altenburg at the German Development Institute (DIE). In the context of this project, I carried out two more field research trips in 2009, made possible thanks to the financial support of the Federal Ministry of Economic Cooperation and Development (BMZ) and the logistical support of the German Technical Cooperation (GTZ). No new information was taken in after October 2009, except for some exceptional cases which are mentioned in the text. I would like to use this opportunity to thank once again all those persons whom I met during these years, and who helped me achieve my project. Particular thanks go to my former colleagues at SWP. I am greatly indebted to them for the pleasant work atmosphere, the numerous stimulating discussions, and their many valuable contributions. Even though lack of space makes it impossible to do sufficient justice to everybody involved, I would like to make specific mention of the following persons: Volker Perthes to whom I am very thankful for accepting me as his Ph.D. candidate and for supporting me along the way; André Bank, Sigrid Faath, Isabelle Werenfels, Steffen Wippel, Gert Winkelhane, and Henrik Jeep for their patient reading of, and helpful comments on, the manuscript; and finally Chad Townsend who transformed my English in a very helpful and entirely un-authoritarian way.

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I

INTRODUCTION

“Understanding a polity requires an understanding of its elites ‒ who they are and what they do (…). In fact, most whole-system studies are in reality elite studies without being explicit about their nature” (Zartman 1980: 3+7). The aim of this study is to analyze and explain processes of structural political change in contemporary Tunisia. Its focus is on the years that lie between President Zine El Abidine Ben Ali's bloodless ouster of his predecessor Habib Bourguiba in 1987 and the de facto re-establishment of the live1 time presidency in 2004. The objective of researching and explaining patterns and outcomes of structural political change during these two decades shall be achieved via an in-depth analysis of the ‘elite variable’, i.e. of the composition, configuration and interaction of strategic political players in the capital Tunis, their attitudes vis-à-vis political core issues, as well as their relationships with other politically relevant actors. The insights derived from this analysis will allow us to gauge, first, to which extent Ben Ali's ‘Second Republic’ (or ‘New Regime’) differs, both in terms of procedure and substance, from Bourguiba's ‘First Republic’ (or ‘Ancient Regime’), and second, to which extent it exemplifies wider political reform and moderniza2 tion processes in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA). In fact, few countries in this region have invited such a wide range of 3 opinions as has Ben Ali's ‘New Tunisia’. Some, particularly government officials, international financial institutions, and private sector representatives, praise it as a harbor of political ‘stability’ and ‘moderation’, as a bulwark against Islamic ‘extremism’ and ‘terrorism’, and as a trailblazer for economic liberalization and trans-Mediterranean cooperation. In their eyes, 1

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As most sources I have used for this thesis have been in French, I will use the French spelling for Arabic and/or Tunisian names and terms throughout this thesis. Even though this may be just an approximation to the original, it still has the merit of also making these names and terms recognizable and pronounceable for non-Arab speakers. There are multiple competing definitions for the exact geographical contours of the MENA region. The definition used in this study encompasses the countries that lie between Mauretania and Morocco to the West, and Turkey and Iran to the East, including those of the Arabian Peninsula, but excluding Sudan. Cf. Annex 10 for a brief overview of Tunisian scores in major international ratings. 13

Tunisia has distinguished itself by its constructive attitude vis-à-vis the Western world, its conciliatory stance with regard to the Middle East conflict(s), and its remarkable achievements in a variety of policy fields, like socio-economic modernization, poverty reduction, and gender equality. Others, like civil society representatives, human rights activists, and media professionals, have been tainting it as an ‘enemy of freedom’, as one of the most repressive regimes in the region, and as one of the few remaining ‘one-party systems’ in the world. According to this view, the country is characterized by abysmal human rights standards, severely constrained public liberties, and the systematic recourse to political repression. These very different appraisals of Ben Ali's rule may also partially explain why there is still no consensus among observers as to the nature of the regime as such: Is ‘Benalism’ qualitatively different from ‘Bourguibism’ (the term used to describe both the political ideology and the political system as developed after independence), and if yes, in what way, and to which extent? Has the ‘System Ben Ali’ actually reproduced or transcended the status quo ante? Is it a new brand of political authoritarianism, or simply ‘old wine in new bottles’? And what explains the remarkable longevity of the new regime? Has Ben Ali really been able to finally overcome the root causes of the recurring crises that had constantly disrupted Tunisian politics for over four decades (and that ultimately contributed to the downfall of his predecessor), or has he merely managed to temporarily subdue them? In order to address these questions, it is necessary that we briefly focus our attention on the year 1987, i.e. on the moment when the country experienced ‒ for the first time ever since the achievement of independence and also for the last time up to the time of writing ‒ a change of power at the apex of the state.

The Three Phases of the Ben Ali's ‘New Era’ On 7 November of that year, the newly appointed Prime Minister, General Ben Ali, toppled his illustrious predecessor, the ‘Father-of-the-Republic’ and ‘President-for-Life’ Habib Bourguiba, who had ruled his small country very much like an absolute monarch since achieving independence from France in 1956 and abolishing the monarchy in 1957. Ben Ali's bloodless coup which occurred at a moment of deep economic crisis and political turmoil, raised hopes that after five decades of single-party rule, he would initiate a process of democratization ‒ something his predecessor had often promised but never delivered. Many people, both in and out of the country, were quite optimistic about the democratic prospects for the Tunisian Republic. Firstly, the reform-oriented statements of the new rulers seemed to suggest that they were ready to correct the most blatant deficits of the Bourguibist sys14

tem, and admit more pluralism in political life. Secondly, the homogenous makeup of Tunisian society and the ‘mainstream-oriented’ political culture of its citizens were regarded as simultaneously reducing the potential for conflict, and increasing the prospect of reform. Finally, the consequences of the crisis and the measures necessary to overcome it were also seen as pushing the new rulers toward an opening of the system and a sharing of power. All these factors appeared to substantiate the claim that Tunisia figured as a 4 likely candidate for a successful transition to democratic rule. Initially, everything seemed to go ‘right’. In a first phase which lasted until 1988/89, Ben Ali appeared to keep the promises he had made. He enacted a number of reforms which political reformists had never tired to ask for, but which the regime hard-liners had always managed to shelve. These included the abolition of the life-time presidency, the expansion of public liberties, the legalization of opposition parties, and the establishment of a market economy. At the same time, he began to reshuffle the political personnel and the underlying social coalition in a way that would allow him to replace politically ‘obsolete’ or dangerous elements with better qualified and more reliable people. This included the renewal of the upper echelons of the regime elites, as well as the co-optation of formerly ‘marginal’ groups into the political system. One year after the coup, a ‘National Pact’ was concluded among the country's political forces, which laid out the overall institutional parameters of the new polity as well as the main paradigms of future public policy. Post-coup Tunisia thus seemed to basically follow the political trajectories of many other democratizing countries worldwide. Soon, however, something went ‘wrong’. In a second phase of his regime which began around 1990/91, Ben Ali reverted to straightforward top-down rule, systematically reasserting the political power of the central state, and suppressing every kind of contestation to his regime. He crushed the Islamist movement, cowed the secular opposition, and systematically ‘depoliticized’ public life. At the same time, he radically restructured a system of production that was still heavily dominated by the public sector, and largely insulated from international competition. Tunisia was thus among 4

Political comparativists generally distinguish between three main types of political systems: ‘democracy’, ‘autocracy’ (or ‘authoritarianism’), and ‘totalitarianism’. For a brief overview of key features, see Merkel (1999a: 55+57); for recent attempts to further fine-tune these classifications, see Rüb (2002: 106) and Thierry (2002: 84). Transitions are thus shifts from one political system to a new one. O'Donnell and Schmitter (1986) have defined them as the phase in between two political orders, as the space of time that elapses, and as the sum of changes that occur, between the collapse of a regime and the emergence of a successor. For a good overview of the related debates, see the five volumes edited by Merkel et al. (1996-1999) plus footnote 10. 15

the first countries in the Arab World to sign up to ‒ and actually carry through ‒ an Economic Recovery and Structural Adjustment Program (ERSAP), accede to the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT), and conclude a Euro-Mediterranean Association Agreement (EMAA) with the European Union (EU). By the middle of the decade, it had become clear that Tunisia was not at all heading toward ‘democracy’, but was in fact transitioning to a new form of authoritarian rule. This system reconfiguration crossed a decisive threshold in 2002/04 when the ‘Architect of the Change’ (as Ben Ali had come to name himself) de fac to re-established the life-time presidency of old times. He abolished the constitutional restrictions which he himself had introduced only days after his coup, and which would have prevented him from standing for another term. He did so with the help of a referendum which took place in 2002, and which yielded the usual 99+ percent of ‘yes’ votes. The new constitution no longer puts a ceiling on the overall number of presidential terms, and only keeps an age limit of 75 years for candidates. Quite predictably, Ben Ali was re-elected president in 2004, albeit this time with ‘only’ 96+ percent of the votes. This meant that he would now be able to rule for another two terms of five years each ‒ and even longer, should another referendum also lift the age limit. Given the state of affairs, this should not really be a problem for the regime.

The ‘Successful Reconfiguration’ of an Authoritarian Regime Ben Ali's ‘New Tunisia’ thus features a striking mix of change and continuity. On the one hand, the country has witnessed an almost complete replacement of its political leadership, a far-reaching overhaul of its economic system, and a substantial reconfiguration of its institutional order. Both the elites, and society at large, have become more heterogeneous and pluralist than they were before. For the majority of citizens, there seem to be more avenues and opportunities for socio-economic advancement and intraregime participation than before 1987. As a result, the availability of, and access to, political and material resources appear to have also become more diffuse and dispersed. These changes have not been without consequences: they have clearly modified the ‘source code’ of the political system. As such, they have not only impacted on the composition and configuration of the ruling coalition, they have also affected the appearance and exercise of political authority in the country. In this way, they have altered relationships both ‘high’ and ‘low’, among the political elites, among the different social strata, as well as between the former and the latter. 16

At the same time, this has clearly not provided for an institutionalization of democracy, a peaceful, open-ended competition among different political formations for supreme political power, or effective accountability of gov5 ernment officials to popular preferences. Tunisia is still ruled by a fairly small circle of political decision makers. Essentially recruited via the ruling Destour party and its various sub-organizations, and clustering around the executive branch of government and the presidential palace in Cartage, they continue to control the levers of power and determine the grand lines of public policy. Even though most regime institutions (including the Destour itself) have become more heterogeneous and more representative, this has not included allocating effective executive and legislative power via truly free and fair elections. Neither has elite change led to regime change (at least not in the anticipated direction), nor has economic liberalization taken on a political dimension (at least not in a direct way). In spite of all the changes that have taken place since 1987, Benalist Tunisia continues to fulfill the essential characteristics of an authoritarian system. At the same time, it must be noted that Ben Ali's regime is qualitatively different from Bourguiba's, and therefore represents an essentially new form of authoritarian 6 rule. Developments since 1987 have thus clearly disavowed the initial expectations of most analysts. In fact, Ben Ali is more firmly entrenched in power than Bourguiba ever was. He has not only managed to maintain himself at the helm of the state, but also to impose his control over the rest of the country. Today, Ben Ali rules in an absolute fashion. He has been able to sideline or subdue all those forces that could at some point have impeded or challenged him. Importantly, this not only concerns the different formations and representatives of the political opposition and of civil society at large (both within the secular political camp and the former Islamist movement), but also potential ‘dissenters’ and ‘rivals’ within the Destourian establish5

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Nowadays, most scholars agree that the essence of democracy lies in the notion of accountability. Three key dimensions of democratic rule are thus (1) broadly accessible and institutionalized channels allowing for free public competition for political office and contestation over policy; (2) participation of the citizenry in the formulation of policy through collective organizations of political association; and (3) accountability of the rulers to the ruled through mechanisms of representation and the rule of law. Dahl's classical definition, “contestation open to participation” (which the author subsequently extended to “fair competition open to broad participation”), has become broadly accepted as the institutional minimum for a functioning democracy (cf. Schmitter & Karl 1991, Rüb 2002, Thiery 2002, and Schmidt 2010 for more recent definitions and conceptualizations). Cf. Linz (2000) and Brooker (2000) for an overview of the various definitions, manifestations, rationales, and trajectories of authoritarian systems and regimes. 17

ment and the state bureaucracy (like the ‘old guard’ of ‘party barons’ and the ‘young wolves’ of the ‘November putsch’). In this way, a seemingly transitional figure has become another perennial ruler, and his ‘caretaker government’ has turned into a fully consolidated autocratic regime. The remarkable ease with which Ben Ali has imposed his rule deserves explanations. It clearly invalidates most of the forecasts made two decades ago ‒ that Tunisia was ripe for, and indeed going toward, democracy (or theocracy, in case the Islamists had prevailed). At the same time, it directly challenges some well-established paradigms that still provide cognitive templates and normative guidelines for theorists and practitioners alike. This concerns in particular the different strands of modernization theory. All the conditions which successive generations of political analysts have identified as being conducive to a transition toward democracy are present in Tunisia: a high degree of social homogeneity, territorial consolidation, human development, and normative integration both ‘high’ and ‘low’. At the elite level, ‘moderates’ and ‘modernizers’ had gained the upper hand both within the regime and the opposition. Ben Ali was publicly committed to a policy of reconciliation, while Rachid Ghannouchi had repeatedly discarded the use of violence as a means of politics. At the societal level, four decades of state reforms had profoundly transformed the country, once largely agricultural and parochial. These changes had created a fairly vibrant, self-conscious civil society, embedded in a broad, well-educated middle class. All this favored a political culture of the juste milieu, inherently hostile to political extremism. In fact, a clearly distinguishing feature of Tunisian politics ‒ then and now ‒ is that there are no ‘radical’, centrifugal forces at either infra-state or supra-state level working for the disintegration or dissolution of the nationstate. In the case of Tunisia, particularistic identities and societal disparities are relatively limited and generally declining. A clear majority of both citizens and elites, in both government and opposition, continue to defend rather moderate, ‘middle-of-the-road’ positions and mildly conservative ‘étatist-elitist’ ideas of politics. These in general include the notion that the occurrence and direction of ‘development’ and ‘change’ should (and actually do) emanate from‘above’ ‒ i.e. from the national elites controlling the central state. Notions of political stability and security, as well as of national identity and cohesion, also play a key role in this regard. Nobody seems ready to challenge these well-established notions of political authority and legitimacy, let alone to advocate the use of violence and coercion in politics. This means that most of the requirements for a transition to democracy were in place ‒ and yet it has ‘failed’ to materialize so far. The question is, why? 18

The Outcome of Political Change in Benalist Tunisia: Haphazard Result or Foregone Conclusion? The aim of this study is to explain the gap between ‘expectations’ and ‘out comes’, i.e. between Tunisia’s apparent democratic potential, and its persistently authoritarian condition. It will do so by focusing on a number of questions. First, why did the new rulers choose such a risk-intensive, handson crisis management strategy ‒ one that puts the state ‘in the line of fire’ by making it entirely responsible for eventual failures or hardships of reforms? Why did they not choose a less visible, indirect approach ‒ one that would allow them to ‘mask’ authorship and spread responsibility for short comings and blunders? Why did Ben Ali not follow the example of some of his peers in the region, by enacting, for instance, limited political changes in secondary sectors to compensate for stalled economic reforms in strategic ones? Could it be that the new rulers never actually intended to keep their promises, or was it that they changed their minds at some point mid-way, when becoming aware that their choices had been based on miscalculations? Was it political purpose, based on personal convictions and preferences, that prompted them to revert to straightforward authoritarianism, or rather structural factors, creating specific incentives and constraints, that did so? Did their policy choices actually follow some kind of political ‘blueprint’, or did they merely reflect a ‘conjoncture politique’ (e.g. a momentary configuration of elite interests)? In other words, did Ben Ali pick the people he needed to carry out his ‘project’ (if he had one at all), or did the people he chose use their new position to shape what would become ‘his project’ over time? Second, what accounts for the apparent success of the regime strategy? Why have the new rulers around Ben Ali been so easily and thoroughly able to impose their control onto society and determine the course of events? Why have neither the political opposition nor civil society been capable of preventing a return of authoritarianism, or of becoming at least a focus of resistance? Above all, is the ‘System Ben Ali’ really sustainable in the long term? Has it really managed to surmount the structural shortcomings that had paralyzed political life under the old regime and precipitated the downfall of its founder? Or has it merely been able to suppress the symptoms, meaning that a serious deterioration of the economic situation, for instance, might at some point lead to the breakout of yet another systems crisis? Third, what accounts for the striking longevity of authoritarian rule in the country? Is it actually due to a peculiar ‘political culture’, as Camau and Geisser (2003a) argue, who see Tunisian elites as converging around a given 19

set of values and norms, stipulating that it is the responsibility of the state to ‘shape’ (i.e. to educate, modernize, and transform) society and not vice versa. Or is it rather due to a specific ‘political economy’, as Murphy (1999) and Bellin (2002) argue, who see the Tunisian economy as a typical representative of a peripheral late-developing country in which the state is forced to assume an active role in economic life (basically due to the structural weakness of the private sector), and in this way ends up under-cutting the functional autonomy of all other social actors. Or is it a combination of both, as Hibou (2006) holds? Finally, is Ben Ali's ‘New Tunisia’ a political system ‘sui generis’? In what ways and to which extent is it different from the Bourguibist model (which itself was for many reasons both typical and unusual for the region)? Does it still represent ‘the only civil republic in the Arab world’ (the muchvaunted ‘republic of professors’ of the early days of independence), in which professional civilian politicians dominated all other actors? Or has it edged closer to the regionally prevailing regime type of the ‘national security state’, where professional ‘security providers’, and particularly intelligence officers, hold most top or key positions? To which extent is it representative of authoritarian regime change and modernization processes that are currently observable in the MENA (and in other parts of the world as well)? And last but not least, how likely is the end result of these processes going to persist?

The MENA Region in the Early Twenty-First Century: A Global Stronghold of Political Authoritarianism It must be noted in this regard that Tunisia is by no means a case apart. On the contrary, the outcome of political change under Ben Ali's ‘New Regime’ meshes with recent political experiences of many other countries south of the Mediterranean. The MENA region has actually become the main global stronghold of authoritarian rule, featuring one of the highest concentrations of like-minded regimes in any single world region. Thus, 11 of the 18 countries there have been classified as ‘not free’ by Freedom House (2008), six as 7 ‘partially free’, and only one (Israel) as ‘free’. The current percentage of authoritarian regimes in the MENA region (61 percent) is considerably higher than the corresponding scores for Sub-Saharan Africa (29 percent), the Asian-Pacific region (26 percent), as well as the countries in Eastern Europe and the former Soviet Union (25 percent). By the time of writing, the MENA region does not host a single fully functioning ‒ let alone consolidated ‒ 7 20

It has to be remembered, though, that Israel's classification is still a matter of debate.

democracy, except for the partial, or ‘defective’, democracies of Iraq, Lebanon, Palestine, and Yemen (countries under occupation or in the 8 process of disintegration). These sobering facts contrast with the democratic optimism that prevailed two decades ago. Around that time, a growing number of Arab regimes had begun to inject some ‘fresh air’ into their closed political systems. This process began first along the Mediterranean coastline, before it then spread to the Arabian Peninsula. It thus appeared that the “Third Wave of Democratization” (Huntington 1991a+b) that was sweeping through large parts of the world between the mid-1970s and early 1990s, was finally about to reach the shores of the MENA as well. Several factors made most analysts expect that Arab states would sooner or later follow global trends toward liberal democracy: Among these were the generally dismal results of their previous central planning and import substitution strategies; the related decline of their public revenues and patronage resources; the disciplining impact of recently concluded structural adjustment programs and free trade accords; the political demise of the Soviet Union as a major sponsor of incumbent regimes; and last but not least increasing political pressures from the Western powers in the ‘post-9/11’ era. This combination of ‘hard’ and ‘soft’ pressures from within and without was expected to nudge Arab regimes in the direction of democracy, as had happened to many of their peers elsewhere in the world. These wider political trends had a profound impact on scholarly literature as well. They changed the epistemological focus and research agendas of many analysts and comparativists working on the MENA (cf. Faath 1999b; Pawelka 2000a+b; Anderson 2006). The number of studies investigating the reform potential and democratic perspectives of the region mushroomed (e.g. Salamé 1993; Brynen et al. 1995 & 1998; Baaklini et al. 2001; Diamond et al. 2003). In contrast to the previous generation of regional studies, most authors were now clearly more concerned with opportunities and perspectives of democratization than with constraints and impediments to it. In concurrence with wider research trends in the field of social sciences, they not only emphasized the overriding importance of human agency for political change, the considerable latitude of individual actors, and the contingency of their choices, they also downplayed the importance of structural hurdles to democratic rule associated with a specific political culture, political economy, and/or political sociology. As we shall see later on, more emphasis was put on cross-regional similarities than on region-specific particu8

For a brief overview of the prevailing regime types in each world region, see Diamond (2002: 30ff) and Croissant (2002: 46f). 21

larities. It was ascertained that the MENA was by no means an exception, but that it was subject to the same political forces (and trends) as other world regions and that it was thus likely to evolve along broadly similar lines (e.g. Camau 1999 and Schmitter 1999). In this context, a particular interest was observable in actor-oriented approaches. Many works were concerned with identifying presumable ‘change agents’, focusing on those groups that had acted as the ‘spearheads’ of de mocratization in other parts of the world (and that were expected to play a similar role in the MENA), such as private sector elites and civil society organizations (Norton 1995 & 1996; Ben Nefissa 2002; Hawthorne 2004a+b). Others were focused on the potentially ‘pro-democratic’ orientations of incoming political leaders (Dunn 1999; Faath 2000; Cantori 2002) or the potentially ‘democratizing’ impact of multi-party elections (Baaklini et al.2001; Pripstein Posusney 2002; Willis 2002). Others looked into change processes in the media sector (Burkhart & Older 2003; Hafez 2004; Sakr 2007) and the potential political impact of structural economic shifts (Hakimian & Moshaver 2001; Kienle 2003; Bellin 2004b). Increased attention was perceptible for the potential democratic contributions of faith-based actors (Ferrié 2005; Brown et al. 2006; Asseburg 2007a; Albrecht & Köhler 2008; Ottaway & Hamzawy 2009) as well as for the corresponding role of external actors (Youngs 2001, 2002a+b, 2004; Carothers & Ottaway 2005; Faath 2005), especially in the wake of ‘9/11’ and the Iraq War (Faath 2003; Jünemann 2004; Pertes 2004b; Asseburg 2007b). These expectations were further fuelled by developments on the ground. They included, first, a raft of reform initiatives and pro-democratic state ments adopted by Arab political leaders and civil society representatives at their meetings in Alexandria, Beirut, Sanaa, and Tunis in 2004-2005 ‒ partly as a reaction to the ‘regime change’ agenda of the Bush administration, but equally partly in response to domestic pressures for political reform (copies of these documents can be found at www.al-bab.com and www.arabreformforum.com). And they involved, second, like-minded initiatives by external actors, such as the U.S. ‘Middle East Partnership Initiative’ (MEPI), the EU's ‘Strategic Partnership with the Mediterranean and the Middle East’, the BMENA process of the G8 states, and similar initiatives of other international organizations (further information in this regard can be found at mepi.state.gov, ec.europa.eu/ external_relations/euromed, g8bmena.org, www.pogar.org, and www.oecd. org/mena). Major actors within and without the region thus appeared to have a genuine desire for, and a serious

22

commitment to, promoting political reforms and democratic change in the 9 region. Soon, however, these high hopes received several severe blows. While some (notably the monarchies of the Gulf region) only began to ‘stir’ and ‘open up’, others (and particularly the ‘trailblazers’ by the Mediterranean coast) were regarded as ‘stagnating’ or ‘retreating’, in terms of civic rights and political freedoms. None of the political change processes in any of these countries took on a truly fundamental dimension, e.g. by touching upon the core institutions of the established ruling orders. Genuinely open-ended and competitive elections (such as were held in the Palestinian Territories and Iraq) were only possible under the conditions and on the basis of foreign military occupation and restrained national sovereignty. What appeared in the beginning as a clear trend toward liberal democracy soon came to be seen as just another example of the pendulum-like motions that scholars have identified as being characteristic of the political history of the region.

The MENA Region in the Early Twenty-First Century: Change without Democratization This is of course not to say that there has been no political change in the MENA region over the past 2-3 decades, on the contrary: most Arab polities have actually changed quite substantially during these years (often as the result of a succession at the helmet of the state). Changes have affected all four dimensions of political authority: its scope, depth, exercise, and legitimacy. In many countries, there has been a clear relaxing of state repression and censorship, combined with a simultaneous increase in public liberties and participatory opportunities. In many instances, this has entailed the legalization of opposition parties, admission of non-state organizations, strengthening of parliamentary assemblies and/or holding of pluralist elections. Nowadays, Arab countries tend to feature much more open media sectors, relatively pluralistic associative landscapes, and increasingly representative parliamentary assemblies (cf. Faath 2004; Lust-Okar & Zerhouni 2008; Ottaway & Choucair 2008; Ottaway et al. 2009). It must be noted however, that liberalization has clearly not spilled over 10 into democratization. Regimes have chosen to withdraw and share power, 9

The findings of, and reactions to, the four Arab Human Development Reports (AHDR) published in the years 2002-05 also played a major role in this context. 10 It has become standard practice in comparative politics to distinguish between three forms of political transitions: systems change, which involves the modification of a system’s identity; systems exchange, which entails the loss of its identity; and systems collapse, which entails the loss of its existence. By the same token, it has be23

but have not been forced to go any further and give up that power altogether. The effective centers of political power have in none of these cases become an ‘enjeu’ of politics. Neither have truly competitive forces been admitted into the ‘political ring’ nor has effective political authority been submitted to popular choice. The system's power centers and ruling elites still remain above competition and contestation. The changes that have taken place in the region so far have thus not crossed the threshold of a systemic transition to democratic rule, as this would have involved opening up the loci and levers of power to popular suffrage and public oversight. At the time of writing, there is neither a single functioning democracy nor one genuine democratic transition process in the MENA ‒ in clear contrast to what has occurred in all other world regions during the past decades (Brumberg 2003; Albrecht & Schlumberger 2004; Ottaway & Choucair 2008; Sadiki 2009). This means that incumbent regimes have been successful in containing political change, in spite of all the transformations that have taken place in other sub-systems. They have remained in full control of every single stage of political reforms: their thrust, scope, sequencing, and outcome. Enacted reforms have in reality been inherently conservative (and surprisingly successful) crisis management and survival strategies, in most cases designed and implemented by incumbent ruling elites with the aim of preserving and perpetuating basic power structures. These efforts entail an attempt to enhance a system's performance and legitimacy, but without endangering its parameters or endurance. They have been “tactical political openings whose goal was to sustain rather than transform autocracy” (Brumberg 2002: 56); they have been, in other words, “a successful strategy for avoiding change of regime through change in regime” (Albrecht & Schlumberger 2003: 19). They are thus often characterized in political and social science literature as 11 ‘authoritarian modernization’ or ‘authoritarian upgrading’ strategies. come usual to distinguish between three stages of a democratic transition: liberalization, democratization, and consolidation. While the term ‘liberalization’ only designates the modification of a system, the term ‘democratization’ describes its transformation to a new one. As “democracy is a system of ruled open-endedness, or organized uncertainty (…), democratization is an act of subjecting all interests to competition, of institutionalizing uncertainty” (Przeworski 1991: 13-14). The decisive step is the devolution of power from a group of people to a set of rules. The ‘consolidation’ of democracy is achieved when the vast majority of political actors agree on, and abide by, the basic rules of the political game; when no one is a priori excluded from participating in the crafting of policies, or prevented from criticizing their outcomes; and when most political subjects are neither able nor ready to pursue their aims outside the realm of the established institutions, or in violation of the agreed rules. 11 As Peter Pawelka has correctly pointed out: “Liberalisierungsprozesse im Vorderen Orient sind keine Resultate von Bargaining-Prozessen zwischen geschwächten auto24

Many analysts have, however, failed to realize (or preferred to ignore) these facts. They were only looking for what they hoped to find ‒ namely systemic changes (transitions toward democracy) ‒ and not what was actually happening ‒ namely sub-systemic changes (transitions within authoritarianism). They tried to explain what there is not ‒ why people have ‘failed’ to do something, and how they could be ‘coaxed’ into doing it ‒ instead of explaining what there actually is ‒ what is occurring, and why it is occur ring. It has quite correctly been argued that such an approach constitutes a failure in itself: “Academic research on Middle Eastern political regimes throughout the 1990s can be characterized as a period of waiting for expectations to materialize that were ill-grounded from the beginning ‒ in fact: a period of ‘Waiting for Godot’” (Albrecht & Schlumberger 2003: 10). A growing number of political analysts therefore concur that explaining objectively existing and empirically traceable realities ‘on the ground’ (including the remarkable resilience or even revival of authoritarian rule and domination in many countries around the world) is for the time being more worthwhile than exploring normatively justified but objectively absent developments (even though the latter is of course as legitimate, normatively 12 speaking, as it is interesting, intellectually speaking). In the case of the MENA, this means that investigating the persistence of authoritarianism should be prioritized over explaining the absence of democracy. “What we should investigate from a comparative politics perspective is not the ‘failure’ of democracy or democratization, but rather the ‘success’ of authoritarianism in the Middle East and North Africa” (Albrecht & Schlumberger 2003: 6). In recent years, a number of studies have appeared that have endeavored to precisely analyze and conceptualize the shifting registers of political rule, and specifically the endurance of authoritarianism, both globally (Brownlee 2007; Ghandi & Przeworski 2007; Köllner 2008), and regionally (Pawelka 2002; Pripstein Posusney 2004; Bellin 2004a; Pripstein Posusney & Penner ritären Eliten und gestärkten sozialen Organisationen, sondern spiegeln Initiativen der politischen Führer wider. Geht der politische Wandel in anderen Regimen mit der Schwächung des autoritären Staates einher, scheint er im Vorderen Orient vor allem seiner Modernisierung und Anpassungsfähigkeit zu dienen (…). Die Zulassung von Verbänden, politischen Parteien, Parlamenten und bestimmten Formen der Beteiligung an Entscheidungsprozessen muss nicht als Erosion des elitären Staates oder als Erfolg gesellschaftlicher Ambitionen gedeutet werden. Wenn der Staat diese Institutionen ‘gewährt’, ihre internen Strukturen (mit)bestimmt, ihre Funktionen und Spielregeln festlegt und sie effektiv kontrolliert, dann haben wir es mit einem sehr anpassungsfähigen und flexiblen autoritären System zu tun. Es modernisiert nur angesichts wachsender materieller Probleme und sozialer Dynamik sein Absorptions- und Steuerungspotential” (2000: 403-405). 12 Carothers (2002) has even gone so far as to call for the end of the transition paradigm. 25

Angrist 2005; Ferrié & Santucci 2006; Hinnebusch 2006; Fürtig 2007; Schlumberger 2007a+b; Beck et al. 2009). In spite of the differences that exist among them in terms of perspectives, priorities, and approaches pursued, they appear to agree on at least two desiderata: first, on the need to develop a more differentiated and contextualized understanding of regime or systems change processes in the MENA; and second, on the need to develop a more appropriate and sophisticated understanding of ongoing change and reform processes within existing regime or system types worldwide. These debates echo wider developments in comparative politics, where a growing number of analysts agree on the need to further fine-tune established concepts and mechanisms of political analysis and comparison. Many have insisted on the necessity to look more closely at what constitutes the internal dynamics of authoritarian rule. “Comparative politics”, writes Larry Diamond, “is returning with new concepts and data to a very old issue: the forms and dynamics of authoritarian rule (…). As democracies differ among themselves in significant ways and degrees, so do contemporary authoritarian regimes, and if we are to understand the contemporary dynamics, causes, limits, and possibilities of regime change (including possible future democratization), we must understand the different, and in some respects new, types of authoritarian rule” (2002: 33).

The Many New Faces of an Old Political Phenomenon: The Changing Registers of Authoritarianism According to a classical definition by Juan Linz, authoritarian regimes are “political systems with limited, not responsible, political pluralism, without elaborate and guiding ideology, but with distinctive mentalities, without extensive or intensive political mobilization, except at some points in their development, and in which a leader or occasionally a small group exercises power within formally ill-defined limits but actually quite predictable ones” (2000: 159; cf. also Brooker 2000). There are thus three core features which all authoritarian regimes share: first, a very restrictive access to, and competition for, political power, which is essentially determined top-down; second, a very pronounced concentration and centralization of political power, usually in the hands of the executive branch of government; and third, a very restrictive access to, and participation in, policy making, which usually involves only a selected set of actors. In authoritarian regimes, a leader or a group of leaders controls power, often within ill-defined boundaries, according to ill-defined rules, mostly unfettered by free popular votes or institutional controls, and usually referring to some abstract political values and principles like the ‘national interest’, 26

the ‘national mission’, and/or the ‘national identity’. In contrast to totalitarianism, there is some degree of political pluralism (both in public life and within the ruling elite), including some freedom of expression and some opportunities for participation. In contrast to democracy, however, the patterns and limits of both are determined and controlled from ‘above’. Importantly, authoritarian regimes are no residual category; they are regimes sui generis, even though there are certain overlaps with the other two main types. Until a few decades ago, they represented the prevailing regime type worldwide in numerical terms, and there are certain indications that they might be just about to undergo a political comeback. Unlike totalitarian regimes, authoritarian regimes do normally not pursue elaborate ideologies aimed at the destruction of the old order, the mobilization of society on behalf of their goals, and the ‘re-education’ of society in accordance with their views (cf. ibid: 70 for a definition of totalitarianism; 13 ibid: 72-73 for the role of the party). They usually have a rather rudimentary conceptual basis (‘mentalities’ rather than ‘ideologies’) aimed at ‘bridging cleavages’, ‘rallying people’, and ‘softening conflicts’, but not ‘drumming up mass support’, ‘galvanizing social energies’, or ‘pursuing political models’. Their goals are usually not about ‘mobilization’ and ‘politicization’, but about ‘de-mobilization’ and ‘de-politicization’ (cf ibid: 164-168). The bargain they normally offer is economic development (plus some redistributive elements) in exchange for political loyalty (and some token support). In reality, there are of course much more substantial differences between empirically existing regimes than such a highly aggregated definition suggests: O'Donnell (1973) distinguished between three main types of authoritarian regimes: traditional, populist, and bureaucratic. According to him, the first are characterized by a low degree, the second by a medium degree, and the third by a high degree of modernization. In the pursuit of their goals, the second type seeks to politically activate the popular sector and integrate it into state-controlled organizations, whereas the third type seeks to politically de-activate the popular sector and exclude it (as much as possible) from political decision making. Linz (2000) himself distinguished between six (ideal) types of authoritarian regimes: a) bureaucratic-military regimes, b) organic statist regimes, c) post-independence mobilizing regimes, d) postdemocratic (fascist) mobilizing regimes, e) post-totalitarian authoritarian regimes, and f) exclusive (or racial) democracies. Real types, however, sel13 Two other distinctive characteristics of totalitarian systems are: first, the “subordination of the military” and, second, “the destruction or at least decisive weakening of all the institutions, organizations, and interest groups existing before a new elite takes political power and organizes its own political structures” (ibid: 68). 27

dom conform to any of these, but rather feature a combination of various 14 types. Actual manifestations of authoritarian rule can thus range from intensive and comprehensive mobilization via semi-pluralist, clientelist, and/or corporatist forms of participation to deliberate and systematic demobilization. In other words, these regimes can be ‘hard’ or ‘soft’, exclusive or inclusive, mobilizational or demobilizational, They can be based on a single or dominant party, the military or civil bureaucracy, certain societal or ethnic strata, specific religious or tribal groups, domestic or foreign business elites, or otherwise important international or transnational players. Their legitimacy may be modern, traditional or charismatic (to quote Max Weber); it may be diffuse or specific (or, in other words, input- or output-oriented). Their goals may be progressive or conservative; they may be based on the claim to regain (or maintain) national sovereignty and security, to preserve (or re-establish) political order and stability, to redress certain socio-historical injustices, or to pursue a national development project. Authoritarian regimes can emerge following the breakdown of a democratic regime, the ‘routinization’ of totalitarian rule, or as the result of decolonization and civil wars. Thus, in order to better understand the emergence, evolution, maturation, and eventually the decline and breakdown or the reform and renewal of authoritarian regimes, it will be necessary to analytically distinguish, and empirically investigate, ten different dimensions of political rule: the historical context in which these regimes have come into being; their socio-political basis; their economico-financial basis; their political legitimacy; their political objectives; the way they exercise power; the actual range of their power; the way they transfer power; the way they are embedded in their societies; and finally the relationships which they entertain with key external players. This is what shall also be done in the context of this study.

‘It's the Elite, Stupid’: Research Questions and Working Hypotheses The main aim of this study is to make a contribution to these debates. It shall in particular try to explain what accounts for the remarkable resilience of authoritarian rule in the case of Tunisia. In doing so, I will argue that the ‘elite variable’ represents the single most important factor to explain the be14 These typologies, however, are not very convincing, because they are often derived from empirically existing regimes in various world regions (with unclear criteria for their selection); because they arbitrarily mix various dimensions of political rule; and because they systematically neglect the (semi)traditional forms of political rule. 28

havior of key actors, the thrust of political development, and the outcome of regime change in Ben Ali's ‘New Tunisia’. In other words, I will argue that the configuration of key political players in the national capital, their strategies vis-à-vis certain core issues, as well as their inter-linkages with other relevant actors, both within and without, are the analytical keys to answering three crucial questions: first, why the new ruling elites around Ben Ali have been anxious to avoid the ‘institutionalization of uncertainty’ (to take up Przeworski's definition of the process of democratization); second, how they have been able to ‘get away with it’ so far; and third, whether this tells 15 us anything about similar cases in neighboring countries, or further afield. In doing so, this study will be able to build on a large body of scientific research into the issue of elites (cf. Lasswell et al. 1952, Putnam 1976, and Etzioni-Halevy 1997 for a brief overview). Since the mid-twentieth century at the very latest, the elite issue also featured heavily on the research agenda of scholars dealing with the developing world in general, and the Middle East in particular (cf. Lenczowski 1975; Tachau 1975; Zartman 1980 & 1982; Vermeren 2002; Sraieb 2003; Perthes 2002b & 2004a). A majority of these scholars (like Halpern, Lerner, Binder, Huntington, and Moore) approached these issues on the foundations and through the lenses of the structuralistfunctionalist paradigm prevailing in the post-WWII epoch. They assessed the (im)maturity of political institutions according to their (in)ability to perform certain social functions (like interest aggregation, or conflict management). In this sense, a high degree of political institutionalization was regarded as essential for a successful transformation of ‘backward’ societies. A strong state that was capable of funneling scarce resources into priority sectors was seen as being a necessary precondition to ‘catch up with’ developed nations. The general focus of political scientists of that time was thus on issues of development and modernization, and the way institutions or elites could influence and promote them. Most of them started from the assumption that there was a direct, ‘organic’ link between social modernization, economic development, nation building, and elite change. Consequently, their focus was on the new socio-political categories that had come to rule many former colonies. These ‘new men’ who often belonged to previously excluded 15 Several excellent works have been published over the last years (such as Murphy 1999, Bellin 2002, Camau & Geisser 2003a, and Hibou 2006) which provide in-depth analyses of the Tunisian case (and to which the author of these lines is greatly indebted). Most of them have, however, opted for a country-specific, inductive perspective rather than a theory-driven, comparative perspective, meaning they usually do not systematically pit their findings against the body of theoretical literature or works dealing with transition processes in other countries. 29

or recently ‘emerging’ social groups were expected to propel their ‘ignorant’ and ‘fragmented’ peoples into the modern industrial age. Army officers were regarded as particularly promising in this regard. As time would tell, however, many of these new elites would not bring about development or democracy but stagnation and oppression. In other words, they ‘failed’ to act as they ‘ought to do’; they did not deliver on the promises they had made themselves, or live up to the roles they were ascribed by others. As we shall see later on, the reason for this ‘failure’ was that many of the above ex pectations had rested on rather shaky ground from the very beginning. Thus, the focus of researchers shifted to issues of political culture, political sociology, and/or political economy (cf. Sharabi 1990 and Pawelka 2000a+b for a brief overview). Two key concepts which heavily influenced and structured scientific debates in the following years included the concept of rentier states and rentier systems on the one hand, and the concept of (neo-)patrimonialism and (neo-)patriarchy on the other (essential reading is Beblawi & Luciani 1987, Pawelka 1997a, Boeckh & Pawelka 1997, and Schlumberger 2006a with regard to the former, and Eisenstadt 1973, Sharabi 1988, Hammoudi 2001, and Engel & Erdmann 2002 with regard to the lat16 ter). Particularly the combination of these two concepts has proven very useful for developing highly integrated, sophisticated and compulsive explanations regarding key socio-political features of MENA politics, including a combination of both socio-political and socio-economic factors, and of both external and internal influences (cf. also Beck 2007, Richter 2007, and Schwarz 2008). They have also been used to describe the emergence of a state class or state bourgeoisie in many countries of the region: that is, of a non-entrepreneurial, self-recruiting ruling stratum which controls the 17 means of coercion as well as a major part of the means of production. By contrast, dependency theory has never occupied the ‘intellectual high ground’ in MENA studies, at least not in comparison to other regions of the 18 developing world. 16 The concept of neo-patrimonial rule basically describes the fusion of traditional and modern authority in many of the formerly colonized and newly independent nonWestern countries. The concept of the rentier state basically describes the fusion of political and economic power, particularly in resource-rich and oil-producing countries. 17 Other influential and partially related concepts used by social scientists and political comparativists to explain socio-political trends and outcomes in the MENA were clientelism (Karadag 2007) and corporatism (Adams 2002). 18 A great deal of controversy and confusion has surrounded the question of the exact place, role, and power of the MENA state in political affairs (cf. also Bank 2007). States are simultaneously described as sovereign and embedded, overpowering and dependent. These qualifications are not necessarily contradictions in terms, but it is 30

After a long period of preoccupation with ‘systems’, ‘structures’, and ‘institutions’, comparative politics began to show a renewed interest in the role which ‘elites’ and individuals did or could play in and for processes of political change and democracy building. This ‘comeback’ was heavily influenced by the wave of democratization which occurred all over the world since the mid-1970s, and the key role which political elites played, in various ways and for various reasons, for the unfolding and outcome of the various 19 regime or system change processes. The occurrence of transitions was so ubiquitous, the advance of democracy so significant, and the role of individuals so salient, that they ‘transformed’ the way scholars conceived of these processes. According to the new paradigm that emerged with this ‘Third Wave’, democracy was ‘crafted’ (Di Palma 1990), i.e. brought about by deliberate choices of strategic players. From this perspective, it was actually first and foremost the decisions and preferences of political actors and elites (rather than historical meta-processes or economic super-structures) that ac20 count for the success or failure of transitions. 21 This new ‘actor paradigm’ hinges on several basic assumptions. First, it posits that democratic transitions are social constructs; they are the contingent outcome of human agency, and not the quasi-inevitable, mechanical result of supra-personal, structural forces. Second, it claims that political actors are the key variables; it is their choices, skills, means, and strategies that ultimately matter, much more than systems, structures, masses or classes ever do. As a matter of fact, proponents of this school do not deny the influence of the latter; they just claim that these do not preclude the actions of the former. From many points of view, (neo-)transitology and (neo-)elitism are two faces of the same coin. Both regard the elite factor as the key variable in transition processes, while everything else plays a secondary role. This means that “Akteurshandeln wird primär als Elitenhandeln nonetheless difficult to gauge whether states are actually the subject or just an object of power (or, in other words, whether they are the basis or just an instrument of power) (cf. Salamé 1987, Dawisha & Zartman 1988, Luciani 1990 and Pawelka 2008 for ‘affirmative’ answers, and Migdal 1988 and Mitchell 1991 for ‘qualifying’ ones). 19 Due to the sheer number of studies devoted to these issues, it is impossible to do full justice to everybody involved. For an introduction see the works listed in footnote 4. 20 This holds particularly true for the countries of Southern Europe, Latin America, and later Eastern Europe where they had indeed a decisive impact on the unfolding and the outcome of regime and/or systems change. However, it also became clear from what happened in some successor states of the former Soviet Union that incumbent ruling elites and their social allies may even be able to politically survive a systems or regime collapse. This proves once again that a failure in politics, as total as it may have been, does not necessarily entail a fall from power. 21 For a good overview, see Bos (1996) and Merkel (1997). Cf. also the controversy between Cammack (1990) and Higley et al. (1990). 31

verstanden (…). Sozioökonomische Strukturen, politische Institutionen, internationale Einflüsse und historische Erfahrungen bilden lediglich den Handlungskorridor, innerhalb dessen demokratisch und autokratisch gesinnte Eliten ihre politischen Ziele verfolgen” (Merkel 1999a: 102). It also means that objective factors constitute at most constraints to that which is possible under a concrete historical situation but do not determine the out22 come of such a situation. A number of questions, however, remain contested: First, what triggers regime change? What makes elites switch allegiance? What forces autocrats to relinquish power? Is it a ‘cost-benefit analysis’, as Dahl and Przeworski suggest? (Read: when rulers come to see the costs incurred from maintaining repression as being too high, they devise a formula that reduces these costs.) Or is it rather a ‘last-exit approach’, as Moore and Rustow argue? (Meaning: autocrats do not choose to share power, but are forced to do so.) Second, what are the main driving forces behind a democratic transition? Is it the urban middle class, as Moore and Lipset argue, or is it organized labor, as Huber and Rueschemeyer hold? Third, what are the most promising avenues toward democratic consolidation? Is it preferable if democracy is conceded from ‘above’, or if it is conquered from ‘below’? Should it come about as the result of ‘round tables’ and ‘extrication pacts’ among rivaling elite factions, as O'Donnell, Schmitter, Higley, and Burton argue? Or should it come about as the result of ‘class struggle’ and ‘collective action’ whose preconditions are created by socio-economic development, as Huber, Rueschemeyer, Haggard, and Kaufman believe? These debates gained in salience over time, mainly as a result of political developments ‘on the ground’. Although democracy progressed and consolidated in some parts of the world (e.g. in Southern and Eastern Europe), a growing number of ‘new’ or ‘would-be democracies’ went ‘astray’ and ‘got lost’ (politically speaking). Instead of sticking to the political script of ‘mainstream transitology’, and ‘moving ahead’ in expanding the basic institutions 22 Although most neo-elitists agree on some basic assumptions ‒ namely that democracies are crafted, that choices are contingent, and that elites are crucial ‒ they differ as to what constitutes the focus of their analysis: elite configurations, interest structures, or process analysis. Actor-oriented studies can thus be divided up into three main strands: a deductive approach that starts from a comparative empirical analysis of the patterns and dynamics of transition processes (with O'Donnell, Schmitter, Mainwaring, and Valenzuela as important representatives); an inductive approach that starts from a rational-choice-based analysis of basic interests and incentive structures among relevant actors (its main proponent being Adam Przeworski); and a structuralist approach starting from the configuration and attitudes of elites to explain observable differences in political developments and elite behavior (with Burton, Higley, Gunther and Field as its ‘founding fathers’). A selection of the main works of these authors will be provided in the bibliography at the end of this study. 32

of liberal democracy, they veered off at some point, and ventured into a ‘noman's land’ that lay somewhere in between the established regime types. Many seemed to edge toward a ‘softer’ form of authoritarian rule which offered more freedom of expression and more opportunities for participation, but did not imply an effective, equitable competition for supreme power, or a genuine, institutionalized control of government policy. Researchers tried to come to terms with this by constructing a number of new concepts. Many referred to them as ‘hybrid’ or ‘grey zone regimes’, whereas others preferred to build ‘diminished subtypes’ instead (cf. Diamond 2002; Levitsky & Way 2002; Ottaway 2003; Bendel et al. 2002; Merkel et al. 2003; Schedler 2006 for further reading on this issue). It soon became clear that many ‘new democracies’ or ‘transition countries’ were actually neither democracies nor in transition at all. As a conse quence, consensus grew among scholars, first, to not only focus on changes of regimes, i.e. movements across systems or regime boundaries, but also to study changes in regimes, i.e. developments within a given systems or regime type; and second, to not only focus on elite politics, but also to ana lyze the societal context in which they operate. It was argued that this would allow a better understanding of the motives and constraints which shape the choices of political actors and elite factions, and ipso facto produce a more sophisticated understanding of the factors and forces that guide political change and transition processes. Contextual factors are thus once again attributed a primordial importance, not only for the consolidation of democracy, but also for the launching of a transition in the first place. In fact, the main criticism which ‘structuralists’ have leveled against ‘elitists’ is that they fail to take into account the embeddedness of their object of study. All that seems to account for a transition from this perspective is the resolve of elites to change the regime and move toward democracy, combined with their ability to stay the course and overcome resistance, if necessary.

The Paramount, yet Ambivalent Role of Political and Social Elites This study shall try to build on the results obtained in the course of these debates and respond to some of the questions raised by them. The first thing to do in this regard is of course to define the exact meaning of the word ‘elite’. In fact, elite researchers have constantly grappled with how to pin down the object of their research, and particularly with defining who is ‘elite’, and who is not. The reason is that if boundaries are too broad, they become unwieldy, and if they are too narrow, they become unrealistic. “Without setting boundaries to the elite, one can never tackle the question 33

of size, separate elite from mass, or consider elites as anything but an indistinguishably universal phenomenon” (Zartman 1974: 469). The second thing to do is to specify the exact latitude and leverage which elites enjoy vis-à-vis ‘surrounding’ sociopolitical categories and intervening variables (e.g. suprapersonal actors ‒ ‘masses’ or ‘classes’ ‒ and extra-personal factors ‒ ‘structures’ or ‘institutions’). This implies establishing causal links regarding human activities in a given societal context. In the broadest sense, the term ‘elite’ conveys some basic and generally uncontested notions, in particular ‘fewness’, ‘distinction’, ‘selection’, and ‘influence’. At the same time, there are several other notions which the term ‘elite’ does not convey, such as ‘cohesiveness’ and ‘consciousness’. These are generally associated with the term ‘class’ (s.b.). This means, first, that elites are regarded as constituting a restricted group of social actors which represents a ‘minority’ as opposed to a ‘majority’ of people; second, that they are able to offer certain ‘qualities’, control certain ‘resources’, and/or provide certain ‘goods’ which are for whatever reasons considered important by their community; and third, that they have generally gone through a process of selection, which serves to corroborate and legitimate their position (but which does neither need to be democratic nor meritocratic). All of these elements are generally interrelated and mutually constitutive. Moreover, these qualities should not be exercised ‘ad hoc’ or ‘at random’, but on a regular basis and over a longer time horizon, which normally requires a minimum of institutionalization and professionalization. Most scholars agree that the incidence of elites has generally increased in the course of history. It has been argued that developments associated with the process of modernization (like national and societal integration, functionalstructural differentiation, political institutionalization, professional specialization, normative diversification, etc.) have not only contributed to enhancing the complexity and diversity of societies, but also to in23 creasing the number and importance of elites. The advance of democracy in particular is said to have furthered the plurality of elites, as it has destroyed oligarchic social structures and hereditary elite cartels while submitting political leadership to popular oversight and preference formula23 “Damit ist die Herausbildung funktionell spezialisierter gesellschaftlicher Sub- oder Teilsysteme verbunden, die einerseits über relative Autonomie verfügen und andererseits in wechselseitiger Abhängigkeit stehen. In Folge der internen Ausdifferenzierung jener gesellschaftlichen Teilsysteme entwickeln sich im weiteren Institutionen und arbeitsteilige Professionen, die aufgrund der Verfügungsgewalt über gesellschaftlich bedeutsame Ressourcen mit eigenverantwortlichen Handlungsspielräumen ausgestattet sind und die Annahme einer pluralistischen Elitenstruktur in modernen Gesellschaften begründen” (Kaina 2004: 21). 34

24

tion. Most scholars thus seem to agree that rather than one integrated set of ‘leading actors’, there is nowadays a multitude of elites, in general one set or kind for every ‘social sector’ or ‘subsystem’. However, no agreement has been reached so far on a general definition of the term ‘elite’, which could be applicable across time and space. Scholars continue to disagree as to which elements are decisive for creating ‘eliteness’: personal qualities (know-how, performance), political aspects (power, authority), economic aspects (wealth, ownership), social aspects (descent, kinship), or cultural aspects (habitus, values). As a result, many have tended to confound crucial issues, such as positions, influence, and power. Furthermore, scholars continue to disagree about whether it is actually the (societal) context that produces elites, or whether it is rather the latter that determine the former. In other words, the question is whether elites should be regarded as dependent, independent, or intermediate variables. Further confusion is added by the fact that empirical concerns are often mingled with, and even supplanted by, normative agendas. Instead of analyzing what actually happens, it appears that many prefer to focus on what they think should happen. Thus, it appears advisable at this point to briefly define some key terms which will be used throughout this study.

A First Clarification of Key Terms: Elites, Classes, Networks Let me first make clear what I mean by ‘elites’: To begin with, my understanding of elites is analytical, and not normative. This means that I do not conceive of elites as a priori representing the ‘crème de la crème’, or the ‘best and brightest’, but simply as a group of actors who have managed to ‘excel’ within a given social context or reference group at a given place and time. I do not presuppose that elites must dispose of special properties, qualities, skills, or merits (be it morally, intellectually or otherwise); they must simply be recognized (voluntarily or involuntarily) by their constituency as being somehow ‘special’, and this ‘specialness’ must entail certain benefits for them: whether it is power, fame, or wealth. 24 “Die Garantie von Freiheitsrechten und demokratischen Mitwirkungsrechten verhindert (…) die Zusammenballung gesellschaftlicher Macht bei einer kleinen, sozial und interessenmäßig homogenen Elite und bedingt stattdessen einen Pluralismus autonomer Eliten (…). Eine pluralistisch-demokratische Elitenstruktur schließt zwar nicht aus, das große Unterschiede in den Durchsetzungschancen verschiedener Interessen existieren, aber gesamtgesellschaftlich bedeutsame Entscheidungen sind bei einer solchen Struktur das Resultat komplexer Willensbildungsprozesse, an denen eine Vielzahl von Akteuren beteiligt ist und deren Ausgang offener ist als in nichtdemokratischen Gesellschaften” (Hoffmann-Lange 2004: 26). 35

As a consequence, my understanding of elites is also essentially pluralistic and contextualized. In the majority of cases, there is not one single elite in society (although elites can at times form highly integrated and all-embracing ‘conglomerates’ across sectorial and/or functional boundaries), but there is a variety of elites, in general one set or group for every sector or sub-system. The composition, configuration, embeddedness, and accessibility of elites therefore essentially depend on the nature, logic, desires, and needs of their context; it is the latter that produces the former, and not vice versa. This means that the heterogeneity of elites is normally commensurate with the distribution of ‘resources’ (or ‘values’) in a society; the more differentiated and dispersed the latter, the more contingent and complex are the former. This takes us to the third point, namely how to define political elites. In parallel to the large majority of elite studies, I attribute decisive importance to the proven ability of human actors to exercise ‘influence’ in politics, and more specifically, to exercise substantial influence on strategic matters. Moreover, this influence should be exercised not just at one moment or in a 25 random fashion, but on a regular basis, and in a measurable way. The actors in question should thus be able to determine, or otherwise shape, issues that are regarded by a clear majority of those concerned as being ‘crucial’ for themselves and/or for their society. Very useful in this regard is thus the definition developed by Burton and Higley. “We define elites as persons who are able, by virtue of their strategic positions in powerful organizations, to affect national political outcomes regularly and substantially” (Burton et al. 1992: 8; cf. Highley & Lengyel 2000 for a slightly modified version). The problem with this definition, in spite of its elegance, lies in its presupposition for people to have ‘positions’ within ‘organizations’. This, however, is a liability rather than an asset when it comes to analyzing actual political processes in ‘real life’ situations; because it separates us from the muddy waters of day-to-day politics where actors can fall back on a multitude of channels for ‘pressing their point’. This gap between theory and reality, already substantial in the daily political practice of liberal democracies, is often even more pronounced in the political context of authoritarian regimes, where actual political authority is not necessarily vested in formal state institutions, and where non-political or informal elites may wield more power than elected or appointed state officials. A more appropriate tool may thus be the notion of the ‘Politically Relevant Elites’ (PRE) as developed in

25 A suicide bomber, for instance, may also be able to substantially influence political processes at one time, but this approach inadvertently tends to lack sustainability. 36

the framework of SWP's ‘Elite Change’ project, which shall be presented in more detail hereafter. Three general conclusions can be drawn from these introductory remarks: First, I hold that substantial influence on strategic political matters can only gauged in concrete situations. Even though some actors may enjoy extensive decision making powers over an extended period of time and a broad range of issues, it is the actual interplay of the relevant actors ‘on the ground’ that shows how their supposed ‘authority’ translates into actual influence. In fact, power, authority, domination, and influence are not sociopolitical ‘objects’ or ‘assets’ owned by elites, but must be asserted at a given moment and in a given context by human beings who have the intention and the capacity to achieve certain outcomes. At the end of the day, the fac tor ‘influence’ is a function of three variables: the objectives which somebody pursues; the resources he or she can dispose of; and the constraints he or she is faced with. And it is the specific interplay of these three variables that determines whether somebody enjoys ‘influence’, or not. Second, I concur that it is the specific context of each country which essentially determines the preconditions for eliteness. Factors which play a role in this regard include the size of a country, its location, natural resources, demographic structures, political institutions, economic features, cultural representations, and value systems. However, it is not only the domestic setting of each country, i.e. its political economy, sociology, and history, but also its international environment, its embeddedness within the global system, and its relationships with major external players, which determines the nature of politically relevant resources and regulates their allocation at a social level. All of these determine if, when, and how actors are willing and able to exert influence in politics. Whether these factors constitute dependent or independent variables once again depends on the domestic and international context of the country in question (regional political groupings being an intermediate category in this regard). Third, I concur that the interplay of these variables only lays down the ‘property field’ for elite action, but no more. As such, they constitute a ‘corridor of action’ that constrains the freedom of choice of elites, i.e. the quantity and ‘quality’ of options available to them, but does not predetermine the action or non-actions of elites, including the thrust or outcome of their decisions. In other words, they only determine what actors may be ready or able to do, not what they will want or chose to do; they may push or pull elites into a specific direction; they may restrict or enlarge the quantity and quality of options at their disposal; they may encourage or preclude certain kinds of action, by attaching specific costs to them, but this is it. In short, these variables ought to be regarded as a sort of policy filter that creates cer37

tain opportunity and incentive structures for concerned or interested actors, 26 but does neither determine their behavior nor its consequences. This means that I will treat elites neither as a completely dependent nor as an entirely independent variable, but as an intervening variable (cf. also Annex 1 for a brief visualization). This corresponds to the ambivalent nature of elites, who constitute both inputs and outputs of policies and politics. Their role in decision making basically consists of filtering incoming policy signals and translating them into concrete policy choices. However, they are of course much more than just a medium of politics. This is not only due to the fact that they dispose of more power resources than other actors; it is also due to the fact that their very composition and configuration reflects the nature and allocation of power resources or ‘values’ at a given place and time. Their attitudes, beliefs, agendas, and choices can thus be expected to both indicate and integrate this power structure, in the same way as their decisions and activities can contribute to confirming and reproducing, or undermining and destroying, this same power structure. How does such an understanding of ‘elites’ relate to other concepts of social sciences, and in particular to the notion of ‘classes’? In contrast to elites, classes are generally defined in terms of ownership of the means of production, and it is assumed that these property relations are a locomotive force of human history. But there are some other major differences between these two terms, as Zannoni (1978) has quite correctly pointed out: Even though both depart from the assumption that their ‘target groups’ share some basic traits, such as ‘fewness’ and ‘distinction’, the latter also implies some additional qualities, such as ‘consciousness’ and ‘cohesiveness’, i.e. a common identity, common interests, and a common sense of purpose among the members of a class. These observations apply in particular to the term ‘ruling class’: “The ruling class is not just a minority of people distin guished from the majority of the population but it is a minority conscious of its position and with a high degree of internal cohesiveness” (Zannoni 1978: 8). Apart from general disagreements about the exact meaning and the ac26 This is reminiscent of what Paul Noble has written about how external factors influence foreign policy: “National concerns influence what governments would like to do, but the environment determines what they are able to do. There are two ways in which systemic conditions shape state behavior: In the first place, systemic conditions either provide a set of opportunities or, more commonly, serve as a set of constraints, permitting states a certain range of possible actions. Second, systemic conditions generate forces that push or pull states in certain directions. Even if the system does not have a significant impact on the initial formation of a state's policies, it has a decisive effect on whether those policies succeed or fail. The results are generally not lost on policy makers and shape their subsequent behavior” (1984: 41). 38

tual pertinence of the notion of classes, their importance and even their existence has been strongly debated as a factor and force of politics in many newly independent countries of the Developing World, including those south of the Mediterranean. The arguments which are usually advanced in support of this standpoint are numerous, and can only be summarized in passing: It is mainly argued that the emergence and impact of classes is mitigated, if not thwarted, for reasons of political culture and/or political economy. According to the ‘segmentary’ or ‘patriarchial’ model, the inhabitants of the region are not primarily socialized and socially integrated along horizontal (class) lines, but along vertical (particularistic) lines (i.e. because of their affiliation with a family, clan, village, tribe, sect, ethnic community etc.). According to the ‘state class’ or ‘state bourgeoisie’ model, it is the state and not the bourgeoisie which owns the means of production in most countries south of the Mediterranean; the state is thus independent from capital; if at all, classes are created top-down, at the behest of the state; furthermore, those who are in power constitute a class of their own. Very often, however, the above propositions have been used in a far too static way, as many observers have tended to ignore the sometimes remarkable dynamism of post-independence MENA societies. This included a high degree of socio-political mobility and mobilization, generated by state-led development policies and mass-based revolutionary struggles. This has led to a multiplication and diversification of social roles and affiliations. Even though these developments have in most cases followed vertical lines of action and have often reinforced pre-modern forms of association, they have had unintended consequences on many levels. For instance, new horizontal (or cross-cutting) affiliations and linkages, based on shared identities and interests have emerged. By the same token, traditional structures and institu tions have also in many cases taken on new forms and functions. The political institutions created by, and linked to, the new states have played an important role in this regard. They have become focal points of socio-political concerns, both positively and negatively. The fact that the new ruling elites tended to play a preponderant role in political life does not mean that they were capable of (or interested in) controlling each and everything, or that subordinate actors were not capable of (and interested in) defending common concerns and collective agendas. In fact, most MENA societies exhibit strong hybrid features, whereby multiple forms of exchange co-exist in a tangled web of relations. Thus, a shift of focus (or better said: an extension of researchers' atten tion) occurred over the years: away from being primarily concerned with formal political structures, toward dealing more closely with more fluid, and less formal ones. This included not only a stronger focus on the actual inter39

play and (partial) overlap between modern and pre-modern, formal and informal, institutions and organizations, but also on the concrete behavior of empirically existing individual and collective actors in MENA countries. Analysts began to more systematically chart the role which certain socio-political and socio-cultural phenomena that are particularly widespread in MENA countries played for political and societal processes. These included crosscutting forms and channels of inter-personal association and transaction, 27 such as social networks, social movements, and patron-client relationships, but also some other categories and typologies of inter-personal sociability 28 and exchange, such as particularism and primordialism. The main advantage of these approaches was that they allowed for a better appreciation of the multiple nature of social relationships that exist in real life.

A Second Clarification of Key Terms: State, System, Regime It appears necessary at this point to briefly elaborate on some other key terms that shall be used throughout this study: namely ‘political system’, ‘regime’, and ‘state’ (cf. also Merkel 1999: 70-74). In its classical form, the term ‘state’ denotes a political association which enjoys effective and extensive sovereignty over a distinct and contiguous territory and a clearly identi29 fiable and permanent resident population. According to Max Weber's clas27 A social network is a set of actors who communicate and interact on a regular basis, and who define and organize their belonging to a network on their affiliation with a shared ‘issue’ (identities, loyalties, interests, objectives etc.). In the sociopolitical context of the Arab World, these are often referred to as amâ'a or a shilla, i.e. as a group or clique of people or friends bound together by common interests or other ties, like a common geographical, sectarian, linguistic or ethnic background, or a common educational or professional upbringing. 28 There are two Arab key terms for these phenomena: While the term ‘wasta’ is the prevalent one in the Arab East, the term ‘qurâba’ is more widely used in Tunisia. Qurâba (literally: ‘proximity’) is either used literally, or figuratively. It either means being affiliated with a ‘family’ or ‘clan’, i.e. with a restricted social unit organized along patrilinear, agnatic lines. Or it means being affiliated with a social group or a clique based on other inter-personal affinities, like those based on a common (geographical, educational, professional, etc.) background of participants, or aimed to further common (personal, political, professional, etc.) objectives. 29 Etymologically, the word ‘state’ derives from the Latin ‘status’, which in the Middle Ages referred to the legal standing of individuals and collectivities. In particular, it became used to refer to the person of the king and the power he represented (body natural and body politic). Over time, the term lost most of its former connotations and became associated with the legal order of a given society as well as with the apparatus of its enforcement. Due to the global spread of the European state in the process of colonization, the concept of the ‘state’ has become the standard model of 40

sical definition, the state is a political organization that successfully claims a monopoly on the legitimate use of physical violence within a given territory. The word ‘state’ thus refers to the set of institutions that de iure or de facto have the authority to define the rules that govern the relationships among the people living in that territory. The power to produce and enforce laws is generally viewed as a key criterion for being regarded and recog nized as a state. States are thus seen as being both autonomous and sovereign vis-à-vis their own citizens and other states. According to this view, the state is the ultimate depository of political power. Due to the conditions surrounding the evolution of the state, the word still bears notions of a centralization, institutionalization, and perpetuation of power, authority, and con30 trol. The term (political) ‘regime’ is more circumscribed: In the most general sense, it denotes a particular system of social control or, more specifically, a form of government. The word ‘regime’ thus refers to the set of rules, norms, and institutions that regulate the acquisition, exercise, and transfer of power in space and time. The rules and institutions which a regime is based and dependent on may be formal or informal, in the same way as they may be accepted or contested. However, a certain degree of acceptance and institutionalization is normally considered necessary for regimes to be operational and effective. In this sense, ‘regimes’ structure relations both at an intraelite and an elite-mass level. In particular, they organize the way in which the highest political offices in a given political system are filled, how these interact with each other, and how they relate to society. The term (political) ‘system’ is the most comprehensive of all: It refers to the ensemble of components (organizations and institutions) that jointly regulate social relationships within a specific context and thereby structure the production of collectively binding decisions within that context. In doing so, the term is used to identify and specify the relationships that exist among these components as well as the rules that regulate their interac tions. At the same time, it also allows to identify and specify adjacent funcpolitical organization worldwide (cf. Reinhard 1999a+b for further reading in this regard). 30 The nature, function, and boundaries of the state have always been strongly contested: Most ideas about the state can be placed on a continuum ranging from the Weberian to the Marxist tradition: Whereas the former tend to regard the state as a powerful, purposeful, collective political actor in its own right, the latter tend to regard it as a rather passive, docile political tool or servant of powerful social interests and actors. Critics of these two viewpoints (e.g. Migdal and Mitchell) argue that instead of being an actor, the state should be viewed as a ‘field’ or an ‘arena’ where social or individual actors interact, converge or collide in the pursuit of their personal or collective goals. 41

tional spheres and related sub-systems, which may be part of the equation (or come into play). As such, the word ‘system’ not only incorporates the aforementioned categories of ‘state’ and ‘regime’, but also encompasses additional sociopolitical categories, like for instance ‘political parties’ or ‘civil society’. The category which this study will focus on is the category of the regime. The main reason for this choice is that the focus of ‘regimes’ on the notion of ‘power’ proves very useful for a study whose aim is to analyze the role which elite structures and elite behavior play for policy outcomes and change processes in a given country. Another reason is that this choice will allow us to avoid some major inconveniences posed by other classical categories in Western political science. In fact, scholars working on the basis of these concepts have often tended to proceed from a number of basic assumptions that include a sharp and clear distinction between different social or functional spheres (e.g. ‘public’ vs. ‘private’, ‘political’ vs. ‘non-political’, ‘formal’ vs. ‘informal’, etc.). One key assumption behind these distinctions is that state and government ‒ i.e. formal political institutions based on written legal codes ‒ are (or ought to be) the centers of power and authority. Critics have often argued that these classifications and categorizations are artificially rigid and hence unrealistic, that they more or less consciously follow ideas and notions derived from Western culture and reality, and that they do not work well in the political (and often non-democratic) settings of the Developing World, including the ones to be found south of the Mediterranean. They argue that a clear-cut distinction between different political powers and functional spheres simply does not correspond to the actual re31 ality of most countries in the region. Very often, informal institutions clearly prevail over formal ones. As a result, collectively binding decisions in these countries may not at all be made by formal state institutions but by powerful social actors outside the realm of the state. By the same token, state institutions and state officials may be objects rather than subjects, political instruments rather than decision makers, pawns and tools under the command and at the service of the powerful. This is why states cannot be adequately analyzed without due consideration of their social context (cf. 32 Mitchell 1991; Migdal 1988 & 2001; Reinhard 1999a+b; Schlichte 2005). 31 There has been a long debate in academic circles about whether European or Western concepts and categories of statehood are apt to grasp the complex realities of the Middle East and North Africa, whether there is a need for conceptual innovation at this level, or whether processes of political convergence are observable as a result of global change (cf. Hakimian & Moshaver 2001 for further reading on these issues). 32 This is reflected by the term which most Arab-speakers (including Tunisians) use to refer to their rulers: namely ‘sulta’, or ‘pouvoir’. The meaning of ‘sulta’ is both more 42

A Final Clarification of Key Terms: Power, Authority, Legitimacy In his works on political sociology, Max Weber has identified two ideal types of domination (‘Herrschaft’ in German): domination by virtue of authority, and domination by virtue of a constellation of interests (cf. Weber 1995: 303-314). The meaning of authority is identical to that of power insofar as both convey notions of hierarchy and asymmetry in intra-societal and inter-personal relations, i.e. of the ascendancy and prevalence of some persons or groups over other persons or groups (both terms can be translated in German as ‘Macht’ or ‘Gewalt’). They differ insofar as authority does not only entail notions of supremacy, i.e. of the ability to achieve certain ends, to effect change or exert control over persons and things; it also entails notions of legitimacy, i.e. of the assumption that somebody has the right to exercise that power, to issue commands and expect compliance by others. It is actually legitimacy that elevates power into authority. It is the acceptance by both the ruler and the ruled that distinguishes authority from mere coercion or raw power. For Weber, legitimacy thus ought to be regarded as a key element of any social system of domination. Its presence is an essential requirement for any stable political rule. In order to consolidate the emerging political order of the modern nation state, it was necessary to integrate the newly created state monopoly of physical force into a wider framework of political legitimacy. “Stable systems of political authority do not only rest on a monopoly of coercion, but this state monopoly also has to be anchored in a mutually accepted symbolical structure” (Jung 2006: 5). The normative (cultural) and material (social) embeddedness of political power is a key requirement for fully developed and consolidated statehood. Max Weber has identified three types of authority: traditional, rationallegal, and charismatic authority. “In the light of these concepts, we can conceptualize the processes of modern state formation as a gradual shift from forms of traditional authority to the rational-legal type (…) whereas elements of the charismatic type are most likely to occur in the foundational phase of a newly emerging state” (Jung 06: 6). In contrast to the rational-legal or traditional types, charismatic authority is not based on a shared set of comprehensive, and more circumscribed, than the term ‘regime’ (even though they are often used as synonyms). It not only describes the body of rules, norms, and procedures which regulate the access to, exercise, and transmission of power at a given time and in a given country; it also includes the entirety of all those actors that underpin these socio-political structures, and animate them in daily life. This usage takes into account the politico-cultural traditions and practices which regulate political life in these countries, and in particular the high degree of personalization and informalization which is a characteristic feature of regional politics. 43

rules and acts as a potentially destabilizing, if not revolutionary force particularly in times of political or social crises. In order to curb this potential and help safeguard the new order, charismatic authority very often has the tendency to become either ‘rationalized’ or ‘traditionalized’. Legitimacy plays a crucial role for the long-term stability of any political system. Stability is predicated on the obedience and/or support of people, which might be a result of habits, expediency (such as fear or greed), and legitimacy (which can be traditional, charismatic, or rational-legal, as we have seen). In most real-life cases, their existence (and extent) results from a spe33 cific mix of identification from ‘below’ and coercion from ‘above’. This shows that political legitimacy is a multi-dimensional concept: It has a topdown and a bottom-up dimension. It is not only a (static) normative concept, but also, and above all, a (dynamic) empirical concept. It is pluralistic in the sense that it relates to a variety of sources and claims (often at odds with another); and it is relational in the sense that it refers to the subjective and comparative assessment and evaluation by individuals and groups of a given system and of their own situation in it. It is of utmost importance for the structural stability of a political system that its representatives identify and minimize actual or potential tensions and frictions between their sources of legitimacy. As noted before, legitimacy conveys notion of approval and assent by citizens and elites alike. Very generally speaking, a system, regime, policy or government is considered legitimate when it is approved of and consented to, both openly and tacitly. Legitimacy is based on the claim and the belief that the institutions and decisions of a government and its representatives constitute an appropriate use of power with reference to an agreed set of principles. It is therefore certain that the lack or loss of legitimacy forces a regime to resort to more costly means for securing the obedience of their ‘targets’. This is also why a lack or loss of legitimacy (e.g. as a result of ei ther an ideational or a performance crisis) often assumes a dynamic of its 33 Political scientists usually distinguish between two further sub-forms of political legitimacy: namely diffuse (‘ideational’) legitimacy on the one hand, and concrete (‘performance’) legitimacy on the other. The former can have a variety of sources: it can be divine, dynastic, democratic, constitutional, confessional/sectarian, racial/ethnic, etc. in origin; that is, it can stem from the belief that a government and its policy is (or should be) embedded in and derived from the adherence to, and affiliation with, a specific political principle or reference point, e.g. a specific creed, race, class, mission, descent, identity, legality, morality, etc. The latter, in turn, can also relate to a number of factors: e.g. the provision of national (political) sovereignty, security, and integrity by a ruler, the delivery of personal (material) benefits and services, the preservation (or restoration) of law and order, and/or the arbitration of demands and conflicts. 44

own and develops into a ‘vicious circle’ for those concerned; by structurally raising the costs of government, it also inevitably undermines the efficiency of a system. The issue of legitimacy has been (and continues to be) of key importance for the countries south of the Mediterranean. Struggles over legitimacy have for many years constituted a dominant feature of political life in them. Already virulent in the aftermath of WWII and the process of decolonization, they have further gained in scope and depth since the 1970s and 1980s, as most of these countries have since then suffered “a structural loss of political legitimacy” (Albrecht & Schlumberger 2004: 378). Moreover, struggles over legitimacy have often been coupled with struggles over identity. This was due to a number of reasons, such as the weakness and fragility of most new states and of the Arab state system at large; the existence of competing ideological claims and rivaling forces at both sub-national, and supra-national levels; the often high level of socio-political mobilization and mobility; the general focus on the state and its agencies as the main source of power and wealth; and last but not least the quickly expanding and then contracting redistribute capacities of both OPEC and non-OPEC states. Even though it appears that these conflicts have somewhat receded since the 1990s, the question of legitimacy remains a hotly contested political issue in many countries of the region.

Contemporary Tunisia: An Ideal Test Case for Elite Approaches The focus on the ‘elite variable’ in processes of rapid political change appears all the more justified in the specific case of contemporary Tunisia. In fact, political life in the country is characterized by a very high degree of centralization and hierarchization of political decision making and elite recruitment. Since the mid-nineteenth century at the very latest, Tunisian politics has been a very top-down business: Neither the make-up of the modern state nor the composition of its ruling elite; neither the thrust of public policy nor the allocation of public resources have ever been determined by free popular choice following an open public debate that involves a majority of citizens. On the contrary, all of these issues have been adopted and implemented from ‘above’, by the ruling political elites controlling key state institutions in the national capital. Essentially, this state of affairs has not changed since the time of the ‘Change’. All power resources continue to converge at the central political level in the hands of a restricted circle of decision makers affiliated with those institutions that truly matter in politics: these are the presidential palace 45

in its diverse ramifications, the executive branch of the party-state, as well as the upper echelons of the security apparatus. By contrast, politically representative institutions elected at regular intervals in open contests continue to play ‘second fiddle’ (provided that elections take place at all). Moreover, the ability to exercise actual political power is not necessarily linked to having a formal position in the state apparatus; it can also hinge on having direct access (for whatever reasons) to the ruling elites. Therefore, political life in modern Tunisia has essentially been the result of struggles which were initiated, fought, and decided, at the level of the elites. The relationships and power structures which emerged at the level of the elites during and after the struggle for independence, the agendas and projects which they pursued, and the zeal and skill which they displayed when implementing them deeply affected the different constituent parts of the body politic and proved decisive for the future of the country. Elite-driven policies have literally transformed the social fabric over the past five decades. The ‘masses’ certainly participated in these struggles, and their participation influenced their outcome, but this does not change the fact that these struggles were essentially an intra-elite affair. At the same time, however, strong autonomy and limited accountability at the top do not necessarily mean total exclusion or zero influence from below: In fact, no authoritarian regime can fully dispose of any popular back ing. Although they generally aim to demobilize and depoliticize people, they still cannot do without a sufficient degree of (voluntary) assent and (active) support from below. In principle, this support can be won by the force of arms or with the help of money, but costs related to this approach quickly become prohibitive. Thus, authoritarian rulers need to instill a sufficient degree of passion and loyalty into the hearts and minds of their subjects, and this cannot be achieved through ‘fear’ or ‘greed’ alone; it requires a minimum degree of authority, which in turn requires a minimum degree of legitimacy, of whatever kind. Sooner or later, coercion and repression need to be complemented and counterbalanced by inclusion and participation; power can primarily, but not exclusively, come from the barrel of a gun. It is actually obvious that the Tunisian ruling elites are faced with several severe constraints and challenges here (in spite of their apparent strength and autonomy). The country's narrow financial and resource base puts severe limits to the state's integrative and/or coercive capacities. It simply cannot follow the example of some of its neighbors and build up military and/or social security systems that allow it to buy allegiance and/or crush resistance at will. This, of course, is not only due to the weakness of the state's financial autonomy and budgetary power; it is also due to the specificities of its political ideology and social base. The latter rests on the classi46

cal political ‘bargain’ of most populist authoritarian regimes of the region, whereby loyalty and support from below are traded in exchange of personal gains and material benefits from above. The parameters of this equation have been put into place under Bourguiba, and any change of this equation is affiliated with a certain amount of political opportunity costs, be it directly or indirectly. This high concentration of political power and the relative strength of the state strongly contrast with the relative weakness of its material base and its pronounced dependency on outside factors. In fact, in contrast to the majority of its neighbors, Tunisia is still a very small and resource-poor country. It has no significant amounts of public or private savings, no large reserves of easily exploitable and exportable natural items, and no significant means of military or non-military defense. In essence, the money necessary for funding the state apparatus and national development has to come from the outside. Tunisia is thus vitally dependent on having free access to foreign factor markets, and being continuously able to mobilize capital inflows, and this dependency has increased rather than lessened in the recent past. Moreover, Tunisian policy makers are in absolutely no position to shape this external environment they are so dependent on; the latter is simply a donnée (or fate) they have to live with while trying to make the most of it. It is obvious that the nature and the extent of this dependency vis-à-vis the outside world strongly influence and limit the number and content of options available to policy makers. Compared with many of its peers in the region, the Tunisian regime has only a limited autonomy and capacity for wholesale repression and/or co-optation; even if it wants to do so, it first needs the (open or tacit) assent and support of its main sponsors and allies, within and without. At the same time, the severe financial and material limits placed on the repressive and co-optative capacities of the regime make it necessary for it to mobilize support in its favor, and this in turn enhances the importance of legitimacy. Thus, any attempt to stay in power requires a delicate balancing act of the ruling elites, which takes into account the interests and priorities of all those actors and forces which are part of the politi cal equation. At this point, I feel compelled to mention a few more basic assumptions that have guided my research work. I have assumed that political elites, and particularly the Tunisian ones, are a priori rational and conservative, and that their main concern is to secure, consolidate and maximize their power. The main reasons behind this working hypothesis are evident. Since Ben Ali's ‘November coup’ originated from within the political establishment of the Ancien Régime, arising in response to a political emergency situation and 47

acute systems crisis (hence essentially involuntary), I have assumed that the new rulers had a vested interest in renewing, in some way or another, with the status quo ante. Second, since this small country is substantially dependent on external factors, and since quite fundamental changes had indeed occurred at an international level, I have assumed that a simple re-establishment of the status quo ante would have been technically unfeasible. Hence, given Tunisia's exposure to external forces, and given the specific political background of the Benalist regime, I have assumed that the main push for political change must have come from the outside rather than from the inside, and that the main urge of the new rulers must have been to ‘digest’ (i.e. to divert, delude, or defuse) it. Thus, I have treated the Tunisian elites (including their attitudes, agendas, etc.) neither as completely dependent nor as entirely independent variables, but as a kind of intermediary one. On the one side, they were faced with external developments which vitally affected their interests, but which they could not substantially influence themselves. At the same time, these factors only represented constraints (in the sense of corridors of action), but did not predetermine the outcome. In other words, their need to react was a matter of fact (and survival), but the way they proceeded was a matter of choice and deliberation.

The Basis of my Thesis: SWP’s ‘Elite Change’ Project The data this thesis is based upon were obtained as a result of my participa tion in the research project ‘Elite Change in the Arab World’ which was organized between 2001-2003 by the Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik (SWP) and directed by Volker Perthes. SWP is the foreign and security policy think tank of the German parliament and government, whose analyses inform decision makers about key international issues and help shape public opinions with regard to them. The ‘elite project’ aimed to analyze shifts underway at that time in the composition, configuration, recruitment, and outlook of the political elites of selected Arab countries. It also tried to assess the impact 34 these changes were likely to have on the policies of these countries. The project’s main target groups were the ‘politically relevant elites’ (PRE), that is, people who are able ‒ in various ways and for various reasons 34 The project comprised a team of eight researchers located at SWP, supplemented by visiting scholars from other research institutes. Each participant worked on a particular country case, but within a comparable analytical framework. The countries covered were Algeria, Egypt, Iran, Jordan, Lebanon, Libya, Morocco, Palestine, Saudi Arabia, Syria, and Tunisia. See Perthes (2002b & 2004a) and Husseini (2003) for more information about the approach pursued, and the results obtained. 48

‒ to determine or at least substantially influence strategic political decisions of national importance. The PRE formula is more comprehensive than the classical definitions of elite researchers like John Higley and Michael Burton. It not only comprises ‘decision’ or ‘policy makers’, people who make (or participate in the making of) strategic decisions at a national level. It also encompasses ‘agenda setters’ and ‘opinion makers’, people who shape (or contribute to the shaping of) political discourses on strategic issues. The PRE formula transcends purely formal criteria like membership in political organizations or appointment to official positions, and also encompasses those actors (such as advisors, relatives, business or opposition leaders, military or religious elites, etc.) who feed into political processes from various sidelines, without necessarily striving for political office in the first place. The project’s approach to the elite issue has been three-fold: analytical, qualitative, and contextualized. This means that influence, not position, is the name of the game, the ‘entrance ticket’ to the ‘PRE club’; further, that ‘membership in this club’ depends on the political context of each country, and on the power resources available to the different actors within that context; and finally, that actual impact on political processes can only be gauged in concrete situations. It also means that participants did not adhere to a simple ‘one-size-fits-all’, or ‘prêt-à-porter’ philosophy; it is the actual political condition of each country which ultimately determines the identity and distribution of power and authority. Conditions determining PRE status may thus be transitory or permanent; they may be linked to the national po litical setting as much as to the wider international context; they may concern a country's size, location, demography, economy, political system, and resource endowment, but also the interests of external actors, the impact of regional conflicts, and the presence of cross-border networks. Two additional devices and analytical categories were developed to finetune the project approach and visualize its results. On the one hand, we lo cated our target groups in three circles: the first or inner circle comprised the core or ruling elites, the second circle the intermediary elites, and the third circle the sub-elites. At the same time, we measured our key category of ‘political influence’ with regard to three clusters of strategic issues: the first relates to a country’s political system and interior policy, the second to its productive system and economic policy, and the third to its geopolitical insertion and foreign policy. Such a differentiated approach allowed us to avoid an artificially rigid distinction between ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’, ‘haves’ and ‘have-nots’, or ‘elites’ and ‘counter-elites’. Instead, people wield highly contingent and continuously fluctuating degrees of authority and influence ‒ according to the issue on the table and the circumstances of the 49

moment. The most important, but also most difficult, thing to do is to show 35 if and how authority translates into influence ‒ and vice versa. In doing so, the ‘elite project’ has followed a two-step approach. In a first step, we made an attempt to ‘map power’ in our target countries ‒ to specify the basic decision making structures and actor constellations, the overall distribution and exercise of political authority and influence, as well as the composition and configuration of related actors groups and their social allies. This was done with the help of two devices: through classical systems analysis (entailing the systematic screening of available source material); and through the so-called reputational method (entailing the preliminary consultation of ‘informed observers’ on the ground). In a second step, we made an attempt to ‘map the minds’ of our target groups ‒ to identify their basic political orientations, perceptions, and attitudes, as well as their more specific political preferences, priorities, and interests. This was done with the help of two other devices: through discourse analysis; and through halfstructured interviews with selected PRE members. This approach was flexible enough to help us avoid two major problems of elite studies: namely insecurity about how to conceptualize and operationalize boundaries between ‘elites’ and ‘non-elites’. In the past, scholars often confounded positions with power, or authority with influence, which yielded inadequate appraisals of actual political processes in many countries. “For better results, analysis should check reputed power position against actual power wielded in decision-making cases” (Zartman 1974: 470). This was precisely what the elite project had set as its goal.

Doing Research in Tunisia: Challenges and Pitfalls Between April 2001 and December 2003, I went on five field research trips, each one 3-6 weeks long. In the course of these trips, I interviewed a broad sample of people, about 140 altogether, from a variety of fields. They included government and party officials, parliamentary deputies, opposition leaders, business and labor representatives, human rights and civil society activists, journalists and researchers, diplomats and aid workers. In order to complement the results obtained from these interviews, I also attended a 35 ‘Being powerful’ may not only mean being able to adopt, or veto, strategic political decisions, but also (and maybe more so) being able to put them on, or keep them off, the political agenda in the first place. Some issues never find their way on the table, not because they are considered irrelevant, but because they are considered too relevant, and contradict the vested interests of powerful actors. Thus, “the power and unity of the elite is revealed, not in overt decisions about issues already on the public agenda, but rather in the implicit ‘non-decisions’ that keep sensitive topics from ever becoming matters of controversy at all” (Putnam 1976: 131). 50

large number of public events. These included social and cultural rallies, scientific meetings, panel discussions, work shops, etc. In most cases, my interlocutors and interviewees represented the middle layers or younger members (2nd or 3rd circles) of Tunisian elites; seldom were they top decision makers or core elite members. Despite repeated attempts, it was not possible 36 to interview representatives of the ‘presidency’. Moreover, the high degree of institutional centralization which is a characteristic feature of Tunisian politics and which finds its reflection in most existing organizations, both public and private, meant that my interview list had a strong ‘top-heavy’ bias, and that the large majority were from ‘Grea ter Tunis’. In most cases, it was not only mandatory to present oneself to the external relations or press department of each organization, but to actually obtain permission from the head of that department (if not from the head of the organization as such). At the same time, most of them were clearly reluctant to facilitate direct contacts with local representatives, and such requests tended to be ‘overlooked’. Conducting research on this specific topic was not an easy undertaking. Generally, Tunisian politics tend to be a fairly opaque affair, due to a number of factors: the over-concentrated nature of the political system; the numerous overlaps of political institutions; the multiple organizational affiliations of many elite members; the heavy constraints on public liberties; and last but not least the corresponding near-complete absence of independent information providers. Thus, it is very difficult to identify which factor or channel is the most conducive to political authority and influence. It is also very difficult to specify how decisions are actually made, which role the different actors play, and which position they defend. Researchers working under these conditions are faced with a number of problems: Gaining access to people is a very time-consuming undertaking, and making them ‘speak’ a constant balancing act. Important materials (such as bills, files, statistics, etc.) are often either classified or simply not available (even those that would be considered totally innocent almost anywhere else), and even when released or accessible, they may be of rather dubious quality and uncertain reliability. Equally problematic is the lack of independent ‘watchdogs’ or ‘whistle blowers’ in the state apparatus or media sector, who could compensate for this lack of information. Gathering the 36 This was also a deliberate choice since interviewing top decision makers often implies an unfavorable cost-benefit ratio. They are difficult to access, and unlikely to release anything new at all. It was also respectful of a scholarly advice of Robert Putnam who has reminded his readers that “those seeking early indications of elite transformations should look not at the highest levels of power, but at the lowest” (1976: 181). 51

necessary data thus tends to consume a disproportionate amount of time 37 and energy. These problems are partly compounded by some specific characteristics of the target country. At first, Tunisians appear generally reluctant to talk openly to foreigners (and even more so when it is about politics). This is not only because they seem to be afraid of potential sanctions by the authorities, or negative consequences for their career, but also because it is unusual to exhibit one's problems in public, and even less so to ‘outsiders’. However, this may be understandable for a small country devoid of serious defenses, and surrounded by stronger neighbors, which has repeatedly been attacked in the distant and not so distant past, and which continues to be highly vulnerable, from both an economic and a military point of view. Another major challenge came from heterogeneous values systems. For instance, the distinctly meritocratic and legalist outlook of most public officials and middle class members prevented them from mentioning any alternative or parallel paths of advancement or influence other than educational qualifications and professional achievements (like family links or inter-personal networks, for instance). However, the small size of the country (in terms of territory and population), combined with the high degree of integration (both on the level of institutions and individuals), produced a large amount of ‘collateral information’ over time; many people actually released information without being aware of it. What has made research on this topic easier was the hospitality of Tunisians. In fact, what many people really seemed to fear was that they were talking to a disguised journalist (hardly surprising given the chilly relationship between Ben Ali and some foreign media). However, once they realized that the purpose of the project was purely academic, and that their statements were treated with due discretion, they began to ‘relax’. The same observation held true for the state authorities themselves. Once they felt assured that they were kept informed about each step, and that nothing was done behind their back, they became more forthcoming. Over time, there was thus a constant improvement in accessibility and responsiveness at both individual and official levels, which facilitated the finalization of my re38 search enormously.

37 Unfortunately, it was impossible to tape-record these interviews, since most people would have been extremely reluctant to say anything controversial; instead, I would take notes during the interview, and write them up immediately afterwards. 38 At the end of the day, the only thing that was required was an official request sent to the foreign ministry via the German embassy, including a short description of the project and a brief overview of the questions I was going to ask. 52

The Outline of the Thesis: Ten Chapters, One Goal This survey will be divided up into ten chapters. In the next chapter, I will summarize how Tunisia’s political system evolved under Bourguiba's rule, from independence in 1956, up until the ‘Change’ of 1987. Special attention will be paid to the following questions: What constituted the main institutional features of the political order that came into being after 1956? What accounted for the changing socio-professional and politico-ideological profiles of the new elites who rose to power from that time on? And, last but not least, what caused the systems crisis which led to the downfall of its founder? The answers to these questions will allow us to develop the analytical and conceptual parameters for a comparison between the Bourguibist and Benalist regimes, specifically gauging the extent to which the latter is a continuation of, or deviation from, the former. In the third chapter, I will analyze how Ben Ali's ‘New Regime’ has developed throughout its time: from the heady days of the ‘Tunisian Spring’ of 1987, to the effective resurrection of life-long rule in 2004 (with a brief excursion to the most recent elections of 2009). Here the focus will be on three questions: How did the new rulers manage to extricate themselves from the systems crisis, and stabilize their power? How did they refashion the sys tem, its institutions and organizations, in a way that was compatible with their interests and objectives? Finally, how did they accommodate all those external forces which could have jeopardized their position? The answers to these questions will allow us to identify the main actors that have intervened in these processes, the challenges they had to address, the resources they had access to, and the constraints they had to take into account. In chapters four to six, I will examine change processes in the Tunisian PRE structure itself. This should enable us to assess the overall power relations and interaction patterns among key political actors, their embeddedness within the political system, their relationships with other actors, their respective bargaining resources, and their interest structures. To this end, I will locate them in three circles according to their influence on political processes: the first for the ruling elites, the second for the main intermediary elites, and the third for the various ‘contesting’ elites. These analyzes shall not only encompass the main configuration patterns, power relations, and command structures, among the Tunisian PREs, but also the main circulation patterns, career channels, and recruitment mechanisms. In chapters seven to nine, I will analyze the specific relevance of the different PRE segments for political decision making. This will include their respective approaches toward major political issues, their actual conduct in 53

day-to-day politics, as well as their concrete influence on the final results. To this end, I will scrutinize the three fields that seem most relevant from a Tunisian perspective: home affairs, external relations, and economic policy. Such an analysis will not only allow us to grasp the PRE’s basic political outlook (their perceptions, preferences, priorities, etc.), but also their specific political behavior. In other words, it will unveil how these diffuse attitudinal predispositions are translated into concrete political activities. Finally, I will sum up all these findings and pit them against a larger context. This will be with the aim of finding out how political actors, even in a small country of only 10 million people, have been able to ‘digest’ external changes, and how these absorption processes have impacted upon the political field itself. This chapter will briefly sum up the main characteristics of the ‘System Ben Ali’, as well as its main differences vis-à-vis the ‘Era Bourguiba’. It will also address the question to which extent Benalist Tunisia builds on established forms of authoritarian rule, and to which extent it breaks fresh ground in this regard. Whenever possible and applicable, transition processes in similar cases (i.e. single-party or dominant party regimes in non-Western developing countries, especially in the MENA) will be consulted to provide for greater conceptual clarity and cross-regional comparison. This study is not only supposed to deliver information about, and insights into, the political mechanisms and dynamics of a particular country, namely Tunisia, but to also shed light on broader political trends and change processes underway in the MENA region. In fact, it will be argued that the political development of Ben Ali's ‘New Tunisia’ is at least partially representative of conservative reform efforts of other Arab regimes as well. Analyzing the patterns of change in Tunisia, identifying the driving forces behind these processes, attributing observable outcomes to specific actors, and highlighting the reasons for their choices will thus not only inform us about the factors of political (and specifically authoritarian) change in one particular (and largely understudied) country, but should also enable us to draw conclusions with regard to similar cases elsewhere in the region. The final outcome should allow for a better understanding of the interdependency and inter-relatedness of elite change and policy making, i.e. of how the processes of elite circulation feed into the dynamics of political decision making ‒ and vice versa. This should allow us to avoid an artificially rigid and static picture of Tunisia's political landscape, and present a more realistic and dynamic account of it. (Admittedly, this will not be easy, due to the aforementioned ‘black box’ character of Tunisian politics.) It should also enable us to account for the ambivalent nature of political elites, who not 54

only produce policy inputs, but also represent policy outputs (see also the respective introductions of Zartman 1980 & 1982). In particular, it is hoped that the results of this study make a useful contribution to two debates that political analysts have increasingly been engaged in over the last years. The first one is about determining the factors which best explain the longevity and adaptability of authoritarian rule; and the second one is about analyzing how plausible the actor, or elite, paradigm is for explaining the processes and outcomes of systems and regime change. I am confident that the example of Tunisia will help us to gain a better un derstanding of authoritarian regimes, specifically with regard to their political strategies, change mechanisms, and adaptive capacities. In this sense, understanding the genesis and logic of Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’ will also assist us in better gauging the prospects of democracy emerging, and autocracy surviving, in both the country, and the region at large.

55

II

THE FIRST REPUBLIC, 1956–1987: EVOLUTION AND CRISIS OF AN AUTHORITARIAN REGIME

“The system? What system? I am the system” (Habib Bourguiba quoted in Moore 1965: 41). “If one wants to understand the capabilities and characters of state leaders […] one must start with social structure” (Midgal 2001: 92).

1. Tunisia at the Crossroads: The Moment of Independence The two years which lay between the establishment of ‘internal autonomy’ on 31 July 1954, negotiated between the government of Pierre MendèsFrance and the leadership of the Tunisian national movement, and the achievement of full independence on 20 March 1956 were a crucially important period for contemporary Tunisia. They not only ended 75 years of French rule, but also sparked an elite change of unprecedented proportions in the country's history. The new elites who had successfully won independence from France, and would successively monopolize political power in the following years, had four things in common. They all displayed a very high degree of politico-ideological cohesion, organizational integration, socio-cultural homogeneity, and educational achievement (cf Brown et al. 1964, Moore 1970, Hermassi 1972, Faath 1989, Laroui 1995, and Perkins 2004 39 for an overview of this period). 39 As such, they were themselves an end product of the deep changes which colonial rule had inscribed into Tunisian society. By tailoring productive structures to metropolitan preferences, by creating a modern bureaucracy and infrastructure to perpetuate colonial penetration and exploitation, and by establishing a secular education system to train a skilled native workforce, it seriously affected the availability and distribution of authority and status, while undermining the bases of power and wealth of the old elite of Tuniso-Ottoman notables and mamlouks. At the same time, it facilitated the emergence of a new elite made up of upwardly mobile intellectuals: lawyers, teachers, and administrators (cf. Anderson 1986, Ganiage 1994, Martin 1993). 56

THE NEW DESTOURIAN ELITES The political biographies of these new elites featured very similar elements in most cases: a modest, popular background; a modern, secular upbringing; a modern-type middle-class employment; and a nationalist political socialization. First, they usually hailed from petty bourgeois families, clustered around small landowners, merchants, and officials, who lived in the Eastern 40 coastal plains (the so-called Sahel) and the capital Tunis. Second, they had almost all graduated from one of the three high schools that existed in the capital ‒ the Sadiki College, the Lycée Carnot, and the Zeytouna mosque ‒ before receiving a higher education from European, particularly French, uni41 versities. Third, they were mostly employed in modern strata of the labor market, be it in the new liberal professions or in the emerging public sec 42 tor. And fourth, they were all enrolled in the Neo-Destour party or its diverse sub-organizations, like the student union (Union Générale des Etudiants Tunisiens, UGET) and the labor union (Union Générale des Travailleurs 43 Tunisiens, UGTT). 40 In Tunisia, the term Sahel denotes the coastal provinces that lie between Hammamat in the North, and Sfax in the South (Sâhil means ‘coast’ in Arabic). It consists of a densely populated, tightly knit web of towns and villages, whose economic fabric is made up of small-scale, family-based units, and whose inhabitants have a general reputation of being diligent, hard-working, single-minded, and pragmatic. Little affected by either French rule or European colons, it would become the uncontested stronghold of the national movement, and provide a disproportionate share of its activists. 41 The main difference between these three schools lay in the language they employed in teaching. The Sadiki was bilingual, the Carnot francophone, and the Zeitouna arabophone (see Vermeren 2002 and Sraieb 1995 for more information). The former in particular, which had been founded in 1875 by the famous reformist politician, Kheireddine Pasha, to serve as the nucleus of a modern education system, would become the main training ground of subsequent elite generations, and one of the most prominent hotbeds of the anti-colonial resistance movement in the country. 42 There was a clear hierarchy with regard to the public reputation which these new professions enjoyed. Scions of the grand bourgeoisie usually preferred to study medicine, those of the petty bourgeoisie became lawyers, and those from poor families became teachers. In this sense, Habib Bourguiba, who had studied law in Paris and worked as a lawyer after his return, stuck to his turf and fulfilled the role ascribed to a young petty bourgeois originating from a provincial small town. 43 The National Constitutional, or Neo-Destour, Party (PND) (Dustûr means ‘Constitution’ in Arabic), founded in 1934 by a new generation of young nationalists, was a more radical off-spring from the Liberal Constitutional, or Arquéo-Destour, Party (PLD), founded in 1920 and dominated by the elder generation of Tunisois notables. While ‘Old Destourians’ focused on the re-enactment of the suspended constitution of 1861 and on the achievement of full political equality for Tunisians within the existing political system, ‘New Destourians’ would settle for nothing less than full independence. 57

At the same time, these new elites also cherished very often similar political convictions grouped around four key notions: unification, étatisation, modernization, and secularization. The dream they aspired to realize was “the molding of a largely traditional society into a modern nation-state” (Brown et al. 1964: 69) which would then be able to achieve, in the words of Bour guiba, “a respectable position among the advanced countries” (Quoted in ibid: 142). This necessitated the creation of a state that would be strong enough to unite, educate, and ‘redeem’ a nation which they saw as being ig norant, divided, and backward. However, even though their primary focus was on development, their ultimate goal remained (at least rhetorically) democracy. Freeing people from the shackles of ignorance, dependency, and squalor would enable them to lead a life of their own, in sovereignty, liberty, and dignity. Their goals were thus both forward-looking, and backwardlooking. They were not only about achieving a national renaissance, but about promoting social progress too. They included re-asserting Tunisia’s cultural identity as much as realizing economic prosperity, both under the guidance of the central state, and (partly) with the help of Western models. These values and beliefs reflected both the generally humble background, and the modern upbringing of the Neo-Destourian elites. Although they were usually familiar with the technology and the civilization of modern Europe, they were not yet alienated from the language and the culture of their homeland. Moreover, the specific ‘added value’ of this hybrid political formula lay precisely in its multidimensional nature. It served for them as much as a weapon against contenders from within as it did as a shield against encroachments from abroad. It not only dismissed competing pan-Islamic and pan-Arabic ideologies, but also de-legitimized ‘imported’ Western or communist models. As such, it not only allowed to fight back rivaling claims from ‘Old Destourians’, ‘Zeytouniens’, ‘Unionists’, or ‘Youssefists’ (s.b.), but also helped to ward off potential interferences from political leaders in Paris, Cairo, Algiers, or elsewhere. Habib Bourguiba’s Neo-Destour was thus instrumental in rallying a critical number of native citizens around a common political platform, and in arousing in them the sense of purpose and ésprit de corps that was not only necessary for defeating and expelling the colonial enemy, but also for building and running a viable new state. Importantly, the Neo-Destour was the first political organization in Tunisian history that was a priori open to all citizens, independent of their personal backgrounds, active across the entire national territory, functioning according to modern organizational principles, and endowed with a fully developed, coherent ideology. This all enabled it to bridge the three traditional fault-lines which used to divide Tunisian society: regional ones ‒ between baladis (‘metropolitans’) and 58

afaqis (‘provincials’); social ones ‒ between khâssa (‘elites’) and ‘âmma (‘masses’); as well as cognitive ones ‒ between dîn (‘religion’) and ‘ilm (‘science’). The Neo-Destour thus managed to federate three social ‘meta’ currents with vastly differing agendas (cf. Hermassi 1973: 91-99). The first was the parochial, conservative ‘nationalitarian-scipturalist’ current (the so-called intégrisme culturel), often found among the traditional Tunis-based notability (the core group of the Old Destour). The second was the liberal, modernizing ‘secularist-populist’ current, often espoused by provincial petty-bourgeois upstarts (the core group of the Neo-Destour itself). And the third was the radical, transformatory ‘socialist-Jacobean’ current, mostly defended by the leftist intelligentsia and organized labor (the core group of the later PSD). As a wellinformed observer noted a few years later, “at the moment of independence, the Neo-Destour Party controlled the country not by armed force, as in Algeria, nor by the former caïds, as in Morocco, but by a broad coalition forged from the urban and peasant middle class, the working class, and the youth” (Zghal 1973: 228).

THE ‘SUPREME COMBATANT’ Habib Bourguiba (1901/03-2000) was the quintessential representative of this new elite (cf. Bessis & Belhassen 1988 & 1989 and Brown 2001). Born as the eighth child into a humble family of Monastiris (a small town in the Sahel), he went to Tunis at the age of eight, where he received a highly prestigious stipend from the Sadiki College. After graduating from Lycée Carnot in 1924, he went on to study law in Paris, where he would spend three years altogether. While there, he married an elderly widow, Mathilde Lefras-Lorrain, who would later give birth to his only son, Habib Bourguiba Jr. Upon his return to Tunis, he worked as a lawyer and journalist, in addition to his activities as an orator and activist for the Arquéo-Destour. In 1934, he broke off from the Old Destour and founded, together with a small, but dedicated group of like-minded young activists, a political rival organization, the NeoDestour, whose de facto leader he remained for the next 20 years, in spite of his repeated arrests by the French. However, Bourguiba's authority and charisma not only stemmed from the fact that he had managed to lead his country down the path to indepen dence, or from the skills which he had displayed as the political leader of the national resistance. It was also that he was actually seen as being the living expression of the ‘New Tunisia’ many people aspired to develop. He did not simply express the visions and ideals of a large number of Tunisian citizens, both young and old, he actually embodied them. His strength lay thus in his 59

ability to muster both formal and informal political resources, in the same way as he knew how to play with both modern and pre-modern discursive techniques. He not only proved able to arouse the hopes and dreams of the emerging middle classes and modernist elites of the coastal cities, he also knew how to appeal to the aspirations and sentiments of the ‘excluded’ and ‘dispossessed’ in the interior provinces. Bourguiba, however, was not only a tantalizing orator and a cunning negotiator, he was also an inspiring visionary and a far-sighted strategist. ‘Bourguibism’ was thus not only a synonym for a specific political ideology, but above all for a specific political style. It not only stood for secularism and modernism, but also for gradualism and pragmatism. Since he regarded Tunisia as a nation that was essentially composed of middle classes, and endowed with a Mediterranean identity, he rejected ideologies like communism, Arabism, or Islamism, that he saw as being based on a dichoto mous thinking ‘North vs. South’, ‘East vs. West’, or ‘rich vs. poor’. Instead, he worked to promote a ‘Tunisianism’ that would provide the politico-ideological groundwork for a viable, modern nation-state, which he saw as a key prerequisite for making his political project come true. There was, however, an inherent contradiction in this political worldview. On the one hand, state and party were supposed to represent and reflect the nation as it was; while on the other hand, they were supposed to (re)create it and (re)turn it into what it ought to be. In other words, they were to serve both as the receptacle of the nation, and as a catalyst of change. John Entelis has aptly resumed the implications of this stance: “Until society is elevated to a state of social consciousness (…), a dedicated, competent, and enlightened elite must assume leadership and control of the state (…) While ostensibly no one is forced to accept the dictates of Bourguibism, aspirants to elite status have no other path except violent opposition” (1980: 449-450). This was actually the heart of the matter as the political development of the Tunisian Republic would later show. The fact alone of aspiring to implement ‘progressive’ and ‘modernist’ reforms in a still very traditionalist and particularistic society would have far-reaching consequences for the country's political life; because it implied giving the future polity a strong elitist bias. As Michel Camau has rightly pointed out: “L'élitisme tempérait le libéralisme en ce sens que la ‘réforme de l'intérieur’ de la société tunisienne était conçue comme une réforme par en haut: l'adoption d'institutions politiques de type ‘libéral’ devait faire de l'Etat non point le garant du ‘laissez faire’ mais, au contraire l'agent de transformation de la société” (1978: 31). This blank spot on Bourguiba’s political ‘mind-map’ gave carte blanche, unlimited powers, to the state and its rulers. The only thing that mattered to 60

him was the creation of a strong, self-reliant, and respectable nation, which in his eyes necessitated the creation of an equally strong, vigorous, and assertive state. It was thus state power ‒ and ipso facto his own power ‒ that dwarfed anything else. Therefore, Bourguiba declared only one year after his election as president: “We cannot permit anyone to paralyze the state apparatus. Those who, by lack of consideration, are tempted to do so will be treated as enemies (sic!). I will never be able to compromise, for whatever motive, on the necessity of ensuring the reputation of the state” (Quoted in Brown et al. 1964: 103).

THE YOUSSEFIST REBELLION The two years that lay between internal autonomy and formal independence, however, made it clear that the nation in general, and the elites in particular, were far less united than had been believed, and that the content of the rules and norms which were to govern state and society was far more contested than had been anticipated. Upon their return from exile, a fierce power struggle broke out between Habib Bourguiba and the Neo-Destour’s Secretary-General, Salah Ben Youssef. The latter, supported by Cairo and Algiers, denounced the compromise struck between Bourguiba and Paris as a ‘sell-out’ of the nation. In doing so, he not only attacked a particular politi cal strategy, namely the gradualism and pragmatism preferred by Bourguiba, but also challenged his entire political project, the building of a territory-based, ‘pro-Western’ nationstate. Instead, he called for an active participation in the worldwide struggle against colonialism and capitalism. Much to the dismay of Bourguiba, Ben Youssef found instant support among three groups: the traditional notability, made up of religious dignitaries, palace bureaucrats, and big landlords; the country’s ‘dispossessed’, i.e. the landless and jobless in the country's interior provinces and shanty towns; and, last but not least, his fellow Djerbans, a small and scattered, yet cohesive and influential trading elite. After he lost out against Bourguiba in the struggle to control the party, Ben Youssef staged a guerilla warfare against the interim government which could only be quelled with the help of UGTT militias and French troops. (After being expelled from the party and fleeing to Cairo in 1956, Ben Youssef was assassinated five years later, allegedly on the order of Bourguiba.) Even though the uprising was relatively short-lived, and the death toll limited, it had a profound impact on the direction Tunisian politics would take in the future. Apart from leaving a general legacy of resentment and distrust, the Youssefist experience unveiled the deep cleavages that existed in Tunisian society. It also exposed the bitter rivalries that separated 61

the national movement, in spite of (or maybe because of) the similarities in personal background and political outlook. Above all, it proved that the Tunisian populace was far less secular and ‘moderate’ than the Destourian mainstream itself and, far more than expected, amenable to radical slogans and traditionalist enticements. The discovery of the ‘bifurcation’ of society seems to have produced lasting consequences for the political psyche of the Neo-Destourian leadership. Even though it is still unclear whether Bourguiba had already made up his mind as to which course to follow, it appears that the near success of the Youssefist revolt re-assured his inclination to prioritize the modernization of society over the establishment of democracy. This meant concentrating power in the hands of the state and the party, rather than dispersing it through free elections in a multi-party system. As a result, the BourguiboDestourian ideology would retain its essentially inclusivist outlook, while reinforcing its authoritarian undertow. “The history of Youssefism”, wrote Clement Henry Moore a few years later, “has had serious consequences for Tunisia. The general atmosphere of insecurity that it created reinforced authoritarian trends within the party and government. The chaos resulting from open disagreements on fundamental issues forced most Tunisians to conclude that national unity transcended all other goals. Thus, the prudent uniformity that has characterized political life since independence has rested largely upon bad memories of a virtual civil war” (Brown et al. 1964: 91). Thus, the political evolution of post-independence Tunisia fully confirmed some generalizing observations of Huntington (1970) who wrote that “the social origins of one-party systems are to be found in neither homo geneity nor heterogeneity but in bifurcation. Societies in which the impact of modernization produces a complex pattern of cross-cutting cleavages typically evolve into pluralistic party systems (…). One-party systems, in contrast, tend to be the product of either the cumulation of cleavages leading to sharply differentiated groups within society or of the ascendance in importance of one line of cleavage over all others. A one-party system is, in effect, the product of the efforts of a political elite to organize and to legitimate rule by one social force over another in a bifurcated society” (ibid: 11). Since the author sees a high degree of socio-political mobilization-cum-polarization (e.g. as a result of rapid or radical social or technical change) as a key requirement for one-party systems to arise, he argues that they typically arise in the earlier phases of social modernization: “A strong one-party system cannot be created in a backward society because all organizations are weak and it cannot be created in a highly developed society because other organizations are strong” (ibid: 12). 62

2. The Political Evolution of the Bourguibist Republic A)

FIRST PHASE, 1956-1960: LANDMARK CHOICES

Upon his nomination as prime minister in March 1956, Bourguiba followed a two-pronged approach. First, he quickly created the overall conceptual and institutional parameters that were to shape political and social life for years to come. Second, he made sure no other political or social force would be able to challenge his party or his government. These overwhelming new powers which he had acquired for the Neo-Destour (and for himself) would allow him to push through momentous social reforms, in particular with regard to family and gender issues, and in the fields of judicial and educational policy. His aims were, firstly, to neutralize the financial and symbolical resources, and the organizational and mobilizational capacities, of rivaling political forces and antagonistic societal visions; and secondly, to create the institutional preconditions necessary for a rapid modernization and transformation of both society and economy (cf. Brown et al. 1964; Moore 1965; Rudebeck 1967; Belkhodja 1998; Vermeren 2002; Ayari 2003; Essebsi 2009).

MONOPOLIZING POWER Bourguiba’s first step involved monopolizing political power for his ‘national coalition’, still relatively heterogeneous at that time, while systematically extending his own prerogatives at the head of the new polity. The adoption of single-list majority voting for the elections to the constituent assembly in particular pre-configurated Tunisian politics. Any party which obtained over 50 percent of the votes cast in an electoral district received the totality of seats attributed to that district. This meant that smaller parties would have virtually no chance against the ‘national front’ constituted 44 around the Neo-Destour [henceforth: the Destour]. This “double mouvement d'intégration et d'exclusion” (Larif-Beatrix 1988: 155) of the new electoral code (which still re-mains in force today) imposed an ‘all-or-nothing’ logic on Tunisian politics, leaving would-be candidates with only two options: join in or stay out. Results were up to expectations: There were no more challengers to either Bourguiba or the Destour in the first presidential 45 and parliamentary elections of 1959. 44 As was shown by the results of these elections and the composition of the assembly, where the national front made up of the PND and the UGTT would hold all 98 seats. 45 Whereas in Tahar Ben Ammar's interim government, only 6 out of 11 ministers had been from the Neo-Destour, in Bourguiba's first cabinet, 16 out of 17 were party members. 63

At the same time, the new voting system was highly indicative of Bourguiba’s political designs. Elections were not meant to allow for a free-wheeling competition for power or an alternance par les urnes, but should serve to gauge the popularity of the government and the acceptance of its policies. Given the lack of effective competition between different parties, and the basically symbolical powers of the newly elected deputies, the national assembly was poised to remain an empty shell and a ‘fig leaf’ whose role was limited to rubberstamping presidential decisions and simulating political accountability. In July 1957, Bourguiba finally took the plunge and forced the assembly to depose the bey and abolish the monarchy, thus ending over 250 years of Husaynid rule. In its wake, Tunisia was proclaimed a republic, and Bourguiba its president, authorized to serve a five-year term that would be renewable two times. This meant that henceforth his powers were close to being absolute. He was concurrently head of state, head of government, chairman of the Destour, minister of defense, and commander-in-chief of the armed forces. As such, he was endowed with sweeping policy-making and nominating powers. He could determine the overall guidelines of public policy; make or veto legal acts (which included the right to propose legislation and to rule by decree); appoint or demote senior state officials (ministers, governors, ambassadors, judges, as well as the heads of the police and the army); and last but not least dissolve parliament and declare a state of emergency. The constitution adopted in June 1959 legalized the fait accompli created by Bourguiba: Tunisia would be a presidential, not a parliamentary system; Islam would be the religion of the state (but without binding the hands of that state); and Arabic would be the language of administration (with French remaining the language of the elite). In just three years, Bourguiba, who had only been a primus inter pares in the struggle against the French, had become the supreme decision maker of the newly established state. In a first step, he had used the party to capture and control the state; in a second step, he used the state to domesticate and subdue the party. The outcome was the merger of a semi-modern, bureaucratic-patrimonial ‘dictatorial’ regime with a strongly personalized nationalist-populist resistance movement. A unitarian, ideologydriven, mass-based social movement that was inspired by modern organizational principles, and rallying behind a single charismatic leader, had conquered a colonial state whose sole mission was to subdue local resistance to ensure resource extraction. Both entities were by nature ‘fierce’, designed to overcome resistance

64

and overwhelm their adversaries; the former with regard to the indigenous 46 population, the latter with regard to the colonial apparatus itself. Bourguiba had thus managed to appropriate the prerogatives of both the Husaynid beys and the French résidents-généraux, by merging the structures of a modern colonial bureaucracy with those of a traditional patrimonial monarchy. The result of this policy was the gradual emergence of a ‘hybrid’ political system: The institutions that would characterize the new polity were new; the practices that would underpin them were old. “Dans le même temps où il débouchait sur l'édification d'institutions de type libéral, le compromis de l'indépendance plaçait le nouvel Etat sur les fondements de l'Etat colonial, le premier héritant au surplus de l'armature du second. Des institutions de facture ‘libérale’ venaient se greffer sur un appareil d'Etat qui, hérité de l'ère coloniale, était celui d'une ‘dictature administrative moderne’” (Camau 1978: 24). This establishment of a ‘presidential monarchy’ would not have been feasible without the previous neutralization of intermediary powers by the Destour. Bourguiba could now use the powers he inherited from the French and the beys, and the prestige he enjoyed as the ‘architect of independence’ and ‘father of the Republic’, to refashion Tunisia according 47 to his design. 46 According to Brooker (2000: 125-129), such a development is typical in a situation when a political party that had spearheaded the decolonization process abuses its prestige to impose its power onto the state. Soon after, however, the party in power looses its autonomy and integrity vis-à-vis its leader(s) and becomes the puppet and tool of the latter. Party rule turns into personal rule. This ‘two-stage creeping coup’ marks the beginning of the reversal of the relationship between ‘principal’ and ‘agent’: with the party gradually turning from a source or carrier of power into an object and instrument of power. The ‘expropriator’ is being ‘expropriated’. As Huntington would argue some years later, the concentration and fusion of institutions and powers is a quintessential feature of one-party systems, at least in the early phase of their political life: “The struggle with the old order and the effective destruction of its institutions typically require the concentration of revolutionary authority in a single autocratic leader. Some political orders are the work of many men, but one-party systems seem to be more the work of one man than other types of systems (…). The party is the organizational instrument of the leader; the leader is the charismatic embodiment of the party. The core of the party is the lieutenants of the leader, and the identity of interests between party and leader in the conquest of power and the destruction of the old order is virtually complete. The disappearance of the traditional sources of authority creates the opportunity and the need for charismatic leadership to fill the vacuum” (1970: 26). 47 This cumulation of powers in the hands of Bourguiba was also referred to as ‘le pouvoir personnel’ by contemporary observers. As Bechir Ben Yahmed, his former minister of culture, and the later founder and editor of Jeune Afrique, wrote on 7 October 1960 in Afrique Action: “Le pouvoir personnel (est) détenu par des hommes qui sont des présidents de république, mais qui sont en fait des monarques sans le titre. Bourguiba détient aujourd'hui, en droit et en fait, plus de pouvoirs que n'en avaient 65

MODERNIZING SOCIETY Bourguiba's next step was to launch a major reform program in order to destroy outdated social structures, and propel radical social change. Bourguiba's first major reform ‒ some would argue: the most important accomplishment of his entire rule ‒ was the personal status code adopted in August 1957. By outlawing compulsory and underage marriage, polygamy, and repudiation, it provided for legal equality and joint responsibility of men and women, thus hastening the shift from the traditional extended family to the modern nucleus family, and smoothing the entry of women into public life. At the same time, it maneuvered the state authorities in a key position insofar as marriage and divorce were now regulated by state legislation (instead of verbal agreements and informal procedures based on religious texts or customary law), and adjudicated by state courts (instead of village councils or sharia courts). “Conditions were ripe to turn the political revolution in a social revolution by attacking the old society in its most sensitive area, 48 the family structure” (Brown et al. 1964: 144). Two further moves, aimed at uprooting the power bases of his traditionalist adversaries, and establishing the institutional groundwork of the new state, were quick to follow. The first one was the dissolution of habous (foundation) lands, whereby private ones were distributed among family members, and public ones confiscated by the state. And the second one was the creation of unified, secular judicial and education systems, whereby sharia courts were replaced by state tribunals, and religious schools incorporated into the public education system. The venerable Zeytouna mosque, the most important place of worship and training for Sunni Muslims in the en tire Maghreb, was whittled down into a simple theological faculty of the new state university, and its dean henceforth appointed by the government. This way, Bourguiba endeavored to neutralize and/or instrumentalize Islam. Turning religious institutions into state agencies, he harnessed their symbolical powers for his own political purposes, while stripping their original ‘masters’ of their previously considerable autonomy. It appears as if a fundamental change had occurred in Bourguiba's mindset at this crucial junction. What seemed to count for him now was to move from revolutionary, nationalist struggle to gradual, but concrete reforms. Whereas it had previously been all about liberating the nation as it was, it was now about creating it as it ought to be. Bourguiba's aim was thus to le bey et le résident général réunis” (Quoted in Ayari 2003: 75). 48 The achievement of these goals was supported by the introduction of family planning in the early 1960s: contraception was legalized in 1962, and abortion in 1965 (i.e. several years earlier than in many European countries). 66

maintain the momentum of mobilization, but deflect its focus away from national liberation (‘war for independence’), and toward social progress (‘war 49 against underdevelopment’). Before, the enemies had been foreigners (‘the forces of colonialism’); now, they were Tunisians (‘the forces of obscurantism’). For Bourguiba, the ‘enemy’ was not a ‘class’, a group of people, but rather a ‘mentality’, a way of life. In this sense, he was probably closer to Mustafa Kemal Atatürk than to any other Arab leader, even though he was rather ‘a-religious’ than ‘anti-religious’. He broadly agreed with the overall content and political thrust of Kemalism, but he clearly disapproved of its heavy-handed methods and ‘shock therapy’ approach. His goal was to ‘de-traditionialize’ and ‘de-sacralize’ society, but without disrupting or uprooting it. He wanted Tunisians to be freed from the ‘shackles’ of ‘tradition’ and ‘superstition’, to be able to fulfill their ‘historical mission’ and join the ‘developed nations’. However, he did not want them to be cut off from their identity, their self and pride; his aim was to renew Islam, not to suppress it. In this regard, his positions bore some resemblance to the demands of the 19th century Nahda reformers (who strove to ‘purify’ Islam from ‘illicit innovations’, and return it to its ‘original purity’), but his goals were different from theirs. For him, Islam was nothing but a means to an end, a tool in the hands of the ruler, a weapon in the arsenal of the state. If in doubt, the raison d’Etat, the imperatives of politics, would always prevail over the ordre de Dieu, the commandments of the faith. It was thus clear who should be ‘master’, and who ‘servant’.

CONCLUSION Within just three years of national independence, the overall framework of the Bourguibist system had been put into place. Real power was now limited to the upper ranks of the political elites; that is, those occupying leadership positions in the three institutions that determined policy making in the 50 new polity. These were, first, a strong state bureaucracy which had already been created by the Husaynid reformers in the 19th century, was further strengthened by the colonial authorities and captured by the ‘national 49 The quasi-religious connation associated with the state’s developmental efforts can also be seen from the official terminology applied in their regard. Thus, the combat against underdevelopment was officially presented as ‘al-jihâd al-akbar’, or the ‘supreme struggle’, and Bourguiba was henceforth referred to as ‘al-mujâhid al-akbar’, or the ‘Supreme Combatant’. 50 It is this triad ‒ president, state, party ‒ that Tunisians refer to as ‘as-sulta’ or ‘le pouvoir’ (‘power’ in Arabic and French respectively), and that shall be used as a synonym for ‘regime’ in this study (cf. footnote 35 in Chapter 1). 67

movement’; second, the Neo-Destour party which, after pushing its forerunner to the political sidelines and taking the lead of the national movement, had imposed itself as the only legitimate, quasi ‘natural’ ruling party of the new republic; and third, the so-called associations nationales, corporatist organizations for pre-defined status groups (like workers, farmers, businessmen, and women) which were created (or seized) by Destourians in order to integrate (and control) the population. On the contrary, three normally influential groups mattered very little in the Tunisian case. These were, first, tribal leaders and local strongmen, whose power had progressively been undermined by the advancing bureaucratic-territorial state and rapid socioeconomic change since the 19th century; second, notable and religious elites who, even though still influential at social level, were systematically marginalized by the new rulers; and third, business and labor elites who, even though still part of the ruling coalition, would gradually be relegated to sub51 ordinate positions. The above developments were only the first manifestations of what would become a full-fledged party-state complex during the following decade. Party members began to fill the upper echelons of the state bureaucracy, while government members moved in parallel to assume control of the ruling party’s leading bodies. Thanks to the powers he had accumulated over the years, the ‘Supreme Combatant’ (as Bourguiba had come to call himself) quasi-automatically turned into the focal point of the political system. Accordingly, the old beylical palace in the suburb of Cartage, which Bourguiba had chosen as his place of residence, increasingly resembled the court of a monarch. As Moore would half-jokingly write a decade later, “were it not for Tunisia's small size, Louis XIV would not feel out of place in 52 Bourguiba's palaces” (1970: 96). As a result, policy making, nation-building, 51 This also included a systematic political and social depreciation and marginalization of the Zeytouniens by the Destourians. During the struggle against the French, Zeytouna students had served as the political sherpas of the Neo-Destour, helping the latter to spread their political message to the broad public and drum up popular support for it. Both of them differed insofar as the former were usually of considerably lower social descent (and had significantly worse career perspectives). Perhaps because they felt not sufficiently appreciated, they began to organize themselves politically after 1952, which contributed to accelerating their neutralization by the new rulers. 52 In 1962, he would divorce his wife Mathilde (‘Mufida’), with whom he had a son, Habib Bourguiba Jr., and marry Wassila Ben Ammar, a member of one of the grand old families in Tunisian society, who would gradually become a major eminence grise of the Bourguibist system. Jeune Afrique wrote about her in 1982: “Elle incarne un véritable contre-pouvoir. La seule opposition efficace en Tunisie, c'est Wassila. Elle fait et défait les gouvernements et les ménages” (Quoted in Beau & Graciet 2009: 21). In 1986, he would divorce her, presumably because she had advocated a demo68

and elite cohesion became increasingly wedded to the person of Bourguiba ‒ a process skillfully orchestrated by the latter. “A ses yeux, la république se confondait avec l'Etat, émanation et manifestation d'un pouvoir dont le parti unique était l'instrument, le tout reposant sur sa propre personne (…). La République, la Nation, l'Etat, le Parti, s'identifient tous à Bourguiba. Tous puisent à la même source: Bourguiba, et convergent vers le même symbole: 53 Bourguiba” (Belkhodja 1998: 272-273). This is why Bourguibo-Destourian Tunisia can be regarded from that time on as representing a strongly personalized bureaucratic-authoritarian regime. It was a de facto single-party system under the control of a ‘presidential monarch’. There was a strong element of charismatic rule in the early years of the new republic, whose importance would, however, diminish in the course of the years, as the institutional groundwork of the new order crystalized, and the socio-historical bases of Bourguiba's charisma disappeared. In fact, the latter was realistic enough to not only count on his per sonal appeal to the masses and his followers, but to underpin his rule with a solid political machinery allowing for a sufficient degree of inclusion and coercion. The same applied to the use of populist techniques by the new rulers, which certainly played a prominent role in the early post-independence years (prior to the full consolidation of the new order), but which only constituted a complement, and not a substitute, to modern-type political institutions. Still, the Bourguibo-Destourian Republic was clearly an inclusive system, not an exclusive one. In principle, the party welcomed any citizen, irrespective of his or her social status, creed, race, gender or age. It was also a priori possible for anybody to participate in politics and rise through the ranks. The power to make strategic decisions, however, was clearly reserved to a small stratum of political leaders, in the same way as the ‘code’ that would guide public policy was adopted top-down. The political order that resulted from these crucial first years was inclusive as long as one was willing to stick to the rules and bow to the leader; it turned exclusive as soon as one 54 tried to question his choices or covet his place. The ‘red line’ for any legitimate political activity was the unity and cohesion of the nation and of its cratic election of the Tunisian president in an interview with Jeune Afrique. What is certain, however, is that her divorce significantly accelerated his downfall (s.b.). 53 Bourguiba appears to have drawn a good deal of inspiration from the presidential system of the V. French Republic that Charles de Gaulle was setting up around that time. In fact, it must be noted that even after independence, political developments in the former metropolis have very often impacted on and shaped political decisions on the Tunisian side, even though it will be impossible forlack of space to highlight these cross-fertilizations at each and every point. They deserve a study in their own right. 69

state, as represented by the party's monopoly and Bourguiba's authority. Any attempt to cross either of those was nipped in the bud. “Though control is hardly totalitarian”, wrote Moore a few years later, “the single-party system effectively limits individual dissent and prevents the formation of any association, no matter how ‘apolitical’, that it does not at least informally control” (1970: 144; emphasis added). This, however, is an intrinsic feature of any single-party system, even in its initial stage. As Huntington wrote some years later, “the creation of a one-party system [inevitably] redefines the scope of the political community. The basis of that community is the ‘chosen’ social force, and other social groupings must either be assimilated to it or permanently excluded from the scope of politics. Legitimate political participation is limited to the members of the constituency social force, and the party which speaks for that social force monopolizes, at least in theory, legitimate political activity. Every one-party system comes into existence with a concept of the community of the chosen and of the party as the political expression of that community. The community may be in part a social fact pre-existing the creation of the one-party system, and it may also in part be the product of political action by the leaders of the party. If that community does not pre-exist the estab lishment of the party, the first task of the party is to bring it into existence” (1970: 13). B)

SECOND PHASE, 1961-1969: THE COLLECTIVIST EXPERIMENT

After overcoming resistance and sidelining contenders, at both social and elite levels, the new rulers began to systematically re-cast the entire body politic. They created a pyramidal system of control and domination that extended state oversight to every corner of the country and every aspect of 55 public life. Two reasons appear to have motivated this decision: firstly, the subsistence of protest and resistance, both within the regime and in society; and second, the incompatibilities between Bourguiba’s political designs and Tunisia’s socioeconomic realities. These new policies began to take shape in 54 Huntington argues that the former applies when the basis of bifurcation is ethnicreligious; the latter when it is socio-economic. These categorizations, however, make little sense in Tunisia, where both bifurcations are intricately interlinked (cf. the last paragraph of this chapter for more details). 55 The year 1962 produced the second major elite change since national independence: thus, the advent of economic planning and collectivization sparked the rise of young administrators and technicians (like Ahmed Ben Salah, Mongi Kohli, Tahar Belkhodja, Mohamed Sayyah, and Beji Caid Essebsi), who gradually replaced most representatives of the former generation, and totally dominated national socio-political life for the next 2-3 decades (cf. Charfi 1989 for further details). 70

the late 1950s, but significantly gained momentum toward the mid-1960s, through the parallel build-up of an all-encompassing single-party system on the one hand, and of a centrally administered collectivist economy on the other.

BUILDING UP A PYRAMID-LIKE SINGLE-PARTY SYSTEM Albeit the basic goals of the Bourguibist project were quite clear, and its main building blocks already in place, Bourguiba's power was far from being absolute, and the country’s future still a matter of debate. There remained a number of important political players and power brokers, both within and outside the Destour, many of whom were found in the other two pillars of the national movement: the labor union UGTT and the student union UGET. Particularly lasting resistance came from the numerous leftist currents which were still active within the party youth, the student movement, the labor organization and, especially worrisome for Bourguiba, the armed 56 forces. Thus, what Bourguiba chose to do was to use the powers he had inher ited from the French and the beys, and the control he had achieved over the state and the party, for systematically streamlining the still quite heterogeneous national coalition into a monolithic ruling bloc. After successfully neutralizing actual or potential contenders outside the national movement, he began to vigorously domesticate ‘anti-Bourguibist’ (or just independentminded) forces within the national movement. Not content with ensuring the state's and the party's control over politics and society (and his own control over both of them), Bourguiba moved to fuse them into two parallel strands of a single entity, a process that had begun in 1958 and would be completed in 1964. The outcome was an omnipotent party-state which sys-

56 The labor union UGTT, founded in 1946, quickly became an effective, well-organized formation with a broad support base and an enormous mobilizational potential, that could even rival the PND both in terms of social prestige and political traction. The student union UGET, created around the same time, had been another major breeding ground of the national movement, where a large part of the Destourian elites had spent their formative years, and which they would use as a launching pad for their careers. On the contrary, the business federation UTAC (today UTICA), founded in 1954, and the women's league UNFT, founded in 1957, were created topdown, and enjoyed only little autonomy and influence. The farmers' union UNAT itself had made the fatal mistake of siding with Ben Youssef, which meant it was immediately replaced by a loyalist organization called UTAP, and would never reemerge as a serious player in Tunisian politics. 71

tematically reserved power for himself and excluded all other actors from 57 political decision making. Of key importance for this process was the gradual replacement of the old party federations (headed by elected chairmen) with so-called coordination committees (run by appointed commissioners). These coordination committees were each comprised of 30 representatives from party cells, and placed under the chairmanship of the governor. They were soon complemented by ‘governorate councils’, which featured a similar format and a similar function as the coordination committees, but also included representatives of the associations nationales and local councils. The difference vis-àvis the status quo ante was more than obvious: It was now up to government officials (governors and delegates) to oversee party meetings (regionally and locally) in pretty much the same way as it was up to party officials to preside over the associations nationales. Another important step in this drive to streamline the new polity was the replacement of the sheikh by the omda (both terms were used to designate the chief of a village, or the head of a district, in Tunisian Arabic) ‒ the difference being that the former had been elected from ‘below’ (or more precisely from the adult males of the local community), whereas the latter was essentially appointed from ‘above’ (selected by the governor following a proposition of the party cell). This decision to suppress such an age-old participatory institution and submit it under direct government control marked the beginning of a new political era, namely the ascendance of the omnipresent regulatory state. “L'outrance du centralisme et le démantèlement d'une représentativité locale aussi tenue que le cheikhat, semble dépasser la logique de la mobilisation et de la pénétration du centre dans la périphérie, pour l'annexion pure et simple de celle-ci” (Larif-Beatrix 1988: 169; for an excellent study see also Feneyrol 2006). Main Building Blocks of the Party-State System Levels Central Upper regional Lower regional Local

State presidency, government Province (governor)

Party Parliaments political office, central national assembly committee coordination committee provincial council

Delegation (delegate)

party federation

municipal council

sector (sheikh, omda)

party cell

district committee

57 In 1963, the Tunisian Communist Party (PCT), the only existing opposition party at that time, was banned, following its alleged involvement in an attempted army coup against Bourguiba’s life. 72

The Geographical Makeup of the Tunisian Republic 6 Regional Clusters Greater Tunis North-East North-West Center-East Center-West South

24 Provinces (Gouvernorats) Ariana, Ben Arous, Manouba, Tunis-Ville Bizerte, Nabeul, Zaghouan Béja, Jendouba, Le Kef, Siliana Mahdia, Monastir, Sfax, Sousse Kairouan, Kasserine, Sidi Bouzid Gabès, Gafsa, Kebili, Medenine, Tataouine, Tozeur

The governmentalization of the Destour was accompanied by a deconstruction of its deliberative structures. Although a new central committee was set up to assemble leading party members, this could not conceal (or compensate for) the fact that the party's main decision making body, the political office (or politburo), would no longer be elected, but appointed. In theory, central committee members would discuss policy options which the politburo would then adopt, and which the cabinet would implement; in practice, it was the other way round. This means that Bourguiba's state had actually triumphed over the Destour; the ‘ruling party’ (le parti au pouvoir) had by all accounts become the ‘ruler's party’ (le parti du pouvoir). “Just as Bourguiba needed the party as organized support for his tactics of national liberation, he continues to need it to build his regime. The new state, how ever, has taken precedence over the party. Although the Neo-Destour provided the state with administrators, the party was not to govern but rather to support the government” (Brown et al. 1964: 102). Political command channels in this pyramid-like multi-storey system flowed top-down and center-outward (a basic matrix that was extended and replicated in every corner of the country, in every part of the system). Bourguiba’s state controlled the party, the party the associations, and all of them together the population. Society had become infeodated by the party in pretty much the same way as the party was being instrumentalized by the state. Party and associations had two functions in common: both should explain public policies to their members, and mobilize popular support for them. Both should serve as intermediaries, conveyor belts and feedback 58 channels, between the state and the nation. Their assigned missions, however, differed in one important aspect. While the former should integrate the 58 Typically for a corporatist vision of social life, the latter was not seen as a community of citizens with equal rights and freedoms, but as an agglomeration of groups with specific functions and duties. Therefore, “corporatism can be defined as a system of interest representation in which the constituent units are organized into a limited number of singular, compulsory, non-competitive, hierarchically ordered and functionally differentiated categories, recognized or licensed (if not created) by the state” (Schmitter 1979: 13; cf. also Adams 2002 for further reading). 73

population along politico-ideological lines, the latter would do so along socioprofessional ones. This meant that the Destour and its satellites were permitted to promote the concerns of their constituencies, but should refrain from aggregating them into coherent programs of political action. They were not allowed to act, but to react, within the limits of the system, and on the basis of the guidelines adopted by the president.

BUILDING UP A CENTRALLY PLANNED STATE ECONOMY This political project suffered from one major weakness. In the realm of social and educational policies, Bourguiba had undertaken bold steps to make ‘his’ Tunisia a reality. With regard to economic or financial policies, however, he had been content with a hands-off approach and an ad hoc crisis management that lacked any sound political analysis and long-term perspective. At first, the new rulers had pursued distinctly conservative policies which focused on the overriding priority of safeguarding macro-economic stability. Since the private sector was supposed to assume a vital role for the Tunisian economy in terms of development and employment, they avoided every step that could possibly upset private property owners, be they Tunisian or European. And, despite giving the token low-key support for the Algerian Liberation Front, they made it quite clear that they wanted to stay on good terms with the French. Soon, however, it became obvious that the odds were against this strate59 gy. There was simply no modern, indigenous industrial elite dynamic enough to assume the economic catalyst role attributed to it. The small native bourgeoisie, mostly confined to agriculture and commerce, had neither the means nor the skills nor the gutts to kick-start industrialization. Moreover, the European settlers were leaving the country in ever growing numbers, stripping it of the resources it needed to jumpstart development. The consequence of all this was that, despite overall monetary stability and growing public investment, Tunisians suffered from economic standstill and

59 Since the raison d'être of colonialism was to extract resources and direct them to the metropolis, the most profitable or strategic assets, about 20 percent of arable land and 40 percent of agricultural production, plus all modern sectors and large companies, were in foreign hands. At the moment of independence, there were only 290 enterprises with over 50 employees in Tunisia, 85 percent of them owned by Europeans. Industry employed only 2 percent of the workforce, and skilled Tunisians were usually not admitted into executive positions. It was “a classical peripheralized economy, with industry limited to an enclave sector dominated by foreign monopolies and oriented toward the demands of the colonial center” (M. Romdhane quoted in Bellin 2002: 13). 74

rising unemployment. After five years of independence, it had become clear that Bourguiba’s strategy was not suited to Tunisian reality. Therefore, a growing number of elite members argued that the state should use the windfalls it had reaped from decolonization to remedy the 60 situation. The years 1961/62 thus saw a veritable u-turn in economic policy, accompanied by a spectacular comeback of the UGTT’s former secretary-general, Ahmed Ben Salah, who was now offered the opportunity to implement his vision: ‘economic decolonization’ and ‘auto-development’ via 61 rapid, public-sector-led, import-substitution-based growth. Upon his nomination as minister of planning and finance, he started to collectivize a variety of sectors on the basis of the 1 st National Plan (1962-1966): first foreign and wholesale trade, then the banking sector, and finally farm lands. As a result, the number of both SOEs (state-owned enterprises) and PSOs (public sector organizations) went up from less than 25 in 1960 to about 185 in 1970, and their share of gross investment grew from 1,8 percent to 33,7 percent. This made the state the country’s largest proprietor, producer, investor, and employer ‒ and the prime ‘mover and shaker’ in economic and financial affairs. By renaming itself from Destourian National Party (PND) to Destourian Socialist Party (PSD), the ruling party formally committed itself to 62 this new policy at its 1964 Bizerte Congress. 60 The departure of the French had left the Tunisian state with a wide array of assets, including ports, railways, power stations, mines, banks, farms, as well as plants for the processing and refining of agricultural and mineral products. 61 In 1956, Ben Salah had got into a show of force with Bourguiba, by trying to turn the UGTT into a labor party and use it as an entry ticket for a political career. His ‘Report to the Union’ contained not only an unveiled criticism of the Bourguibist project, but also a premeditated claim to political power: “We think that it is an error to try to reform man and morality or society and its customs by exhortations, advice, and sermons. These are unworthy opiates (…). Neither the individual or the citizen, nor the collectivity or the people, can be reformed except in the framework of a profound revolution of economic structures, for it is on these structures in the last analysis that society rests” (Quoted in Brown er al. 1964: 132 and Moore 1970: 102). Bourguiba, however, quickly asserted his authority and neutralized his challenger, by persuading Ben Salah's rival, Habib Achour, to set up a rival trade union. Faced with the prospect of scission, the UGTT congress deposed Ben Salah and elected Ahmad Tlili as its new leader. This, however, did not prevent Ben Salah's utlimate return: The following years, he would take over more government portfolios (including commerce, industry, agriculture, and education), and thereby become the regime's unequivocal ‘No. 2’. 62 Bourguiba himself had already declared in 1961: “Je suis personnellement responsable du Plan, que je couvre de mon autorité (…). Désormais, le Plan sera l'œuvre du Parti” (Quoted in Ayari 2003: 34). “Nous assistions ainsi”, writes Tahar Belkhodja, “à la naissance d'un autre parti qui, déjà unique (since the banning of the communists in 1963, S.E.), devenait maintenant omniprésent, omnipotent, tout entier mobilisé au service d'une cause: la collectivisation, qu'on ne pouvait remettre en question; et de 75

‘Salahism’ not only claimed to offer a viable blueprint for the rapid development of a peripheral economy, but was also able to present itself as a direct extension of the Bourguibist project itself. As such, it did not only seal the hegemony of the party-state over society, it also meant the remodeling of the latter at the behest of the former. It is important to understand, how ever, that in Tunisia, collectivism did not mean socialism; the new policy was still about national development, not class struggle. The objectives which the regime pursued had not changed, but its strategies of how to attain them had done so. Economic planning was not so much a voluntary ideological choice, but rather a political emergency measure to compensate for private sector failure. This can be gleaned from the fact that even after 1961, private property continued to be protected by the law and supported by the state, only this time within the framework of the national plan, and under the guidance of the central state. Ben Salah himself presented his political model as a Tunisian ‘Third Way’ between Western-style capitalism and Soviet-style communism, inspired by the communitarian traditions of their national cul63 ture. The rationale of this new policy was both mobilization and demobilization. Societal energies were to be harnessed for developmental objectives, and political demands to be channeled into functional structures. Contrary to countries like Morocco, which tried to find a compromise between the different components of the national movement by allowing for a reproduction of its existing social plurality in the new political system, Bourguiba chose to take the opposite approach. His decision to redraw the ‘social contract’ and downsize the ruling coalition had not only the effect of excluding a large number of former political allies, but also of focusing public patronage mechanisms onto the urban middle classes (at the expense of the rural population). The bottom line of this new strategy was ‘reduce input and increase output’. A successful implementation of this new formula, however, là, au service de Ben Salah, l'homme qui incarnait cette ambition” (1998: 84). 63 Thus, even though Salahist Tunisia did indeed contain some quasi-totalitarian elements (as was the case with other contemporary single-party and/or military-backed regimes in the MENA region), it did not move into a totalitarian direction, for two reasons: firstly, in spite of its apparent political fervor, its ideological basis was still fairly weak; it was mainly about catching up with the ‘developed nations’, and not about creating the ‘New Man’; and secondly, in spite of its ad hoc repression of political opponents, it simply lacked the terror dimension that is so characteristic of totalitarian systems. In fact, when the regime ran into serious trouble toward the end of the 1960s, it did not step up the heat of the confrontation, by intensifying its mobilizational efforts and bulldozing its challengers, but chose to back down and return to a modified status quo ante. This is not what totalitarian systems usually do in such a situation. 76

implied reinforcing control over society, and enhancing access to resources, in order to rationalize allocation and maximize efficiency. As time would show, the Tunisian Republic did not have the means to put this strategy in topractice.

CONCLUSION ‘Salahism’ failed for various reasons. First, it overstretched the regulatory capacities of the state. Second, it failed to raise enough foreign receipts to counter-balance the country's growing imports. Third, it affected vital interests of key players within the regime. And fourth, it insulated policy makers from the consequences of their decisions. Ben Salah’s strategy increased the number of people with a stake in the system (as well as the size of that stake), but diminished their say in politics. Cross-fire came from two sides. First, from within the regime, as Ben Salah's drive to accumulate powers infringed upon the decisional competencies and institutional autonomy of other cabinet members and state bodies. And second, from the Sahel, where the quest to collectivize upset the many small famers and family businesses that formed the backbone of both the national movement, and of the new republic. When all of these interests joined forces, the fate of Ben Salah was sealed. The combination of violent protests from the Sahel and growing pressures from within the regime convinced Bourguiba that, in order to save himself, he had to sacrifice his ‘super-minister’. In late 1969, Ben Salah was dismissed, arrested on charges of corruption, and sentenced to ten years of hard labor. It had become clear that the order Bourguiba had created was much too top-heavy to really work both ways. Debates and criticism were admitted, but only within the limits of the existing system, and on the basis of the official ideology. Once Bourguiba had taken a decision, others were only able to chisel it to a certain extent, but without trying to stop it. Multiplying vertical structures in order to increase popular adhesion proved insufficient without these bodies exerting real power. The central executive and administrative elites persisted in expanding their control of people's private concerns, but refused to give them a real say in decision making. Enhancing popular consultation, however, cannot be a substitute for political participation. Thus, Belkhodja’s assessment aptly resumes the fundamental contradictions of the entire approach: “Forcément, la centralisation à outrance au sommet ne pouvait permettre la décentralisation à la base, et encore moins toute démocratisation des institutions” (1998: 269). As a consequence, the questions of which rules were most suited for the new republic, and of how to realize the democratic promises of the Destourian ideology ‒ both of 77

them temporarily shelved after 1956 ‒ vigorously made their way back on the political agenda. C)

THIRD PHASE, 1970-1980: THE INFITÂH PERIOD

Ben Salah's downfall was much more than the occasional disgrace of yet another minister. A key element of the state ideology had been abandoned, one which had totally dominated public life for almost ten years. The out burst of anger that followed the end of collectivism reflected the scope of damage it had produced. Tunisians were not only shocked that Bourguiba tried to shed responsibility for a policy which he had personally endorsed, but also that a handful of people had been able to lead the country to the brink of disaster. Failure was not just blamed on a few individuals but on the entire system. It was not only seen as having deactivated the immune system of the party, and insulated decision makers from their social base; it was also accused of having silenced whistle blowers within the regime, and destroyed the professional morale of civil servants. The experience with ‘Salahism’ reinvigorated calls for more ‘accountability’. At the Destour’s Monastir congress of late 1971 (which witnessed the first truly open elections in 16 years), the ‘liberal’ reformers around Ahmed Mestiri were close to winning the majority of votes, but Bourguiba intervened at the last moment to prevent their victory. The Monastir congress marked the historical apex of the party’s reform movement, and a turning point for the country's political fortunes. Bourguiba had not only weathered the first major crisis of his rule; he had also withstood pressures to follow through on his earlier promises and open up the political system. He successfully resisted via a two-track approach. On the one hand, he switched to a ‘mixed’ economic strategy, one which combined central planning and market elements. On the other hand, he built up a full-fledged presidential system in which irreverent or autonomous forces were systematically excluded from the state and party leadership (see Camau 1978, Leca 1979, Entelis 1980, and Stone 1982 for further reading).

DEVELOPING A PRESIDENTIAL SYSTEM As a first step, Bourguiba re-established the previously abolished position of a prime minister, and filled it with former Central Bank Governor Hedi 64 Nouira. Henceforth, Nouira would be charged with coordinating govern64 The choice of the incumbent was highly indicative: instead of tying himself to a politician, a ‘super-minister’, who was associated with a specific ideological project and who had a large political following behind him, he brought in a technocrat who 78

ment activities, and implementing presidential directives. This would free Bourguiba from assuming direct responsibility for day-to-day politics, and allow him to focus on the grand lines of policy making instead. Such a shift from direct rule to indirect rule offered a number of advantages: Bourguiba would retain the same degree of power and authority, but he would do so with less visibility and less vulnerability; he would continue to pull the strings from behind the scene and control the levers of power, while stop being associated with concrete policy outcomes or eventual policy failures. The prime minister himself would be in a much less comfortable position: Sure, he would act as Bourguiba’s ‘right hand’ and ‘crown prince’, but he would also serve ‒ if push came to shove ‒ as a ‘safety valve’ and ‘scapegoat’ who could be blamed for everything that went ‘wrong’. In the short run, these modifications proved very useful for re-establishing a critical degree of political stability; in the longer run, however, they injected several fundamental contradictions into the new system: “Les deux aspects, institutionnalisation et succession, semblent ne faire qu'un compte tenu de ce que l'un et l'autre préparent l'après-Bourguiba. Mais leurs implications ne sont pas nécessairement complémentaires, malgré ou plutôt en raison de leur évidente simultanéité. La logique de l'institutionnalisation veut que le Premier Ministre monte, en quelque sorte, en première ligne et polarise les éventuels conflits. Or la logique de la succession implique que la personnalité appelée à prendre un jour la tête de l'Etat et du parti soit précisément celle-là même qui est confrontée à l'usure quotidienne du pouvoir. Ainsi transparaît une éventuelle contradiction entre deux objectifs connexes, qui pourrait perturber tout à la fois l'institutionnalisation et la succession” (Camau 1978: 64-65). Having scarcely weathered the ‘Monastir Crisis’, Bourguiba started to vigorously streamline the regime. He systematically muzzled critical voices and tethered autonomous forces both within the state and the party, irrespective of whether they belonged to the liberal (‘Mestiri’) or the leftist (‘Salahist’) camp. Further, he quelled the various manifestations of a social protest movement which had arisen in the wake of 1968 as the Tunisian echo to the French ‘May Revolt’. Those who tried to resist were given a harsh treatment: Sanctions included lengthy prison sentences, compulsory military service, or other disciplinary measures for those found guilty. The struggle lasted only a few years: The 1974 party congress and the 1976 constitutional amendment finally, and officially, proclaimed Habib Bourguiba ‘President-for-Life’ and declared his prime minister the ‘automatic succeswas known to be a staunch supporter of a rather conservative economic policy, and a fierce opponent of the collectivization program. 79

sor’. This meant that the re-structuring of the system was finished, and the issue of alternance settled.It also sealed the reversal in the relationship between ‘principal’ and ‘agent’ which had begun in the aftermath of indepen65 dence. Hence, between 1971 and 1974, Bourguiba not only managed to preserve the single-party system as such, he also ended up maneuvering himself into an even stronger position than before. Thus, the ‘reforms’ he enacted from above meant a modification of the political system, not a transition to a new one. At the same time, they had serious consequences for the country's political life, as they changed the source code of the Bourguibist system: “Le re tour au bourguibisme, qui, entre autres implications, signifiait un refus du pluralisme politique en dehors du Parti, a eu pour corollaire le renforcement et la consécration d'une stratégie de développement qui, associée au nom de Hédi Nouira, Premier Ministre et Secrétaire Général du PSD, ouvrait la voie à une reconnaissance expresse du pluralisme économique et social. Unité et centralisation politique allaient désormais de pair avec dialogue et concertation entre 'partenaires sociaux'” (Camau 1978: 57; emphasis added).

DEVELOPING A MIXED ECONOMY As the next step, Bourguiba began to open up the economic system, in the direction indicated by Nouira. This implied a major switch from an administered economy aimed at rapid industrialization through collectivization and protectionism, to a mixed economy combining ‘plan’ and ‘market’, i.e. import substitution and export orientation, with a special focus on light industry and semi-finished products (see also chapter eight for more information). The focus was on manufacturing (mainly textiles) and services (mainly tourism) where Tunisia was supposed to enjoy major comparative advantages: because of its reasonably skilled and cost-effective workforce; its good institutional and physical infrastructure; its political and social stability; its proximity to major European markets; and its familiarity with European habits. This new formula continued to reserve the lead role for the public sector, while offering more opportunities and incentives to private operators and investors. As the then economic minister Chedli Ayari (himself a driving force of this new policy) announced: “The state wishes to create a generation of industrialists who tomorrow will be the masters of the country (sic!)” (Quoted in Bellin 2002: 24). Two laws, adopted in 1972 and 1974 respectively, ushered in this new 65 Ben Salah escaped from prison in 1971, and founded his own party in 1974, the Popular Unity Movement (MUP). Mestiri, expelled from the party in 1972, made a similar step and founded around 1976 the Democratic Socialist Movement (MDS). 80

era; the former opening up foreign trade, the latter focusing on domestic markets. In order to coax the private sector into assuming a more active role in economic life, the state offered a raft of incentives. These included extensive institutional and technical support services (deployed through new state agencies like API, AFI, CEPEX, et al.); secure returns and profit mar gins (obtained via high tariff walls, fixed import quotas, restrictive licensing practices, fixed prices, etc.); and many other direct or indirect subsidies (consisting of preferential credits, low interest, subsidized inputs, tax breaks, etc.). In order to facilitate this process, civil servants were encouraged to temporarily or permanently work in the private sector, either by setting up their own company (via a special credit line), or by helping private en66 trepreneurs to do so (via a special furlough system). Thus, from many points of view, it may be argued that the Tunisian state was both the ‘breeding ground’ and the ‘training ground’ for what would later become a relatively dynamic and vibrant manufacturing and exporting industry. In modern Tunisia, the latter was the creature and to a certain extent even an extension of the former. It should be noted, however, that the relationship between public sector and private business was supposed to be governed by the principles of ‘complementarity’ and ‘subsidiarity’: “Whereas the private sector focused on the least capital-intensive, the least technologically sophisticated, and the most immediately profitable branches of industry, the state carried the burden of basic, heavy industries that were be yond the capability and interest of the private sector” (Bellin 1991: 51-52; cf. also idem 2002: 34-35). To a certain extent, this meant a step ‘back’ to the pro-business policy of the early post-independence period, but taking into account the lessons learned in the meantime. The main goal of these new policies was to redefine the socio-economic parameters of the Bourguibo-Destourian system. The regime maintained its developmentalist course (albeit with less regulatory and redistributive fervor), but modified its strategic thrust (thereby comforting the ruling societal and distributional coalition underpinning it). Henceforth, it was the con66 The outcome was up to expectations: About 800 new industrial ventures emerged the following years, effectively doubling industrial capacities. The vast majority of the new ventures were small enterprises, 94 percent starting with less than TD 500.000, and employing less than ten workers. Accordingly, the private share in industrial investment went up from 22 percent in the 1960s, via 41 percent in the 1970s, to 43 percent in 1986. At the same time, however, the main trend of the collectivist period ‒ a continous growth of the public sector ‒ continued even then: The percentage of total government expenditure of GDP grew from 28.7 percent in 1972 to 32 percent in 1984, and the share of transfers to SOEs as a percentage of total government expenditure from 8 percent in 1972 to 17.5 percent in 1984 (cf. Bellin 2002 for further information). 81

cours of the private sector, and particularly the extension of the middle class, that was meant to help stabilize the regime, and secure its perpetuation. The outcome was an economy that was characterized by the sometimes awkward co-existence of four different sectors: an offshore sector that was totally geared toward foreign markets and integrated into the global economy; an onshore sector that was heavily protected from foreign competitors and restricted by state regulation; a public sector which included practically all important and strategic sectors, and capital and technology-intensive ventures; and a private sector which primarily consisted of small productive units, and focused on simple assembling activities. At the end of the day, Hedi Nouira’s infitâh policy was nothing but a political hybrid: a compromise between the ‘disciples of the plan’, and the ‘partisans of the market’. On the hand one, the state encouraged private sector growth and foreign investment while, on the other hand, it tightly regulated market access and resource allocation. It also maintained direct control of the ‘commanding heights’ and ‘nerve arteries’ of the national economy (especially mining, energy, transport, telecoms, and banking). Unsurprisingly, this policy approach produced mixed results: It was successful in that it produced high growth rates for several subsequent years, rising living standards for broad social strata and substantially enhanced opportunities for social upward mobility. But it was unsuccessful in that these results were achieved by unsustainable methods, and more specifically by the constant deficit spending of the central state, made possible by the increasing availability of external rents derived from mineral exports, foreign aid, tourist revenues, and migrant remittances. It is for these reasons that BourguiboDestourian Tunisia is usually qualified as a semi-rentier economy, as it was emerging in other MENA countries as well (cf. Pawelka 2000a+b for further reading). In actual reality, Tunisia's political economy suffered from a large number of structural deficiencies. The first major problem was the very narrow basis of the economic system, which made it very vulnerable to all kinds of external shocks. The bulk of income was derived from just a handful of sources, basically extraction (hydrocarbons, phosphates), agriculture (olives, fruits), manufacturing (clothing, textiles), services (construction, tourism), and external transfers (development assistance, migrant remittances). The second main problem was the lopsided structure of the national economy, which combined a low degree of differentiation and specialization with a high degree of fragmentation and sectorialization. There were very few horizontal linkages between the aforementioned four sectors, which could have served as a launching pad for a sustainable course toward industrial development. Before being able to export, Tunisia had to import practically ev82

erything: from basic inputs via capital goods and spare parts to end products. This lack of integration not only undermined the twin goals of industrial consolidation and capital accumulation, it also drained the country's financial assets and cash reserves. Tunisia could have imported large quantities of capital or goods, but not both of them simultaneously and forever. At the same time, the regime began to open up the education system to broader strata. Four main goals had guided Tunisian education policy after 1956: “generalization, unification, nationalization, and Arabization” (Vermeren 2002: 276), with one major difference: while primary and secondary education were able to build on colonial or pre-colonial structures, higher education had to start from zero. There was a strong ambiguity from the very beginning, insofar as social policy objectives (‘spreading access to knowledge’) co-existed awkwardly with economic policy imperatives (‘training replacements for settlers’). The way out was a lukewarm compromise which consisted of ‘democratizing’ access to the lower echelons of the education system, while maintaining the selective French system for higher education. The main aim of this policy was the rapid formation of a technobureaucratic elite which would then become the driving force of national development. However, it soon turned out that this two-tier system was much too biased to allow for the expected ‘trickle-up effects’. When confronted with growing protests against this policy, the reaction of the regime was to speed up the ‘popularization’ of education, first under Ben Salah, minister of education from 1968-69, and then under Mohamed Mzali, minister of education from 1970-80. All stops were pulled out for ac cess to some parts of higher education (particularly for arts, law, and theology, where Arabic became the official language of instruction), while the former system was maintained in some others (particularly in science, medicine, and engineering, where French remained the sole language of instruction). The fatal outcome was a schizophrenic system in which Arabophone mass institutions for the ‘rank-and-file’ co-existed with Francophone elite schools for the ‘best-and-brightest’. It would become a fatal career trap for the large majority of monolingual graduates, whose massive arrival on the labor market coincided with a sharp slump in economic growth after 67 1975. The generalization of education, the Arabization of curricula, the Tunisification of the corps d’enseignants and the introduction of a système d’orientation (making access to university dependent on the grades which students 67 As a result, enrolment figures in secondary education soared: from 33.000 students (in the late 1950s) via 136.000 students (in the late 1960s) to 184.000 students (in the late 1970s); while in higher education they went up from only 1.350 in 1956 via 2.300 in 1960 to 9.413 ten years later and tens of thousands twenty years later. 83

had achieved at school) all contributed to a rapid bifurcation of the entire education system. Henceforth, the elites would re-orient their children from the filières de masse toward the filières de classe, which included first and foremost the various schools run by the French mission, the preparatory courses for the grandes écoles, as well as a few elite institutes within the national education system, like the technical and medical schools at the University of Tunis. This janus-faced policy had created “deux grandes catégories d’établissements, ceux de la promotion et ceux de la relégation”, turning the choice of the language of instruction into “l’instrument d’une véritable apartheid sociale” (Vermeren 2002: 429).

CONCLUSION The infitâh policy (‘infitâh’ means ‘opening’ in Arabic) that had been pursued since the early 1970s was more than a simple re-adjustment of a government policy. It implied a thorough redefinition of the ‘contract’ governing the relationship between state and society, ruler and ruled. The nation was no longer purported to be a homogeneous or monolithic entity with timeless and unchanging features, but was recognized as consisting of different social groups with sometimes antagonistic views. Accordingly, the state was no longer conceived as an administrator of an objectively existing, static ‘general will’, but as an arbiter of subjectively defined, fluid social interests. This implied the “passage d'une ‘administration’ des intérêts par l'Etat tutélaire à la recherche de compromis entre des intérêts de plus en plus autonomes et différenciés” (Camau 1978: 50). Nouira’s political project, however, suffered from several immiscibilities. His pluralistic vision of Tunisian society entailed an implicit recognition of the legitimate diversity of social interests ‒ something the political institu tions of the party-state denied. As a way out he devised an awkward compromise called ‘collective social conventions’. These were negotiated every few years among the national representatives of the ‘social partners’ (labor, capital, and the state), and detailed the overall parameters of industrial relations (including the specification of working hours, salary grids, and minimum wages). In this way, they were supposed to provide for a ‘structured partnership’ between the country’s different interest groups. This meant that the national organizations were supposed to serve as a political buffer between the regime’s consensualist public discourse and an increasingly conflictual social reality. In fact, since the beginning of the infitâh, tensions had increased between a relatively liberal socioeconomic policy (which favored the emergence of an increasingly differentiated society) on the one side, and an 84

unswervingly authoritarian political system (which based itself on an increasingly lopsided ruling coalition) on the other. Bourguiba himself had actually aggravated this situation. He had increasingly taken to rely on the state bureaucracy and government apparatus, which he would preferably staff with graduates from the newly established grandes écoles and technical institutes (and even more so if they came from his native Sahel region and his home town Monastir). This was partly to accompany the opening of the domestic economy and its integration into the world market, partly to compensate for the closure of the ruling party and the purging of the regime in stitutions at large. As a result of these developments, the make-up of the ‘Elite Bourguiba’ 68 underwent some major changes. These concerned in particular their spatial origins, educational backgrounds, and occupational trajectories. First, the overall share of the interior provinces and ‘Greater Tunis’ decreased, as compared with a more pronounced presence of Sahelis and Monastiris (this was also a result of the aborted revolts of Ben Youssef and Mestiri). Second, a shift occurred from members with a background in arts and law toward those with a background in science and technology (this was also a consequence of the technocratic development strategies of both Ben Salah and Nouira). Finally, public sector profiles gained in importance, at the expense of purely political profiles, the main winners of this process being administrators and engineers (cf. Larif-Beatrix 1988 for more details in this regard). This new policy increasingly destroyed the integrative resources of the Bourguibist system. On the one side, the regime’s new elite recruitment pol icy linked political decision makers directly to specific status groups, be they ‘modern’ (class, generation, ideology) or ‘traditional’ (clan, sect, region). On the other side, the elite’s new socio-professional profile led to the gradual infiltration of the regime core with particularist agendas. In either case, the main winners were the urban bourgeoisie of the coastal provinces who managed to obtain a disproportionate percentage of public positions. The result of this process was the gradual merger of old and new elites, mainly through marriage and networking. This merger included two main parties: on the one hand, the Destourian newcomers who had made their way up through the new party-state; and, on the other, (parts of) the old bourgeoisie who had successfully re-cycled itself through the infitâh. The outcome was the emergence of a massive “bourgeois-bureaucratic 68 Initially, there were only three preconditions for elite membership: male sex, higher education, and party membership. However, although these features were necessary for being eligible in the first place, they were by no means sufficient for making a career. Other factors came into play as well, such as personal or familial networks and alliances (see the following chapters for more details). 85

state apparatus” (Murphy 1999: 21) held together by three main elements: horizontal elements clustered around common social interests; vertical elements based on common primordial affiliations; and crisscrossing networks following a patron-client logic. All of this enhanced the incidence and importance of ‘wasta’ and ‘qurâba’ in both public and private life. The politically and socially excluded, of course, looked less favorably on this ‘sclerotic’ and ‘ossified’ system, which they saw as only serving its own ends and needs ‒ at the expense and to the detriment of the country at large. The ‘centrifugal’ effects of these same trends increasingly destroyed the carefully crafted balance between the various social components making up the Bourguibist ruling coalition ‒ and this decreasing ability of the regime to balance off conflicting social demands, in turn, explains its growing proclivity to re sort to physical coercion. The foundations of this system began to crumble in the second half of the 1970s. The janus-faced nature of Nouira's infitâh policy had set the state on a collision course with the labor unions. The state’s business-friendly, export-oriented development strategy favored a labor-intensive, low-cost manufacturing industry, which decreased concentration and commitment of workers, and thereby threatened the attractiveness and effectiveness of the unions themselves. At the same time, following the political streamlining of the regime institutions, a large number of disgruntled oppositionists turned to the labor unions with the aim of forging them into a weapon against the regime. As a result of these developments, the UGTT (together with the newly founded Human Rights League, LTDH, and Mestiri's Democratic Socialist Movement, MDS) became a rallying point for all sorts of political 69 ‘outcasts’ to whom it offered a platform for action. This was the beginning of a vicious circle whereby the radicalization of the unions would fuel the repressiveness of the regime, and vice versa. After several years of mounting tensions, a general strike launched in January 1978 was brutally quelled by the security services, leaving behind several hundred dead and a deeply shocked country (these events are since then referred to as the ‘Black Thursday’). Many unionists, including Secretary-General Habib Achour himself, were arrested and imprisoned, while the UGTT's executive board was forcibly dissolved and replaced by a loyalist leadership. However, with his heavy-handed handling of the 1978 crisis, and the subsequent suppression of the UGTT's ‘legitimate leadership’, Bourguiba had weakened a central pillar of his regime coalition, and thereby triggered a new phase of political disintegration. The single party which was supposed 69 See Zghal (1973) and Entelis (1974) for two early appraisals of the incipient groundbreaking shifts ocurring on a social level at that time, 86

to represent the ‘general will’ and the ‘national interest’ had increasingly become associated with specific social lobbies and particularist agendas. The national organizations that had been designed to serve as a top-down channel of consultation and integration, had come to undermine rather than strengthen the legitimacy and cohesion of the regime. Thus, even though Bourguiba had managed to hold on, his system began to fall apart. The main winner of this incremental closure of the regime was the Islamist opposition around Rachid Ghannouchi which had begun to organize itself in the early 1980s as the Islamic Tendency Movement (MTI). As elsewhere in the region, 70 a politicized Islam turned into a focal point of sociopolitical contestation. D)

FOURTH PHASE, 1981-1987: FIRE FIGHTING

From the early 1980s onwards, the crisis gathered momentum (see Camau 1987 and Faath 1989 for further reading). Mohamed Mzali, the successor of Nouira (who died in 1980) struggled against the continuous erosion of the regime's political basis with an awkward mix of three policies. The first strand consisted of conservative cultural and educational policies which accelerated the Arabization and Islamization of the state media and public education. The second strand involved budgetary austerity and structural adjustment policies aiming to reduce the mushrooming expenses for public enterprises and social transfers. And the third strand included a limited and controlled political opening which allowed for some competition within the ruling party (with two candidates being admitted for every seat in the central committee) and a de facto re-admission of opposition parties (including 71 the MDS and PCT). However, when it became clear that discontent in society was far more 70 The term Islamism denotes a variety of ideologies whose common denominator is the belief that Islam regulates (or should regulate) all aspects of human life, both public and private, and that it provides viable answers to all problems which human being might possibly face in their lives. From this perspective, Islam provides the cognitive and normative fundamentals for a socio-political system sui generis. This is also why the term Islamism is often used as a synonym for Political Islam. All Islamists concur that the Koran and the Sunna are the only acceptable and authoritative points of reference. They differ, however, in the extent to which they envisage the use of ijtihâd, i.e. of a creative (re-)interpretation of these sources. See Haddad et al. (1991) and Burgat (1995) for a general introduction; Gellner & Vatin (1981), Burgat (1988), Shahin (1997) for further reading on the Maghreb; Camau (1981), Hermassi (1984 & 1989), Waltz (1984 & 1986), Tozy (1989 & 1993), Magnusson (1991), Hamdi (1998) for further reading on Tunisia. 71 There were three basic preconditions for any legal political activity: not to attack the person of Bourguiba; not to receive support from abroad; and not to fuel ‘hatred’ among Tunisians. 87

advanced than anticipated, the political leadership resorted to two testedand-tried practices. First, it coaxed the UGTT into forming a ‘National Front’ with the PSD on the occasion of the 1981 polls, in exchange for 20 seats in the assembly. Then, when it appeared that in spite of all this, Mestiri’s MDS would win the majority of votes and gain control of the assembly, the administration simply stopped the counting and proclaimed the Front the winner of the elections. The last attempt of the party reformers to bring about a controlled liberalization from ‘within’ had thus come to naught. Given the almost total neutralization of the secular opposition, and the near-complete verouillage of the political system, the MTI quickly appeared as the only credible alternative to the party-state. The latter responded as usually: it flatly denied the MTI official recognition and repeatedly arrested its leading representatives. This, however, did not stop the crisis from gathering momentum, on the contrary. After 1984, the crisis entered its final phase when the country plunged into a deep recession. It was triggered by an unfortunate concurrence of adverse circumstances ‒ deteriorating exchange rates, plummeting oil prices, and several bad harvests ‒ which in turn reinforced a certain number of structural problems, like chronically deficitary state budgets, negative current accounts, and spiraling public debts. The effects which this recession had on society were devastating. They consisted of rapidly deteriorating living conditions, soaring unemployment rates, and collapsing state budgets. Faced with massive rioting throughout the country following a price hike for numerous staples in late 1984, Bourguiba replaced the controversial Mohamed Mzali with a little-known bureaucrat named Rachid Sfar. Moreover, he once again called upon the armed forces to re-establish public order. This latter move also included the political promotion of his former national security supremo, General Zine el Abidine Ben Ali, who became first minister of the interior, then prime minister, and finally secretary-general of the Destour. Within just two years, Ben Ali had by all accounts become the regime’s ‘second strong man’. By this time, however, it was clear that the regime had become so enfeebled, and the president so isolated, that both were no longer able to deal with the effects of the crisis, let alone withstand the attacks of their adversaries. The picture that contemporary observers painted of the political situation resembled a ‘twilight of the gods’. Faced with a ‘street’ seething with anger and dominated by the ‘barbus’ of the MTI, and surrounded by elites squabbling for power and plotting for the ‘day after’, the old president had locked himself up in his palace, where he was only accessible to a handful of relatives and courtiers, who did their best to further isolate and manipulate him. His increasingly erratic decisions (replacing ministers at break-neck 88

speed and revoking his own decisions almost on a daily basis) undermined 72 faith in his leadership, and further fanned up the flames of the crisis. By 1987, the state effectively appeared to be on the brink of collapse, and the country on the verge of a revolution. Unable to finance its current ac count deficit or to service its past debts any longer, the Sfar administration had been forced to conclude an Economic Rehabilitation and Structural Adjustment Program (ERSAP) with the Bretton Woods Institutions (BWI) the year before, in exchange of a stand-by credit and a World Bank loan. The drastic spending cuts which this entailed, however, further exacerbated social conflicts. Fearing that the crisis might irreversibly spiral out of control and bring down the system in its entirety, part of the political elites acting under the leadership of Ben Ali decided to pass onto the offensive and pull the emergency break: In order to avert a revolt ‘from below’, they were ready to reform the system ‘from above’. This obviously necessitated the removal of Bourguiba whom they no longer regarded as part of the solution, but as part of the problem.

3. The Root Causes of the System Crisis From the perspective of the functionalist-structuralist paradigm dominating social science literature in the post-WWII period, Tunisia appeared as better positioned than most of its neighbors to accomplish the difficult tasks of nation-state building and socio-economic development ‒ all without sacrificing the ultimate goals of liberty and democracy. Moore, for instance, argued that it was the only Maghreb country that had devised a ‘rational political formula’ which offered a realistic perspective of modernization, while enjoying the necessary support of the elite. Although he realized that the expan sion of state power had been achieved at the expense of institutionalization, he was still positive about the prospects of democracy which he saw as burgeoning at the local branches of the ruling party. “So far”, he argued, “Tunisia been successful in carrying out the three major tasks of modernization that are the preconditions for rapid economic growth. It has succeeded in maintaining national cohesion, in mobilizing and educating the masses, and in transforming values and structures ‒ without losing sight of the ultimate goal of modernization, the liberation of man” (Brown et al. 1964: XIII). However, the majority of these studies were flawed by a number of serious misassumptions, especially regarding their tendency to divest ‘politics’ from its context, and view ‘modern’ and ‘traditional’ in dichotomous terms. 72 In the summer of 1987, the conflict entered a new stage when a series of bombs went off in hotels of Monastir. At this stage, Bourguiba openly demanded the death penalty for the jailed MTI leader ‒ although everybody knew this meant civil war. 89

This meant turning a ‘blind eye’ to three inter-linkages which constituted defining features of their target countries: between power and wealth; between culture and politics; and between social networks and state institutions. Three grave epistemological consequences resulted from these fallacies. Firstly, they mostly focused on formal political actors and institutions while largely neglecting informal factors and aspects. Secondly, they often failed to recognize that politics and economics directly interpenetrated and superimposed each other. Thirdly, they tended to overlook that the attitude and behavior of elites cannot necessarily be inferred from their background or upbringing. The ‘costs’ of these errors became apparent quite quickly: these new elites simply ‘failed’ to act as they ‘ought to do’; they did neither deliver on the promises they had made themselves, nor live up to the roles they were ascribed by others. The scope of these fallacies can be measured by a closer look at the political development of post-independence Tunisia. In fact, even a cursory reading of events shows that many ascribed features of the young state (e.g. the presumably high degree of ‘political stability’, ‘social consensus’ and ‘elite cohesion’) were more myth than fact. In just four decades, the BourguiboDestourian Republic went through four ‘political periods’ which were overshadowed by four entirely different (if not diametrically opposed) policy paradigms. At the same time, these four decades witnessed a whole series of power struggles and violent clashes among politically relevant actors and within the ruling elites that belied the idiosyncratic consensualism and unanimism construed by official ideology and discourse. The first schism took place during the ‘Youssefist rebellion’. It ended with the defeat of the ‘traditionalist’ forces, which were mainly found among the members of the old grand bourgeoisie, parts of the petty bourgeoisie, and the country's numerous ‘dispossessed’. The second and third schisms took place within the ‘Destourian family’. The second schism happened after the glaring failure of the collectivist experiment in 1969. It led to the substantial weakening (and partial exclusion) of the party’s leftist currents which were mainly backed by 2nd-generation techno-bureaucratic planners in the party-state apparatus. The third schism happened after the aborted ‘palace revolt’ of the liberal reform wing in 1971. It led to the subse quent tethering (and once again partial purging) of the party’s liberal currents which were mainly backed by the upper middle classes and intellectual milieus of the capital and the east coast. The fourth and fifth schisms happe ned as a result of these developments. They ended with the violent suppression, first of the labor unions, and then of the Islamist movement, both having become political refuges and rallying grounds for the numerous victims and losers of the above conflicts and purges. 90

It is evident that each of the four major political u-turns outlined in this chapter coincided with such a major intra-elite conflict. In fact, in Tunisia, claims to political power were always associated with, and legitimated by, the affiliation with a specific ideology. Defeat would inevitably end with the expulsion of the related ‘camp’ and, more often than not, lead to a significant modification of public policy. Each of these five elite schisms was accompanied by the exclusion and/or suppression of entire political currents and/or social status groups. This would translate into a successive narrowing of the regime’s social base, and into a concurrent shrinking of its political core. Altogether, this was a development which greatly facilitated (or 73 even caused) the crisis of the system, and the downfall of its founder. Thus, Bourguibo-Destourian Tunisia did not follow Huntington’s threestage scenario of ‘transformation, consolidation, and adaptation’: “In the initial transformation phase, the party destroys the traditional sources of authority. In the second phase, it consolidates its authority as an organization against the charismatic appeals of the founding leader. In the third, adaptive phase, the party deals with legal-rational challenges to its authority which are, in large part, the product of its earlier successes” (1970: 32-33). After sticking to the script in the first phase, it ‘went astray’ beginning with the second phase. It conformed to the model in that the power of bureaucrats had increased, the role of ideology declined, and the alienation of intellectuals persisted. It deviated from it in that it did not produce a decline of personal rule, did not witness an institutionalization of power in the party, and 74 did not experience an institutionalization of the question of succession. Three factors may explain the growing frequency and intensity of these 73 It must be noted, however, that most of these struggles remained within the limit of the single-party system, i.e. were about modifying rather than about transcending it. It must also be noted that with the exception of the first and of the last, neither entailed major physical violence nor did they exclude an eventual political re-habilitation of the losers. There was, however, a major difference between the two crises of the late 1960s and early 1980s: the former erupted because of distributive conflicts at leadership level; the latter, on the contrary, was triggered by fundamental changes at grassroots level. This time, it was about structural questions rather than elite politics. 74 Bourguiba actually never produced a successor, either from among his own family, or from among his ministers. On the contrary, he deliberately ‘destroyed’ all those of his ‘lieutenants’ whom he had personally groomed to succeed him after his death. Even more significantly, he deliberately marginalized all those of his relatives who could have qualified as potential candidates for a ‘dynastic solution’ (like his three brothers, whom he evinced, first, from the Destour, and then from politics per se, or his son, Habib Bourguiba Jr., whom he maintained as an ‘adviser’ and ‘a minister of state’, but nothing more than that). He thus systematically discarded one option that has become a widely acceptable way in the Arab-Islamic World of transferring political power to the next generation: namely primogeniture. 91

clashes and crises: the excessive centralization and personalization of political power and decision making; the growing overlap and interpenetration of power and wealth; and the problematic role which the president himself played in this regard. In fact, it is safe to say that political life in post-independence Tunisia was increasingly characterized by a stagnation or even regression in the initial high degree of institutionalization and professionalism. Not only did Bourguiba never deliver on his initial proto-democratic pretensions, he deliberately undermined the political-institutional provisions which he himself had created. By preventing such an institutionalization of politics, or a ‘routinization of charisma’, he forced the other members of the ruling elite to constantly seek his arbitrage in order to overcome a blockage of the system. What mattered most for him was not the maximization of government capacities, the installment of administrative efficiency, or the smoothening of a transfer of power, but to prevent the crystallization of resistance to his rule, the emergence of challengers and counter-powers, 75 and the possibility of a regime and/or leadership change. This de-institutionalization was accompanied by an over-personalization of politics. In fact, the prevention of individual or collective interests to articulate and aggregate themselves via autonomous, representative organizations made that nearby all political or social interactions were obliged to follow an essentially bilateral, vertical form, and not just between regime (‘elites’) and society (‘masses’), but also within the former themselves. People simply had no other choice but to defend their concerns through requisitioning a person they were acquainted with or had been directed to, and who was supposed to have the power or to know someone with that power. The outcome was the emergence and proliferation of cross-cutting inter-personal patron-client relationships controlled and manipulated by the ruling party-state elites, who all vied for access to power. Bourguiba himself was thus not external to this system of mutually competing networks entertained by the political entrepreneurs of the Destour ‘family’, on the contrary, he was the heart and soul of it. As Moore rigthly observed, “the Supreme Warrior is Tunisia's Great Aggregator of interests and demands” (1970: 230). Belkhodja has identified this threefold overlap ‒ between persons, positions, and policies ‒ as a major contributing factor to the ever-increasing instability of Tunisian politics: “Là est le vice majeur du système, la source de toutes nos difficultés. De Bourguiba, nous avions tous appris à traiter les problèmes en fonctions de nos convictions personnelles, puis à les person75 This once again confirms the thesis of Migdal (1988) that a ‘politics of survival’ may well prompt a ruler to systematically weaken the agencies of the state, and promote a de-institutionalization of politics that will ultimately sap his bases of power as well as his capacities to govern. 92

naliser à outrance dans l'exécution. Au lieu de rechercher un consensus à travers le jeu normal des institutions, les responsables négligeaient les instances légales de décision, étant assurés que leur approbation serait pratiquement automatique” (1998: 125). It was precisely the court-like setting of the political stage, the opaqueness of decision making, and the arbitrariness of political appointment that created insecurity and confusion among elites, exacerbated competition and conflict in politics, and introduced the germs of decay into the heart of the system. Camau and Geisser have confirmed this by arguing: “L'enjeu n'était point de conquérir une majorité mais d'obtenir ou de conserver le soutien du leader. Le jeu politique relevait, à certains égards, de l'épure du ‘dilemme’ ou du ‘jeu du prisonnier’. Dans leurs relations, les entrepreneurs politiques étaient enclins à faire prévaloir la défection sur la coopération. Celle-ci n'était d'emblée acquise que dans l'hypothèse d'amitiés personnelles exclusives, issues généralement de solidarités locales, confortées par des liens tissés lors des parcours scolaires et éprouvées dans le partage des mêmes expé riences militantes. Exception faite de ces affinités, chacun fondait sa stratégie sur le principe de méfiance et, partant, confortait la position du leader” (2003a: 173). The same logic was reproduced at every level of the political system; it applied as much to the center as to the periphery. In this sense, the Bourguibo-Destourian party-state was actually nothing but a ‘network 76 of networks’. At the end of the day, this system could only function thanks to Bourguiba himself: Given the overlap of responsibilities, the ambivalence and contestedness of institutions, as well as the rivalries and jealousies among officials, an arbiter was needed at every step to secure the functioning of the system. Constant mediation between the different competing factions was necessary in order to avoid (or overcome) political standstill, and the only actor who had the necessary authority to perform (or delegate) such a ‘broker’ function was Bourguiba himself. As Hedi Nouira himself admitted, “le chef du parti et de l'Etat était le noeud gordien du régime” (Quoted in Bel khodja 1998: 274). Even though a number of controversies exist as to the roots of this phenomenon, there is one point on which most analysts agree: 76 It must also be noted that ‘Greater Tunis’ fulfills the essential attributes of what Stone (1982: 159) has termed a “primate city”. It is the overriding national hub gathering all major institutions in practically all fields.This does not only allow for very strong organizational ties, but also for very close personal links among political actors. This situation is reinforced by the fact that most PRE members were actually born outside the confines of the capital and only moved there at a later stage of their life. The small size of the country, the limited number of actors, and the centralized character of the state all favor a strong dose of inter-personality and informality on many levels. 93

in the short run, this system was effective; in the long-run, it was self-de77 structive. As we have seen before, Bourguiba's hybrid approach of the early 1970s – “bureaucratisation sans institutionalisation” (Larif-Beatrix 1988: 210) – spawned a two-faced system which skillfully combined technocratic governance with neo-patrimonial rule ‒ a tradition Ben Ali could build on a decade later. Two main features characterized Bourguiba’s elite recruitment policies from that time onward: an increasing reliance on primordial and particularistic ties on the one hand; and a marked preference for bureaucratic and technical skills on the other. The outcome of this process was the gradual emergence of a new ‘ruling class’, based on the inter-penetration of the upper strata of the old grand bourgeoisie, and the leading echelons of new party-state. The homogeneity of this new class, and the verticality of the political system at large, were in stark contrast with both the increasing heterogeneity of society, and the mounting demands for participation, which the regime itself had encouraged. On the one hand, its social and educational reforms had produced a quickly swelling number of highly qualified graduates who had to compete for a decreasing number of adequate positions. At the same time, by expanding public education for the Arabophone majority while maintaining an elite system for the Francophone minority, it had introduced a hidden cultural and class bias into the education and labor system. This combination of apparently egalitarian, populist policies with an extremely selective, elitist system systematically penalized those who had been born outside the major coastal/urban hubs, and grew up in an Arab-speaking, faith-based context. This pyramid-shaped, top-heavy political system was simply not flexible enough (and the overregulated, overprotected economy not dynamic enough) to accommodate the divergent interests of a complex society, and uphold the regime's promises of personal advancement and political participation. When the young generation tried to enter the labor market and/or the regime institutions, they found their way up blocked by people who owed their positions to kinship and patronage rather than to achievement and performance. These same young people quickly discovered that theory had little to do with reality, where power and wealth stemmed from personal contacts and familial resources rather than from educational qualifica77 A very interesting debate has emerged in recent years involving many key actors of the former political era. See for instance the testimonies of Ayari (2003), Belkhodja (1998), Charfi (2009), and Essebsi(2009); the contributions in Camau Geisser (2004) and Temimi (2005); and the two Special Dossiers “Adieu, Si L'Habib”, JA 2048, 11/04/00 and “Que reste-t-il de Bourguiba?” JA 2569, 04/04/10. 94

tions or professional capabilities. It were thus the contradictions between discourse and practice, between the overproduction of social expectations and the underproduction of political inclusion, that ultimately undermined the power formula and social contract of the Republic, and eroded the au78 thority and legitimacy of its leaders. This problem was actually exacerbated by the overlaps and inter-linkages between a monolithic, unitary state-party and a Hobbesian-Jacobean partystate. Since both had become the political domains and personal tools of a handful of ruling clans and social lobbies, the only way for the majority of citizens to defend their interests was to attack the system as such. At this point, the in-built centripetal logic of the political system started to work the other way round and fuel centrifugal tendencies at both social and elite levels. What was supposed to produce consensus and cohesion ‒ a single political organization incorporating the country's ideological currents and social interests ‒ began to spawn confrontation and disintegration. The growing incapacity to reconcile differing agendas, achieve symbolic integration, and secure systemic reproduction, turned strength into weakness, making the state the focus and object, rather than the mediator and arbiter, of conflict. What had originally been the regime's main asset ‒ the identity between leader, state, and party ‒ now became its Achille's heel. The outcome of these developments was both ironical and paradoxical. The increasing presidentialization, bureaucratization, and technocratization of the regime were accompanied and complemented by a successive re-traditionalization, re-tribalization, and re-Islamization of politics. The ill-conceived, lop-sided, top-down development project of a modernizing bureaucratic-authoritarian regime had precisely awakened those socio-cultural forces it had originally sought to overcome. This vicious circle reached its final end when Bourguiba called upon the army to save him, and thereby unleashed the forces that ultimately toppled him. In other words, the radicalization of protest led to the return of the military into politics ‒ one thing the Destourian elites had all agreed to prevent in the first place.

78 To use Huntington's terminology, Bourguibo-Destourian Tunisia, which had been an inclusive one-party system by ideology, became an exclusive one-party system by practice ‒ due to the conflicts arising between the scarcity of resources, and an overabundance of elite candidates. 95

III THE SECOND REPUBLIC, 1987–2009: REDEFINITION AND CHANGE OF AN AUTHORITARIAN REGIME

“Tunisie, novembre 1987: rarement nouveau pouvoir aura bénéficié de tant d'unanimité. Rarement aussi il aura été porteur de tant d'espoir, d'attentes et de certitudes, de tant de défis à relever” (François Soudan: “L'état de grâce…jusqu'à quand?” JA 1403, 25/11/87, p.28).

1. The ‘Velvet Revolution’ of 7 November: Back to the Future? The first change at the helm of the Tunisian state since the achievement of independence and the abolition of the monarchy happened so smoothly that most people only learned about it from the morning news. It appears that neither the president nor his entourage had the slightest inkling about what was going to happen. In the middle of the night, security forces loyal to Ben Ali occupied the presidential palace and other strategic premises without encountering serious resistance. Bourguiba's main aides were arrested out of their beds, and the ‘Supreme Combatant’ himself was escorted to his home town where he would spend the rest of his life under house arrest (see also Samir Gharbi & François Soudan: “Cette nuit-là”. JA 1402, 18/11/1987, p.3241). In his first public declaration as head of state, Ben Ali justified his move by invoking article 57 of the constitution: “En cas de vacance de la Présidence de la République pour cause de décès, démission ou empêchement absolu, le Premier Ministre est immédiatement investi des fonctions de Pré79 sident de la République pour la période qui reste de la législature en cours”. In his speech, he not only promised to restore law and order in the country, but also to admit more pluralism and more participation in politics: “Notre peuple a atteint un tel niveau de responsabilité et de maturité que tous ses 79 Unsurprising, the seven doctors assembled by Ben Ali in that night confirmed that Bourguiba was physically unable to govern. 96

éléments et ses composantes sont à même d'apporter leur contribution constructive à la gestion de ses affaires, conformément à l'idée républicaine qui confère aux institutions toute leur plénitude et garantit les conditions d'une démocratie responsable”. At the same time, he vowed to abolish both life-time presidency, and automatic succession rule: “L'époque que nous vivons ne peut plus s'offrir ni présidence à vie, ni succession automatique à la tête de l'Etat, desquelles le peuple se trouve exclu. Notre peuple est digne d'une vie politique évoluée et institutionnalisée, fondée réellement sur le multipartisme et la pluralité”. In short, he promised the launching of an ‘ahd jadîd in Tunisian politics (‘ahd means ‘era’ in Arabic). This ‘New Era’ would be based on the restoration of the ‘founding principles’ of the Bourguibist Republic: “Nous proposerons (…) une plus large participation à la construction de la Tunisie et à la consolidation de son indépendance, dans l'ordre et la discipline. Nous veillerons à la bonne application de la loi, de manière à bannir toute iniquité et injustice. Nous agirons en vue de restaurer le prestige de l'Etat et de mettre fin au chaos et au laxisme. Point de favoritisme et d'indifférence face à la di80 lapidation du bien public”. This discourse not only related to the demands of the Destour's own internal reform movement, but also took up those of the ‘liberal’ secular opposition at large (both of which were closely interrelated, as we had seen). However, despite Ben Ali's apparent popularity with most Tunisians, and their obvious relief about the bloodless unraveling of the ‘succession conundrum’, most observers continued to regard the new president as a transitory figure, and his cabinet as an interim government. Three arguments were advanced to substantiate these claims. The first focused on the discrepancy be tween an increasingly developed and diversified society on the one hand, and an unwaveringly authoritarian and monolithic regime on the other. While Tunisia had made significant advances in terms of human development, economic progress, and material well-being, the party-state had retained its original form. Taking into account the still fresh memories of the recent political past, it was argued that such a ‘closed’ system was structurally incapable of arbitrating the conflicting interests of a modern society. The second argument referred to the alleged incompatibility between economic liberalization and political authoritarianism. The implementation of structural adjustment was predicted to undermine the ‘political contract’ of the Bourguibist regime, hinging on the exchange of social welfare and protection against political loyalty and support. As money was scarce and 80 Declaration of 7 November 1987: Arab Original in Al-Hayât Al-Thaqâfiyya Vol. 89, November 1997, p. 174-175; French translation in JA 1402, 18/11/87, p. 42. 97

reforms would be painful, it was held, the new rulers would have no other choice but to give in to popular demands for more government accountability. The third argument pointed to the ambivalent legitimacy of the ‘New Regime’ and its leader. Ben Ali himself not only lacked Bourguiba's historical credentials and visionary appeal, but also his charismatic personality and oratory skills. Furthermore, the new rulers could neither fall back on traditional, particularistic loyalties nor on modern, democratic ones. The only thing they could do was to invoke the provisions of the constitution. This argument, however, was highly problematic, since the only solution it justified was the installation of a caretaker government, charged with preparing democratic elections at the shortest term possible. These doubts were compounded by the personal background of Ben Ali himself. Being the only military and the only non-academic in an elite otherwise composed of civilian politicians and university graduates, he had always been regarded as a relative outsider within the political establishment, and as a rather unlikely successor of the ‘Supreme Combatant’. Born in 1936 into a humble family of Hammam Soussis, he joined the army at the age of fifteen. In 1964, after receiving a military and intelligence training in France and the US, he became the first director of the newly created Military Security Service. In 1974, he was assigned as a military attaché to the Tunisian Embassies in Rabat and Madrid, before being appointed director-general of the powerful National Security Service in 1977. After what was seen as his personal failure in the ‘Gafsa Affair’ of 1980 (an armed group, presumably with Libyan backing, took the Southern town of Gafsa and held it for se veral hours against the police), he was sent as an ambassador to Warsaw, where he would eyewitness the dramatic events that were unfolding at that particular time ‒ namely the uprising of the Solidarity movement and its crushing by the military around General Jaruzelski. The ‘bread revolt’ of early 1984 brought him back into Tunisian politics as head of the sécurité, and the ensuing deterioration of the political situation paved his way to the top. In April 1986, he was appointed minister of the interior and, in June 1986, he was co-opted into the politburo of the PSD. Finally, in October 1987, he was appointed prime minister and party secretary-general, hence becoming Bourguiba's ‘right hand’, and the regime's undisputed ‘No.2’. It was this cumulation of powers that enabled Ben Ali to achieve what nobody had dared to do before: to topple the ‘Father of the Republic’ and ‘President-for-Life’. However, it must be noted that this particular trajectory was of a mixed blessing: for seizing power, it was undoubtedly an asset; for ruling the country, it was rather a liability ‒ because the only real power bases he had were in the interior ministry and security apparatus, but not in the ruling party, or in the government bureaucracy as such. 98

All of these factors contributed to exacerbating the already precarious position in which the new rulers found themselves. In order to defend and consolidate their newly won authority, they had to re-construct the social coalition the Bourguibist regime was based upon. This necessitated winning back the disgruntled urban classes and alienated young generations. In order to do this, they had to prove that they were capable of implementing the reforms which were needed to solve the crisis. This, in turn, required having the support (or acquiescence) of both elites and opposition. However, winning over both sides meant appealing to very different agendas. This balancing act was made even more difficult by the new regime’s narrow power base and its diffuse political legitimacy, not to mention the heavy budgetary constraints and delicate reform issues that faced the new rulers at that junction. In summary, the Ben Ali government was in a classic ‘Catch 22’-situation. On the one hand, they had to put an end to the main structural deficits of the old political system (or at least to restore a minimum degree of administrative functionality), without forsaking essential politico-institutional features of the Bourguibo-Destourian Republic. On the other hand, they needed to win back a sufficient degree of popular support (or at least to avoid outright obstruction vis-à-vis their policies), without jeopardizing the indispensable co-operation of the incumbent elites. In short, what they had to do was to distance and distinguish themselves from the Ancien Régime ‒ while being part and parcel of it. This dilemma might help to understand what was to follow.

2. The Three Phases of Ben Ali's ‘New Regime’ A)

THE FIRST PHASE, 1987-1989: THE ‘TUNISIAN SPRING’

Initially, it seemed as if Ben Ali was resolved to deliver on his promises (cf. Hermassi 1990, Camau 1991, and Zartman 1991 for further reading). From the very beginning, the new rulers worked to relax the tense situation, producing gestures of de-escalation and reconciliation aimed to appease regime elites and opposition forces alike. Scores of detainees were released, among them Rachid Ghannouchi and Habib Achour. Exiles were allowed to return home, including Ahmed Ben Salah and Abdelfattah Mourou. Discredited institutions, like the state security court and the public prosecutor, were abolished. And various central figures of the Ancien Régime, like Mohamed Sayah and Taher Belkhodja, were convicted to long prison sentences. While most ministers temporarily maintained their positions, strategic positions were clearly reserved for Ben Ali's closest allies. Hedi Baccouche, the acting 99

party director, became prime minister; Habib Ammar, the commander of the National Guard, was appointed minister of the interior; and Mahmoud Mestiri, representative of the party's liberal wing, was once again charged with running the foreign affairs portfolio. Finally, a new constitutional court was set up in late 1987 to make sure future legislation complied with constitutional provisions. It soon became obvious that Ben Ali was indeed pursuing a two-track approach, presenting himself “à la fois comme le garant de la religion et comme celui de la modernité” (Zakya Daoud: “Chronique Tunisienne”. AAN 1989: 685). On the one side, he systematically rehabilitated Islamic symbols in public life. Immediately after 7 November, the traditional prayer call was once again heard in the country’s audiovisual media. In December 1987, the Zeytouna was given back its university status. In March 1988, Ben Ali went on an extensively publicized pilgrimage to Islam's holy places. And in January 1989, a Supreme Islamic Council was set up to vet the compatibility between state legislation and the Islamic faith. On the other side, he made clear that he was determined to preserve some core features of the former political era. These included the secular nature of state laws; their pre-eminence over religious sources; the equality of men and women before the law; and (implicitly) the unity of state and party. Thus, the rapprochement between state and religion did not mean that the former would be taken over by the latter. Islam should be given the place it deserves in society, but 81 it should not be given the power to rule that society. By the same token, it became clear that Ben Ali endeavored to incorporate the political symbols and personal resources of the ‘moderate’ opposition into his regime. Thus, leading LTDH and MDS representatives, like Saadeddine Zmerli, Mohamed Charfi, Daly Jazi, and Moncer Rouissi, were given cabinet positions. In 1988, Tunisia became the first Arab country to sign the Anti-Torture Convention of the United Nations. In 1989, an Arab Institute for Human Rights (IADH) was created to further the ‘culture of human rights’ in the region. In March 1988, Ben Ali managed to broker a public reconciliation of both Habib Achour and Abdelaziz Bouraoui, the respective leaders of the UGTT's two hostile wings. Their subsequent resignation paved the way for the presidential candidate Ismail Sahbani to be elected as 81 Rogers thus rightly remarked: “It is important to highlight the predominantly symbolic character of this ‘rehabilitation’. Islamist demands were met only on the most visible of levels, without changing the underlying relationship between state and religion (…). Thus, Islamism remained officially excluded from politics and while Islam was made more visible, it was not granted new spaces” (2009: 10; cf. also Al-Ahnaf 1989). In fact, a new law passed in May 1988 outlawed the opening of mosques outside prayer times and made prior state approval of religious sermons mandatory. 100

the labor unions' new secretary-general. During the following months, legal restrictions imposed on the country’s two main student organizations, the pro-Islamic UGTE und the leftist UGET, were lifted. And, shortly afterwards, various organizations founded by leftist dissidents, such as the Tunisian Association of Democratic Women (AFTD) and the Association of Tunisian Women for Research and Development (AFTURD) were legalized. At this stage, it seemed as if reforms were still following the outlined course. In April 1988, a new party law was passed, creating the legal basis of a multi-party system, and enabling opposition parties for the first time to receive full legal status. Excluded were only those that were organized along religious, linguistic, ethnic, and regional lines, and that did not subscribe to ‘human rights’ or ‘national achievements’. Altogether six opposition parties were now officially granted legal status: the Democratic Socialist Movement (MDS), Tunisian Communist Party (PCT), Popular Unity Party (PUP), Progressive Socialist Rally (RSP), Liberal Social Party (PSL), and Unionist Democratic Union (UDU). In July 1988, two bills were passed that eased the draconic press and associative laws. The next year, a constitutional amendment was adopted that abolished the presidency-for-life. Henceforth, the head of state was not allowed to serve more than three terms of five years each until a maximum age of seventy years. Moreover, it would be the president of parliament, not the prime minister, who would step in should the head of state die; and he would only be charged with organizing the election of a successor, while being barred from participating in it. Until this stage, the new rulers appeared to follow a trial-and-error approach rather than a clear-cut master plan. In fact, it seemed as if Ben Ali’s strategy at that particular junction consisted of attempting to neutralize resistance from within the ‘old guard’ and the ‘party barons’ by forging an al liance with former oppositionists and political outsiders. Soon, however, he seemed to become aware that this way he was bound to be caught between the ‘hammer’ of an Islamist movement dominating the country's schools and universities, and the ‘anvil’ of a Destourian elite controlling the state bureaucracy and the ruling party. Discovering that any attempt to ‘shortcircuit’ the political establishment was bound to ‘backfire’ against him, he apparently concluded that it would be better to turn ‘the’ party into ‘his’ party. Therefore, he effectuated a virtual u-turn in early 1988: Instead of trying to sideline or undermine the central pillars of the ancient regime as well as the upper echelons of the ruling nomenklatura as he had done so far, he would systematically seek to submit and renew them.

101

THE ESTABLISHMENT OF A ‘CONSENSUALIST DEMOCRACY’ This was the starting point of a pervasive elite exchange on all political levels (cf. also chapter seven for further details). At an extraordinary meeting of the ruling party's central committee in February 1988, it was decided to rename the Parti Socialiste Déstourien (PSD) as the Rassemblement Constitutionnel Démocratique (RCD), and ‘re-elect’ Ben Ali as its leader. Contrary to the time of Bourguiba, when the prime minister was also the party’s secretary-general, Ben Ali separated both positions. While political control and strategic guidance were assumed by the party chairman (that is, by himself), day-to-day organizational tasks and management affairs were assigned to a new secretary-general, Hamed Karoui. In contrast to the party director of earlier times, the latter would no longer have cabinet status. Thus, Ben Ali not only weakened the links between party and state, he also firmly united control over both organizations in his own hands. The party congress of July 1988 (Congrès du Salut) gave its seal of approval to these changes. It endorsed the systematic renewal of both party leadership and party membership, opening it up to all walks of social life and particularly to underrepresented strata. Three groups were expressively 82 mentioned in the final declaration: youth, women, and academics. According to official data, the total number of party members sprung from 900.000 in 1987, to 1.500.000 in 1989. At the same time, an array of cabinet shuffles followed suit. These allowed Ben Ali to evince the old guard of ‘PSD Barons’, while propelling his own men into the regime core. Three groups particularly profited from this: the middle echelons of the state bureaucracy, 83 former PSD dissidents, and collaborative intellectuals. This pragmatic mainstreaming of the official discourse and ideology, accompanied by a selective re-incorporation of the opposition's symbols and activists, allowed Ben Ali to free himself from the old regime establishment while building up his own clientelist networks. Exactly one year after the ‘Change’ came the official founding act of the ‘Second Republic’. Leading representatives of all politically relevant forces came together to sign a ‘National Pact’. By outlining the main rules of the political game, and the overall parameters of the future public policy, it was supposed to mobilize consensus and cohesion around the political ‘project’ of 82 As an ‘exceptional measure’, Ben Ali personally designated two thirds, 122 out of 200, of the new central committee members, while reducing the seats in the politburo from over ten to just six. 83 Only six out of the 30 members of Ben Ali's first cabinet were still in their position by March 1990. One of the victims of these purges was Habib Ammar who was replaced by Chedli Neffati. 102

the new rulers, and create a new modus vivendi and modus operandi among the different political forces of the country. As Ben Ali himself pointed out: “L’étape actuelle sera celle de l’enracinement d’un ensemble de valeurs et de principes en dehors desquels il ne saurait y avoir ni démocratie ni pluralisme” (2nd anniversary speech, quoted in Zyad Liman: “La fermeté de Ben Ali”, JA 1507, 20/11/89, p. 22; emphasis added). The National Pact represented for him “un véritable contrat moral engageant toutes les partis, celles-ci étant tenues de le respecter et de s'y référer dans tout point de vue à exprimer ou dans toute position à adopter” (5 th anniversary speech, quoted in AAN 1993: 591). In the ensuing years, the National Pact would thus become a sort of ‘basic law’ of the New Era; an informal constitution of the Second Republic that all political forces had to agree to if they wanted to obtain legal status, and participate in political life. In this sense, its function was both inclusive and exclusive. It was broad enough to appeal to most actors of the political opposition, but without providing for a substantial change of the political system as such. “Le pouvoir veut à l'évidence une démocratie progressive et contrôlée, c'est-à-dire une entrée des forces de l'opposition en tant qu'appoint et garantie de légitimité dans le jeu qu'il a balisé (…). Bien que l'oppo sition ne paraisse pas encore tellement le comprendre, le président Ben Ali est un fervent adepte d'une forme de démocratie consensuelle dans laquelle l'ensemble des forces politiques accepte de cantonner leur confrontation à l'intérieur d'un cadre préalablement établi et défini et l'opposition doit donc se ranger dans ce jeu dont le règles sont claires et remplir l'espace qui lui est 84 laissé” (Zakya Daoud: “Chronique Tunisienne”. AAN 1989: 681).

ECONOMIC REFORMS IN SLOW MOTION In the realm of economic affairs, the new rulers basically continued the careful opening of the national economy begun by their predecessors. In partic 84 That the adoption of the National Pact represented indeed a crucial moment in the new regime's political life becomes even more evident in hindsight. “Far from being the culmination of a process of political opening that it was celebrated as at the time, it represented an instance of political closure (…). In institutionally framing the consensus surrounding Tunisian Islam, democracy, legalism, and development without explicitly naming those outside the consensus, the regime was able to maintain the fiction of neutrality while placing the opposition in a double-bind: either they adhered to the pact, in which case they agreed with the RCD and therefore had little raison d’être; or they opposed it and offered the regime room for political and legal action against them” (Rogers 2009: 13-14). As a shrewd connoisseur of Tunisian politics already commented at that time, the National Pact was a political document that “no one would have signed a few months ago, and no one will sign a few months from now” (Habib Achour quoted in Hermassi & Vandewalle 1993: 33). 103

ular, they carried on the Economic Recovery and Structural Adjustment Program (ERSAP) which the Sfar government had agreed in summer 1986 with the Bretton Woods Institutions (BWI) (see Harik 1990, Grissa 1991, and chapter eight for further information). Similar to other plans of its kind, the Tunisian ERSAP focused on three main goals: re-establishing macro-economic stability, reducing the current account deficit, and reducing marketdistorting measures. Contrary to the ERSAP of many other countries, however, the Tunisian government had obtained more favorable conditions because it was shrewd enough to submit its own proposals of how to remedy the situation. To this effect, the government’s plan de redressement, adopted in July 1989, entailed a raft of reforms. First, monetary and budgetary pressures were to be reduced by introducing a value-added tax, deflating the subsidy system, and devaluating the Tunisian dinar. Second, trade and investment laws were to be simplified by removing import duties on investment goods, abolishing ex ante permits for foreign investors, introducing free change for non-residents, creating new tax breaks for exporting companies, and replacing the agrément préalable by a simple declaration to the state authorities. Third, state interference in market activities was to be curtailed by freeing up interests, exchange rates, and price controls. Finally, a privatization pro gram was to be drawn up for suitable public enterprises (initially mainly for small-sized and loss-making ventures in the tourism and services sectors). Within just two years, the results of these reforms began to make themselves felt. The majority of prices had been freed up, business-friendly legislation had been passed, and a semi-public stock exchange had been set up. In April 1990, the government took a major step ahead by signing the accession protocol to the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT) ‒ a clear signal to private investors that central planning was a matter of the past, and that economic liberalization was here to stay. But the implementation of reforms was rather unequal. Most progress was made on the macroeconomic front, as can be seen from the rapid stabilization of the grand economic equilibria, and the equally quick consolidation of public expenses. Political ‘foot-dragging’, however, was much stronger on micro-economic issues, as can be inferred from the sluggish divestiture of public assets, or from the stalled reform of the financial sector. Thus, contrary to the lofty statements that characterized official discourse, most reforms did still not really touch upon the sensitive sectors of the national economy, or seriously impair the patronage resources of the partystate. A clear majority of the regime elites still appeared unwilling to stop fiddling with the country's economic life and move toward a real market economy. Moreover, as the Gulf Crisis would highlight shortly afterwards, 104

the structural weaknesses of the Tunisian economy basically continued. It remained extremely dependent on a few quite narrow-based and low-value added export commodities (like intermediate textile products or unprocessed agricultural exports), in addition to other highly competitive and volatile market segments (like agriculture and tourism). All of these, however, provided for rather limited economic knock-on or trickle-down effects in terms of employment or innovation.

PRIORITY FOR MAGHREB UNITY In the realm of foreign affairs, the new rulers steered a different course than their predecessors (see Daoud 1989, Leveau 1989, Deeb & Laipson 1991, and chapter nine for further information). On the one side, they remained faithful to the raison d’être that had characterized the foreign policy of the first republic. This consisted of preserving close ties with key international players, while trying to maintain the overall balance-of-power in its neighborhood. It also meant avoiding at all costs being dragged into regional conflicts, while trying to steer a middle course between its two powerful neighbors, Algeria and Libya. At the same time, Ben Ali displayed a much strong er interest in inter-Arab cooperation than had been the case under Bourguiba. This, however, required mending fences with the countries in the near abroad. Just one month after his coup, in December 1987, he re-established relations with Tripoli, and in January 1988, Cairo followed suit. From the very beginning, Ben Ali aired his interest in reviving the former project of creating a Maghreb Union. This issue had been on the political agenda since the late 1950s, but never got off the ground despite a num ber of attempts. Compared with the approach of Bourguiba, this was not only a change of style but of substance too. The objective was obviously no longer to play the neighboring countries against each other, but to bring them into a comprehensive regional security system made up of all the five Maghreb states. This offered several advantages from a Tunisian perspective, as “a regional system of states in which there were more than three states offered more flexibility and potential for maneuverability” (Deeb & Laipson 1991: 223). At the same time, Tunisia’s manufacturing industry was likely to benefit most from the considerable import needs of its two well-resourced neighbors (as the rapid development of bilateral trading figures would confirm later on). The real breakthrough occurred the next year. After a flurry of meetings (the most important being the Algiers summit of 10 June 1988), the heads of state of the five countries of the ‘Greater Maghreb’, Algeria, Libya, Mauritania, Morocco and Tunisia, gathered on 17 February 1988 in the Moroccan 105

town of Marrakech to sign the founding treaty of the Arab-Maghreb Union (UMA). The Tunisian Mohamed Amamou became the UMA’s first secretarygeneral. The UMA had two chapters, a political and an economic one. In order to guarantee the region's security and stability, it obliged member states to refrain from resolving political conflicts through physical violence, and from intervening in the internal affairs of other members. And in order to upgrade the region's bargaining position and economic attractiveness vis-àvis the European Community and global business, it aimed for the creation of a free-trade zone among member states and, in the longer run, for the development of a common Maghrebi market. Soon, however, it became apparent that the UMA suffered from two fundamental shortcomings: from the lack of economic compatibility and horizontal integration among member states; and from the maintenance of an excessive intergovernmentalism in decision making (evidenced by the generalized application of the unanimity principle). Unlike in the case of Europe, there was no sufficient degree of economic integration among member states to act as the driving force of political integration, and there were no common institutions endowed with the necessary powers to ensure that member states complied with their own rules. Instead, the construction of Maghreb unity depended at every step on the voluntary assent of member states ‒ all of them featuring very hierarchical and personalized regimes often run by quite mercurial and idiosyncratic leaders. As time would tell, there were simply too many unknowns in this equation for the UMA to be truly successful (cf.also Deeb 1993 for further reading in this regard). B)

THE SECOND PHASE, 1990-1995: THE AUTHORITARIAN TURNAROUND THE COLLAPSE OF CONSENSUS, OR: FROM SPRING TO WINTER

From many points of view, the time between 1989 and 1991 constituted a sort of ‘entre-deux-ères’ in Tunisian politics. These two years witnessed first the faltering, and then the foundering, of the ceasefire between regime and opposition. There were various factors, internal as much as external, that made the shaky truce struck between the various actors and spelt out in the National Pact collapse. In fact, already before, it had seemed increasingly doubtful that Ben Ali was really ready to substantially alter the existing system. These doubts were nourished by his staunch refusal to dissolve the party-state-complex and, more generally, by his obvious unwillingness to admit genuine political competition. This would have not only implied a modification of the heavily biased single-list majority voting system, which de facto guaranteed the ruling party a quasi-automatic majority, but also a 106

legalization of the Islamist opposition which de facto represented the only serious challenger to the incumbent regime. The first post-coup elections of April 1989 became a litmus test of the regime’s democratic pretensions. In fact, the latest amendment of the electoral code had preserved the key provisions of the old system. According to the new law, any presidential candidate needed the written backing of 30 parliamentary deputies or town mayors, whereas candidates to the National Assembly needed the support of 75 citizens, so-called parrains (25 in the 85 case of a local assembly). This law largely pre-empted the outcome of the elections and thereby basically deprived them of their meaning. The dispersed opposition did not stand the slightest chance against the awesome machinery of the former single party, which could still fall back on the combined resources of the state apparatus. As an analyst rightly observed at that time: “Si le pouvoir refuse de changer le code électoral, il souhaite intégrer l'opposition dans le jeu parlementaire, avec le système d'un pluralisme de répartition, préalablement négocié au niveau des états majors politiques” (Zakya Daoud: “Chronique Tunisienne”. AAN 1989: 681). The outcome was as expected (see Köhler 1989 for more details): With a total turn-out of about 45 percent, regime representatives won all posts available. Without a challenger to compete with, Ben Ali received 99.27 percent of the votes, a score comparable to those obtained by Bourguiba. The RCD also equaled the PSD: With ‘only’ about 80 percent of the votes, it pocketed all 141 seats of the national assembly. The main surprise, however, was the Islamist score: Their candidates had been forced to present themselves as ‘independents’, despite the fact that they had respected all conditions posed by the law and changed the name of their organization to 86 ‘Nahda (Renaissance) Party’. Still, they managed to garner about 13 percent of the votes, more than all the parties of the secular opposition taken together. The inevitable consequence was bitter disillusionment on all sides. Islamists were disappointed by the regime's refusal to grant them a legal status and admit them to the political game, despite their willingness to comply with the laws. The regime was shocked about Nahda's electoral performance and its apparent popularity, clearly sensing that it could quickly become a 87 fully competitive rival, especially if given a level playing field. 85 Two years later, these lists would play a key role for the quick crush of the Islamist movement, since they allowed the state authorities to gain a precise knowledge of the latter’s social base. 86 Nahda’s latest request for official recognition of 8 February 1988 was turned down by the ministry of the interior on 8 June 1988. 87 Both unfolding and outcome of the municipal elections of June 1990 were similar: Boycotted by several opposition parties, the RCD snatched up nearly all available seats. 107

This meant that the first attempt of a controlled pluralization of the political system had failed. The secular parties had proven too weak, and the Islamist movement too strong, for such a non-competitive co-existence to work out. A potential challenger to the ruling party had arisen, too dynamic and ambitious to let itself be co-opted and neutralized along the lines of the secularists (see Hermassi 1989 & 1991, Tozy 1989 & 1993 and Zghal 1987 & 1991 for further reading). This meant that the initially prevailing ‘consensualist’ approach of Ben Ali's New Regime had not worked out. The intensification of political mobilization had spawned a ‘bipolarization’ of the political field, which in turn led to a quick marginalization of the ‘moderates’ on both sides. The consequences of these developments were not lost on most observers: “Les élections sonnent le glas du consensus et ferment la parenthèse de la première période de Ben Ali” (Zakya Daoud: “Chronique Tunisienne”. AAN 1989: 686). Thus, “la transition, ouverte en 1987 par l'avènement de Ben Ali et les promesses de libération est, pour tout le monde, fermée” (Zakya Daoud: “Chronique Tunisienne”. AAN 1990: 777). However, it was not only domestic, but also external factors that prompted the ruling elites to revise their political strategy. The first factor was the disintegrative impact of the Gulf War. The occupation and liberation of Kuwait in 1990/91 sent shock waves around the entire region. It demonstrated once again the multiple weaknesses of the Arab state system, the divisions that persisted among its leaders, and the total inadequacy of its crisis management mechanisms. Tunisia, like others, had tried to adopt a median position on this issues (asking for an ‘Arab solution’ of the conflict, without interference from outsiders), but found itself marginalized in the course of events (earning it a long boycott through the Gulf States until the end of the 1990s). The quickly felt consequences of the Gulf crisis were a severe deterioration of its external account, a sharp slump of its economic growth, and a drastic aggravation of its unemployment sheets. The Gulf crisis once again highlighted the fragility of the Tunisian economy, its dependency on financial inflows, and its vulnerability against external shocks. The lesson was not lost on the regime: A haphazard event at the other end of the Arab world had almost thwarted five years of reform efforts, and only an exceptionally good harvest in the summer of 1991 saved the country from slipping back to point zero. The second factor was the faltering of the Maghreb Union, an organization hamstrung from the very beginning for several reasons: because of the international sanctions imposed on Libya after the Lockerbie bombing of 1988; because of the civil war erupting in Algeria after the military coup of 1992; and because of the mounting tensions between the ‘big two’, Morocco and Algeria, over who would ‘call the shots’ in the region. Talks finally 108

came to a halt in 1994 when a terror attack on a tourist hotel in Marrakech led to a closure of land borders between both countries (which remains in place until today). Since that time, no more meeting has taken place among the heads of states, which would have been vital for the adoption of the de cisions reached at the level of committees. The main loser was once again Tunisia, who had profited more than others from the opening of markets. The collapse of the UMA also put an end to Tunisian hopes to see it become an effective counterpart to the European Community, and thereby ease their geopolitical ‘predicament’ of being a small, resource-pour country locked between two much stronger, and potentially unpredictable neighbors. This failure of security and cooperation schemes in the region contrasted sharply with the advance of political and economic integration processes elsewhere in the world. The widening and deepening of European unification after 1990/91 (with the establishment of the European Union, the launch of the Single Market, and the intensification of the enlargement process) directly affected the international standing and bargaining position of Third Countries like Tunisia. On the one hand, they spelled a marginalization of the Mediterranean as the ‘center of gravity’ shifted to the countries north of the Alps. On the other hand, they favored long-standing competitors of Tunisian producers, like the countries of the Iberian Peninsula and Eastern Europe. Unlike Tunisians, these would enjoy unhindered access to the Single European Market, while also being able to fall back on the support mechanisms of the European Community. All this raised the old specter in Tunisian circles of being faced with a ‘European Fortress’, which combined oldschool protectionism in migration and trade policies with new-style interventionism in foreign and security policies. At the same time, the intensification and institutionalization of economic globalization ‒ marked by the conclusion of the ‘Uruguay Round’ (GATT II), the foundation of the ‘World Trade Organization’ (WTO) and discussions on a ‘Multilateral Agreement on Investment’ among OECD countries ‒ threatened the commercial privileges and comparative advantages of many developing countries, including of Southern Mediterranean ones. First, the generalization of the most-favored nation clause (MFNC) via the WTO ended the comfortable position many Arab states had enjoyed during the Cold War. Further, the phasing out of the Multi-Fiber Agreement (MFA) by January 2005 struck at one of their main sources of income. Since the WTO prohibi ted unilateral trade privileges among its member states (save in the framework of a free-trade zone), this meant that Tunisia would have to renegotia te its 1976 cooperation agreement with the European Community, which gave its industrial products duty-free access to EC markets. Moreover, it 109

would need to identify alternative markets which could one day supplement its threatened textile sector. Within just a couple of years, the bargaining position of Southern Mediterranean countries like Tunisia had thus considerably deteriorated. On the one hand, they were increasingly marginalized on the global stage, both politically and economically. On the other hand, they were increasingly fragmented among themselves, once again both in political and in economic terms. In other words, at a moment when EU and/or US-sponsored international institutions witnessed a spectacular breakthrough, their Arab-Maghrebi counterparts experienced an equally decisive setback. This did not only spur political debates among Tunisian elites, it also led to a decisive re-think of policy approaches prevailing until then (see Hudson 1998, Perthes 2000, Hinnebusch 2003, and Haliday 2005 for further reading on the regional and international context of MENA politics).

RE-ASSERTION OF CENTRAL POWER The following years would mark a sea change in Tunisia’s political life, not only in terms of key policy policies, but also with regard to the underlying societal models (cf. also Hermassi & Vandewalle 1993 and Camau 1997). The profound changes which were taking place at that time, both at home and abroad, prompted the ruling elites to abandon their cautious, incrementalist strategy in a favor of more pro-active, audacious approach. The consequences of this decision were grave. Henceforth, they were determined to effectuate the transformation of a still relatively closed statist economy into an increasingly open market economy ‒ while re-asserting central state hegemony over political decision making. Even though this might at first appear paradoxical, both decisions were in reality inter-linked, as the rulers clearly regarded the achievement of the latter as a key requirement for the success of the former. The reassertion of state power was done in two steps: The first consisted of quelling the Islamist opposition whereas the second entailed muzzling the secular opposition. The time seemed ripe: From 1989 on, Nahda had been on a collision course with the regime. Its self-confidence had been bolstered by its own electoral success, as well as by broader regional trends, such as the landslide victory of the Islamic Salvation Front in the Algerian local elections of June 1990. At the same time, its very existence was being undermined by the regime's standoffish attitude, and especially by the in-depth reform of the education system launched in July 1989 under the supervision of Mohamed Charfi (whose nomination as minister of education and research was perceived as a ‘declaration of war’ by Nahda). Thus, the ensuing two years 110

were over-shadowed by daily clashes between Nahda activists and state organs, which, however, stopped short of erupting into open warfare. Each camp appeared to be counting its troops, waiting for the other side to make the first move. The situation began to escalate in the summer of 1990 when both sides 88 chose the highly charged atmosphere of the Kuwait crisis to ‘slog it out’. The Islamists wanted to ride the anti-Western (and anti-establishment) feelings shared by many (if not most) Arab citizens, while the regime sensed that it enjoyed complete impunity among Western states at that particular junction. The ‘storm’ broke loose in the spring of 1991 when an Islamist attack on an RCD bureau in Bab Souika (which resulted in the killing of two guards) provided the pretext which the Benalist regime needed to rid itself of its only serious rival. Bab Souika thus ended three years of relatively peaceful, albeit increasingly awkward co-existence between two politico-ideological alternatives. “D’abord était le ‘oui, mais’, au lendemain du 7 Novembre 1987. Puis le ‘non, mais’ lié au refus de la législation. Depuis deux mois, c’est le ‘non’ tout court (…). Du premier complot de l’été 1987 (…) à celui du printemps 1991, la boucle est bouclée…” (Ziyad Limam: “Les islam89 istes en enfer”. JA 1592, 03/07/91, p.22-27). The discovery in May 1991 of an Islamist ‘conspiracy’ to prepare an armed uprising unleashed the first wave of state repression. The police systematically rounded up Nahda supporters and arrested about 300 persons in the following weeks, among them 100 members of the armed forces. The unveiling in September 1991 of another ‘conspiracy’ to murder Ben Ali trig gered the second wave. By the end of the year, thousands of people had been arrested (30.000, according to Nahda; 8.000, according to AI; 3.000, according to the LTDH) and about 100 were killed in the course of events. In the summer of 1992, over 300 suspects, representing practically the entire Nahda leadership, were convicted to long prison sentences (but nobody re88 For the impact of the Gulf War cf. François Soudan: “L’Union de la rue”. JA 1570, 30/01/91, p.30-35; Samir Gharbi: “Trois chefs d’Etat face à la guerre”. JA 1571, 06/02/91, p.38-41; for the crucial role of the ‘Algerian factor’ cf. Benjamin Stora: “Huit clés pour comprendre”. JA 1539, 27/07/90, p. 17-21; François Soudan: “Etat d’alerte”, p. 21-24. 89 Rachid Ghannouchi who had left his country in May 1989 for a tour through the Middle East, refused to return home given the turn of events. His ensuing odyssey led him first to Cairo and Algiers, and from there to Paris and London (where he has been living ever since). His successors at the head of Nahda were Sadok Chourou (since May 1989) and Habib Ellouze (since March 1991). The two years that lay between the 1989 elections and the 1991 Gulf War witnessed a consecutive strengthening of Nahda’s ‘radical’ currents (represented by H. Jbali, S. Karkar, A. Laaridh, and Z. Doulatli) over its moderate elements (represented by A. Mourou, N. B’Hiri, F. Beldi, and B. Demni). 111

90

ceived capital punishment). After two years of massive police raids, the Islamist opposition had effectively ceased to exist as an organized force on the ground and, in September 1992, the minister of the interior officially announced the ‘dismantling of Nadha’. The fact that the large majority of secular opponents had simply remained silent (or even applauded the regime) did not spare them the lot of Nahda. Henceforth they were the next in line, and Ben Ali’s first target was the LTDH. A new law was passed in March 1992 that outlawed the cumulation of positions in political parties and ‘general organizations’. It also denied associations the right to reject the candidacy of citizens wishing to enter (which would allow RCD members to flood unwanted organizations), unless the person in question had been stripped of his or her ‘political and civic rights’ (which was the case with many LTDH activists). This new law had two clear aims: not only to sever the numerous links between MDS and LTDH, but also to deny the remaining Islamist activists possible fallback positions in civil society organizations. When the League refused to comply with this law, it was declared illegal and dissolved by the interior ministry in June 1992. (The ban was lifted in September 1992, but only for the pur91 pose of allowing the League to prepare its elections.) At the same time, it was obvious that the new rulers were eager to combine repressive measures with integrative offers. On the one hand, they tried to win over ‘constructive’ members of the political opposition by offering them a place in the system. On the other hand, they aimed to seize those topics of their adversaries that struck a chord with many people. In fact, the attack against Nahda not only targeted its ‘body’ but its ‘soul’ too. The indepth reform of the education system, launched in the summer of 1989 un der the responsibility of Mohamed Charfi, was attributed a key role in this regard. It not only entailed a systematic cleansing of text books from Islamist references, but also an equally systematic promotion of a secularist and modernist understanding of one's cultural and religious heritage. With the help of this reform, the regime intended the pull the rug from underneath the feet of Nahda; it was hoped to destroy the normative and cognitive structures in society that were responsible for the organizational and mobi-

90 Spared were only those who had left Nahda in time (like Abdelfattah Mourou and Noureddine B'Hiri), or who had fled the country by then (like Rachid Ghannouchi, Habib Mokni, Salah Karkar, and Mohamed Chammam). 91 At the same time, the regime turned against Western civil society: all resident representatives of human rights organizations (like AI, FIDH, and RSF) as well as the correspondents of ‘critical’ newspapers (Le Monde, Liberátion, and Guardian) were declared ‘personae non gratae’ and expelled. 112

lizational capacities of Islamism (cf. Al-Ahnaf 1988, Beji 1997, Bousnina 1997 and Rogers 2009 for further reading in this regard). At the same time, the regime visibly sought to make women’s and human rights key parts of its discourse and ideology. A large number of new institutions were created to this end. The Secretariat of State for Islamic Affairs was given the status of ministry in early 1992, a Presidential Prize for Islamic Studies was created in May 1992, and a campaign for the Arabization of public signs was launched in May 1995. The post of a presidential adviser for human rights was created in 1990, a Supreme Council for Human Rights and Fundamental Liberties was set up in April 1991, and a Presidential Medal for Human Rights was put forward in December 1992. A Secretariat of State for Women and Families was established in August 1993, the Centre de Recherches, de Documentation et d'Information sur la Femme (CREDIF) was created in December 1992, and a whole raft of new laws in favor of women were passed in the course of 1993 (cf. also Faath 1992 and Waltz 1997 for further reading on these issues). Having previously welcomed former opponents on an individual basis, the same offer was now also made on a collective level. Cooperative ‘opposition parties’ would be attributed a guaranteed position within a state-con92 trolled multi-party system. The new voting system launched in summer 1994 was a key component of this new approach. Already in May 1993, the regime had announced to reserve a certain percentage of the seats available in the national assembly for the legal opposition, provided they were ready to unconditionally endorse the main tenets of official ideology as outlined in the National Pact. In December 1993, a law amending the electoral code was adopted which maintained majority voting as the general rule, but introduced proportional representation for about 14 percent of available seats, i.e. 19 out of a total of 144 (see Denoeux & Gateau 1994 and Biegel 1995 for fur93 ther reading). Reactions were as expected: Both the MDS and the PCT (which would rename itself Hizb at-Tajdîd, or Renewal Party, shortly afterwards) announced at their 1993 congresses that they would abandon their ‘confrontational’ stances and participate in the coming elections (for interviews with their 94 leaders, Moadda and Harmel, see AAN 1992 and 1993). Once again, the 92 In this context, Minister of Justice, Sadok Chaabane, declared in late 1993: “We want to open the door to recognized parties that share the same model of society and the same principles as we do” (Quoted in Christian Science Monitor, 9 November 1993). 93 At the same time, Ben Ali offered opposition parties financial assistance in shouldering campaign costs, half of which were due before the beginning of campaigning. 94 Many of those who criticized these decisions were pushed to the sidelines or expelled from their parties. Any sign of non-conformity was immediately met with re113

1994 electoral ‘contest’ did not provide any real surprises: From among the votes cast for the national assembly, the candidates of the RCD won 97.73 percent, while the combined share of the ‘opposition parties’ did not exceed 2.27 percent. Unsurprisingly, no more independents were admitted to the 95 polls. Despite expectations to the contrary, the gift of the regime was not renewed in the local elections the following year: From among the 4010 seats available in the local councils, 4004 went to the RCD, and only 6 to the 96 ‘opposition’. This change in the regime strategy had also the effect of accelerating the process of elite renewal. The first step was a major cabinet shuffle after the April 1989 elections which substantially strengthened younger elements, especially in the technical portfolios. It also spawned the emergence of two ‘super-ministers’ whose appointments were viewed as indicative of Ben Ali’s political intentions. Mohamed Ghannouchi, minister of planning and a major exponent of the ‘reform camp’, was now also given control of the ministry of finance. Mohamed Charfi, a former LTDH chairman and ‘secularist hardliner’, was appointed minister of education and research. There was no mistaking about their missions: the former would be tasked with gearing up the implementation of structural adjustment, while the latter would be in charge of purging the schools of Islamist influences. This meant that two political currents would now co-exist in the same government: a ‘liberal camp’ (‘le parti de l'ouverture’) around Mohamed Ghannouchi, Mohamed Charfi, Moncer Rouissi, Dali Jazy, Habib Boularès, and Hammouda Ben Slama; and a ‘hard-line faction’ (‘le parti de la fermeture’) around Abdelamid Escheikh, minister of foreign affairs, and Abdallah Kallel, the presi97 dent’s security adviser. pression: When LTDH chairman Moncef Marzouki announced in summer 1994 that he would run against Ben Ali in the upcoming elections, he was immediately forced to stand down from his post and ultimately ‘chose’ to leave the country. When Mohamed Moadda (who had apparently changed his mind yet again) denounced in fall 1995 “the gap between official discourse and actual practices”, the “quadrillage systématique” of society and the “obsession sécuritaire” of the regime, he was arrested the same day and sentenced to 11 years imprisonment. His lawyer and MDS vicechairman, Khemais Chamari, who came to his defence was arrested a few months later and sentenced to 5 years (both were released on probation in late 1996). 95 The profile of most newly elected deputiesin the national assembly was in line with official recruitment policy: Among the 123 RCD deputies, 92 were total newcomers, and 100 were between 40-50 years old. 96 Local deputies had a comparable profile as their national ‘colleagues’: 76 percent were newcomers, 16.4 percent women, and 50 percent aged between 40-50 years. 97 In September 1989, Hedi Baccouche was replaced by Hamed Karoui as prime minister, because he was seen by many as a figurehead of the ‘old guard’ and an obstacle to economic change (cf. Souhyr Belhassen: “Pourquoi Ben Ali a changé de premier 114

A second major government shuffle in March 1990 confirmed this dualist approach. On the one hand, the liberal governor of the central bank, Ismail Khelil, was appointed minister of foreign affairs. This seemed to point to an acceleration of liberalization. On the other hand, the two exponents of the hard-line faction, Escheikh and Kallel, were appointed ministers of the interior and of defense respectively. This was regarded as heralding a ‘no-non98 sense approach’ to the ‘Islamic question’. The ministry of the economy was fused with finance, and both were placed in the hands of Mohamed Ghannouchi ‒ which indicated a stronger future role of these issues. The planning ministry was fused with regional development and placed in the hands of Mustapha Ennabli ‒ which portended a stronger resolve in tackling regional inequalities. A ministry for state domains was created and placed in the hands of Mustapha Bouaziz ‒ seen as an attempt to accelerate privatization. “Le sens précis du remaniement est donc dans une ouverture pro-occidentale à l'extérieur et dans une reprise en main à l'intérieur” (Zakya Daoud: “Chronique Tunisienne”. AAN 1990: 780). Generally speaking, the main focus of the regime policies was now clearly on economic (rather than political) reforms, which seemed to indicate that Ben Ali planned to channel reformist energies into economic renewal. This could be gleaned from the fact that regime representatives increasingly hinted in this direction. Re-establishing a high level of state control over the political process was thus indirectly depicted as a necessary precondition for overcoming societal resistance to structural adjustment. This ingenuous formula allowed Ben Ali to achieve what might otherwise have appeared as the ‘squaring of the circle’: to facilitate the cohabitation of ‘liberalizers’ and ‘éradicateurs’, of partisans of a strong state and partisans of a lean state, in one and the same government. At the same time, the regime continued its drive toward broadening its social base. On the occasion of the party congress of July 1993 (Congrès de la Persévérance), party members were given a larger say in internal elections (which was to a certain extent a follow-up to the controlled opening of intra-party elections begun in 1981). For the first time since the establishment of the Republic, they were allowed to elect most of the delegates to the congress as well as two thirds of the central committee (in contrast to only about one third five years before). As a consequence, the congress led to a substantial renewal of the ‘party parliament’ (with a ‘taux de renouvellement’ of 61 percent). It must be noted, however, that this opening did not ministre”. JA 1501, 09/09/89, p. 28-30; idem: “Hamed Karoui, ou le bonheur de servir”. JA 1506, 13/11/89, p. 47-51). 98 When the crackdown on Nahda began, Abdallah Kallel assumed control of the interior ministry, while Ali Seriaty was placed at the head of the national security. 115

extend to the RCD politburo, whose members continued to be appointed by 99 the president. At the same time, another aspect of elite change under Ben Ali in general, and of the clampdown on Nahda in particular, began to make itself felt. This concerned the emergence of the security forces as a political actor of its own right, and more specifically the appointment of their leading representatives into politically relevant positions on many levels. As an informed observer already pointed out at that time: “L'armée et les forces de sécurité, de plus en plus présentes dans les rouages de l'Etat, n'apparaissent pas encore mises sur le devant de la scène électorale, mais leurs responsables sont gouverneurs, ambassadeurs, membres des cabinets ministériels, directeurs d'entreprises” (Zakya Daoud: “Tunisie ‒ Chronique Intérieure”. AAN 1994: 719). After eight years of Ben Ali’s ‘New Era’, the state of affairs was clear: the new rulers had successfully managed to consolidate their position, and to neutralize their adversaries. There were no more autonomous power centers or serious counter-weights to them, either within the regime or in society at large. The former anti-Bourguibist opposition had effectively ceased to be a major political factor, and the regime totally controlled public discourse. As another analyst noted around the same time: “La vie politique nationale semble aseptisée. Les acteurs y prenant part s'avèrent incapables d'influer sur les orientations stratégiques du pouvoir et de trouver un espace pour revendiquer les leurs. Le champ politique est désamorcée” (Franck Moroy: “Tunisie ‒ Chronique Intérieure”. AAN 1996: 675).

ACCELERATION OF ECONOMIC REFORMS Between the mid-1980s and early 1990s, the opening of the economy had progressed, albeit only gradually and unevenly. No real breakthrough was made with regard to the disengagement of the state. It remained the prime ‘mover and shaker’, controlling the country’s strategic sectors and vital assets. Limited progress was also made with regard to the diversification of the economy. It remained dependent on a few very narrow-based and low value-added export commodities, confined to highly contested and volatile markets. However, it was increasingly becoming clear to almost everybody that this policy had outlived its time. There was thus an increasing consensus among policy makers on two points: first, that a simple continuation of their former development strategy ‒ combining state-led industrialization 99 The winners were basically the same as those of 1988: 48 percent of new central committee members were younger than 45 years, 83 percent had gone to university, and the number of women had more than doubled (rising from 10 to 21). 116

and official development transfers ‒ would no longer be sufficient to produce growth rates to commensurate with demographic pressures; and second, that a significant increase of private investment, both domestic and foreign, was needed to ensure job creation rates high enough for satisfying additional demand. The direct consequence was a thorough redefinition of the roles that private operators and public authorities were supposed to fulfill. Henceforth, the private sector was supposed to provide the necessary financial resources as well as the required technical know-how to modernize the country’s outdated economic structures, and integrate them into globalized value chains. Private investors were also called upon to develop (more) innovative and competitive products to be able to absorb the country’s current or incoming labor force. The result was a considerable acceleration of the economic liberalization that had already been underway for a couple of years. The first phase of structural adjustment had mainly been about containing the immediate effects of the economic crisis and re-establishing a sufficient degree of macro-economic stability. The second phase, however, would primarily aim to more vigorously open the country’s internal market to the outside world, and to more systematically boost the international integration of its manu100 facturing sector. This again necessitated a radical overhaul of the institutional framework of the Tunisian state. In June 1992, a new Ministry of International Cooperation and Foreign Investment was created, which would be headed by Mohamed Ghannouchi. In January 1995, a new Foreign Investment Promotion Agency (FIPA) was set up, in order to support the work of the ministry. In August 1992, a new law on off-shore free-trade zones was passed, which of fered prospective exporting companies very attractive fiscal bonuses (like multi-annual tax breaks) and quite substantial public support (like a statesponsored infrastructure). In January 1994, a new investment code entered into force, which entailed a considerable simplification of administrative procedures for private investors, and completely exempted export businesses from corporate taxes over ten years (the texts of both laws can be found in AAN 1992 & 1993). Finally, in January 1993, the Tunisian dinar was made convertible for current account transfers, allowing foreign businesses to freely move their money around, and skip the burdensome passage via the central bank. 100 The 8th Plan (1992-96) was supposed to provide the overall framework for this new policy. Its main goals were the modernization of productive structures, the diversification of external markets, and the development of new markets. Its main targets were to achieve growth rates of 6 percent, lower inflation rates under 5 percent, and create 320.000 new jobs. 117

The most important move followed the same year when Ben Ali announced an imminent acceleration of the privatization process which had been stalled for several years (in spite of the fact that a decision to open ‘sensitive sectors’ to private capital had already been taken in 1991). This was indeed a major change in the privatization program: before, mainly loss-making and/ or small-scale enterprises were divested; now, profit-making and/or laborintensive companies would also be included. Henceforth, all SOEs were in principle ‘eligible’ for divestment, with the sole exception of certain ‘strategic sectors’ and ‘natural monopolies’ (e.g. energy and transport). Moreover, in order to speed up the implementation of this decision, overall responsibility for managing the divestment process was transferred from the Prime Ministry's DirectorateGeneral for Public Enterprises to the ministry of planning. This move proved crucial as it brought responsibility for the entire privatization cycle under the jurisdiction of a single government body (see Belev 2000 for further reading). At the same time, the political authorities were anxious to adopt a proactive social policy that would allow them to alleviate the impact which their reforms were bound to have on many citizens. This included both modernizing and extending the higher education and professional training systems, and maintaining or extending basic public services and related support schemes. Two special new funds were specifically set up in this regard (both under the immediate responsibility of Ben Ali): the National Solidarity Fund (FNS), launched in 1994 to finance basic physical and social infrastructure in particularly disadvantaged or underdeveloped areas (according to public figures, about 80.000 families or over half a million people were still living on less than TD 250 per year); and the National Employment Fund (FNE), set up in 1996 to support training and micro credit schemes for young jobless people (according to most estimates, unemployment was still hovering at about 15-25 percent of the Tunisian workforce, and about twice that among the young). However, many analysts pointed out that a considerable déphasage continued to exist between theory and reality, between lofty government discourses and actual political practices. This could be gleaned from the stalled liberalization of some crucial sectors and particularly from the still prevalent ‘foot-dragging’ over public sector reform. Worse, statistical data showed that Tunisia was becoming less and less attractive to foreign investors, and its enterprises less and less competitive vis-à-vis other countries. This in turn became visible from the tangible decreases of FDI inflows and export earnings toward the mid-1990s. Annette Krauss (2000) would thus later conclude in her in-depth survey of Tunisia’s foreign trade policy that in contrast to public discourse, there was no consistent liberalization of external 118

commerce leading to a corresponding restructuring of the national economy prior to 1995.

RE-INSERTION INTO THE WORLD MARKET As noted before, the external backdrop against which Tunisian politics were played out was going through some fundamental changes in the first half of the 1990s. As a consequence of developments like the GATT talks and EU enlargement, Tunisians had to face a constant erosion of their international bargaining position. There was now a widely-shared consensus among Tunisian policy makers that Arab neighboring countries did not have the necessary potential to offer serious growth prospects for the Tunisian export industry and act as a viable alternative to Western markets. It was thus held that a closer linkage to the EU offered the best cost-benefit ratios when it came to ensuring safe access to vital factor markets and satisfying Tunisian needs for resource inflows. Whereas the years before had mainly been about turning the UMA into a ‘EU-bis’, the new phase would now focus on creating an institutional framework that would allow for the mobilization of foreign inward transfers, and facilitate the re-insertion of Tunisian companies into global markets. The logical conclusion was thus to shift geopolitical priorities from an Arab-Maghreb toward a Euro-Mediterranean level. In 1990/91, Tunisians started a diplomatic offensive vis-à-vis the EU which coincided with similar initiatives from Southern Europe (see Khader 1994, Zartman 1993, Habeeb 1993; Ayubi 1995, Schumacher 1998, Zippel 1999, and White 2001 for further reading). The former were keen on striking a deal with their northern neighbors that would allow them to maintain their privileged relations with the European Community, while obtaining the badly needed financial and technical support to modernize their outdated industrial and infrastructural facilities. The latter, on the contrary, were eager to intensify relations with their southern neighbors in order to promote cooperation in the Mediterranean, and counter-balance the strengthening of trans-alpine Europe. Following the breakthrough in the IsraeliPalestinian peace talks at the Madrid and Oslo Conferences, the EuroMaghreb Partnership, adopted at the European Council of Lisbon in 1992, was upgraded into a Euro-Mediterranean Partnership at the European Council of Essen in 1994. The year 1995 marked a turning point in Tunisia's recent history. In January, it joined the World Trade Organization (WTO), thereby irrevocably endorsing the principles of a liberal open-market policy based on a multilateral free-trade order. In October, it co-founded, alongside the 15 EU member states and 11 Mediterranean third countries, the Euro-Mediterranean 119

Partnership (EMP) at the Barcelona conference (hence its second name ‘Barcelona Process’). The EMP aimed to build up a comprehensive trans-Mediterranean partnership in three fields: in the field of politics and security; in the field of economics and finance; and in the field of social and cultural affairs. Most importantly, it decided to establish a huge Euro-Mediterranean free-trade zone (EMFTZ) by the year 2010. In July, Tunisia had already sig ned a Euro-Mediterranean Association Agreement (EMAA) which spelled out in detail how to put this into practice. This was the first of its kind to be concluded, ratified, and enacted by a country south of the Mediterranean. The signature of these documents represented a political watershed; they formalized the country's transition process toward an outward-oriented market economy. C)

THE THIRD PHASE, 1996-2009: AUTHORITARIAN RECONFIGURATION

ASSOCIATION WITH EUROPE: A TURNING POINT IN TUNISIAN POLITICS The signing of an EMAA which is the main building block of the EMP and the legal basis of the EMFTZ represented a ‘point of no return’ for the regime in Tunis (see Barbe 1996, Khader 1997 & 2000, Sid Ahmed 1998, Joffé 1999, and Zippel 1999 for further reading). EMAAs are comprehensive ‘third-generation’ agreements that cover all aspects of mutual relations and penetrate deeply into the internal affairs of the contracting parties. As such, they contain detailed provisions of how political cooperation in general, and market opening in particular, will develop. Four features distinguish EMAAs from earlier accords; they represent (1) mutually agreed, detailed and mandatory roadmaps regulating (2) most politically and economically relevant questions, entailing (3) substantial and measurable commitments of both sides, and offering (4) concrete and immediate incentives of various kinds (further info: http://ec.europa.eu/comm/external_relations/med_ mideast/intro/index.htm). This means that EMAAs follow both a differential and asymmetrical approach: On the one hand, trade liberalization is obligatory for manufactured goods, with its applicability varying between different categories. All tariffs, and provisions having an equivalent effect, have to be phased out over a 12year period, beginning with the entry into force of the agreement. European industrial exports have to be totally exonerated from customs duties by the year 2010 at the very latest. At the same time, trade liberalization is tentative for agriculture, services and public procurement, with negotiations beginning five years after the ratification of the accord. Any opening of these sectors will be based on the principle of reciprocity, departing from the status quo before 120

The Reduction of Tariffs under the EMAA Category of Products investment goods with no local equivalent primary goods and not locally produced consumer goods some locally produced consumer goods other locally produced consumer goods ‘sensitive goods’ (gold, tapestry, artifacts)

Share of Imports 12,0%

Agenda for Liberalization immediately applicable

28,0%

over 5 years (1/5 per year)

30,0%

over 12 years (1/12 per year)

29,5%

over 12 years (1/8 per year after a 4 year grace period) no removal of tariffs

0,5%

the signature of the EMAA, and taking into account developments within the WTO. The long-time stalled and ultimately failed negotiations on a new and comprehensive WTO agreement have, however, also impaired the envisaged progress on the latter aspects. At the same time, an EMAA creates the necessary institutional framework for a structured political dialogue between the contracting parties: Thus, on the one hand, it sets up a number of institutions that are responsible for overseeing the implementation of the accord, and for adopting guidelines for future cooperation. On the other hand, it also spells out a number of political principles whose acceptance and obedience are said to constitute a conditio sine qua non for the validity of the accord, and for cooperation between both sides. Art. 2 of any EMAA states that “relations between the Parties, as well as all the provisions of the agreement itself, shall be based on the respect for human rights and the democratic principles which guide their domestic and international policies and constitute an essential element of the Agreement”. For a country like Tunisia, its association with Europe entails both sizeable opportunities and momentous challenges (see Naboultane 1995, Tovias 1997, Chourou 1998, Mahjoub & Zaafrane 1999, Ghesquiere 1998, Krauss 1998, Cassarino 1999 as well as Réalités 1998-2005 for further reading). On the one hand, it threatens to expose Tunisian society to enormous economic pressures, which might have the potential to endanger large parts of the industrial fabric, destroy a significant percentage of national income, and lead to pro found disruptions on a social level. On the other hand, it promises to give it comparative advantages over regional competitors, which might allow it to achieve growth rates higher than in the past, absorb its excess workforce

121

(80.000 new entrants on the labor market projected for each year to come), 101 and compensate for the expected mass layoffs in the manufacturing sector. In principle, Tunisia stood to gain from the association: It was likely to benefit from an enhanced attractiveness on an international level; first, because the institutional guarantees contained in the association accord made the market opening irreversible and enhanced the legal security of private operators; and second, because the asymmetrical tariff dismantling decrea sed factor costs and offered extra benefits for private investors. At the same time, Tunisia could expect to benefit from the numerous support mechanisms of the European Union, be it technical assistance (mainly provided via the MEDA Program), or financial assistance (mainly channeled via the European Investment Bank). All of this was supposed to enable Tunisians to prepare for direct competition with foreign companies; by giving businessmen and state officials the time (and the money) to fall in line with international norms and standards. The question, however, remained: was it enough time and enough money to be successful?

PLURALIZATION WITHOUT COMPETITION The launch of the Euro-Tunisian association process ushered in the third phase in the New Regime’s political life. This was mostly about managing all 102 those changes which resulted from the implementation of the EMP. The purpose of the regime was clear. Its first aim was to develop a politically sustainable formula allowing it to integrate emerging social forces within the existing institutional setting, but without jeopardizing the overall parameters of the political system. Its second goal was to establish an economically viable order capable of securing the necessary economic growth, but without destroying the patronage resources of the party-state. The next moves reflected this ambiguous intent. They involved the introduction of 101 Feasibility studies commissioned by the Tunisian authorities distinguished between three kinds of local enterprises: one third was already fit for the world market and would not need further help; another third would stand a real chance to face up to international competition if given enough time and support; and a last third would have no chance to cope with freed trade, no matter what happened. It must be noted that the Tunisian economy still enjoyed a high level of effective protection by that time, despite the nominal opening of foreign trade. The standard customs rate was still 43 percent in 1995, and quantitative restrictions on many products remained in force. 102 Cf. also the two dossiers published on the occasion of the 10th anniversary of Ben Ali’s coup: “Les années Ben Ali: ce qui a changé, que qui va changer”. JA 1933, 05/11/97, p.99-146; “Tunisie: dix ans déjà”. Ed. by Michel Camau & Vincent Geisser. Maghreb-Machrek Vol. 157, July 1997. 122

some minor reforms which would allow the regime authorities to live up to their contractually incurred obligations vis-à-vis third parties, and fend off criticism from abroad. However, they did not entail the slightest indication of a real change in the overall distribution of political power, or of an immi103 nent ending of the state’s monopolistic control over decision making. After the first tentative attempts at pluralist elections, the regime decided to extend this strategy in the ‘contests’ of 1999 and 2000. In his annual speech of 7 November 1997, Ben Ali aired his intention to give legal opposition parties a somewhat broader share of available parliamentary seats. Henceforth, 20 percent would be distributed according to proportional representation (i.e. 34 out of 182 in the case of the national assembly, and 243 out of 4144 in the case of local assemblies), while the remaining 80 percent would continue to be allocated according to the majority principle (and would thus be a sure catch of the ruling party). At the same time, a presidential decree allowed candidates other than the incumbent to participate in elections for the presidency. This represented a real first in Tunisian history, but came with three qualifying safety clauses: admitted were only candidates whose party was already represented in the national assembly, who had been its chairman for the past five years, and who were not older than 70 years. Only two politicians other than Ben Ali met these criteria: Mohamed Belhaj Amor, the leader of the PUP, and Abderrahmane Tlili, the leader of the UDU. Once again, the electoral outcome did not produce the slightest surprise (for further reading see Denoeux 1999 and Geisser 1999). In the first ‘plural ist’ presidential election in Tunisian history, Ben Ali obtained a crushing 99.44 percent, while his two ‘contenders’, Amor and Tlili, received a mere 0.31 percent and 0.23 percent respectively. As expected, the RCD won all 148 seats available in the national assembly (with 91.59 percent of the votes cast), and 4144 seats in the country’s 257 local councils (with about three quarters of all slates). In his ‘National Address’ of 15 November 1999, Ben Ali spelled out the main goals that would guide his third term: creating jobs and fighting unemployment (‘the priority of priorities’), promoting investment, upgrading infrastructure, allowing for more political participation, enhancing press freedom, improving human rights, strengthening judicial in103 On 7 November 1996, Ben Ali announced to abolish the death penalty; introduce proportional representation in local elections; reform the funding of parties; and provide for more opportunities to hold public referenda. In October 1997, he scrapped the Sécretariat d’Etat à l’Information, as a prelude of the impending reform of the press code. In August 1999, he announced to create a National Observatory charged with monitoring future elections, and one month later, he appointed the president of the Supreme Council for Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms as its director. 123

dependence, and modernizing public education. In the years ahead, this ‘future program’ would become the obligatory reference point for any government action. At the same time, Ben Ali intensified the rejuvenation of the regime elites. In two sweeping cabinet shuffles of November 1999 and January 2001, he systematically replaced the last remnants of the ‘Elite Bourguiba’ with a new team of young technocrats (cf. Tahar Ayachi: “La portée d'un remaniement”. La Presse, 18/11/99, p. 1; “A Cabinet of Technocrats”. Al-Hayât, 25/01/01, p. 6). The first shuffle included the replacement of Prime Minister Hamed Karoui with Mohamed Ghannouchi, while the second shuffle involved the replacement of the RCD's Secretary-General Abderrahime Zouari 104 with ECOSOC Council chairman Ali Chaouch. The outcome of elections at the party congress of July 2003 (Congrès de l'Ambition) confirmed the overall thrust of this recruitment policy: more young people (with a 75 percent turnover rate at central committee level alone); more university graduates (over 90 percent of central committee members); and more women. The number of female deputies in the ‘party parliament’ rose from 11 in 1989, 105 via 22 in 1993 and 48 in 1999 to 66 in 2003. After 2000, the monolithic facade of the ‘System Ben Ali’ began to show a number of cracks (see Ben M'Barek 2000/01 and Lamloum & Ravenel 2002 for more details). Ominously, the beginning of these difficulties coincided with the death of Bourguiba who passed away at the age of 97 years in April 2000. Troubles began with bloody clashes during a football match in June 1999 between supporters of Espérance Tunis, the football club of Ben Ali’s brother-in-law Slim Chiboub, and Etoile Béja, from a small town in the North West. Then came public riots in the southern provinces in spring 2000 where protesters smashed public buildings and shouted anti-regime slogans. Finally, a hunger strike staged by the journalist Taoufik Ben Brik in April 2000 received extensive coverage by foreign media, and put the regime on the defensive. In the course of the following months, the signs of discontent multiplied. When the Tunisian lawyers’ association and the human rights 104 The new government included 19 new faces, 17 of whom had never served as a minister before. The number of junior ministers more than doubled, rising from 11 to 24. Four politicians who had come to be seen as potential ‘heirs-apparent’ of Ben Ali and as ‘grey eminencies’ the New Regime, were evinced: Abdallah Kallal, Mohamed Jegham, Chedli Neffati, and Abderrahime Zouari. 105 This was accompanied by a further, albeit quite limited, and rather cosmetic, broadening of participatory opportunities within the ruling party. Thus, it was announced that on the occasion of the local elections in summer 2005, two thirds of RCD candidates would be designated by the party basis, and that 25 percent of the available seats would be reserved for women (in accordance with the formula applied to the elections for the central committee and the party congress). 124

league elected their new leaderships in 2000, (pro-) RCD candidates suffered spectacular defeats; worse, both the new LTDH chairman, Mokhtar Trifi, and the new batônier, Bechir Essid, were well-known critics of the Benalist Regime. Moreover, it became increasingly clear that the protest was about to go beyond the small circles of political dissidents and reach the liberal fringes of the Tunisian bourgeoisie. This could be inferred from the illustrious signatories (several hundred well-known academics) of two open letters to Ben Ali, published in 2001, that called upon the regime to ‘fundamentally re think’ its policies. These were followed by a joint declaration signed by Mohamed Moadda and Rachid Ghannouchi that urged all political forces to form a ‘common front’ in order to prevent a possible re-election of Ben Ali. Even members of the judiciary fell in. In July 2001, a judge from the Tunis court of first instance, Mokhtar Yahyoui, sent an open letter to Ben Ali, de nouncing the ‘infeodation’ of the judiciary by the pouvoir. When he refused to repent, he was dismissed from his functions and later expelled from the magistrate. Around the same time, a growing number of new civil society organizations began to see the light of the day. The National Council for Liberty in Tunisia (CNLT) was founded in 1998 by a group of dissidents around Moncef Marzouki, Mustapha Ben Jaafar, and Sihem Ben Sedrine. The Congress for the Republic (CPR) was started in 2001 by Moncef Marzouki. The Rally for an Alternative International Development (RAID) was launched in 1999 by a group of universitaires. A new Tunisian Center for Judicial Independence (CTIJ) was set up in 2002 by the same Mokhtar Yahyaoui. And finally, four opposition parties ‒ Ahmed Nejib Chebbi’s PDP (ex-RSP), Mustapha Ben Jaafar’s FTDL, Moncef Marzouki’s CPR, MDS dissidents around Mohamed Moadda plus a certain number of former Nahda members ‒ decided to form a common platform, the ‘Democratic Alliance’, in late 2001. Most discomforting from the regime’s point of view were developments within the UGTT. In late 2000, its secretary-general Ismail Sahbani, a longtime ally of Ben Ali, was suddenly arrested for an alleged embezzlement of public funds. Encouraged by what was perceived as infighting within the regime, the long-silent ‘radical’ currents within the labor organization resurfaced, in the midst of calls for the convening of an extraordinary congress, and the election of a new board. After almost a year of maneuvering to ward off these demands, the UGTT’s interim leadership around Abdess lam Jrad finally gave in to these pressures. What followed was unanimously qualified as the first really open election ever to be held by an official Tunisian organization since national independence. As a result of these elections, dissident candidates managed to garner almost one third of leadership 125

positions. This meant that “pour la première fois qu’il s’est emparé des rênes de l’Etat (…) le président Ben Ali est, en effet, confronté au spectre d’un réveil du mouvement ouvrier” (“Tunisie: réveil du mouvement syndical”. Nord-Sud Export 456, 10/01/03). Ben Ali responded with his usual strategy. On the one hand, gestures were made to re-assure the critics of the regime. In early 2001, Slaheddine Maaoui, a prominent representative of the RCD’s liberal wing, was appointed minister of information, human rights and parliamentary relations. In an interview with Le Monde, he denounced the ‘violations’ of human rights in Tunisia, admitted that the ‘screening’ of the Internet exists, and promised to work for a liberalization of the press code. In fall 2002, the Democratic Forum for Work and Liberty (FDTL), founded in 1994 by dissidents from the MDS and the LTDH, was legalized. This was the first time in 15 years that a genuine opposition party received the official go-ahead. At the same time, however, the regime geared up the intensity of repression. Even members of legal opposition parties and civil society groups were now harassed or mistreated in broad daylight, and in full impunity, by policemen. “C'est la mise en place d'une politique d'intimidation physique à l'encontre des activistes politiques qui rappelle les méthodes ‘musclées’ des milices du Parti socialiste destourien à la fin des années soixante-dix” (Ben M'Barek: “Tunisie ‒ Chronique Politique”. AAN 2000/01: 415). The aggravation of the domestic situation correlated with a deterioration of Tunisia’s international environment. Its tourism industry was severely hurt by the worldwide series of terror attacks at the beginning of the new millennium; most painful of these was the attack against a tourist group on Djerba in April 2002 (see Faath 2003, Jünemann 2004, and Perthes 2004b for further reading). Other factors that adversely impacted on the country were the general slump of the global economy, rather moderate growth rates in 106 most European countries, and several bad harvests in Tunisia itself. Most importantly, the suicide attacks of 11 September and the ensuing ‘war against terror’ greatly facilitated the neutralization of the protest movement and the ‘reconduction’ of public order. On 26 September (i.e. barely two weeks after the attacks), the RCD’s Central Committee called upon Ben Ali to stand again for re-election ‒ even if this required the constitution to be 107 amended. In the following months, the regime’s propaganda machine 106 The sectors most affected by this were agriculture, agro-industry, tourism, handicrafts. In 2002 alone, Tunisia counted 12 percent less visitors and 14 percent less revenues from tourism; the same year, exports decreased by 5 percent and imports by 1.5 percent. 107 The extraordinarily quick reaction and the perfectly orchestrated campaign that followed prove that the decision to re-install life-long rule had been a foregone conclu126

started firing on all cylinders to pave the way for a public referendum to be held in May 2002. Practically all of the country’s political forces joined this PR campaign, flooding the media with advertisements that praised Ben Ali 108 for his ‘accomplishments’, and exhorted him to present himself again. The outcome of the referendum which took place in May 2002 was hardly surprising (see Gobe 2002 and Ruf 2002 for further details). With the usual 99 percent of ‘yes’ votes, it abolished the constitutional restrictions which Ben Ali himself had introduced after his coup, and that would have prevented him from renewing his third term. Of the 38 amendments that were introduced to the constitution, some were particularly important. Art.15, which had previously only contained the obligation for citizens to defend their country, was now significantly broadened to include the protection of its ‘in-dependence, sovereignty, and integrity’ as well (meaning regime-defined patriotism was made a constitutional duty). A new Art.19 provided for the creation of a ‘Chamber of Councilors’, comprised of regional and professional representatives, but endowed with purely advisory and consultative tasks. Art.39, which previously limited the maximum number of presidential terms to three, was abolished. Art.40, which previously limited the maximum age for presidential candidates to 70, raised this age limit by five years. And a new Art.41 granted the incumbent president life109 long immunity for acts he had undertaken during his tenure. The message of the referendum was thus clear in that it formalized de facto, albeit not de iure, the ‘deconstruction’ of the succession issue, and the return to life-long rule. It also showed that Ben Ali now felt strong enough to formally revoke what he had himself introduced back in 1987 to adorn his seizure of power with a minimum of legality. This means that it will be possible for the ‘Artisan of the Change’ to stay in office until 2014, unless he also wishes to remove this threshold ‒ le moment venu ‒ with yet another 110 referendum. “Mieux (ou pis?), c'est selon, elle maintient le statu quo politique et conforte le régime dans ses certitudes unanimistes. il n'y aura donc pas, à proprement parler, un avant et un après-référendum, sauf peut-être sion, and ‘09/11’ only provided a propitious context to realize it. 108 Only two opposition parties (the PDP and HT), and a few civil society organizations (the LTDH, CNLT, AFTD, ATJA, UGET, CTIJ, and RAID) dared to call for a boycott of the referendum. All others supported the initiative of the regime. 109 Most observers pointed out that most polling stations had remained empty the whole day long, and that the actual turnout was more likely to be 30-50 percent (see also Ridha Kefi: “Y a-t-il une vie après le référendum?” JA 2161, 10/06/02, p. 50). 110 In an unusual fit of black humor (or was it a Freudian slip?), Hedi M'Henni, then minister of the interior, declared at a press conference: “Ce vote ne surprendra que ceux qui ne connaissent pas bien la Tunisie” (Quoted in Ridha Kefi: “Pourquoi le oui l'a emporté”. JA 2160, 03/06/02, p. 30). 127

pour le président en exercice, qui se voit ainsi investi de nouvelles responsa bilités (…). Elle prouve également que le régime n'est pas disposé à faire des concessions à ses opposants, renvoyant ainsi aux calendes grecques toute perspective d'alternance par les urnes” (Ridha Kefi: “Y a-t-il une vie après le référendum?” JA 2161, 10/06/02, p. 50). On the occasion of the party congress of July 2003, Ben Ali finally announced his candidacy in the upcoming election of October 2004: “On the basis of my loyalty to this proud people and respect to this beloved country and fidelity to the sacred mission for which the militants, the resistance fighters and the martyrs struggled, and in response to the wishes of all the sons and daughters of Tunisia from various strata, generations and regions, I can proudly tell you that I am always with you, fulfilling my commitment and answer you with great honor: Yes for being your candidate for the 2004 presidential elections” (BBC World Monitor, Middle East File, 29/07/03). Electoral results themselves were once again ‘surprise-free’. Boycotted by both the PDP and the FTDL, the RCD garnered 80 percent of the seats available (with 97.59 percent of votes cast), while the other five parties received the remaining 20 percent (with 12.41 percent of votes cast). Faced with three ‘challengers’ this time (Mohamed Bouchiha, of the PUP, Mounir Beji of the PSL, and Mohamed Ali Halouani of the HT), who were all basically unkown to most Tunisians, Ben Ali got the green light for another term, albeit this time with ‘only’ 94.49 percent of the votes. Thus, 11 September did indeed have a major impact on Tunisian politics. It facilitated and accelerated the confirmation of recent political trends, and the formalization of de facto existing structures, such as the return of the ‘pouvoir personnel’, and the re-establishment of a life-time presidency. The regime used the terror attacks for its own special purpose, very much the same way as it had done with the Gulf War eleven years before. The distraction of the West in dealing with the effects of ‘9/11’ provided Ben Ali’s regime with another ‘window of opportunity’ or, to put it differently, with another ‘moment of impunity’ to further strengthen their grip on power and to rid themselves of legal shackles to their rule. There was, however, one important difference in this regard: back in 1991, it had been the political monopoly of a group ‒ the Destour party ‒ that was re-imposed; in 2001, it was the life-long rule of an individual ‒ Ben Ali himself ‒ that was re-established. Since the re-election of the president in 2004, no major new reforms have taken place in the internal policy field. From the official perspective, the main aim was to secure the achievements of the past. Political developments from 2004-2008 thus conformed to the basic course of the ‘New Era’. The key event during these years was certainly the birth of Ben Ali's first (and so far 128

only) son, Mohamed, in early 2005 (after the five daughters he had fathered with his two wives). The fact that he was already 68 years old when this feat occurred gave rise to some gossip among Tunisians which, however, failed to elicit a response from the palace. This means that a ‘dynastic solution’ could theoretically be feasible at some point, provided that key stakeholder managed to agree on an interim solution. But let us first follow the course of events as they unfolded: One of the first major events in the home affairs realm were the elections to the newly created Chamber of Advisers which took place in 2005. About one third of its members (41) were appointed by the president, and the remaining two thirds (71) were indirectly elected from among local councilors and the ‘social partners’ (the UGTT itself refused to participate in this process.) The Chamber of Advisers is supposed to discuss and eventually amend legislation passed by the Chamber of Deputies, while giving a stronger voice to representatives of the different regions and professional bodies. It held its inaugural session in August 2005 and elected Abdallah Kallel, the RCD's Treasurer and Ben Ali's former security adviser, as its chairman. The regime also introduced some further modifications of rather limited consequences into the established institutional framework. These included some minor amendments of existing legal texts, in particular the press code and the electoral code. They also involved the legalization of a new ‘Green Party’ (the Parti des Verts pour le Progrès, or PVP) as well as the creation of several new deliberative organs. More important from the perspective of ‘the man in the street’ was the successive privatization of the media sector, and particularly the de facto abolition of the state monopoly in the audiovisual sector. Large private groups were now for the first time allowed to set up their own media projects (or take over existing ones). A raft of new TV channels and radio stations have since then received the official blessing, all of which are quite unsurprisingly dedicated to non-political issues (which, however, do not have to be unimportant). Very much like before, the president continued to reshuffle the cabinet at regular intervals, albeit in declining intensity. Apart from a handful of exceptions, all of those who had risen together with Ben Ali or shortly after the ‘Change’, were removed (‘retired’) from active politics and/or were awarded rather symbolical positions in ‘outer circle’ institutions (which, however, does not preclude an eventual return into the ‘inner circle’). As a result, the average age of politico-administrative elites declined in the same way as their techno-bureaucratic backgrounds increased. All in all, these changes further confirmed the established circulation patterns among the new regime elites, with a few apparently minor exceptions which, however, are of utmost political relevance. 129

One such important event was the RCD Congress of July 2008 (Congrès du Défi). Participants quite predictably nominated Ben Ali as their candidate for the upcoming elections of October 2009 (theoretically his last tenure at the helm of the state). At the president's behest, the central committee was overhauled to include a larger number of women and youth. Henceforth, 26 percent of its members were to be under 30 years old, and 30 percent ought to be women. With a taux de rajeunissement of 77 percent, “on assisterait donc (…) à l'arrivée dans le paysage politique de jeunes plus ouverts (ce qui ne veut pas forcément dire des libéraux) et au départ accéléré de nombreux caciques formés à l'école du parti unique” (Abdelaziz Barouhi: “Vers une redistribution des rôles”. JA 2483/84, 10/08/08, p. 58-60). At the same time, a certain number of business leaders known as being close to Ben Ali managed to get elected into the central committee (like his youngest son-in-law, Sakhr Materi). This was not only seen as confirming the political ascent of business elites within the ruling coalition, but also as signaling the latter's intent to participate more directly in politics. Another outcome did not go unnoticed either: namely the political departure (and non-replacement) of Hamed Karoui (the country's former prime minister and the Destour's long-standing vice-president) who had to retire from his position for health reasons. This means that Mohamed Ghannouchi (incidentally also his successor as prime minister) will henceforth 111 serve as Ben Ali's only deputy at the helm of the party. Some interpreted this decision as an attempt by the president to build up an ‘heir-apparent’ (possibly in preparation of a ‘dynastic solution’ to the succession issue), while others regarded this as a rather unlikely option given the advanced age of the nominee and his weak power bases outside the ministerial bureaucracy. In any case, the party congress both confirmed and modified established circulation patterns within the political elite. In doing so, it shed some light on recent changes and power shifts within the state party and the ruling coalition at large (cf. also Samir Gharbi: “Voyage à l'intérieur du Parti-Etat”. JA 2481, 27/07/08, p. 36-39). Oppositionists themselves undertook only sporadic (and basically fruitless) attempts to form a common front against their political adversary. They seldom got beyond the point of publishing some common declarations of intent and/or appeals to the regime (in addition to other forms of political protest, like a hunger strike staged by 50 lawyers in May 2005). This applied in particular to the long-envisaged, but ultimately futile formation of a common political platform comprising both Islamists and secularists. The three 111 It must be noted that the Destour's vice-president is the official ‘number two’ in Tunisia's political hierarchy, followed by the prime minister and the two parliamentary presidents. 130

‘dissident’ parties, HT, PDP, and FDTL formed the ‘Democratic Alliance for Citizenship’ to fight the 2005 local elections, but failed to win any seats. The LTDH continued to be absorbed with its own, internal struggles, from which it has not yet managed to disentangle itself, and which have effectively led to the freeze of its activities. At the same time, the Tunisian security forces intensified their clampdown on the radical spectrum of Political Islam (whose activities in the Maghreb had intensified since the beginning of the decade). Hundreds of suspects were jailed on the basis of a new law against terrorism introduced 112 at the end of 2003. Most of them were judged for planning to set up or join ‘radical groups’ (or inciting others to do so), and some for having planned or committed ‘terrorist acts’ at home or abroad. In late 2006 and early 2007, police forces uncovered a terrorist cell in the vicinity of the capital, which was reportedly linked to ‘Al-Qaida in the Maghreb’. 14 militants were killed in the course of gun battles which lasted several days and involved large police forces. The survivors were sentenced to death and executed shortly afterwards. It was the first incident of Islamist violence on Tunisian soil since the ‘Djerba Attack’ of April 2002, when a suicide bomber had killed 21 people, including 17 tourists (cf. Samy Ghorbal: “Comment les salafistes ont éte neutralisés”. JA 2452, 06/01/ 08, p. 48-52). At the same time, the regime made some gestures which seemed to indicate that it was ready to settle the long-standing dispute about political prisoners in Tunisia. This process had already begun in 1999, with presidential pardons for a certain number of Islamists detainees, usually simple sympathizers of al-Nahda. The process gained momentum after 2004, when presidential pardons began to involve the former leadership level of al-Nahda. An amnesty in early 2005 allowed for the release of more than 1300 detainees, many of whom had been tried on political grounds. Another amnesty in early 2008 allowed for the release of about 1200 prisoners, once again many former Islamists. The process finally came to an end in 2008, when the last batch of Nahda prisoners were set free. This means that for the first time since the early 1990s, there are no more former Nahda members among Tu113 nisian prison inmates. In early 2005, popular discontent over high unemployment and rising 112 The law contains a very broad definition of terrorism, giving the government sweeping powers to detain suspects. Importantly, it also allows for the extension for an undefined period of pre-trial detention. 113 Among those released were Ziad Doulatli, Nahda's last emir, Ali Laâredh, its former speaker, Abdallah Zouari and Hamadi Jebali, the former editors-in chief of its weekly al-Fajr, Sadok Chourou, a leading member of its ‘security wing’, as well as Samir Dilou, the former head of the UGTE. 131

living costs led to clashes between demonstrators and police in the Southern mining districts of Redeyef and Feriana. Protests were triggered by allegations about corrupt recruiting practices within the national phosphate company CPG, which is by far the largest employer in the region. The protests quickly spread to adjacent districts, involving ever larger parts of the local population. The regime responded with force, sending army units to quell the unrest. Those arrested received harsh prison sentences of up to eight years. At the same time, the regime fired the director of the CPG, and re placed him with the head of the national upgrading bureau, BMN. This was not only an implicit recognition that ‘something had gone wrong’, and ought to be corrected; it also contained a clear message, namely that the correction would come ‘from above’, in an orderly fashion, and via the official channels, and not spontaneously and independently ‘from below’ (Abdelaziz Barrouhi: “Tunisie: Coup de Grisou Social”. JA 2475, 15/06/08, p. 46-47; Karine Gantin & Omeyya Seddik: “Révolte du ‘Peuple des Mines’ en Tunisie”, Monde Diplomatique, 07/2008, p. 11-12). The political reproduction of the regime elites on the occasion of the national elections of October 2008 was in any case not jeopardized by these events. Three contenders were allowed to stand against Ben Ali: two of them (Mohamed Bouchiha from the PUP, and Ahmed Inoubli from the UDU) were actually part of the ‘mouvance presidentielle’, and only one (Ahmed Brahim from the HT) could be regarded as an opposition representative. Another opponent, Mustapha Ben Jafaar from the FTDL, had not been admitted in the first place. The outcome was up to expectations: Ben Ali garnered 89.62 percent of the votes cast, while his three ‘challengers’ obtained 10.38 percent. The RCD fared accordingly: With 84.59 percent of the votes cast, it won all the 161 seats that were distributed on a majority basis, while the remaining 53 seats that were reserved for ‘unsuccessful candidates’ almost exclusively accrued to the ‘loyal’ opposition. No more than two seats (out of a total of 214) went to the ‘critical’ opposition, the PDP having decided to boycott the elections altogether (cf. also Abdelaziz Barrouhi: “La Machine Ben Ali”. JA 2545-2546, 18/ 10/09, p. 66-69).

THE MODERNIZATION OF THE ECONOMY Although officially the association agreement did not enter into force until March 1998 (following its final ratification by the national parliaments of the EU), the Tunisian authorities had begun to implement it unilaterally

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from January 1996 on. The aim of this move was to convince private investors both at home and abroad of the regime's commitment to continue the economic liberalization process (see Krauss 1998, Dillman 1998 & 2001 and Murphy 2001a+b for further reading). Since Tunisian manufacturers were given only a few years to get ready for free trade with the EU, the Tunisian regime immediately decided to launch an ambitious reform program. This was supposed to help the concerned parties to adapt to the new circumstances, and dampen the negative impacts it might have on Tunisian soci115 ety. A raft of measures was launched to accompany the association with Europe. The cornerstone of these efforts was the Programme de mise à niveau (PMN), whose mission consisted of providing technical and financial assistance for both private and public operators. Initially limited to industrial companies and business services, it was gradually extended to further sectors, such as public education and vocational training. Other measures adopted in this regard included a significant increase of public spending for certain sectors (particularly infrastructure and education), the adoption of the legal framework needed for an open economy (including a new law for bankrupt firms in April 1995) and, last but not least, a reform of the fiscal sector. This last reform aimed to shift the burden away from import levies to domestic activities, in order to make up for the scheduled decrease in tariffbased revenues, and improve the rather lackluster performance of the fiscal system. Measures enacted in this regard were the creation of a consolidated VAT system, the reduction of fiscal exemptions, the improvement of tax col116 lection mechanisms, and the strengthening of tax inspection authorities. While most of the social policies established during the Bourguibist period were maintained, new financial bonuses were created to specifically benefit the middle classes. The former include direct support mechanisms (such as special housing and family allowances), state-sponsored public ser114 As a so-called mixed agreement that touches upon the prerogatives of both the European Community and the member states, an association agreement needs the approval of both the European Parliament and the national parliaments of member states. 115 The 9th Plan (1997-2001) set out the overall parameters for government policy during this period. Its main objectives were to improve physical infrastructure, to upgrade human resources, to modernize the social system, and to promote regional development. The ultimate goal, however, remained “the total integration of the national economy into the international environment”. 116 At the same time, a number of new state institutions were set up in the course of the reform process to complement the institutional arrangements created in the previous phase: such as the Tunisian Internet Agency (1996), the Observatory on Economic Competitiveness (1996), and the Supreme Council for Exportations (1997). 133

vices (health care, public transport, public education etc.) and subsidized basic products (sugar, bread, oil, etc.). The latter comprise the so-called voiture populaire (small import cars benefiting from preferential customs tariffs), the ordinateur populaire (personal computers subsidized form the state budget), and the nationwide publinet network of low-cost internet cafés. All of these were complemented by the aforementioned national funds (FNS and FNE) 117 and other public support schemes. It must be noted, however, that some of these schemes have been operated outside the state budget (i.e. controlled by the presidential palace), and that most of them are granted by presiden tial decree (i.e. benefiting only specific groups). Since the launch of the association process, the economic opening has gradually reached cruising speed. A significant acceleration of the public sector reform entailed the express commitment of the state authorities to completely divest all firms operating in competitive sectors. This also included the selling of large SOEs, the opening of the equity capital of ‘strategic’ companies, and the admission of foreign firms to infrastructure projects. A parallel reform of the financial sector aimed to create more dynamic banking and insurance sectors able to accompany the impending economic restructuring and modernization process. It also included the adoption of the ‘universal bank’ legislation, the introduction of stricter prudential rules, and the merger or sale of various state banks. So far, it is safe to say that Tunisia has by and large fulfilled the economic obligations incurred from the association agreement, and achieved sustained growth rates despite increasingly difficult conditions. However, no real progress was made in the remaining sensitive fields, such as state aid and competition policy. Further, the regime has opted for no more than a very timid opening of its agricultural market, and an equally careful tackling of the services sector. In accordance with the very ambitious provisions of the 11th National Plan (2007-11), the government's privatization program shifted into a much 118 higher gear. For the first time since its launch, this allowed for the inclusion of truly large and employment-intensive companies working in previously closed and distinctly strategic sectors. In 2002, a private provider, ‘Tunisiana’ (a joint venture of Egypt's ‘Orascom Telecom’ and Kuwait's 117 An over-proportionate percentage of public expenses (for agriculture, infrastructure, education, and communal services) was earmarked for the Western provinces and other disadvantaged areas. 118 The aim of the 11th Plan (2007-2011) is to raise annual economic growth to 6.1 percent. This was to be achieved by encouraging private investment; upgrading manufacturing industries, agriculture, and public administrations; and modernizing the physical infrastructure, financial sector, and education sector. As Ben Ali underlined in the speeches he held in the run-up to the 2008 elections, the goal for his country is to join the ranks of the ‘developed nations’ by the year 2014. 134

‘Wataniya Telecom’), was admitted into the mobile business, which ended the traditional monopoly of the public provider, Tunisie Télécom (TT). The year 2005 saw the majority takeover of the Banque du Sud (BS), Tunisia's 7 th largest bank in terms of assets, by Morocco's ‘Attijariwafa Bank’ and Spain's ‘Banco Santander’. In 2006, a 35 percent stake in Tunisie Télécom (TT) went to Dubai's ‘Tecom-DIG’, for the equivalent of € 1.8 billion or US$ 2.25 billlion. This was the largest single transaction in Tunisia's privatization process ever, and it represented nearly 50 percent of total receipts until then. All in all, the Tunisian economy has weathered the multifold crises of the new millennium surprisingly well. Despite many forecasts to the contrary, it quickly recovered from the slump of 2002-2003, when Tunisia's manufacturing industry and especially its tourism sector felt the full brunt of the global economic downturn after the new economy bust and the 11 September attacks. It has also been surprisingly little affected by the current global crisis so far. Despite the negative effects on its manufactured exports, there have been no major reductions in FDI inflows so far. Losses in export earnings have been largely offset be reductions in fuel prices. Growth is projected to resume in 2010, albeit at a lower pace, in the order of 3-4 percent. What might explain this relative robustness is the simple fact that Tunisia's banking sector is still hardly integrated into the global market, and also that the government quickly moved to adopt a certain number of emergency measures which helped to alleviate the impact of the crisis (cf. Jean-Michel Meyer: “Le Maghreb résiste au choc de la crise” JA 2515, 22/03/09, p. 79-81 plus Special Dossier “Pourquoi les investissements ne connaissent pas la crise”. JA 2527, 14/06/09, p. 65-85). Another surprise has been the relative ease with which Tunisia has been able to ‘digest’ the effects of free trade and to sustain the loss of many of its former privileges. This concerns, firstly, the finalization of the GAFTA in 2005, which abolished a great number of customs tariffs among its member states (even though it has so far had a limited impact ‘on the ground’ due to the long list of ‘negative clauses’ and the generally limited extent of intraMENA trade); it concerns, secondly (and more importantly), the abrogation of the MFA in 2005, which forces Tunisian producers to directly compete with all other producers worldwide; and it concerns, thirdly (and most importantly), the full implementation of the EMAA in 2008, which institutionalizes the unrestrained movement of industrial goods among its member states.

DIVERSIFICATION OF DEPENDENCY Having made the ‘strategic choice’ of participating in the Barcelona Process and associating with the EU at a very early stage, Tunisia’s foreign policy 135

since the mid-1990s has mostly been concerned with coping with the consequences of these decisions (see Murphy 2002 for further reading). In fact, Tunisia has not only been the first Arab state to conclude an association agreement, it has also been among the relatively few Southern partners that have consistently supported the Barcelona Process as such. More specifically, it has quickly become one of the most pro-active participants in the related cooperation programs, sporting one of the highest absorption rates of EU aid money in the Southern Mediterranean. This is why Tunisia has constantly gained in importance for the EU, which henceforth sees it as an ‘open-air laboratory’ for its Mediterranean policies, and as a ‘political showcase’ vis-à-vis other MENA countries. At the same time, however, the policies of the Benalist regime have also increasingly invited the criticism of international human rights organizations. These increasingly zeroed in on the ‘dismal state’ of public liberties in Ben Ali’s Tunisia, pointing out that the latter had largely defaulted on its contracted obligations under the associa119 tion accord. The early focus on the Barcelona Process did not prevent Tunisia’s policy makers from continuing their traditional line of diversifying, as much as possible, their external relations. As a first step, they undertook to strengthen bilateral relations with important MENA players. In January 1996, Tunis and Tel Aviv announced that they would open ‘interest sections’ (the lowest level of diplomatic relations) to be hosted by the Belgian 120 embassies in both countries. In November 1996, relations were restored with Kuwait, which had been put into deep freeze since the early 1990s over what was seen as Tunisia's pro-Iraq stance in the Gulf Crisis. Further, freetrade accords were concluded with other MENA countries: Egypt (1998), Jordan (1998), Morocco (1999), Iraq (2001), Syria (2001), and Turkey (2004). At the same time, the Tunisian authorities continued to participate in other multilateral initiatives on a regional level, while endeavoring to extend them to the countries south of the Sahara. First, they engaged with 13 other states in the Greater Arab Free Trade Area (GAFTA), launched in 1998 with the aim of boosting commercial exchanges among member states (via a total dismantling of industrial trade barriers by January 2005). Second, together with Morocco, Jordan and Egypt, they launched the ‘Agadir Process’ in February 2004, aimed to create a horizontal free-trade zone among Arab 119 These accusations also contributed to producing a serious deterioration of FrancoTunisian relations during the Jospin government (1998-2002), which led to a temporary freeze of relations between the RCD and the French Socialist Party (PSF). 120 Shortly afterwards, the faltering of the peace process after the election of Benjamin Netanyahu in late 1996 led to a suspension of this rapprochement and, in October 2000, both sides announced the closure of their representations. 136

Mediterranean countries by February 2006 (as a complement to the EMFTZ). Third, together with Morocco, Egypt and Nigeria, they joined in February 2001 the Community of the States of the Sahel and Sahara (CEN-SAD), launched in 1998 to boost cooperation across the Sahara (consisting of 21 states at the time of writing). Another important development is that the Benalist regime elites have taken a much broader view of their country's international relations, going beyond the traditional policy focus of the Bourguibist era. Thus, they have sought to enhance exchanges with regions outside their usual interlocutors in Southern Europe and the Middle East. This extended first and foremost to trans-Alpine Europe, traditionally beyond the ‘radar screen’ of most Tunisians (diplomats and businessmen alike). It applied, second, to the United States with whom they successfully concluded a bilateral trade and investment agreement in October 2002. And it included the emerging markets of East Asia, with which they considerably increased contacts in the course of this period. In the field of foreign affairs, the Ben Ali regime thus basically continued its former approach. It pro-actively engaged in the two new initiatives that were launched by the EU in 2003/04 and 2007/08 respectively and that were aimed at the deepening of trans-Mediterranean relations: namely the European Neighborhood Policy (ENP) and the Union for the Mediterranean 121 (UfM). As a result of these choices, the number of states partici pating in the multilateral framework of Euro-Mediterranean cooperation increased from 27 (at the launch of the EMP) to 43 (at the launch of the UfM). The ‘EMP–ENP–UfM’ triptych thus creates a framework within which the bulk of cooperation between both sides of the Mediterranean is presently conducted ‒ a framework that is dynamic, complex, and sometimes difficult to understand (cf. Emerson & Noutcheva 2005 and Schumacher & Del Sarto 2005 for further reading). At the same time, Tunisians intensified their efforts to upgrade the international position of their country, by establishing themselves as the hub of all kinds of international initiatives. They hosted the summit meeting of the ‘5+5’ Initiative in late 2003, a regional security policy format comprising the 10 rim countries of the Western Mediterranean; they hosted the 2 nd World Summit of the Information Society (WSIS II) in mid-2005; and last but not least they managed to win the bid of hosting the future headquarters of the African Development Bank (AfDB), forced to leave its home in Abidjan as a result of the civil war. Some of these new achievements, however, were of a 121 In 2005, Tunisia signed an ENP Action Plan with the EU, which is supposed to accelerate the implementation of the EMAA and to prepare for the gradual integration of neighboring countries into EU structures, including the Common Market. 137

mixed blessing from an official perspective. Thus, in 2004, Tunis was ‘chosen’ as the future siège of the US's ‘Middle East Partnership Initiative’ (MEPI), which was not only launched to promote economic reforms and free trade in the region, but also sought to promote democratic reforms and hu122 man rights there. Unsurprisingly, the Benalist regime also maintained its principled rejection of all external interventions ‒ actual or potential ‒ in regional affairs (which concerned, of course, above all the ‘regime change’ agenda of the Bush administration). Very much like in 1990/91, the regime clearly condemned the war against Iraq, but in contrast to the former, it was careful not to expose itself too much. The same was also true with regard to its criticism of the resumption of hostilities between Israel and its neighbors, the bloody crushing of the ‘Al-Aqsa Intifida’, the attack on Lebanon, and the bombing of the Gaza Strip; it was consistent, yet not too ‘flamboyant’. Unlike in 1990/91, the regime also managed to control the emotions of its citizens at home: Thus, it allowed for some carefully orchestrated protests and public rallies, but it never let them slip out of control and become the focus of resistance to it.

3. Ben Ali's ‘New Era’: ‘Old Wine in New Bottles’? The New Regime's political life can thus far be divided into three stages. The first, or ‘liberal’ phase lasted until 1989-90. It witnessed a careful opening of the political system, accompanied by a gradual overhauling of regime institutions. The 1989 elections marked the beginning of the end of this phase. The second, or ‘repressive’ phase lasted until 1994-1995. It saw the authoritarian re-assertion of state power, combined with a significant extension of economic reforms. The third, or ‘ongoing’ phase is mainly concerned with managing the consequences of these decisions. Ben Ali’s aim is to develop a politically sustainable order that will allow him to integrate emerging social forces into the existing institutional frameworks, but without relinquishing ultimate control of strategic choices. The regime's preferred strategy in this regard has been a state-controlled pluralism similar to the existing corporatist arrangements in the socio-economic field. The political development of Benalist Tunisia over the past two decades has so far clearly belied the forecasts most observers made back in 1987. Neither has the Nouveau Régime been an interim caretaker government nor 122 At the same time, bilateral talks were resumed in early 2008 to upgrade the existing US-Tunisian ‘Trade and Investment Framework Agreement’ into a full-fledged freetrade agreement. 138

has Ben Ali himself been an ephemeral transitory figure. Neither has Tunisia developed into a liberal democracy nor has it experienced an Islamist takeover. On the contrary, the ‘Artisan of the Change’ is still in power, and more firmly than his illustrious predecessor had ever been at any point during his reign. Ben Ali has not only managed to maintain him self at the helm of the state, but to impose his authority over the rest of the PREs too. This is not only true for all those actors who make up the political regime and the ruling coalition (like the state bureaucracy and the Destour party), but also for all those who used to enjoy a certain degree of political leeway and functional autonomy under Bourguiba (like the labor unions, print media, mosques, and universities). At the same time, the Benalist regime seems to have digested the transition from a closed state economy to an open market economy remarkably well. The Tunisian economy has also relatively easily absorbed the external shocks that have shaken the region since the beginning of the 21st century. It has done so rather better than most of its peers in the region, and much better than analysts had predicted some time ago. Even eight years into the association process, there have neither been mass layoffs nor mass protests, and the country continues to boast robust growth rates and rising living standards. Further, it has developed a relatively vibrant private sector, and an increasingly competitive export industry, both able to hold their ground on the world market. Finally, it can claim shrinking social disparities as well as diminishing poverty rates, both in line with the regime’s original promises and overall development goals. The way Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’ has evolved is a peculiar mélange of change and continuity. Even a quick glance shows that there are numerous similarities between both regimes. The most important one is that supreme control of political decision making continues to be vested in the same old power triangle of Bourguibist times. This means that the Ben Ali regime still relies on the two main pillars of the former political system: a heavily centralized state bureaucracy, partly wedded to, partly fused with, a similarly structured ruling party. In fact, the RCD seems to have very much the same position and the same function as the PSD. As before, leading positions within state institutions are reserved for party members, while leading positions within party structures are occupied by government officials. And, like before, the ruling party is supposed to communicate, and legitimate government policies, in the same way as the state bureaucracy is supposed to defend, and implement the Destourian ideology. Thus, Tunisia has on all accounts remained a party-state, in the same way as the Destour has remained the state-party ‒ if not de iure, then de facto. The second commonality is that this janus-faced complex of the party139

state is still totally dominated by the figure of the president. In fact, Ben Ali continues to enjoy almost unrestrained and unparalleled powers and prerogatives, very much like Habib Bourguiba did in his time. As before, he is not only the head of state, the head of government, and the head of the State Council, but also the chairman of the ruling party, the commander-in-chief of the armed forces, and the head of the judiciary. Apparently not content with this, he also assumed the chairmanship of the newly created constitutional council. Following the model of his predecessor, he not only wields sweeping policy and law-making powers, but also far-reaching nominating and transferring powers. The very high degree of centralization and personalization in Tunisian politics is thus reflected by the cumulation and concentration of powers in the hands of the presidency. Therefore, the Tunisian Republic in many respects continues to resemble a ‘secular monarchy’ ‒ once again if not by name, then by fact. The third commonality is that substantial influence on strategic decisions is still restricted to the leading figures of the executive elites, to a small group of civil politicians who control the top echelons and the key institu tions of the government apparatus and the ruling party. Many socio-professional groups that are normally powerful or otherwise influential in the MENA region (such as military elites, tribal leaders, religious representatives, regional strongmen, etc.) remain conspicuously absent from political decision making in Benalist Tunisia. Undeniably, some forces (particularly business elites, industrialists, bankers, exporters, etc.) have clearly gained in political influence, due to the economic opening of the past three decades. However, it is also clear that none of them have been able or ready to fully emancipate themselves from the political tutelage and patronage of the party-state and transform themselves into political players and entrepreneurs on their own right, acting beyond the established frameworks of the political system. But what about changes within the system? Have there been any, and if yes, in what form, and to which effect? In fact, a closer look suggests that there are several significant differences between the two political eras that shall be studied in more detail in the following chapters. These have considerably changed the overall parameters under which Tunisian politics are played out ‒ including the identity of relevant actors, their interplay on key issues, as well as the thrust of public policy. The first major difference consists of a far-reaching renewal of the ruling political alliance. This process has not only entailed the consecutive and comprehensive exchange and rejuvenation of all those occupying leadership positions in the party-state, it has also included the redefinition and reconfiguration of the social coalition underpinning the incumbent regime. Results have been the complete phasing out of the ‘Elite Bourguiba’ ‒ a so140

cially relatively narrow-based and ideologically cohesive strata of party politicians ‒ and its consecutive replacement by the ‘Elite Ben Ali’, a socially more heterogeneous, much less politicized and rather performance-oriented group of civil (and military) techno-bureaucrats. In fact, almost nobody who was powerful before 1987 is still in office, while practically all those who are currently ruling the country have emerged since the ‘Change’. This pervasive renewal makes the analysis of the backgrounds, itineraries, orientations, agendas, and interactions of the new elites all the more pertinent, and more information on these issues will be provided in chapters four and five. The second major difference is a gradual institutionalization of political diversity within the existing system. This has led to the transformation of a previously quasi-socialist, single-party system into a formally pluralistic, multi-party system. This process has entailed the creation of the formally needed legal-institutional framework of a liberal electoral democracy; the admission of non-incumbent and non-Destourian candidates in parliamentary and presidential elections; and the inclusion of under-privileged political and social status groups in the different state and party institutions. Altogether seven opposition parties have now received official status; five of these parties are currently represented within the different popular assemblies, and five of their members have been allowed to participate in recent presidential elections. The question remains, of course, whether this is mere ‘window dressing’ or whether it has had a real political effect, i.e. whether it has affected the relationships and interplay between the different political actors and social status groups, whether it has created new opportunities for political self-organization, and whether it has opened new avenues for political participation of citizens. The answers to these questions will shed more light on the quality of the new system, and more information in this regard shall be provided in chapters six and seven. The third major difference is the fundamental redefinition of the regime’s development strategy. This has contributed to recycling a centrally administered, heavily protected, and inward-oriented state economy into an increasingly open, competitive, and integrated market economy. It has also resulted in upgrading a lower middle income developing country (primarily based on extractive and agricultural activities) into an increasingly prosperous emerging market (increasingly based on manufacturing and services). The result has been an economic take-off since the early 1990s, which has triggered sustained growth rates of over five percent annually, far above the regional average in the Middle East and quite close to the ‘emerging countries’ of South-East Asia. It has also produced significant welfare gains for large social strata (80 percent of whom are now officially rated ‘middle class’, with an average BIP/capita of US$ 2.240 annually in 2003. The question 141

remains, of course, whether this has changed key elements of the political economy of the country, and whether it has led to a wider distribution of power resources in society ‒ which is often said to constitute an important pre-requisite for a democratic transition. The answers to these questions will shed more light on the stability of the new system, and more information in this regard shall be provided in chapters eight and nine. But let us now get into the ‘raw and cooked’ of Ben Ali's ‘New Tunisia’.

142

IV THE NEW RULING ELITES: THE TECHNOCRATIZATION AND MAKHZENIZATION OF POWER

1. The Presidency: The Power Station of the ‘System Ben Ali’ Even a quick look at how the ‘Second Republic’ has evolved reveals that a major feature of Tunisian politics has remained unchanged: the institution of the presidency ‒ and ipso facto the person of the president ‒ is still the kingpin of the system. Ben Ali has not only managed to preserve, but even to enhance the sweeping powers that Bourguiba accumulated over time. He continues to preside over the most important institutions of the regime apparatus, such as the council of ministers (the ‘cabinet’), the political office of the ruling party, the état-major of the armed forces, the supreme judicial council, as well as the newly created constitutional council. He personally nominates all senior officials of the party-state, such as the prime minister, ministers, ambassadors, governors, magistrates, as well as the leading members of the security forces. He largely appoints the leading echelons of the state-party, which includes about one third of its central committee members and all of its politburo members. He strongly influences the composition of parliament, appointing one third of the upper house (the ‘Chamber of Advisers’) and deciding the opposition parties' exact share in the lower house (the ‘Chamber of Deputies’). And last but not least he continues to decide on the overall orientations of public policy, which includes the power to make (or veto) laws, issue decrees, summon referenda, conclude treaties, declare war (or a state of emergency), dissolve parliament, and pardon prisoners. On the one hand, Ben Ali has thus maintained control over all those in stitutions which continue to dominate political life in Tunisia. These are the same as those which used to underpin the rule of his predecessor: (1) a highly centralized, overpowering state bureaucracy, inter-linked with a similarly structured, omnipresent ruling party; (2) a basically powerless and politically subservient parliament; and (3) a semi-dependent and ‘domesticated’ judiciary. At the same time, however, he has further increased the 143

power of the presidency to the point of superseding the political attributions of the other state institutions. This new power structure rests on three main pillars: (1) a full-fledged palace administration; (2) a plethoric security apparatus; and (3) his own extended clientelist network. These new elements have allowed Ben Ali to mobilize and incorporate all those political resources which he needed to consolidate and perpetuate his newly acquired power (cf. Annex 2a: The Main Building Blocks of the Presidential Power 123 Sphere).

THE PRESIDENTIAL PALACE The first pillar is the presidential palace located in the suburb of Cartage. Under Bourguiba, it was once founded as a small secretariat of state in order to give clerical support to the president, and serve as coordinating body for the government. Under Ben Ali, however, it has been turned into a fullfledged administrative apparatus which covers the entire spectrum of political tasks and produces detailed prescriptions for the other regime organs. Thus, in contrast to the period before 1987, the palace has grown so much in size and power that it has become, by all accounts, the country's command center and steering body. Before, it merely supported the government; now, it has effectively become the government ‒ i.e. the place where ‘strategic decisions of a national relevance’ are adopted and from where the country is actually ruled. The palace consists of two layers. The first comprises the normal administrative services, presumably employing between 150-200 people, and basically performing day-to-day tasks. The second consists of an inner circle of political advisers whose members are recruited from among the upper echelons of the state’s techno-bureaucracy or from among the president’s personal entourage. This ‘advisory role’ is comparable to that of a ‘shadow government’: It involves following specific dossiers, overseeing their counterparts in the ministries, drafting political decisions, and briefing the president 124 in these regards. These advisers often include former senior officials, many of whom had served at some point in a government position, supplemented 123 Data in this section are essentially based on interviews with local observers and analysis of print material. Rudimentary information can be found on www.carthage.tn/en/ index.php 124 Ben Ali has thus actually introduced a new level into the command chain. This means that cabinet members are ‘triple-sandwiched’: from above by their counterparts in the palace (often recruited among their predecessors), from below by their own secretaries of state (directly appointed by the president) ‒ and from ‘behind’ by a plethoric intelligence apparatus directly reporting to the palace. 144

by technical experts, often recruited straight from university faculties and 125 research institutes. Four men stand out among the presidential aides. The first is Abdelwahhab Abdallah (cf. Zyad Liman: “Le destin contrarié d'Abdelwahhab Abdallah”. JA 2236, 16/11/03, p. 42-44; CV in Charfi 1989): Born in 1940 in Monastir, he later earned a law degree from Tunis University, and began his career under Bourguiba. He became first the director of the government's official newspaper La Presse, and then the director of the state's news agency Tunis Afrique Presse (TAP). After the ‘Change’, his career took an upward turn when he was first appointed minister of information in 1987, and then (after a brief interlude as ambassador in London) speaker of the president in 1990. His actual powers, however, were far broader than his title suggested. As such, he was the person in charge of overseeing and controlling the coun try's audiovisual and print media. As a well-informed observer has remarked about him: “Rien, ni à la télé, ni à la radio, ni dans les journaux ne se fait sans son aval. C'est le patron de tous les patrons” (interview with the local correspondent of a pan-Arab daily, Tunis, 03/12/03). In 2005, the “ennemi juré de tous les libéraux et des partisans de l'ouverture” (Zyad Liman, art.cit.) was appointed minister of foreign affairs, and has remained in this position until the time of writing. The second is Abdelaziz Ben Dhia (cf. Samy Ghorbal: “Le mystère Ben Dhia”. JA 2139, 08/01/02, p. 63; CV in Le Renouveau, 18/11/99, p. 3). Born in 1936 in Monastir, and a fellow graduate of the law faculty of Tunis University, he held various ministerial portfolios during Bourguiba's late reign, and even served a short time as party director. The ‘Change’, however, did not end his career as Ben Ali immediately tasked him with several important offices, first naming him head of the Constitutional Council in 1987, and then minister of defense in 1991. Simultaneously, Ben Dhia was brought into the highest decision making bodies of the ruling party, first into the central committee, and then into the political office. In 1996, he became the RCD’s secretary-general and, in 1999, Ben Ali's ‘special adviser’. Since Abdallah's departure from the Palace, he also acts as the speaker of the president. As such, he is often referred to as the ‘gatekeeper of Carthage’, the 125 In addition to these permanent advisers working full-time in the presidential palace, increasing use is made of external expertise brought in via the Tunisian Institute of Strategic Studies (ITES). Situated next to the palace, it has been created to serve as a ‘boite à idées’, and offer a ‘lieu de rencontre’ for officials and intellectuals. Since its inception in 1994, it has been directed by Zouheir M'Dhaffar, former director of the RCD's training and research unit and president of the constitutional council (two interviews, Carthage, 04/11/02 & 01/12/03). (In 2004, Zouheir M'Dhaffar was appointed Ministre Délégué for Public Service and Administrative Development.) 145

“political engineer of the System Ben Ali”, and a “Vice Prime Minister for Political Affairs” (Abdelaziz Barouhi: “La Galaxie Ben Ali”. JA 2488, 14/08/08, p. 40-43). The third is Iyadh Ouderni (CV in La Presse, 25/01/01, p. 4). Born in 1953 in Ben Guerdane (a small town in the far south), he holds a diploma in human resources management from the National Business School (ISG) in Tunis, and a Ph.D. in sociology from the University of Aix-en-Provence. After teaching at both the University of Sfax and the ISG, he worked at the RCD’s headquarter from 1988-94, first in the cabinet of the secretary-general, and then as deputy secretary-general for associational affairs. Between 1994 and 1999, he was the conseiller principal of Ben Ali, a comparatively long period in such a strategic position, only interrupted by a short stint at the head of the foreign ministry. Then, after serving as minister of education from 19992001, he was nominated into his current position as the president’s cabinet director. Very much like Abdallah and Ben Dhia, he is usually described as a ‘technocrat’ and ‘functionary’, as an ‘homme de dossier’ and ‘commis de l’Etat’, who prefers to stay away from the limelight, and work behind the scenes. The fourth is Abdallah Kallel (CV in Le Renouveau, 18/11/99, p. 3). Born in 1943 in Sfax, he is very often described as the regime's ‘policeman’ and as Ben Ali's ‘strong arm’. His rise to power also began with the ‘Change’. Between 1987 and 1991, he served first as secretary of state at the ministry of the interior, then as an adviser to the president, later as minister of defense, and finally became the treasurer of the ruling party. Generally known as a major exponent of the ‘regime hardliners’, he was appointed minister of the interior when the clampdown on Nahda began in 1991. Following the re-establishment of ‘law and order’, he moved on to serve again as minister of defense, and then as minister of justice. After another stint at the interior ministry from 1999-2001, he became Ben Ali’s security adviser. In 2005, he was finally ‘elected’ president of the newly created Chamber of Advisers. Besides Ben Ali himself and a few others (like Ali Ganzoui and Mongi Chouchène, s.b.), he is the main architect of the security system which has been put into place since 1987. It is these four aides of Ben Ali that are usually regarded as the ‘grey em 126 inencies’ of the presidential palace. Irrespective of the differences that ex126 There are of course other influential people among the president’s advisers, such as Hamed Mlika, his political adviser, Mongi Safra, his economic adviser, Taoufiq Cheikhrouhou, his social adviser, Abdelhamid Slama, his cultural adviser, Slaheddine Cherif, his legal adviser, Mohamed Mohsen Rhaïem, his protocol director, as well as Mohamed Gueddiche, one of the seven physicians consulted in the night of 7 November (and since that time in the service of the president). However, none 146

ist between them (Aballah is a trained journalist, Ben Dhia a law professor, Ouderni a social scientist, and Kallel a security professional), there is a number of things they have in common, and these commonalities provide us with important clues about the regime’s internal logic. First, they all owe their rise to power to their relationship with the president, stemming from before or around 1987. Second, their trajectories demonstrate the strong inter-linkages that have always existed between the different components of the regime apparatus (incidentally, all four are also sitting in the RCD's politburo). Third, their public profiles are those of committed civil servants and diligent state officials. As such, they appear content with executing presidential directives and regime policies, seemingly without nurturing major personal ambitions or political convictions. Fourth, the professional knowhow they provide reflects the managerial image that the presidency tries to convey. This is of a ‘manager of public affairs’, or a ‘CEO of Tunisia Inc.’, who takes a hands-on approach toward political issues, and leads its institu tions with a tight leash.

THE SECURITY APPARATUS The second pillar of the presidential sphere is the mukhabarat apparatus (Arabic for ‘intelligence’). Under Bourguiba, the country was still ruled by an elite of civil politicians who had risen through the Destour party and were anxious to keep the military out of politics. Under Ben Ali, this situation has changed quite drastically. In fact, the mukhabarat have grown so much in size and clout that they have virtually become a ‘system of their own’, or a ‘state within the state’, which is increasingly imposing its rules and logic on public life and decision making. In theory, the different security forces are each attached to different state bodies. Thus, the national security, national guard, and municipal police are answerable to the interior ministry, the military security to the defense ministry, the presidential security to the presidency, and so on. In practice, however, they are all directly or indirectly controlled by Ben Ali who can always make use of the insights he gained, and the networks he built up, while being at the head of the military and na 127 tional security. of them appears to equal these four key persons in term of political influence. 127 The most powerful element of the Tunisian security apparatus is the national security service, which is part of the ministry of the interior and headed by a secretary of state. Even though the security apparatus is also a very heterogeneous entity in Tunisia, its complexity is considerably lower than in other countries of the region. This observation applies both to the level of intra-sectorial fragmentation, and to the extent of inter-institutional competition. Importantly, all security forces are led by 147

Several individuals stand out within the security apparatus: The first is Rafik Belhadj Kacem, previously Ben Ali's ‘adviser for human rights’ (and a publicly known representative of the regime's hard-line faction), who was appointed minister of the interior in 2004 (replacing Hedi M'Henni in this position). The second is Mongi Chouchène, previously director-general for political affairs in the interior ministry, who was named secretary of state for regional affairs and local collectivities in 2001 (the position of secretary of state for national security being currently vacant) (CV reproduced in La Presse, 25/01/01, p. 4). The third is Abdessatar Bennour, who replaced Mohamed Hedi Ben Hassine as director-general of the national security in 2004. And the fourth is Ali Seriaty, previously head of the national security, who 128 became director of the presidential security in 2002. In stark contrast to most other countries in the region, the minister of defense is not a major figure in Tunisian politics. This proves that the regime suspects the main security threats to originate inside, and not outside, the country. Several qualifications are in order at this point. First and foremost, Benalist Tunisia is a ‘mukhabarat state’, not a military regime. Actual power is clearly limited to the top or key figures of the intelligence and security apparatus, and does generally not extend to the rest of the army and the police. This is not to say, however, that the latter are irrelevant. The police employ an estimated number of about 140.000 agents, and thereby represent the largest employer in the entire country. (These figures not only include the municipal police and the gendarmerie-like national guard, but also the numerous employees and informers on the payroll of the interior ministry and its different services). However, they are little more than the ‘bras du pouvoir’, an instrument rather than an element of power. The army itself is relatively small and relatively cheap; with a total staff of about 35.000 sol diers, it consumes a mere 10 percent of the state budget. Moreover, it once again clings to its traditional role and stays away from politics ‒ as it has done most of the time since 1956 before its involuntary ‘politicization’ in the late 1970s. These again are all major distinguishing factors vis-à-vis many 129 neighboring countries. trained professionals, and none is headed by a presidential relative. 128 M’Henni and Ben Hassine themselves had replaced Abdallah Kaabi and Mohamed Ali Ganzoui (the two dreaded ‘strong men’ of the security apparatus) respectively, both being dismissed for not having been able to prevent the Djerba attack of April 2002. 129 Tunisia has military cooperation agreements with several Western countries, notably the U.S. and France. It also joined NATO's Mediterranean Dialogue initiative and became a full NATO partner in 2004. Its national defense strategy foresees to resist long enough against an external aggression to mobilize military assistance from its partners or reach a negotiated solution to the conflict. 148

Second, it must be noted that the security forces, although they have become a dominating factor in public life, and are heavily impacting on political decision making, are not controlling government as a whole, i.e. have not taken over the state as such; they have just gained in power within the ruling regime coalition, at the expense of other social actors. This can be gleaned from the fact that senior military and intelligence officers do generally not occupy formal state and government positions (with a few exceptions in the early 1990s during the clampdown on Nahda). In Tunisia, there are no pervasive and institutionalized inroads of the security apparatus in other sectorial or functional fields. Likewise, there is no ‘military-industrial complex’ as in many neighboring states, where the leading echelons of the armed forces have taken over entire parts of the national economy. There have thus been two broad trends since the mid-1980s. Quantitatively, there has been a further multiplication and diversification of the security forces whose numbers (and powers) have never ceased to grow. Qualitatively, there has been a net professionalization and autonomization of the security apparatus whose leading ranks and command posts are now filled almost exclusively from ‘within’. This means that the internal security services have not only come to replace the armed forces as the main provider of political ‘stability’ (and ipso facto as a key pillar of the regime); they have also unmistakably tended to exhibit certain autonomist tendencies vis-à-vis the regular civilian authorities. Since the beginning of the clampdown on Nahda, they have thus increasingly tended to impose their own rules and interests on other political actors and functional domains ‒ like a snowball 130 does that gains in size while rolling down a hill.

THE EXTENDED FAMILY The third pillar of the presidential sphere is the ‘extended family’ (cf. Annex 2b: The Main Members of the Presidential Family). It is made up of all those people who are in some way related to (or otherwise affiliated with) Ben Ali, his wife, his brothers, or his children. Essentially, they belong to seven clans: the Ben Alis, clustered around the president and his two brothers, Tijani and Slah (the third, Moncef, died in 1996); the Trabelsis, i.e. the family of his second wife, Leila, and her ten siblings (the primus inter pares among 130 It is evident that some exactions of the security forces happen against the express will of other regime components. It is not clear, however, whether these exactions are actually ‘commissioned’, or just ‘condoned’, i.e. whether these follow instructions from the palace or the ministry of interior, or just reflect a feeling of impunity and approval. What is clear is that they could not happen without the explicit or implicit collusion and connivance of Ben Ali and the people around him. 149

whom is Belhassen); the Kefis, i.e. the family of his first wife, Naima; the Shiboubs, Mabrouks, and Zarrouks, i.e. the three families whose sons are married to the three daughters Ben Ali had with his first wife (Ghazoua is married to Slim Zarrouk, Dorsaf to Slim Chiboub, and Cyrine to Marouane Mabrouk); and finally the Materis whose son Mohamed Sakhr has been married since 2004 to Nesrine, the oldest daughter Ben Ali had with his second 131 wife. This is only the tip of the iceberg, however, since all those who have managed to marry into these clans are also considered presidential relatives ‒ for instance Hedi Djilani, a wealthy textile producer and president of UTICA, whose oldest daughter is married to Belhassen Trabelsi and whose youngest daughther is married to Sofiane Ben Ali, the nephew of the presi132 dent. Thus, observers speak of a tightly knit web of altogether about 60 ‘ruling families’ whose inner core involves a three-digit number of individuals. It must be noted, however, that there are no clear hierarchies or static relationships between these clans and their members, but a constant rise and fall of families and individuals. One is thus faced with a constant making and unmaking of networks and alliances, according to the circumstances of the moment, and the preferences of the president. (Generally speaking, however, it is possible to say that the rise of the Trabelsis since the mid1990s, and of the Materis since the mid-2000s, has considerably weakened the acquired positions of the other ‘family’ members and relegated them to 133 a secondary role.) Generally speaking, it is rare for family members (or for individuals otherwise ‘close’ to the president) to appear in official positions (and even less so in political ones). The most notable exceptions to this rule include Leila Trabelsi herself, who is chairing a charity for the disabled, called BESMA (and has recently become the president of the Arab Women Organization, which is a sub-organization of the Arab League); Slim Chiboub, the most well-known of Ben Ali’s sons-in-law, who has presided for some time over the capital's football club Espérance Tunis; Mohamed Mehdi Mlika, the 131 His youngest daughter, Halima, born in 1993, and his only son, Mohamed, born in 2005, have obviously not yet reached the age of getting married. 132 Other businessmen known to be close to the president are Abdelwahab Ben Ayed (Groupe Poulina), Aziz Miled (Groupe TTS), Moncef M'zabi (Groupe Artès), Rachid Ben Yedder (Amen Bank), Abdelkader Hamrouni (Groupe Hamrouni), and Ali Slama (Groupe Slama). 133 The year 1993, for instance, saw the sudden downfall of Kamel at-Taief, a previously little-known businessman specialized in public works, who had accompanied Ben Alis's rise to power and who had come to wield such an influence thanks to his friendship with the president that he was nicknamed ‘vice-president’ by many Tunisians. 150

youngest of Ben Ali’s nephews (and son of his political adviser, Hamid Mlika) who has been appointed director of the National Environment Program (after serving a short stint as minister of the environment in the late 1990s); and last but not least Belhassen Trabelsi and Sakhr Materi who were elected into the RCD's central committee at the latest party congress of summer 2008. The sensitivity of this issue can be gauged when looking more closely at the personal trajectories of some key family members, and particularly at the recent political fortunes of Leila Trabelsi, generally considered the second most powerful person within the Ben Ali regime (cf. Beau & Graciet 2009 for a controversial depiction). Born in 1957 into a humble family living in the capital city, her ascendancy (and that of her family) began when she married the president in 1992. (They had become a couple after his return to Tunisia in 1984.) Since that time, she has brought her family into strategic positions on many levels, and has turned into the second main hub of the presidential power sphere. Long-time content with staying in the shadow of her husband, and with working from behind the scenes, she began to assume a more visible public role around the mid-2000s, when it became clear that the president's health was deteriorating. It was even rumored that she harbored ambitions for succeeding her husband. Faced with strong resistance from within the party-state apparatus (and from the other presidential clans as well), she has lowered her public profile somewhat (though not nec134 essarily her political ambitions). The recent trajectory of Sakhr Materi, the now 29-year old scion of one of the ‘grand old families’ of the country, is particularly interesting from several regards, as it deviates to a certain extent from the ‘established rules’, and attests to the growing empowerment of the business elites within the ruling coalition. Sakhr Materi has not only managed to take over several important political positions in the last three years (becoming, first, the head of the RCD's Carthage branch, then a member of its central committee, and fi nally a member of the chamber of deputies); even more importantly, he has also managed to establish himself as a major media entrepreneur with strong religious connotations. Since 2007, he has thus been allowed to set up his own Islamic radio station (‘Radio Zitouna’), launch an Islamic TV channel (‘Zitouna TV’), open an Islamic bank (‘Zitouna Bank’), and finally take over the country's third-most important press company (‘Dar as-Sabah’). This might also explain why he is being traded by political observers as a potential successor should the president die before his son comes of age 134 The fact that she has bothered to complete a higher education as of late seems to point in this direction. Obviously, this is supposed to improve her image vis-à.vis the public and make forget about her professional background as a hairdresser. 151

(which is very likely seeing that he has been suffering from cancer since a number of years). This is a very unusual career in the Tunisian context where presidential 135 relatives nolens volens prefer to focus on business affairs. This may happen directly, by launching their own companies, or indirectly, by ‘partnering’ existing ones. Ben Ali’s relatives are thus often found in sectors like tourism and transport (where they have come to own airlines and tour operators), commerce (where they have set up megastores and shopping malls), and communication (where they own mobile companies and internet provid136 ers). Furthermore, presidential relatives are also found sitting on the administrative boards of the main Tunisian banks, such as the UIB, UBCI, BT, and BS. Public opinions have become very critical with regard to the legality of many of these transactions. Rightly or wrongly, many presidential relatives (and particularly the Trabelsi clan) have acquired a bad reputation for abusing their privileged political relations ties for their own personal gain. Importantly, however, family members have so far refrained from monopolizing specific sectors, but prefer to graft themselves on emerging ones, provided they are profitable enough (see the next chapter for more information in this regard).

CONCLUSION A major trait of the ‘New Era’ has thus been the gradual emergence of a new power structure, clustered around the person of the president. Its members are associated with one of the three key pillars of the Ben Ali Regime: the state’s techno-bureaucratic elites; the country’s industrial and commercial bourgeoisie; or the security and intelligence apparatus. The three constituent elements of this new presidential makhzen (Arabic for ‘storehouse’, and the Moroccan expression for the specific political structure of the royal power sphere) have thus gradually become a new ‘shadow elite’ alongside the formal party-state elites, and are increasingly eclipsing the other components of the ruling coalition: in particular the ministerial bureaucracy, the Destour party, and the national organizations. 135 Cf. also “Les Appétits d'un Clan” (Le Monde, 22/10/98, p. 14); “Mächtige Familienclans im Reich Ben Alis” (NZZ, 27/04/02, p. 7): “Comment s'enrichit le Clan Ben Ali?” (Le Matin Online, 09/02/03); as well as “Les 7 Familles qui pillent la Tunisie”, an anonymous tract that was widely circulated and discussed in Tunisia for the polemic, but precise insider information it contained. 136 Major examples include ‘Karthago Airlines’ (owned by Belhassen Trabelsi), ‘Carrefour Tunis’ (Slim Chiboub), and the internet provider ‘Planet Tunisie’ (Cyrine Ben Ali). 152

This also means that Ben Ali’s power rests on much more solid ground than Bourguiba’s did. On the one hand, he has gained direct, personal control of key power resources, which include the organizational and managerial skills of a large and modern palace administration, the dissuasive (coercive-repressive) ‘push’ of a huge and loyal security apparatus, and the persuasive (cooptative-remunerative) ‘pull’ of an equally substantial and totally uncontrolled presidential ‘shadow’ budget. At the same time, he has built up direct, personal links with key social actors, which include the country’s ‘grand old families’, its established (or emerging) business elites, and its new technical intelligentsia. This policy mix of technocratization and makhzenization, or ‘de-politicization’ and ‘neo-patrimonialization’, is actually one of the main distinguishing features of the Benalist regime, and one of the main reasons for its rapid consolidation. It must also be noted that this presidential makhzen consists of two parts: of a formal, or open, part that is theoretically accessible to all mem bers of the political elite (and eo ipso to any Tunisian citizen too); and of an informal, or closed, part that is basically reserved for the different elements of the presidential family (and, in part, for the moneyed elites as well). This means that the ‘New Era’ is actually continuing two older trends, themselves inter-related in many ways: the first involves the gradual formation of a highly integrated core elite whose members are decreasingly selected via political criteria, and increasingly via particularistic ones; and the second involves a further increase in the already strong discrepancy which might exist between the formal position of an individual, and his actual influence on decision making. This also explains why any analysis of decision making processes in the regime core remains such a dauting task for outside observers. Importantly, Ben Ali has tried to keep the different elements of the ruling coalition strictly separated so far. Only rarely do family or business representatives appear in formal or public positions, as with military or intelligence officers in civil or governmental positions. Obviously, he is not only anxious to keep his relatives and businessmen out of politics, but also the army and the police. This is a maneuver designed to not only maintain the appearance of legality and constitutionality vis-à-vis the public, but also to avoid an ‘inappropriate’ accumulation of political influence and patronage resources by elite members. This formula has not only enabled him to main tain his position as the country's uncontested leader and supreme arbiter, it has also allowed him to further enhance his discretionary powers vis-à-vis both ‘insiders’ and ‘outsiders’ (the peculiar spider web structure of this pres-

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idential power system will be described more closely at the end of this chap137 ter).

2. The State Bureaucracy: Implementing Policy At first glance, the state bureaucracy has retained three essential features that were developed under the Ancien Régime: a high degree of organizational centralization, a far-reaching overlap with the ruling party, and a predominant role in public life (cf. Annex 3a: The Make-up of the State Bureau138 cracy; Annex 3b: The Composition of the Government). Firstly, decision making and working procedures have continued to follow a top-down, center-outward logic. Most issues (even relatively trivial ones) continue to be solved at very high levels, before being handed down to subordinate or implementing agencies at a national or sub-national level. Second, the makeup of the state bureaucracy still overlaps with that of the ruling party. Its higher ranks continue to be exclusively filled with party members, and its organizational components continue to run parallel to party structures. Third, the state continues to control what goes on the country, either directly or indirectly. Public operators are generally placed under the tutelage of a ministry, and even private ones have often state representatives sitting on their boards. At the same time, a closer look at Tunisia's state bureaucracy reveals that it has undergone three major changes since the late 1980s: a significant redefinition of its public role, a substantial re-organization of its internal make-up, and a complete renewal of its leading ranks. The first change has been a far-reaching de-politicization of the state’s mission. The ‘new’ state is no longer supposed to be the omnipresent ‘controller’ and ‘regulator’ of former times that administers public affairs in a highly top-down way. Rather, it is expected to act as a political ‘arbiter’ and ‘facilitator’ that fulfils some 137 Is Leila Trabelsi really “la régente de Carthage”, her brother Belhassen “le vice-roi de la Tunisie”, the Trabelsis “le parti le plus puissant de la Tunisie”, and Tunisia the victim of a “a mafia in power” (all quotes from Beau & Graciet 2009)? Sihem Ben Sedrine is probably right in pointing out: “Si elle (Leila) arbitre entre les membres de son clan, son époux, lui, arbitre entre les différents clans qui component le pouvoir. Il à toujours cherché à ce qu'on le perçoive comme un recours, ça ne le dérange donc pas que Leila soit perçue comme la ‘méchante’ par l'opinion publique. Il joue à se faire passer pour la victime de sa propre épouse” (Quoted in ibid: 54). 138 Even though the state administration continues to employ a sizeable percentage of the working population, only a small part of it can actually claim elite status. These are mainly the members of central government (ministers, secretaries of state, heads of cabinet); the upper echelons of the ministerial bureaucracy (directors-general, some directors in some ministries, heads of agencies); and the key figures of the provincial administration (governors, first delegates, secretaries-general). 154

central functions for the national community (like securing public order, protecting territorial integrity, promoting economic development, etc.). The second change has been a thorough shake-up of the state’s internal hierarchy. This institutional re-shuffling has led to the systematic strengthening of some ministerial bodies, and particularly of the economically relevant portfolios, vis-à-vis others. The third change has been the complete exchange of the leading echelons of the regime elites. All the main figures of the Bourguibist period have been evinced since the ‘Change’, and the large majority of the current players have emerged since then. This elite renewal will be described in more details on the following pages.

CONFIGURATION The first immediate consequence of the aforementioned developments has been the complete submission of the government apparatus under the control 139 of the palace. Under Bourguiba, the ministerial bureaucracy used to exert substantial influence when it came to shaping ‘strategic decisions of a national relevance’. Under Ben Ali, however, it has been pruned down into a mere implementation body that basically carries out presidential instructions. Of course, this can be subject to variations; some cabinet members and senior civil servants may still enjoy substantial political prestige and even direct political influence, but they tend to do so in their own policy field and on a rather technical level. Moreover, even if they may propose policies, and their views are taken into account, the final decision is invariably reserved for Ben Ali (or those around him). One of the main benefits of the above process is that is has considerably smoothed the work of government. Before, the state bureaucracy in general, and the central government in particular, used to be the focus of all sorts of struggles and squabbles within society and the regime, as it was one of those places where fundamental policy choices were made, and distributive conflicts were fought out (for want of alternatives). The ‘de-politicization’ of the administration, however, has allowed for a certain ‘normalization’ of its daily work, and taken officials out of the ‘line of fire’ ‒ meaning that they can increasingly work according to their own rules again, without being over-laden with ‘hidden agendas’. They are now once again mainly the implementers and not the producers of policies ‒ with the sole difference that the instructions they are following are no longer coming from the cabinet, but from the palace. 139 Media broadcasting of cabinet sessions tends to underline this. They show ministers either ‘faceless’ or ‘nameless’, i.e. they present them from behind as they listen to the president, or they indicate their functions without mention of their names. 155

The most visible expression of this seminal power shift has been the political downgrading of the prime minister (cf. Albert Bourgui: “A quoi sert un premier ministre?” JA 1504, 30/10/89, p. 31; Ridha Kefi: “Un premier ministre pour quoi faire?” JA 2038 01/02/00, p. 34-37). Under Bourguiba, the prime minister was the second ‘strong man’ and declared presidential successor whose choice was highly indicative of the power relations within the regime and of the political preferences of the president himself. Under Ben Ali, however, he has literally become ‘le premier des ministres’, who is now a mere coordinator of government activities and executioner of presidential directives. Moreover, he is now constitutionally barred from succeeding the president in office, and eo ipso from ‘exuding’ the same galvanizing energies 140 as Bourguiba’s prime ministers. This clarification of roles appears to have been instrumental for the quick stabilization of the new regime and the relatively smooth functioning of political decision making since 1987, as it has helped to close a gap that existed between theory and practice (or between ‘expectations’ and ‘delivery’) and has thus contributed to removing a major 141 source of conflict at the very heart of the regime. This process has been particularly salutary for the prime minister himself, who had been the first to suffer from the contradiction in terms between the strong symbolic charge of the office and the rather weak actual powers of the incumbent. As Ridha Kefi has rightly observed (art.cit.), Bourguiba's prime ministers were simultaneously “bouclier et bouc émissaire” in politics. Since 1987, however, this ‘confusion of roles’ has been basically overcome: “Moins exposée, sa position devient logiquement moins précaire. Ni dauphin ni fusible, premier des ministres plutôt que chef du gouvernement, son rôle est désormais plus technique que politique et tend à se limiter à des tâches de suivi des dossiers et de représentation du chef de l'Etat”. Current incumbents are thus generally treated as very senior state officials ‒ no more, no less: “Contrairement à la plupart de leurs prédécesseurs, les premiers ministres de Ben Ali n'affichent plus, en tout cas pas ouvertement, leurs ambitions personnelles et se comportent généralement en simples auxiliaires, 140 According to the (amended) Art. 57 of the Tunisian constitution, the prime minister may assume the powers of the president for a period of up to 60 days in case the presidency becomes vacant on account of death, resignation, or incapacity. This, however, does not include the power to dismiss the government, dissolve the parliament, or adopt exceptional measures. Presidential elections must be organized within this timeframe, and the prime minister will be excluded from participating in them. 141 This process already started under Ben Ali's first prime minister, Hedi Baccouche (1987-89), it accelerated under his successor, Hamed Karoui (1989-99), and it culminated under the present incumbent, Mohamed Ghannouchi (since 1999) (cf. also Souhayr Belhassen: “Pourquoi Ben Ali a changé de premier ministre”. JA 1501, 09/10/89, p. 28-30; Stratmann 1989; Axtmann 2000). 156

utiles mais amovibles, du chef de l'Etat. Leur nomination est décidée par le président et leur révocation n'est souvent pas considérée comme une disgrâce; il ne sont pas, pour autant, exclus du sérail”.

CIRCULATION The second outcome of this institutional overhaul has been the complete exchange and rejuvenation of the leading figures and echelons of the regime elites. This renewal has been done in two ways: from ‘above’, via a systematic replacement of the ‘old guard’ of ‘party barons’ with a new generation of techno-bureaucrats (through regular cabinet shuffles and institutional shake-ups); and from ‘below’, by the systematic promotion of ‘nouveaux compétences’ (through newly established elite schools and in-house training facilities, which will be described more closely further down). This process has not only profoundly changed the appearance of the state (including the political profiles of senior civil servants and the way they behave in public), but has also affected the substance of policies (including the way the latter conceive of themselves and role they ought to play in politics). At this point, it must be noted that the new rulers have chosen to maintain the bulk of rules which used to govern the recruitment procedures of the state bureaucracy. This means, first, that the institution of the concours (competitive exams based on the French model) remains the obligatory entry point for all would-be civil servants, with the sole exception of the posi 142 tions available in the cabinet of a minister, or in the palace of Cartage. And it means, second, that being a Destour member continues to be a conditio sine qua non for a bureaucratic career, with one important difference: before, the successful aspirant generally needed to be active in the ruling 143 party; now, it is enough to be enrolled in it. At the same time, there continues to be a thin line separating ‘political’ and ‘non-political’ appointments. The former, which concern most positions in the state, are filled from below, which normally requires a step-by-step ascension through the administration's steep hierarchy. The latter, by contrast, begin above the posi-

142 There are basically two ways to accede to senior positions in the state bureaucracy: either through direct nomination, which is possible for graduates of the state's administrative academy, ENA; or through public competitions, which are accessible for graduates of a state university. 143 Ministers or secretaries of state are actually generally recruited from among senior state officials or public sector managers, and seldom from among party activists or parliamentary deputies; interestingly, it is also rare to find former governors or mayors in their midst. 157

tion of director, and are ‘parachuted’ from above. This normally involves a long record of political services, and good connections to the core elite. Thus, Larif Beatrix’s analysis of the administrative structures of the Bourguibist era have essentially retained their validity until the present time: “L'administration, en dépit de sa soumission au pouvoir, reste dans son ensemble régie par ses propres normes (…). La vraie fusion du politique et de l'administratif ne se fait qu'au niveau le plus élevé de la hiérarchie administrative” (1988: 229). The crux with this lies elsewhere, namely in the essentially patrimonial nature of the underlying political system: “La spécificité de la bureaucratie tunisienne doit être cherchée dans les rapports qu'elle entretient au niveau le plus élevé, d'un côté avec le système politique (…) et de l'autre côté avec la société tunisienne. Au fond, ce qui distingue un ministre et un gouverneur d'un haut fonctionnaire, c'est (…) la ‘plus-value’ que leur accorde le système politique en les propulsant aux sommets de la hié rarchie partisane (…). Pour les hauts fonctionnaires propulsés au sommet, cette ‘plus-value’ étant conféré d'en haut par le leader de manière discrétionnaire, elle peut aussi être retirée de la même manière” (ibid: 239). What really distinguishes bureaucratic recruitment and circulation patterns in Tunisia from other political (and particularly democratic) systems is not so much the overlap between politicians and administrators, but rather the monopolization of senior appointments by a single actor, namely the president. Although Ben Ali is clearly concerned with the inclusiveness of his regime (making sure that key ‘elements’ of Tunisian society are integrated in his government), it is a matter of fact that he has reserved the final say in this regard for himself (and that he has no intention of renouncing this privilege). There are no autonomous power brokers and no organized advocacy groups in the Destour or in parliament, who are able to claim a certain post (or share of posts) for themselves or their clients. Similarly, there are no autonomous mechanisms of interest articulation linking senior state officials or public sector representatives to specific elite segments or social strata. Senior officials and cabinet members are certainly regarded as ‘representing issues’, however not in the sense of specific political agendas or social constituencies, but rather in the sense of extended clientelist networks and distributive alliances. As they do not have a power base of their own, they are completely dependent on the protection of the president; when they lose it, they lose everything.

COMPOSITION The third outcome of administrative reforms has been the systematic replacement of party politicians by techno-bureaucrats. This process, already be158

gun under Bourguiba, intensified significantly after 1987, for at least two reasons: first, it was deemed necessary for facilitating the process of economic renewal and administrative restructuring, launched in the context of the ERSAP and the EMP; and second, it was meant to help provide the regime with a new political and social legitimacy, one based on an enhance ment of its material output and service delivery capacities. This neatly meshes with the new thrust of public policies observable since the time of the ‘Change’, themselves based on a thorough reconfiguration of the political pact which used to bring (and hold) the different elements of the ruling coalition together. This process came to an end around the turn of the millenium. Since then, all cabinet positions are occupied by middle-aged professionals (often economists, administrators, lawyers, and engineers), who are highly qualified on a technical level, but completely unknown to a broad public. Specifically Mohamed Ghannouchi is depicted as the ‘quintessential technocrat’ (cf. Ridha Kefi: “Un Premier Ministre de devoir”. JA 2164, 01/07/02, p. 78-80). Born in 1941 in Sousse, he is an economist by training who started his career in the ministry of planning. After the ‘Change’, he quickly rose in the hierarchy of the regime and became a major driving force behind the economic reform process. After heading the ministry of planning and finance from 1986-90 (re-baptized ministry of economy and finance from 1990-92), he was called upon to lead the new ministry of international cooperation and foreign investment from 1992-99. At the end of the decade, he finally entered the inner circle of the ruling elite. In 1999, he was appointed prime minister and, in 2001, co-opted into the RCD's political office. Since the ‘political retirement’ of Hamed Karoui in 2007, he figures as the only vice-president of the RCD, which is the second highest office in the political hierarchy of the Tunisian party-state. There appear to be four main prototypes of the Benalist regime elites: the ‘security expert’, the ‘economic expert’, the ‘administrative expert’, and the ‘discursive expert’. The ‘security expert’ has often graduated in law or from the ENA, has risen in the interior ministry or secret services, and knows Ben Ali from the latter's earlier career stages. This type is often found in the presidential palace, in key security positions as well as in otherwise strate144 gic posts. The ‘economic expert’ has mostly studied business administration or political economy, worked for some time in a Western country or in an international organization, and made a career in the state bureaucracy or in a public enterprise. This type is often found in related government posi144 Abdallah Kallel, Ali Ganzoui, Mongi Chouchène, Abderrahime Zouari and Chedli Neffati are cases in point. 159

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tions or in state-owned enterprises. The ‘administrative expert’ has often studied law or political science (sometimes followed by a postgraduate formation at the ENA in Tunis or Paris), and worked for some time in the state bureaucracy or in the public sector (often combined with an academic teaching experience at home or abroad). This type is often found in the palace ad146 ministration or other strategic government portfolios. The ‘discursive expert’ is the most difficult to define. He usually is a good communicator (often with a background in journalism or diplomacy), or enjoys a certain public prestige (e.g. as an academic or intellectual). This type is often found in the diplomatic service, the trade sector, the media sector or in cultural port147 folios. It is striking that there are so many socio-professional parallels between the current bureaucratic elites and their pre-1987 forebears, in spite of all the changes that have taken place since the ‘Change’. First, the large majority of senior officials continue to have a personal background in the public sector. This shows that even major policy shifts do not necessarily impact on established recruitment mechanisms. Second, most of them appear to be second-generation descendants of the post-independence ‘state bourgeoisie’, i.e. from those families which made their way up on the social ladder thanks to their affiliation with the Destour and careers in the new state. This shows that even fundamental societal changes do not necessarily impact on political reproduction mechanisms. However, it must also be noted that there are a number of differences. Firstly, they exhibit a much broader social profile, in terms of gender and age, but also with regard to their geographical origins and educational backgrounds. Secondly, they convey a much more ‘technical’ image, most of them having not been appointed for possessing long records as party activists, but rather for offering a specific brand of professional skills.

CONCLUSION There are a number of features that characterize the working procedures and recruitment mechanisms of the Tunisian government and state bureaucracy. First, strategic policy choices are still predominantly, if not exclusively, made at a very senior political level. Other actors (like non-state organizations or sub-national bodies) have little or no power over them. Second, the executive elites are still predominantly, if not exclusively, recruited 145 Taoufik Baccar, Mohamed Nouri Jouini, Mondher Zenaidi, Ridha Ben Mosbah, Afif Chelbi, and Slim Tlatli are good examples in this regard. 146 Abdelaziz Ben Dhia, Iadh Ouderni, Sadok Chaabane, and Bechir Tekkari are good examples for this type. 147 Abdelwahhab Abdallah and Moncer Rouissi are cases in point. 160

from among public-sector employees via the Destour party. Very few, if any, ‘outsiders’ (like civil society activists, entrepreneurs, labor activists, or expatriates) have access to them. This shows that even two decades into the ‘Change’, the Tunisian state bureaucracy is still characterized by a very high degree of organizational cohesion, political loyalty, and ideological commitment. What has changed, however, are the power relations and interaction patterns between the different elements of the regime elites. In fact, one of the main differences between the two ‘eras’, and one of the main results of political change under Ben Ali, has been the far-reaching de-politicization of the executive elites and their near-complete substitution by the presidential palace. Under Bourguiba, members of government used to be well-known public figures and power brokers who were closely associated with specific political agendas, and heavily impacted on political decision making. Under Ben Ali, however, they have become mere implementers of presidential directives who are now recruited for their professional know-how, and exercise tangible influence mostly on technical matters. This shift from element to instrument of power can be seen in the complete disempowerment of the prime minister, who, stripped of his former function as the president’s crown prince, has been downgraded to a mere coordinator of government activities. The recruitment strategy which Ben Ali has adopted for governmental and bureaucratic positions allows for a careful balance between ‘professional’ and ‘political’ nominations. The former, which concern most positions in the state bureaucracy, are filled through open competitions, which means that, as a general rule, having a university diploma, and being a party member, are sufficient to make an applicant competitive. In contrast, the latter, which begin above the position of director, are filled through ad personam appointments, which means that a long record of RCD membership, and close ties to the core elite, are essential. It must be noted that from the perspective of the rulers, this system offers a particularly attractive combination of administrative professionalism, social accessibility, and political controllability.

3. The Destour: Communicating Policy At first sight, the RCD also continues to resemble the PSD in many respects, particularly with regard to its pyramidal make-up, its societal omnipresence, and its political multi-functionalism (cf. Annex 4a: The Make-up of the Ruling Party; Annex 4b: The Composition of the Political Office; Annex 4c: The 161

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Composition of the Central Administration). First, it still features similar organizational structures, meaning the party’s organigram continues to parallel that of the state bureaucracy. Both show a similar degree of centralization and verticalization, with communication channels essentially flowing top-down, and center-outward. At the same time, membership in the ruling party still represents a pre-requisite for a public career. The upper echelons of the state bureaucracy continue to be reserved for party members, while the leading bodies of the ruling party continue to be controlled by government representatives. In this sense, the ‘base code’ of the former system ‒ monopolization of politics by the party combined with an instrumentalization of the party by the state ‒ has survived the ‘Change’. Although the Destour is no longer the single party, it is still the state party. Second, it fulfills similar political functions: It is a ‘transmission belt’ which serves to accompany government policies, explain them to citizens and mobilize support for them. It is a ‘feedback channel’ which serves to gauge public opinion, allowing citizens to air discontent and lodge demands. It is a ‘breeding ground’ which serves to produce dedicated followers, socialize them with the regime ideology, and prepare them for leadership positions. And it is a sort of ‘national glue’ which serves to counter centrifugal tendencies at social level, rally a particularistic population around a common political platform, and provide it with a shared sense of national purpose. In this sense, the Destour continues to offer all those channels of communication and participation which the other political institutions lack until the present time. From the official perspective, the party does not simply represent the nation, it actually constitutes the nation. Third, it has a similar societal role, being the only political force with a nation-wide presence. Even though official numbers are difficult to verify and may be exaggerated, it is beyond doubt that the party has managed to renew itself to a certain extent. There are party offices and spokesmen in practically every village and city district, in the same way as one can find party cells and activists in all public bodies and even in many private firms. It is an elaborate capillary structure with remarkable mobilizational capacities. It mostly works top-down, allowing the regime to spread its message across the country, drum up support for it, and quash resistance against it. But it also works bottom-up, serving as a ‘super-patron’, as a ‘one-stop

148 The RCD claims that the number of its adherents has grown by almost 40 percent over the past two decades, from 1.6 million in 1988 to 2.2 million in 2008. But only the ‘chosen few’ can be said to enjoy elite status: These are mainly the politburo members; the central committee members; the upper echelons of its central bureaucracy; and the leading representatives at regional level. 162

shop’ and ‘service point’, for citizens to express their grievances, solicit fa149 vors, and submit proposals. At the same time, the ruling party has also gone through some major changes, as can be seen from its ‘streamlined’ political ideology, its substantially broadened social base, and its completely renewed leading bodies. The first thing the new rulers around Ben Ali did after their rise to power was to overhaul the party’s public image. From the very beginning, they were eager to enhance its social acceptance by maneuvering it back into the politi cal mainstream. Three policy fields were particularly affected by this political ‘rebooting’: religious policy, economic policy, and social policy. At the same time, they were eager to broaden the party’s support base by bringing in previously underrepresented strata. Three groups were specifically targeted by this recruitment campaign: academics, women, and youth (cf. chapters seven to nine for more information in this regard). The second thing they did was to systematically renew the party leadership. The process began with the ‘exceptional measures’ adopted at the RCD’s first congress held in July 1988 (‘Congrès du Salut’), where Ben Ali personally designated two thirds of the new central committee members, while halving the number of politburo members. The process continued at the second congress of July 1993 (‘Congrès de la Persévérance’), the third congress of July 1998 (‘Congrès de l'Excellence’), the fourth congress of July 2003 (‘Congrès de l'Ambition’), and the latest one of July 2008 (‘Congrès du Défi’). In all of these cases, turnover rates among the party delegates remained high: shifting between 60 and 75 percent. The same can be said about membership in the politburo where change has been the rule since 1987. It is thus no surprise that not a single member of the current équipe had belonged to the party leadership before the ‘Change’. All of these reforms pursued a particular objective, namely to close the gap which had opened between the representatives of the party and the rest of society. The motto was bringing the party closer to the people, not vice versa. Unlike the PSD, the RCD is thus no longer supposed to act as a vanguard of the nation or a catalyst of change, but rather to serve as a mirror of the country and a receptacle of its identity. This was also a strategy to counter Nahda’s increasingly successful attempt to present itself vis-à-vis the majority opinion as the true incarnation of the real Tunisia (or, to put it differently, as the representative of the ‘pays réel’ as opposed to the ‘pays lé149 According to official figures, the number of branches has grown from 5120 to 8843 between 1988 and 2008, and the number of federations from 252 to 362. In addition, 197 branches and 12 federations have been set up by Tunisians living abroad. There are 28 regional coordination committees inside the country: one for every governorate, and five for Greater Tunis. 163

gal’). As Tijani Haddad, a leading member of the RCD and former chairman of the parliament's political affairs and external relations committee, has put it: “The RCD is no longer a party of the elite, but a party of the people” (in 150 terview, Tunis, 23/10/02).

CONFIGURATION The first outcome of the above changes was a fundamental redefinition of the political role of the ruling party. On the one hand, the RCD is clearly less important for policy formulation and agenda setting than the PSD used to be. In a way, it appears to have become some sort of political toolbox, or ‘propaganda ministry’, that is no longer debating different options for national policy, but only executing ready-made orders from the presidential palace. At the same time, it seems to be more important for the provision of public services and the maintenance of the clientelist system. In this way, it has come to acquire a paramount importance for the political encadrement of the population, the co-optation of strategic groups, the follow-up of government policies, and the mobilization of public support for them. For all these rea151 sons, the RCD appears both stronger and weaker than the PSD ever was. This ambiguous character of the Destour, its changing position within the political system and its changing role in public life, may all help to understand the rather controversial statements of many ‘regime watchers’ in this regard. On the one end of the analytical spectrum, it has been argued that “le parti au pouvoir, le RCD, plus encore que par le passé, est devenue incontournable, au cœur de la vie nationale et du fonctionnement de l'Etat” (Ziyad Liman: “Au cœur de la transition”. Special Edition: “Les années Ben Ali: Ce qui a changé, ce qui va changer”. JA 1922, 05/11/97, p.102). On the other end, it has been held that “the RCD may be in effect the single and dominant party, but in reality it has lost many of its teeth under Ben Ali and has come to serve, rather than rule, the regime” (Murphy 1999: 231). Neither of these appraisals is wrong, and the reasons behind this ambivalence shall be laid out in what follows.

150 This new image of the party can also be gleaned from the new premises of its headquarters. In 2001, it moved from its old location in a Beylical palace near the ancient city fortress to a superb skyscraper built for it on Mohamed V. Avenue, next to the capital's flashy new business district. 151 This specific new role of the ruling party can be gleaned from the peculiar unfolding of the five party conventions that have taken place since 1987, and specifically from the systematic introduction of all kinds of quota systems for important target groups. 164

CIRCULATION The second outcome of political change has been a substantial renewal of the ruling party’s support base. As in the case of the state bureaucracy, this renewal has been done through a pincer movement: from above, by systematically reappointing the two leading party bodies, the political office and the central committee, with the help of altogether five party conventions, and the president’s special nominating powers; and from below, by systematically renewing the party ranks, particularly with the help of a new quota system for under-represented groups, and new party schools for young party members. Both approaches have not only allowed a systematic replacement of the old guard with a new generation, but also a deliberate reintegration of important social groups into party structures. The RCD’s internal recruitment practices and decision making structures are remarkable insofar as they allow for input from below without ever jeopardizing control from above. As far as the currently 10 members of the political office and the leading echelons of the central party bureaucracy are concerned, they are without exception hand-picked by Ben Ali. Even though membership in these bodies has been going down these last years, it still involves a selected group of political ‘heavyweights’, like Ghannouchi, Ben Dhia, Ouderni, Kallel, Abdallah, and Belhaj Kacem. With the exception of the party’s secretary-general, Mohamed Ghariani, the parliamentary president, Fouad Mebazaâ, and (since 2003) the administrative mediator, Alifa Farrouk (who are members ex officio), the political office consists of nothing but government representatives. This means that if a minister loses his post 152 in the cabinet, he also loses his seat in the politburo. The party headquarters, responsible for day-to-day administrative tasks, has also undergone numerous changes. It is headed by a secretary-general and six deputies, who are all selected by Ben Ali, and not by party members. They all resemble civil servants insofar as they do not represent a particular agenda or constituency, but are chosen for their profile and their expertise. They rarely make an appearance in public and are totally unknown to the majority of Tunisians. As can be gleaned from the trajectory of the incumbent secretary-general, Mohamed Ghariani, as well as from those of his four predecessors (s.b.), they first and foremost represent the government, and not the party. Importantly, they are not allowed to simultaneously occupy

152 Even though key government portfolios (like home affairs and foreign affairs) are usually represented in the politburo, no clear-cut recruitment patterns are recognizable to date; members are usually picked according to the priorities of the moment and the preferences of the president. 165

other politically relevant positions or assume parliamentary mandates. This 153 once again means that they can be moved at any time and for any reason. As far as the central committee and the regional coordination committees are concerned, Ben Ali has followed a mixed approach. Roughly one third of the currently 243 central committee members are directly appointed by him, most of them being members ex officio (which applies, for instance, to ministers, governors, and the respective heads of the national organizations). The other two thirds are elected every five years by a party congress via competitive elections (with a certain fixed share for every governorate, according to the number of its inhabitants). A similar procedure is applied vis-à-vis the 28 regional secretaries-general who are selected by politburo members from among several candidates elected at the local level by the party cells. Even if Ben Ali does not appear to intervene directly at this level, he shapes the parameters ‒ and hence the outcomes of these elections ‒ by his discourses and his decisions. The party's youth policy has been assigned a key role to accelerate political renewal (interview, Riadh Saada, Director of the RCD's Studies and Training Center, Tunis, 09/10/01). A very elaborate in-house training system has been set up to groom the next generation of party elites. This system is based on three pillars. The first is the ‘Formation des militants de base’. Each year, the 28 regions select each 20-30 participants for a 3-year training program. Each year of this program comprises three obligatory courses on basic political issues, as well as six facultative courses on more special issues. The aims of this program are not only to brief participants on the party itself, 154 but also to teach them the basic skills they will need as party activists. The second pillar involves the ‘Summer Universities’. After a certain number of summer universities held at regional level, a national event gathers participants from all over the country. Successful candidates are selected from among ‘high cadres’ of the RCD, as well as from the ‘best students’ of the above schools. Presentations address major political and social issues both of national and global significance. Speakers include senior government representatives, civil servants, party leaders, and university professors. These summer universities represent excellent opportunities for young party activists to socialize and network with the inner circle of the regime elites. 153 I realized this during my first visit to the party headquarters in September 2002, which was humming like a beehive upon my arrival; the reason was that several of the secretaries had been appointed ministers the night before which, as I was told, had caught everybody ‘by surprise’. 154 The ‘Formation des militants de base’ is complemented by a program called the ‘Formation des formateurs’ which targets the next level of party activists. 166

The third pillar is the ‘Political Academy’. Founded in 1998, it is expected to become the main training ground of the future party elites. Each year, 30 participants (about one per region) receive an advanced training that comprises both theory and practice. Weekly lectures at the party headquarter are complemented by field trips to different provinces. (I myself attended one session in February 2002). The program aims to train participants in not only leadership and management skills, but also to foster their analytical and rhetoric capacities. Successful candidates should be 25-40 years old, hold a university or post-graduate degree, and possess a ‘certain public reputation’ in their home province. In fact, the key objective of the ‘Political Academy’ is clearly to attract ‘high potentials’ from among the young generation, familiarize them with the party program, and integrate them into the party universe. In this way, it has become a central element of the regime's new recruitment policy. The desire is to produce a new party elite that is endowed with a strong political identity, embedded in local structures, and familiar with modern techniques, and that can thus provide the regime with both grassroots support and leadership skills. Overall, it appears that all these training modules follow a similar formula; they all contain a clever mix of the theoretical and the practical, of political information and indoctrination on the one hand, and socializing and networking on the other.

COMPOSITION The third outcome of political renewal has been a far-reaching recalibration of the party membership. Similar to what happened to the different elements of the state bureaucracy, the party appears to enjoy a much broader social base today than under the late Bourguiba. Although it is open to debate how reliable official figures are, there is no doubt that after a year-long recruitment campaign, the ruling party has managed to renew itself. At the same time, most members of the party’s (upper) middle echelons exhibit a socioprofessional profile remarkably similar to their pre-1987 predecessors. Despite the ongoing presence of some elements from among the grand bourgeoisie, the typical RCD cadre can still be described as a small town, petty bourgeois notable, often to be found in the rather modern strata of the local labor market. By way of contrast, the large majority of central committee members exhibit a much more marked elite profile than their peers at subnational level. The successful social diversification at grassroots level, however, contrasts with the stepped-up governmentalization at leadership level. Today, practically the entire party leadership is composed of executive elites. All of 167

them are representatives of the ‘generation of independence’, who were born shortly before or after the founding of the republic, and who had made their first career steps under the old regime. All of them are also representatives of ‘les hommes du changement’, who have entered the inner circle of power since the time of the ‘Change’ and who have been appointed into their current positions by the Ben Ali himself. Thus, the way the party has developed since 1987 reflects broader trends underway in the state bureaucracy, as we will see. This applies to the presidentialization and ‘makhzenization’ of recruitment structures, the technocratization and bureaucratization of the incumbent personnel, and the depoliticization and ‘routinization’ of decision making. All of this becomes clear with a closer look at the five secretaries-general the RCD has had since the ‘Change’. All have been close aides of Ben Ali, often with a strong background in the interior ministry. The first, Abderrahime Zouari (SG from 1988-91), was director-general for regional administration and local communities from 1980-87. The second, Chedli Neffati (SG from 1991-96), was minister of the interior and minister of justice from 1988-91. The third, Abdelaziz Ben Dhia (SG from 1996-99), was minister of defense from 1991-96. And the fourth, Ali Chaouch (SG from 2000-05), had been minister of the interior at some point in his career. Only the current incumbent, Mohamed Ghariani, does not fit into this pattern: A former RCD student leader, he had occupied a variety of positions before his nomination: first being a special adviser of Ben Ali, then governor of Sidi Bou Zaid, and finally deputy secretary-general at the party headquarters (and ambassador to London). He sticks to the pattern, however, in being ‘a pure product of Ben Ali’.

CONCLUSION The Tunisian Destour has not only managed to maintain its organizational integrity, but also its political position, contrary to what has happened to many (if not most) former single parties around the world. This has mainly been due to the solidarity and cohesion that continues to exist among party members and leaders. More than that, the ruling party has not only man aged to substantially renew its social base, but also its political program. The outcomes include a significantly larger social base, and a lower average age, which also implies an enhanced social attractiveness and political represen-

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tativeness. This might also explain why the Destour has suffered neither dis155 integration nor disempowerment, at least not up until now. At the same time, it has undergone a far-reaching political disenfranchisement vis-à-vis the presidential palace, similar to what happened to the senior echelons of the state bureaucracy. Unlike the PSD which used to be the epicenter of power (at least in the beginning), and a driving force of political life (albeit with decreasing intensity), the RCD is entirely dedicated to the president and his policy (and otherwise relatively unencumbered by ideological convictions or programmatic considerations). This process is reflected by the change in position of the person at the head of the party. Before, it was headed by a strong party director, chosen from among the inner circle of the regime elite, who gave political guidance and who was, moreover, a cabinet member. Today, it is headed by a secretary-general who has more coordinating than directional functions, occupies no other post than this one, and therefore entirely depends on the backing of the president. The recruitment pattern that Ben Ali has adopted for the RCD allows him to strike a balance between assuring control from above while allowing input from below. He appoints the entire membership of the political office, the upper ranks of the party headquarters, and roughly one-third of the central committee. The other central committee members are elected by party delegates, the same way as the coordination committees members are chosen by the local party councils. The advantage of this arrangement is that it enables the president to maintain a balance between ‘domination’ from above and ‘participation’ from below. In this way, he is able to specifically reward loyal followers and co-opt valuable groups, without antagonizing the party elite or alienating the party base. At the same time, he is able to control the party without jeopardizing its main assets: its openness to political newcomers, as well as its embeddedness in Tunisian society.

4. The Parliament: Simulating Democracy For almost five decades, Tunisia had a unicameral parliament called National Assembly (renamed the Chamber of Deputies in 1981). In recent years, it has been turned into a bicameral assembly, now consisting of the Chamber of Deputies (the ‘Lower House’) on the one hand, and the newly created Chamber of Advisers (the ‘Upper House’) on the other. Deputies serve a five-year term, which is a priori renewable for an indefinite number 155 Of course, it is a matter of debate whether these new members have joined because of their commitment to the party ideology, or rather because of the benefits that are associated with party membership (like preferential bank credits, educational scholarships, housing allowances etc.). 169

of terms. Advisers are elected for six years, with half of the house being renewed every three years. The exact number of seats available in each chamber, as well as the exact conditions surrounding the (s)election of MPs, are specified in regular intervals by presidential decree. There are also quasiparliamentary assemblies on a sub-national level (the municipal and regional councils) which only function in a consultative and largely symboli156 cal capacity. At first sight, one of the major differences between Bourguiba’s era and Ben Ali’s rule is the institutionalization of ‘pluripartism’; that is, the admission of the opposition into the system and the inclusion of their parties in parliament. In fact, the new rulers were quick to follow up onto the promises they had made in 1987. The adoption of a party law in 1988 created for the first time a legal basis for opposition parties. The subsequent amendments of the party law guaranteed the legal opposition a rising share of parliamentary seats. The difference is obvious: before, Tunisia had a de facto single-party system, with no other party than the Destour represented in parliament; now, it has a multi-party system with nine legal parties altogether, five of whom are currently represented in parliament (cf. Annex 5: The Results of Elections). This pluralization of political life has been reinforced by the establishment of a second chamber whose creation was endorsed by the 2002 referendum, and whose members were elected in early 2005. The assembly has purely consultative functions. The electoral code stipulates that the number of its seats shall not exceed two thirds of the seats available in the first chamber. One third of the seats will be reserved for ‘provincial’ delegates (i.e. 2-3 from each governorate, depending on its population); another third will be filled with ‘sectoral’ delegates (i.e. employers, workers, farmers, and professionals); and a last third will be designated from among ‘competent personalities’ in Tunisian society. This procedure is reminiscent of recent developments in neighboring countries, such as Egypt and Morocco.

COMPOSITION It must be reminded that a very heterogeneous voting system is applied during parliamentary elections. The first chamber is elected according to a dual system: 80 percent of the seats available are distributed by party-list majority voting in 26 single-seat electoral districts and represent a sure catch of the ruling party; 20 percent of the seats available are allotted proportion156 As there are no municipal councils in rural areas there are also no elected institutions at this level. 170

ately to lists that were unsuccessful in the first round of elections and are thus meant to be a sort of political compensation for losing parties. This means in practice that 80 percent of the seats are reserved for the RCD, and 20 percent for the (loyal) opposition, even though the latter usually score much less than this (the same procedure is being applied during local elections). The current chamber of deputies hosts 189 MPs: 152 Destourians and 37 ‘oppositionists’ from among five parties: the MDS, PUP, UDU, HT, and PSL. The PDP, FDTL, and PVP are currently not represented; the former two because they are regarded as too ‘critical’, and the latter because it is too ‘young’. The second chamber is elected by an even more complex procedure. Regional delegates are elected indirectly by a college composed of electors from each of the municipal councils of that province. Sectorial delegates are elected by their national councils from among a list comprising at least twice as many names as seats available. And the so-called national personal ities are directly appointed by Ben Ali. Current membership in the chamber of advisers stands at 112: The 43 seats reserved for regional representatives have all gone to the RCD. The 28 seats earmarked for the ‘economic partners’ have been equally divided among the UTICA and the UTAP (the UGTT having chosen to boycot the elections). And the remaining 41 seats have mainly been allotted to former government officials. As a result of the amendments introduced since the 1990s, parliamentarians have grosso modo become more representative of Tunisian society. The average age of deputies has been decreasing (even though the upper age cohorts are still over-represented), very much as the social accessibility of parliament has been improving. One can find a growing number of business representatives among the delegates, even though public employees, and particularly teachers, are still grossly overrepresented. Importantly, many of the delegates in both chambers are women (almost 14 percent in the ‘Upper House’, and 23 percent in the ‘Lower House’), practically all of whom were elected on the ticket of the RCD. It is obvious, though, that neither the chamber of deputies nor the chamber of advisers attracts political ‘heavyweights’ or ‘big names’. There are certainly some prominent people sitting in its ranks, but the really important ones are found in the RCD’s central committee. This lack of interest on the part of the ‘real’ elites reflects the relative unimportance of the respective institutions.

CIRCULATION As we have seen, the voting system applied for parliamentary elections in Tunisia betrays a high degree of institutional fragmentation. 80 percent of 171

the seats in the first chamber are distributed according to the majority principle, and thus invariably won by RCD candidates. The other 20 percent of the seats are reserved for the losing (opposition) parties, and shared according to proportional representation. Hence, the difference between the two systems is that in the case of the former, selection is essentially competitive and decided at local level, whereas in the case of the latter, selection is basically non-competitive and decided at central level. (The technique used for the election of the chamber of advisers bears many resemblances in this regard.) This is another example of the shrewd divide-and-rule (or carrot-andstick) policies which the Benalist regime employs. It means that RCD candidates and opposition candidates are actually not competing against each other but among themselves, within their respective spheres and according to their own rules. This, however, further hinders the creation of communicational links across partisan divides and blocks the emergence of a common identity among MPs. Another result is that there are no strong political parties or parliamentary groupings on a national level; RCD deputies are elected at local level, and thus basically affiliated with their home town, while opposition deputies are elected thanks to the initiative of the president, and thus not representative of any particular constituency in Tunisian society. It is particularly instructive to briefly compare the voting procedures used for parliamentary elections with the ones applied to the RCD’s central committee. Since independence, both the RCD’s central committee and the national assembly (before its subsequent renaming and revamping) have been prominent devices to co-opt social elites or political contenders into the system. Hence, they have important roles to play, not necessarily for policy making or agenda setting, but rather for contributing to the ‘stability’ and the legitimacy of the regime, via the distribution of patronage. Those who have been selected enjoy substantial ‘collateral benefits’, like privileged access to senior policy makers, powerful distributive networks, and precious insider information. This further enhances their attractivity vis-à-vis the 157 electorate and ipso facto their utility for the regime. 157 As Mounir Ben Miled (MP of the RCD and head of the German-Tunisian Inter-Parliamentary Group) has pointed out, voting procedures for the RCD's central committee and for parliamentary elections differ in some regards (interview, Tunis, 05/02/02). The basic steps are the same in each case. The first selection is made on the level of the party federations, and the second on the level of the coordination committees (whereby the number of proposed candidates has to be twice as high as the number of seats available). The main difference comes with the third step: when establishing the voting lists for parliamentary elections, it is the politburo which has the last word, and that decision is rather ‘consensual’; when electing the members of 172

However, it should be noted that elections to the RCD’s central committee are much more contested than those to the parliamentary assembly (Zouheir M'Dhaffar described them as “une campagne à couteaux tirés”; interview, Cartage, 01/12/03). This difference in electoral competitiveness also reflects the difference in political importance, since only the members of the former enjoy direct regular access to core elite circles, whereas the members of the latter need to mobilize substantial energies (or financial resources) for being able to achieve the same result. Moreover, the central committee also fulfills at least some basic functions of a normal parliament, whereas the national assembly mainly serves as a democratic facade vis-à-vis the outside 158 world.

CONFIGURATION It must also noted that even though the diversity of parliament, and its reflection of society, has changed quite considerably, the institution’s position 159 within the system, and its standing vis-à-vis the pouvoir, has not. During the time of Bourguiba, the National Assembly fulfilled two basic functions. It was as a ‘chambre d'enregistrement’ whose role was to rubberstamp decisions taken by the government; and it was a ‘boîte à resonance’ which served to fathom the popularity of these policies. Parliamentary elections thus served two main goals. Firstly, they were an instrument of co-optation, with the aim of rallying as many groups as possible around the regime. Secondly, they had the function of a plebiscite, serving to confirm and renew the political contract between the pouvoir and the people. Insofar, they can also be

the central committee, however, it is the party congress which has (at least partially) the last word, and that choice is rather ‘competitive’. 158 What makes the party so important for the regime, but for citizens too, is that is the only real communication channel, the only real transmission system, between the rulers and the ruled. Every Tunisian knows the local party representative and will use him, ‘le cas échéant’, as an entry point, whereas hardly anybody knows ‘his’ member of parliament or any other member of government. In this sense, the RCD continues to fulfill the same central function as the PSD, namely to serve as a ‘trait d’union’, as a missing link, between capital and periphery. “Le parti a conservé le rôle d’interface des élites centrales et périphériques qui lui a valu l’exceptionnelle longévité de son emprise” (Camau & Geisser 2003: 216;; cf. also Murphy 1999: 25). 159 The role of parliament can be gauged by having a look at the building itself. Hosted in a splendid 19th-century Beylical palace, situated next to the national museum, it is in many respects an empty shell that consists of nothing but a handful of offices, and a tiny number of permanent staff (about 30 conseillers for all MPs!). The deputies themselves (with no offices or assistants at their disposal) work only part-time, i.e. are usually absent except for plenary sessions and committee meetings. 173

seen as a modern variant of the traditional bai‘a, the oath of allegiance, binding the ruled to the ruler and vice versa. The above observations continue to apply up to the present time. In fact, the assembly neither elects nor controls the government which is exclusively answerable and accountable to the president. In theory, it has many prerogatives of a normal parliament in that it enjoys legislative and budgetary powers, and may even question and censure the government. In practice, however, all that MPs normally do is propose minor technical 160 changes to bills proposed by government. At the end of the day, the Tunisian parliament continues to be a mere fig leaf and rubberstamping institution for the really powerful. In no way and by no means are deputies in a position to confront the executive or the president, who not only wields powers by far outweighing those of the legislative (including the power to make or block laws, or to adjourn or dissolve parliament), but who also plays a key role when it comes to the selection of candidates ‒ irrespective 161 of whether they are Destourians or ‘oppositionists’. This analysis confirms the continuation of a situation which already existed during the rule of Bourguiba and which Larif Beatrix has aptly highlighted in her classical work. She distinguished between two kinds of MPs: the député du gouvernement who is basically chosen by the regime to oversee the work of the chamber; and the député de base who is basically chosen by the people to represent their region in the capital. Both are similar in that they are first and foremost expected to explain government decisions to their respective voters; but they differ in that only the former is part of the elite. “Au fond un député tunisien n'a pas de rôle autonome. Il n'est pas forcement le porte-parole de telle ou telle strate sociale, de tel ou tel secteur économique, bien que lui-même puisse appartenir à telle ou telle strate ou à tel ou tel secteur. Son rôle, il le tient du système politique tel qu'il l'a conçu pour lui (…). L'étude des députés nous renseigne moins sur les députés euxmêmes en tant que mandataires, que sur la façon dont la société politique se

160 The constitutional amendment of May 2002 has further sapped the already weak powers of the national parliament. Henceforth, the constitution prohibits MPs from submitting proposals or amendments whose consequence would be “a reduction of public resources” or an “increase of public liabilities”. By the same token, the creation of a chamber of advisers will further diminish the standing of deputies insofar as it provides new opportunities for dividing or sidelining ‘contesters’. 161 The position of parliament vis-à-vis the executive can also be gleaned from the background of its two chairmen. The chamber of deputies is headed by Fouad Mebazaa, a relatively minor figure of the old regime and a personal candidate of Ben Ali, while the chamber of advisers is headed by Abdallah Kallal, the former minister of the interior and security adviser of the president. 174

représente la représentativité de la société civile et concrétise ses rapports 162 avec elle” (Larif Beatrix 1988: 252).

CONCLUSION There has thus been no real parliamentarization of political life in Tunisia until the time of writing, in contrast to what has happened in many other countries of the region (cf. Baaklini et al. 2000). Likewise, there has been no real change in the overall power relations between the different components of the political system, nor in the everyday working conditions for members of parliament. In fact, the constitution has so far maintained the overwhelming preponderance of the executive branch vis-à-vis all other powers (and particularly the legislative branch), meaning that policy making is still totally dominated by government representatives. By the same token, the legislation in force has preserved the accumulated advantages of the RCD visà-vis the different formations of the political opposition, meaning that parliamentary work is still totally dominated by the former single party. The unchanged validity of the single-list majority voting system in particular provides the ruling party with a quasi-institutionalized hegemony. This becomes clear when comparing its rock-solid organizational apparatus, made up of several thousand party branches firmly implanted in every cor ner of the national territory, with the tiny, fragmented, insulated formations of the legal opposition which do not extend beyond the outer remits of the few large cities. It becomes also clear when considering the RCD’s far-reaching overlap with the upper echelons of the state bureaucracy (incl. the judiciary, police, television, etc.), which basically precludes the possibility of unforeseen ‘dynamics’ in electoral ‘contests’, as it allows to neutralize unwanted candidates ex ante or uncooperative incumbents ex post. The regime’s apparent unwillingness to abandon either of these two systemic features, which effectively preclude a level playing field in political life, reflects its desire to secure national cohesion around the Destour ‒ which it continues to regard as a safeguard of its persistence. The Tunisian assembly system thus has a certain role to play for Ben Ali, but it is more for legitimizing his regime and co-opting local elites than for 162 There are cases, however, when this distinction becomes blurred. The fact that parliament is rather marginal as an institution is not to say that the same automatically applies to MPs as individuals. There are a number of them who can be regarded as influential: mainly the three presidents of the assembly; some chairmen of parliamentary committees; and those MPs who also belong to the RCD’s central committee. These deputies do matter on a political level, but not because parliament is powerful, but because they are powerful outside parliament. 175

formulating and implementing policies or for articulating and aggregating social interests. Parliamentary assemblies have become just another building block in the multi-layered clientelist system which the regime has created over time. They enhance the patronage resources of Ben Ali, without having a noticible impact on the ‘real issues’. At the same time, they have become a key element in the democratic facade Ben Ali has erected over the past decade. They allow him to meet the formal conditions of the Western discourse on democracy, good governance and human rights, without giving up an iota of his power. Parliamentarisme à la tunisienne has thus allowed Ben Ali to establish himself as a ‘balancing factor’ between the different players, able to determine whether the opening of the system continues, how fast it goes, how far it goes, and (last but certainly not least) who reaps the spoils (more details will be provided in chapter six and seven).

5. The Judiciary: Upholding Legality A particularly important element of the Tunisian political system (albeit one whose structures are rather difficult to comprehend for ‘outsiders’) is the ‘third power’: the court system. The Tunisian judiciary features a strong hierarchical structure modeled on the French system (including the predominant role of the presiding judge). At the bottom of the pyramid are the 51 district courts (spread out across the national territory, and dealing with only minor cases), followed by the courts of first instance in the ‘capitals’ of each governorate (receiving appeals from the district courts, and handling also more serious cases). The leading echelons of the Tunisian judiciary begin with the three courts of appeal in Tunis, Sousse, and Sfax (which re ceive, nomen est omen, appeals from the previous courts), followed by the court of cassation in Tunis (which serves as the highest appeals court of the regular judicial system). These regular civil courts are complemented by several special courts. There are three institutions responsible for lawsuits involving the state administration. These are the administrative tribunals (one tribunal for each governorate), the auditing office in the national capital, and the ‘administrative mediator’ (an office created in 1993 to serve as a point of contact for citizens and prevent abuses by the administration). There is also a special institution for highly ‘political’ cases ‒ the ‘High Court’ ‒ which may be convened by the president for trying senior officials accused of high treason (not used until the time of writing). Importantly, there are no (more) religious courts in Tunisia (contrary to most other countries of the region, personal status cases are tried by civil courts), and the military courts deal ex176

clusively with military personnel (contrary to the time of Bourguiba when they were also used as a weapon against the opposition). The country’s highest judicial authority is the Constitutional Council, created in late 1987 and headed by Ben Ali himself. It is a peculiar combination of a supreme (or constitutional) court, and a monitoring (or controlling) body. Its tasks are to not only ensure that government initiatives conform to constitutional provisions (specifically with regard to constitutional amendments, organic laws, and international treaties), but also to vet the regularity 163 of elections (but only for parliament, not for the presidency!). Its members (who are without exception selected by the president) are not only supposed to perform their duties in total ‘independence’, but also to maintain political ‘neutrality'. This shows that at the apex of the system, the judiciary is dominated by the executive. This control is reinforced by the fact that Ben Ali also heads the Supreme Judicial Council, which watches over the appointment, assignment, promotion, and transfer of judges. In daily practice, however, the Tunisian judiciary is characterized by an awkward co-existence of functional autonomy and political infeodation. In most cases, courts and judges are able to proceed according to the rules and norms of their profession. Court procedures, although often slow, time-consuming and paper-intensive, are said to be relatively ‘clean’, corruption-free and rule-based. There are no pre-defined social groups which automatically 164 enjoy a privileged position or receive a preferential treatment. However, evidence abounds that this independence and impartiality of courts and judges automatically ends as soon as a case involves a political dimension or a member of the core elite. In this case, a purely political logic supersedes judicial regulations, with the result that the outcome of the lawsuit is basically dictated ‘top-down’. Thus, formally, the judiciary has returned to ‘normality’ since the ‘Change’. Discredited institutions like the public prosecutor and state security court have been dismantled, and parallel structures like the party militias and military tribunals de-activated. The Benalist regime does not use ‘extraordinary’ legal measures, like emergency legislation, or military courts. This attests to the intricate dialectic of the political status quo in contemporary Tunisia: the increasing ‘normalization’ of the political situation, and ‘regularization’ of procedures, has led to an increasing politicization of the judiciary. The more Ben Ali refrains from bypassing formal state institutions, and chooses to rely on them, the more they become implicated in political con163 It must be noted that since Organic Law 98-76, Constitutional Council decisions are immediately and obligatorily binding for all public sector institutions. 164 In fact, it actually seems to happen quite often that even ordinary citizens and simple workers manage to win a lawsuit against their employers or public officials. 177

flicts, and instrumentalized for political purposes. The judiciary is most probably the sector which has been most concerned by this process.

6. Ben Ali's ‘New Regime’: Techno-bureaucratic Governance, Neopatrimonial Rule ‘ALL POWER TO THE PALACE’ The way in which the configuration of the ruling elites, their embeddedness in the political system, as well as their interaction with non-state actors has evolved under Ben Ali presents a mixed picture. On the one hand, there is still a towering presidential figure who totally dwarfs all other actors; a massive party-state apparatus which entirely dominates public life; and relatively weak judicial and legislative institutions directly controlled by the executive and bureaucratic elites. On the other hand, some key changes have taken place since 1987, including a substantial reshuffle of the overall power relations within the ruling social coalition; a comprehensive renewal of their leading ranks; as well as an in-dept redefinition of their respective political roles. It is clear that real power still essentially clusters around three institutions: the presidency, state bureaucracy, and ruling party. The president continues to control key regime institutions and power resources. This allows him to not only determine all strategic political decisions, but also to select all senior political representatives. State and party continue to exhibit equally centralized and hierarchical structures. Most decisions are still taken at a very senior level, and then passed down to subordinate ranks. State and party continue to feature essentially overlapping and intertwined leaderships. The upper echelons of the state bureaucracy are still monopolized by party members, while the leading bodies in the ruling party are still dominated by executive representatives. Command channels, however, clearly flow from the former to the latter, not vice versa. The principle of this system is: “L'Etat est tout; dans l'Etat, l'Exécutif est tout; dans l'Exécutif, le Président est tout” (Khiari & Lamloum 1998: 379). Thus, neither a separation, nor a devolution of powers has taken place so far. Real power is still restricted to the upper echelons of the executive elites recruited via the Destour, while major political decisions are still determined by the états-majors of the government bureaucracy in the capital. Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’ continues to have all the essential features of a party-state system in which the structures of the party remain wedded to those of the state. Further, Tunis continues to be the epicenter of politics, where strategic decisions of national relevance are invariably adopted. This all means 178

that the ‘Second Republic’ has not followed regional trends toward a stronger decentralization or differentiation of politico-administrative powers and 165 roles. These extra-ordinarily centralized and hierarchical decision making and command structures mean that most Tunisian officials (state or party, elected or unelected) dispose of only very limited opportunities to influence fundamental orientations and strategic decisions of the core elite. Their competencies and responsibilities usually remain limited to technical or sectoral aspects, even though these can be of prime importance to regime survival (e.g. with regard to economics). Key officials are at times incorporated into the core elite, but usually for a limited time only and with a very specific function. Only those who manage to become part of the presidential entourage can be considered as truly belonging to the inner circle of the regime. At the same time, it must be noted that Tunisian officials perform very important intermediary functions in daily life as go-betweens between the state authorities and ‘ordinary’ citizens (all the more important given the absence of genuinely autonomous political institutions with real decision making powers). This means that officials perform a variety of functions which cannot be adequately grasped by the Weberian ideal type of the ‘modern’, ‘rational’ state. On the one hand, they mediate social demands (from their families, relatives, friends, etc.) concerning state activities (like services, jobs, works, etc.). On the other hand, they mediate state policies (e.g. rules, laws, regulations, etc.) vis-à-vis their social environment (including whether these are actually applied at all, in which form, and to which extent). At the end of the day, however, these functions are more descending than ascending, and officials are first and foremost answerable vis-à-vis the pouvoir. This is because they primarily derive their position and their prestige within society and vis-à-vis their community from their access to state resources, not because of their representativity of specific social interests. These observations actually apply to all echelons of the party-state: they concern local party leaders, regional secretaries, and central committee members as much as they do with regard to municipal officials, governors, or national administrators. The Tunisian case is thus a typical example for how local intermediaries are absorbed into super-ordinate clientelist struc165 An important feature of Tunisian politics is also that political elites have not only sweeping policy making powers, but also substantial opinion making functions, due to the state’s ongoing control of the media sector. In practice, however, this state of affairs has begun to change, due to the appearance of new information and communication techniques, and the increasing engagement of private operators in this sector (more details will be provided in chapter six and seven). 179

tures animated by the central state elites (as described in more detail in Feneyrol 2006). At the same time, however, a major power change has occurred in the political system since 1987. Political authority has gradually but steadily shifted from the formal institutions in the capital, to the rather informal institutions around the president. Before 1987, the government was basically answerable to the president; since 1987, however, the presidency has actually become the government. Before 1987, the PSD was the party of the state; since 1987, the RCD has by all means become the party of the president. In this system, the overall guidelines of public policy are determined solely by those around the president, before being transferred to cabinet members and to party officials. By the same token, all senior nominations in the party-state apparatus are decided by the president himself; cabinet members (including the prime minister himself) may make proposals, but this is 166 it. The distinguishing feature between Ben Ali’s and Bourguiba’s regime is thus not so much the peculiar relationship between state and party, but rather the decisive strengthening of ‘Carthage’ vis-à-vis ‘Tunis’. In fact, under Bourguiba, cabinet members and party bosses used to be powerful, wellknown public figures and power brokers, who were regarded as representing specific political agendas and social status groups, and this is why any change at this level was immediately known and extensively debated. By the same token, the four decades of Bourguiba’s rule were marked by heated political debates and power struggles among the different factions within the regime elite and the ruling coalition at large, even though they were skillfully entertained and instrumentalized by the president himself. By contrast, under Ben Ali, ministers and party leaders have become anonymous, exchangeable apparatchiks and fonctionnaires, who are charged with carrying out decisions taken elsewhere, and this is why the outcomes of cabinet shuffles or party congresses fail to arouse much attention or enthusiasm. By the same token, the New Regime is virtually devoid of open public controversies, which means that Ben Ali has finally managed to ‘tame’ the country's political elites, something Bourguiba could not or did not want to achieve. This is not to say, of course, that the Destour or state bureaucracy have lost all of their influence; without them, Ben Ali would find it much more difficult, if not impossible, to rule the country or just stay in power. And yet it is true that both have become the objects rather than 166 The exact extent of his family's (and especially of his wife's) influence on nominations and promotions is controversial and difficult to verify. But there is substantial evidence that this influence exists and that is has been increasing in the course of this decade. 180

being the subjects of power; they are no longer the prime ‘movers and shakers’, but mere implementers and amplifiers. A clear shift has thus taken place since 1987, from collective leadership toward individual rule. Ben Ali is no longer the ‘primus inter pares’ he used to be in the early days of his New Regime. Instead, he has become a ‘primus supra non pares’ (Albrecht & Schlumberger 2004), very much like Bourguiba did in the 1970s, but on a much larger scale. This can be inferred from the personality cult Ben Ali has established, from his omnipresence in public, 167 and from the constant references that regime representatives make to him. It can also be gleaned from the ease with which he has pushed through even sweeping changes (like abolishing the constitutional barriers to a fourth term, and thereby enacting a de facto return to the life-time presidency), or from the ease with which he has repeatedly dumped persons regarded as ‘grey eminencies’ (e.g. senior officials in the security apparatus) ‒ each time without encountering serious resistance. It is safe to say that Ben Ali has not only managed to preserve and con solidate the powers which Bourguiba had accumulated during his reign, but even to broaden and deepen them. On the one hand, he has been able to impose and affirm his authority over all other components of the ruling coalition, be they the ‘Old Guard’ of Bourguibists firmly entrenched in the state bureaucracy and the ruling party, or the ‘Young Turks’ of 7 November who rose to power with the ‘Change’ and the reforms enacted in its wake (cf. Abdelaziz Barrouhi: “Les Hommes du 7 Novembre”. JA 2495, 02/11/08, p. 4245). On the other hand, he has been able to neutralize or eliminate all those actors in society who used to enjoy a degree of autonomy under Bourguiba, and who could have possibly constituted a threat to his power. What has allowed Ben Ali to achieve these feats? On the one hand, he has severed previous institutional links between the main political actors. Two moves in particular were instrumental in expanding presidential control of the party-state complex. Under Bourguiba, it was possible for government members to have parallel mandates; but since 1987, they are no longer allowed to do so. By the same token, the PSD was run by a party director who came from the regime’s inner circle, and sat in the national cabinet; while the RCD is run by a secretary-general whose responsibilities are limited to day-to-day organizational tasks, and who is not allowed to occupy any other position. Equally important has been the depoliticization and 167 Thus, the three electoral programs which Ben Ali has issued since the presidential elections of 1999 have since then become the main reference document for all political actors, including party-state officials. They all contain a long list of fairly detailed policy goals which he vows to enact in the five years following his re-election. 181

technocratization of the prime minister and other cabinet members described before. On the other hand, and maybe even more importantly, Ben Ali has achieved direct, personal control over crucial power resources. He has concentrated enough administrative and coercive capacity around the presidential palace to be able to formulate, impose, and enforce public policies from there. And he has brought enough financial and symbolical resources under his personal control (e.g. through inter-marriage with leading business families, his control of recently privatized enterprises, and the introduction of a shadow fiscality via the so-called national funds) to be able to build up clientelist networks on his own (i.e. again independently of the state institutions). These are all key aspects of the systematic patrimonialization of the political system, which has taken place since the ‘Change’. Ben Ali's regime is thus characterized by a hub-and-spokes structure which makes him the undisputed axle of the political system. All command chains in the Tunisian state actually emanate from the president and likewise converge toward him. His position in the system resembles that of a spider in the middle of his web in that every thread runs toward the center of the web, while only very few stitches connect the single threads among themselves. This strategic position decisively increases his discretionary powers. He can either use his links with the private sector (and control over parts of the budget) to sideline state institutions, or he can use his control of state institutions (and the ambiguity of the legislation in force) to rein in the private sector. The ‘host of Carthage’ is the ‘missing link’ between the three key pillars of the New Regime ‒ ‘technocrats’, ‘mukhabaratis’, and ‘captains’ ‒ most of whom owe their rise to power, prominence, and affluence to their affiliation with him.

THE PRESIDENTIALIZATION OF RECRUITMENT This far-reaching restructuring and re-configuration of the regime institutions has been accompanied by (and inter-acting with) an all-encompassing exchange and rejuvenation of the political elites. Since the ‘Change’, Ben Ali has systematically purged the upper echelons of the party-state apparatus, replacing the ‘old guard’ of Bourguibists, while propelling his own men into positions of power. This ‘elite swap’ has been done through a pincer movement: from ‘above’, via the systematic use of cabinet shuffles and party conventions, and from ‘below’, via the systematic establishment of new training facilities and elite schools. Both the pace and scope of this process steadily slowed down between the early and mid-1990s, underlining the consolidation of Ben Ali's power and the crystallization of a new regime elite. 182

Generally, Ben Ali has relied on a method which Bourguiba cultivated in his time too: that of the ‘musical chairs’ approach. Elite members continuously circle the regime core; usually without being ‘in’ too long, but also without being ‘out’ forever. Sooner or later, first circle members will be sent for some time into political ‘exile’ (which can be an embassy, an international organization or a public enterprise), while particularly promising second circle elements will take over their posts. However, this calculated ‘disgrace’ is mostly a transitory situation, followed by the pardoning of the ‘culprit’ and his re-integration into the ‘circuit’. Even losers of power struggles are seldom exposed to punitive measures and often receive symbolical compensation (provided they accept the decision and submit to the president). All are important contributing factors to the very low level of physical violence in Tunisian politics, insofar as they reduce the stakes involved in con168 flicts. The ‘musical chairs’ approach is a very cost-effective method of containing political discontent and ensuring elite satisfaction. This holds especially true in a situation characterized by numerous potential candidates for elite positions and limited financial capacities for their employment. The main advantage of this formula is that it allows for the multiplication of patronage resources and participatory opportunities, while preventing the emergence of autonomous power centers or antagonistic political camps. Or, to put it differently, it maximizes the possibilities of rewarding clients while minimizing the danger of breeding rivals. It allows incumbents to acquire professional experiences in various fields and a comprehensive understanding of politics, while preventing them from developing a power base and a 169 public profile of their own. The question remains, however, whether elite change under Ben Ali has been a mere swap among different elite segments, or whether it has actually changed the patterns of circulation? And if the latter, in what way, to what extent, and with what results? Answering these questions is not at all easy: In fact, a political career in Tunisia still seems to hinge on the skillful combination of three basic ingredients. The first consists of ‘expertise’, i.e. of possessing the necessary educational and professional qualifications and achievements (the minimum requirement is having a university diploma). The second consists of ‘commitment’, i.e. of subscribing to the regime's basic po168 It depends very much on the circumstances of the moment and the person in question to determine whether these assignments are temporary ‘parking lots’ or permanent ‘dumping grounds’. 169 A related technique has been the creation of all sorts of advisory councils with limited actual powers since the beginning of the 1990s (which shall be described in more details in chapter seven). 183

litical and ideological norms and rules (the minimum requirement is being a party member). And the third consists of ‘wasta’ or ‘qurâba’, i.e. of having access to a network affiliated with the Destour or connected with Cartage. However, some qualifying remarks are in order at this point. First, party membership has clearly lost importance, even to the point of becoming a mere formality. Very few government members were previously party activists, and most party leaders are actually government representatives. Second, professional proficiency has clearly gained importance, sometimes to the point of eclipsing all other criteria. Most government members have actually been recruited for a specific kind of expertise, and are usually working in this particular field of experience. However, partisan and professional factors are necessary, but not sufficient requisites. Hence, it is ‘proximity’ and ‘protection’ ‒ or ‘qurâba’ and ‘wasta’ ‒ which tips the balance in favor of a candidate. The most important novelty, however, is the complete monopolization of senior political appointments by the ‘host of Carthage’. This is in clear contrast to the previous era when there existed several other major patrons with significant nominating powers alongside the ‘Supreme Combatant’ and his wife Wasila (especially the prime minister and the party director). The current situation is such that nobody other than the president is able to decide on the appointment, promotion, transfer, or dismissal of leading representatives of the party-state. Cabinet members or party leaders (who are very often one and the same) can certainly produce suggestions and propose candidates, but Ben Ali has effectively reserved the last word in this matter for himself. When comparing in more detail elite recruitment before and after 1987, it becomes obvious that Ben Ali both relies upon and departs from established circulation patterns. On the one hand, he has continued (and completed) the replacement of politicians with bureaucrats and technocrats. That is, people who possess special professional experiences and technical skills rather than representing specific political agendas or social groups (or, to put it differently, experts for ‘outputs’ rather than ‘inputs’). At the same time, he has given preference to ‘outsiders’ and ‘newcomers’. That is, people who were previously marginalized or excluded from politics, because they were of the ‘wrong age’, the ‘wrong sex’, the ‘wrong origins’, and/or the ‘wrong beliefs’. Ben Ali has thus maintained, re-established, or re-invigorated previous mechanisms and channels for elite circulation and upward mobility. He has deliberately targeted and co-opted all those groups in Tunisian society that felt discriminated against and alienated by the previous rulers, thereby broadening and strengthening his new ruling coalition. At the same time, he has 184

produced a new system of clientelist networks constituted around people whose rise to the top commenced with the ‘Change’. As shall be seen, this decision proved decisive for the quick consolidation of the new order as it allowed Ben Ali to attract people with an over-proportionate degree of political utility in day-to-day affairs and political loyalty vis-à-vis his new regime. Michel Camau rightly claims that the reconfiguration of the political regime and the reconfiguration of the ruling elites are immediately interlinked, and that both are inextricably inter-twined with the re-establishment of a new supreme decision maker and the restoration of life-long rule. “La rotation du personnel gouvernemental, sa ‘technicisation’ et sa responsabilité direct devant le président mettent en évidence un nouveau mode de structuration du groupe dirigeant. Elles traduisent la contraction d'un marché politique caractérisé autrefois par la concurrence entre plusieurs grands entrepreneurs au sein d'une même coalition. Non seulement, les anciens entrepreneurs politiques ont cessé leurs activités ou se sont reconvertis mais encore aucun entrepreneur nouveau n'a émergé. Pendant près de quinze années, le marché politique a trouvé les principaux ressorts de son activité dans l'hypothèque de la succession de Bourguiba. Une fois celle-ci levée, le marché, ipso facto, se fermait” (Camau 1997: 9).

THE TECHNOCRATIZATION OF INCUMBENTS The ‘Elite Ben Ali’ is thus structurally different from the ‘Elite Bourguiba’. It is possible to identify six groups that have most benefited from this elite change: first, women whom Bourguiba and his collaborators saw as legally equal but not politically employable; second, people from the (North-)Western and Southern provinces who were often regarded as inferior by Sahelis and Tunisois alike; and third, members of the post-independence generation who were mostly confined to middle management positions in the late Bourguibist period. Benefited have, fourth, members of the Destour’s reform wing, mainly political liberalizers (usually aligned with the MDS), or economic liberalizers (pushing for ERSAP); fifth, the religious bourgeoisie, be they traditionalists, or ‘progressives’; and sixth, intellectuals and academics, either from among the old notable families or the new middle classes who had withdrawn from the world of politics because they resented the authoritarianism of Bourguibism. These six groups have greatly bolstered the ruling coalition that underpins the ‘System Ben Ali’. But some qualifying remarks need to be made at this point. The first is about ‘regionalization’. Regional affiliations continue to be central to elite recruitment, as can be seen from the fact that since 185

1987 all prime ministers (Hedi Baccouche, Hamed Karoui, and Mohamed Ghannouchi), as well as most central bank supremos (Hedi Khelil, Mohamed Beji Hamda, and Mohamed Daouas) have come from (near) Ben Ali's home town, Hammam-Sousse (the current incumbent, Taoufik Baccar, being an exception in this regard). However, Ben Ali has not simply replaced the ‘rule of the Monastiris’ by a ‘rule of the Hammam-Soussis’; he makes sure that ‘his’ people control the state but without monopolizing it. He has thus neutralized the Monastiris, but not the Sahelis per se (which can be seen from the fact that many of the latter and even some of the former are still found in key positions). The different regions are now more equally represented in public affairs than had been the case under Bourguiba, which 170 neatly matches with the neo-nationalist ideology of the Ben Ali Regime. The second is about ‘genderization’. Women have been able to conquer a substantial portion of executive positions in all societal sectors, and have even come to represent key pillars of the regime. Today, they constitute over 20 percent of both the Chamber of Deputies, and the RCD’s central committee. However, even though they have begun to trickle into leading political positions, few have yet been able to make it into truly strategic ones. And the third is about ‘oppositionists’. Significantly, quite a few members of the Benalist regime elites had previously been active in the political opposition (a major example is Iyadh Ouderni). Very soon, however, they received a differentiated treatment. Many secularists have managed to pursue their career, and even though most are serving in rather ceremonial, or symbolic positions, some have made it into the ruling, or even core elite. Islamists, on the contrary, were pushed to the sidelines, meaning they are either found in subordinate positions within important institutions, or in leading positions within marginal institutions. In any case, the main winners of elite change have been the numerous members of the post-independence generation (i.e. all those who had been born between 1935 and 1955). These are individuals who were socialized in the early days of national independence, educated in the new institutions of the young republic, started a professional career in the 1970s, and often held middle-management positions in the 1980s. They are also often people who 170 The regional skeleton of the Benalist regime appears as follows: The Soussis represent the new ‘noyeau dur’, with the Hammam-Soussis found in the front seats, and the other parts sitting in the second row. Two parts of the country appear to have gained from this: the South-East (Gabès), and the North-West (Tabarka, Jendouba, Le Kef). The former is overrepresented on the level of political officials, while the latter is overrepresented in terms of public investments. Two other parts, however, seem to have lost: the Center (Kairouan, Sidi Bouzid, Kasserine), and the South (Gafsa). In fact, it is probably no coincidence at all that a disproportionate share of the political opposition comes from these two regions. 186

made the acquaintance or came to the attention of Ben Ali during his early career stages as security director and interior minister, or who joined him after his coup, during the crucial first years of the ‘New Era’. This means that the ‘generation of independence’ is actually the true cornerstone of the new regime; the ‘Generation Bourguiba’ has literally become the ‘Elite Ben 171 Ali’. Now, why has Ben Ali effectuated such a sweeping elite swap? And why has he relied on these particular groups? Simply because he needed loyal followers to fend off political challengers from both within and without, and because he needed capable executives to carry out the reforms needed for economic stabilization and structural adjustment. The more he came to trade his initially rather abstract political legitimacy for increasingly concrete economic promises, the more he was forced to adjust his style of governance (see Larif-Beatrix 1989, Khiari & Lamloum 1998, as well as the last chapter for further information in this regard). Taking all of this into account, this new elite of apolitical techno-bureaucrats and social upstarts offers two distinct advantages. They have the know-how necessary to execute the president’s directives and consolidate the regime’s standing, but no personal power base that would enable them to lead a political life of their own, let alone rival the head of state. As they all owe their ascent and their positions to Ben Ali, they are a ‘dream team’ whose members are as reliable as they 172 are replaceable. Still, it must be noted that executing such an operation is not without consequences. In principle, Ben Ali can easily ‘dispose’ of most members of the regime elites, at any time, and on any ground. There is not a single part which could not be exchanged, and there is not a single actor who could keep him from doing so. In practice, however, there are clear limits with re171 “Le Président”, wrote Slaheddine Jourchi already ten years ago, “sans écarter toutes les compétences du passé, a toujours parié sur les personnalités jeunes issues du Changement. C'est une nouvelle génération que le chef de l'Etat choisit avec attention parmi les membres de son entourage en s'y appuyant sur sa connaissance profonde des cadres du pays” (Slaheddine Jourchi: “Les caractéristiques des remaniements ministériels”. Réalités, 27/01/95). Abdelwaheb Jemal, who was the RCD’s vice secretary-general for external relations at the time of our interview (and later became Tunisia's ambassador in Geneva), confirmed the above in stating: “Ben Ali knows all of us, either personally or through somebody else” (interview, Tunis, 26/02/02). 172 An indicator for all of this is the ease with which Ben Ali has repeatedly evicted key regime representatives. First, he sacked his four ‘crown princes’ (Jegham, Kallel, Zouari, and Neffati) in a major cabinet reshuffle in January 2001. Then, he ditched the dreaded ‘security establishment’ (Kaabi and Ganzoui) after the Djerba attack of April 2002. Importantly, both moves actually failed to arouse the slightest protest or resistance, either within the regime or in public. 187

gard to such a policy. In fact, each member of the regime elite is only the ‘tip of the iceberg’, the visible, ‘protruding’ part of an extended clientelist network with sometimes considerable ramifications on a social level. Therefore, any elite change entails a non-negligible degree of political ‘opportunity costs’, since it means alienating all those groups that are affiliated with the ‘disgraced’. In other words, Ben Ali may be free to exchange the individual but not necessarily the constituency behind him. This may also explain why Ben Ali has been careful to integrate, as much as possible, all those forces which used to make up the main constituent ele ments of the former Bourguibist ruling coalition, and/or which stand for the most important vested interests in Tunisian society. In fact, contrary to a large number of Arab rulers, he does not dispose of a large stock of readily available natural resources providing him with the means to buy allegiance and soothe contestants ‘à l’amicale’, or allowing him to entertain an apparatus which might then enforce loyalty and crush resistance for him. Instead, he needs to mobilize resources externally, and this presupposes both having full access to foreign (Western) political circuits and factor markets, and having local aides capable of ensuring such inward transfers and maximizing their potential. In fact, one of the main reasons for the smooth consolidation of the Benalist regime is that he has quite deftly combined strategies of elite change and regime renewal (aiming at a greater degree of professionalism and performance, if only in a technical sense) with efforts to ensure political inclusion and social cohesion (aiming at a greater degree of representation and participation, if only in a passive sense). Under Ben Ali, the public sector and the ruling party have thus been able to maintain (or resume) their former functions to serve as vehicles for national integration and social mobility. In this sense, they continue to represent the main communication systems and upward channels for ‘ordinary Tunisians’, who may possess ambition and determination, but lack financial or social capital. It is crucial to understand that the Tunisian party-state and the urban middle classes have always entertained a symbiotic relationship. It is actually the former that has created the latter, not vice versa; the Tunisian bourgeoisie is to a large extent the end product of the modern state, much more than being a starting point for it. The integrative performance and socio-political omnipresence of the state bureaucracy and the ruling party is something which the private sector (with its small and family-centered units) and ‘civil society’ (with its similarly small and scattered structures) are unable to offer. The possibility of having access to bureaucracy and making a career in it is thus also much more than simply a tool in the hands of the ruler(s) for dispensing patronage and rewarding followers; it is actually a symbol of 188

both ‘national solidarity’ and ‘social mobility’. “Elle constitue un instrument de redistribution et d'intégration qui amortit la conflictualité sociale. Elle est en même temps le produit et le garant du compromis socio-politique sur lequel s'appuie Bourguiba et fonctionne comme mécanisme d'intégration politique” (Khiari & Lamloum 1998: 381; cf. also Murphy 1999: 25).

CONCLUSION The process of elite change under Ben Ali has thus confirmed and partly consolidated trends which had already commenced in the 1970s, but which have greatly accelerated since 1987. This has been the neo-patrimonalization, presidentialization and mahkzenization of the regime on the one hand, as well as the de-politicization, bureaucratization and technocratization of its personnel on the other. At the same time, this process has been accompanied by the fragmentation of the ruling elites and by a sectorization of their different elements. On the one hand, the ‘old guard’ of Bourguibo-Destourians has been replaced by a new generation of techno-bureaucrats who have entirely taken over the upper echelons of the party-state. They have mostly been chosen for their technico-professional know-how rather than for their politico-ideological background, and often come from social groups underrepresented in the former regime. At the same time, a shadow elite has emerged next to the party-state elites, that enjoys increasing political influence without occupying formal state positions. They are mostly affiliated with the new power structure of the presidential palace, and consist mainly of ‘mukhabaratis’ and ‘captains’, wealthy businessman and intelligence officers. In fact, it must be noted that a clear inversion of political roles and power relations has occurred within the ruling elites and the regime coalition at large. This concerns in particular an increasing clientelization of the party-state elites by the presidential makhzen, which itself associates many rich business families and other important social groups. Despite the fact that these trends did not appear overnight, and partly refer to the time before the ‘Change’, they have still profoundly changed the basic rules of the political game. This “sectorisation des agences de pouvoir et leur mise en réseau” has rightly been depicted as the key feature of the System Ben Ali: “Les commis et les gestionnaires, quelles que soient leurs compétences professionnelles et leurs attributions officielles évoluent dans un champ de dépendance de la ‘maison’” (Camau & Geisser 2003a: 197). Thus, the main difference between the ‘old guard’ of Bourguibists and the ‘Young Turks’ of 7 November does not concern so much their social profile but rather their 189

functional role; at the same time, this shift points to larger changes underway in the political system and the source code which keeps it running. It is important to understand that what has occurred in Tunisia since 1987 is not a ‘militarisation’ or ‘économisation’ of the state but of the regime, and even this needs to be taken with a grain of salt. There are certainly more persons with a military or security background in top or key positions today, and they certainly have a much larger say on policy making. They certainly belong to the core elite today, and they certainly influence public policy. However, there is no issue of the army (or business) dominating the state and politics so fully and openly as they do in other countries of the region. It is not that the ‘mukhabarat’ or the ‘captains’ have taken over power (i.e. have achieved control over the regime), they have just gained in power (i.e. have increased their influence within the regime). Moreover, it is not the ‘military’ or the ‘businessmen’ (as social or political categories) that have risen in politics (on a corporate or collective level), but it is rather individuals and networks affiliated with the president and his family that have done so. In short, as integrated and cohesive as the ‘System Ben Ali’ or the ‘Elite Ben Ali’ may appear, they are still made up of quite heterogeneous groups and competing forces. There is nothing in the way of an all-encompassing, or monolithic ‘power center’ or ‘power elite’ that is active and influential across all policy fields and sectoral boundaries. Further, there is simply no such thing as a ‘national security system’ or a ‘military-industrial complex’ comparable to what can be found in some other countries of the Arab World (particularly in Algeria, Egypt or Syria). Finally, it would be misleading to speak of a ‘privatization of the state’ or of a ‘familialization of politics’ comparable to what is going on in some countries in Central Asia, for instance (cf. the different contributions in Perthes 2002a & 2004a). As we will see more clearly in the next chapters, the presidential clans have not a priori seized entire social or economic sectors, but simply ‘grafted’ themselves on pre-existing or newly emerging ones, in the same way as they still stay away from the world of politics (even though this seems to be changing as of late, with the succession issue once again enetering the political agenda of the country). The advantage of this formula is that it offers a particularly attractive cost-benefit ratio, especially for Ben Ali himself. It allows him to ‘artificially’ increase his discretionary powers as a ‘supreme arbiter’, by deliberately maneuvering himself at the inter-face of the various elements making up his ruling coalition. This enables him to domesticate the different components of the party-state with the help of the resources offered by those groups now affiliated with the palace. And it enables him to check the other mem 190

bers of the core elite thanks to his direct control over the mighty rouages of the party-state. The downside of such a solution, however, is that it tends to infringe upon (and undermine) the political authority, functional autonomy, institutional integrity, and procedural effectiveness of several central pillars of his regime coalition, notably of the state bureaucracy and Destour party. And it cannot be excluded that it will not over time impact upon (and erode) the political legitimacy and social acceptance of his regime, particularly with regard to its alleged ‘inclusiveness’ and ‘even-handedness’.

191

V ECONOMIC INTERMEDIARY ELITES: THE RECONFIGURATION OF THE OLD RULING COALITION

1. The Public Sector:

From Regulator to Facilitator After independence from France, and particularly since the beginning of the 1960s, the public sector has been assigned a clear mission by the ruling elites: to serve as a catalyst for economic development, and as an instrument 173 of social cohesion. Initially, this was not the result of political premeditation, but rather an act of improvization to make up for the obvious weakness of private business. Gradually, however, as the size of the public sector grew, so did its inclination to develop autonomist tendencies. This did not even change with the launch of the infitâh: In fact, even when comparing two approaches as different as Nouira's ‘state capitalism’ and Ben Salah's ‘collectivism’, the main finding is that public sector growth continued throughout both periods. Thus, in spite of the allegedly liberal policies of the Nouira government, and the timid economic reforms of the Mzali government, the public sector remained the dominant player in economic life until 174 the time of the ‘Change’. Given the political economy of the First Republic, it was therefore no coincidence at all that public sector reform constituted the main starting point of the ERSAP process (cf. Harik 1991; Dillman 1998 & 2001; Belev 2000; cf. also chapter eight for further details). This accord foresaw the enactment of a pro-market reform package along the lines of the so-called ‘Washington 173 The official Tunisian definition of the ‘public sector’ is “la sphère regroupant les services administratifs et toutes leurs ramifications sous forme d’établissements et d’entreprises soumises de manière directe ou indirecte à la tutelle de l’Etat”. 174 The public sector still accounted for 55 percent of total investment throughout the 6th Plan (1982-86), and for 49 percent in the 7th Plan (1987-91). In 1986, it absorbed one third of all domestic credits, and over 15 percent of total government expenditure. In the same year, the predominantly public banks controlled 63 percent of all national deposits and provided 78 percent of all bank loans. Altogether, SOEs combined nearly 15 percent of GDP in 1988, and employed about 13 percent of the total workforce. 192

Consensus’. It combined short-term stabilization measures with longer-term structural reforms, supported by IMF standby credits and concessional loans of the World Bank. The process gained momentum at the beginning of the 1990s with the ‘pro-market u-turn’ of the Benalist regime, which entailed the transformation of a previously semi-closed state economy into an increasingly outward-oriented market economy. The effects of these decisions continue to affect the lives of Tunisians until today. As a result of this process, the state has not only given up a sizeable portion of its regulatory powers, but has also sold off a substantial share of its previous assets. Since the late 1980s, most economic indicators (like prices, wages, and interests) are determined by market forces, and most economic sectors (specifically tourism, agribusiness, and manufacturing) have been freed from direct state intervention. At the same time, however, the state authorities have been careful to maintain effective control of those sectors and ventures which they regard as ‘strategic’ or otherwise ‘sensitive’. This may be because of their role in generating revenue and employment, or because of their capacity to shape larger social and political processes. Thus, the Tunisian state effectively continues to control the ‘commanding heights’ of the national economy. Three sectors have largely remained in state hands (although there is currently a trend toward disengagement in some of them). The first comprises key extractive and refining companies, like the Entreprise Tunisienne d'Activités Pétrolières (ETAP), the Société Tunisienne des Industries de Raffinage (STIR), the Société Nationale de Distribution de Pétrole (SNDP), and the Compagnie des Phosphates de Gafsa (CPG). The second consists of key utilities and service providers, like the national air carrier Tunisair, the national phone company Tunisie Télécom (TT), the national postal service Poste de Tunisie (PT), the Société Tunisienne de l’Electricité et du Gaz (STEG), the Société Nationale des Chemins de Fer (SNCF), the Compagnie Tunisienne de Navigation (CTN), the Société Nationale d'Exploitation et de Distribution des Eaux (SONEDE), and the Etablissement de la Radio-Télévision Tunisienne (ERTT). The third involves key financial institutions, like the Société Tunisienne de Banque (STB), the Banque Nationale Agricole (BNA), the Banque de l'Habitat (BH), and last but not least the Banque Centrale de Tunisie (BCT) (cf. Annexes 8a & 8b: Classification of Enterprises and Banks). Since the mid-1990s, however, public enterprises have increasingly been allowed (or obliged) to open their equity capital to private investors (for public utilities only on a minority basis, but for some banks also on a majority basis). Similarly, private operators have increasingly been admitted (or co-opted) into previously closed sectors. In ‘strategic’ sectors (like energy and utilities), this has happened only on a concessionary or PPP basis; in all 193

others, they have been admitted on an equal footing (this concerns in partic ular telecoms, audiovisuals, and finance). There seem to be only two ‘red lines’ in this regard. The first involves a private takeover of ‘strategic sectors’, particularly if they are regarded as ‘natural monopolies’. The second involves a foreign takeover of ‘national champions’, particularly if they are considered as employment-relevant. This means that Tunisia’s economic opening has so far spared most of those sectors which have a direct and cru cial relevance for social and political life – like, for instance, the agricultural 175 and commercial sector. At the same time, however, major power shifts have taken place within the overall institutional context. Generally speaking, economic ‘facilitators’ (such as export or investment promotion agencies) have moved up the ladder and taken over from economic ‘regulators’ (i.e. purely administrative or redistributive bodies). Examples of the former are the Agence de Promotion de l'Industrie (API), founded in 1973; the Centre de Promotion des Exportations (CEPEX), founded in 1973 (both of them revamped after 1987); the Agence de Promotion de l'Investissement Extérieur (FIPA), founded in 1994; and finally the Agence de Promotion de l'Investissement Agricole (APIA). Examples of the latter are the Caisse Nationale de Compensation Sociale (CNCS) which has seen its previously considerable means constantly decrease since the mid-1980s; the customs offices which were forced to give up large parts of their powers; as well as the so-called national offices which have also ceased to enjoy a monopoly on distribution (with the noticeable exception 176 of the agricultural sector where they continue to do so until today). A particularly instructive case is the successful political recycling of the ministry of planning, which used to be in charge of administering large parts of the national economy and orchestrating the work of sectorial ministries, into the ministry of economic development and foreign cooperation, tasked, inter alia, with coordinating the national development strategy and mobilizing the necessary financial resources in this regard. Another important case is the central bank whose mission had been all-encompassing under Bourguiba. Then, it was in charge of determining the main macro-economic 175 There are so far only a few exceptions to this rule: One has been the opening of a Carrefour hyper-marché in the capital area (the retail sector is consid-ered politically sensitive because of its key role for the provision of employment). Another one has been the takeover of the predominantly public UIB (the financial sector is considered politically sensitive because of its key role for the dispensing of patronage). What might have helped in this regard, however, is the fact that various presidential relatives are directly involved in these two ventures. Obviously, being allowed to enter these inner circles requires the personal participation of core elite members. 176 Cf. Krauss 2000: 244 & 250 for an overview of Tunisian export and business promotion agencies. 194

indicators, administering foreign cash reserves, and controlling local banking activities. Since the liberalization of the financial sector, and the introduction of partial convertibility, however, its role has become much more circumspect, but no less important. It is now in charge of maintaining the macro-economic equilibria, overseeing banking activities, and enforcing prudential regulations. Before ERSAP, its main task was to channel national savings in priority sectors identified in the five-year plan; since then, it is to create the necessary preconditions for the international competitiveness of Tunisian business. A closer look at elite circulation patterns, however, reveals that virtually all executive positions in state-owned enterprises (SOEs) and public-sector organizations (PSOs) continue to be filled with former government members or very senior civil servants. Two illuminating examples are Rafaa Dekhil and Khelil Lajimi. Dekhil, for instance, is a good example of a ‘managerturned-politician’. Born in 1953, he graduated from the prestigious Institut de hautes études commerciales (IHEC) in Paris in 1977, and received a postgraduate diploma in business administration of the University of Tunis in 1982. After occupying leading positions at the country’s steel giant ‘ElFouladh’ and the capital’s metro company SMLT, he entered the central committee of the ruling party in 1988, and became the minister of culture’s head of cabinet. In the ensuing years, he became PDG of some of the country's foremost companies, such as of the tube producer ‘El-Anabib’, the Gafsa Phosphate Company (CPG), and the Tunisian Chemicals Group (GCT). From 2001-02, he served as secretary of state in charge of privatization at the ministry of industry, before being appointed at the head of Tunisair. In 2008, he was finally nominated minister in charge of communication and relations with parliament. Lajimi, on the contrary, is a good example of a ‘politician-going-business’. Born in 1962, he studied at the prestigious Ecole Polytechnique de Lausanne and at the Ecole nationale d’administration (ENA) of Paris. He entered the ministry of economy in 1988 where he rose through the ranks and finally made it into the cabinet of the minister in 1994. From 1996-1998, he headed the Groupement des industries de conserves alimentaires, and from 1998-2001, the cabinet of the minister of industry. From 2001-02, he served as DG of the API, and from 2002-03, as PDG of ‘El-Fouladh’, before being appointed secretary of state for industry. In 2008, he was finally nominated minister of tourism. These two examples confirm another ‘iron rule’ of Tunisian politics (alongside the fact that even major policy changes do usually not fundamentally alter established circulation patterns): namely “la tendance du gouvernment à placer aux postes de commande économique ses agents” (Larif Beatrix 1988: 201). 195

In comparison, financial sector reform has evolved along different lines 177 (cf. Moore 1991; Henry 1996; Saafi 1999). After independence, Bourguiba's state successively brought the banking sector under its control; not only because the ability ‘to pull the purse strings’ was considered indispensable in providing resources for the regime's political purposes, but also for preempting the emergence of financially viable political players. In fact, the ‘uncontrolled proliferation’ of financial resources was considered politically unacceptable by the new ruling elites. After 1956, they quickly co-founded several new institutes, such as the Société Tunisienne de Banque (STB), the Banque Nationale Agricole (BNA), and the Banque de l'Habitat (BH). These new state banks soon gained control of other, theoretically private, institutes, like the Union Internationale de Banques (UIB) and the Banque du Sud (BS). Only the venerable Banque de Tunisie (BT) remained largely unscathed. Over time, this predominantly public banking system was complemented by ‘private’ ventures, like the Union des Banques de Commerce International (UBCI), the Banque Internationale Arabe de Tunisie (BIAT) (founded by Mansour Moalla, a former minister of economy, and Habib Bourguiba Jr., the son of the president) as well as the Crédit Foncier et Commercial de Tunisie (CFCT) (today called AMEN Bank, and controlled by the Ben Yedder fam178 ily). This meant that Bourguiba's state had de facto replicated the French system, creating “a two-tiered banking system composed of a top-heavy public sector (…) and an acquiescent Tunisified private sector held on a tight leash” (Parks & Wadud 2002: 11). The new state did thus not recast the colonial system, but simply grafted itself on top of existing structures. In this sense, ‘Tunisification’ meant ‘parastatalization’: “The state did not own any bank outright, but preferred patterns of mixed ownership” (Henry 1996: 177). At the same time, it quickly cut short any attempt to establish a bank which had the potential to become the financial backbone of a political opposition (as happened to the UGTT's Banque du Peuple project in the 1960s and the Islamic BEST Bank in the 1980s). The ‘beauty’ of this system was that the state enjoyed immediate access to the financial resources of the ‘public’ banks, while exerting a de facto veto power over the management decisions of the ‘private’ ones. The downside was its lack of performance and trans177 For further information see also the Special Dossier: “Tunisie: banque et finance: s’adapter ou disparaître”. JA 1992, 16/03/99, p. 54-72; and Abdelaziz Barrouhi: “Banques: la modernisation en voie d'achèvement”. JA 2449, 16/12/07, p. 106-107. 178 In addition, there were a few small-scale development banks, founded together with the oil-producing countries of the Arab East, as well as the local offshoots of international institutions, such as the Arab Tunisian Bank (ATB) and later the Arab Banking Corporation (ABC), which were established ‘off-shore’. 196

parency, made worse by its liability to political capture and instrumentalization. In fact, most banks were overburdened with soft loans, estimated at about 25 percent of total credits toward the end of Bourguiba's rule. The public banks were particularly bad off (some even technically bankrupt), and this was all the more problematic given their central role for the whole con struct. The tentative liberalization of the financial sector began shortly after the ‘Change’ (cf. also chapter eight for further details). Reforms, however, did for many years not cut to the heart of the system. Even towards the end of the 1990s, the basic parameters of the existing system were still in place: including a high degree of fragmentation and sectorialization of banks. In fact, most of them were not only strikingly lopsided and top-heavy, but also heavily indebted and under-capitalized. The two public ‘heavy weights’ alone accounted for about one third of market operations (the BNA at 21 percent, and the STB at 18 percent); while the two main private banks accounted for about one quarter (the BIAT at 15 percent, and the AMEN Bank at 9 percent). Moreover, the total number of soft loans had more or less remained the same. As Henry (1996) observed, Tunisian banks continued to form a sort of ‘club’ or ‘cartel’, but not because of their strength, but because of their weakness. This situation finally reached a point considered to be inacceptable by the majority of actors. Tunisian banks had grosso modo not been able to become a feedback mechanism that informed policy makers and market actors about relative scarcities and business opportunities, and directed investors to where their capital placements would yield the highest returns. They also did not usually supply producers with the services they needed to compete on the market, or provide the funds necessary for their operations. Rather, Tunisian banks continued to resemble mere distributive channels that were obliged to funnel national savings into public priority sectors or buy state securities at artificially low prices ‒ each time with little regard for the profitability or sustainability of their investment. By putting scarce funds at the almost unrestrained disposal of the regime elites, however they starved all actors ‘outside the loop’, like small-scale industrialists, traders, artisans, and 179 peasants. Thus, from the mid-1990s onward, financial reforms began to also target the systems core, against strong misgivings from within the regime estab179 According to Henry (1996), the credit policy of most institutes had been extremely biased in favour of a handful of clients: in 1986, only 136 persons (both legal and natural) accounted for over 50 percent of total credits. In the case of Tunisia, the ‘quality’ of the clientele increased rather than reduced the risks for the banks, contrary to the conventional wisdom of the banking industry. 197

lishment. On the one hand, state authorities began to clean up the credit portfolios and balance sheets of the public banks, trying to rid them of the bad loans and ‘political’ obligations they had been forced to accumulate. At the same time, they began to carry out a number of institutional reforms and restructuring operations in order to prepare these top-heavy and cashstrapped bodies for the impending domestic and international competition. The overall aim was to re-equilibrate and consolidate this crucial sector. The country's largest bank, the STB, exemplified the regime's strategy. After its merger with two development banks, the Banque de Développement Economique de Tunisie (BDET) and the Banque Nationnale de Développement Touristique (BNDT) in 2000, it has become a ‘universal bank’ which covers the entire range of banking services, while the state still controls 53 percent of its capital. Shortly afterwards, the privatization process in the banking sector crossed an important threshold: The state's 52 percent share of UIB was sold to France’s Société Générale in 2002 for TD 103 million, and its 33.5 percent stake in BS went to Spain’s Banco Santander and Morocco's Attijariwafa Bank in 2005 for TD 61 million (the BS was subsequently renamed BAT). Its 60 percent share of the Banque Tunisio-Koweitienne was sold to France's Caisse d'Epargne in 2008 for TD 300 million, and its 78 percent stake in the Banque Franco-Tunisienne went to three local groups a few months later. Finally, BNP Paribas also acquired a 50 percent share of UBCI. This means that for the first time since the founding of the republic, foreign investors hold more shares of Tunisian banks than domestic ones. Between 2001 and 2006 alone, their share rose from 16 percent to 35 percent. Altogether seven Tunisian banks are now controlled by foreigners. The Tunisian state has only made sure that it retains a tight majority of the three large banks: the STB (53 percent), BH (58 percent), and BNA (67 percent) (cf. Annex 8b: Classifi180 cation of Banks). However, even though the financial sector has profoundly changed during the past decade, it still suffers from a certain number of structural shortcomings. It is still banks that cater to the financial needs of most economic operators, and handle the lion’s share of national savings. At the same time, it must be noted that most institutes are still relatively under-sized and un 181 der-resourced, when measured by regional or international standards. Other, more sophisticated financial instruments (like leasing companies, 180 The sale of four mixed development banks is still on the agenda of the government. The percentage of soft loans, which has fallen to 19 percent in late 2007, is expected to reach 14 percent in late 2009, and 10 percent in late 2011. Given the current impact of the global crisis, however, it remains doubtful whether these targets can really be met. 198

mutual funds, risk capital, private equity, etc.) are still in their fledgling stages. The insurance sector itself is still largely underdeveloped. The local financial markets, which consist of the stock exchange (Bourse des valeurs mobilières de Tunis, BVMT), an alternative stock market (for higher risks companies) and a limited number of investment funds, are still very restricted and not very dynamic. This also means that the financial system continues to represent the maillon faible, the Achilles’ heel, of the regime’s 182 development strategy, and of the country's economic system at large. At first sight, it appears that the Tunisian state has largely given up control of the banking sector and that most banks have passed into the hands of private owners. Such a generalizing statement, however, does not fully correspond to the realities on the ground. In fact, the Tunisian state has been careful to retain a minority share of all local institutes, which guarantees its representatives a seat on their boards. In fact, a closer look at the management structures of Tunisian banks reveals that a large number of executives (both in ‘public’ and ‘private’ institutes) still enjoy very close links with both the political authorities, and the presidential entourage. Thus, at least one thing can also be said of the banking sector: that it remains thoroughly intertwined with, and effectively controlled by, the regime elites (although this does not always say much about the logic according to which capital is allocated). This means that Tunisian banks are still by no means autonomous from the state. The latter continues to regulate the sector closely via its ‘watch dog’, the BCT (whose governor Taoufik Baccar, a former minister of finance and political intimate of the president, is also a member of government and participates in council of ministers' meetings). The state continues to hold shares of most institutes and thereby to sit on their boards of directors; and it continues to protect the sector from unwelcome ‘intruders’ and ‘competitors’, be they from within or without. Banking executives are basically recruited from among three groups: senior central bank officials; former government members; and wealthy business families known to be close the ru181 At the end of 2007, there were altogether 14 commercial banks in Tunisia, plus six development banks, two merchant banks, and eight offshore banks. It must be noted, however, that there is still not a single Tunisian institute among the largest 100 Arab banks; cf. “The Top 100 Arab Banks”. The Middle East, October 2009, p.29-33. 182 At the end of 2007, the total market capitalization of the Tunisian stock exchange amounted to TD 6.5 billion (growing to TD 8.3 billion by the end of 2008), about 15 percent of GDP. It was thus still 15 times smaller than the one in Casablanca, and 25 times smaller than the one in Cairo. The total number of listed companies stood at 50, compared to 73 in Casablanca and 430 in Cairo. The 11 banks listed accounted for about half of its total value. In spite of the crisis, and in contrast to developments worldwide, the Tunindex grew by another 40 percent in the course of 2009. 199

ling elites. This also means that the presidential clans have successively gained a foothold in the sector and are currently pulling the strings in several institutes. The regime is thus still in a position to not only shape the strategies of most banks, but also to use their resources for its own purposes. The increased opening of the banking sector to foreign participation has brought more outsiders into the fold, and has made management structures somewhat more pluralistic, but has not decisively altered established circulation patterns and power relations. All of this might help to understand why the supposed ‘structural power’ gains for financial sector elites, normally associated with economic liberalization processes in neo-classical theory, have ‘failed’ to unfold in the case of Tunisia. Tunisian bankers have actually not become midwives of political change under conditions of economic liberalization, no more than other components of the private sector. Instead, they continue to play a major role for the Ben Ali regime, helping to mediate between the different political The Current Management Structure of the Main Tunisian Banks (2008): Selected Public Banks BCT

Governor: Taoufik Baccar (ex-minister of finance)

STB

Président Directeur-Général (PDG): Abou Hafs Omar Najaï (ex-PDG of the BH and DGA of the BS) (predecessors: Ali Debaya, Brahim Saada, Laroussi Bayoudh); DG: Mohamed Ben Hmida

BNA

PDG: Moncef Dahkli (ex-PDG of the BFPME) (predecessor: Hedi Zaar, ex-PDG of the BTKD); DGA: Mohamed Laroussi Bouziri

BH

PDG: Ibrahim Haji (a former DG for External Finance of the BCT); DGA: Dhrif Bouzidi (predecessor: Sadok Belaïed, a former minister of Ben Ali)

BFPME

PDG: Khalil Ammar (ex-DGA of the BFPME) (predecessor: Abdessalem Mansour, now minister of agriculture)

BTS

PDG: Lamine Hafsaoui; DGA: Hafedh Gharbi, Samia Mansour

Selected Private Banks BIAT

President of the Management Board (PMB): Taher Sioud (ex-minister of trade) (predecessor: Chakib Nouira, Hedi Nouira's oldest son); DG: Slaheddine Ladjimi

AMEN

PMB: Rachid Ben Yedder (Head of the Ben Yedder Group); DG: Ahmed Karam (former vice-president of the BCT)

UBCI

PDG: Slaheddine Bouguerra (a former economic adviser of Ben Ali and minister of the economy); DGA: Jacques Ardant

UIB

PMB: Alia Abdallah (Abdelwahhab Abdallah's wife) (predecessor: Brahim Saada, ex-DG of the BCT and PDG of STB); DG: Dominique Poignon

BT

PDG: Faouzi Belkahia (ex-minister of transport)

ATB

PMB: Mounib Rachid El Masri; DG Mohamed Ferid Ben Tanfous

BAT

PMB: Moncef Chaffar; DG: Hassan Bertal

BEST

PMB: Laroussi Bayoudh (ex-PDG of the STB); DG: Aissa Hidoussi (ex-secretary of state for privatization)

Source: APTBEF Reports; Own Research

200

and economic components of the ruling coalition on the one hand, and to balance conflicting demands of local and external actors on the other. Tunisian bankers thus continue to serve as an absolutely crucial link between various politically relevant dimensions: between politics and economics; between the ‘rulers’ and the ‘ruled’; as well as between the ‘inside’ and the ‘outside’.

CONCLUSION Despite two decades of economic liberalization, the Tunisian state continues to be the prime actor in economic life. In fact, the public sector is still the main proprietor, producer, exporter, employer, investor, and creditor in the country, employing up to 40 percent of the national workforce, and accounting for well over 50 percent of GDP. In addition, it continues to (entirely or partially) control all those sectors and institutions that directly affect the distribution of patronage and/or the exercise of power. These include particularly profitable extractive ventures; basic economic service providers; particularly important infrastructural facilities; and last but not least the main financial institutions. This implies that executive positions in SOEs and PSOs (including the country's large banks and key financial institutions) continue to be reserved for senior representatives of the party-state, and increasingly for those close to the presidential family. And it also means that public entreprises and établissements continue to be used as ‘cash cows’ and ‘feeding troughs’ for the regime and its clients, due to higher remunerative standards for management personnel, and less pronounced oversight 183 from state regulators. At the same time, the institutional restructuring of the public sector reflects the strategic re-positioning of the Tunisian state. Before, it used to present itself as an omnipotent regulator and administrator, determining all aspects of public life (including the production and allocation of values themselves). Today, it has recycled itself into a super-ordinate arbiter and facilitator, performing only some essential functions for the body politic (like maintaining political stability, national security, territorial integrity, legal safety, the overall macro-economic equilibria, a pro-growth institutional framework, and essential physical infrastructure). The goals as well as the 183 It must also be taken into account that after several redefinitions of the term ‘SOE’ and a consecutive lowering of the critical threshold for public participation, many companies are no longer officially considered state-owned even though they are effectively state-controlled. Further, state representatives continue to sit on the management boards of many recently privatized companies because they have made sure to keep just the right number of shares. 201

gains of such a re-deployment are both obvious and significant. It not only allows for the required compliance with existing international obligations and dominant neo-liberal discourses, it also offers a much more favorable relationship between ‘input and output’, or ‘costs and benefits’. The new arrangements entail all the advantages offered by the former system, but without incurring the liabilities associated with it (cf. also chapter eight for more details). The observations regarding the contemporary development of the public sector also apply to a certain extent to the financial sector. On the one hand, the state elites have chosen to disengage from direct management responsibility for most domestic banks. This has included an in-depth restructuring of state-owned banks, and a gradual opening of the financial markets to private investors. At the same time, most top executives continue to have a distinctly political background, which includes a professional upbringing in the public sector and/or close links with the presidential palace. In fact, it is ob vious that the partial and selective liberalization and privatization of the financial system and banking sector has particularly benefited persons close to the ‘family’. This new ability of the core elite to directly access a growing part of national savings and to arbitrarily allocate them to ‘third persons’ has been an important contributing factor to the successful consolidation of the Benalist regime. As noted before, the appropriation of discretionary control over financial power has become a key pillar of its clientelist system, and a vital fuel for its patronage machine.

2. The Private Sector: From Client to Patron At the moment of independence, Tunisian private business consisted of two main groups: small family businesses, mostly active in traditional sectors (farmers, fishermen, shop-owners, craftsmen, etc.), as well as a steadily growing number of modern-type professionals (doctors, pharmacists, lawyers, journalists, etc.) (cf. Englert 1997; Murphy 2001a+b; Bellin 2002). In the 1960s, large (mostly absent) landowners and wealthy (wholesale) merchants began to expand their portfolios and venture into new activities, such as construction and transport. But it was not before the 1970s that a genuine industrial business class began to emerge and prosper, often with the direct support of the state authorities. More often than not, these new entrepreneurs had been state officials who, encouraged by the favorable economic climate and a generous incentive system, chose to quit the public sector and set up their own firms. Tunisia’s modern private industry was therefore to a large extent either the ‘brainchild’ or the ‘outgrowth’ of the state which acted as a sort of ‘hotbed’ or ‘midwife’ for entrepreneurs. 202

This comfortable situation, however, ended with the sudden downturn of the mid-1980s and the subsequent implementation of structural adjustment. As noted before, the Tunisian economy has since then undergone a pervasive transformation from a closed state economy, based on primary products and extractive industries, toward an open market economy, fuelled by private manufacturers and export businesses. The sustained annual growth rates of over 5 percent throughout the past 20 years have substantially diversified the economic landscape of the country. The private sector's share in GDP has risen to over 50 percent, and its share in gross fixed investment to about 25 percent. A variety of new branches have emerged, particularly in manufacturing industry (electrical, electronical, and mechanical appliances), and business services (technical, financial, or communicational services). The number of firms has equally increased, totaling 70-80.000 private enterprises by the middle of the decade, 10-12.000 of which are considered industrial companies (employing more than 10 people). None of these changes, however, have ended the high degree of vertical fragmentation which has characterized the Tunisian economy since the infitâh period. In fact, one can still find the same basic fault-lines separating the different economic sectors as during the days of Bourguiba. These concern in particular the cleavages between the public and private sectors, between on-shore and off-shore companies, between import-substituting and export-oriented businesses, and between the few large and the many small firms. Moreover, it must be noted that compared with many public enterprises, even the largest private ventures are still fairly small, although some are quickly moving up the ladder. Further, within the private sector, those ‘heavy weights’ are still relatively scarce (cf. Annex 8a: Classification of En 184 terprises). In order to understand the peculiar dynamics of the Tunisian economy, one needs to grasp the basic structure of its companies: In fact, the country's large private firms actually constitute business conglomerates (groupes in185 dustriels) which almost all feature the same characteristics. First, they are 184 It must be noted that micro-enterprises still represent the overwhelming majority of private businesses. There were about 75.000 ‘petites entreprises’ in the early 2000s, totaling 38 percent of GDP, and providing 18 percent of non-agricultural jobs (interview, M.Fouad, secretary-general of UTICA’s Small Crafts Federation, Tunis, 19/02/ 02). There is also not a single Tunisian firm among the 100 largest Arab companies; cf. “The Top 100 Arab Companies”. The Middle East, January 2007, p .28-34. 185 According to the official definition, ‘groupes’ are “sociétés autonomes mais appartenant directement ou indirectement de façon majoritaire ou avec détention d'une minorité de blocage, à la même famille ou au même groupe de personnes physiques et dont le chiffre d'affaires consolidé égale ou dépasse les 50 millions de dinars tunisiens” (cf. the MIEPME website for further details). 203

involved in numerous parallel activities in various economic sectors, with a special focus on those that offer quick profits with not too many risks. Second, they are controlled by a family or a group of families who often enjoy close ties with the political leadership. Third, family members occupy most executive positions. There are thus very few employment and career opportunities for qualified staff and ambitious newcomers. Informed observers have termed this firm type the ‘family-owned holding company’. Ideally, it combines activities in production and distribution, accompanied by investments in real estate and farming land. The rationale of such a strategy is not to maximize efficiency, as measured by the return on investment, but to maximize security ‒ and thereby ensure the reproduction of the family itself. They are thus not only extremely well adapted to capturing the limited business opportunities that a small market like the Tunisian one can offer, but also to surviving in an environment that is characterized by a large extent of insecurity. It is obvious that such an entity is extraordinarily well-protected against most kinds of external shocks. It is in effect only vulnerable to two kinds of ‘moral hazards’: a break-up of the family network, and a fallout with the political authorities. It is, however, handicapped by two other kinds of structural deficiencies: a penchant for uninspiring, and status quo-oriented business policies, and the reliance on ineffective, but family-related management personnel. John Waterbury has aptly pinpointed the rentier features of these entities: “These groups [represent] vertically integrated, multi-product oligopolies that minimize competitive pressures from both clients and suppliers (…) and are able to extract quasi rents from sales in imperfect input markets. These rents are generally used to further diversification at the expense of specialization and research and development. For maximum risk minimization, it is crucial that the group controls its own banking institution” (Quoted in Belev 2000: 77-78; emphasis added). In fact, it must be noted that the boundaries between family and company are both vague and fluid; the family is de facto the bank of the firm, and vice versa. Profits generated by the company are quickly brought under the control of the family in order to put them at safety from ‘over-ambitious’ tax inspectors or politically well-connected rivals. The same family capital can be later used to bolster company activities, with little regard for legal restrictions or accounting standards. Of course, such clusters are by nature non-transparent and highly reluctant to let outsiders gain an insight into their books. Tunisian businessmen usually balk at the simple idea of accepting the rules of prudence and transparency required by the Tunisian Central Bank and/or international financial markets, and prefer to rely on local banks or other family members for refinancing their companies and 204

preparing new projects. This preference for traditional forms of business organization has effectively become a major hurdle for the Tunisian economy, which seriously obstaculizes its qualitative breakthrough toward an emerging market. These peculiar strategies of local economic elites also explain the ‘molecular’ character of most Tunisian ‘groups’. The strategies of these families envisage that some of their children will go abroad to study and work, and then return to take over management positions in the family enterprise or to set up a new branch of it. They can also include that others of their children will embark on a political career or marry into a ‘political family’. Their top priority is in either case the diversification and separation of assets and risks. This fits with the longer-term objectives of acquiring political protection (e.g. against judicial persecution or potential competitors) or mobilizing insider information (e.g. about upcoming business opportunities or impending legal-institutional changes). This ‘hedging of bets’ reflects the structural constraints of local business elites, who are not only faced with a very small domestic market and a correspondingly limited national purchasing power, but also with a very uncertain business environment and a correspondingly 186 high structural vulnerability. Generally speaking, Tunisia's business community and political leadership have for several decades maintained a relationship which is both cooperative and confidential. Traditionally, the country's business elites and political elites tend to know each other quite well, for a number of reasons. Many entrepreneurs had worked in the public sector before launching their company, and officials had often helped them when doing so. Further factors within this overall context have reinforced communicational links between both sides: On the part of business, this was a need to understand the complexity of bureaucracy, on whose decisions it came to depend, but whose procedures it found difficult to understand; and, on the part of bureaucracy, its wish to familiarize itself with the concerns of business, whose development it was supposed to promote, but whose ways it first needed to grasp. Thus, it appears that the above contacts across sectorial borders have been primarily fostered by the awareness of a profound ‘information deficit’ on both sides, at least more than by the pursuance of more mundane concerns for personal gain. Moreover, it appears that contacts between both sides have actually increased since the time of the ‘Change’. Several factors have fuelled this process: A large number of business families have endeavored to marry into 186 Several entrepreneurs I interviewed in Sfax in the course of 2002 exemplified the cross-cutting, multi-pillar business development and social advancement strategies of these ‘family-firms’. 205

the foremost ‘political families’ (including the presidential clans), while a growing number of presidential relatives have themselves begun to venture into business activities. At the same time, economic liberalization and privatization have not only created new opportunities, but also new risks for everybody involved. Structural adjustment enhanced the complexity of economic policy, while magnifying the consequences of decisions taken (or not taken). This, in turn, enhanced the size of what was at stake, and prompted actors to secure their turf by diversifying their contacts. For business, the incentive was to outpace competitors and explore new outlets through lobbying and networking; for bureaucrats, the aim was to maximize the impact of reforms, and minimize the adverse effects of their policies. The result was in either case a significant increase of personal contacts across elite segments. In fact, it is important to understand that the strategies and preferences of business elites and political elites are generally complementary and mutually reinforcing. The regime appears to be primarily interested in attracting the cultural prestige, technical know-how, and financial resources of private capital (either for political or private reasons), while business seems mainly interested in mobilizing public support, insider information, and political protection. The baseline of this deal can be paraphrased as follows: the ‘captains’ serve as the ‘motor’ of growth, while the state provides the ‘fuel’. Lotfi Abdennadher, himself at the head of one of the main holdings in the country, has aptly resumed this bargain: “Les groupes industriels assument le rôle de locomotive dans la croissance économique du pays, entraînant dans leur sillage plusieurs autres activités” (Interview: “Notre fierté, c'est d'entreprendre dans l'intérêt du pays”. Réalités 885, 12/12/02, p. 24-26). But it must be also noted that compatibility of interests and familiarity of individuals does not necessarily mean identity or uniformity. The businessfriendly stance of the state must not be confounded with political prowess of business. Since its inception, the Tunisian state has needed to generate a constant external surplus to be able to reproduce the distributional coalition which provides its support base. To this end, it needs to obtain the financial resources and technical capabilities of private capital, its production facilities and exporting capacities, in order to secure these inward transfers and to accompany its own economic reforms. Thus, the state embraces and nurtures business, but above all for its own developmentalist objectives and political imperatives, and not (or at least not primarily) for the self-enrichment and rent-seeking of state officials (even though the latter may constitute important collateral benefits for participants and add further momentum to the process). At the same time, the political abstinence or acquiescence of business elites must not be confounded with their infeodation and submission by the 206

regime. Tunisian businessmen are certainly eager to establish close personal contacts and good working relations with the political leadership, but jealously guard their independence and distinctiveness vis-à-vis the state. Moreover, they prefer informal face-to-face contacts and behind-closed-door discussions, rather than engaging in formal political processes and collective advocacy activities (which of course does not preclude that family members work in the public sector or enter the ruling party). Thus, business also approaches and lobbies the state, but once again for its own interests and purposes, like having privileged access to distributional circuits and a certain insurance against political hazards. Contrary to recent developments in many neighboring countries, Tunisian businessmen have hardly ever entered the political arena as formal actors and have very rarely assumed an official position in a state institution. In fact, Eva Bellin has correctly highlighted the strong dependence of business on the state which can be seen from the fact “that private sector in dustrialists in Tunisia by and large owe their origins to the state, that the profitability of their ventures is enhanced by government mediation, and that cozy relations with state elites are essential to business success” (1994: 429). At the same time, however, she has also cautioned that “to deduce influence from policy is to confuse class partiality on the part of the state with class capture ‒ the inverse of confusing state autonomy with state neutrality. Actually, the state may choose a policy that favors a particular group in society thanks to an independent calculus of its own state interests; this policy may then simply coincide with the agenda of a particular group without necessarily being the political work of that group” (2002: 81). Despite the ongoing amalgamation processes at the top of the regime among key segments of the ruling coalition, these observations hold forth until the present time. In fact, it must be noted that by and large, political elites are still socially and functionally different from business elites. Of course, an official may choose to get into business and set up his own company, but then he is required to give up his mandate and step down from his position. (Very often, one also finds among Tunisian businessmen the losers of former intra-elite struggles or ex-members of political opposition groups, who seem to have come to the conclusion that it is better to make money and stay out of politics, than to make politics and end up in prison.) Ex-officials may still use their former networks within the state to clear obstacles arising to their firm, as long as they do not pursue ‘hidden agendas’ which might have a political dimension. If they want to ‘talk politics’, they have to do so within the established framework (e.g. within the UTICA, the Economic and Social 207

Council, the triennial tripartite consultations, etc.), not by creating new structures which might then compete with existing ones. In Tunisia, political elites and business leaders remain therefore two distinct groups of actors. They may know and (partly) trust each other, but they are not one and the same. Each side jealously guards its attributes and prerogatives. Business respects the supremacy of officials (at least in public), while officials respect the independence of business (again at least in public). Their interests and agendas may at times collude and at others collide, but they are neither interchangeable nor substitutable. Neither has the collusion between business and regime produced a disproportionate incidence of institutional disintegration or functional dilution, nor has it entailed an unsustainable reduction of economic efficiency and welfare. As an industrialist in terviewed by Eva Bellin stated, “relations with the state are personalized not politicized”. This is a view shared by the author herself: “Cronyism is not suffused with politicization, nor is it driven by corruption” (2002: 77; cf. also ibid: 65). Even though there are exceptions in this regard (especially at the 187 top of the regime), these observations grosso modo hold forth until today.

CONCLUSION Two broad changes have characterized the Tunisian economy since the mid1980s. The importance of industry and services has constantly grown, at the expense of agriculture and extraction. The economic role of private business has also increased, as has their importance for policy making. The result of these developments was the gradual emergence of a relatively vibrant private sector. In fact, a growing number of Tunisian firms have become sufficiently ‘professional’ to be able to directly compete on the world market, and successfully generate the inward transfers necessary for systemic reproduction. At the same time, however, most businesses have maintained their traditional features, such as their family focus (consisting of social units organized along agnatic lines), their molecular structures (consisting of formally separate entities active in different market segments), as well as their multi-pillar business strategies (often involving strong links with the ruling 188 elites). 187 These conclusions are contested by Hibou (2006), who regards extra-legal financial motives (vulgo: corruption) as an integrative part of the political game and as an essential ‘lubricant’ for the ruling coalition; her arguments shall be discussed in more details at the end of this chapter. 188 It must be noted, however, that the overwhelming majority of these industrial groups had already emerged under the old regime. Some major examples include the Groupe Poulina (Abdelwahheb Ben Ayed), Groupe Chakira (Faouzi Elloumi), Groupe 208

Intra-business differences have also constantly increased throughout the past two decades. The industrial, financial, and commercial bourgeoisie, clustering along primordial, co-sanguinarian, patrilinear lines, have been able to benefit most from the new business opportunities at home and abroad (including the support programs set up by the Tunisian state or foreign donors). They are also the best positioned to withstand the growing international competition (resulting from both WTO membership, and the EMAA process). The large majority of micro-enterprises, however, which employ less than ten people, and usually operate in previously protected niches, have all had to face constantly dwindling market shares and shrinking profit margins. They will thus be the most affected by the gradual establishment of free trade ‒ and are more often than not doomed to disappear. The steadily growing importance which private entrepreneurs enjoy in economic life is also reflected by the increasingly prominent place which they occupy in the national political discourse. This can be seen from a large number of new institutions created in their favor, be they new representative bodies (e.g. the ‘Council of Exporters’), or new public distinctions (e.g. the ‘Entrepreneur of the Year’). At the same time, however, this growing relevance for Tunisian policy making does not entail formal inclusion in po litical leadership positions. This can be seen from the fact that business elites are still totally absent among government elites (there is still not a single cabinet member with a business background), and surprisingly under-represented in parliamentary circles (which is once again quite different from recent trends in many neighboring countries, notably Morocco, Egypt, Jordan, and Lebanon). It is safe to say that the density and intensity of contacts and exchanges between the top ruling elites and rich business families has strongly increased in recent years, as can be inferred from the growing number of inter-marriages and cross-participations. It may even be possible to suggest that they have gained direct access to the political core around the presidential palace, to the point of being able to circumnavigate potential spoilers in SFBT (Mohamed Bousbiaa), Groupe UTIC (Taoufik Chaïbi), Groupe Meublatex (Neji M'Hiri), Groupe Abdennadher (Lotfi Abdennadher), Groupe Slama (Ali Slama), and Groupe Farid Abbès. By contrast, there are only few really important newcomers; one is the Groupe Ben Ayed (directed by Taieb Ben Ayed, the founder of BATAM), the others are business conglomerates directed by presidential relatives, like Karthago and Nouvelair. Of course, these old business elites could have continued to (ab)use their privileged relations with the ruling elites to protect their market shares against foreign intruders for some years more, but gaining a temporary waiver for windfall profits in a minuscule market like the Tunisian one was not nearly as attractive as gaining durable access to an integrated European market of over 450 million consumers. 209

the party-state. At the same time, however, the motive of these interactions is usually quite mundane; they are mainly about political protection and profit maximization, and not about political power or personal enhancement; most often, their desire is to fill their bank accounts, not to further public goals. In fact, it must be noted that business’ rise within the ruling coalition and their increase in political influence is the outcome of more comprehensive developments at macro-political level; it is derived from the new orientations of the political leadership, and from their relevance for the success of these orientations; it is not of their own making, i.e. not derived from any independent power base at social level or direct personal control of political power resources.

3. The Employers’ Organizations: From Transmission Belt to Driving Force Originally created in 1954 at the behest of the Destour, the Union Tunisienne de l’Industrie, du Commerce et de l’Artisanat (UTICA) was long regarded as little more than an extension of the regime authorities and as a subsidiary of the state bureaucracy whose mission was to bring business into the orbit of the regime and put the resources of the former at the disposal of the latter. However, the economic opening which the regime has pursued since the ‘Change’, and the deep changes which the economy has witnessed in its wake, have both profoundly affected UTICA's original mission and upgraded its political role. The employers’ organization is now tasked with a fourfoldmission: to further Tunisia's economic development, in cooperation with the state authorities; to assist the regime’s reform polices via the coordination of awareness raising and other measures; to support its member organizations through the provision of technical assistance and professional training; and to accompany Tunisia's global economic integration through the promotion 189 of international cooperation (cf. Hamzaoui 1999; Bellin 2002). To this end, UTICA’s president Hedi Djilani disposes of a highly elaborate, three-storey organizational structure which actually bears many re190 semblances to the state apparatus. The horizontal structure consists of 24 189 Alongside UTICA, there are a number of other economic intermediaries, such as the chambers of commerce and industry, which used to exist in a semi-dormant way during the previous political era, as well as the bilateral chambers established with Tunisia’s main trading partners in the 1970s, which appear to have gained some importance in recent years. There are two further ‒ and increasingly important ‒ structures affiliated with UTICA: these are the Chambre Nationale des Femmes Chefs d'Entreprise, as well as the Centre des Jeunes Dirigeants d'Entreprise (CJD). 190 Originally a wealthy merchant and textile producer, he is also engaged in numerous other sectors, and affiliated with the presidential family (being father-in-law of Has210

regional unions, representing the 1200 regional chambers, while the vertical structure consists of 16 sectoral federations, representing the 200 national chambers. UTICA’s main steering bodies on a national level include, first, the national congress which meets every five years to elect the new national leadership and to adopt the future political guidelines; second, the executive committee which consists of 34 members, 18 of whom are elected by the delegates of the national congress, and 16 of whom are represented as presi dents of the sectoral federations; and third, the national council which comprises the members of the executive committee, the presidents of the sectoral federations, the presidents of the regional unions, the presidents of the national chambers as well as the presidents of the chambers of commerce 191 and industry (cf. Annex 6a: UTICA’s Organizational Make-up). The strong economic growth of the past two decades, and the subsequent diversification of the private sector at large, have all profoundly changed the overall context in which UTICA operates, and substantially broadened the social base on which it relies. The gradual trickle-up effects of these farreaching changes finally reached UTICA's leadership level in the 2001 national elections. These elections consecrated a trend that started just a few years before ‒ namely the takeover of UTICA by the ‘captains’. A large share of the organization’s leading positions passed into the hands of the country’s richest businessmen, like Neji M'Hiri, Ismail Mabrouk, Abdessalem Affès, Ali Slama, Mohsen Trabelsi, Mohamed Loukil, and Ahmed Sellami. The 2006 national congress, however, partly ‘corrected’ the aforementioned trend, which means that the large groups are now less ‘over-represented’ in leadership positions (cf. Annex 6b: UTICA's Executive Board). Since then, UTICA's role for the regime, as well as its inter-relationship with the political leadership, appear to have become even more ambivalent and more complex. On one hand, it is evident that UTICA has become both more engaged and more influential in policy making. In addition to contisan Trabelsi). As such, he made a comet-like breakthrough after November 1987, accumulating important posts in various fields. In 1988 and 1989, he was not only elected into his current position at the head of the employers’ federation, but also deputy at the national assembly, member of the RCD’s Central Committee, and administrator at the Central Bank ‒ positions he partly continues to occupy until today. 191 The central administration is made up of four specialized directorates (for economic affairs and inter-national relations, administrative affairs, social affairs, and financial affairs), in addition to several horizontal units (like the press department, internal audit, IT department, and training center). The organization employed about 1000 permanent cadres in the early 2000s, over which the Centrale exercises exclusive control (interview, Turkia Tlemçani, member of UTICA's executive committee in charge of professional training, Tunis, 08/10/01). 211

nuing its ‘classical’ functions like promoting members' interests vis-à-vis the labor unions and state authorities (e.g. in the meetings of the ECOSOC Council or in the negotiations on the collective framework conventions), it is also increasingly assuming new tasks like assisting the state authorities in formulating and implementing their reform policies (e.g. by supplying technical assistance and training courses to its members, or by shouldering development projects and promotional tasks for the government). At the same time, however, it also obvious that UTICA is still content with a purely complementary and ultimately subordinate role to the state authorities. In spite of its direct involvement in public policy and its (sometimes) substantial relevance for government decisions, it still limits itself to ‘rectifying’ and ‘improving’ (i.e. to playing an advisory role in economic life). Although some stress that UTICA is no longer a “transmission belt” (Mohsen Trabelsi, secretary-general of UTICA's services federation, interview, Tunis, 13/02/02), it is clear that it is not seeing ‘eye-to-eye’ with the regime. UTICA can express criticism and propose amendments, but only on the basis and within the limits of officially approved policies. Whenever the preferences of the regime clash with those of business, the former take precedence over the latter. This explains the marked contrast that exists between the official priorities of UTICA's leadership and the real concerns of its members. The latter mainly seems to worry about the troubles they have with a bank; the hassle with ‘red tape’ and tax inspectors; the negative effects of rising wages and higher taxes; and the ominous advance of the parallel economy and cross-border smuggling. The former, however, continue to talk about the need to promote exports and investment, modernize production and management, reduce regional disparities and unemployment, and preserve social peace and stability. Even though UTICA may be seriously committed to defending its members’ interests, it ultimately continues to be dependent on the regime. A closer look, however, suggests that UTICA’s main assets ‒ being an all-encompassing umbrella organization for the entire private sector, and having close ties to the political leadership ‒ are also its greatest liabilities. In fact, the unitary matrix structure that ties it to each region and each sector, and the intricate connections it has with the government and the palace, prevent it from openly articulating and mediating diverging concerns, and thereby defusing or pre-empting distributional conflicts of various kinds and at various levels. Rather, UTICA’s leadership is constantly obliged to maneuver and compromise between the highly diverse, and sometimes mutually exclusive, interests and demands of its members on the one hand, and of the regime on the other. This may also explain why three particularly important business organizations have so far chosen to turn a deaf ear to 212

UTICA’s ‘siren calls’ asking them to join it: namely the hotel owners' association (FTH), the tour operators' association (FTAV), and the banking association (APTBEF). An attempt to fill this void may also explain the decision made in 1985 by a number of wealthy businessmen and university professors around the former minister of finance and co-founder of the BIAT, Mansour Moalla, to create a new structure: the Institut Arabe des Chefs d'Entreprise (IACE). The IACE has three goals: to serve as a forum for reflection and debate, to offer a platform for socializing and networking, and to supply its members with information and training (interviews, Faysal Lakhoua and Majdi Hassan, 25/04/01 & 03/10/01). In short, the IACE aspired to become a more exclusive, 192 and more pro-active version of UTICA. The limits of this autonomy, however, became visible in 1993 when Mansour Moalla criticized the regime’s economic policy in an interview with Le Monde (it was also rumored that he considered himself présidentiable). The backlash from the palace forced him to stand down, first as president of the BIAT, and then as president of the IACE. Both positions were taken over by Hedi Nouira’s son Chakib, who has been careful to adopt a low profile on high politics, limiting himself to pursuing the core objectives of the organization, namely lobbying and networking.

CONCLUSION As a result of structural developments in the economic context, and deliberate decisions of the political authorities, UTICA now has a stronger standing and plays a larger role than before. The regime is eager to find partners who have the know-how and the resources to accompany the elaboration and implementation of its reforms, and thereby facilitate the modernization and restructuring of the economy. It has preferred UTICA because it is easier to control than more dispersed organizations, and more in line with its own neo-corporatist image. At the same time, business needs UTICA because it provides the institutional structures which enable them to formulate collective concerns vis-à-vis the state authorities and other actors at home and abroad. It allows them not only to participate in political decision making and mediating bodies, but also to adhere to international business networks and support programs. The main difference is that while business appears to regard UTICA mainly as a necessary vehicle to further class interests, the regime uses it as a tool to further state interests. At the end of the day, how192 Due to the hefty fees IACE charges, only big companies can afford to become members. 213

ever, UTICA remains subservient to the regime; when the interests of the 193 former clash with those of the latter, UTICA loses out. All of this highlights, in a more general sense, the peculiar relationship that exists between the political authorities and business representatives in Ben Ali’s Tunisia. Business in general, and UTICA in particular, have taken on a much more self-conscious, pro-active attitude, and can claim a sometimes tangible influence on policy choices. However, this influence is basically exercised along vertical lines and limited to technical issues. It does not entail a real say (and even less a veto right) on truly strategic issues, not 194 even in the case when these directly affect vital business interests. Moreover, Tunisian business has been anxious not to cross traditional ‘red lines’, and touch upon genuinely political issues (such as debating the institutional framework of the state, or the political preferences of its leaders). In short, “the UTICA might try to modify state policy on the margin, but rarely will it challenge the state's policy direction as whole, and never will it engage in a public test of wills with the state” (Bellin 2002: 64). Generally speaking, despite UTICA’s stronger standing and larger influence, most businessmen still appear to be quite reluctant to engage the government or expose themselves in public (be it for defending their own personal interests, or promoting more general concerns). Rather than relying on their official organizations and formal representatives whom they often see as ‘ineffective’ and ‘self-serving’, they use the personal contacts they have build up with political decision makers and senior civil servants. Thus, the main obstacles to effective private sector action in Tunisia are the web of informal inter-personal links and parallel communication channels between state elites and big business. “Clearly, the business elite's ability to ‘go directly to the top’ undermines the centrality of collective action as a means to mediate interests. Large industrialists, the most able to bear the costs of organizing collective efforts, have little interest in doing so. As a result, organizations like the UTICA and the chamber of commerce tend to be led by entrepreneurs with other interests at stake (…), and this situation does not always make for the most effective representation of private sector preferences” (Bellin 2002: 66). 193 This contrasts with the eminently political role other Arab business organizations have to play in recent years (such as the Moroccan General Business Confederation, the Jordanian Business Councils, or the Saudi Chambers of Commerce and Industry). 194 To give just one telling illustration of state-business relations in Tunisia, private sector representatives were neither informed nor consulted by government officials before or during the negotiations leading to the conclusion of the EMAA in 1995. Another example is the very weak role which Tunisian business representatives seem to have played in the preparation of the new industrial strategy ‘Horizon 2016’, which the government officially unveiled in 2009. 214

4. The Labor Unions: From Counter-Weight to Mouthpiece In the years following its founding in 1946, the Union Générale des Travailleurs Tunisiens (UGTT) was, in many regards, instrumental in the PND’s successful struggle for national independence, and in the subsequent consolidation of its political power. In fact, in terms of societal presence and organizational capacities, the unions were in many ways equal to the party. This ‘competitivity’ led to their quick neutralization by the new rulers after the founding of the republic (cf. Zghal 1998; Hamzaoui 1999; Bellin 2002; Cav195 allo 2008). Between the mid-1950s and early 1970s, the unions were little more than a political amplifier and transmission belt of Bourguiba (even the collectivist period under Ben Salah did not really lead to a political strengthening of the unions, but rather of unionists within the regime). Yet, in spite of their tethering by the regime, they not only partially maintained their organizational autonomy, but also their ideological vigor. Between 1971-78, the regime's infitâh policies put both sides on a collision course. The partial liberalization of the country’s economy affected vital interests of unionists, and diminished their bargaining power vis-à-vis the employers. At the same time, the streamlining of the party made the UGTT both the main rallying point of the opposition, and the only serious counterweight to Bourguiba. The tragic events of the ‘Black Thursday’, however, showed that the unions could hurt but not beat the regime. Between 197887, both sides remained at loggerheads. The latter was able to temporarily subdue the former by resorting to a policy of ‘divide and rule’ and exacerbating the rivalries between competing factions. However, this did not re195 It must be noted that Tunisian legislation both empowers and weakens labor unions. The 1959 constitution spelled out in very general terms only the right of unions to exist, and the right of workers to join them. It did not, however, entail clear provisions protecting unionists and workers in daily life or at plant level. Thus, workers did not have the right to strike or to form a base union at their workplace (it was established later that any strike requires the authorization of the Centrale, and that workers disregarding it are subject to punishment). Further, the government could compel workers to seek binding arbitration by a special prud’homme council, and requisition workers in case their strike affected ‘national interests’. Crucially, the constitution maintained the power of the state to determine the level of wages as well as the overall conditions of industrial relations. What this meant at the end of the day was that “the UGTT could exist as a national organization. But it had no constitutionally protected place inside any particular factory, farm, or office” (Alexander 2001: 107). Moreover, it is the state that collects contributions from workers on behalf of the union, automatically withholding one percent of the monthly income of public employees, and transferring it directly to the UGTT. This means that the state can easily pressurize the latter in case of conflict, by simply freezing the transfer of contributions. 215

solve the root causes of the crisis, which resulted from an increasingly apparent contradiction between the policies of the regime, and the interests of the unions whose support base was essentially in the public, and not in the private, sector. The years after the ‘Change’ witnessed a certain ‘resurrection’ of the labor unions. This not only included the symbolical renewal of the political contract between both sides, but also the growing provision of state support (financially and symbolically) for the labor organization. In the political vision of the Benalist regime, the UGTT was attributed a manifold role: it was supposed to support the clampdown on Nahda, to re-integrate workers into the ‘Destourian family’, to accompany the restructuring of the étatist economy, and to defend the new policy vis-à-vis its constituency. By and large, the unions complied with these demands: volens, with regard to former, nolens, with regard to the latter. In this way, the unions became not only (again) an integral part of the regime apparatus, but also a major legitimizing resource for its new political orientations, at times against the express will of their social base. To this end, the UGTT's secretary-general Ismail Sahbani could rely on an extremely centralized and hierarchical apparatus which again resembles 196 the pyramid-like, three-tier make-up of the state. The horizontal structure consists of 24 regional unions, each one led by a 9-member executive board. The vertical structure consists of 48 sectoral federations, each one also led by a 9-member executive board. Finally, the national leadership consists of an executive board comprising 13 members (called ‘deputy secretaries-general’), and is elected by a national congress gathering at rather irregular intervals (cf. Annex 7a: UGTT’s Organizational Make-up). Importantly, the UGTT de facto enjoys a monopolistic position until the present time: There is no other legal labor organization on Tunisian soil, and for the overwhelming majority of unionists, this is still a supreme taboo. Moreover, the regime authorities have by and large backed this monopolistic position: Although they have occasionally encouraged the founding of rival unions in order to weak196 Previously secretary-general of the union’s metallurgy federation, and a member of its executive board since 1984, he had been Ben Ali’s declared favorite against Ali Romdhane, who was known for being close to the ‘legitimate leadership’ around Habib Achour, and was rumored to harbor Islamist leanings. Following his election by the Congress of Sousse in 1989, the new secretary-general made clear that the era of confrontation was over, and the time of cooperation had come. At a meeting with the president, Sahbani vowed that Ben Ali could count on “la disponibilité des travailleurs et leur volonté de ne ménager aucun effort pour contribuer à doter l’économie nationale des conditions d’invulnerabilité et de progrès, tout autant que leur attachement au dialogue sociale comme moyen de solution de tous les problèmes qui se posent” (Quoted in AAN 1993: 616). 216

en the UGTT, they have quickly abandoned these once they had reached their goals. The power of the UGTT's national leadership and its central administration over lower tiers and regional branches is extraordinary; most importantly, this includes the right to approve or reject the convening of strikes. These authoritarian structures were not only maintained but even reinforced under Sahbani. After 1989, the Centrale, increasingly dominated by his aides, would gradually subdue all other levels of the labor organization. This was done with the help of practices that resembled those employed by the regime: meaning that debates were controlled or suppressed, critics silenced or expelled, and elections fixed or stalled. At the end of the 1990s, the étatisation of the UGTT was complete, and the unions entirely dependent on the regime. Subsidies from the state had increasingly replaced contributions by its members as a source of financing, while instructions from ‘above’ had largely replaced input from within. The outcome of this process was “un pouvoir de type absolu, calqué sur le modèle étatique” (Hamzaoui 1999: 375). A precondition for this arrangement to subsist was (and still is) the ability of the secretary-general to act as an intermediary between regime and ‘workers’. Essentially, his authority with the latter depends on his recognition by the former. He needs to be able to approach the political authorities in order to protect the interests of his followers and obtain the kinds of ser vices they desire (better jobs, cheap credits, higher wages, etc.). Without this privileged access to the pouvoir (and the related ability to dispense patronage), he automatically loses his sway over workers, and thereby his value for the rulers too. “Son rapport au chef de l'Etat qui est un rapport de suzeraineté est une condition de survie. Mais cette survie n'est possible que si ce lien fonctionne à l'intérieur de l'espace syndical comme une force autour de laquelle se construit un rapport de clientèle qui lui rattache les dirigeants syndicaux aux divers échelons. L'allégeance au chef du syndicat lui permet donc d'organiser l'espace syndical comme un mini-Etat où seuls les rapports de domination sont dominants” (Hamzaoui 1999: 378). It must therefore be noted, however, that at the end of the day, centralization, bureaucratization, depoliticization, and clientelization go hand in hand and further reinforce each other. The UGTT's bureaucratization further reinforces its depoliticization as well as its alienation from its social base, which, in turn, further enhances its dependency and reliance on the regime. At the same time, however, the labor leadership, in order to have that support, must prove that it is capable of controlling its members, and in order to have that acquiescence, it must prove that it is capable of defending the integrity of their organization and of extracting concessions from the other side. The baseline of this equation is a relationship among participants 217

which is based on a clientelist exchange of political goods. “This permanent tension between the union’s political and socio-economic functions is precisely what characterizes both the unstable integration of the union within the Tunisian political system and also, perhaps paradoxically, its continuing position as a national labor union” (Cavallo 2008: 246-47). However, contrary to what might have been expected, the power of the UGTT continuously declined after 1989. This decline was due in part to the profound changes in the global context, but also to the new policies of the regime authorities. The result was a sort of ‘stagnation-cum-erosion’ that the unions experienced both at leadership and membership levels. Even though the UGTT officially claims to have about 300.000 members, it is obvious that it captures only a rather small part of the active working population. All declarations of intent notwithstanding, its social base continues to be limited to the large coastal cities, to the public sector organizations and to the elder generation. At the same time, several particularly important social groups are completely under-represented in their ranks: these are youth and women; people working in private companies and the services sector; and, significantly, those working in relatively sophisticated manufacturing 197 industries and export-oriented (mostly off-shore) businesses. UGTT-regime arrangements broke down after Ismail Sahbani ‘fell out’ 198 with Ben Ali in 2000. After resigning from his post as secretary-general, he was arrested for ‘mismanagement’ and ‘embezzlement’ of funds, and sentenced to prison fermée the following year (Ridha Kefi: “L'encombrant héritage d'Ismaïl Sahbani”. JA 2107, 29/05/01, p. 34-35; cf. also idem: “Le rapport qui accable Sahbani”. Réalités 789, 08/02/01, p. 12-14). The downfall of their leader plunged the unions into their worst crisis since the 1980s. As an emergency measure to ensure continuity at leadership level, the executive board appointed Abdesslam Jrad, previously deputy secretary-general for internal affairs (and Sahbani’s right hand for over 11 years) as the new secretary-general. The initial attempt of the ‘new’ board, however, to limit reforms to what they called ‘tashîh’ (‘correction’ in Arabic) proved to be incompatible with the preferences of the majority. Finally, the Centrale was 197 Actually, only a handful of branches really matter in terms of their size: regionally, this is Tunis, Sfax, Ben Arous, and Sousse; sectorially, this is public education, the textile industry, the food sector, health care, transport, hydrocarbons, construction, municipalities, and mining. 198 This was not because of political differences with the regime, but because of the personal ambitions of Sahbani ‒ who was rumored to have publicly described himself on a visit to the U.S. as the country's ‘No. 2’, and who was moreover suspected (rightly or wrongly) to have secretly discussed with members of the political opposition the possibility of creating a labor party. 218

forced to give in to the growing pressures from its own basis to let an extraordinary congress elect a new leadership. The extraordinary congress of the UGTT took place in 2002 on Djerba. The 467 delegates were presented with three competing lists: the ‘Jrad List’ (i.e. the outgoing leadership), the ‘Romdhane List’ (the ‘moderate’ opposition), and the ‘Arjoun List’ (the ‘left’ wing). (Jrad's attempt to coax the Romdhane camp into joining its own list had failed at the last moment). Signifi cantly, the Djerba congress witnessed the first truly open elections, not just in the history of the UGTT itself, but in the history of any Tunisian regime organization. Its results, however, were quite ambiguous. The large majority of the incumbent leadership was confirmed in their position, including Jrad himself. A number of prominent opponents were (re)elected into the executive board (like Ali Romdhane, Moncef Yaquoubi, Mohamed Saâd, and Abdennour Madahi), while some of Sahbani’s closest aides were expunged (like Mustapha Ben Ahmad and Mohamed Hedi Touati). At the same time, con gress members endorsed a new economic and social program, the third of its 199 kind in the history of the UGTT (cf. Annex 7b: UGTT’s National Council). Thus, the Djerba Congress produced quite paradoxical results. It effectively amnestied the outgoing leadership around Abdesslam Jrad, while partially re-habilitating the former opposition around Ali Romdhane. In any case, the crisis management of the outgoing leadership can be regarded as successful insofar as it managed to maintain itself at the head of the union and to ward off demands for deeper change. The only price it had to pay was sharing power with some of its critics. This has also meant, however, that “the struggle for pluralism has moved from outside the labor unions into the executive committee” (Nabîl ar-Rîhânî: “After the Djerba Congress: Will the Experience of Co-existence prevail (Ar.Or.)?” Haqâ'iq 844, 28/02/02, p. 6-7). Three camps now awkwardly co-exist within the labor organization: the ‘old guard’, led by Abdesslam Jrad, which still dominates most leading bodies (slogan: ‘change in continuity’); the ‘pragmatic opposition’, gathered behind Ali Romdhane, which is now also represented in the executive committee (‘change through cooperation’); and finally, the ‘radical opposition’, basically identical with the ‘Labor Platform’ (s.b.), which demands an in200 depth reform of existing structures (‘change through democratization’). 199 For a detailed reading of the Djerba congress see Nabîl ar-Rîhânî: “The extraordinary congress of Djerba: The secrets behind the electoral alliances (Ar.Or.)”. Haqâ'iq 840, 31/01/02, p. 6-9; Naceur Mokni: “Congrès extraordinaire de l'UGTT: Démocratie retrouvée”. Réalités 842, 14/02/02, p. 13-17; Ridha Kefi: “UGTT: La résurrection”. JA 2147, 04/03/02, p. 63-65. 200 Since Djerba, the new leadership has sought to avoid divisive debates and chosen to pursue a pragmatic approach instead. This means focusing on those issues that really seem to matter to most unionists. These include social security issues (reforming 219

Although the UGTT has clearly been resurrected after the ‘Sahbani Affair’, it has intentionally avoided any confrontation with the regime. This can be gleaned from its hesitant support for the constitutional amendment allowing a fourth term for Ben Ali (a position not entirely shared by the bulk of members). It can also be seen from its withdrawal of a motion calling for a general amnesty of political prisoners (originally included in the final declaration of the Djerba Congress). Thus, it may be said that the public stance of the union leadership has not changed a lot since Djerba. There has been an effort not to burn bridges with the regime, but rather to test one’s limits of action. This has included an experimentation with new approaches, such as expressing carefully crafted criticism vis-à-vis the regime and establishing loose working contacts with the opposition (but only at sub-national level or via ‘independent’ organizations in order to avoid exposing the national leadership or its secretary-general (I owe this observation to Delphine Cavallo; conversation, Tunis, 13/11/03). Given the reluctance of both the old and the new leadership to envision a branch-and-roots reform of the UGTT or just allow an open discussion about sensitive issues, various dissidents have decided to launch a ‘Democratic Platform’, aimed to serve as a forum for debate and reflection on how to renew the labor movement and its representative bodies. Three demands are generally advanced by platform members: first, the need to ensure the liberty of expression within the union, and accelerate the democratization of its structures; second, the need to introduce the principle of ‘alternance’ within the union, with a maximum of two terms for any secretary-general; third, the need to enhance the presence and participation of women, with the help of a quota for female candidates in all leading bodies. It must be noted, however, that the members of the platform see it as an open forum and a rallying point for the ‘intellectual vanguard’ of the labor movement, but not as a nucleus or basis for a new social movement (interviews, Habib 201 Guiza, Tunis, 18/02/02, 25/02/02, 04/ 12/03). It is obvious, however, that the entire platform project suffers from some national health insurance, creating an unemployment insurance scheme), job security issues (regulating or outlawing part-time contracts and temporary employment), and labor rights (protecting them in the public sector, enforcing them in the private sector). However, given the significant disagreements among union members, there are a number of more fundamental issues that have also made their way onto the agenda of the new board. These debates cluster around three questions: first, the question of internal democracy, and how far it should actually extend; second, the question of labor's public role, and what form it should take; and third, the question of labor’s dwindling base, and how it should be addressed. Surprisingly and significantly, hardly anybody has ever questioned the unitary framework of the single labor union: i.e. the UGTT's right to exclusively represent all Tunisian workers. 220

major problems as it lacks a broad social base, a clear political agenda, and an effective organizational structure (see also Nabîl ar-Rîhânî: “Is the ‘Platform’ living up to its Demands (Ar.Or.)?” Haqâ’iq 884, 05/12/02, p. 11) This may also partially explain why platform members have effectively split into two after Djerba. Some, rallying behind Ali Romdhane, argue that the labor organization can only be changed from ‘within’, and have therefore chosen to re-join the union, or have even accepted to participate in its new leadership. Others, rallying around Habib Guiza, hold that real change is only possible from ‘without’, and therefore prefer to keep their distance and focus on changing mentalities first. In either case, it is obvious that the platform has neither the capacity not the will to become a counter-weight to the Centrale, let alone the nucleus of a new (and possibly more autonomous) labor organization. In other words, their aim is not to overcome, but to complement and improve the existing structures.

CONCLUSION The UGTT has witnessed four main changes over the past decade: a further étatisation of its organizational structures, a further streamlining of its internal debates, a further weakening of its political leverage, and a further erosion of its social base. This is thus the last phase of a secular decline which the labor organization has gone through since national independence, from being a key ally and partner of the regime toward being a mere client and tool. As a result of this process, one of the strongest labor movements in the entire region has actually become one of the weakest. In fact, the UGTT has remained surprisingly passive since Ben Ali’s coming to power ‒ a behavior that runs counter not just to its entire history, but also to the deeply held convictions of many activists. At the same time, this ‘calm’ also points to the fact that its sociopolitical standing has been further weakened over the past 2-3 decades ‒ a decline not only due to fundamental changes in the global economy, but also to the political choices of the state authorities. As a result, the Tunisian labor unions have found themselves caught between the ‘hammer’ of an inhospitable international environment and the ‘anvil’ of an increasingly unfriendly regime policy. Various factors contributed to weakening the bargaining power of the UGTT: the gradual withdrawal of the state authorities from economic life; the development of the 201 At the same time, platform members have set up their own organization, the Centre Mohamed Ali pour la Recherche, les Etudes et la Formation (CEMAREF) which is supposed to become a ‘think tank’ of the labor movement and of civil society at large, where people can meet to discuss broader socio-economic issues in a free, non-partisan environment. CEMAREF director is Habib Guiza.. 221

private sector to the detriment of the public sector; the strengthening of sectors such as textile and tourism (with a disproportionate degree of lowskilled, temporary labor) at the expense of public services and heavy industry; and the shift from permanent toward ‘unstable’ work forms. All of these factors not only drastically reduced its support base, but also simultaneously undercut its political standing. At the same time, the increase of centralization and censorship, stifling all open debates and critical voices, further affected the attractiveness of the organization, which, in turn, entrenched its dependency on the regime. Thus it was both external pressures, and internal deficits, which hindered the labor unions from becoming an effective political (f)actor again. The outcome has been the political paralyzation of the labor organization: “Incapable de se dégager complètement de l'emprise du système politique, dont elle procède en partie, la bureaucratie [syndicale] ne peut ni se poser en alternative ni aller à l'affrontement” (Khiari & Lamloum 1998: 38283). Rather than acting as a speaker of workers vis-à-vis the regime, “l'UGTT est devenu l'instrument du pouvoir pour le contrôle des travailleurs” (conversation, Delphine Cavallo, Tunis, 13/11/03). This all means that the labor unions (or at least their national leadership) have accepted a depoliticization of their role, as demanded by the regime, and their integration into a strategy defined by the latter itself. “Point central, l'UGTT ne mène plus une politique de recherche d'adhérents, ce qui signifie à la fois son insertion en tant qu'organisation dans le champ institutionnel politique et l'abandon de la recherche d'une légitimité propre, reposant sur la prétention à incarner une représentation du peuple concurrente à celle de l'Etat-parti, au profit d'une légitimité fondée sur la reconnaissance et le soutien présidentiels” 202 (Cavallo 2003: 14). This state of affairs, however, is neither fixed nor stable, as can be gleaned from the sporadic breakouts of political discontent in recent years. The far-reaching ‘governmentalization’ of the labor organization not only 202 This situation poses serious problems for the union leaders, because any further liberalization of the domestic market, or the labor code, inevitably weakens their bargaining position both vis-à-vis the pouvoir, and the patronat. Basically, they have only two options at their disposal: either they become more of a service provider for their members, and an active partner for industrial modernization, or they (re)transform themselves into their previous format of a political player, and defy the political forces behind these economic processes. Another alternative for union strategists would be to build up a broad-based social coalition together with independent civil society organizations in order to press for a wholesale reconsideration of public policy. The problem with such an attempt is that the former (i.e. independent civil society organizations) are hardly existing, while the latter (i.e. freely debating sensitive political issues) is practically impossible. 222

fits uneasily with the interests and demands of the latter's social base, it also sits oddly with the convictions and preferences of most of its activists. This applies in particular to those branches which have a long history of political contestation (e.g. the teachers' syndicates). The heterogeneity of the UGTT's membership, its long history and still strong legitimacy as a national organization, and the often multiple political and organizational affiliations of its activists create a political power field which the state cannot entirely control (and maybe also does not want to entirely control). The consequence of this ambivalence is that the UGTT constantly oscillates between political submission and resistance, or to put it differently, between the “depoliticization of social issues” and the “repoliticization of these issues” (Cavallo 2008: 253).

5. The Professional Associations:

Influence beyond Politics

Similar to the private sector, and unlike the labor unions, the Tunisian lib eral professions have considerably increased over the past decade, in both numbers and importance (even though reliable figures about their exact magnitude are very difficult to come by). This has of course also had a positive impact on their public standing and upgraded their relevance in the eyes of the regime. The following professions dispose of their own professional ‘orders’: judges, lawyers, journalists, architects, physicians, accountants, engineers, pharmacists, dentists, and veterinarians. Three of them are potentially ‘important’ from a political perspective and shall thus be scrutinized more closely in this section: these are the Association des Magistrats Tunisiens (AMT), presided over by Adnène Heni, the Ordre des Avocats Tunisiens (COAT), chaired by Bechir Essid, as well as the Association Tunisi203 enne des Journalistes (ATJ), chaired by Mohamed Ben Saleh. Generally speaking, the relationship between these associations and the regime is far less sensitive and politicized than in the case of either the UTICA or the UGTT. The main reason for this is the fact that these profes sions (with the exception of jurists and journalists) do most of their business with private clients, and are thus not overly dependent on the state as a single ‘buyer’. At the same time, their concerns are only indirectly relevant for the political interests of the regime authorities, which also means that their demands are more likely to be treated with benevolence and taken into con204 sideration by the latter. This relative calm in the Tunisian case contrasts with the pronounced politicization of professional orders in many other 203 A group of dissidents acting under the leadership of Lotfi Hajji have recently announced the founding of a new, and more independent organization, the Syndicat des Journalistes Tunisiens (SJT), which the regime has so far refused to recognize. 223

countries of the region, which have often become a hotbed of Islamist activism, and a stronghold of the respective political opposition (Egypt and Jordan being the two main examples in this regard). In most cases, Tunisian professional orders appear neither directly involved nor seriously interested in political issues, and normally limit themselves to advocating and defending their members' interests. Those orders, which, by nature, have an interest in politics (and a tendency to get involved in it, like journalists, writers, and jurists) are now firmly controlled by the 205 regime. The only current exceptions are the bar association (Ordre des Avocats Tunisiens), their youth organization (Association Tunisienne des Jeunes Avocats), and the student union (Union Générale des Etudiants Tunisiens), which all have endeavored (and partly managed) to maintain (or regain) a certain degree of political autonomy. As we shall see in the next chapter, however, their experiences also attest to the structural inability of Tunisian professional or interest organizations to develop into full-fledged political or opposition movements directed against the regime.

6. The Reconstitution of the Ruling Coalition: From ‘State to Market’, from ‘Plan to Clan’ THE RISE OF THE ‘CAPTAINS’, OR: ‘MORE BUSINESS THAN USUAL’ The profound changes in the economic context and the new political orientations of key decision makers have seriously affected the composition and configuration of Tunisia’s ruling coalition. They have significantly altered the power relations and bargaining position of economic (intermediary) elites as well, both in terms of their access to the political leadership and their impact on policy making. As a consequence, business has been considerably strengthened vis-à-vis labor, both in terms of political influence and social prestige. Compared with the time when it was just a junior partner of the Bourguibist regime, it has become an essential part of the ruling coali204 Another important point is that the social bases of these organizations are so dispersed, and their mobilizational capacities so limited, that they do not constitute a real threat to the regime ‒ which also means, however, that there is no single national representative or contact point which the state can take to task and hold to ransom in case of conflict. 205 However, there are cases where they may be ready and able to confront and defeat the regime. This occurred, for example, in 2002 when the threat of physicians to launch a general strike against an impending reform of the national health sector forced the government to abandon its scheme ‒ despite the fact that Ben Ali had publicly backed up the reform plan until literally the last moment. 224

tion. This reflects the regime’s liberal turnaround of the early 1990s, when it finally abandoned the mixed infitâh approach and opted for a more orthodox policy. Things, however, have not only changed between, but also among, the different components of the ruling coalition. New forces within the business community (such as private manufacturing companies, new economic service providers, the new technical ‘intelligentsia’, etc.) have been increasingly sidelining traditional allies of the Bourguibist regime (such as smallscale industrialists, petty merchants, public sector workers, etc.). To put it simply, private companies have gained at the expense of public ones; export-oriented enterprises at the expense of import-competing ones; and ‘large-scale’ industrial holdings at the expense of small-scale family businesses. This reflects the country’s rapid growth since the early 1990s, itself (partly) the result of Tunisia’s stepped-up integration into the world market. These wider trends have also rubbed off on the different economic intermediaries. UTICA has largely managed to renew and reinvent itself. It has attracted a new generation of entrepreneurs and managers who have all benefited from the new policies of the regime and the opening of the economy, and who often belong to the most important business clans of the country and the most dynamic branches of its economy. At the same time, UTICA has become a valuable partner for policy makers and state officials who are concerned with the restructuring and modernization of the economy, and therefore interested in the know-how and resources these actors have to offer. The UGTT, on the contrary, has largely failed to accommodate and ‘recycle’ itself. It has not been able to keep up with the fundamental transformations in economic relations, and has thereby lost touch with ever larger parts of the working population. Further, it is still led by the same ‘old guard’ of labor bosses whose professional experience comes from the public sector and whose political socialization dates from the early post-independence period. Of course, these diametrically opposed results are not only due to profound changes in the economic environment, but also to direct interventions by the political authorities themselves. Although both Djilani and Sahbani had been Ben Ali's lieutenants in their respective organizations since the very beginning, their mission was quite different. The former was supposed to ‘upgrade’ UTICA into an effective employers’ federation, to instill a ‘corporate identity’ onto Tunisian business, and to assist the public authorities in their reform efforts. The latter, on the contrary, was tasked with ‘downgrading’ the UGTT into a mere political tool, purging it from the influence of opponents, and keeping the workers out of politics. These new missions reflect the official view that UTICA could offer both the ‘hardware’ and the 225

‘software’ the regime needed for its policy to succeed. The UGTT, on the contrary, was seen as a political liability (at best) or as a potential rival (at worst). Given the political history of both sides, it may be argued that Djilani's mission was about reconstructing his organization, while Sahbani's mission was about deconstructing his. The Benalist regime has thus directly or indirectly contributed to strengthening UTICA while weakening the UGTT. This also explains the virtuous or vicious circle in which both the business and labor organizations now find themselves: This includes an extended (or diminished) possibility to dole out patronage to their followers leading to an increasing (or decreasing) attractiveness vis-à-vis their constituencies, which, in turn, results in a 206 growing (or dwindling) relevance for the pouvoir, and so on. However, it must be noted that the regime adopted this policy out of pure self-interest and after a sober cost-benefit-analysis, not because of political pressures from social actors or an altruistic concern for business interests. It did so because its own (re)assessment of the situation prompted it to redefine its policies, not because any force in society had become strong enough to impose its preferences onto the regime. The changed political allegiance of the Benalist regime ultimately resulted from a paradigmatic change in economic policy, which shifted the focus of policy from import substitution to export orientation. From the point of view of the regime, it was no longer sufficient to simply re-distribute the already modest, and constantly shrinking surpluses of a fairly small, and largely saturated market via the established mechanisms of the old state-controlled corporatist system. Instead, it seemed more attractive to mobilize new re-distributive resources by accessing global value chains, with the know-how of the private manufacturing sector. For this reason, the ‘firm’ has replaced the ‘state’ as the center of industrial relations and as the focus of social conflicts. Under these conditions, capital has simply more to offer than labor. The first major consequence of this policy shift has been a ‘de-politicization’ and ‘de-collectivization’ of industrial relations and social struggles. This might also explain why “une nouvelle conception est en train d'émerger au sein de la Centrale patronale, plus ou moins partagée par le syndicat des tra206 However, it would be quite misleading to assume that the labor unions have become entirely powerless compared with the private sector. This can be seen from the collective negotiations of summer 2002, where the former scored a clear victory over the latter (achieving inter alia the banning of labor subcontracting and the prevention of a wage freeze), with the support (or at least with the assent) of the regime. Therefore, even though the UGTT may no longer be the power broker it once was, its constituency is still a factor which the authorities better take into account. 226

vailleurs, celle de sauvegarder l'entreprenariat, considéré comme la trame de fond de la préservation de l'emploi et de la consolidation de l'entreprise dans un contexte de mondialisation croissante et de démantèlement tarifaire effréné (…). Le syndicalisme, qu'il soit patronal ou ouvrier à caractère revendicatif, est en train de céder le pas à un syndicalisme militant et participatif au processus du développement pour la pérennité et la croissance de l'entreprise, source de production de richesses, de création et de maintien de l'emploi” (Ridha Lahmar, Réalités 795, 22/03/01 p. 26). The second major result of the above processes has been a dispersion and diffusion of social struggles and labor conflicts (which has also diminished the regime’s control over the outcomes). “Pour le dire autrement, les affrontements et conflits socio-économique, ou de ‘classes’, ne se mènent plus désormais sur la scène politique mais au sein de chaque entreprise. Cette dépolitisation des relations sociales, qui est á rapprocher de la ‘neutralisation’ du champ politique derrière le ‘consensus’ sur l'orientation économique, n'est pas sans poser de problème dans le contexte actuel d'ouverture et de libéralisation économique qui s'accélèrent. Il se traduit en effet par des tensions accrues au sein des entreprises entrant a priori en contradiction avec la déconflictualisation des relations sociales institutionnalisées, mais aussi par une dissidence au sein même des structures du syndicat” (Cavallo 2003: 16).

BUSINESS UNDER BEN ALI: INFLUENCE WITHOUT POWER A few important points need to be understood regarding these power shifts among economic (intermediary) elites. First, Tunisian businessmen only won prominence and influence as an element of the ruling coalition and within the context of the political regime, not as an autonomous political actor or alternative power center. Second, it is not ‘business’ per se, that has gained from these changes, but the ‘captains’, that have done so. In fact, it might even be said that they are gradually becoming an integral part of the core elite, to the point of beginning to (partially) replace political (partystate) elites as political patrons and influence peddlers. However, this is mostly due to their personal contacts and family relations with the president and his entourage, not to their own political power or social standing. Their influence remains essentially a derived, or borrowed one, it is not a genuinely autonomous, or structural one. It is in fact safe to say that neither Tunisian entrepreneurs nor their official representatives have been capable of (or just interested in) translating their increased relevance for the regime into increased leverage on politics per se, either individually or collectively. They have neither become a real player nor a power factor in public life, one that is actively involved in polit227

ical processes, or formally represented at government level. Also, they have neither developed into a counter-part nor into a counter-weight to the ruling elites, one that is able to introduce a balance of power into politics or impose accountability onto government. In fact, it is obvious that Tunisian business elites are still ‘playing second fiddle’ in political decision making, especially when compared with what is occurring in other countries of the region. Brief, Tunisian businessmen have remained essentially ‘apolitical oligarchs’ so far. It is important to understand that the regime regards business in general, and UTICA in particular, as partners for development, but not as partners in government. They are certainly allowed to provide input, especially when the issue at hand is of direct relevance for their material concerns, or for their social ‘function’. However, they are equally supposed (and maybe also happy) to leave the truly strategic decisions to the ruling political elites, especially when the issue in question has a direct impact on the overall parameters of the political system, or on the overall distribution of political power. In most cases, economic (intermediary) elites comply with these unwritten (yet well-known) rules and stop short of the ‘red lines’; that is, they abstain from addressing the regime's basic political outlook and institutional make up, and not question the president's strategic decisions or his political prerogatives. Most Tunisian businessmen are not personally involved in political parties (other than the ruling party), nor do they support them (especially not, when they are in opposition to the regime). Also, official labor representatives continue to avoid active involvement in political affairs, and usually prefer to tip-toe the regime discourse (at least in public). There are certainly some actors in either camp who would like to revisit what is seen as ‘politically correct’ (like entrepreneurs who seek to politicize UTICA, or unionists who struggle to democratize the UGTT). However, they neither represent a majority among their peers, nor do they intend a transformation of the system per se. In other words, both entrepreneurs and unionists limit themselves to ‘advising’ the political authorities and defending their most immediate interests, and this is where they stop even when this means losing out (cf. chapters seven to nine for further details in this regard). What has taken place since 1987 is a redefinition and revalorization of the function the country’s entrepreneurial elites have in the regime’s development strategy. This has not, however, led to an inversion or exchange of roles. Core institutions of the political system, and vital choices in public policy, continue to be exclusively controlled by the political elites organized in the Destour party, and dominating the Tunisian state. “The regime”, writes Eva Bellin, “is not willing to permit the translation of economic clout 228

in contestatory power. Yet, economic power does confer some political influence for private sector entrepreneurs, but only in the sense of winning them access to state elites. Successful entrepreneurs may consult with the regime, even criticize regime policies, but only ‘doucement’ and ‘entre amis’. The moment criticism is expressed as a public challenge, the state perceives this as a test of force and brings all its strength to bear to quash it” (1995: 207 144). All in all, Ben Ali has done little to change this situation, as he probably quite correctly regards this ongoing vertical separation of different functional spheres as an eminent precondition for his political survival at the top of the state: Thus, on the one hand, he has consistently encouraged the proliferation of rent-seeking and networking strategies among those groups surrounding him and constituting the (new) hard core of his ruling coalition. At the same time, however, he has vigorously interfered every time an actor transgressed the ‘red lines’ and ventured onto his ‘turf’ (i.e. the politi cal field properly speaking). Obviously, the increasing cumulation and concentration of financial and patronage power in the inner circle of the regime is only tolerable for him as long as he maintains his monopolistic and arbitrary control of the use of physical and legal violence against whoever this may be.

THE CONSTRAINTS AND OPPORTUNITIES FOR NON-STATE INFLUENCE PEDDLERS IN A LATE-DEVELOPING SEMI-RENTIER COUNTRY The Tunisian experience is thus both reminiscent to, and different from, what has been occurring in other countries of the region where local business elites have also exhibited a clear preference for a selective deregulation and partial liberalization of public life, and a keen interest in a constructive co-existence and close cooperation with government authorities. In fact, hardly any of them has shown itself either capable of (or interested in) counter-balancing the powers-that-be (let alone in enforcing political accountability). At the same time, the Tunisian situation is in strong contrast with recent trends in many Arab countries, where businessmen have increasingly desired and managed to embark upon a political career, enter (or found) political organizations and/or assume political responsibilities. Some of them are even found serving in cabinet positions, or have come to the head the executive branch of power (the late Rafiq Hariri in Lebanon, or 207 In this sense, UTICA bears some resemblance to the RCD; it is accepted that one defends his (legitimate) interests, makes (constructive) proposals, criticizes (subordinate) officials, but no more! 229

Driss Jetou in Morocco, were cases in point) (cf. the various contributions in Perthes 2002a & 2004a for further details). What explains this situation? How have the ruling elites under Ben Ali so easily and thoroughly managed to guard their political prerogatives, and why have the different components of the economic elites been neither able nor ready to change this? There appear to be several main explanations for this outcome. First, economic (intermediary) elites remain highly dependent and vulnerable vis-à-vis the state apparatus. The latter is still in a position to dominate the economy, being not only the country’s largest proprietor, producer, employer, investor, and creditor, but also the main regulator, legislator, and adjudicator. The state also remains in a position where it can easily sanction business, through its control over strategic economic sectors, compounded by the absence of effective legal-institutional safeguards. Its power is further enhanced by the rather lax compliance of many businessmen with tax rules, as well as by the still substantial amounts of soft loans in their books. This means that both the ‘carrots’, and the ‘sticks’ of the state continue to be quite substantial for both capital and labor. Second, all the conditions that underpin or enhance the political influence of economic (intermediary) elites elsewhere are largely absent in the Tunisian case. There are no politically influential parliamentary assemblies, no genuinely competitive, pluralist elections, and no truly autonomous and politically relevant non-state media. These conditions leave only very limited opportunities for economic (intermediary) elites to press their views in public and to have any impact on politics. It is not possible (or at least not attractive) for them to run for office themselves (also given the fact that all truly important positions are filled by Ben Ali himself), to fund the campaigns of others, or to otherwise act as ‘agenda setters’. This means that at the end of the day, lobbying officials (or, ex negativo, threatening to ‘strike’, economically speaking) are the only real political tools at their disposal. Third, most business elites derive substantial personal benefits from current economic policies and from maintaining constructive working relations with the ruling political elites. Unsurprisingly most businessmen appear quite content with the broad thrust and the overall outcome of government policies. GDP growth rates have generally been high throughout the past 20 years, with quickly rising living standards for the populace, increasing demand for consumer goods, and high profit margins for entrepreneurs. Competitive pressures from international operators are still fairly limited thanks to a still quite high level of effective market protection and a still very large number of non-tariff trade barriers. The state has created an array of support mechanisms to accompany industrial upgrading, in addition to all kinds of politically motivated waivers for ‘vulnerable sectors’. Finally, legal condi230

tions and fiscal provisions for Tunisian operators are still quite generous, thanks to a high number of tax exemptions and rather lax inspections. All of this implies a substantial amount of rent-seeking opportunities for the politically savvy. Last but not least, it is important to remember that those individuals and families who make up the country's business elite and control the large industrial holdings are not really bothered by the raft of structural or institutional obstacles and constraints which can make life so hard for the majority of small producers (like the numerous and complicated bureaucratic procedures, arbitrary and opaque administrative decisions, unclear or biased legal provisions, and an often overloaded and inefficient judicial machinery). In most cases, their own personal connections to the state's top office holders will always enable them to sideline potential ‘troublemakers’ in the state bureaucracy or judiciary, and to ward off unwelcome interferences from regu lators or controllers. This is one major reason why they are clearly more concerned about establishing (and maintaining) good working relations with the political core elite, than they are about promoting change and re208 form processes on a structural or systemic level. The same ambiguities are also observable with regard to the labor leadership: It must be remembered that the overwhelming majority of union leaders in first or second-tier positions at both national and regional levels come from rather humble social strata and have only received a sub-academic professional formation. They have risen in the social hierarchy thanks to their incorporation into the public sector and their affiliation with the UGTT. Affiliation with the labor bureaucracy therefore offers all the benefits normally available to a state employee (like having one's private office and a personal secretary). However, all this comes with the risk of becoming exposed to politically motivated sanctions of the regime authorities who can easily withhold financial transfers or impose disciplinary measures. (As most unionists have a professional background in the public sector, they are particularly vulnerable to this kind of punishment.) All of these factors must be taken into account in order to understand why most labor leaders are so particularly hesitant to go on a confrontation course with the regime authorities (in spite of their often long personal involvement in the anti-Bourguibist resistance and strong incentives from their social base). It is not only the ambivalent and difficult position of their organization in Tunisia's political system; it is also their own, personal insecurity and vulnerability which prevent them from burning bridges with the 208 It must be noted that these observations also apply to the large majority of foreign investors, who have established themselves under an off-shore modus and who are generally unconcerned by some rather unpleasant realities of local economic life. 231

regime. As they have neither legal safeguards in other state bodies nor potential fallback positions in the private sector, they will fall at least as deep as they had risen before ‒ and most likely even deeper than that. This might also explain why they are actually at least as reluctant as their counterparts in the business sector to try and change the political status quo ‒ and by doing so risk their own comfortable position in it. Regime policies have contributed to reinforcing these kinds of ‘second thoughts’ as they have tended to follow a relatively even-handed line which tries to accommodate the most important interests. That is, they attempt to improve the overall conditions for business, but without neglecting vital demands of labor. Moreover, regime policies favor a comprehensive development with so far globally positive results, whereas any political engagement entails a very high personal risk with highly uncertain outcomes. Consequently, it appears obvious that the prospects of achieving better results through a confrontational approach are next to zero, while the incentives to jeopardize a comfortable status quo (offering secure personal privileges at the present time) for uncertain future gains (implying hypothetical collective improvements at a later stage) are similarly few. All of this might help to explain why the leading figures of both capital and labor do not seem to have the slightest interest in any major change of the status quo. They actually appear quite content with at least two things: with their privileged access to decision makers and state resources; and (at least in the case of the former) with the regime's low-tolerance attitudes towards social protest movements and radical redistributive ideologies. Eva Bellin has thus rightly pointed out that in Tunisian business and labor representatives ought to be considered as factors of ‘political stabiliza tion’ rather than as driving forces for democratic development: “In Tunisia, as elsewhere, capital and labor have been complicitous in this political stasis. Neither has any wish to rock the authoritarian boat so long as the state is attentive to their interests and committed to underwriting their privilege. To the extent that a campaign for democracy has been mobilized, the initiative has come from other forces in society. Students, free professionals, and Islamists have been among the leaders of the democratization effort in Tunisia. They have organized demonstrations, written editorials, served in the human rights movement. They, rather than capital and labor, have led the fledgling drive for democracy” (2002: 156; emphasis added). For her, this outcome can be mainly attributed to the fact that the Tunisian Republic represents a typical example for a late-developing country where the state is forced to play an active and central part in socio-economic life. This role is justified by the need to facilitate the country’s development, modernization, and industrialization in a world already industrial232

ized, commercially integrated, and highly competitive. The state’s involvement in these processes represents a very ‘mixed blessing’ for other social actors, since it works to both strengthen, and weaken them. Under these conditions, neither capital nor labor wants to opt for an open conflict with the state authorities, or fight for a genuine transformation of the political system, since they would have little to gain, but quite a lot to lose from this. In either case, their current position is much better than what they could have achieved by their own efforts on the ‘market place’ (i.e. via free economic 209 competition) or through ‘class struggle’ (i.e. via open social conflict). This situation of dependency not only of, but also on the state prevents countries like Tunisia from evolving according to the basic assumptions of modernization theory: “The Tunisian case makes clear the democratic paradox of sponsored growth. The very same factor that works to empower industrialists and labor (…) also discourages them from becoming advocates for democratization. For while state sponsorship nurtures the power of industrialists and labor, it continues to undermine their autonomy” (Bellin 2002: 144). These ambivalent effects also shape their political behavior: “Like capital and labor in the first transition, capital and labor in late developing countries are contingent democrats, for the very reason that they are consistent defenders of their material interests. Like their predecessors, they champion democratic institutions when these institutions are perceived as advancing their material interests” (ibid: 155). It is clear, however, that the strategy which the Benalist ruling elites have pursued vis-à-vis their main social allies is fraught with contradictions, and thus likely to run into trouble over time. On the one hand, they have encouraged UTICA to transform itself into a genuine employers' federation, obliging it to push the interests of its constituency. On the other hand, they 209 Another aggravating factor for economic (intermediary) elites is their still insufficient integration into supra-national networks. Tunisian companies are still only superficially integrated into the global economy and, if so, mostly on a subordinate level, as mere suppliers of by-products. At the same time, only few global players are currently present on Tunisian soil and, if so, they have been set up under an offshore regime, and are thus cut off from the local economy. Another major problem for non-state actors are the extremely restrictive provisions of Tunisian law which forbid the cooperation with international actors without the prior consent of the state authorities. These provisions, however, have tended to be applied in a discretionary fashion: UTICA, for example, has been able to participate in many international cooperation programs and business networks, such as the Euro-Mediterranean and Maghreb associations of employers (called UNIMED and UME respectively). The UGTT, on the contrary, in spite of being a long-standing member of international labor organizations (such as the ILO and CISL), has to cope with the fact that there is still no truly effective labor federation on a pan-regional level (either Arab-Maghreb or Euro-Med). 233

insist that it continues to stick to the traditional political bargain, requiring it to stay clear of politics. Thus, UTICA is supposed to help the regime realize its economic goals (by mobilizing private investments or defusing industrial conflicts), but without attempting to address the underlying political issues (like the existing institutional framework or the appropriate development strategy). This, however, is becoming increasingly problematic: not only that the presidential clans are increasingly tampering with the state’s economic policies, and venturing into the country’s most lucrative markets; but many regime policies also follow a political rather than a business logic, and are concerned with the rulers’ rather than with the employers’ interests. A similar ambiguity also characterizes the official approach towards the labor unions. On the one hand, Ben Ali wants the UGTT to pursue a policy which keeps the workers under control and at the same time out of politics. On the other hand, he systematically denies them the means to effectively defend workers’ material interests, and simultaneously integrate them into the political system. In other words, the regime wants the UGTT to keep its members from siding with the political opposition or slowing down government policies, while it increasingly neglects their vital concerns and thus undermines their political loyalty. In a certain way, the regime’s policy visà-vis the labor organization has changed entirely when compared with the time before 1987. Under Bourguiba, it used to obstruct labor politically, but contributed to strengthening it structurally. Since the ‘Change’, however, it bolsters labor politically, but weakens it structurally. In fact, it must be noted that a certain number of highly contradictory forces are at work, in the first degree within the labor organization, but also (albeit somewhat less) within the employers’ federation. Developments within these organizations consist of an increasing centralization and verticalization of their internal structures, combined with an equally increasing bureaucratization and governmentalization of their respective leaderships. These strongly contrast with developments at societal level, which can be described as a further decentralization and decollectivization of industrial relations and social conflicts. Given the disruptions which the opening of the Tunisian economy and its integration into the world market has caused (and will continue to cause) for their respective constituencies, it is obvious that both UTICA and UGTT will face increasing difficulties with how to reconcile conflicting demands from ‘above’ and from ‘below’. At the same time, it must be noted that recent trends in Tunisian politics appear to suggest that two widely accepted assumptions about the country’s political economy need to be revised. These are, first, the traditional dominance of politicians vis-à-vis businessmen, and second, the alleged existence of ‘cronyism without corruption’. There is increasing evidence that the his234

torically dominant patterns of political power in the Tunisian Republic (societal-distributional networks clustering around party-state elites) are increasingly being replaced with new constellations (cross-cutting alliances converging toward the presidential palace). Another aspect of this process is that traditional relationships between social actors are increasingly being reversed, in the sense of an increasing clientelization of party-state elites at the hands of financial-entrepreneurial elites (the electoral results of the two last RCD conventions offer conclusive evidence in this regard). At the same time, it appears that another dominant pattern of contemporary Tunisia is about to be reversed, and this is the raison d’être of corruption in politics. Even though this phenomenon existed under Bourguiba, it was not seen as an end in itself, but as a means to an end (buying support from others in order to gain power for oneself). Since a couple of years, however, the use of corruption in Tunisia seems to be undergoing a process of autonomization and depoliticization, meaning that personal material gain is becoming a major (if not the main) goal of many (if not most) people resorting to these practices. Moreover, it appears that these developments are directly sustained by individuals who belong to the inner circle of the 210 Tunisian elite, and particularly to the families close to the palace. At the same time, it must be noted that the logic behind these practices has fundamentally changed in the course of time: Sure, Bourguiba also condoned (or even encouraged) the occurrence of ‘corruption’, but for him, this was a technique of politics, or a means to an end, which allowed him to make others liable to judicial persecution and eo ipso dependent on his ‘benign neglect’. Since 1987, however, these practices (i.e. the self-enrichment of persons close to the president) appear to have taken on a dynamic of their own, and have become an end in itself. As Béatrice Hibou has pointed out, “du temps de Bourguiba, la gestion de l’Etat pouvait également prendre des formes privées, mais elle restait largement cantonnée à des intérêts politiques, à des fins politiques, dans un jeu politique qui restait malgré tout ouvert au sein du sérail. Avec Ben Ali, l’accaparement des ressources, la corruption, les diverses ponctions font partie des nouveaux modes de gouvernement” (2006: 40f). Another observer has supported this by writing that “l'Etat, ses rouages et ses institutions sont ouvertement et cyniquement instrumentalisés pour mettre les richesses du pays en coupe réglée” (Nouri Hamzaoui, Le Matin Online, art.cit.). 210 As has been shown before, the presidential clans have not a priori seized clearly defined economic sectors, but simply ‘grafted’ themselves on existing (or emerging) ones. The ‘good thing’ about this strategy is that there is little immediately perceptible disruption to outside observers; the ‘bad thing’ is that it will have incremental ripple-through effects for the entire economy. 235

In fact, allegations of corruption within the circles of the pouvior have been rampant since a couple of years, to the point of becoming chose commune in private conversations with many Tunisians. Rumors abound concerning the large-scale misappropriation of public assets by politically wellconnected family; the open ransacking of successful businessmen, and the subsequent seizure of their acquired positions, by these same families; and finally the muzzling or sanctioning of state officials and bank managers who have supposedly tried to get in their way. Whether these rumors are true cannot be answered with certainty. However, the fact alone that they exist, and are widely believed, is both revealing, and relevant; it not only high lights the political climate which exists in the country, and the opinions which many citizens harbor vis-à-vis the regime; it also reflects (and increases!) the awe in which many Tunisians are held by the latter. Moreover, these rumors seem to have ambivalent consequences: on the one hand, they diminish the political acceptance and legitimacy of the regime, while on the other, they might also enhance the latter's clientelistic power and leverage vis-à-vis other actors. What can be ascertained, however, is that these neo-patrimonial and neomakhzenian practices entertained by the palace risk undermining the neocorporatist and neo-nationalist ideology which the president himself has so carefully crafted. Worse, it could also interfere with several key elements of the political economy of the ‘New Era’. In fact, the possibility for well-connected families to exploit their personal relationships with strategic political actors creates severe disincentives for other market actors to innovate and invest, especially into frontier markets and cutting-edge technologies, as they cannot be assured that they will be able to reap what they have sown. It is very unlikely that an indigenous private investor will be ready to set up a sophisticated production line if this exposes him to the risk of becoming the target of predators (or if he can make profits without going to such lengths). The ample availability of political rents (for some) and the still insufficient legal safeguards (for the others) seriously hamper the long-term development perspectives of the Tunisian economy and obstaculize its envisaged qualitative breakthrough toward a higher stage of industrial development – which, however, will be indispensible for the fulfillment of the promises the regime has made to the population concerning the provision of welfare and the generation of employment.

236

VI POLITICAL CONTESTING ELITES: THE UNRAVELING OF THE ANTI-BOURGUIBIST OPPOSITION MOVEMENT

1. Political Opposition Parties: ‘Divided they fall’ Even though the Neo-Destour was the only officially recognized political party from 1963-81, Bourguiba's Tunisia was neither by name nor by fact a proper single-party system. First, the right of other political parties than the Neo-Destour to exist was never formally abolished. Second, the right of Tunisians to organize themselves politically was also never formally questioned. Even during these two decades, there was a de facto existing, although not de iure recognized, opposition to Bourguibist rule. At an early stage, from the late 1960s until the early 1970s, it mainly manifested itself as minority currents within the ruling party, which only crossed the threshold of setting up their own organizations when it had become clear that they had lost the struggle for the leadership of the Destour (as had been the case with the leftists around Ben Salah or the liberals around Mestiri were cases in point). At a later stage, from the late 1970s and early 1980s on, it organized itself from the very beginning as socio-political movements outside the ruling party, because the latter was seen as being no more than a tool in the hands of Bourguiba (the labor unions and the Islamic movement were examples for this). The political developments after the ‘Change’ of 1987, and specifically the choices taken by the new ruling elites around Ben Ali, have profoundly changed the context for opposition in Tunisia. On the one hand, the new rulers deliberately broadened the potential scope for legal political participation, and systematically co-opted cooperative groups into the regime universe. At the same time, however, they systematically ‘closed’ previously existing spaces for autonomous political action (like higher education and religious institutions), and clamped down on all those who refused to compose with them. These strategies resulted in a deliberate, large-scale bipolarization of the political landscape, which accentuated conflict lines at social level. The outcome has been a quick and far-reaching disintegration of the 237

opposition camp, which proved decisive for the relatively quick consolidation of the new order. A)

THE ISLAMIST MOVEMENT: PERSECUTION, REPRESSION, ELIMINATION

The landmark decision of the new rulers to bar religious parties from political life altogether marked a turning point in the country's political fortunes; it not only effectively precluded the prospect of a (negotiated) system change, but also largely ‘pre-empted’ the further trajectory of the Second Republic. The Harakat al-Ittijâh al-Islâmî (Islamic Tendency Movement, MTI) ‒ constituted as a political organization in 1981 and renamed the Hizb al-Nahda (Renaissance Party, PR) in 1988 ‒ was neither the first, nor the only, but certainly the main manifestation of the ‘Islamic Awakening’ in contemporary Tunisia. It was the first faith-based organization that was endowed with modern support structures, a full-fledged political agenda, and a nation-wide social base. It had ipso facto become the only force in Tunisian politics able to rival the ruling party, both in terms of organizational sophistication and mobilizational capacity. The regime's decision to exclude and suppress it was therefore tantamount to rejecting the notion of competition for power as well as the possibility of an alternance in power ‒ both being 211 essential elements of any systemic transition to democratic rule. The historical nucleus of the MTI was a small group of students who began to meet in the late 1960s in the premises of the Zeytouna mosque under the guise of the ‘Koran Preservation Society’. Key figures were Rachid Ghannouchi, Abelfattah Mourou, Slaheddine Jourshi, and Hamida Ennayfar. A common biographical feature of these four ‘founding fathers’ was that they came mostly from the Greater Tunis area (with the exception of Ghannouchi who came from the South), and from rather humble families (with the exception of Ennayfar who came from a family of notables). Admittedly, their educational records showed considerable variations, with Ghannouchi, for instance, having studied at the Zeytouna and at the faculty of philosophy in Damascus, while Mourou had done so at the Sadiki and at the faculty of law in Tunis. However, there was another thing they had in common: they had all received a traditional religious instruction in their childhood 211 It is also important to consider that the MTI was actually the first Islamist organization in the entire Maghreb that played a major role in the political life of their countries: It thus emerged well before the Algerian Front Islamique du Salut, or the Moroccan Association pour la Justice et la Bienfaisance. For introductory reading on ‘Islamic revivalism’, see Haddad et al. (1991) and Burgat (1995); for an overview of Maghrebi Islamism, see Camau (1981), Gellner & Vatin (1981), Burgat (1988), Tozy (1989), Shahin (1997); for more reading on Tunisian Islamism, see Hermassi (1984 & 1989), Waltz (1984 & 1986), Magnuson (1991), Dunn (1994), Hamdi (1998). 238

days, and would always uphold the centrality of Islam as the main source of inspiration ‒ for themselves, and for society at large. The MTI went through several phases of political development: formation (1969-73) and expansion (1973-79) were followed by politicization (197987), cohabitation (1987-90), confrontation (1990-92), and re-organization (after 1992). Throughout the 1970s, the movement had begun to gain popularity, particularly among teachers and students, two groups that were later estimated to represent about three quarters of all active members. Despite offers to the contrary, the founders chose to work outside the structures of the Destour, spreading their message and recruiting new disciples through their magazine al-Ma'rifa (‘Knowledge’), which they published from 1972-79, and via so-called halaqât (study groups) which they organized at schools and in mosques. In this period, they refrained from discussing politics, and focused on familiarizing the young with the message of Islam. They normally advocated an ‘Islamic path’ toward modernity, different from prevailing Western models of development. Slowly but surely, they gained a veritable discursive hegemony over the different echelons of the education system, with the University of Tunis, and specifically the Faculty of Science, serving as their main strongholds and ‘battleships’. After Tunisia's ‘Black Thursday’ of 1978 and Iran's Islamic Revolution of 1979, this fledgling Islamist movement underwent a fundamental qualitative change. The majority current decided to constitute themselves as a political organization which they called the Islamic Tendency Movement (MTI). In 1981, the MTI’s first congress adopted the party program and organizational statutes, and elected Rachid Ghannouchi as their chairman and Abdelfattah Mourou as their secretary-general (for the MTI's program and organigram see Shahin 1987: 85-87 and 90-92). In spite of its very centralized and hierarchical make-up, the MTI was far from being a monolithic or just homoge neous organization. It federated at least four currents in its midst: the ‘traditionalist’, ‘scripturalist’ branch around Mohamed Lakhoua and Ali Lasram; the ‘moderate’, ‘legalistic’ branch around Rachid Ghannouchi and Abdelfattah Mourou; the ‘radical’, ‘militant’ branch around Salah Karkar and Hamadi Jebali; as well as the ‘modernist’, ‘progressive’ branch around Slaheddine Jourshi and Hamida Ennayfar (who decided to quit the movement 212 in the early 1080s, because they rejected its politicization). This peculiar historico-genetical background of the MTI may also par212 It must also be noted that there existed other manifestations of Political Islam on Tunisian soil. Representatives of the socially hyper-conservative, but essentially apolitical Tabligh wa-Da'wa movement were known to be active in Tunisia, and some Jihadist cells seemed to exist within the security apparatus, but these were quantitatively negligible in comparison to the MTI. 239

tially explain its ambivalent two-track strategy of ‘moderation-cum-subversion’. On the one hand, they aimed to replace the existing political system with an Islamic state based on the Koran and the Sharia, while on the other hand, they sought to participate in that very same system as a normal politi cal actor which respects the laws of the state, including the political princi ple of popular sovereignty. The MTI’s heterogeneous roots may also largely explain its peculiar combination of harakiyya and hizbiyya. They not only aimed to act as a political party (hizb) espousing a particular ideology and representing a specific constituency, but also pretended to be a socio-religious movement (haraka) which transcends the narrow boundaries of a political party to embrace the Tunisian nation as a whole. This ‘bicephalism’, however, was not limited to the Tunisian case, but is actually characteristic of Islamist movements worldwide; it reflects the ambiguities and dilemmas resulting both from their own ideological beliefs, and from their respective political environments (cf. also Brown et al. 2006 as well as the various contributions in Wiktorowicz 2004, Asseburg 2007a, and Albrecht & Köhler 213 2008). The state authorities themselves gave the new organization a cold welcome. They had for a long time treated the manifestations and representatives of ‘Political Islam’ with a mixture of indifference and benevolence, because they regarded them as either unproblematic, or as even compatible. Specifically, these were seen as being useful ideological antidotes and even potential political allies against the regime’s ‘true’ adversaries: the political left. Now, things were different: they not only turned down the MTI's request for recognition, but also rounded up its leadership on various occasions. Arrested activists received harsh verdicts (Ghannouchi and Mourou being sentenced to 11 and 10 years respectively). This, however, strength214 ened rather weakened the movement. By the time the ‘bread crisis’ broke out in late 1984, the MTI had grown into a formidable challenger to the Bourguibist state, a full-fledged social movement with its own counter-dis213 It is also clear that a certain duality existed between visible and clandestine structures; between the elected leadership around Rachid Ghannouchi and Abdelfattah Mourou (made up of an executive bureau and a consultative council), and a parallel ‘underground’ organization around Saleh Karkar and Hamadi Jabali. It is not clear, however, if the latter served to penetrate the structures of the state in order to prepare a coup d’Etat (as the regime would argue), or whether it served to protect cadres from repression, and guarantee the survival of the organization (as Nahda itself claims). 214 It must also be noted that the stance of the regime on this subject was quite ambiguous: whereas Bourguiba was always very straightforward and consistent in his hostility and rejection, his Prime Minister Mohamed Mzali (1980-86) was far more compromising and sympathetic vis-à-vis the MTI. 240

course and counter-elites, “a parallel society with its own laws and rules” (Hermassi 1984: 47). ‘Counter’, however, meant both ‘alternative’, and ‘competitive’; the MTI not only increasingly resembled a political party, it in215 creasingly resembled the ruling party (Camau & Geisser 2003a: 284). There were actually a number of traits which the (mounting) MTI and the (original) PSD had in common. First, most activists showed a rather modest social background, representative of the upwardly mobile yet culturally conservative petty bourgeoisie of the country’s rural provinces and small towns. Second, most activists mostly had received a modern educational upbringing, normally consisting of a high school and/or university diploma obtained from a North or East-coast institute. Third, both organizations sported a pyramid-like, semi-clandestine make-up, geared toward surviving in a hostile environment and vanquishing a stronger adversary. Fourth, both adopted a highly ambivalent approach to politics, generally preferring a pragmatic (legalist) pursuit of one’s aims, without totally excluding an eventual (tactical) use of violence. Finally, both loved to justify their claims and discredit their rivals by drawing a clear distinction between the ‘pays légal’ and the ‘pays réel’, indicating that only they were entitled to speak on behalf of the latter, and to claim authority over the former. The ordinary member of both the PND and the MTI was thus representative of a (lower) middle-class proto-elite that felt qualified yet marginalized. They had all been encouraged and empowered through the state’s expansive education and social policies, but felt alienated and ‘dispossessed’ through their bilingual and bicultural twist. “Le membre typique du mouvement islamique peut être décrit comme un jeune de plus de 20 ans, né dans l'une des bourgades du pays, de milieu populaire et ayant reçu un haut niveau d'éducation sans que sa mobilité ascendante l'ait conduit à répudier ses origines. A la différence des générations des années 50 et 60 qui avaient misé sur l'Etat, soit par 'entrisme', soit par le biais de l'opposition, le jeune islamiste s'est mis à la recherche du salut individuel et collectif en dehors de l'Etat” (Hermassi 1984: 46-47; the last point deserves further debate, s.b.). At the same time, it must be noted that the political methods and ideological registers which the MTI adopted in its struggle against the regime resembled the strategy and discourse which the PND had employed in its conflict with the French. This holds particularly true for the very special way they mixed seemingly disparate elements: like populism and elitism, egalitarianism and authoritarianism, and negotiation and conflict. However, they 215 Rachid Ghannouchi himself stressed at one point that “au demeurant, l’islamisme n’est que le prolongement du nationalisme (…). Mieux, l’islamisme se veut un mouvement de rectification, de réforme, du nationalisme” (Interview, JA, 04/07/90, p. 1820). 241

differed insofar as the PND chose to pursue equality and advancement outside the ‘system’ (by breaking away from the colonial center and setting up one’s own state), whereas the MTI still opted to pursue its interests and objectives within the ‘system’ (by struggling for more equality and justice 216 within the existing polity and society). This was one major reason why a negotiated compromise and a gradual pullout like in the former case was not possible in the latter case: because both parties actually fought over the same prize (direct control of the Tunisian state), and no one had a real fallback position. This might also explain what followed. After the ‘Change’, it appeared for some time as if the ‘culture of conflict’ which had so long soured the relationship between the regime and the Islamists was about to give way to an era of détente and rapprochement. The MTI leadership more or less hesitantly agreed to accept some key accomplishments of the previous order (in particular the gender-related provisions of the Personal Status Code), to participate in the institutions of the new order (such as the High Council of the National Pact) and, most importantly, to endorse the provisions of the National Pact itself, while the new rulers agreed to rehabilitate Islamic symbols in public life, reinforce religious instruction at schools, and re-establish the Zeitouna as an Islamic university. This did not, however, entail a formal recognition of core concerns or key demands of the other side. The regime was not prepared to concede a legalization of religious parties or their admission to political elections, whereas the Islamists were not willing to renounce their aim of assuming power and of transforming the existing order into an Islamic state (cf. Zghal 1987, Hermassi 1991, and Rogers 2009 for further reading). This ‘cohabitation’ finally came to an end between 1989 and 1991. When the 1989 elections revealed that the Islamist movement could in time represent a competitive challenger to the Destourian rulers, the latter decided to pull the emergency break and knock the Nahda party out of the political game. Instead of backing down, the latter took to the streets, calling upon its followers to confront the security forces. The result is well-known: Nahda was on the loosing side. Between 1991 and 1992, the police systematically clamped down on Nahda, rounding up its activists, dismantling its organizations, and arresting its leadership. After two years of massive repression, Tunisia's Islamist movement had effectively ceased to exist ‘on the ground’. Its structures were destroyed, its sympathizers intimidated and silenced, and its cadres imprisoned or exiled. Importantly, all of this happened with considerably less casualties than in neighboring Algeria; there was no major 216 The Tunisian case is thus another example of how identity politics and distributional struggles are inter-twined in soft budgetstates, as described in Anderson (1997). 242

bloodshed, no epic showdown, no street fighting, no guerilla war; it was an implosion, rather than an explosion. 217 After 1991/92, the remnant Islamist movement split into several parts. All those of its members who had not renounced their affiliation, or fled the country in time (like Mohammed Ghannouchi, Saleh Karkar, Habib Mokni, and Mohamed Chammam) were incarcerated or simply ‘disappeared’. Throughout most of the 1990s, their total number was estimated at several thousands. About forty died during that time. Their release ‘on parole’ only began in 1999 and ended in 2008. Since then, there appear to be no more former Nahda members among Tunisian prison inmates. Another part, particularly the ‘moderate’ current around Sheikh Mourou, had chosen to quit the movement before the clampdown began. Many of them appear to have returned to ‘normality’ (and are abstaining from politics). A third part has decided to go into exile in Europe and continue their combat against the regime from there. Today, most of these exiles are living around Paris and London where the Nahda leadership has set up its new headquarters. And a fourth part has joined radical Jihadist groups outside the country, where 218 they continue their struggle, albeit on a larger level. Those former Nahda members still living on Tunisian soil are subject to an extremely restrictive system of administrative oversight, which makes it almost impossible for them to lead a normal life (and which actually comes close to an indirect form of house arrest with, however, significant differences between the first two groups). They are thus usually assigned to a special place of residence, and obliged to pass at regular intervals at the local police station. In addition, they are often denied an identity card or other important documents, which makes it impossible for them to travel around the country, or to just find a job. As such, they are also excluded from basic social services, like public health care. In the majority of cases, they are forced to eke out a living in the informal sector or (in the best of cases) in 217 There is also the extremely interesting category of the ‘Islamo-Destourians’, i.e. politically active elements with a quasi-Islamist outlook, who have chosen to work within the structures of the ruling party. For lack of data, it is unfortunately not possible to present them in more details at this point. 218 Some of them joined Jihadist cells in European countries which were loosely affiliated with al-Qaida (Northern Italy was known for being a center for this kind of activities throughout the 1990s). Others joined extremist groups in neighboring countries, such as the Algerian Groupe Salafiste pour la Prédication et le Combat (GSPC), which transformed themselves into al-Qaida of the Islamic Maghreb (AQMI) in early 2007 (cf. Ed Blanche:“Mayhem in the Maghreb”. The Middle East, June 2007, p.°8-12; Steinberg & Werenfels 2007; Filiu 2009). A small but important group appears to be engaged in Middle Eastern and Central Asian conflicts, and some of them are even said to have made it into the inner circles of their organizations (Rachid Khechana: “The 400 Tunisian Afghans (Ar.Or.)”. Al-Hayât, 09/11/01, p. 15). 243

the liberal professions. For many of them, this means being pushed to the sidelines of society and living the life of an outcast (knowing that any ‘fauxpax’ will be followed by sanctions). As Ali Laâredh, Nahda’s ex-speaker, has said: “Je suis libre. Mais je suis un paria” (quoted in Samy Ghorbal: “Tunisie: 219 Que deviennent les Islamistes libérés?” JA 2498, 23/11/08, p. 46-48). Since 1992, Nahda has started a process of re-organizing and re-positioning itself from exile. On the one hand, they have been quick to tap new communicational resources, such as satellite television, and online publishing. They have successfully launched their own TV station (‘Zeitouna TV’) and their own website (www.nahda.net) which can both be indirectly accessed from within Tunisia. They are also increasingly employing other new means of mass communication, such as e-zines, chat-rooms, weblogs, etc. At the same time, they have been eager to graft already existing structures within Tunisian civil society, such as NGOs, labor unions or professional bodies. They are also increasingly present in human rights organizations (such as the LTDH and CNLT), in the professional syndicates (particularly the COAT and ATJA), and even in some political parties (such as the PDP) (see also Rachid Khachana: “Nahda chooses the Policy of the Swing Door (Ar.Or.)”. AlHayât, 06/04/01, p. 6; Ridha Kefi: “Convergences contre nature?” JA 2110, 19/06/01, p. 33). All these factors have enabled Nahda to maintain a certain presence in Tunisia: The enormous attention which any public appearance of Rachid Ghannouchi still automatically elicits shows that their reputation (whether positive or negative) is still intact within the country). At the same time, a whole multitude of other indicators, such as the rapidly growing numbers of veiled women in the streets and of young worshippers in mosques, show that Islam is far from dead in Tunisia. (Although it is not yet clear whether this phenomenon has a political dimension, and whether there is any link to the former Islamist movement at all.) In any case, it is obvious that Nahda still ‘matters’ in Tunisia, albeit more indirectly than directly. It continues to act as a ‘structuring factor’ in political life, which influences political perceptions and affiliations both within the regime and the opposition (cf. also Camau & Geisser 2003a: 37 and 43 as well as Camau & Geisser 2003b: 270 and 304).

219 Examples include Abdelfattah Morou, Noureddine B'Hiri, Samir Ben Amor, Samir Dilou, and Saida el-Akremi, who all work as lawyers; Abdelhamid Ennaifar who teaches at the Zeitouna; and Slaheddine Jourshi who has become a freelance journalist (after being dismissed from his post as editor-in-chief of the weekly Réalités/ Haqâ'iq, presumably a ‘collateral damage’ of his Islamist past). 244

CONCLUSION Even two decades after the clampdown on Nahda, things have not really changed with regard to the role of religion in politics. Ben Ali’s Tunisia remains among the few Arab countries in which independent faith-based organizations (parties, charities, foundations, etc.) are still totally absent from political life, and where religious issues cannot freely be discussed in public. The state authorities continue to keep a tight rein on all issues that are remotely related to religion, and to stay in direct control of all those institutions that ‘structure’ the understanding of Islam. The recent successive liberation of the former Islamist detainees has neither been accompanied by a process of national reconciliation between the former adversaries, nor by an attempt to re-integrate these into society. The situation in Tunisia is thus quite different from what has been happening in other countries in the region (like Morocco, Algeria, Jordan, Bahrain, Kuwait, Yemen, or Turkey) where such a normalization has indeed taken place, and where religious parties have not only been (re)admitted into political public, but are sometimes even represented at government level (cf. Werenfels 2005, Asseburg 2007b, Albrecht & Köhler 2008, Lust-Okar & Zerhouni 2008, Ottaway & Hamzawy 2008, and chapter seven for details). So why did the ‘Tunisian Spring’ end so soon? Why has ‘cohabitation’ not proven to be a feasible option? Why has the regime been so determined not to acknowledge Nahda? Why is it persevering on its way even at a time when the latter is clearly no longer posing a threat? Did it plan from the very beginning to ‘eliminate’ its Islamist adversaries, or did it decide to do so given the course of events? And why has Nahda not really been able to effectively confront the regime? Why has it not been capable of mounting a stronger resistance or of making a political comeback? Did it simply choose the wrong strategy, misread the situation, underestimate its adversary, or did it rather lack the means, the will and the incentives to do so? When hav ing a closer look at the political landscape of contemporary Tunisia, there appear to be several possible explanations ‒ both endogenous and exogenous ‒ for these specific political outcomes. In fact, when trying to understand the relatively easy crushing of Tunisian Islamists (especially when comparing it with the bloody events in neighboring Algeria), one has not only to take into account the efficiency of the regime’s security apparatus, and the sophistication of its surveillance system, but also the cohesion of the Destourian ruling coalition, and its determination to prevail over its political challengers. In fact, the Tunisian government continued to be in complete control of the national territory, and it continued to enjoy the unwavering loyalty of its armed forces. It had 245

also gained a fairly precise knowledge of who belonged to, or was siding with, the MTI (thanks to the petition lists drawn up before the 1989 elections), and it simply offered no room for Nahda to build up a counter-power, or stage an armed uprising against the state authorities (as the Algerian FIS did at exactly the same time). Another explanation might be the considerable heterogeneity of Tunisian Islamism as well as the particular mindset of its political leaders. In fact, what distinguished Nahda’s mainstream current from many other fundamentalist movements worldwide was an unusual degree of politico-ideological sophistication and moderation, which itself went hand in hand with a socio-political outlook (or habitus) which combined quietism and legalism with elitism and étatism. Compared with their peers in other countries (and probably with the majority of their younger members too), their leaders were already too old, and too settled, to go for an all-out confrontation with the regime authorities. They aspired to be recognized as a ‘partner’ or a ‘mentor’ of the state, who helped ‘re-educate’ and ‘ameliorate’ the populace, but not as a combatant in a conflict which might destroy everything they had achieved in their lives. When trying to find an answer to these questions, it is also important to consider several specific traits of Tunisian Islamism, and particularly the political consequences of its bi-cephal nature. In fact, while the combination of harakiyya and hizbiyya seemed to increase its competitiveness and maneuverability at first, it also contributed to weakening its sense of purpose and its ability to cooperate. MTI leaders were constantly forced to switch between various discursive registers, which also included a rather instrumental stance on the question of violence (ultimately regarded as a means to achieve an end). This meant that negotiations were preferable to violence, but violence was legitimate when negotiations were stalled. This stance (i.e. the combination of moderate, appeasing discourses, and radical, conflictual practices) was certainly useful for maintaining the unity of the movement (especially in a situation characterized by strong insecurity). The problem was that it was too conciliatory to allow for a rupture with the regime, yet too confrontational to allow for a co-existence with it. It was this ambiguity (i.e. the combination of moderation and subversion) that constituted both the force and the faiblesse of the Tunisian Islamists, and that best explains both their initial success, and their ultimate failure. The mix of socio-economically redistributive discourses and of a socio-culturally rather conservative understanding of politics would have been a strong asset in a context which allows for the peaceful competition for political office through the ballot box. It was, however, a severe liability in a context where political power is won and lost through violent struggle among 246

contending factions. The fateful decision of the Islamist leadership to ‘step up the heat’ and take to the streets (in order to force the state authorities to return to the negotiating table) marked the beginning of the end. It fuelled the regime’s resolve and cohesion, while splitting their own lines and troops. The effects on Nahda were a quick disintegration from within, coupled with a quick dismantling from without. This led Hermassi to say that “no one, including those in power, thought that this movement could so eas220 ily dissipate” (1991: 105). B) THE SECULAR OPPOSITION: COOPTATION, MARGINALIZATION, NEUTRALIZATION

The decision of the new rulers to formally abandon the political monopoly of the Destour party and create the legal framework for a multiparty system constituted the second major difference between both eras. This normalization process’ first phase started in the early 1980s when Mohamed Mzali experimented with a controlled opening of the political system. Three parties were admitted on an ad-hoc basis prior to the 1981 elections (before being officially recognized two years later): the MDS, the PCT, and the ‘MUP2’ (a ‘cooperative’ split-off from the original formation). The second phase started with the party law of April 1988 that legalized the existence of opposition parties. Three further parties received the go-ahead in the course of that year (even though most of them had de facto existed before): the UDU, the RSP, and the PSL. After a ‘recognition freeze’ throughout the 1990s, two more parties (FTDL and PVP) followed in the 2000s. Today, altogether eight parties other than the Destour have been legalized, five of which are currently represented in parliament (cf. Abdelhaq & Neumann 2000, Geisser 2000, Faath 1999a & 2008b, Willis 2002 and Axtmann 2007 for further details). The flagship of the Tunisian opposition is the Mouvement des Démocrates Socialistes (MDS) which gathers the country’s leftist-nationalist and socialdemocratic currents. Its adherents are mainly found among bourgeois and intellectuals of the coastal cities and the national capital. After its founding in 1978 by Destourian dissidents around Ahmed Mestiri, it became the political platform of all those groups that resented the ‘confiscation of power’ 220 Nahda’s support for Saddam Hussein during the Gulf War and their decision to face up to the regime proved particularly fateful as it cost them the sympathies of both of their Saudi Arabian sponsors and of their own bourgeois elements (for further reading see the interview with Ghannouchi: “Saddam Hussein, les hypocrites et nous”. JA 1572, 13/02/91, p. 50-53; François Soudan & Samir Gharbi: “Les islamistes, victimes de la guerre”. JA 1578, 27/03/91, p. 48-50). 247

and the ‘hi-jacking of politics’ by Bourguibo-Destourianism. However, two decades after its near victory in the 1981 elections, the MDS is only a shadow of its former self. Ben Ali’s coup plunged Mestiri’s movement into a crisis from which it has not yet recovered (and probably never will). The new president has used the secular opposition in general, and the MDS in particular, as a political ‘quarry’ from which he has mined both slogans, and leaders. The replacement of Ahmed Mestiri by Mohamed Moadda after the 1989 elections did nothing to settle this crisis, but rather contributed to accentuating it. The new secretary-general introduced a leadership style that was as autocratic as it was opportunist. On the one hand, he adopted a highly submissive attitude vis-à-vis the Benalist regime, offering to bring his party in line with the latter, and tacitly abandoning its long-held goal of reforming the existing political system. On the other hand, he displayed a heavyhanded conduct within his own organization, attempting to suppress all critical debates among party members, while expulsing dissenting voices from among their ranks. When straight-forward collaboration failed to yield the desired results, he changed course again, by sending an open letter to Ben Ali in late 1995 denouncing the monopolization of power by the Destour, and the harassment of opponents by the police. This earned him an im221 mediate arrest and a prison sentence of 11 years. As an emergency measure after the ‘Moadda affair’, MDS members quickly elected Ismaïl Boulahia (the former assistant of Ahmed Mestiri and a clear proponent of a cooperative course) as their new secretary-general. Under Boulahia, the MDS has, by all accounts, become a mere annex of the Benalist regime, which only disagrees on minor issues (and basically for token reasons). Even though Boulahia and Moadda announced their ‘reconciliation’ in June 2002, it is clear that there has been no real change to the root causes of the party's crisis. More than just being unable to renew and assert itself against the regime, the MDS has in fact ceased to be an opposition party at all, as can be seen in its public support for the regime’s constitu tional referendum in May 2002, and for Ben Ali’s reelection in October 2004. Financially speaking, this support has worked out, but politically speaking, the MDS is ‘dead’. The Harakat at-Tajdid (HT), or Mouvement du Renouveau (MR), is the successor organization of the Parti Communiste Tunisien (PCT) which was 221 As he had published his letter during the visit of Jacques Chirac, he was condemned in February 1996 for “collaboration avec l’étranger”(sic!), placed under house arrest in December 1996, and released the following year. When he issued a joint declaration with Rachid Ghannouchi, he was arrested for the second time in June 2001, released in January 2002, and pardoned in March 2002. 248

founded in 1920. Being the only legal party other than the Neo-Destour after national independence, it was outlawed in 1963 after a thwarted military coup against the ‘Supreme Combatant’, in which it was rumored to be involved. After being readmitted in 1981 with Mohamed Harmel as its secretary-general, the PCT adopted its current name at its 1993 congress to underline that it had abandoned communism as its vision. The new formation regarded (in the words of Harmel) itself as a progressive, non-dogmatic ‘parti anti-parti’ which would engage in a ‘constructive’ dialogue with the state authorities. Quite ironic for a party with this name, its secretary-general happened to be the longest-serving politician at the head of any political party in the country. The Parti de l'Unité Populaire (PUP) is also the political successor of another organization, the Mouvement de l'Unité Populaire (MUP) founded by Ahmed Ben Salah in 1973. In 1977, the PUP split into two when a group of dissidents under the leadership of Mohamed Belhaj Amor set up a new party under the label ‘MUP2’. After receiving official status in 1983, the latter adopted its current name in 1985. In 1999, Belhaj Amor was replaced by Mohamed Bouchiha who has been following the footsteps of his predecessor ever since. This means being at the service of the regime above all things, and being otherwise as unobtrusive as possible. Two other parties also need to be mentioned here, even though they are “une coquille vide sans base militante” (Camau & Geisser 2003a: 239). The first is the Union Démocratique 222 Unioniste (UDU), founded by Abderrahmane Tlili in 1988 in order to provide a regime-controlled receptacle for the country’s pan-Arabist currents. The second is the Parti Social Libéral (PSL), founded by Mounir Beji in 1988 223 in order to capture the few liberals that exist in Tunisian society. In addition to these six ‘official’ opposition parties that are de facto in line with the regime (the sole exception being the HT which has begun to distance itself as of late), there are two other legal parties whose position within the system, and attitude toward the regime, are more ambivalent and ‘dynamic’. The first is the Rassemblement Socialiste Progressiste (RSP), which 222 Abderrahmane Tlili (who also serves as the PDG of the Tunisian civil aviation office, in addition to his part-time job as the head of his party) is the son of the former UGTT leader Ahmed Tlili, and at the same time loosely related to the presidential family via his wife Saloua Liman. 223 The last legislation occurred in March 2006, concerning the Green Party for Progress (PVP). Its secretary-general, Mongi Khamassi, declared thereafter that his party aimed to “struggle against all forms of natural imbalances” and to “anchor a pro-environment culture in the lives of citizens”. It would be “a space open to all sincere people and patriotic Tunisians desiring to contribute to the progress of the country, within legality and respect for the tenets of the republic system”. This can hardly be described as the ‘political sound’ of an opposition party. 249

was founded in 1983, and became the Parti Démocratique Progressiste (PDP) in 2001. The second is the Forum Démocratique pour le Travail et les Libertés (FDTL), which was founded in 1994, and received official recognition in 2002. The biographies and trajectories of their two main founders and key figures, Ahmed Nejib Chebbi (RSP/PDP), and Mustapha Ben Jaafar (FTDL), are actually quite illuminating from at least two points of view. First, both exemplify, to a certain extent, the political socialization of an entire elite generation, and at the same time illustrate the two different faces of the secular opposition. Second, both highlight the enormous difficulty of being ‘in’ and ‘out’ at the same time; of keeping a critical distance vis-à-vis the party224 state, without being excluded from the system as a whole. Born in Tunis in 1944, Chebbi grew up in a family of lawyers, ‘militants’ and ‘libéraux’. While studying medicine in Paris and law in Tunis, he was actively engaged in the student movement, and particularly sympathetic with its Arabist strand. A leader of the ‘disturbances’ of 1968 (the Tunisian echo of the French May revolt), he was sentenced to 11 years, before being released two years later. Following a second wave of state repression, he fled to France in 1970, where he joined the ‘Travailleur Tunisien’, the rallying ground of the far left both within and outside the country. Upon his return to Tunisia in 1979, he was arrested again, then released. After two years of inconclusive debates within leftist circles, he decided to break with his political past as an extreme leftist. Together with Rachid Khechana, Omar Mestiri and Sihem Ben Sedrine, he launched the RSP in 1983, construed as a modern ‘post-Marxist’ party along the lines of the West European left. After the ‘Change’ of 1987, the RSP was initially supportive of the new rulers, an attitude which won it official recognition in 1988, and parliamentary representation in 1994. The following years, however, saw the relationship cool, and the RSP gradually became the only legal party that openly criticized the government policies. This was an attitude which cost it its parliamentary status five years later and, eo ipso, a great deal of its financial base. After a “traversée du désert” (in the words of Chebbi) that lasted a couple of years, party leaders decided to try a new start. A general congress in June 224 Interview, Ahmed Nejib Chebbi, Tunis, 25+29/10/02; interview, Mustapha Ben Jaafar, La Marsa, 07/11/02; all quotes in this section are from these interviews unless otherwise stated. Further information can be found in Ridha Kefi: “Mustapha Ben Jaafar, un intransigeant modéré”. JA 2192, 12/01/03, p. 42-43; Samy Ghorbal: “Les Combats de Nejib Chebbi”.JA 2440, 14/10/07, p. 46-47. Both applied to run for the 2009 presidential elections, but were not admitted on formal grounds (because they did not conform to Law 2008-52 amending the Tunisian electoral code, according to which any eligible candidate must be the leader of a recognized party and must have been elected into this position by the vote of a party congress at least two years before the elections). 250

2001 endorsed a change of name, from RSP to PDP, and a change in posi225 tion: from a decidedly left-wing party into a pragmatic center-left party . The PDP hopes to become a political platform (or umbrella) for at least three different courants: the different strands of the nationalist left (both Marxists and Arabists); Islamists (particularly ‘moderates’ and ‘progressives’); and disappointed members of other opposition parties (particularly of the MDS). According to Chebbi, the main aim of the PDP is to provide a rallying point for the ‘democratic opposition’. This means “créer un terrain d'entente groupant tous les antagonistes idéologiques autour d'un projet politique, susceptible de créer un pôle démocratique capable de surmonter les implications négatives de la monopolisation politique”. Over time, this democratic pole should allow “to create a counter-weight to the ruling party”. The key slogan of the PDP, however, is the call for democracy: “ce qui bloque notre société, c'est le déficit de démocratie”. (From this perspective, democracy is understood as the replacement of the ‘political monopoly of the party-state’ and the ‘power of the individual’ by the ‘rule of law’ and ‘respect for institutions’). This (fairly vague) battle cry is clearly supposed to simultaneously serve two main goals: it should allow the party to distance and distinguish itself from the regime, while enabling it to attract and integrate a very wide spectrum of potential political followers. In particular, it was seen as providing for a potential common platform with the moderate Islamist opposition (whose representatives they have regularly met in recent years). The main advantage of the democracy issue is that is sufficiently imprecise and inclusive to gloss over all kinds of controversies and discrepancies, that it is both internationally and domestically acceptable, and that it does not anticipate the final outcome of later political deliberations. In fact, it appears that such a new-found consensus on political ‘procedures’ (i.e. the ‘rules of politics’) is hoped to do away with, or at least blur over, disagreement on political ‘objectives’ (i.e. the ‘substance of policies’). In other words, it appears that the express focus on institutional reforms should make forget (or at least soften) the still tangible existence of profound ideological discrepancies among party members. Ben Jaafar’s biography is both similar to, and different from, Chebbi’s. Born in Tunis in 1940, he spent the years between 1960-75 (i.e. the formative years of the Tunisian dissidence) in France, first studying medicine, and then working at a hospital. To protest against the ‘dérive’ of the regime, he re225 More information on the party statutes and its leadership structure can be found in Ahmed Nejib Chebbi: “We are not a Program-Based Party (Ar.Or.)”. Haqâ'iq 808, 21/06/01, p. 12-13; “Which Strategy for Chebbi’s New Party (Ar.Or.)”. Haqâ'iq 809, 28/06/01, p. 6-7). 251

signed from the Destour in 1970 after 15 years of membership. Upon his return to Tunis in 1975, he participated in the launching of what would become the three historical nuclei of the Tunisian democratic movement: the LTDH (whose vice-president he was from 1986-94), the MDS (whose secretary-general he was in 1990/91), as well as the Er-Rai newspaper, which was 226 at that time the main voice of the ‘secular opposition’. Contrary to most other members of the secular opposition, he has never joined the ranks of, or fell in line with, the Benalist camp. Moadda made him thus expel from the MDS in 1991, together with all those who tried to resist his rapprochement with the regime. Together with a small number of like-minded people, 227 Ben Jaafar launched the FDTL in 1994. In 2002, the FTDL finally received legal status, a political ‘first’ since the November coup: “C'est la première fois qu'une formation issue de la dissidence démocratique est reconnue par les autorités tunisiennes (…). Jusqu'à présent, les seuls partis d'opposition autorisés étaient les signataires du Pacte national de 1988” (Samy Ghorbal: “Opposition: la redistribution des cartes”. JA 2184, 18/11/ 02, p. 90). The main demands of the FTDL are a separation of powers (between state, party, president, and judiciary); a ‘rehabilitation’ of the constitution of the republic and the rule of law; and the admission of an open competition for political power, including the possibility of alternance in government. As Ben Jafaar has recently pointed out, however: “le problème se situe davantage dans les comportements que dans la loi” (interview, JA 2539, 06/09/09, p. 42-44). Any attempt at reform should thus be targeted at creating the necessary legal and institutional preconditions for a fully functioning democratic and pluralist state; abolishing all legal and extra-legal obstacles preventing the full and free exercise of one’s political and individual liberties; creating politically and financially stronger institutions at the local and regional levels; and last but not least protecting the social achievements of the Bourguibist Republic. Insofar, the FTDL sees itself as a “parti travailliste moderne” (Ben Jaafar) that promotes social justice, but without discouraging private initiative. Generally, the FTDL does not appear fundamentally different from, or 226 At the same time, he was the first secretary-general (and a founding member) of the Syndicat des médecins hospitalo-universitaires, member of the UGTT's administrative committee from 1977-88, and member of the MDS’s political bureau from 1978-91. 227 Co-founders were Mohamed Bennour, Mouldi Riahi, and Abdellatif Abed, from the MDS, Omar Mestiri from the RSP, Tijani Horcha from the MUP, Ali Romdhane from the UGTT, and Khalil Zaouia from the Doctors' Association. In fact, they had all occupied leading positions in the leftist opposition, but had chosen or been forced to leave them, once their organizations had been bullied or coaxed into collaborating with the regime (cf. Hedi Yahmad: “After the Recognition of the FTDL: A Voyage into the Political Past of its Founders” (Ar.Or.). Haqâ'iq 883, 28/11/02, p. 12-14). 252

generally incompatible with, the PDP, at least not it terms of their basic political orientations, and their main target groups. It is obvious that both try to be ‘in’ and ‘out’ at the same time (which consists of having access to the system, without becoming part of it), in order to establish themselves as an interlocutor for both state and society. The similarity between both parties ends, however, where the political styles of their leaders and the social origins of their members begin. “Le PDP est plus hétéroclite, mais plus rassembleur. Le spectre de ses partisans va de l'extrême gauche aux arabistes en passant par les libéraux. Et il est implanté en région. Le Forum est à la fois plus bourgeois et plus tunisois” (Samy Ghorbal: “Opposition: la redistribution des cartes”. JA 2184, 18/11/02, p. 91). The decision of the regime to admit the FTDL into the ring at a moment when the PDP is becoming a nuisance thus was another typical example of its usual divide-and-rule strategy. It remains to be seen, however, whether this strategy will continue to work 228 in the future. There are thus a few basic features which the legal, secular opposition 229 parties share. These include a generally very narrow social base, strongly biased membership structures, top-down decision-making structures, and often hardly distinguishable and deliberately vague political discourses and party programs. None of them have a constituency or an audience that goes beyond smallish circles of intellectuals and functionaries living in the urban centers of the North and the East. Neither are any engaged in real grassroots activities or outreach campaigns that go beyond publishing some ir228 For the sake of completion, a few other parties that have not yet received legal status need to be mentioned here: Hamma Hammami’s Parti Communiste des Ouvriers Tunisiens (PCOT), Moncef Marzouki’s Congrès pour la République (CPR), and Mohamed Charfi's Perspectives Tunisiennes (PT). The PCOT was founded in 1986 by Hamma Hammami, a founding member and long-time leader of ‘Le Travailleur Tunisien’, and the spouse of the international well-known lawyer and human rights activist Radhia Nasraoui. It is a traditional Marxist party whose political reach does not go beyond a tiny circle of supporters who are mostly found on university campuses and in labor organizations. The CPR was founded in 2001 by Moncef Marzouki, a university professor (medicine), a former chairman of the LTDH, and a founding member of the CNLT (s.b.). It is insofar comparable to the PDP as its (generally little known) represent the entire spectrum of Tunisian politics. The PT was founded in 2001 by Mohamed Charfi, equally a university professor (law), equally a former chairman of the LTDH, and Ben Ali's high-profile minister of national and higher education from 1989-1994. Rather than being a political party in the proper sense of the term, it is a network of intellectuals supporting Charfi's well-known ambitions of making a political comeback (which will remain unfulfilled, as he passed away in 2009). 229 In accordance with Ottaway and Hamzawy (2007), the term ‘secular’ has been chosen as a denominator for these parties because their political program is not grounded on religious values. 253

regularly appearing party journals or organizing ‘after work’ roundtables. Another common feature of these parties is the high average age of their political activists. Most of them were socialized in the years before the ‘Change’, and their political mindsets often reflect these formative experiences. Most of them have been led by the same person(s) for years, sometimes even for decades (e.g. Mohamed Harmel’s Renewal Movement [sic!], or Mounir Béji’s Social Liberal Party). And, in the few cases where there has been a change at the top, it has benefited people who were close to the person of the founder (such as Ismaïl Boulahia, Ahmed Mestiri’s former assistant, or Mohamed Bouchiha, Mohamed Belhaj Amor’s former ‘right hand’). The years since the ‘Change’ have thus witnessed a continuous weakening of the secular opposition. Due to the restrictive context in which they operate, but also due to their own political failures, most of these organizations have come to resemble mere ‘letterbox parties’: parties with a legal entry and a postal address, but without a real political presence or social basis. Contrary to the Islamist movement, they have never managed (or bothered) to build up a social support base that reaches beyond the boundaries of the capital, and rivals the power of the state. Contrary to their own declarations of intent, they have also not been able (or ready) to constitute a common political front that could somehow impose its preferences onto the political leadership, or at least have an impact on the political process. And, contrary to what many expected from them, they have also not been capable of (or interested in) crafting a political vision or counter-model that could have provided a platform and a blueprint for the overhaul of Tunisia's economic system and/or the transformation of its political order. Thus, contrary to the situation under Bourguiba, the current rulers are no longer faced with a political opposition they have to reckon with. Rather than representing an alternative, which might one day be able to force accountability onto the regime or to operate an alternance at its head, they have become so intertwined with the system that they are often indistinguishable from it. In fact, it must be noted that large parts of the opposition parties’ financial resources now come from the coffers of the state or the palace, and not from the contributions of members or donors. Similarly, their positions within the system, and especially their representation in parliament, have been received as a gift (and a token of appreciation) by the regime and its president, and not thanks to the (hypothetical) political backing of a (nonexisting) social power base. This might also explain why they are forced to seek a deal with those on whose recognition and protection their political status and survival depends. Some of them have reached such a degree of conformity, and are so much implicated in the machinery of the regime, that they have come to represent little more than mere satellites of the state au254

thorities, comparable to the function which the so-called ‘block parties’ used to have in some former Communist countries (and reminiscent of the ‘National Front’ or ‘Patriotic Block’ experiments of the Syrian and Egyptian regimes).

CONCLUSION Since 1987, Tunisia’s secular opposition parties have undergone a seemingly contradictory process of recognition and inclusion vs. fragmentation and insulation. On the one hand, they have seen parts of their goals fulfilled, in particular with regard to their long-held demands for a legal status, which formally gives them full access to the ‘political market’ and to some regime institutions as well. On the other hand, they have become mere shadows of their former selves as their readiness to collaborate with the regime has cost them large parts of their political credibility and of their social base. Thus, what at first glance may seem counter-intuitive is in reality inter-related. But the question remains: why is this? Why have the ruling elites been able to co-opt, or repress, the secular opposition so easily and thoroughly? Why have the latter not been able to put up a more vigorous and more successful, resistance? There appear to be a variety of factors and variables (once again both endogenous and exogenous) that might account for this conduct, and this outcome, and that refer to the structural constraints for secular political forces in the MENA region more generally (cf. also Ottway & Hamzawy 2007). As has been noted before, nearly all of these parties share a high degree of centralization and personalization; that is, they feature extremely authoritarian and intransparent decision-making structures, including repeatedly postponed or openly rigged internal elections. Rather than being regular, full-fledged political parties (modern, mass-based social organizations), they resemble ‘political clubs’ or ‘proto parties’ built around the personality of the leader (usually the founder), and a group of his followers (his ‘friends’). As such, they are mere tools aimed to further the ambitions and purposes of these ‘networks’, instead of serving to advance the concerns and interests of citizens. Generally, the relationship between leaders and members is driven by a strong dose of clientelism and paternalism, which involves the usual exchange of goods and services (i.e. protection and promotion vs. loyalty and support). It goes without saying that all of this is neither conducive to peaceful renewal nor to effective cooperation, either within the same party or with other parties. Thus, instead of joining their forces and pulling in the same direction, most leaders have shown a persistent tendency to act alone or even against each other. At the same time, party members have been unable 255

or unwilling to devise and agree on truly effective mechanisms and accepted procedures for how to staff leading positions and reach binding decisions. It so happens that all of these parties have been subject and victim of regular infighting among party members, skillfully entertained and exacerbated by the regime. In most cases, renewal has happened horizontally rather than vertically, through secession rather than succession, i.e. has involved a scission among party members, followed by the creation of a new party. In fact, most currently existing parties represent in one way or another political ‘spin-offs’, be it from the Destour itself (like the MDS and the MUP), or from other opposition parties (like the PUP and the PR). It is also evident that the secular opposition all too often favors vaguely Arab-nationalist or quasi-socialist discourses that appear strangely ‘out-ofplace’ and ‘out-of-time’ for the majority of Tunisians. Too often, they also focus on ‘high politics’ or ‘politiques politiciennes’ that are appear quite irrelevant for the ‘man on the street’, while neglecting down-to-earth, ‘breadand-butter’ issues that could appeal to broader strata in Tunisian society. Thus, they have neither been able to come up with coherent or feasible remedies for the country's most urgent socio-economic problems (including its often still problematic industrial legacy), nor to table genuine alternatives to the official regime policies. This conduct is actually reminiscent of the situation under Bourguiba, and might be attributable to their socio-cultural and socio-professional background as urban, middle-class, public-sector employees (a point which shall be discussed in more detail further on). In fact, it must be noted that the aforementioned authoritarian and elitist attitudes and practices not only exemplify the political culture of the time in which most members experienced their socialization, but also reflect the systemic constraints under which political opponents have to operate in a dominant party state. In this sense, the above patterns are de facto both “une cause et une conséquence de cet état permanent d'impuissance politique” (Camau & Geisser 2003a: 232). While they help to protect opposition organizations from an ‘unfriendly takeover’ by regime supporters, they also contribute to isolating them further from the large majority of their own citizens. By enhancing their distance from the population, they also increase their dependency on the regime ‒ a political double bind from which the 230 secular opposition has still not managed to disentangle itself. Another factor which might explain the far-reaching neutralization of the secular leftist-nationalist opposition is the clever divide-and-rule, or carrot-and-stick, approach which the regime has employed in this regard (cf. 230 As Willis (2002) has shown, similar political patterns exist in many neighboring countries as well. 256

also the next chapter for further details). The party law and the electoral code in particular contain a whole battery of incentives to reward ‘constructive’ elements of the political opposition. The first ‘carrot’ is the possibility to receive official status, and participate in political life. The second ‘carrot’ is the offer to be represented in parliament, and get financial support from the state budget. An indispensable precondition for both is the formal acceptance of the National Pact and ipso facto of the basic features of the political 231 system as it is. At the same time, however, the regime and the president still dispose of a whole arsenal of disincentives to prevent any ‘hostile’ use of these offers. The first ‘red line’ concerns the parameters and paradigms of the Bourguibo-Destourian system and ideology, enhanced by the overall strategic choices of the new ruling elites. The second ‘red line’ concerns the privileges and prerogatives of the president and his family. Taken together, 232 this means that the core of the system is still taboo. The outcome is a system in which oppositionists theoretically enjoy equal political rights and fundamental liberties (including the ability to express their views, criticize the government, participate in politics, and compete for power), but in which they are actually systematically prevented from effectively using the above possibilities in daily politics. The problem which these arrangements pose for opponents is clear: “Un soutien sans réserve anéantit la fonction critique (…) alors que l'opposition systématique renie le Pacte nationale” (Noureddine Sraieb: “Tunisie ‒ Chronique Intérieure”. AAN 1995: 795). Since they have been assigned ‘political reserves’ far away from the real power centers, excluding them from decision making and state resources, they have no chance of ‘reaping the spoils’, i.e. of doling out material benefits and building up their own clientelist networks. The fact that the whole system is ultimately a ‘mock democracy’, and the ‘cooperative’ opposition totally powerless vis-à-vis the regime authorities, has not been lost on the majority of the population, and has not actually boosted the reputation of those who are part of the game. Contrary to the situation in other countries, there is no (more) need for the regime to falsify the polls.

2. Civil Society Organizations: ‘Walking the Line’ The realm of voluntary, non-state, non-profit associative activity, usually re233 ferred to as ‘civil society’, is where Tunisia has witnessed a veritable boom over the past 20 years (for further reading see Bellin 1995 and Lamloum & 231 Importantly, these concessions are based on a decision of the president, and can thus be withdrawn at any moment, and for any reason. 232 Also importantly, these red lines are defined in very vague terms, and can thus be (re-) interpreted according to the situation of the moment. 257

Ravenel 2002). The number of associations has grown more than three-fold within the first decade of the new regime's political existence: from 2000 in 1987 to 7000 in 1997. They have in this way become an important complement to the original associations nationales (the UTICA, UGTT, UTAP, UNFT, UGET, and the professional syndicates), all of which were created during the late French mandate and early independence period. This blossoming, however, has been quantitative rather than qualitative; it has mainly involved an increase of human and financial resources (often provided ‘top-down’), and much less of social or political traction. It is generally possible to distinguish between two main categories of new associations: those that a priori focus on non-political, mono-sectorial activities (charitable, developmental, environmental, etc.); and those that also deal with ‘general’, and thus sensitive, issues (like human rights or 234 women's rights). The crushing majority belongs to the first category (i.e. the ‘single-issue’, or ‘service’ type). These include thousands of associations which have been created since the 1970s, and particularly since the 1990s, either at the behest or with the support of the state, which might also explain why they represent pure state subsidiaries or fulfill para-statal functions. Only a tiny minority belongs to the second category (the ‘cross-cutting’, or ‘advocacy’ type). They basically consist of the small number of truly independent associations, and it is these that shall be presented in more detail on the following pages. A)

GENERAL ASSOCIATIONS

The figure de proue, the trailblaizer and spearhead, of Tunisian civil society is Ligue Tunisienne des Droits de l'Homme (LTDH), which was founded in 1977 as the first organization of its kind in the Arab World (interview with Mohktar Trifi, LTDH president, Tunis, 24/10/02; meeting with LTDH members, Berlin, 07/05/03). Its founders (like Saadeddine Zmerli, Mohamed Charfi and Moncef Marzouki) were also actively involved in other protest movements of that time, which would later crystallize into the MDS. The names of its early members read like a ‘who's who’ of the opposition against 233 Amy Hawthorne has proposed a useful (because succinct) definition (which I shall use here), defining ‘civil society’ as “the zone of voluntary associative life beyond family and clan affiliations but separate from the state and the market” (2004a: 5). 234 Amy Hawthorne (2004a) distinguishes between five types of Arab civil society organizations: non-governmental service organizations, faith-based organizations, professional organizations, mutual-aid organizations, and pro-democracy organizations. As we shall see, only types 1, 3, and 4 are legally allowed and present in Tunisia, whereas types 2 and 5 are either state-controlled or outlawed. 258

the regime, even though they have never managed to overcome their traditional urban-elitist bias and become the rallying point of a something 235 larger. After a short honeymoon during the early days of the new regime (during which many leading LTDH activists joined the latter's ranks), the relationship with the pouvoir drastically deteriorated after 1991. This was when the LDTH leadership around Moncef Marzouki refused to endorse the remonopolization of state power by the new rulers, or their policy of ‘eradica tion’ vis-à-vis the Islamists. Ultimately, after two tense years (during which it was temporarily banned following the amendment of the law on associations), the league chose to seek a compromise with the regime. In February 1994, its 4th Congress replaced the ‘radical’ Moncef Marzouki with the more ‘moderate’ Taoufik Bouderbala and thereby endorsed a more conciliatory line toward the state authorities. This, however, had little effect on the latter's policies, and LTDH members continued to be the targets of state re236 pression. Utterly disgruntled that its ‘soft’ approach had not been rewarded by the regime, the league changed course once again. In October 2000, its 5 th congress met to elect a new executive committee. These elections saw a landslide victory of the ‘hard-line current’ over the pro-regime candidates. Delegates elected Mokhtar Trifi, associated with the league’s ‘radical wing’, and not Fadhel Ghédamsi, candidate of its ‘moderate wing’, as their new chairmen. More than half of the new board members were regarded as affiliated with the ‘non-recognized’ opposition (Communist or Islamist), while none of the three RCD candidates had been elected into the new leadership (Ridha 237 Kéfi: “Pourquoi la Ligue vire à gauche”, JA 2078, 07/11/00, p. 8-9). These elections had ambivalent consequences: At first, the league appeared to have gained in strength, due to the more vigorous approach of its new direction, but also due to the renewed interest of some Western govern235 As a seasoned observer has rightly remarked: “Certes, la LTDH fait de la politique, même sans le savoir. Dans un pays où les médias sont contrôlés et où les partis d’opposition s’essoufflent dans un dialogue à éclipses avec l’autorité quand ils ne s’épuisent pas en querelles internes, la Ligue est le seul miroir critique dans lequel le pouvoir puisse se mirer” (François Soudan: “Ben Ali et les Droits de l’Homme”. JA 1648, 06/08/92, p. 20). The LTDH’s existence (and its quest for autonomy) alone are problematic for the regime, because it undercuts its political monopoly and its selflegitimizing discourse as a guardian and guarantor of human and civic rights. 236 Khemaïs Ksila, for instance, then vice-president of the LTDH, was arrested and convicted in 1998 to a prison sentence of three years (cf. chapter four for more details). 237 Other new faces among the 25 members of the executive board include Anouar Kousari (the new vice-president), Souhayr Belhassen, Salem Rajab, and Balkis Mechri. 259

ments in human rights issues. In fact, under the forceful leadership of its new chairman, the league briefly managed to free itself from the tutelage of the regime, and to reassert itself as an independent organization above the traditional cleavages of Tunisian politics. Over time, however, its insistence on returning to its former role (and the open hostility displayed by the regime authorities) has effectively led to a freeze of its activities, which continues until the time of writing. This means that the initial galvanizing effect of the above elections has been followed by a large-scale paralyzing effect on the organization itself (Samy Ghorbal: “Peut-on encore sauver la Ligue?”, JA 2478, 06/12/08, p. 52-55). In 1998, a group of activists who also refused to subscribe to the ‘soft’ approach of the Bouderbala leadership, chose to set up another organization for the defense of human rights (still not recognized): the Conseil National pour les Libertés en Tunisie (CNLT). Its first speaker, Moncef Marzouki, described the CNLT as being “à la fois association pour la défense des droits de l’homme et mouvement politique pour promouvoir la démocratie” (Quoted in Khiari 2002: 169). In fact, the make-up of its liaison (executive) committee reads like a ‘who's who’ of the non-cooperative wing of the secular opposi238 tion. It is important to note that the CNLT was supposed to act as a complement and not as a substitute to the LTDH. The former, however, is more straightforward and outspoken than the latter, insofar as its annual reports follow a clear ‘name and shame’ approach. This means that they contain a detailed indictment of all the human rights abuses of that year as well as the names of their perpetrators. “En ce sens, le CNLT ne symbolise pas l'émergence d'une nouvelle génération de militants tunisiens, mais plutôt une tentative de regroupement des différentes tendances et courants de l'ancienne 239 gauche politique, syndicale et associative” (Geisser 1999: 347). 238 The members of the first committee included the two lawyers Abdarraouf Ayadi and Najib Hosni, the famous dissident journalist Taoufiq Ben Brik, the internationally renowned historian Mohamed Taalbi, and Taher Mestiri, Ahmed Mestiri’s son. When the first CNLT speaker Moncef Marzouki was arrested in February 2001, another famous dissident, Siham Ben Sedrine, took over. 239 In addition to the LTDH and CNLT, two other independent organizations dealing with human rights issues have been founded the last few years: the Association Internationale pour le Soutien des Prisoniers Politiques (AISPPl), and the Comité pour le Respect des Libertés et des Droits de l'Homme en Tunisie (CRLDHT). The AISPPl, which is based in Tunis, was established in 2002 and legalized in 2004. Its founding president is Mohamed Nouri, lawyer at the Appeals Court in Tunis (himself a former political prisoner and close to the Islamist movement), and its board is made up of well-known dissidents like Saida Akremi and Noureddine Bhiri. The CRLDHT, which is based in Paris, was founded in 1996, and still not recognized by the regime. Its founding president is Kamel Jendoubi, a former chairman of Amnesty International Tunisia, and a freelance journalist for international newspapers. The CRLDHT 260

In addition to the aforementioned representatives of Tunisian civil society, there are two other independent associations with a special focus on gender issues, which ought to be briefly mentioned here: the Association Tunisienne des Femmes Démocrates (ATFD), and the Association des Femmes Tu240 nisiennes pour la Recherche et le Développement (AFTURD). Both were founded and legalized back in 1989, at a moment when the regime was look241 ing for allies in its struggle against the Islamists. Both were offsprings of the Tunisian feminist movement which came into being in the early 1980s, born out of frustration about the gap that existed between women's official rights on the one hand, and their daily experiences on the other. Both were also a reaction vis-à-vis a left “for whom women's rights were a non-issue” (Souad Triki), because feminism was seen as being “tantamount to separatism” (Bouchra Belhaj). Participants are usually actively engaged in political life, but seldom members of a political party. They represent a small fringe of Tunisian society, highly educated women with a socially elevated urban background. Neither association attracts the young generation, thought to be preoccupied with its own problems, and disgusted by politics; “nous sommes la génération de l'indépendance, il n'y a aucune relève” (Souad Triki). The AFTURD differs from the ATFD insofar as it has a stronger academic and intellectual profile while the latter focuses more on political campaigning and advocacy work. It is also less biased from a politico-ideological perspective, whereas the latter sees itself as part of the country’s secular-democratic opposition. For both, political and societal issues, the rights of women, and the promotion of democracy, are in reality interconnected and interdependent. They both refuse to distinguish between human rights and women’s rights, and even more so to substitute the former with the latter. From their point of view, women’s rights are integral parts of human rights, themselves ‘universal’ and ‘inseparable’; there is no way of substituting women’s rights for human rights, nor of sanctifying ‘man’s oppression’ by ‘women’s liberation’. In this sense, they are nuisances for both the regime and the opposition; because the former consider any attempt to promote women's rights as a veiled attack against a key pillar of their political legiti differs from the AISPPl insofar as it is less connected with international media and NGOs, and limiting itself to lobbying French politicians and Tunisian exiles. 240 This might appear innocent at first sight, but is rather sensitive in the Tunisian context, where the regime has made the protection and promotion of women a key pillar of its political legitimacy. 241 Interview, Bouchra Belhaj Hamida, ATFD chairwomen (1995-2001), Tunis, 27/02/02; interview, Hela Abdeljaoued, AFTD chairwoman (2001-2004), Tunis, 06/11/02; interview, Souad Triki, then AFTURD chairwoman, Tunis, 29/10/02; all quotes from these interviews unless otherwise stated. 261

macy as the supreme defender of women's rights against the ‘barbus’; while the latter regard it as detrimental to the achievement of their main goal, namely the formation of a common front against the regime.

CONCLUSION These Tunisian ‘NGO’ structures are both similar to, and different from those in other MENA countries. There are only very few associations that can seriously be regarded as independent, both politically and financially speaking. Moreover, they tend to be quite small (in terms of their social base), and quite weak (in terms of their organizational resources). This all means that they share certain core features with most Arab secular NGOs, in particular as regards their lack of autonomy and their lack of strength (cf. Ben Nefissa & Hanafi 2002 and Hawthorne 2004a for further details). In Tunisia, they co-exist with relatively numerous and voluminous organizations of the ‘service’ or ‘intermediary’ type, practically all of which have either been created by the state or are at least controlled by it. As such, they represent either pure state subsidiaries or fulfill para-statal functions, whose raison d’être is to take over certain tasks which the state is not willing to perform any longer, and/or to skim off foreign aid money which the state could not otherwise access. It is conspicuous that most ‘real’ NGOs either date back to the late 1980s (when the new regime was still in need of support, and thus ready to compromise) or have been set up since the mid-1990s (following the authoritarian turnaround of the Benalist regime, and the subsequent confiscation of former public liberties). It is also quite telling that citizens’ associations (be they ‘general’ or ‘professional’) have become much more vocal and defiant than the formal political parties themselves, to the point of becoming the true political heirs and functional equivalents of the former anti-Bourguibist opposition. Thus, NGOs are not only increasingly fulfilling the social roles of political parties, they are actually beginning to resemble ‘proto parties’ themselves. This might also explain why most continue to be obstructed and harassed by the regime, or simply outlawed and suppressed altogether. This all shows that the ‘rebirth’ of civil society under Ben Ali tends to be the sign of a deeply felt socio-political malaise rather than the fruit of any real socio-political opening. It results as much from the void of official political institutions as from the lack of stimulating, controversial political debates. In this sense, it echoes the political development of Tunisian society in the 1970s, and particularly the gradual politicization of originally rather a-political social movements like the UGTT and the diverse precursors of the MTI. This also shows that NGOs serve not just as a valve for lingering 262

social conflicts, but also as a substitute for a credible political opposition. “Dans un contexte caractérisé par l'hypertrophie de l'Etat comme appareil bureaucratique et son atrophie comme pôle éthique, le 'retour de la société civile' associe étroitement le moins et le plus de l'Etat” (Michel Camau: “Changements Politiques et Problématique du Changement”. AAN 1989: 11). B)

PROFESSIONAL ASSOCIATIONS

Traditionally, in Tunisia and in the region at large, professional orders were among the main manifestations of local civil society, and among the main representatives of the ‘common man’ vis-à-vis the ‘powers-that-be’. Under Bourguiba, and particularly since 1971, they were even gradually becoming substitutes for the outlawed opposition parties, and counter-weights vis-àvis the ruling political elites. Under Ben Ali, however, and particularly after 1989, they have gradually fallen once again under regime control, or have opted (or been forced to opt) for a strictly neutral course. There are, however, two main exceptions to this rule, and these shall be examined in more details at this point: the bar association (Conseil de l’Ordre des Avocats Tunisiens, COAT), and the student association (Union Générale des Éudiants Tunisiens, UGET). Since its inception, the COAT (which currently represents over 4000 lawyers across the country) has always entertained a rather strenuous and volatile relationship with the state authorities. It has constantly shifted back and forth between acting as a speaker for its profession, and as a representative of the citizenry at large. In this way, it has oscillated between being an interlocutor of the pouvoir, and being a counter-weight to it. This pattern has not fundamentally changed since 1987; but what has changed is the intensity of conflicts. After the election of a new national leadership around Bechir Essid in June 2001, which was essentially composed of opponents and ‘independents’, the COAT clearly opted for a confrontational course vis-à-vis 242 the state authorities. The personality of the new bâtonnier elected on this occasion is particularly indicative of the COAT’s change of course (and was perceived as a ‘declaration of war’ by the regime). Essid, a declared opponent of the ruling party, and exponent of the ‘far left’ (which earned him a prison sentence in the early 1980s), succeeded Abdeljelil Bouraoui whose accommodating ap242 The other eight members of the new national council were Noomane Ben Ameur (Destouri), Mohamed Jemour (Leftist), Samira Kraouli (Independent), Mohamed Ridha Ajouhouri (Leftist), Abderraouf Ayadi (Independent), Mohmed Hedfi (Leftist), Charfeddine Dhrif (Destouri), and Mohamed Diouri (Independent). Jemour and Ayadi were also members of the LTDH. 263

proach had not yielded any noticeable results (and who therefore did not stand for re-election). The outcomes of these elections were considered a political earthquake by Tunisian standards. One of the most strategic and most sensitive parts of the country's tissu associatif was taken over by a former prisoner of conscience and staunch adversary of the Destour. The question many were left asking themselves was whether this meant a return to a culture of conflicts or ‘only’ an attempt to enhance one's autonomy vis-à-vis 243 the regime? Even though the new COAT leadership has taken great pains to point out that they are in favor of ‘dialogue’, a number of their demands have been seen as a provocation by the pouvoir. This was particularly true for their decision to organize a general strike in February 2002 to protest against the conditions surrounding the process against the arrested leftist opponent Hamma Hammami. This standoffish attitude of the Essid leadership, and its resolve not to give in to pressures from ‘above’, has even led some observers to argue that the lawyers' association had become the “strongest political party” in present-day Tunisia (Hedi Yahmed: “Lawyers: What is going to change (Ar.Or.)?” Haqâ’iq 882, 21/11/02, p. 6-7), and that Tunisian lawyers were representing “the main stronghold” for democracy in the country (Idem: “Lawyers: A Hot Year’s Harvest (Ar.Or.).” Haqâ’iq 864, 244 18/07/02, p. 6-7). The main consequence was a drawn-out confrontation between the new leadership around Essid and the ministry of justice, which ‘spilled over’ into a tug-of-war between the pro-Destourian and pro-opposition lawyers within the COAT. The main argument which the critics of the bâtonnier used against him was that he aimed to turn the COAT into a political party. Others wrote that the escalation of the situation had apparently produced a ‘siege mentality’ in the Essid camp, whose members saw themselves surrounded by enemies and therefore chose to further insulate themselves from their environment (Hedi Yahmed: “The Five Mistakes of Bechir Essid (Ar.Or.).” Haqâ'iq 868, 15/08/02, p. 11-12). The end of this play was as foreseeable as it was inevitable: In June 2004, a clear majority of lawyers voted 243 Cf. also Abdelaziz Mzoughi: “Les enjeux d'une éléction”. Réalités 807, 14/06/01, p. 1216; Hedi Yahmed: “The Secrets behind Essid's Rise”(Ar.Or.). Haqâ'iq 808, 21/06/01, p. 6-10. 244 At least Essid cannot be accused of hiding his intentions. Two months after his election, he made clear that “being a lawyer is not a picnic (mihnat irtizâq) as some assume, it is a sacred mission; it means defending the oppressed and forgotten, it means defending public liberties, human rights, the sovereignty of law, and the respect of the constitution (…). The lawyers' council and the bâtonnat do not represent a political party (…), but at the same time are not isolated from (other) national or humanitarian issues” (interview, Bechir Essid, Haqâ'iq 818, 30/08/01, p. 14). 264

Essid out of office, and replaced him with a more ‘moderate’ leadership around Abdessatar Abou Moussa. In very general terms, the fate of the student union is actually quite similar to that of the bar association. Since its founding, the UGET had been an important training ground for entire age cohorts of would-be elites, and many student leaders later occupied key positions in the party-state. At the same time, it had developed into the political arm of Bourguiba's leftist critics, who favored a more pervasive role of the state in the economy, and a more vigorous nationalization of the means of production. When the majority of students tried to break free from the control of the party in 1971 at the Congress of Korba, their attempt was quelled by the latter, and the UGET brought to heel. The revolting students went underground, establishing a clandestine structure and even resorting to physical violence. The state response was heavy-handed, slapping lengthy prison sentences on many protesters and drafting others into military camps in faraway regions. In spite of this, neither regime has been able to totally tether the student movement. On the contrary, the ‘Korba insurgents’ managed to recapture the UGET shortly afterwards, and to hold it against their various adversaries (be they Destourians or Islamists) for a very long time. Since the late 1970s, the student union had once again returned to its former self and represented the main stronghold of the leftist opposition in the country, and a ‘pain in the neck’ for those in power (be they the outgoing Bourguiba or the incoming Ben Ali administration). In the course of this process, i.e. as a result of the repeated clampdowns carried out by the security forces, and the severe punishments meted out against student leaders, the UGET gradually underwent a process of radicalization, which contributed to alienating it from the majority of students. Since the early 1990s, the rapport de forces has changed altogether. Since that time, the student organization of the ruling party has gradually taken over control of universities, to the point of occupying 90 percent of the seats available in the university councils. At the same time, the once powerful UGET has turned into a far-left, sect-like splinter group that is internally divided into various sub-groups, and largely isolated from its social environment. The fact that the incumbent leadership of the UGET is no longer representative of the broad majority of university students has further reinforced the isolationist tendencies of the organization. This might also explain why it is increasingly seen as basically being nothing but a self-serving device for the political ambitions (and personal animosities) of a handful of student leaders. Since May 2002, the UGET's national board has finally split into two rival groups. These are the ‘extreme left’ around the incumbent secretary-general 265

Izzedine Zaatour, and the ‘moderate’ camp around Ridha Tlili. The latter argue that the UGET should be open to all university students, and ready to cooperate with the state representatives in order to improve the living conditions of university students. The former, on the contrary, submit that the UGET should be open to all democratic students, and ready to cooperate with the political opposition in order to enhance public liberties in the country. Thus, once again, the bone of contention is which goal should take precedence: ‘politicization’ or ‘professionalization’ (see also Hedi Yahmed: “The UGET in Search of its Identity (Ar.Or.).” Haqâ'iq 844, 28/02/02, p. 1013). Thus, repression by the regime authorities has produced a radicalization of student activists, and undermined their ability to compromise. This, in turn, has further alienated them from the large majority of (already depoliticized) university students, and facilitated their marginalization by the Destourians. As has been rightly argued, “les conséquences de la fin de l'UGET ont dépassé le cadre de l'université. L'organisation a été pendant des années une école de formation politique et fourni à l'Etat, au parti destourien et à l'opposition de nombreuses compétences. Depuis, ce sont des techniciens peu politisés qui ont pris la relève, marquant la fin d'une époque et la régression du politique. C'est le pouvoir autant que l'opposition qui ont été les grands perdants” (Hatem Ben Aziza: “L'UGET pourra-t-elle revivre?” Réalités 844, 28/02/02, p. 14).

CONCLUSION The evolution of both the lawyers’ association under Bechir Essid and the student union under Izzedine Zaatour, and their own fates as leaders, once again recall two ‘iron rules’ of Tunisian politics. First, “chaque fois qu'un courant est refoulé au niveau légal, il ressurgit avec plus de force et de virulence au niveau des instances intermédiaires (…) avec des effets plus pervers que s'il était reconnu” (A. Mzoughi, art. cit., p. 15). Second, whenever the leaders of a professional association or an economic interest group become too political and controversial (i.e. overstep the aforementioned ‘red lines’ in Tunisian politics and address the root causes of their daily problems), they inevitably end up isolated and weakened, dividing their own, usually quite heterogeneous, constituency, and antagonizing the silent, basically non-political, majority of their members. The fates of both the COAT and the UGET are thus further reminders of the difficulty (if not the impossibility) of turning an economic interest group into a political opposition force (an experience which the UGTT already had in its time). Most of their members are simply too vulnerable vis-à-vis the 266

political authorities to be ready for a serious confrontation with them. This applies especially to those who derive the bulk of their income directly from the coffers of the state, or who otherwise depend on the cooperation of the administration (like the legal, the publishing, or the teaching professions). Even those who are active in sectors with relatively little state regulation or working on issues with little political content (like health care professionals), have absolutely no interest in seriously alienating themselves from those who control the levers of power. Thus, the current situation and political evolution of Tunisia's professional orders only partially resemble those of their counterparts in neighboring countries. Even though they also often serve as a valve for suppressed political discontent, as well as a mirror for heterogeneous societal concerns, this process has not nearly gone as far as in neighboring coun tries. The reason appears to be that the regime is not only sufficiently strong, politically speaking, but also sufficiently liberal, economically speaking, to discourage the emergence of such a standoffish situation. Tunisia's professional orders are simply faced with comparatively few incentives to enter into a straightforward confrontation with the regime authorities. At the same time, the latter has also little reason to suppress grievances which it regards as legitimate, and politically inoffensive.

3. Political Micro-Entrepreneurs: ‘Occupying the Niche’ Two other, highly heterogeneous, groups need to be added here, even though their actual political influence is hard to grasp. (In order to distin guish them from the ‘grand political entrepreneurs’ at the party-state level, I prefer to call them ‘political micro-entrepreneurs’.) Not only do they feature very diverse social backgrounds (some, like scions of notable families, former politicians, and senior officials, are basically part of the ‘establishment’, while others actually come closer to being something of an ‘upstart’), but also very diverse political mindsets (some may be affiliated with or at least sympathetic to the regime, while others may be closer to or even side with the opposition). What they all have in common, however, is that they have made use of new political and technical opportunities (e.g. new satellite or internet-related information and communication tools), or of their own financial and social capital (family networks or personal contacts) to carve out their own political niches and build up their own networks. These micro-entrepreneurs can be divided into two sub-categories: ‘social entrepreneurs’, and ‘media entrepreneurs’. 267

A)

SOCIAL ENTREPRENEURS 245

There are only few examples for a new generation of social entrepreneurs. One is Mokhtar Yahyaoui, the famous ‘rebel judge’ and co-founder of the Centre pour l’Indépendance de la Justice et de la Magistrature. His case is, in many respects, both illuminating and unusual for Tunisia. In July 2001, Yahyaoui, then a judge at the Tunis court of first instance, sent an open letter to Ben Ali in which he denounced “the lack of independence” of the judiciary, and the gradual establishment of a “parallel justice” by the regime: “Les choses en sont arrivés, en effet, au point que l'autorité judiciaire et les magistrats ont été dépossédés de leurs prérogatives constitutionnelles et qu'ils ne sont plus à même d'assumer leurs responsabilités au service de la justice” (Quoted in Ben M'Barek 2000/01: 429-430). This act immediately garnered the attention of the media, because “c'est la première fois dans l'histoire de la Tunisie indépendante qu'un magistrat ose défier le parti-Etat, acte d'autant plus surprenant qu'il est le fait d'un acteur appartenant à l'un des corps les plus conservateurs du pays et peu enclin habituellement à la contestation” (ibid: 406). The reaction of the regime was foreseeable: Judge Yahyoui was immediately suspended from his functions and transferred to the disciplinary court. A few weeks later, however, came the big surprise when the ministry declared that it had re-instated him into his functions, and re-established his prerogatives. (Allegedly, the association of judges was sharply divided on this issue, and although nobody wanted to come out in public, many judges were said to be sympathetic with their colleague, and against too harsh a verdict.) In early December, however, came the ‘rupture finale’ when Yahyaoui filed an application to set up a center for promoting the ‘independence of the judiciary’. Without awaiting the answer of the ministry, he began to launch preparations for this center, together with a small group of 246 like-minded activists. On 29 December, he was therefore expelled from the ranks of the judiciary, officially for ‘atteinte à la honneur de la magistrature’ 245 Two good examples for an older generation of social entrepreneurs are Rachid Driss, former chairman of the Supreme Council for Human Rights and Basic Liberties, and founding president of the Tunisian Association for International Studies (AEI); and Abdeljelil Temimi, descendant of well-known family of Tunisian notables, and founding president of the Temimi Foundation for Historical Studies (FTERSI). Both are among the few organizations in contemporary Tunisia which are approaching politically sensitive issues from an independent perspective. 246 About 40 persons were involved in the launch, among them Bouchra Belhaj, Abderraouf Ayadi, Ayachi Hamami, Abderrazaq Kilani, and Sana Ben Achour. Open support for the center came from the COAT and the ATJA, while magistrates and prosecutors were said to be divided on the issue. 268

(cf. also Hedi Yahmed: “All the Details about the Center for the Independence of the Judiciary (Ar.Or.)”. Haqâ'iq 831, 29/11/01, p. 7; Ridha Kefi: “Le 247 ‘petit juge’ au piquet”. JA 2140, 15/01/ 02, p. 37). It is obvious, however, that the large majority of actual or potential actors in this particular field (both old and new) prefer to stay away from ‘high politics’ and focus on those issues instead, which are officially inoffensive (though not necessarily unimportant), like philanthropic, educational, developmental, and environmental issues. Some good examples of recently created organizations which are active in these fields and working on issues that are ultimately compatible with and complementary to the objectives of the regime are the Centre des Jeunes Dirigeants d'Entreprise (CJD), the Association de Recherches pour le Développement Economique et Sociale (ARDES), and many others. Given the state of affairs and the actual power relationships in Tunisian society, it is clear that most have concluded that adopting a ‘constructive’, and ‘partnership-oriented’ attitude vis-à-vis the regime elites will be more fruitful for the pursuance of one's concerns than entering into a competition (or even in a confrontation) which is in no one's interest. B)

MEDIA ENTREPRENEURS

There are several illustrative examples of an older generation of media entrepreneurs. At the center of these are the two main private media groups in the country: the Dar as-Sabah Group (founded by Habib Cheikhrouhou) which edits the two dailies ‘As-Sabâh’ and ‘Le Temps’; as well as the Dar alAnouar Group (founded by Slaheddine Amri) which edits the two dailies ‘Ash-Shurûq’ and ‘Le Quotidien’. Alongside these exist more targeted publications, like the bilingual weekly ‘Réalités/Haqâ'iq’, launched in 1979 and directed by Taieb Zahar (interview, Tunis, 28/02/02); and the ‘Economiste Maghrébin’ launched in 1995 and directed by Hedi Mechri (interview, Tunis, 24/10/02). Even though a clear majority of press products are private-owned (according to official figures about 90 percent), the truly large, and politically relevant, journals are still in the possession, or under the control, of the party-state. The most important ones are La Presse/As-Sahâfa (government) and Le Renouveau/Al-Hurriyya (RCD), complemented by Al-Mustaqbal (MDS), Al-Wahda (PUP), At-Tarîq al-Jadîd (HT), and Al-Mawquif (PDP). It must be recalled that until a few years ago, private media entrepreneurs were only allowed to operate in the press sector, as the audiovisual sector constituted a state monopoly. It was dominated by the Etablisse247 Another interesting case is Habib Guiza, the founder of the CEMAREF and ACMACO, which has been presented in some more details in the previous chapter. 269

ment de la Radiodiffusion Télévision Tunisienne (ERTT), a public agency under the supervision of the ministry of communication. This situation changed following Ben Ali’s announcement in late 2003 to open up the audiovisual sector for private investors. A whole array of new projects have been launched since then, and Tunisia's media landscape has become more pluralistic. However, even if the majority of these media are now privately owned, they are by no means politically independent. In fact, Tunisian media professionals and media entrepreneurs continue to face a raft of constraints and obstacles ‒ political, economic, and cultural (see also next chapter for more details). The first serious hurdle to a flourishing private media sector is a fragmented consumer market. The Tunisian audience is still split into two large groups, a minority of French-speakers (estimated at about 20 percent of the national audience ) who have the necessary purchasing power and reading interest, and a majority of Arabic-speakers (estimated at about 80 percent) who have less developed financial means and reading habits. The second important obstacle to independent or investigative journalistic activity is an extremely inhospitable legal and political environment. Tunisian media law continues to figure among the most restrictive of the entire world, and thereby contributes to cutting Tunisian media professionals and media entrepreneurs off from their social and international context. The state is still sufficiently strong to immediately sanction any whim of non-compliance, be it by simply shutting away irreverent journalists, or by closing down defiant 248 journals altogether. In an attempt to respond to this situation, anti-regime or just independent-minded journalists were increasingly beginning to go on-line, using new, web-based facilities (newsrooms, chatrooms, e-zines, blogs, etc.) to circumvent the country’s draconic press law, and the state's constant interfer248 It must be noted that the Tunisian media sector traditionally offered few potential outlets for independent media entrepreneurs. Under Bourguiba, there was a strict separation between the three sectors of television, radio, and printing press, and private publishers were only allowed to operate in the third one. The first generation of these were by law media professionals and journalists (with often limited financial means and business know-how). Under Ben Ali, these provisions have been softened, to the effect that several TV and radio stations have been founded (or taken over) by major business groups in these last years ‒ a trend which also reflects ongoing developments in many other Arab countries. The main reason for this interest appears to be commercial, as the Tunisian publicity market has experienced very robust growth rates in recent years as a direct result of economic liberalization. But some of these investors (and in particular Sakhr Materi) can also be suspected to pursue farther-reaching, and even political, intentions, which might involve positioning themselves vis-à-vis the Tunisian public as a potential contender for the presidential succession. 270

ence with their work. At the beginning of the new millennium, the main examples of this new generation of media products were ‘Kalima Tunisie’ (a French on-line journal launched by Omar Mestiri, Sihem Ben Sedrine, and Om Zied); ‘Aqlam Online’ (an Arabic on-line journal launched by Noureddine Aouididi, and Ahmed Galoul); and ‘Tunis News’ (a bilingual, non-partisan internet forum whose organizers and contributors prefer to remain anonymous or use acronyms). Many others have come into being since then. All of these initiatives, however, have been small-scale and short-lived, and have not yet reached the majority of citizens who are rather used to au249 diovisual means of communication. The complete opposite is true for the various private satellite channels that have been launched to reach out to the large majority of Tunisian Arabic-speakers. Two prime examples of this new generation of media entrepreneurs are Hachemi Hamdi, the founder and director of the Londonbased television channel ‘Al-Mustaqilla’ (and a former member of the MTI), whose relations with Ben Ali tend to be quite ambiguous (cf. Ridha Kefi: “Convergences contre nature?” JA 2110, 19/06/01, p. 33; Jean-Pierre Tuqoui: “Al-Moustakilah, la télévision qui dérange le régime de Ben Ali.” Le Monde 06/09/01, p. 4; Ridha Kefi: “Que cherche Hachemi Hamdi?” JA 2141, 22/01/02, p. 62-63); and Taoufik Mathlouthi, the founder and director of the Paris-based ‘Radio Méditerranée’, who has also successfully managed to venture into the business world (‘Mecca Cola’), and is reportedly planning to launch his own TV station (‘Télé Liberté’) (Vanessa Liertz: “Allahs Brause”, Handelsblatt, 11/03/03, p. 10; Michael Mönninger: “Mit den Waffen des Gegners”, Zeit, 27/03/03, p. 61). This process has gained further momentum in the second half of this decade, due to the increasing engagement of the large Tunisian business groups in the audiovisual media sector. Milestones were the launch of ‘Hannibal TV’ by Larbi Nasra (2005), of ‘Nassma TV’ by Nabil Karoui (2007), of ‘Radio Mosaïque FM’ by Belhassen Trabelsi (2003), of ‘Radio Jawhara FM’ by 250 Neji Mhiri (2005), and of ‘Radio Zitouna’ by Sakhr el-Materi (2009). Thus, after a difficult start during which Tunisian media were grappling with the 249 The regime, however, struck back in 2002: In June, it arrested Tunisia's first ‘cyberdissident’ Zouhayr Yahyaoui (the nephew of Mokhtar Yahyaoui's, and founder of the interactive internet forum ‘TUNeZINE’), for holding a mock referendum in which participants were asked to chose whether Tunisia was ‘a republic, a prison, or a zoo’. In July, he was condemned to two years in the country's notorious Bordj arRumi prison for ‘spreading false rumors’ apt to ‘trouble public order’. Released in late 2003 after staging a hunger strike, he died of a heart attack in summer 2005 at the age of 36 years. 250 These complement the two public TV channels (‘Tunis 7’ for adults and ‘Canal 21’ for the young) and the seven public radio stations operated by the ERTT. 271

stiff competition from the Arab East, the former have successfully regained some lost ground on their home turf (to the point of currently capturing about two thirds of the national market). They have not, however, been able to build up a notable presence beyond their own country, and enter into direct competition with the large networks of the Arab East, like ‘al-Jazeera’, ‘al-Arabiyya’, ‘Abu Dhabi TV’, ‘al-Manar’, and ‘Nile TV’ (cf. also Abdelaziz Barrouhi: “Tunisie Audiovisuel: Restructuration en Chaîne”. JA 2518, 12/04/09, p. 54-55; and idem: “Tunisie Presse Ecrite: Une Page se tourne”. JA 251 2523, 17/05/09, p. 50-53). Today, there is a fairly large, and continuously growing, number and variety of media products available within the country, superior at least in quantity to the time before 1987. According to official figures, there were about 250 national publications in 2004 (up from about 90 in 1987), in addi tion to about 950 foreign publications (up from about 450). There are now four television channels (two public and two private) and ten radio stations (seven public and three private) broadcasting from within Tunisia, in addition to several dozens of external products which can be captured from within Tunisia. (It must be noted that nearly all Tunisian households have television, and that an estimated two thirds have a satellite dish). However, even though the Tunisian state has de facto given up its former semi-monopoly in the media sector, and has nolens volens admitted a pluralization of the information available to Tunisians, it has struggled to maintain a controlling position even under these new framework conditions, and has managed to maintain at least some control of the information flows within the country.

CONCLUSION Since the mid-1980s, and particularly over the past two decades, both the associative landscape and the media sector have witnessed processes of pluralization and differentiation. This can be gleaned from the increase in the number of actors involved, and from the increase in the diversity of views expressed. All these complement (and sometimes compete with) the established media players (be they old state media, party papers, or private products), and/or existing ‘civil society’ organizations (be they NGOs, QUANGOs, or GONGOs). At the same time, there are numerous overlaps and inter-linkages between human rights groups and political opposition parties,

251 For further reading on regional media trends see the respective contributions of Sakr (satellite networks), Rogler (printing press) and Hofheinz (internet) in Faath (2004). 272

on the one hand, and between many journalists and NGO activists, on the 252 other, which further complicate the picture. Some goods examples for these ‘hybrids’ are Rachid Khechana, a founding member of the RSP/PDP, editor-in-chief of its newspaper al-Mawquif, and local correspondent of the pan-Arab daily ‘Al-Hayat’; Sihem Ben Sedrine, the wife of Omar Mestiri, former editor-in-chief of the online journal ‘Kalima’, and a former speaker of the CNLT; Omar Mestiri, the son of Ahmed Mestiri, who was also the previous director of the online journal ‘Kalima’, and a founding member of the FTDL; Taoufik Ben Brik, a former contributor of the French ‘La Croix’ newspaper, and a leading member of the CNLT; Jalal Zoghlami, the brother of Taoufik Ben Brik, and the main figure behind the online journal ‘Kaws al-Karama’; and Slaheddine Jourshi, a former leading member of the Islamist movement, and now an active member of the CNLT. However, the awkward fact remains that practically all of these ventures, irrespective of their origins and their objectives, remain extremely small, weak, dependent, and vulnerable. So far, a whole number of factors, such as an extremely restrictive associative law and an equally restrictive press law, have contributed to preventing (or at least to delaying) the evolution of players that are sufficiently large, sufficiently integrated (both domestically and internationally) and sufficiently independent (both politically and financially) to establish (and assert) themselves vis-à-vis regime and those groups affiliated with it. Compared to the situation in neighboring countries, neither Tunisia's media landscape nor its associative sector have offered the opportunity for independent actors and social entrepreneurs to carve out a niche for themselves and use these as a launching pad for a political career.

4. Tunisian Contesting Elites:

Disintegration from Within, Deconstruction from Above THE ‘CIVIL SOCIETIZATION’ OF POLITICAL CONTESTATION Since 1987, the various constituent parts that made up the anti-Bourguibist opposition before have undergone a process of disintegration. They have split into two broad camps (or categories) which can further be sub-divided into several sub-groups (or sub-categories) respectively. On the one hand, there are those who have organized themselves into formal political parties, and 252 Others, like Ridha Kefi, the local correspondent of Jeune Afrique, and a former director of the Ibn Khaldoun Youth Center, and Lotfi Hajji, a regular contributor to Réalités/ Haqâ’iq, and former member of the MTI, are clearly sympathetic toward the opposition, but appear not actively involved in it. 273

those who prefer rather informal arrangements. On the other hand, there are those who have de facto arranged themselves with the hegemony of the regime and its ‘rules of the game’ (hence called the ‘consensual’, or ‘constructive’ opposition), and those who refuse to do so (the ‘radical’, or ‘criti253 cal’ opposition). This also shows that the regime is still the main point of reference for the opposition. In fact, there are still no effectively autonomous public spaces, or sufficiently powerful social actor groups within Tunisia, that could provide back-up positions and political springboards for dissidents and contesters, and allow them to define and organize their standpoints and relations outside the established political system and independent from the ruling political elites. As far as the formal political opposition parties are concerned, one can basically distinguish two broad camps. There are those being recognized and (mostly) co-opted, such as (parts of) the Mouvement des Démocrates Socialistes (MDS), the Parti de l'Unité Populaire (PUP), the Union Démocratique Unioniste (UDU), the Parti Social Libéral (PSL), and the Parti Vert pour le Progrès (PVP). And there are those who continue to be outlawed and persecuted, such as the Nahda Party (PR), the Parti Communiste des Ouvriers Tunisiens (PCOT), and the Congrès pour la Republique (CR). Somewhere inbetween are the Parti Démocratique Progressiste (PDP) and the Forum Démocratique pour le Travail et la Liberté (FDTL), which who have received recognition, but are not represented in parliament. The Harakat at-Tajdîd (HT) itself has been shifting between these poles. As far as the rather informal civil society organizations are concerned, one can also distinguish two camps. One is comprised of those that focus on non-political, mono-sectorial activities. These include the so-called ‘national’ or ‘popular’ organizations which were created before or after national independence as state-controlled containers and absorbers of socio-economic interests and conflicts, and which are complemented by the many thousand private or semi-public associations that have been founded between the 1970s and the 1990s. The second involves those that also work on ‘general’, and politically sensitive issues. It consists of a few legal NGOs (LTDH, AFTD, AFTURD, etc.) and other, still not recognized NGOs (CNLT, CIJM, RAID, etc.). Their founding occurred at a time when the regime was relatively weak and temporarily forced to ease control. An intermediate category comprises some professional syndicates and economic interest associa253 This distinction between political opposition parties on the one hand, and civil society organizations on the other, is actually somewhat artificial and quite difficult to sustain in practice. This is due to all the overlaps and inter-linkages that exist between them, as they do not only share political militants, but also social milieux (cf. also Camau & Geisser 2003a: 264 for further insight). 274

tions, which also address general socio-political issues, albeit in a rather in254 direct, conceited way. Most civil society organizations (both of the ‘real’ or ‘fake’ type) actually share the same basic characteristics as the secular opposition parties (described in more details at an earlier point). The members and supporters of all these associations may total a few thousand (if one includes all the affiliates), and probably not more than a few hundred (if one only counts the activists). They are only present in the capital and the other cities of the ‘East Coast’. Further, the large majority of their active members fall under the socio-professional heading of the petty bourgeois, public-sector employee. Finally, most of them feature a distinctly secular, leftist-nationalist outlook, often mixed with ‘pan-Arab undertones’, which do not seem to be very appealing to the majority of the population, and especially not to the large numbers of young Tunisians. In stark contrast with the situation that existed before the ‘Change’, the contemporary Tunisian opposition has not been able (and probably not even motivated) to build a common political front and/or to launch a broad social movement, strong enough to threaten the power of the regime, or make it 255 otherwise change the course of its policies. Following the political ‘demise’ of the main ‘champions’ of the former opposition (MTI, MDS, UGTT, and UGET), the contemporary political contestation has ceased to be a mass social phenomenon involving significant numbers of the Tunisian populace. This, of course, is not to say that the constituencies they once represented, and the ideologies they defended have ceased to exist ‘on the ground’, or that they have all been captured by the new regime; it just means that for a number of reasons, these can no longer be bothered (momentarily or not) to take to the streets and risk their lives by confronting the authorities. Today, the struggle against the pouvoir and its president is basically lim254 Many have argued that “la ligne de fracture au sein des partis de l'opposition passe principalement entre ceux qui préconisent l'adoption d'une attitude conciliante à l'égard des autorités et les adeptes d'une ligne plus critique” (Abdelhaq & Neumann 2000: 31). A closer look, however, suggests that things are more complicated in reality. In fact, most opposition leaders, irrespective of whether they are ‘radical’ or ‘moderate’, derive their ‘power’ (read: their ability to maintain themselves at the head of their parties) from their relationship with the pouvoir (and not from a nonexisting support base within society). The challenge for a contester is thus to outmaneuver the incumbent by convincing his peers that he is more apt to strike a better bargain with the regime authorities, and hence to improve their position within the system ‒ either by moving closer to it, or by moving farther away. 255 It must be recalled that this was not only due to the politico-ideological immiscibilities existing among opposition leaders, but also to the divide-and-rule policies employed by the regime elites. 275

ited to individual activists and dissidents, who may take up and voice ambient socio-political demands and concerns, but are unable to organize and direct them. It also sometimes extends to small associations, which fulfill similar functions. It does not, however, involve well-organized, collective political movements based on clearly identifiable, determinate social groups. By the same token, there is no longer large-scale, fully institutionalized, politically motivated protest and resistance against specific systemic features or policies of the regime, only spontaneous, sporadic uprisings and strikes without any major political dimension or consequence. These are mainly about very specific, tangible revendications which can actually be addressed within the existing political system. As well-known opponent has resumed this situation in saying that “Ben Ali est [au pouvoir] et y restera, parce que, en face, il y a une rue pacifiée, une piètre opposition, émiettée en de multiples groupuscules sans troupes, sans projet” (Taoufik Ben Brik quoted in Jean-Pierre Tuquoi: “Le Maghreb à l'heure de Ben Laden”. Le Monde, 10/11/ 01, p.17). Since legal opposition parties can no longer be considered as effective political actors in contemporary Tunisia and/or as potential correctives of its political status quo, formally non- or semi-political social interest and ‘civil society’ groups have once again become the main absorbers and reflectors of existing socio-political unrest and discontent. The consequence of this development is, however, that political debates and struggles are increasingly becoming mixed or fused with all kinds of particularist claims and distributional conflicts. Moreover, the successful de-politicization and partial instrumentalization of the opposition by the regime has not only led to the gradual disintegration of the ‘systemic dimension’ behind the protest, but also to the gradual disappearance of any long-term transitional perspective as such.

FROM ‘CHALLENGER’ TO ‘CORRECTIVE’ Almost two decades into the ‘New Era’, the outcome of the ‘tug-of-war’ between the pouvoir and its adversaries is clear: the former has won. Those who tried to resist the re-monopolization of effective political power by the Ben Ali regime have not been able to impose either alternance or accountability. They have failed to bring about a change at the helm of the state, or at least to create the conditions for allowing for such a change to materialize in the future. And they have failed to force their own preferences onto the agenda of the regime, or at least to achieve a certain degree of influence over the political choices of the latter. In comparing the power resources of the con276

temporary opposition with those of the ruling elites, the conclusion is unequivocal: they are next to zero. In fact, the opposition is weaker today than it ever was before. Contrary to the situation under Bourguiba (who was successively confronted with Ben Youssef’s ‘fedayeen’ supporters, Ghannouchi’s Islamists, Ahmed Mestiri’s party liberals, or Habib Achour’s trade unionists), Ben Ali is no longer faced with well-organized, mass-based socio-political movements inside or outside the country, capable of threatening his bases of power or of forcing him to change the course of policies. The situation is paradoxical in that for the first time since 1956, there is an officially political recognized opposition with a guaranteed parliamentary representation, but also for the first time since 1956, there is no force in politics or in society that is strong enough to confront the regime or the president. This is not to say, of course, that oppositionists are totally powerless in Tunisia. In fact, they have recently scored a few respectable successes against the regime, forcing the latter to backtrack on some of its decisions, and even causing some ministers to lose their posts as a result of this. How ever, these have been the accomplishments of individual, not collective, actions, and they have been achieved thanks to external, not internal, support. The most effective ‘strategies’ have been ‘spectacular’ events like hunger strikes, committed by individual figures, and transmitted by foreign media (which have often triggered ad hoc concessions by official representatives). So these ‘successes’ (and the fact alone that they need to resort to such actions in the first place) rather prove the opposite: namely the degree to which the system is closed, and the opposition marginalized. Under these circumstances, the most promising and cost-effective option for political opposition and civil society leaders is to lobby executive elites and state officials either at home or abroad; that is, to look for patrons and sponsors either within the party-state establishment and the presidential entourage, or among Western governments and international organizations. However, since this is also both a major power base, and a potentially weak point of the Benalist regime, it is hardly surprising that this has proven to be a major source of tensions, and that the latter has tended to react particularly furiously to this. Furthermore, the main problem with this strategy is that it risks alienating themselves even further from their socio-political environment; that it jeopardizes the little credibility they have as amplifiers of social concerns and correctives to state power; and that it further erodes their attractiveness for citizens and their bargaining power vis-à-vis the regime elites. Thus, it has been rightly said that “ce qui a change fondamentalement (…), ce sont les modes d'expression et d'action des défenseurs des droits de 277

l'homme et des opposants indépendants qui recourent de plus en plus aux réseaux des ONG internationales et aux médias étrangers pour faire entendre leurs cause, rompant ainsi avec le syndrome de l'isolement” (Geisser 1999: 347). It was thus a “processus de professionnalisation de l'action revendicative en Tunisie qui rompt, en partie, avec l'amateurisme passé, mais dont le principal effet pervers est d'externaliser la protestation au risque de se couper de la population locale” (Ben M'Barek 2000/01: 408). In the short run, these developments may have benefited the opposition and partly strengthened it against the regime; in the long run, however, this strategy may be of a mixed blessing and have rather unintended consequences for its 256 creators.

THE SUCCESSFUL ‘COUNTER-INSURGENCE’ STRATEGY OF THE BEN ALI REGIME Now, what explains the gross inequality of power relations between the incumbent regime and its respective contenders? What explains the remarkable ease with which the former has managed to neutralize the latter (and continues to do so until now)? What explains the surprising ease with which the former has consolidated its position and imposed its policy choices (even though these did most probably not always command the support of the majority)? What accounts for the persistent inability of the latter to stop the former from doing so (provided that this is what their intention was in the first place)? There are a number of factors, both external and internal, that explain the outcome of this process (for further information see also the next chapter and Faath 2008b for an overview of the Maghreb). The first factor is an exceptionally cohesive ruling coalition, combined with an extremely restrictive political environment. It must be noted that all those factors that have enabled, or at least facilitated, the blossoming of ‘civil society’ in other countries of the region (e.g. burgeoning private media, increasingly open political elections, gradually empowered legislatures, politically independent-minded judiciaries, etc.) are largely absent in the case of Tunisia. It must also be noted that even those institutions which enjoyed at least some autonomy under the old regime (like mosques and universities) have been subdued under Ben Ali. Within the established political system, there is simply no possibility for political actors other than the ruling elites and their respective clients to aggregate socio-political agendas and insert them into political decision making processes. 256 See Khiari (2002: 184-190) for further insights into the consequences of these developments. 278

At the same time, the Ben Ali regime has managed to avoid those kinds of large-scale conflicts among its constituent parts that could have produced ‘interlocutors’ for oppositionists. There is still a security apparatus which is sufficiently loyal and strong to put down any challenge(r) to the regime; there is a bureaucratic elite which is sufficiently dedicated and effective to carry out the instructions of the president; and there is a party elite that remains sufficiently cohesive and disciplined to stick to the fundamental choices of the government. There is practically no possibility for ‘extrication pacts’ linking ‘moderates’ on either side of the political spectrum while isolating the ‘radicals’ in their respective camps, like those which have provided the ground for systemic transitions in other parts of the world. Ben Ali has also been very careful not to antagonize those groups which could, or used to, provide a support base for opposition movements. These include the still numerous urban and rural poor, the many otherwise marginal and vulnerable groups living in the country’s urban perimeters and remote provinces, and last but not least the constantly growing numbers of unemployed and discontented high school leavers and university graduates. There are thus no large social status groups that are specifically discriminated against by the regime policies, and thus negatively pre-disposed toward the political system as such. Similarly, there is no large reservoir of social unrest (at least when compared with the one that existed under Bourguiba), that present-day oppositionists could ‘tap into’ for their political purposes. The second factor is a clever mix of incentives and disincentives or, to put it differently, of selective co-optation and targeted repression. On the one hand, collaborative forces have been offered assured political representation (in the ruling party and the popular assemblies) and substantial financial benefits (both as individuals and organizations) in exchange for subscription to the ‘rules of the game’. On the other hand, they have been obstructed each time they used their positions to push their own agenda (especially if it went against the official line), or to build up their own clientele (especially when done so outside the official fora). This policy has fuelled all sorts of splits and squabbles within the formations of the political opposition and civil society, further dividing their ranks and weakening their capacity for action. At the same time, Ben Ali has successfully endeavored to further divide his already highly fragmented adversaries and to further insulate them from their social context. On the one hand, the regime has created all sorts of ‘mock’ opposition parties (like the UDU and the PUP) and ‘fake’ civil society bodies (like the IADH and the CSDHLF) in order to weaken the ‘original’. The successful sidelining of the UGET by the Destourian student union also 279

falls into this category. By the same token, the regime has drummed up the support of the large popular organizations, the state-controlled media, or socalled ‘citizens initiatives’ whenever faced with criticism from within or without. These policies have further contributed to the process of fragmentation and neutralization of both political oppositionists and civil society organizations. The regime has also endeavored to sever opposition parties and independent associations from external financial sources and non-state actors. Opposition parties and civil society organizations are not allowed to receive funding from outside or private donors without the express consent of the state authorities. International NGOs and media companies are not allowed to operate on Tunisian territory, or to fuse with their Tunisian counterparts. Once again, possible exceptions require official authorization. The result of these policies is that Tunisian oppositionists and civil society activists are often cut off from their foreign partners. The same applies to support from within: As we have seen, important social players (like business representatives) are totally absent from their ranks, and even potential sympathizers (like trade unionists) are often reluctant to become involved. The third factor is the social (self) isolation of the secular opposition, which is itself partly the result of the manifold socio-cultural and socio-professional biases separating them from non-academic and non-bourgeois strata. Both opposition parties and civil society organizations have often degenerated into elite clubs and proto-parties whose audience is basically limited to the (upper) middle classes of the few coastal cities. Thus, while some groups, like school teachers, university professors, lawyers, and physicians are grossly over-represented, others, like businessmen, merchants, artisans, farmers, and workers are totally underrepresented. The ‘Tunisie profonde’ in particular, i.e. the non-urban and non-elite strata from the North-West and Center-South, are practically absent from their ranks (even though these may be in opposition to the regime, as could be seen from the ‘Gafsa upris257 ing’ in early 2008). In fact, most political opposition and civil society activists are urban, bourgeois intellectuals, with a modern secular education obtained at a West European university. As such, their political habitus, discourse, and behavior is either not understandable, or at least not very appealing to the broad majority of Tunisians, in the same way as the formers’ personal backgrounds and outlooks are rather unrepresentative of, and thus quite incompatible 257 It must be recalled that only those who are sufficiently educated and/or resourced to generate their own income and assure their own social reproduction without the help of the state, are in a position to afford the engagement in politics, and envisage a conflict with the authorities. 280

with those of the latter. At the end of the day, the large majority of political opposition and civil society members are ‘political leftovers’ from the Bourguibist era, both in terms of persons and habits. The age factor has further contributed to keeping the young generation away, who all too often see their own concerns ignored, and their career chances blocked by their elders. It is actually striking to see just how many of contemporary Tunisia’s ‘contesting elites’ come from only two political generations. One is the ‘generation of 68’ (‘les soixante-huitards’ in French). These are people who were studying in Paris around 1968 (or were influenced by the ideas of that time), were actively engaged in the related student and/or labor movements and still constitute the backbone of the existing leftist-liberal opposition organizations. The second is the ‘generation of the middle’ (‘jîl al-wasat’ in Arabic). These are those who received their degrees and entered the labor market after the mid-1970s, found their professional careers and their social advancement blocked (due to the gradual worsening of the economic situation and the ensuing employment freeze in the public sector at that time), and mostly joined the ranks of the Islamist movement. On the contrary, two other political generations are conspicuously absent from among the contemporary Tunisian opposition. This is the ‘Generation Ben Ali’ of those who were born between 1975 and 1985, and lived their formative years in the first ten years of the new regime’s life (i.e. in a time marked by considerable turmoil on a regional level, compared with a relatively quick stabilization on a national level). And it is the ‘Generation Bin Laden’ of those who were born after 1985, and had their political social ization in a time marked by the resumption of ethnic strife in the Middle East, the emergence of a new brand of Islamic radicalism (manifesting itself in the large terror attacks of the new millenium), and the worldwide effects of the ‘war against terror’. The fourth factor is the political paternalism of most secular formations, which becomes visible in the day-to-day decisional and behavioral patterns of their leaders and activists. In most cases, these have established very hierarchical, top-down leadership structures, based on strongly personalized patron-client networks and highly fragile inter-personal relationships. At the same time, they often exhibit a very autocratic, patriarchal mindset, tinged with a high degree of political elitism and étatism, and a strong dose of sec ular nationalism and modernism ‒ all of which is not very conducive to the envisaged establishment of a broad social platform. (It must be noted, however, that many of these observations also apply to the formations of the Islamist movement, with the notable exception of the little by-word ‘secular’!) According to this worldview, state-society relations are conceived in a 281

strictly top-down manner, whereby policies are devised by the ‘elite’ and implemented by the ‘state’ (cf. also Camau & Geisser 2003a: 243-249). Thus, it may be argued that many opposition parties and civil society organizations are just about every bit as intolerant and overbearing, and that many of their leaders and activists as condescending and patronizing, as their official counter-parts in the party state (just with less social traction and less political leverage). It may even be argued that at the end of the day, most of the formations of the opposition actually represent little more than ‘micro versions’ of the ruling party, but without access to the resources of the state. Since large parts of the secular contesting elites share not only their socio-professional background, but also their politico-ideological outlook with the ruling party-state elites, they are usually not prepared to ‘think out of the box’ and devise really innovative or controversial solutions for political or social problems. What they usually prefer is a cautious, gradualist, consenualist reform strategy based on ‘dialogue’ and ‘cooperation’ between regime and opposition, making the former somewhat more tolerant and responsive vis-à-vis the latter. Only very few actors appear willing to envisage an in-depth reform of the political structures created over the past decades, and to question the normative right of the political elites to ‘educate’ the popular masses. This means that until now, those who are supposed to generate alternative political visions all too often continue to reproduce traditional political culture ‒ just on a minor level, and with less impact. They are not only powerless against the overwhelming coercive and cooptative capabilities of the party-state, but also handicapped by the various elite and class biases of their own leaders. These cannot seriously advocate a genuine transformation of the existing political system as they are part and parcel of it. In this way, the structural limitations of a clear majority of contesting elites constitute another contributing factor to the persistent ‘authoritarian syndrome’ of Tunisian politics (to use a term coined by Camau & Geisser 2003a).

WHICH POLITICAL FUTURE FOR THE TUNISIAN OPPOSITION? The Benalist regime has managed to neutralize its political contenders via a clever divide-and-rule approach. This consists of a cunning mix of various policy elements: prohibition, persecution, and repression (vis-à-vis Islamists); and recognition, co-optation, and remuneration (vis-à-vis secularists). The opening up of new channels for political representation and participation at regime level has taken place in parallel with the closing down of existing channels for political communication and assembly at societal level. 282

One result of this policy has been the disconnection and fragmentation of the former opposition movement, combined with the disactivation and neutralization of their resistance potential. More than this, the de-collectivization and individualization of their political activities and survival strategies have been accompanied by the delocalization and externalization of their political focus and support base. This may also explain why the legal Tunisian opposition is in such a ‘Catch-22’ situation. The weakening of their street credibility and mass appeal has led to further reductions in their bargaining position and political leverage on all levels, meaning that their decreasing traction with the population has led to an increasing dependency on the regime ‒ and vice versa. Hence, there is a direct link between what appears contradictory at first glance: namely that the secular opposition enjoys theoretically better working conditions than at any point during the previous decades, but wields less power than during the former era. In reality, things have rather worked the other way round: by incorporating the secular opposition into the political system, Ben Ali has destroyed their political existence. So far, its representatives have not been capable of (and maybe also not interested in) finding a way of how to get out of this vicious circle. Realizing the failure of their ‘co-operative approach’, and feeling the unrest of the Tunisian ‘street’, parts of the opposition began to re-orient themselves at the beginning of the new millenium. Their aim was to tackle their two main problems: political fragmentation and social isolation. To this end, some groups (PDP, FDTL, CPR, and parts of the MDS) launched a common platform, the ‘Democratic Alliance’, in late 2001, renamed the ‘Democratic Pole’ the following year. They were soon joined by others, particularly Harmel’s Renewal Movement and some former Nahda members. Their main goal was “to create a political equilibrium vis-à-vis the ruling party”, in order to pave the way for a “peaceful alternance in power”, and a “peaceful transition to democracy” (interview, Mustapha Ben Jaafar, 07/11/ 02). But the flurry of activities that followed could not conceal that the initiative soon lost momentum, due to ideological conflicts between Communists and Islamists, but also due to internal scissions following the political defection of Mohamed Moadda in spring 2002. At the same time, the number of contacts and exchanges between secularists and Islamists has clearly grown since the beginning of the new mil258 lennium. Most representatives of the ‘critical opposition’ (like Marzouki, Chamari, Chebbi, Ben Jaafar, and Ben Sedrine) have actually stressed the 258 See for instance the common declaration by Rachid Ghannouchi and Mohamed Moadda of 20 March 2001, partially reproduced in BBC World Broadcast, 23/03/01, p. 13. 283

need to find a way of putting an end to an ‘undeclared civil war’ which had divided the country for over two decades. Any solution would have to include the adoption of a general amnesty which benefits all political prisoners, and the possibility for moderate Islamists to return into public life. These overtures were responded to in kind by Nadha, who has unmistakably condemned the deterioration of human rights in the country, and called upon the regime to end the harassment of all of its critics. This apparent rapprochement between the two sides seemed to indicate that they were willing to return to the status quo ante of the early 1980s when they still entertained a relatively normal relationship with each other. Thus, the main link between secularists and Islamists today is their common struggle for liberty and democracy. This does not mean that they have settled all of their differences regarding the substance of politics (including the main principles which ought to regulate social life, and the main orientations which should inform public policy). It simply means that they have chosen to focus on a reform of the ‘rules of the game’, i.e. of the institutions, procedures, and mechanisms which determine the access to, exercise, and transfer of power. The advantage of this rethinking is obvious in that it helps them to delay the most divisive political issues, and cooperate on very concrete institutional questions instead. But the problem with this strategy is that these topics do not really strike a chord with the majority of people who rather care about the outcomes of policy. In other words, they are mostly interested in the substance of politics, and ipso facto in all those issues which have so far divided the ranks of the opposition. This was precisely the main aim of two other initiatives: In 1999, a number of intellectuals and activists around the university professors Fathi Chamkhi and Sadri Khiari founded the Rassemblement pour une Alternative Internationale de Développement (RAID), as the Tunisian section of the antiglobalization movement Attac. Their goal was to “mettre en place une espace de réflexion, d'analyse, de propositions et d'actions pour les alternatives de développement autres que celles définies dans le cadre de l'OMC [WTO], du FMI et de la Banque mondiale” (founding declaration reproduced in Geisser 1999: 350). In 2003, a number of NGOs (such as the LTDH, CNLT, ATFD, RAID and even the UGTT) launched the Forum Social Tunisien (FST). Their goals include fighting against the harmful effects of globalization, looking into alternative models of development, and last but not least combining the struggle for democracy with the struggle for social justice. In other words, they aimed for a global approach toward the national problems, “associant la lutte pour la reconnaissance des droits individuels et publics (…) avec le combat pour nos droits économiques et sociaux” (declaration published by the forum and distributed at its launch). 284

The positive aspect of these developments is that the secular opposition seems at long last ready to address the main worries of the ‘Tunisien moyen’. Usually, these are related to the increase in competition and insecurity, and the perspective of job losses and welfare cuts as a result of eco nomic liberalization and free trade. Importantly, these issues concern practically all Tunisians, high school leavers and university graduates anxious to find a job, private sector workers and public employees equally eager to keep theirs, petty entrepreneurs worried about the future of their companies, and the (lower) middle classes equally worried about the (rising) costs of living. The problematic aspect of these topics is that they have the potential to bring them into opposition to, and conflict with, Western governments and international organizations, which have in recent years become their main pillars of support, and their main shields of defense against the regime.

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VII THE RE-INVENTION OF AUTHORITARIANISM: FROM SINGLE PARTY RULE TO ‘GUIDED DEMOCRACY’

1. La ‘Tunisianité’: Ex Oriente or Ex Occidente Lux? The first years of the ‘New Era’ were overshadowed and pre-determined by a ‘tug-of-war’ over the cultural references that ought to inform and orient the future polity. It was also a struggle over the power to define the exact meaning of Islamic symbols (see also chapters three and six as well as AlAhnaf 1989, Hermassi 1989 & 1991, Lee 2008, Rogers 2009, and Allani 2009). On the face of it, an Islamist movement which mainly drew on Arabicspeaking, religious-minded petty bourgeois intellectuals, and marginalized, uprooted, semi-urban migrant populations, was pitted against a secular establishment which rallied most of the leftist-nationalist forces, and the citybased, Francophone bourgeoisie at large. A deeper look, however, reveals that the battle lines were not as clear and static as such a quick glance would suggest. This was not only due to the remarkable ideological and organizational parallels between both camps, but also because of the sometimes fuzzy and changing affiliations of many actors. In fact, all evidence leads to the conclusion that it was at least as much a distributional struggle over political and material resources, as it was an ideological struggle for normative and cognitive supremacy. At first, each side seemed keen on re-assuring the other. Islamists underlined their willingness to proceed within the politico-institutional framework of the Bourguibo-Destourian state, and to renounce violence as a means of politics. In return, the regime re-assured them of its intention to ‘rehabilitate’ Islam in public life, and to proceed toward a ‘democratization’ of the political system (cf. the respective declarations of Ben Ali in Al-Ahnaf 1989: 95 and of Ghannouchi in Hermassi 1989: 302). Implicitly, a fragile ceasefire existed between the two camps during these years. Each side was rhetorically reaching out to the other, giving in on minor issues, but without giving up their main aims. The regime was thus unwilling to grant the MTI legal status or to admit a religious party into political life, while the MTI 286

was unwilling to proceed toward a dismantlement of its organizational ap259 paratus or to renounce the goal of an Islamic state. Thus, the first fundamental (and perhaps the most fateful) choice of the new rulers was to definitely reject the legalization of a party based on religion on the basis of the party law of 1988, and thereby to effectively exclude 260 the admission of any real contest for political power. However, by disavowing the principle of competition for power, they also ruled out the possibility of alternance in power. And by discarding the idea of change at the helm of the state, they also ruled out the possibility of any (major) change with regard to the content of policy. By the same token, the Islamist leadership remained unwilling to abandon their goal of establishing a state based on the sharia, and thus to forsake their dream to Islamize society with the help of that state. This meant that while the regime refused to subscribe to any major reconfiguration of either the parameters of the political system, or the paradigms of public policy, the MTI continued to insist on exactly such a reconfiguration. Why could no compromise be found between a regime and an opposition whose respective leaders were publicly dedicated to mildly modernist ‘middle-of-the-road’ agendas, having both successfully overcome the most intransigent hard-line elements within their ranks (which are a priori ideal conditions for a democratic transition, according to the findings of Przeworski 1991)? Why was there no emergence of a centripetal movement strong enough to allow for a lasting liberalization of the political system? Why did Ben Ali not tolerate a political party based on Islam, or at least an open debate dealing with it (as happened in countries as diverse as Morocco, Jordan, Turkey, and even Algeria), even though this has decisively de-esca259 An good example of this dual approach was contained in Ben Ali’s speech of 3 February 1988: On the one hand, he declared that “la première initiative que nous avons prise après le 7 Novembre est la réhabilitation de la religion musulmane dans ce pays, convaincus que nous sommes que notre religion est le pilier de notre civilisation, et une base fondamentale de notre société.” At the same time, however, he made clear that “nous refusons ce qui est contraire à l’essence de l’islam et son esprit pur, et rejetons ce qui est étranger à notre authenticité islamique tunisienne. Aussi ne voyonsnous aucune gêne à proclamer qu’il n’y a pas de place, aujourd’hui comme demain, pour l’exploitation de la religion à des fins politiques” (quoted in Al-Ahnaf 1989: 95). 260 “Les partis politiques doivent respecter la souveraineté du peuple, les valeurs de la République, les droits de l’Homme et les principes relatifs au statut personnel. Les partis politiques s’engagent à bannir toute forme de violence, de fanatisme, de racisme et toute forme de discrimination. Un parti politique ne peut s’appuyer fondamentalement dans ses principes, objectifs, activités ou programmes sur une religion, une langue, une race, un sexe ou une région. Il est interdit à tout parti d’avoir des liens de dépendance vis-à-vis des parties ou d’intérêts étrangers” (Art.8 of the Tunisian Constitution as amended by the Constitutional Law No. 97-65 of 27/10/1997). 287

lated political conflicts in many neighboring countries? Finally, why did the Nahda leadership not accept the invitations of the rulers to join the RCD, or 261 to form a common political platform with them? There were certainly several impediments to such a compromise. The first was the overall distribution of symbolic resources, that is, the perceived political momentum of the Islamist movement as opposed to the perceived political weakness of the Benalist camp. The second obstacle was the mounting pressure from their respective constituencies, where the momentary insecurity, heterogeneous nature, and ambiguous agenda of the ruling societal coalition centered around the PSD/RCD contrasted with the cohesion, dedication, and determination of the diverse disaffected groups rallying behind the MTI/HN. The third obstacle was the make-up of the political system, where the convergence of power around the executive branch of government and specifically around the person of the president made any electoral or non-electoral nomination at this level an extremely delicate and contested issue. But the main hurdles were fundamentally incompatible goals. In principle, it is quite probable that neither Ben Ali nor Ghannouchi would have had major scruples in dealing more closely with the other side. In practice, however, they quickly became aware that this would mean compromising the political institutions and social constituencies their respective powers were based upon. Thus, for all their maneuvering, prodding and courting, they were not able to attain what they really sought. For Ben Ali, this was a renunciation by Nahda of its aim to go for power, and eventually take over the state. And, for Ghannouchi, it was a recognition by the regime of his party’s right to both participate in politics, and compete for power. ‘Recognition of one’s equality’ vs. ‘confirmation of one’s supremacy’, ‘admission of competition’ vs. ‘preservation of the system’: this is why the ceasefire struck after the ‘Change’ did not last, and why a compromise between both sides could not materialize. For all these reasons, the new rulers adopted a new approach vis-à-vis the ‘Islamic question’ in the early 1990s (which has changed little ever since). They no longer sought to simply contain (and possibly co-opt) their most dangerous and competitive adversaries, but to suppress and ‘eliminate’ them altogether. By pushing for a systematic bipolarization of the political landscape, they not only hoped to close the ranks of their own supporters, while rallying the largest possible number of citizens around their own po261 For the generally moderating influence of legal political participation on Islamist political parties, see Ferrié (2005), Werenfels (2005), Ottaway & Hamzawy (2009) and the contributions in Diamond et al. (2003), Wiktorowicz (2004), Asseburg (2007b), Albrecht & Köhler (2008), Lust-Okar & Zerhouni (2009), and Ottaway et al. (2009). 288

litical platform, but also to divide the lines of their enemies, by raising the political costs of non-cooperation. To this end, they chose a multi-track strategy with at least four pillars: tailor-made state repression, pro-active welfare provision, conservative cultural policies, and progressive educational policies. On the one hand, the new rulers, who were fully aware of the numerous internal divisions in the Islamist movement, sought to win over ‘moderate’, compromising elements from among two main target groups. The first were the traditionalists and conservatives as represented by the scholars and preachers of the Zeytouna and Kairouan (the ‘Institutional Islam’). And the second were the modernists and reformists as represented by the activists and supporters of the ‘Progressive Islamist’ movement with their magazine ‘15*21’ (the ‘Cultural Islam’). They planned to achieve this by acting on a number of their demands, which included stepping up the Arabization of public administration and secondary education, as well as proceed-ing toward a revalorization of Islam in the audiovisual media and school curricula. At the same time, the new rulers decided to clamp down on the ‘radical’, intransigent forces via a pincer move. First, they would focus on rooting out the factors that made up the strength of Nahda, which included a cohesive and efficient web of neighborhood and self-help organizations led by a young and educated elite of disciplined and devoted activists. Second, they would attempt to ‘drain the wells’ that fed Nahda, which included a widely shared malaise about an ‘unjust social order’, as well as socio-political resentments fuelled by proto-fundamentalist school curricula. The disintegrative effects of these forces should be mitigated by providing more and better public services to the most vulnerable and disadvantaged groups, and by promoting a decidedly modernist and secularist understanding of one’s religious and cultural heritage. The analysis which this approach is based upon can be resumed quite succinctly. Regime officials have repeatedly declared themselves convinced that it is actually necessity, i.e. down-to-earth socio-economic concerns, much more than ideology, lofty politico-religious idea(l)s, that drive ‘Political Islam’. From their point of view, the Islamist movement is actually made up of a small handful of ideologues plus a large number of sympathizers. Their simple solution to the problem is thus to suppress the former and co-opt the latter. Or, to put it differently, to be tough on fundamentalists, and on the factors that produce them. This realist reading of the driving factors behind the Islamic questions is probably one major reason why the Benalist regime has been so far been ‘successful’ (from its own perspective) in coming to 262 terms with it. 262 At the same time, Tunisian officials never tire to point out that there are also other factors that power ‘Political Islam’: ‘injustice’, as exemplified by the Western double 289

2. The ‘Politics of Culture’: Change and Continuity The policy of the regime not only aimed to sow the seeds of discord and break up the ranks of the MTI while, in parallel, closing the ranks of their own troops and giving them a sense of purpose; it also aimed to pave the way for a wholesale redefinition of Tunisian culture which could eventually provide the Benalist regime with a new legitimacy, and the future polity 263 with a new identity. The basic ingredients of this ‘new culture’ were already visible in the early days of the New Regime (e.g. from the corresponding paragraphs of the national pact), but were further fleshed out according to the circumstances of the situation (cf. also ‘Afîf al-Bûnî: “About the Cultural Policy of the New Tunisia” (Ar.Or.). Al-Hayât ath-Thaqâfiyya Vol. 22, No. 81, 01/1997, p. 4-14). First, the political culture of the ‘New Tunisia’ is still essentially nationalist. It is the loyalty to the nation state and eo ipso the adherence to one political community that have provided (some) common ground for the political elites under both regimes, and thereby limited the intensity of conflicts among them. In their eyes, al-watan (Arabic for ‘homeland’ or ‘fatherland’) is (and should remain) the focal point of one's identity and loyalty; it is the main source of authority, legitimacy, and unity, that overrules any other allegiance (be it religion, tribe, or class) and interlinks the three constituent elements of the Bourguibist Republic: nation, party, andstate. The nation (party) state is thus still the main point of reference, and not only for the large majority of political actors, but also for the overwhelming majority of adult Tunisians. The only thing that continues to be contested is the precise 264 content of these concepts and their significance for politics. standards to regional issues and its (non)reaction vis-à-vis the Palestinian plight; ‘misery’, exacerbated by the unfair terms of the international trading order and the constant deepening of the income gap between North and South; the racist treatment of many migrants in their European host countries; and the growing ‘criminalization’ of illegal migration by European governments. From this perspective, the West also strengthens Islamism (albeit inadvertently and indirectly), by providing asylum to ‘terrorists’, and by binding the hands of those states which, like Tunisia, are trying to fight them. Thus, in other words, the policies of the West are actually part of the problem, not a solution to it. 263 The reform of the education system under the leadership of Mohamed Charfi was attributed a key role in this regard. As the latter pointed out one year after his nomination at the head of the ministry, “le facteur culturel est aujourd’hui d’une importance considérable. Or, qui dit culture dit éducation. Et qui s’occupe de l’école (…) détient le pouvoir de façonner l’homme de demain” (Mohamed Charfi: “Mon combat contre les islamistes”. JA 1530, 30/04/90, p. 18-22). 264 Readers must be reminded once again that there are no palpable infra-state or suprastate forces in Tunisia working for a decentralization and federalization of the existing nation state or vice versa for its integration and dissolution into a broader political community. 290

Second, the national identity as defended by the Destourian establishment is still essentially secularist. Since the victory of Bourguibism over Youssefism, mainstream political thinking of the ruling party-state elites has held that culture constitutes the nucleus and essence of the national entity and identity. According to this view, Tunisian culture is both multi-dimensional and timeless. Even though it has constantly seen (and sometimes suf fered) the arrival of newcomers, their contributions have always been appropriated and assimilated by the locals. These inputs have supplemented and enriched Tunisian culture, but not supplanted or replaced it. The fact that the Tunisian nation draws on a common heritage which goes far beyond the Islamic era means that culture is essential, and religion accidental. No movement exclusively based on religion can thus claim to represent the 265 Tunisian nation and society in their entirety and integrality. There are three main building blocks that underpin the new regime’s ‘cultural discourse’: Cartage, as the ‘main antagonist of Roman imperialism’ and a ‘major champion of Mediterranean free trade’; the rationalist, protosecularist traditions in Arab-Islamic thinking; and the reformist-nationalist movements of the 19th and 20th centuries. These three reference points not only symbolize the three ‘key virtues’ of the Bourguibo-Destourian Republic (nationalism, secularism, and modernism), but also denote its three ‘arch-enemies’ (colonialism, obscurantism, and isolationism). They are thus not only meant to re-affirm the regime’s embeddedness in Tunisia’s history, but also to re-assure the various stakeholders of its social coalition. It must be noted, however, that the selection of the symbols that structure the discourse of the regime, and the meaning they are attributed, differ to some extent from those characterizing the ‘Era Bourguiba’. This holds true in particular for two of them: Carthage and Islam.

ISLAM The first major difference between the ‘two eras’ is their respective handling of the ‘Islamic question’ (cf. also Camau 1981; Cherif 1994; Faath 2008a; Rogers 2009). Contrary to his predecessor, Ben Ali has been eager to re-appro266 priate religious symbols and re-integrate them into public life. Since the 265 As then presidential adviser Sadok Chabaane stated: “The civilizations which followed each other and mingled with each other, did not replace or supersede it [Tunisian culture, S.E.], but stimulated it, enriched it, and finally dissolved in its melting pot” (Sha'bân 1997: 41). 266 There is also an important difference in the political style of both rulers: While Bourguiba tried to present himself as an ‘imâm’ or ‘‘âlim’, a sage who aims to re-interprete and modernize Islam, Ben Ali depicts himself as an ‘amîr’, a ruler who simply means to represent and protect it. As such, he is often shown on pictures and in tele291

‘Change’, Islam is praised as being an integral part of Tunisia’s cultural heritage that ought to be treated as such. According to this view, the ‘true, real Islam’ (or at least its local, Tunisian variant) is an open-minded, forwardoriented, non-aggressive religion that has always been exposed to, and respectful of, other denominations and cultures (and receptive to new ideas). From this perspective, any form of ‘extremism’ and ‘intolerance’ is not only alien to the spirit of Islam, but also to the culture of Tunisia as such. Any interpretation which deviates from and challenges this reading has to be regarded and rejected as ‘un-Islamic’, or at least as ‘un-Tunisian’. The kind of Islam which the new rulers around Ben Ali advocate is thus a purely apolitical Islam. From their point of view, religion governs the relationship that exists between man and god, that is, it defines the transcen dental context in which a human being lives at a given place and time. It also shapes the norms and values of a society as well as the behavior and interaction of its members, but it neither specifies a concrete social order nor a specific political system. Since the Tunisian Islam represents nothing but a by-product of culture and history, it cannot be considered a blueprint for society or the state. What really matters is the will of the people, the “source of both sovereignty and authority” (Ben Ali), which is embodied by the state and its party ‒ and by nobody but them. This all betrays an essentially secular approach to all religious affairs. From this point of view, Islam is the religion of the state, the state is the guardian of Islam, and not the other way round. It may chose to promote religious symbols and values, as being part of the national heritage and identity, but only because it feels obliged, not because it is obliged to do so. As Ben Ali pointed out in his opening speech at the Congrès du Salut in 1988, “il incombe à l'Etat et à lui seul de veiller à l'épannouissement et au rayonne ment de l'islam” (quoted in Leveau 1989: 7). This means that his aim is to create an ‘Islam d’Etat’, “mais avec la ferme intention de le laisser entre les mains de fonctionnaires sous contrôle et non de gestionnaires auto-proclamés des valeurs communes” (Leveau 89: 6). It is obvious that a party based on religion has no place in such a world view. In fact, the official standpoint has remained from an early point that Islam should not become an object of politics and that Political Islam has thus no ‘droit de cité’ in their country. As Ben Ali pointed out in his second anniversary speech, “la démocratie tunisienne ne saurait mélanger religion et politique. L’islam ne peut devenir objet de surenchère ni servir a fortiori de tremplin pour accéder au pouvoir. Il n’est pas d’autre défenseur de la relivision dressed in traditional white garb, performing the hajj (the pilgrimage to Mecca), praying in a mosque, visiting a zaouia (a place of worship situated over the tomb of a saint), etc. ‒ a conduct unheard of and unthinkable under Bourguiba. 292

gion des Tunisiens que l’Etat, l’Etat des tous les Tunisiens. C’est pourquoi nous disons à ceux qui confondent religion et politique qu’il n’y a pas de place pour un parti religieux” (Quoted in Zyad Liman: “Tunisie: La fermeté de Ben Ali”. JA 1507, 20/11/89, p. 22-23). Thus, in the years after the ‘Change’, the regime developed a discourse of self-legitimation that reflected its discourse of delegitimation vis-à-vis the Islamists. It hinged on a notion that Islam was a key factor of national unity and should therefore remain above contestation. In doing so, it was able to appeal to the strong consensualist-unaninimist traditions in Tunisian sociopolitical culture. This meant that “the regime was able from the outset to locate the dynamics of outbidding in the context of its constructed consensus” (Rogers 2009: 15). Thus, the symbolical-discursive exclusion of Political Islam from the national community preceded and actually prepared the political-physical repression of its representatives on the ground. Officially, it is possible for any Tunisian to promote Islamic concerns, but only within the framework of the party-state, not without, and only in unison with its ideology, not against it. It is thus regarded as inadmissible to (ab)use religious symbols for the pursuance of political purposes, and even more so to build up a constituency in society which might one day be able to rival the power of the state. In fact, from the point of view of the regime, Political Islam is ‘une et indivisible’; there are neither ‘moderates’ nor ‘radicals’, only different shades of the latter. Therefore, Islamists may from this perspective differ on a tactical level (i.e. on which is the best way to reach their goals), but not on a strategic level (i.e. on the goals as such). Ultimately, they all aim to gain control over the state, and then use it to Islamize society ‘from above’. Mongi Bousnina, a former minister of education and director-general of the ALECSO (the Arab League equivalent of the UNESCO) has aptly resumed this position: “Nous sommes résolument convaincus en Tunisie que l’intégrisme est ‘un’. Il n’y a intégrisme modéré, ni intégrisme violent. Si distinctions il doit y avoir, nous les refusons (…). Nous estimons que l’intégrisme n’est pas soluble dans la démarche démocratique, dans la démocratie, contrairement à ce que pensent certains (…). Nous estimons qu’en Tunisie, nous n’avons pas affaire, en ce qui concerne l’intégrisme, à une rationalité, mais nous sommes là plutôt dans le domaine du sacré, du religieux que nous refusons d’impliquer dans la gestion des affaires courantes du Musulman ou du Tunisien” (Bousnina 1997: 26-27). Thus, a relatively differentiated, realist reading of the root causes of Political Islam as a social phenomenon contrasts with an entirely monolithic, static treatment of its concrete manifestations as a political movement. As we have seen, this attitude has not seen any major variations until the present 293

time. There are still no truly independent faith-based organizations (foundations, charities, parties, etc.) on Tunisian soil, contrary to what is observable in other countries of the region. Apart from the wholesale release of Islamist prisoners in recent years, there are still no overtures whatsoever by the Benalist regime. Finally, there are still no perceptible controversies within the regime elites on this particular issue, contrary what happened in the years before 1987. This stagnant attitude vis-à-vis such a crucial issue is even more extraordinary when taking into account the spectacular advance of religious symbols which is observable on all levels of daily life since a couple of years.

CARTHAGE Another major difference between both regimes is Ben Ali’s much stronger focus on pre-modern times (cf. also Sha’ban 1997 and Erdle 2001b). In fact, since the first half of the 1990s at latest (i.e. since the regime’s paradigmatic change in foreign relations), the country’s Phoenician period has become the overriding reference point in the regime’s cultural discourse (which is also reflected in the structure and content of school curricula and text books). Since then, Carthage is officially depicted as the ‘cradle’ of the Tunisian nation, the birthplace of its particular identity, and the root basis of its essentially secular, Mediterranean culture, which constitutes a paramount source of inspiration and guidance for all its contemporary politicians and leaders. From this point of view, the Phoenicians acquired their power and wealth because (and not instead) of their resolute openness to the outside world, and contemporary Tunisians will know a similar success if they follow their historic example: “The climate of freedom and openness which characterized that time and contributed to the excellence of Carthage is returning today in the framework of the [Euro-Mediterranean] Partnership and globalization. We Tunisians need to regard them as a door [leading] to excellence, and as a space [conducive] to innovation. The more competition and the more freedom of initiative there is for individuals and enterprises, the stronger Carthage before and Tunisia today have been” (Sha'bân 1997: 28). Especially Hannibal, the great Phoenician leader, has become the symbol of the ‘New Era’, and is implicitly presented as an alter ego of Ben Ali. This is not least due to his dual background as a soldier and a diplomat, who combined both military and political skills. “Hannibal had a Mediterranean project in his mind, a sea of peace, co-operation, and security, in which nobody would have [a position of] hegemony. This is exactly what we want [to achieve]” (ibid: 24-25). “Hannibal never meant to destroy Rome, he never aimed to replace its hegemony in the Mediterranean basin with his own. On 294

the contrary, he wanted to create a new, more pluralistic, order in the Mediterranean region, which would be based on co-existence and co-operation. (…) As such, he was a real precursor of the Mediterranean idea” (ibid: 25-26). In short, Carthage is used as a symbol that stands for tolerance, modernity, and prosperity, for a powerful, non-aggressive, pan-Mediterranean trading nation, that was culturally cosmopolitan, technologically developed, and commercially integrated. Therefore, Carthage not only epitomizes the essence of the Tunisian ‘being’ as developed in the course of time, but also symbolizes the national renaissance as exemplified by the ‘New Era’. The Phoenician reference not only serves as a ‘missing link’ between the various components of Tunisian identity, but also between the different dimensions of regime policy. It is not only apt to explain the specificity and uniqueness of Tunisian culture, but also to legitimize its contingency and embeddedness. It not only allows them to distinguish themselves from ‘Roman’ (read: European) imperialism, but also from ‘Oriental’ (read: Islamist) theocracy, both of which are depicted as essentially aggressive, intolerant, meddlesome, and hence extraneous ideologies and civilizations.

CONCLUSION The new rulers around Ben Ali have thus preserved several essential ingredients of Bourguibo-Destourian ideology, in particular their unwavering commitment to the territory-based nation state, and to a culture-based national identity. At the same time, they have modified quite substantially some of the main building blocks which used to make up official discourse, leading to a much stronger focus on both the Phoenician legacy, and the Islamic heritage. The ‘Tunisianité’ as construed by the regime transcends Islam, but does not exclude it. It proceeds from a civilizational project that is firmly embedded in the wider setting of the Mediterranean basin, and thereby discards all political claims that are based on a monolithic reading of one’s national identity. This way of thinking and speaking is actually a clever mix of identity and alterity. It is sufficiently inclusive to reach out towards practically all potential allies, both at home and abroad, but sufficiently exclusive to fend off one’s main rivals, once again both within and without. In fact, since Bourguiba's time the insistence on both the Arabo-Islamic and the Euro-Mediterranean dimensions of Tunisia's identity has served various goals at the same time. In has been part of strategies to mobilize the ‘popular masses’ against the colonialist enterprise; to integrate one's struggle into the wider context of anti-colonial resistance and third-world developmentalism; to 295

substantiate one’s claim to political leadership of the future republic; and, last but not least, to de-legitimize competing claims of other political actors. Such a multi-faceted reading of one’s cultural legacy offers a number of advantages. It is congruent with the country’s objective geo-strategic position, situated at the crossroads between the European and African continents on the one hand, and between the Eastern and Western Mediterranean seas on the other. And it can be combined as a discursive tool with the country’s recent history, which is characteristic of the challenges and constraints facing a former European colony on the one hand, and a peripheral developing economy on the other.

This allows Tunisian political elites to continuously shift between vari ous symbolic registers: an ‘occidentalist’ discourse, be it economic (‘frontrunner of liberalization’) or ecumenic (‘land of tolerance’); a nationalist dis course, drawing either on one’s Tunisian heritage or on one’s Arab identity; and a ‘third-world’ discourse, directed against economic dependency and political ‘remote control’. It also allows to sow the seeds of discord and split the ranks of one’s adversaries, and to build bridges toward and take on board new political allies ‒ but without compromising the political cohesion of one’s own ruling coalition, or jeopardizing one’s privileged relations with powerful external actors. Short, such a reading offers several assets: it is not only compatible with the notions of secular nationalism and industrial modernity as cherished by large numbers of Tunisian citizens, but also with Tunisia's opening towards the EU and the world market at large as advo267 cated by important parts of Ben Ali's regime coalition. It is important to understand that this discourse has been instrumental for gaining the necessary political and financial support of important domestic and external players. Combating Islamism and protecting the Republic (particularly with regard to the preservation of the existing civil code and the maintenance of the secular political system) have become the cornerstones of the regime's pact with the urban, secular bourgeoisie (including many leftist-nationalists oppositionists and civil society activists) on the one hand, and with major foreign powers (especially Western governments and international financial institutions) on the other. At the same time, ‘rehabilitating’ the place of Islam in society and ‘reinvigorating’ the use of Arabic in public have become the watchwords for the regime's truce with not just the mildly conservative (‘traditionalist’) groups in Tunisian society, but also with the various modernist (‘progressive’) currents in Islamic revivalism. 267 Importantly, this deliberate bifurcation of the political landscape has also contributed to (temporarily?) marginalizing more subtle and politically autonomous voices at a social level (such as Mohamed Talbi, Hichem Djait, Abdelwahab Meddeb, and others). 296

3. The ‘Republic of Tomorrow’: Change and Continuity At the same time, the new rulers around Ben Ali have promoted a thorough redefinition of some key notions of the former political era. In doing so, they made clear that they saw themselves as the legitimate political heirs of the Bourguibo-Destourian ‘project’, even though the latter would need to be modified somewhat in order to keep pace with the evolution of the country, and the world at large. In this sense, their ultimate objective was tashîh (‘correction’ or ‘rectification’) rather than tahwîl (‘conversion’ or ‘transformation’); they aimed for the restoration of the republic in its original, pristine form, minus the errors committed by the late, ailing Bourguiba. As a result, they have both built upon, and departed from, previous ideas concerning the role which the state should play in society, and the norms which should guide the conduct of that state. The first major politico-ideological parallel is their statist-elitist worldview. ‘Their’ state continues to be the ‘father’ and the ‘guide’ of the nation, the guardian of its integrity and independence, and the warrant for its development and well-being. The party in turn continues to be the ‘école de la nation’, the only legitimate manifestation of the ‘true Tunisia’, the rallying point for all ‘respectable citizens’, and the training ground for all future political leaders. The ‘elites’ organized in the party-state complex continue to represent the ‘crème de la crème’, the ‘best and brightest’, of the nation, who are called upon to lead the ‘rank-and-file’, the ‘man on the street’. They not only have the right but even the duty to advance and develop society. This happens in co-ordination and co-operation between state and party whereby the former provides the instruments (or the ‘hardware’) and the latter the ideology (or the ‘software’). The President of the Republic is still attributed a key role in this political model, one which places him above all other players in the political game. He continues to epitomize the unity of the country and the cohesion of the nation, both of which gather under the banner of the party and behind the leadership of its chairman. He also continues to ensure the smooth working of a political system that constantly necessitates the mediating services of a ‘supreme arbiter’. Thus, Ben Ali, very much like his predecessor, still combines various symbolic registers and social roles. He is not only ‘ra’îs’ (the head of the modern state and the chairman of the ruling party), but also ‘amîr’ (a military commander) and ‘za’îm’ (a tribal chieftain) (cf. also the last chapters for a comparative analysis and appraisal of the political styles and images of both Bourguiba, and Ben Ali). The second politico-ideological parallel is their corporatist-functionalist worldview. From this point of view, society is basically comparable to a 297

body, which is equipped with different limbs and organs, each of whom performs specific but separate tasks and roles. Each of them ought to complement and not compete with each other in order to ensure the efficient and organic functioning of the nation- (and party-) state. “The brain (the government) and the nervous system (the party) control these parts and make sure they work harmoniously together to achieve a desired end (…). They must work harmoniously together; just as one’s arms and legs cannot be at odds with one another if one is to walk, so too the functioning parts of the soci ety must be coordinated for the body to live healthily” (Richards & Waterbury 1996: 337). To this end, Tunisian citizens are still lumped together, according to their socio-economic or socio-professional backgrounds, into so-called national or popular organizations (like the UTICA, UGTT, UTAP, and UNFT). These are heavily centralized and hierarchical corporations that were either created by the state or are at least controlled by it. Their main tasks consist of communicating and mediating between their members and the state and, by doing so, help avert or alleviate potential conflicts between and among them. Their role resembles that of a transmission belt and a feedback channel, which not only serves to ensure a (more or less) peaceful co-existence and interaction between their members’ interests and the state’s agendas, but also helps safeguarding the stability and persistence of the regime and the system as a whole. However, it must also be noted that these concepts of the party-state have also undergone a number of changes. Unlike before, the party should be a mirror rather than a motor of society, and the former ought to reflect the latter rather than attempting to transform it. Similarly, the state should continue to advance and modernize society, but en douceur and in harmony with its traditions. It should continue to educate and ameliorate society, but without brutalizing and traumatizing it. This all means that both state and party should remain elevated above the citizenry, but stop being detached from them. In other words, they want a Hobbesian, not a Jacobean state. This corresponds to another redefinition that has taken place since 1987 concerning the role of the state in society: from being an administrator and regulator of social and economic affairs to being an arbiter and facilitator of societal and political processes (which shall be discussed in more detail in the next chapter).

TUNISIAN DEMOCRACY: INTEGRALITY & INCREMENTALITY With the re-establishment of political stability, and the achievement of (relative) economic prosperity by the mid-1990s, the original promises of the new rulers ‒ namely liberty and democracy ‒ made their way back again on 298

the political agenda. The regime elites have reacted with a two-pronged response: essentially, they have tried to defuse the discourse dealing with basic liberties, human rights, democracy, and the rule of law, by promoting an understanding that is more compatible with their own outlook and their own agenda. The official reading hinges on three main pillars: ‘comprehensiveness’, ‘interdependency’, and ‘incrementalism’ (cf. also Ziyad Limam: “La démocratie contre les islamistes”. JA 1647, 30/07/92, p. 6-9; François Soudan: “Ben Ali et les Droits de l’Homme”. JA 1648, 06/08/92, p. 18-20; Dominique Mataillet: “Les femmes contre les frères”. JA 1655, 24/09/92, p. 42-44). First, representatives of the regime always insist on the comprehensiveness of these concepts. For them, human rights are not limited to ‘1 st generation rights’ (civic and political rights guaranteeing the private property and physical integrity of citizens; such as the right to vote and run in elections; and the right of free information, expression, worship, association, and assembly) but they must also include ‘2 nd and 3rd generation rights’ (economic and social rights guaranteeing the physical well-being and the social inclusion of citizens; such as the right to live, work, drink, and eat; and the right to have proper health care, education, housing, water, electricity, etc.) (cf. also the report on ‘Les Droits de l’Homme en Tunisie: Choix et Réalisations’, prepared by the Supreme Council of Human Rights and Fundamental Liberties, accessible at www.tunisieinfo.com/documents/choix/sommaire.html). As Ben Ali himself made quite clear in a speech he held on 12 May 1992 at the European Parliament, “pour nous, il n’y a pas lieu de faire la moindre distinction entre les divers droits de l’homme en privilégiant une catégorie par rapport aux autres. Nos efforts sont axés sur la garantie du droit à l’ali mentation, à l’emploi, à la santé, à l’enseignement, au logement, à la protection de l’enfance et de la famille et au soutien aux handicapés et aux catégories démunies, tout autant que sur la garantie de la liberté d’expression, d’opinion, d’information, de l’égalité entre les individus, de la non-discrimination et du droit à l’organisation associative et politique” (partially reproduced on www.tunisieinfo.com/documents/choix/sommaire.html; note that the order of objectives is highly indicative of the priorities of the regime). Second, the representatives of the regime always stress the interdependency of these concepts. In their eyes, there is a direct link between democracy and development. This means that only citizens who enjoy the necessary degree of physical security and psychical maturity are likely to be immune to the ‘fateful lure’ of ‘extremist forces’, and will thus be able to exercise their social and political rights in a ‘serene’ and ‘responsible’ way. At the same time, responsible citizenship not only includes rights and liberties, but also duties and obligations. This means that having a ‘sense of responsi bility’ vis-à-vis the state must go hand in hand with having the right to par299

ticipate in politics (a point which can be found in practically all public state ments of Ben Ali). “We are convinced that the success of any approach depends on its respect for the specific nature of each society. Accordingly, we have built our approach on a comprehensive and integrated notion of human rights, in which civil and political rights are interwoven with social, economic and cultural rights. In other words, we have rejected the uneven treatment of the different aspects of human rights. All the aspects of human rights are equally important and all of them complement each other. Our effort is therefore focused on guaranteeing the rights to employment, food, education, healthcare, social security, child and family protection, and support for vulnerable categories in society, as much as it is focused on guaranteeing freedom of expression, and freedom from discrimination” (Interview with Ben Ali: “Democracy is the End Result of a Historical Process”. Middle East Insight, 19/06/00). Third, the regime plans to attain its goals in stages, which includes pursuing a careful, gradualist, and pragmatic approach toward the democracy, liberty and rule of law objective. Such a sequencing must take into account the traditions of society: it must essentially take a ‘bottom-up’ direction (i.e. first lay the foundations for democracy at the level of society), and then allow it to ‘trickle up’ (i.e. to work its way through the institutions of the state and into the realm of politics). And it must be a ‘security-first’ approach: it must not open the ‘floodgates’ for participation and expression too quickly (as the Algerians had ‘foolishly’ done in their country), and never let the ‘enemies of liberty and democracy’ (the official term for the various proponents of Political Islam) take control of the process. ”The development of democracy is very much a matter of education and of progressing step by step. Doing this does not mean there is no freedom or justice. Doing it by stages means first introducing it at the level of the schools and to avoid making wrong steps. In this we are being successful. Democracy is a matter of mentality and a way of life. People have to be taught. Democracy is an overall concept. It is not just politics but also health care, housing and the right to a job. There cannot be democracy without development, and there cannot be development without democracy. But freedom of expression alone does not necessarily bring jobs and drinking water for the people. If people are not mentally prepared for democracy, it could be a disaster” (Interview with Ben Ali, Financial Times, 27/07/94). The advantage of this approach is that it allows the Benalist regime to capture the discursive techniques of its critics and rivals, while neutralizing the mounting demands for more liberty and participation: “L’insertion du pluralisme dans le consensus, des mutations de la société dans le cadre du 300

‘consensus évolutif et créatif’, du droit individuel dans le droit collectif, de l’intérêt politique particulier dans l’intérêt économique général, trouve une traduction et une explication discursives dans l’inversion des liens de causalité entre démocratie et développement. Désormais, la démocratie n’est plus le préalable mais la résultante du développement économique et social, justifiant une ‘modernisation autoritaire’ en faveur de l’établissement futur de la démocratie” (Cavallo 2002: 62). The official Tunisian understanding of ‘building democracy’ basically means ‘not excluding anyone’; that is, to allow all social groups, regions, and age cohorts, to participate in regime institutions, policy making, and resource allocation (at least up to a certain point). This is a view that visibly strikes a chord with people and finds its expression in society (as shown by the use most of my interlocutors made of the term ‘democracy’). It also takes up and builds upon the principles and promises of the early republic (before it was ‘abandoned’ or ‘distorted’ at a later stage). Remunerative inclusiveness and even-handedness, and distributive justice and equality, have thus become essential aspects of Ben Ali’s political legitimacy, and serve as major distinguishing factors vis-à-vis the ancient regime. This is also why women’s rights are given such a paramount role in the regime’s discourse. Ben Ali himself once made clear that “there can be no democracy without the participation of women, and the rights of women are an essential feature of human rights” (Interview with Ben Ali: “Democracy Is the End Result of a Historical Process”. Middle East Insight, 19/06/ 00). And the ‘First Lady’ pointed out in a speech about the role of women in Tunisian society which she held in the framework of the 20 th anniversary of the ‘Change’: “La femme tunisienne représente un symbole lumineux de la modernité de notre société, un pilier bien ancré de son identité authentique, un puissant rempart pour nos valeurs et principes civilisationnels séculaires et un bouclier invulnérable face à l'extrémisme, le fanatisme et le repli sur soi” (Leila Trabelsi quoted in Beau & Graciet 2009: 28). The regime thus presents itself as the only bulwark capable of preventing an Islamist takeover, and preserving the real self of Tunisian society (including the civic nature of 268 its state).

CIVIL SOCIETY: COMPLEMENTARITY AND PARTNERSHIP In parallel to this redefinition of ‘democracy à la tunisienne’, civil society 268 Cf. also Luiza Toscane & Olfa Lamloum: “Les femmes, alibi du pouvoir tunisien”. Le Monde Diplomatique, 01/06/98, p. 3; Special Dossier: “La Tunisie au féminin”. JA 2177, 30/09/02, p. 53-79; “Les femmes entre le pouvoir et les islamistes”, Le Monde, 11/11/02, p. 16) for further information on this issue. 301

has become another key term of the regime’s political discourse. In fact, non-governmental organizations are increasingly depicted as a new ‘third force’ that can play a potentially helpful role in public life. They can be an ally of the state in its struggle against ‘fanatism’ and ‘obscurantism’, complementing and reinforcing the efforts of the public authorities to contain and reverse the advance of the Islamist ‘threat’. NGOs can also be a partner of the state in its quest for ‘development’ and ‘modernization’, taking over a number of tasks which the state is no longer willing (or able) to perform. In this way, civil society is seen as both a congenial expression, and a necessary corollary, of the liberalization of the economy, and the pluralization of society. This dual vocation of civil society becomes visible from Ben Ali’s statement at a party colloqium in the early days of his rule: “Il appartient à la société civile (…) de consacrer les lois de la concurrence et du dialogue et de s'opposer à tous les agissements allant à contre-courant du consensus natio nal” (Quoted in AAN 1989: 695). The same ‘bias’ can also be gleaned from several other statements Ben Ali has made in this regard: “We do not regard NGOs as just forums for expressing views, aspirations, and feelings, but also as a partner in the process of development, poverty eradication, and implementation of sustainable development” (Interview with Ben Ali: “Democracy Is the End Result of a Historical Process”. Middle East Insight, 19/06/00). It is obvious, however, that the regime authorities primarily attribute NGOs a complementary role. They are regarded as assistants, amplifiers and multipliers, for government activities, and not as correctives, watchdogs or counter-weights to state power. This becomes clear when having a closer look at the topical focus of those associations which have received the goahead from the ministry of the interior since the beginning of the 1990s, as well as from the increasing amounts of financial assistance that have accrued to civil society groups from the public budget over the past decade. It is obvious that the regime elites are primarily interested in cooperating with non-political, single-issue groups whose activities are strictly complementary with their own purposes, and not with those that may become a nuisance at some stage. In this sense, Ben Ali’s understanding of civil society is a slightly revamped version of the previous concept of ‘national associations’. The main difference is that this time, their role has been extended into the realm of politics, albeit with a number of qualifications: “La société civile est considérée comme le corollaire sur la scène publique du pluralisme social, compensateur d’un pluralisme politique défaillant” (Bras 1996: 177). The functions of civil society, in the view of the regime, are that of a ‘transmission belt’ to accompany government policies, and that of a ‘fig leaf’ to (partly) offset a de302

ficitary political pluralism. “The autonomy of associations in Tunisia is made strictly conditional upon their dedication to serving the ‘national interest’, with the ‘national interest’ defined by the regime itself” (Bellin 1995: 141).

CONCLUSION For the first time, the ruling elites have explicitly conceded that the increasing complexity of Tunisian society can no longer be adequately represented within the institutional-ideological framework of the party-state. Hence the need to provide for an opening of the system, give a legal status to political parties other than the Destour, and open the public space for actors other than the state. But at the same time, they have introduced several safety valves in their political discourse. First, they insist on the necessity of pursuing an approach which is both gradualist and pragmatic; in principle, people are ‘politically mature’, but in practice, they need ‘further preparation’. Second, they stress the need to maintain a balance between collective (economic) rights and individual (political) rights; for them, freedom of expression and right to vote are useless, if not counter-productive, unless the physical survival and basic needs of people are guaranteed. Comprehensiveness and cautiousness are thus the key words characterizing the strategy and discourse of the regime. This approach offers several advantages. It allows them to dampen complaints and criticism both at home and abroad about the ‘sluggishness’ of the opening and the ‘insufficiency’ of the process. It also enables them to gloss over the most critical deficiencies on the political side, particularly with regard to the numerous still existing restrictions on public liberties or the uneven treatment of political actors. They do this by pointing to the tangible advances in the socio-economic realm, particularly in poverty reduction, public literacy, and gender equality. This strategy also allows them to appease some of their allies and partners within and outside, who would probably like the opening to accelerate and the regime to become more democratic, but are afraid of a destabilization of the country and of a replication of the Algerian scenario. Regime representatives thus argue that by enacting gradual, controlled change at a socio-economic level, they are also laying the basis for a democratic transition to materialize in the longer run. The main advantage which the above approach offers, however, is that it allows the regime elites to simultaneously cater to very heterogeneous, and sometimes even to outright contradictory, interests and agendas both at home, and abroad. This enhances their own political standing and support base, as well as their freedom of choice and capacity for maneuvering. At the same time, it allows them to establish themselves as the controller at the 303

interface of all of these forces, who is able to determine which direction reforms take in the first place, which aims they pursue above all things, how fast they progress, and how far they extend. Thus, even though the regime elites are not always the main drivers of this process, they always remain in the driver's seat. As Rogers has rightly pointed out, “Ben Ali did not conceptualize democracy as an end in itself or as a mechanims of popular control of the government. Instead, by yoking the concepts of legality, democracy, and development to the notion of consensus and unity behind the regime, democracy was conceptualized and used as an instrument of cooptation” (2009: 12). At the same time, it must be noted that neither the old nor the new rulers have ever questioned the existence of (or the need for) a strong, hegemonic, transformatory state (able to ensure the development of the country) that is underpinned by an equally strong, disciplined, unitary party (able to maintain the cohesion of the nation). As Mongi Bousnina once reminded his audience, “nous avons plus que jamais besoin de ce qu’on pourrait appeler un Etat fort, garant de cette cohésion mais s’appuyant sur des élites éclairées. Et la Tunisie a toujours évolué grâce à des élites éclairées mais qui se sont appuyées sur un Etat à l’écoute, au contact, un Etat de proximité, ou, comme on dit aujourd’hui, un Etat citoyen. C’est la condition essentielle pour que cet Etat fonctionne de manière cohérente et continue à tirer le pays vers le haut, continue à faire évoluer les populations vers le mieuxêtre” (Bousnina 1997: 28). With this, the new regime elites present themselves as the direct political heirs of a state-society relationship which had emerged during the second half of the 19th century under the reform movement around Kheireddine Pasha, and which was continued in the first half of the 20 th century by the national movement around Habib Bourguiba. All of them regarded the political elites located in the national capital and controlling the central state as the main carriers and catalysts of social progress and modernity. This worldview, which reflects the trajectory of the country for almost one hundred and fifty years (and which shall be discussed more closely in the final chapter), has become a political experience inscribed into the collective memory of Tunisians. As we have already seen, it is not just shared by the supporters of the state-party, but also by the followers of the political opposition themselves.

4. The Institutionalization of Political Pluralism These changes did not remain confined to the realm of discourse, but were also gradually and partially extended into the realm of politics (cf. also Axt304

mann 2007 for an overview). The first step in this process was the establish ment of a multi-party system via the legalization of opposition parties and 269 their admission to parliamentary elections. The system which resulted from these reforms, however, remains excessively biased in favor the Destour and its chairman, with two factors playing a key role in this regard. The first is the maintenance of single-list majority voting for parliamentary elections (meaning that the victorious list wins all the seats attributed to a circumscription). And the second is the continuance of the parraînage system for presidential elections (requiring eligible candidates to present the written support of at least 30 deputies of the national assembly or 30 presidents of local councils). This is an insurmountable hurdle for opposition politicians, which can only be overcome with the help of presidential concessions. These make it practically impossible for opposition candidates to win in open battle against regime representatives, once again for two reasons. The first is the non-separation of the powers in place (particularly as regards the state administration and public sector organizations, the judicial power and security forces, and the audiovisual media and news agencies) which means that these institutions can always interfere in favor of the ‘official’ candidates, and modify the outcome of the electoral ‘contest’. And the second is the fragmentation and insulation of the opposition (which has been described in more detail in the previous chapter), whose political reach and support base does not really extend beyond the educated classes of the coastal 270 cities. The second step in this process was the creation of a block party system through the reservation of parliamentary quotas for legal opposition parties, 271 and the provision of material assistance from the state’s own resources. Following the presidential decisions of 1993, 1998, 2003, and 2008, legal opposition parties were further on offered a fixed, pre-defined percentage of all parliamentary mandates (starting in 1994 for the national assembly and extended in 2000 to the municipal assemblies). Moreover, following an ad hoc 269 Milestones were the adoption of a party law in 1988; the amendment of the Constitution in 1988, 1997, 1999, and 2002; as well as the modification of the electoral code in 1988, 1990, 1993, 1997, 1999, 2003, and 2008. 270 The electoral commission is actually exclusively composed of state nominees: it is chaired by a magistrate nominated by the ministry of justice; another member represents the governor; and the remaining three members are nominated by the ministry of the interior. The same system is used for each polling commission which is chaired by the governor; another member represents the ministry of justice; and the remaining three members are nominated by the ministry of the interior. 271 Milestones were the amendment of the electoral code in 1993 and 1998; the regulation of party financing by law 97-48 of July 1997 and decree 98-479 of February 1998, followed by law 99-27 of March 1999 and decree 99-762 of April 1999. 305

suppression of the parraînage requirements, opposition candidates were also, for first time in Tunisian history, admitted to presidential elections (starting in 1999 and continued in 2004 and 2009). At the same time, the regime offered parties enjoying legal status (and particularly those represented in the national assembly) substantial material assistance. According to the presidential decrees of 1994, 1997, and 1999, every party represented in the national assembly receives a non-negligible transfer from the state budget, which included in 2004 an annual lump sum of TD 60.000 (plus an additional TD 5.000 for every MP it has), plus a partial or total refunding of party overheads and operational costs (office, personnel, publishing, campaigning etc.). On top of this, every MP receives a very attractive pay package consisting at that time of a monthly salary of TD 1.500, plus various other privileges (such as a special pension scheme, preferential bank credits, an official car, special housing etc.). The regime also went out of its way to sever all links between the different politically relevant actor groups and elite segments both at home, and abroad, and thereby prevent a potentially uncontrolled proliferation of political influence and resistance potential. Thus, the law states that “il est interdit à tout candidat de recevoir une assistance matérielle de toute partie étrangère directement ou indirectement, et à quelque titre ou nature que ce soit. Toute infraction aux dispositions du paragraphe précédent entraîne la condamnation du concerné d’une peine d’emprisonnement d’un an à trois ans et d’une amende de trois à dix mille dinars ou de l’une de ces deux peines seulement; et la perte automatique, dès le prononcé du jugement, de la qualité de candidat ou de la qualité d’élu en cas de proclamation des résultats du scrutin” (Art. 62b of the electoral code as amended by organic law 88-144 of 29 December 1988). Fifteen years later, the same ban was extended to the media sector: “Durant la période électorale, est interdite à toute personne, l’utilisation d’une station radio ou chaîne de télévision privées ou étrangères ou émettant de l’étranger dans le but d’inciter á voter ou à s’abstenir de voter pour un candidat ou une liste de candidats. Est également interdite, l’utilisation desdites stations et chaînes dans le dessin de la propagande électorale durant la période électorale. Toute infraction à l’interdiction prévue à l’alinéa premier du présent article est punie d’une amende de vingt cinq mille dinars. Cette peine n’est point susceptible d’atténuation” (Art. 62c of the electoral code as amended by organic law 2003-58 of 4 August 2003; see also the very similar 272 or even identical provisions of the associative and press codes). 272 Senior state officials and public sector managers are also still prohibited from actively participating in political elections and from occupying parliamentary positions. This concerns, above all, the members of the constitutional council; the members of 306

The third step was the creation of a 2 nd chamber of parliament, the socalled ‘Chambre de Conseillers’, endorsed by the constitutional referendum of May 2002. As noted before, its members, altogether about 120, are recruited from among municipal and regional councils on the one hand, and economic and professional associations on the other. Successful candidates are ‘enhanced’ by presidential nominees. The Chamber of Advisers is supposed to discuss and eventually amend legislation passed by the Chamber of Deputies, while giving a stronger voice to political representatives of the different regions and social interest groups (for further details see chapter four). This new arrangement will allow the president to add another layer to the consultative machinery of the political system, and thereby to further expand the cooptative capacities at his disposal. Another related aspect of this political ‘neo-corporatism’ has been the decision of the president to create a variety of councils, which are usually placed under his direct control and endowed with a specific mission: to gather potential stakeholders and pool available expertise in a given field. Examples are the High Islamic Council, the Competition Council, the Exporting Council, etc. They do not enjoy any real political competencies or budgetary attributions, but offer further channels and resources for consultation and cooptation. In this sense, they are complementary structures to the basically powerless Economic and Social (ECOSOC) Council which was created by Habib Bourguiba in the late 1950s to serve as a consultative body for all matters pertaining to industrial relations and economic policy. These new political arrangements all offer various advantages. They allow the ruling elites around Ben Ali to pay lip service to the ‘democracy thing’, that is, to formally follow up on the promises which they made upon their coup, and to respond to the expectations which their own discourse built up over time. They also allow them to formally meet the numerous political or contractual obligations they have entered into on an international level, and to counter actual or potential pressures emanating from their main external sponsors. At the same time, these arrangements offer the opportunity to increase the already substantial integrative-renumerative and coercive-punitive resources at the disposal of the regime and particularly the president. They help in further dividing the lines and forces of one’s adversaries, while enhancing the discipline and cohesion of one’s own supporters. the ECOSOC council; governors; magistrates; first delegates and secretaries-general at governorate level; as well as delegates and heads of sector. They are all, without exemption, obliged to stand down from their functions before being allowed to run in parliamentary elections (Art. 32, 77, 80-84 of the electoral code as amended by organic law 88-144 of 29 December 1988). 307

The main advantage of this system is that it allows Ben Ali to simultaneously cater to, and mediate between, very diverse agendas and demands ‒ but without ever giving up or just sharing his absolute control over core political institutions and power resources. It enables him to selectively integrate different socio-political and socio-economic status and interest groups into a vertically structured, politically non-competitive system, harnessing their political support potential while neutralizing their nuisance potential. He is able to do so without any tangible impact on the overall distribution of political power, that is, without giving them a real say in (let alone a veto 273 right over) strategic political decisions and elite affairs.

CONCLUSION Since 1987, the ruling elites have consistently endeavored to strengthen and broaden their support base by systematically trying to attract and incorpo rate neglected social groups or disgruntled political forces (back) into the political system in general, and the regime in particular. The main steps in this regard have been the admission of opposition parties into the political system; the opening of regime institutions to previously excluded constituencies and specifically the young generation; as well as the establishment of a formal quota system in the popular assemblies and the ruling party. This means that for the first time since national independence, the Destourian rulers have not only encouraged people to join their ranks, but even conceded that parties other than their own shall have a place in the 274 system. Thus, on the one hand, the regime has systematically, albeit selectively, co-opted the opposition. The role or, as the regime puts it, the ‘duty’ of the opposition is to give representation to those currents and groups which are beyond the reach of the regime and the Destour. Each of the five opposition parties currently represented in the various parliamentary assemblies is thus 273 The regime still controls the two doors that give access to the political system. It is the ministry of interior (and not a body of independents, like a commission, a panel, a court, etc.) which decides whether a party is authorized or whether a candidate is admitted to elections; meaning Ben Ali is able to determine who enters the field and who doesn’t. Moreover, it is solely the president who determines how many seats are reserved for the opposition, and how much funding is made available to them; meaning Ben Ali is also able to determine who gets the spoils and who doesn’t. 274 This can also be seen as a follow up to the process of pluralization set in motion under Bourguiba: it represents a sort of political equivalent to the recognition of social pluralism as evidenced by the establishment of the professional association system in the 1950s, and the creation of the collective conventions system of the 1970s; thus extending the corporatist system into the political sphere. 308

supposed to represent a particular political outlook (or ‘sensibilité’) that exists in Tunisian society but escapes the ruling party. Most of them represent currents which either decided to break away from the Destour at some point under the ancient regime (such as the MDS and the MUP/PUP), or which had always refused to join it (but have ‘made up’ their mind in the mean275 time). On the other hand, the regime has rigorously, albeit indirectly, avoided the admission of competition. The main precondition for being allowed into the political arena and awarded a legal status is whether a person or a party endorses the provisions of the national pact, and thereby subscribes to the parameters of the political system as it is. This means that while an increase in the plurality and diversity of views is admitted, and the participation of citizens encouraged, genuine competition for power or a potential alternance in power is still excluded. Hence, even though the regime has conceded that other parties than the Destour have the right to exist, it is obvious that only one party in the country has the right to rule. It is “la vision idéale d’une ‘démocratie consensuelle pour l’essentiel’ et ‘pluraliste pour le reste’” (Laurence Guiter: “Tunisie ‒ Chronique Politique”. AAN Vol. 37 1998: 276 358). This approach once again betrays the clear preference of the Benalist regime for a corporatist organization of Tunisian society or, in other words, for a non-competitive management and settlement of socio-political interests and conflicts. But there is one important difference vis-à-vis the former era: the old regime tried to defuse, neutralize, and ‘deconstruct’ political challenges by inserting, encapsulating, ‘entrapping’ them into vertically structured, but functionally differentiated, arrangements (the old associations nationales). The new rulers are trying it the other way round: forestalling, short-circuiting, and possibly offsetting socio-economic conflicts by offering equally vertically organized, but now politically defined, structures (the new block parties).

275 However, there has been a gradual shift in political focus over the past years. Contrary to its initial purposes, and unlike many other Arab countries, the main function of this quota system has become less and less about integrating the exponents of important social groups, and more and more to simulate democracy vis-à-vis Western donors. 276 There are two constantly recurring arguments from official representatives against a real multi-party system: first, that the ruling party is a priori open to everyone, that it welcomes all citizens, without exception or restriction, and that it even admits criticism, provided it is ‘constructive’ and ‘constitutional’; second, that the political system offers all the opportunities a democracy is supposed to offer, including legally recognized opposition parties, pluralist elections, and pluralist assemblies. 309

5. The Neutralization of the Public Arena Another major feature of Ben Ali’s ‘New Era’ has been a systematic closure of previously autonomous social institutions. In fact, the regime authorities have endeavored (and actually managed) to establish state control over all those sectors which de iure or de facto used to enjoy a degree of autonomy under Bourguiba. This process has particularly affected three institutions: universities, mosques, and media (see also the previous chapter for more information). On paper, the Tunisian constitution guarantees fundamental political and individual rights, such as the freedom of information, expression, association, assembly, movement, and worship (Art. 7, 8, 15, 46 thereof). In practice, however, many of these provisions have been deprived of any real meaning, usually via implementing legislation or presidential decrees. On the one hand, there has been a consistent ‘de-liberalization’ of the associative code (via the amendments of 2 April 1992 and of 2 August 1988) which not only places the legalization of associations at the discretion of the 277 state, but gives the latter also control over the former. The new code bans simultaneous membership in political parties and ‘general associations’ (allowing the regime to sever the multiple links between the secular opposition and the LTDH, for instance). Associations are now obliged to accept the membership request of any Tunisian citizen wishing to enter (enabling RCD members to flood NGOs, if need should be), while they have to turn down the candidacy or end the membership of any person stripped of his civil rights (excluding the former political prisoners of the Nahda Party, for instance). At the same time, there has been a noticeable increase of state support for citizen association (via the laws 99-67 and 99-70 of 15 July 1999, which were complemented by the decree 2000-688 of 5 April 2000). This includes in particular the launching of a new micro credit system for so-called development associations, via the opening of a special new budget line within the Tunisian Solidarity Bank, and the offering of certain fiscal privileges for micro credit beneficiaries. It also involves the setting up of a special public support structure for Tunisian NGOs, the Centre de Recherches, d’Etudes, de Doc277 According to the loi sur les associations of 1959, it was sufficient to submit a simple declaration to the interior ministry, stating one's intent to set up an association. After four months, the new association acquired legal status, without requiring a confirmation by the state authorities or the inclusion in the Official Journal. Since then, however, it has become customary law that the declaration must be formally approved by the ministry before the new association acquires legal status. Thus, the original philosophy ‘everything that is not illegal is allowed’ has been turned upside down. Now, it seems ‘everything that is not explicitly allowed is automatically illegal’ (cf. Bellin 1995 for further details). 310

umentation et d’Information sur les Associations (CREDIAS). Tunisian associations, however, are still prohibited from receiving foreign funding, unless they have formally received green light from the state authorities. The same approach has been applied to religious institutions. On the one hand, the government has imposed total control over this sector. Only persons authorized by the government are permitted to lead activities (like prayers and halaqât) in mosques. Mosques are required to remain closed official outside prayer times and certain religious activities, such as marriages and funerals. Prayers are rumored to be either written, or at least vetted, by state officials, and religious publications are subject to the same legal restrictions as secular publications. At the same time, the government has created significant incentives for religious forces. These include not only the establishment of various new institutions to further Islamic learning, but also the provision of quite substantial financial support for the Islamic heritage organizations. This sophisticated control system has been extended to other public realms as well. Groups wishing to organize a meeting, rally, or march are required to apply for a permit at the ministry of the interior no later than three days before the event. To this end, they must submit a list of partici pants, the names of the organizers, as well as the purpose of the event. A circular issued in January 1997 by the ministry of higher education stipulates that anyone wishing to organize an scientific meeting (seminar, conference, colloquium, etc.) will be required to submit, in advance, a number of details to the ministry of the interior, including a list of participants, a copy of the agenda, as well as the content of the contributions. Another circular issued two months later by the ministry of tourism obliges hotel managers to inform the police of any event (party, wedding, funeral, etc.) taking place in their premises (once again with information about the purpose, participants, and organizers). The most affected by this ‘neutralization process’, however, has been the media sector, as a consequence of the consecutive amendments of the press code in 1988, 1993, and 1999. In theory, Tunisian media professionals enjoy relatively favorable working conditions. Both constitution and legislation continue to provide essential guarantees and safeguards, protecting journalists and editors from arbitrary interference or persecution by state officials. Also, the regime authorities have chosen to abolish some particularly controversial institutions, and especially the ministry of information. In addition, Ben Ali provides media professionals with non-negligible material support, such as an annual ‘stipend’ (currently TD 150.000 for party publications, and TD 30.000 for normal periodicals), and subsidized overheads (cur311

rently 60 percent of their paper costs, and a certain part of their communication bill). In practice, however, the regime authorities have established a pervasive censorship system that strips the above legal provisions from any real significance. First, the Tunisian press law is among the most severe of the entire MENA. It contains a raft of provisions that permit the confiscation or suspension of any unwanted publication as well as the fining or jailing of any irreverent journalist. Granted, its latest amendment of April 2004 has scrapped a number of particularly notorious charges (like ‘defaming public order’) and eased the launching of new journals (via a new ‘guichet unique’). Yet, it has maintained the bulk of red lines for journalistic activities and even increased the scope of sanctions against offenders. Thus, anybody found guilty of ‘slandering the corps d'Etat‘ will be jailed for up to three years (previously only one year) or fined up to TD 1200 (previously only TD 278 120). Second, the state continues to be of vital importance for the survival of any publication. In addition to the forms of assistance outlined above, the state remains by far the largest provider of advertising revenues which constitute the lion’s share of the media’s non-sale income. All public advertising expenditure is mandatorily channeled through a single governmental body, the Agence Tunisienne de la Communication Extérieur (ATCE), created by presidential decree in the early 1990s. According to the prime minister’s circular no.1 of January 1991, all public organizations are required to publish their commercials, announcements, vacancies, tenders etc. via the ATCE. Moreover, according to the directive no.2240 of December 1990, the ATCE does not have to declare expenses which fall below a threshold of TD 50.000 for activities within Tunisia, and TD 100.000 without, which gives it a con279 siderable scope for discretionary action. It is also important to remember in this context that the law forbids any editor or director to enter into cooperation with, or receive funding from, private companies or foreign investors (without prior authorization from the state). The new press code of April 2001 threatens hefty fines of up to 278 Moreover, the latest constitutional amendment of June 2002 has introduced new, even more broadly defined (and easily manipulable) provisions, such as the obligation of citizens to ‘protect, defend, and safeguard the independence, sovereignty, and integrity of the fatherland’ (Art. 15). 279 Officially, the ATCE has been given four tasks: to promote Tunisia’s international image, strengthen cultural links with the Tunisian expatriate community, support foreign journalists working inside the country, and gather foreign reports dealing with Tunisia. It also hosts an Internet gateway (www.tunisiaonline.com) which all public and semi-public institutions, as well as many media and NGO representatives, must use for going on-line. 312

TD 25.000 for all those infringing against these provisions. This move was clearly meant to cut any incipient links between the cash-strapped Tunisian journals and potent media investors of the Arab East. As a media professional has pointed out, “un titre qui reste la propriété exclusive de son détenteur ne peut, par définition, s’ouvrir ni au capital national ni à l’investissement étranger (…), condamnant par-là les groupes de presse privés à demeurer des entreprises individuelles, ou au mieux familiales, sans aucune perspective sérieuse de conquête de nouveaux espaces ou de nouveaux marchés, faute d’avoir acquis la taille critique permettant cette mutation” (Zyed Kri280 chen: “Les enjeux de la libertés de la presse”. Réalités 906, 08/05/03, p. 4). This approach was also applied vis-à-vis the internet. On the one hand, the state authorities have systematically encouraged the use of the ‘web’, specifically via the creation of a country-wide network of state-subsidized internet centers (the so-called publinets), and the connection of public education and research facilities with the new ICT. At the same time, however, they have systematically censored the web (with the help of the ATI), blocking websites containing critical contributions, and sanctioning the authors of these activities. In 2002, Zouhair Yahyaoui, the nephew of Mokhtar Yahyaoui, and founder of the satirical on-line magazine ‘TUNeZINE’, was 281 sentenced to two years for having organized an on-line mock referendum. In 2003, a group of students (plus their teacher) were given very harsh prison sentences of up to 20 years for allegedly having downloaded information about how to build bombs (cf. also Florence Beaugé: “Les cyber-résis tants tunisiens donnent naissance à une nouvelle forme de contestation”; Michael Voregger: “Per Klick in den Knast”. Frankfurter Rundschau, 14/07/ 03, p. 14). What are the political taboos and the ‘red lines’ that citizens in general, and journalists in particular, must always respect? Generally, it is possible to cover sensitive issues (like administrative malfunctioning and mismanagement, bureaucratic inertia and profligacy, even corruption and embezzlement) in a ‘constructive’, non-confrontational way, preferably ‘entre nous’, ‘entre amis’. However, one better avoids two things: daring to ‘finger-point’ individual persons (especially when these are at the helm of the state), and trying to remedy perceived irregularities (especially when this is directed against the official line as adopted by the state authorities). “The bottom line is that popular participation is welcomed and some degree of tolerance for engagement in dialogue is encouraged, but that genuine efforts to reduce 280 Cf. the corresponding paragraphs of the previous chapter, and in particular the related statements of Taieb Zahar, Hedi Mechri and Rida Kefi. 281 See also footnote 244 in chapter six for further information about this particular issue. 313

the overall hegemony of the regime or to challenge its policy priorities are not allowed” (Murphy 2002: 12). Moreover, any attempt to use foreign ‘relais’ to further one’s cause automatically leads to a furious response from the political authorities, especially if it affects the international reputation of the country or invites outside actors to intervene in internal affairs. This is hardly surprising if one takes into account the strong dependency on inward transfers which characterizes the political economy of the Benalist regime, and hence the potentially ‘disastrous’ effects which such an ‘outward-oriented’ stance could produce. This might also account for what is often perceived as incomprehensible over-reactions by the state authorities and security forces against otherwise innocuous hunger strikers or human rights activists. And it might also explain why local Francophone media quite often appear to be more strictly censored than the Arabophone ones, which is a fairly unusual practice compared with most neighboring countries. In his inaugural speech which he gave after his re-election in October 2009, Ben Ali once again made crystal-clear to everybody what he regarded as the main ‘red lines’ for any legitimate political activity: “Pour nous, l'opinion contradictoire constitue une réalité évidente, voire indispensable, pour enrichir la vie publique et conforter l'entente sur les constantes et les prin cipes que notre peuple a librement choisis et que nous nous sommes tous engagés à adopter et à défendre, et au premier rang desquels je citerais l'attachement et la fidélité à la patrie et à elle seule (…). Le vrai patriote est celui qui répugne à porter son différend avec son gouvernement hors des frontières nationales pour chercher à ternir l'image de son pays et s'abriter sous la puissance de l'étranger. Semblable comportement est répréhensible moralement, politiquement et légalement” (Quoted in Abdelaziz Barrouhi: “Tunisie: La Dernière Marche”. JA 2550, 22/11/09, p.45-47; emphasis added).

CONCLUSION Since 1987, the controlled opening and pluralization of the political system in general, and of the regime institutions in particular, has been accompanied (and offset) by the systematic closure and neutralization of sectors and institutions that used to enjoy a degree of autonomy before. This affected three of them in particular: universities, mosques, and media. Before 1987, Tunisia used to be one of the more ‘liberal’ countries in the MENA (at least until the late 1970s), with a fair amount of public liberties (albeit often more de facto than de iure), a diverse associative sector, and a vibrant intellectual life. Since then, however, it has been turned into one of the most restrictive countries, with the least freedom of information and expression (now both 314

de facto and de iure), a streamlined media sector, and a ‘pacified’ public debate. This state of affairs has now persisted for more than a decade. It features a cowed or crushed political opposition, a ‘disciplined’ or marginalized associational movement, as well as a subdued and depoliticized educational sector. All of them have been ‘mis au pas’, and are now singing to the tune of the regime. One can literally find hundreds of newspapers and magazines, and thousands of associations and societies, but most of them are ‘TGOs’ (‘truly governmental organizations’, as Tunisians love to say) rather than NGOs; government subsidiaries rather than independent information providers; semi-official mouthpieces rather than critical political watch-dogs. In other words, they now resemble a ‘fifth column’ rather than a ‘fourth power’. In fact, it is almost impossible for any reader to identify the differences (content-wise) between government-controlled and privately owned papers. The latter usually cover exactly the same issues and contain almost the same 282 wording as the former, to the point of virtually becoming interchangeable. It is important to note, however, that the media situation has shifted from ex-post sanctioning to ex-ante self-control. It occurs only very rarely nowadays that a Tunisian paper is banned or seized, or that a Tunisian journalist is jailed or killed. This is mainly because editors and their staff have become so much used to taking the views of the regime into consideration that they are no longer perceived as constituting a potential challenge to the political status quo. This also means that censorship in Tunisia now happens more ‘upstream’ than ‘downstream’. As Taoufik Ben Brik has put it: “In Algeria, they have killed journalists; in Tunisia, they have killed journalism” (Quoted in Hans-Christian Rössler: “Die Polizei ist überall”. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 03/11/99, p. 9; cf. also www.rsf.org for further information).

6. The Establishment of a Police State The above reconfiguration of the political system has been accompanied and complemented by the gradual establishment of an extremely sophisticated surveillance system. On the one hand, the Tunisian constitution continues to explicitly safeguard against the arbitrary exercise of state power and to 282 The only papers which dare to address issues officially considered ‘taboo’, and express some criticism vis-à-vis the regime are the PDP’s Al-Mawquif and the HT’s At-Tarîq al-Jadîd, but they only appear at irregular intervals (usually once per month), and have only a very limited edition (seldom exceeding a few thousand). Réalités/Haqâ’iq has also repeatedly tried to test the limits of tolerance, but has each time chosen to back down when the regime unveiled its displeasure. 315

prohibit practices often applied by authoritarian regimes all over the world, such as the arbitrary detention of citizens, the mistreatment of prisoners, the violation of private homes, and the interception of personal communications. On the other hand, however, these provisions have either been undermined by ‘upstream’ legislation, or simply bypassed by law enforcement agencies that increasingly employ practices which are officially forbidden by 283 law. In this regard, it must be noted that repression under Ben Ali once again both resembles and differs from coercion under his predecessor. The politically motivated instrumentalization of public authorities, particularly the police and the judiciary, against political ‘troublemakers’ (real or perceived), is similar. What is different, however, is the deliberate criminalization of political contesters, who are normally tried under common law (usually criminal law or media law), and are often subject to ‘extra-legal measures’ (including after their acquittal or release from prison). What has remained the same is the use of formally legal methods and non-violent tools in the fight against the opposition; what has changed, however, is the systematic recourse to collective punishment and psychological warfare by the agents of 284 the state. Opponents are typically convicted on deliberately vague charges such as ‘diffamation et propagation de fausses nouvelles visant à troubler l’ordre public’, ‘conspiration avec l’étranger’, ‘incitation à la violence’ and, with increasing frequency, ‘membership in a terrorist organization’ (which has been facilitated by the very vague provisions of the new anti-terror law of 2003, according to which ‘l’incitation à commettre des crimes ou des actes de fanatisme religieux ou ethnique’ is already considered an ‘act of terror’ in itself). Opponents are also increasingly exposed to non-legal sanctions such as the withdrawal or non-renewal of personal documents, the monitoring or disruption of personal communications, the ransacking of private homes 285 and offices and, most notably, the harassment of their families and friends. 283 For further information in this regard see US State Department: “Tunisia: Country Report 2003 on Human Rights Practices”, 25 February 2004 (www.state.gov); and Amnesty International: “Tunisia: The Cycle of Injustice”, 10 June 2003 (www. amnesty.org). 284 Even though political prisoners are generally reported to receive a harsher treatment during their confinement than ordinary criminals, it must be noted that secular detainees are not usually exposed to physical violence, in stark contrast to what has happened to Islamist prisoners. 285 A particularly popular method is to sentence somebody to a harsh prison term (preferably under common law) and then releasing him shortly afterwards on parole, indicating that he or she will have to serve the rest of the sentence should he or she suffer from a ‘relapse in politics’. 316

Even after their acquittal or release from prison, political (and particularly Islamist) convicts are systematically stripped of their civic and political rights; excluded from social and economic life; and prevented from participating (actively or passively) in politics or elections (according to Art. 3 and 78 of the electoral code). Quite often, they are subject to so-called ‘administrative controls’ (i.e. forced to register at regular intervals, sometimes several times each day, at the local police station) which make it practically impossible for them to lead a normal life or just find employment. Sometimes, they are subject to ‘internal exile’ (i.e. forced to live in remote areas far away from their homes) where they cannot leave for want of an ID. The increasing refinement of this repressive system is indicative of the growing consolidation of the new regime's political power. In fact, Ben Ali has clearly taken to calling on the police and the judiciary for cowing his de286 tractors, not on the military or party militias as Bourguiba used to do. Contrary to many countries in the world, there are no exceptional tribunals, detention camps, death squadrons, or other parallel structures. Moreover, there have been no more reported incidents of extra-legal, politically motivated disappearances or executions of opponents or journalists in over ten 287 years. All those identified as ‘prisoners of conscience’ were arrested by the regular police and convicted by an ordinary court, on the basis of the national common law and in accordance with official legal procedures. This means that coercion is organized and implemented via the formal state insti288 tutions.

CONCLUSION The security policies of the newregime therefore distinguish themselves in two main respects from the former era. The first difference is the systematic criminalization of any form of protest and resistance. According to official statements, there are no ‘prisoners of conscience and objection’ in Tunisia, only ‘criminals’ and ‘terrorists’ (which also demonstrates that the self-identification between the rulers and the state has reached its final stage). The 286 This can also be gleaned from a highly symbolical ‘swap’ of political offices by the two incumbent presidents: Bourguiba also assumed control of the defense portfolio when acceding to power in 1956; Ben Ali, on the contrary, became chairman of the Constitutional Council. 287 There are still reports by human rights organizations about dubious heart attacks and suicides of prisoners and detainees, although their numbers have been steadily declining these last years. 288 The judiciary has been given new powers since the early 1990s, in particular the power to suspend journals (since 1988/1993), to dissolve associations (since 1988/1992), and to confiscate passports. 317

second difference is the deliberate terrorization of those identified as contesters and challengers. In most cases, sanctions are no longer restricted to individual cases, but are inflicted on the entire family (which may also indicate that the ‘re-traditionalization’ of politics started under Bourguiba has further gathered speed under Ben Ali). This mix of judicial and extra-judicial persecution means a vicious circle for political dissidents and human rights activists: the more the state zeroes in on them, the more other people are reluctant to speak out, and the more isolated they become, the easier they are 289 targeted. Law enforcement agencies have clearly become a central pillar of Ben Ali’s regime. The police presence in public life has dramatically grown since the early 1990s, as has the degree of exactions committed by them. This trend has continued despite the fact that the strength of the opposition, and their ability to take on the regime has continuously waned over the same period of time. Even protests from within the state elites and the regime coalition that the level of repression is unjustified and counter-productive (i.e. that it entails heavy opportunity costs and collateral damages to the national interest and their own work) have failed to provoke a substantive response from the mukhabarat apparatus. All this points to the fact that the latter have not only begun to lead a life of their own (shedding the high level of civil control which they were under before) but that they are also eager to produce all sorts of ‘public enemies’ in order to justify their existence and reproduce 290 the reasons which led to their creation in the first place.

7. ‘Democracy à la Tunisienne’: Representation without Competition OVERALL POLICY ORIENTATIONS The programmatic-ideological orientations that the new ruling elites have adopted since the time of ‘Change’, and the regulatory-institutional arrangements which they have devised since their coming to power, both resemble and differ from those of their predecessors. On the one hand, they have up289 Generally, Tunisian law enforcement groups are described as disciplined, organized, and effective, even though there are increasing reports of petty corruption, involving police agents, and even though there are frequent complaints that security officers and police agents have openly ignored legal provisions or judicial orders. Whether these are signs that they are pursuing their own agendas, or whether they are still acting on the orders of the regime, is a subject of debate which needs further investigation. 290 This is a usual feature of political regimes build around a strong security apparatus, as has been pointed by both Linz (2000) and Brooker (2000). 318

held the essential ingredients of the Bourguibo-Destourian ‘philosophy’. These include a secularist and nationalist understanding of one’s identity, a corporatist and functionalist understanding of one’s society, as well as an authoritarian and elitist understanding of the state. Key elements of the regime discourse are legality, modernity, identitiy, solidarity, cohesion, consensus, development, and democracy. At the same time, they have modified the approach of their predecessors in a number of ways, especially in the field of cultural policy. These have involved a systematic upgrading of religious symbols in public life, a systematic upgrading of the national idiom in official use, and a visible effort to present the national heritage in its ‘entirety’ and ‘integrity’ (without ‘omissions’ and ‘falsifications’, as they put it). The bottom line of this official discourse is that, contrary to the old regime and the single party, the ‘New Tunisia’ and the ‘New Destour’ are, in principle, welcoming of all social categories, all age cohorts, and all regions, in the same way as they are respectful of all dimensions of one’s identity, history, and culture. Thus, they claim to represent the country and nation as it is, and not as it ought to be. This enables them to present themselves as the legitimate politico-historical heirs of the Bourguibo-Destourian project in its original, pristine form, minus the personal errors of the late Bourguiba. The latter is usually presented as the founding father of the modern state, and as a national hero who accomplished great things for his country and people before falling victim to age and folly. What Ben Ali claims to do is taking up Bourguiba’s legacy and proceeding to the ‘second stage of state building’, keeping what is worthy of preservation, and changing what has outlived its time. The recognition by the regime of the country’s socio-economic and socio-cultural diversity and complexity has probably also contributed to its recognition of the need to open the political system and the public arena to organizations other than the Destour party and the associations nationales. Political opposition formations and civil society associations are allowed to exist and even to participate in politics, provided they are ready to do so on the basis of the National Pact and thereby within the parameters of the existing system ‒ and provided they abstain from challenging political core interests of the incumbent ruling elites. An essential precondition for being admitted into the political field is the unmistaken pledge to refrain from working actively for a transformation of the system or for an alternance in power as such. To this end, the new regime has been eager to propagate a comprehensive, all-inclusive understanding of democracy and human rights, one that corresponds to its equally comprehensive, multi-dimensional understanding of development and modernization. From this perspective, socio-cultural 319

progress and economic prosperity are not only as important as public liberty and political participation, they are even preconditional. As the ruling elites do not tire to stress, there are direct links between the three key notions of prosperity, stability, and democracy, all of which hinge on a ‘comprehensive societal development’ (the famous ‘développement intégral’), a shared national identity, and a mutual sense of public responsibility. It is both the responsibility and the prerogative of the state to provide for the smooth functioning of this process, and to balance the different elements of this equation. The relation of the state vis-à-vis the citizenry is conceived top-down (consisting of the ‘moral’ obligation of the former to deliver certain benefits to the latter) much more than bottom-up (consisting of the ‘formal’, institutionalized obligation of the former to respond to the specific political preferences of the latter). It is a kind of contractual relationship, but one between ‘ruler’ and ‘subject’ (or ‘patron’ and ‘client’) and not between ‘citizen’ and ‘state’ (or ‘principal’ and ‘agent’). It is a state-society-concept which is as over-dimensioned on the ‘output side’ (i.e. regarding the ability of the former to deliver services to the latter) as it is under-developed on the ‘input side’ (i.e. concerning the possibility to participate in politics).

KEY POLICY CHOICES Since the ‘Change’ of 1987, the new rulers around Ben Ali have undertaken to translate their (partly) new orientations into actual political practice. This has involved, first, a systematic opening and renewing of the regime institutions, the ruling coalition, and the political system at large; second, a recalibration and rejuvenation of the political leadership, the public bureaucracy, and the ruling party; and, last but not least, the admission or toleration of legal opposition parties, independent citizens’ associations, and nominally pluralist elections. All of this has allowed the regime elites to formally fulfill the political promises they made after November 1987, as well as the contractual obligations they have undertaken vis-à-vis external players ‒ but without abandoning their ultimate control over core political institutions and key power resources. It must be noted that these changes have again been triggered top-down, and not bottom-up; they have been enacted because the ruling political elites controlling the party-state apparatus wanted them, and not because of strong opposition movements or powerful social constituencies pushing for them. It might thus be argued that the ‘liberalization’ and ‘pluralization’ of political life, i.e. the admission and inclusion of opposition parties, or the legalization and institutionalization of a multi-party system, was the result of the regime’s strength, and not of its weakness. It might also be argued that 320

the recognition of an opposition party had little to do with its political stance, i.e. its (un)willingness to compromise, but much with its actual power, i.e. its (in)ability to compete. It is also obvious that this process of ‘liberalization’ and ‘pluralization’ has been limited to the least powerful sectors of the political system and the ruling party (such as the two branches of the national assembly, or the subnational chapters of the RCD). All of these are either far away from the real centers of power, or totally controlled by the latter. On the contrary, those institutions which do play a role because they have important political functions and decision making powers (like the RCD politburo or the ministerial council) are neither elected by nor accountable to citizens or party members. Even though opposition candidates have three times been admitted to presidential elections since 1999, this has not changed much in the way the system works, as the conditions under which these ‘contests’ have taken place have been so slanted in favor of the incumbent that they can be qualified as 291 ineffective. It is also evident that this ‘opening’ of the system has been facilitated by the increasing verticalization of actual power, i.e. by the observable power shift from the official state organs in Tunis, to the new presidential power structure in Carthage. It is not only that Ben Ali has studiously avoided to subscribe to a devolution or a separation of powers which could have provided for an effective neutrality of the state apparatus, and allowed for a true level playing field between the various political actors; he has also systematically endeavored to expand the political powers and patronage resources available to his regime, which has increased the political discretion of the core elite around him, and strengthened their influence over policy making. All in all, the Benalist regime has pursued a two-pronged ‘carrot-andstick’ and ‘divide-and-rule’ approach, clustered around the twin notions of ‘inclusion-participation’ vs. ‘exclusion-repression’ (both of which are actually nothing but two sides of the same coin). While new, formerly non-existing opportunities for legal political action were opened at regime level (in the ruling party, the national assembly system, the government bureaucracy, etc.), old, previously existing channels for effective political action (in the media sector, the education system, the associative sector, etc.) were closed at societal level. This means that there are now distinctly more opportunities for political representation, economic participation, and individ291 This is reflected by the very limited interest which most Tunisians exhibit vis-à-vis electoral processes, as can be seen from the numerous reports written by independent sources in this regard. 321

ual improvement within the country, but also less freedoms of expression, association, and assembly. This also means that in Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’, a controlled pluralization co-exist (and contrasts) with a deliberate ‘de-liberalization’. Citizens can defend their interests, and even express grievances, as long as they do not violate certain taboos or overstep some ‘red lines’. These include questioning key choices of the incumbent leadership, or to trying to alter the overall distribution of political power. Criticism is accepted (or at least tolerated) as long as is expressed in a non-offensive way, and within the above limits. However, it is immediately suppressed when voiced outside the officially recognized fora, and directed against the political status quo. Thus, the Benalist regime may have adopted a more flexible attitude as regards social reality, but it pursues a more rigid approach when it comes to political dis292 sent. At the end of the day, the regime presents its opponents with two options: submission or exclusion or, in other words, ‘join in’ or ‘stay out’. Whoever agrees to subscribe to the rules of the regime, can expect to be rewarded with a place in the system; whoever refuses to do so, is suppressed (which, as we have seen, raises not only the benefits of compliance, but also the costs of non-compliance). From the regime’s point of view, this is logical: since they still consider the party to be the ‘mirror’ of the nation (and a key pillar of the existing order), any political action which takes place outside (or against) the Destour is viewed as a declaration of independence (if not a declaration of war) vis-à-vis the regime and the nation as a whole.

MAIN POLICY OUTCOMES The outcome is a regime which formally embraces fundamental political and individual rights and liberties (such as the freedom of information, expression, worship, association, and assembly). It also boasts formally liberaldemocratic features and institutions (like elected parliaments, legal political parties, non-governmental organizations, etc.). Finally, it features a significantly broader, more inclusive support base, and an equally younger, more 292 It must be noted, however, that the top priority for the regime authorities is no longer really to prevent the entry and dissemination of news and information (which would in any case be a lost battle given the triumph of the new ICT and the de facto ending of the regime's monopoly over the media sector), but rather to keep people from communicating and organizing themselves. This can be gleaned, among other things, from the fact that foreign media products (both hardcopy and audiovisual) are quite freely available within the country (contrary to the situation a decade ago); in other words, it does not really matter what people think, but certainly what they do. 322

representative elite structure. However, it lacks essential vertical and horizontal safeguards; necessary constitutional and institutional guarantees to ensure that basic rights of citizens are respected, that their preferences are taken into account, that the any non-compliance by the government is sanc tioned. The outcome is a system which combines the trappings (and procedures) of an electoral democracy with the structures (and practices) of an autocratic system. Since there has been neither a separation nor a devolution of powers, and the ruling elites around Ben Ali are still in full control of all levers of power, all the changes since the ‘Change’, i.e. the supposed opening up of political life, have been superficial and ineffective. They have neither led to the admission and institutionalization of ‘insecurity’ (including an open-endedness of electoral results), nor to the accountability and contestability of government (including the possibility for citizens to vote incumbents out of office). At the same time, the gradual establishment of institutions that fulfill some formal criteria of electoral democracies has been offset by an increasing marginalization of all those institutions that used to provide regular input opportunities and feedback mechanisms for ordinary citizens. There has been a growing shift of political power (and resources) in favor of institu tions (or networks) which are only accessible for a special kind of people, i.e. certain groups around the president, without being answerable to the majority of citizens, or to the ‘man in the street’. This means that the inclusiveness and responsiveness of the pouvoir is not guaranteed by the ‘checks and balances’ of the political system a such; it is only protected by the heterogeneity and plu-rality of the ruling coalition (and by the fact that the incumbent rulers need to at least partially respond to the views and wishes of their clients and allies). All in all, this tailor-made, top-down opening and renewal of the regime institutions, and of the political system at large, have not really altered the extremely restrictive conditions under which political actors (including oppositionists, parliamentarians, and journalists) are forced to work. Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’ has thus not followed region-wide trends toward a greater differentiation, specialization, and autonomization of political spheres, nor has it progressed toward a greater liberalization, pluralization, and parlamentarization of decision making. What has taken place is a rejuvenation and pluralization of the party-state, including its satellites and subsidiaries (like the national parliament and the local councils). What has not occurred is a pluralization or liberalization of political life beyond the party-state, in-

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cluding an admission of free-wheeling, open-ended competition for political 293 command positions.

RULING REGIME ELITES As we have seen, this partial restructuring of the political system which has occurred since the time of Ben Ali’s velvet coup of November 1987 (and whose results have been consecrated by the constitutional referendum of May 2002, and by Ben Ali’s successful reelection in October 2004) has been an entirely centralized undertaking, and has only known one direction: topdown. This means that it has been designed and implemented solely by an inner circle of top politicians, recruited from among the ranks of the Destour, and in control of the leading echelons of the central state. They have not only been able to determine the thrust, pace, scope, outcome of reforms; they have also been able to decide who would gain and who would lose from them. Notwithstanding the fact that the regime was forced to back down on a number of occasions, usually as a result of a combination of factors (e.g. the reactions of European media, civil society, and state representatives following the hunger strikes of Taoufik Ben Brik, Sihem Ben Sedrine, and Radhia Nasraoui), there is clearly no readiness to compromise on issues which it considers as ‘strategic’. This can also be inferred from the EU’s fruitless attempts to establish direct cooperation with independent NGOs, promote the independence of the judiciary, or integrate human rights issues into the bilateral association process. As an anonymous source from within the presidential palace was quoted as saying: “L’ouverture, c’est nous qui la menons, et comme nous l’entendons. Ce domaine est le nôtre, plus que vous vous en mélez, moins nous céderons, voilà ce que tente de dire le Palais de Carthage” (Florence Beaugé: “Tunisie, la fuite en avant”. Le Monde, 01/02/01, p. 17). One main reason for this ability to maintain control over politics (in addition to other factors outlined in the following chapters) has been the regime’s ability to hold a remarkably consistent line on genuinely strategic questions throughout these years. Contrary to the time before 1987, there have been no more major open controversies within the ruling coalition and the regime elites over issues perceived as pertaining to the field of internal policy or national security. Even though there are people in favor of a more 293 This is also reflected by the annual ratings of Freedom House (a New York-based not-for-profit organization that monitors political rights and civic liberties around the world) which has persistently labeled Tunisia as ‘not free’ (giving it on average 6,5 points out of a minimum of 7 points, which places Tunisia beneath the regional average of political freedoms). 324

liberal (‘softer’) or a more restrictive (‘tougher’) stance, they do not openly advocate their positions in public, and they certainly do not openly question decisions made by the president. What is going on today is thus by no means equivalent to the conflicts which antagonized the ruling elites under the Ancien Régime. It seems that whenever there are conflicts and controversies within the regime or among the elites, they do not follow ideological lines between ‘left’ and ‘right’, or ‘hawks’ and ‘doves’, but rather entail distributional struggles between individuals, families, networks, and/or institutions. Examples include not only the recurring polemics about the ‘rampant corruption’ in the presidential entourage, which is actually rather a turf war between the members of the established distributional networks and the newcomers around the presidential clans, but also the recurring frictions between the security apparatus and economic reformers, which are basically about the (non-) appropriateness and (counter-) productiveness of coercion and re294 pression.

ECONOMIC INTERMEDIARY ELITES Generally speaking, both business and labor representatives have so far preferred to stay clear of politics (at least in public). They either avoid any talk about this subject in the first place, or tip-toe the discourse of the regime in most cases ‒ which means they either stay on the supra-systemic or on the sub-systemic level. Until the time of writing, they have neither become genuine political players, nor serious political counter-weights. They usually refrain from engaging in politics outside the officially designated fora, and chose to stay within the officially allowed limits. Neither are they directly involved or represented in government (contrary to many other countries of the region) nor are they (openly) active in or supportive of opposition circles (contrary, in parts, to the time of Bourguiba). In the few cases when business leaders get into political issues, it is mostly about technical or regulatory reforms, and not about political, let alone democratic, ones. In fact, there are a number of issues which the large 294 Most analysts would thus probably agree with the following remarks Mustapha Ben Jaafar made vis-à-vis the French press: “Pour moi, il n’y a pas de luttes de clans, dans la mesure où je ne crois pas à l’existence de ‘faucons’ ou de ‘colombes’. Le pouvoir est tellement centralisé que nul n’est en mesure d’aller à l’encontre de la volonté présidentielle (…). S’il y a des oppositions au sein du système, elles semblent plutôt s’exercer pour la défense et le partage des privilèges” (Mustapha Ben Jaafar: “Le malaise et le mécontentement sont perceptibles dans tous les secteurs”. Le Monde, 13/07/01, p. 3; cf. also related statements of many Tunisian opponents, and particularly of Mokhtar Trifi and Nejib Chebbi, during my own interviews). 325

majority of Tunisian businessmen (at least those with no direct access to the political core) appear to regard as important, such as reducing ‘red tape’ and bureaucratic interference, providing for more administrative transparency and for more legal safeguards, reigning in parallel commerce and cross-border smuggling, improving access to financial sources and banking services, etc. However, issues that do not appear to feature high on their agenda are those that are politically sensitive, such as a liberalization of public life, a democratization of the political system, an empowerment of parliament, an end of censorship, etc. Corporate social responsibility appears to be an alien 295 concept, at least to the older generation of Tunisian businessmen. Even though discontent appears to be increasing in some parts of the business community (particularly regarding the rising economic ‘inroads’ and ‘encroachments’ of persons and families close to the president and his wife, their ‘misappropriation’ of public assets, their ‘monopolization’ of profitable sectors, their ‘instrumentalization’ of state institutions, etc.), the large majority of Tunisian businessmen still seem to be willing to continue to (co-)operate within the framework of the existing political system, and in unison with the incumbent ruling elites. And even though some businessmen seem to be convinced that a sustainable social and economic development will require more far-reaching political and democratic reforms, they still do not seem to see these as their number one priorities ‒ at least not in 296 the short term. This approach offers numerous advantages to all those involved. In fact, calls for cutting red tape and curtailing bureaucratic power not only fit in nicely with official discourse (and also go down well with Western donors), but they also have the merit of weakening all those forces that could possibly interfere with business affairs or enforce existing legislation (e.g. in the fields of taxation, accounting, competition, public procurement, labor law, and environmental protection). Public interventions of leading business representatives are thus not about creating a truly level-playing field between the different social actors (one that fosters government accountability and political participation), but rather about creating an enabling environment for business activities (one that reduces political insecurity and transaction costs). 295 These orientations of Tunisian businessmen are actually comparable to those of their Arab peers; see the results of an opinion poll among 800 leading Arab businessmen at the last Arab business summit in spring 2004 (“Arabische Manager drängen auf Reformen”. Handelsblatt, 22/06/04, p. 10) 296 Some businessmen made it clear during their interviews that they regard their country as ready for democracy, and that they would prefer a more substantial opening of the political system. However, they don’t defend these positions in public and, even more importantly, they don’t act translate their words into actions. 326

In contrast to the past, the labor leadership has clearly preferred to keep a low profile on high politics, and preferred to follow the official line instead. They have not only chosen to keep quiet vis-à-vis the ending of the ‘Tunisian spring’ in the early 1990s, the re-appropriation of political power by the new rulers, and the latter’s clampdown on their Islamist adversaries. They have also remained strangely silent about their country’s signing of a structural adjustment package with the Bretton Woods Institutions, its accession to the GATT and the WTO, its participation in the EMP and ENP, the acceleration of privatization, etc. It is obvious that they have never regained their former strength, and that they are proceeding from an essentially weak position. Granted, the majority of unionists (including the new leadership elected at the Djerba congress) have briefly toyed with the idea of returning to the status quo ante and renewing with the UGTT’s traditional stance (as could also be seen from the critical motions calling for a release of ‘political pris oners’ contained in the initial congress declaration, or the long hesitation of the headquarters with regard to supporting the constitutional referendum of May 2002); but they have quickly dropped these ideas after considering their consequences. Since then, they have clearly focused on core socio-economic questions and bread-and-butter issues; that is, whenever they were not busy trying to cope with their own internal conflicts and organizational reforms.

POLITICAL CONTESTING ELITES The secular opposition organizations themselves (as well as the liberal, urban bourgeoisie at large) were clearly caught in the line of fire, struggling to find some middle ground between the two large warring camps. They were torn between the Islamists with whom they shared the political analysis, and a regime with whom they shared the political ideology. They were torn between those who basically wanted to maintain a critical distance to the new rulers (like the LDTH under Moncef Marzouki), and those who chose to actually join them (like the UGTT under Ismail Sahbani). Finally, secular opposition representatives were trapped by the rapid bipolarization of the political landscape after the 1989 elections, and weakened by the successive (re-) appropriation of their main political symbols by the Benalist regime. At first, many of them chose to side with the new rulers around Ben Ali and join their ‘union sacrée’ or ‘national front’ against the dreaded ‘marée verte’ and ‘Islamist deluge’. Shell-shocked by the strong showing of Islamist candidates in the 1989 elections, and the unspeakable atrocities committed in the civil war in neighboring Algeria, Tunisian secularist intellectuals (as well as the urban bourgeoisie at large) underwent a considerable radicaliza327

tion in the early 1990s. Most were now ready to accept the regime’s allega tions that there was no such thing as a ‘moderate’ Islamist, that Nahda’s only goal was to take over the state and establish a theocracy from above, and that once they had attained this goal they would quickly drop their 297 commitment to democracy (according to ‘one man, one vote, one time’). In fact, already at this early stage of the ‘New Era’, some representatives members of the secular opposition proved to be more ‘éradicateurs’ than the Destourians themselves (see for instance the various quotes in al-Ahnaf 1989 and Lee 2008). Those who adopted a particularly hawkish stance were mostly members of the political left (like the UGTT leadership under Ismail Sahbani and the ex-communists around Mohamed Harmel) as well as some parts of the normally rather centrist bourgeoisie (including people like Mohamed Charfi, Sadok Chaabane, Mongi Bousnina, Mezri Haddad, Mohamed Houcine Fantar, and Hele Beji). Others tried to steer a middle course between regime and Islamists, but soon found themselves caught in-between 298 the lines and were thus forced to take sides, or were pushed aside. This political alliance, however, began to crumble as it became obvious that Ben Ali was neither up for democracy nor for alternance, that his one and only goal was to fortify his newly acquired position and to establish himself as another supreme, and above all perennial, ruler ‒ in other words, that he would be ‘the winner who takes it all’ and leave mere crumbs for everybody else. By the time this learning process occurred, however, it was already too late for many former opponents, because they had already lost too much of their repute ‒ first for having chosen to align themselves fully on the regime’s positions after 1987, then for having actually helped eradicate Ghannouchi’s movement after 1990, and finally for having helplessly stood by when Ben Ali finally turned against themselves. As Kamel Labidi has 297 Abdelbaki Hermassi has rightly pointed out that this ideological radicalization was also the collateral result of an enhanced political competition: “Il est vrai que l’islamisme représentait pour la gauche (…) un concurrent dangereux sinon redoutable. Après de longues années de lutte contre l’autoritarisme bourguibien, elle voit surgir une opposition qui non seulement tient un autre discours, qu’elle juge obscurantiste, mais qui investit le même terrain traditionnel de la gauche, à savoir l’université et les syndicats. Tout se passe comme si, par la suite, il s’agissait pour la gauche de choisir entre une force ‘parvenue’ et anachronique d’une part, et un régime usé mais moderniste de l’autre. Toujours est-il que cette gauche-là choisit de devenir le défenseur et l’apôtre du Bourguibisme: défendre les ‘conquêtes’ du régime républicain, barrer la route à la montée de ‘l’obscurantisme’” (Hermassi 1989). 298 The only exception to this sad rule was a small number of activists (like Moncef Marzouki and Radhia Nasraoui) and intellectuals (such as Mohamed Talbi, Hichem Djait, Abdelwahab Meddeb, Abdelkader Zghal, and Yadh Ben Achour), who maintained a decidedly neutral stance vis-à-vis both sides, or who expressively denounced the savage repression of the Ben Ali regime. 328

written, “ceux qui avaient fermé les yeux sur la répression aveugle contre les islamistes et les autres contestataires, et sur la persécution de leur familles, les ouvriraient quelques années plus tard dans les locaux de la police, en prison ou en exil” (“La Longue Descente aux Enfers de la Tunisie”. Le Monde Diplomatique, March 2006, p.10-11). The after-shock continues until the present time. Given the systematic bipolarization of the political landscape and the gross power inequalities between both sides, it has been extremely difficult for the legal opposition to position itself vis-à-vis the regime. What they have usually done is to focus on some very broad demands (like separating the judiciary and the administration from the Destour, and giving themselves more seats in parliament and broader access to the media), broad enough to cover up the deep chasms that continue to exist within their own ranks. The advantages of these demands are that they are specific enough to distinguish themselves from the regime (but not in fundamental violation of the National Pact) and that, if enacted, they would procure them broader access to state resources and more elbow room for political activities. The downsides are that they hardly matter to anybody other than themselves (at least not to the ‘man in the street’) and that, even if enacted, they would hardly alter the system as such. It is evident that most members of the secular opposition are more concerned about a controlled and incremental opening of the political system, than about its rapid and radical transformation (in the same way as ‘educating’ the masses is more important to them than ‘mobilizing’ the latter). They are more disposed toward ‘liberalization’ and ‘pluralization’ than toward a full-fledged democratization of the country and a free-wheeling competition in politics. The reason is that the former could potentially contribute to strengthening their influence on politics, but without threatening to empower their competitors, the ‘barbus’. Thus, what they are really interested in is not to change the structures of the system, but to improve their position within; what they are clamoring for is alternance, but without offering alternatives. This attitude reflects the stance which Tunisian liberal constitutionalists typically adopted vis-à-vis the powers-that-be since the mid-19 th century. They usually did not challenge the right of the state (‘elites’) to guide and shape society (‘masses’), nor did they ever fundamentally question the traditional exchange of ‘goods’ characterizing and structuring political clientelism in their country (i.e. protection and security vs. allegiance or acquiescence). They only demanded that the rulers respect their own laws, and that they let qualified, ‘enlightened’ citizens participate in political decision making (in other words, that they follow the principle of shûra or consultation). 329

Thus, Tunisian reformism clearly reflects the traditional relationship that existed between the ‘rulers’ (sultans, beys, etc.) and the ‘intellectuals’ (ulema, fuqaha, etc.), firmly enshrined in the region’s political culture and collective imagination. This has partly changed due to the mobilization and differentiation that the country’s political opposition and human rights groups have experienced since the late 1990s (i.e. their split into a ‘loyalist’, or ‘legalist’ wing on the one hand, and a ‘critical’, or ‘radical’ wing on the other, followed by 299 the rapprochement between the latter and the Islamists). Since the beginning of this decade at the latest, the main rallying cry in opposition circles has been the call for democracy. In fact, absent a substantial consensus on basic political questions or on specific political programs, agreement on procedural questions and on democratic reforms has become the ‘smallest common denominator’ for both secularists and Islamists, and the main federating factors for both professional party politicians and civil society activists. Evidence appears to suggest that this rapprochement is not just a change in tactics but also a change in strategy. In fact, there seems to be a growing anxiety that the existing political system and the party-state complex will not be able to integrate the profound societal disruptions and the growing political unrest to be expected in the coming years, as aresult of social differentiation and mass unemployment. Most point out that the greatest danger is that there are no structures whatsoever that could absorb the expected disintegrative impacts of a full-fledged Euro-Mediterranean free trade, and thereby prevent the potential outbreak of a new system crisis. Hence, many argue that Ben Ali may be missing his last chance for genuine political re form, and thereby make the same mistake as his illustrious predecessor. There seems to be a growing convergence of opinions (from the left to the right, from Socialists to Arabists, from secularists to Islamists) that it is actually the ‘absence of democracy’ that has so far prevented any real progress of Arab cooperation efforts and unification schemes, and that this has left their region exposed vis-à-vis a triumphant occident and rampant globalization. Moreover, there seems to be a growing consensus that not only their countries, but also their own organizations need democratic rules that allow for a peaceful co-existence among their members and an open exchange of ideas. In short, evidence suggests that there is deep unease and soul searching on all sides, far more than the usual political spin and tactical 299 The two main, closely interrelated debates which have preoccupied the secular camp in these last years are, first, the question of whether to envisage a cooperation with Islamists and demand their re-admission into the system; and second, the choice between a general, all-inclusive amnesty of political prisoners, or a limited, tailor-made one (i.e. with or without the inclusion of the Islamists). 330

games (see for instance the various contributions in Lamloum & Ravenel 2002). There are advantages to the abandoning of the demand for competition, and the focus on pluralization. Secularists can call for an opening of the system without having to fear their sidelining in politics by the force of religion. Islamists can prepare a return into politics without having to (permanently) abandon their goals of establishing an Islamic state. Another interesting aspect of such a gradualist approach is that its line of argument is actually very similar to, and fairly compatible with, that of the regime, and thus leaves or opens opportunities for negotiation. The problem remains, however, that the disagreements between the different parties and the incompatibilities of their agendas have just been delayed, and not overcome. Therefore, it is obvious that the opposition is increasingly becoming resigned to the idea of forgetting about their goals of being able to eke the Destour out of power and push through a change of the system. This acceptance of the existence of the pouvoir also implies the recognition of the necessity of coming to terms with it. It must be noted, however, that this does not mean the recognition of the latter’s political legitimacy; it only means acquiescing to its political power. Thus, there is no real fulfillment in contemporary Tunisia of an absolutely essential requirement for structural political stability: namely widespread social acceptance and internalization of existing political rules and institutions.

CONCLUSION The case of Tunisia actually confirms that ruling elites can live very well with ‘good governance’ and ‘civil society’, precisely because these notions promote vertical not horizontal integration, and technical not democratic reforms (cf. Ferrié 2003 and Hawthorne 2004a). The main focus of the term ‘good governance’ (at least as understood by the Benalist regime and most Western governments alike) is to increase the efficiency and performance of states, without endangering the power and position of the rulers. It betrays a highly reductionist concept of political modernization, as well as highly paternalist understanding of state-society relations. What is more, the political concepts underlying the term ‘civil society’ are also compatible with the political project of the Benalist regime. It harmonizes well with a liberal idea of economic life (clustered around the principles of social self-organization and decentralized resource allocation), and it offers many of the built-in advantages of liberal democracies (in terms of legitimacy and insight) ‒ all without jeopardizing the power bases of incumbent regimes or their control over politics. 331

The ambivalent effects which civil society may have for democracy building have in fact been highlighted by many observers. “Le développement de la société civile peut favoriser ce double projet et constituer pour les régimes ‘autoritaires libéraux’ un moyen de bénéficier, sans trop de risques, de certains des avantages des régimes démocratiques: un moindre coût sécuritaire, une meilleure information sur l'efficacité de la gestion, une meilleure assise sociale” (Ferrié 2003: 30). “La limite imposée aux associations réside dans ce qui les rend tolérables pour les gouvernants: le fait qu'elles soient extérieurs aux lieux traditionnels du politique. Or la démocratisation ne peut se passer de ces lieux traditionnels: les associations ne remplacent pas les partis, ni la cooptation les élections. La logique d'une démocratisation passant par la société civile serait donc d'entraîner une politisation de celle-ci” (ibid: 31). The political trajectory of Ben Ali’s ‘New Tunisia’ is thus another reminder that the admission of opposition parties into the political system and their participation in elections are null and void, if these spare the real loci of political power or do not allow for a genuine competition between the contending parties; that the existence of basic right and freedoms or the introduction of formal democratic institutions and mechanisms are ineffective without institutionalized checks and balances, and effective legal controls and safeguards; that free mass media, autonomous citizens’ associations, or pluralist public debates cannot replace an autonomous political sphere, effective political parties, or empowered parliamentary assemblies; in short, that pluralist political elections alone cannot produce a genuine liberal democracy, in the same way as civil society cannot be a real substitute for a political society (cf. also Brumberg 2002 & 2003 for further reading). As Sadiki has pointed out, “what the Tunisian example demonstrates is that a tailor-made ‘electoral democracy’ changes very little of the authoritarian structures of the state” (2002: 58). Further, “the regime continues to possess the democratic process. It has, more or less, appropriated and deployed all state resources to reproduce itself without much serious competition. This is one reason why elections are easily won by the RCD. The opposition, being the regime's own creation, has become another state resource (…). Hence having a weak coalition of political parties in parliament with little or no bearing on the policy-making process is obviously not about checks and balances or power sharing at home. Rather, it is about democratic self-packaging: having the veneer of a democracy without having to be democratic” (ibid: 64). And he concludes: “Ben Ali seeks his own intermediaries, keeping a tight grip on the manufacturing of political community. Political society in Tunisia is today a dummy society. Selected intermediaries are not there to nego332

tiate, aggregate and represent society's interests and preferences. They serve as a democratic decor that masks singular rule. ‘Electoral democracy’ rubber- stamps the selection of intermediaries whose participation entrenches authoritarian corporatism not democratic pluralism” (ibid: 72). “Tunisia today is an over-stated state or another Arab ‘façade democracy’ (…), a system where the trappings of democracy are manipulated by a ruling élite, preventing genuine deepening (contestation) and widening (participation)” (ibid: 72).

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VIII THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF THE ‘NEW ERA’: FROM DIRECT REGULATION TO INDIRECT CONTROL

1. The Comeback of the Market: Transition by Design or by Default? Since the founding of the Republic, the search for the ‘right’ economic model was the most contentious issue among Tunisian PREs (cf. Murphy 1999; Bellin 2002; Ayari 2003). Contrary to the relative continuity characterizing other policy fields, economic policies did indeed witness wild swings (also because this policy field was more open to controversial discussion than others). Even Hedi Nouira’s infitâh policy was actually a political hybrid. It offered public support for private businesses, and encouraged foreign investments. At the same time, it maintained state control over market access (through trade barriers and restrictive licensing) and most economic indicators (prices, wages, interests, and exchange rates), in the same way as it imposed state oversight of the most important players (in terms of their em ployment and development potential) and otherwise strategic sectors (like utilities and banking). In this sense, it was nothing but a compromise be 300 tween the ‘disciples of the plan’, and the ‘partisans of the market’. The outcome of this policy was the gradual emergence of a mixed economy that combined a low degree of differentiation and specialization with a high degree of fragmentation and sectorialization. National income was derived from a few main sources, basically extractive industries (hydrocarbons, phosphates), agriculture (olives, fruits), manufacturing (clothing, textiles), and services (construction, tourism), backed up by external transfers (development aid, migrant remittances). The state provided a battery of in300 The weak point of the Nouira approach was that “it enacted a policy which encouraged exports and investment in the exporting sector but failed to encourage Tunisian companies to compete in international markets and discouraged competition in domestic markets”. The main purpose of this policy was actually “the reduction of unemployment among unskilled workers (…) and emigration to Europe. It was not part of a general strategy based on conquering new markets” (Francis Ghilès: Tunisia, a Maghreb Tiger? Discussion Paper Presented at the Middle East Forum of the London School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS) on 04/11/96). 334

centive schemes and support mechanisms to accompany industrialization. This policy was successful in that it produced relatively high growth rates, rising living standards for broad social strata, and broad middle classes in the main urban hubs. But it also required a high price to be paid, namely heavy macro-economic imbalances, increasingly pronounced external account deficits, and quickly rising public debts. The country's narrow economic base was thus also its main weak point: it could have imported large quantities of capital or goods, but not both of them simultaneously and forever. The main problem with such an economic system was that it suffered from a large number of built-in shortcomings. It needed artificially low wages to attract private investors, thereby inevitably creating inter-group tensions and intra-elite conflicts. It also required artificially low food prices to compensate (partly) the urban workforce, thereby penalizing both the state budget and the rural population. And it created an inefficient and overstaffed public apparatus in order to ‘purchase’ political allegiance (or at least political acquiescence) and to absorb the excess workforce. All of this led to soaring public expenses and ‘horizontal transfers’ to compensate regime clients and other strategic groups, and keep intact the ruling coalition. Developments increasingly exceeded the re-distributive and integrative capacities of the existing political and economic structures, and planted the seeds for the systems crisis of the mid-1980s. In actual reality, the high growth rates of the Nouira years, and the ensuing social upward mobility of increasingly wide social strata, largely resulted from constant deficit spending of the public sector, made possible by the increasing availability of external rents: natural rents, location rents, as well as political rents. It was thus obvious to everybody that the maintenance of this system would hinge on the ability of the state to continuously secure financial inflows, and to skillfully balance the different components of the economic equation. This task, however, would be no easy feat given that the main sources of income were concentrated in highly volatile market segments and thus exposed to periodically occurring slumps. A deterioration of prices in any of these was bound to immediately ‘ripple through’ to other sectors of the economy, and gradually ‘rub off’ on the country as a whole. This is precisely what happened in the first half of the 1980s when two consecutive droughts destroyed large parts of the agricultural production, financial inflows from exporting industries and migrant workers dried up (due to plummeting oil prices and ailing European economies), financial costs incurred from servicing past loans and securing fresh money shot up (due to soaring dollar prices and worsening exchanges rates), and the fundamentals of the system collapsed. Suddenly, the regime found itself in a situation where it was no longer able to raise the necessary external resources to 335

run a structurally negative national account. The debt service ratio crossed the critical 20 percent threshold in 1983, reaching 33 percent in 1986. Unable to meet its financial obligations or continue to finance its import needs, the Tunisian government had no other option but to ask for foreign help. Thus, the conclusion of a ‘structural adjustment package’ with the Bretton Woods institutions in July 1986 meant paradigmatic changes for Tunisian policy. As Ayari (2003) put it, it marked the end of Tunisia’s ‘1 st economic modernity’, and heralded the beginning of its ‘2nd economic modernity’. The main goals of the first phase of the adjustment package (also re flected in the 7th Plan of 1987-91) reflected not only old targets, like re-establishing economic stability and strengthening private business, but also included new ones, like freeing up factor markets and selling off state assets. The end result of this process would be the replacement of an essentially centrally administered economy (one controlled by the state bureaucracy, albeit with a sizable private sector component) with an essentially de-centrally regulated economy (now driven by market mechanisms, albeit with a strong public sector influence). However, this defensive strategy produced rather unimpressive outcomes, as evidenced by the sharp slump of the early 1990s. These sub-optimal results were mostly attributable to structural constraints that were essentially beyond the immediate reach of national policy makers. This was, first, a low level of economic diversification and market elasticity, which resulted (at least in part) from the country’s small, largely saturated consumer markets, and from its rigid, over-regulated factor markets. It was, second, the narrow basis of national income, which still relied heavily on very few, and quickly dwindling, natural assets (like gas), and on a volatile, and fragile, farming sector. And it was, third, the lop-sided nature of the productive sector, which was divided into some large, overstaffed, and poorly managed SOEs, and many tiny, under-developed, and under-capitalized SMEs. All this was exacerbated (from the Tunisian perspective) by several ‘negative’ developments in the international context, like the EU’s southward enlargement, and the Iraq-Kuwait crisis. Poor economic results were, however, also due to the deliberate decisions of the political leadership to keep the economic opening and structural adjustment from touching upon politically important or otherwise ‘sensitive’ issues. In fact, it was obvious that most progress in this early phase was achieved on the macro-economic level, as could be seen from the quick stabilization of the grand economic equilibria (like the country's current account and budget deficits, and its inflation and exchange rates), and from the equally quick liberalization of economic factor markets (prices, credit markets, interests, and exchange rates). Political performance was much more 336

lack-luster on the micro-economic front, gauging from the sluggish progress of the privatization program, or the stalled reform of the financial sector. In fact, the new ruling elites had made it clear from the very beginning that ‘strategic sectors’ would be excluded from the privatization process, irrespective of whether they were public utilities or industrial commodities. These included electricity, water, transport, mining, chemicals, cement, and steel production, as could be seen from the relevant provisions of the national pact and corresponding statements of regime representatives. Thus, contrary to the ambitious announcements of official discourse, the ministerial bureaucracy and the regime elites at large still appeared unwilling in that phase to cease their politically motivated interference with capital allocation processes and move toward a real market economy. By 1990/91, it had become clear, however, that this strategy would be unsustainable in the longer run. This marked the beginning of the crucial phase of the economic reform process.

2. Change of Paradigms or Change of Tactics? The Economic Strategy of the Benalist Regime THE POLITICAL ECONOMY OF THE GLOBAL MARKET: CHALLENGES AND OPPORTUNITIES The limited results of their initial reforms prompted the Benalist regime to subsequently carry out an in-depth revision of its economic policy (cf. Dillman 1998 & 2001; Murphy 1999 & 2001). The new course adopted in the early 1990s (and reflected in the 8th Plan of 1992-96) contained a policy package made up of four main components. The first involved a further opening of both foreign trade and domestic competition, and a further boost of private industry and the export sector. The second foresaw to unlock market access and reduce price distortion, while pulling out from productive sectors and selling off public assets. The third consisted of a significant expansion of public investment in infrastructure, with a particular emphasis on the interior provinces. And the fourth consisted of a hand-on, pro-active approach to public welfare and social policy, with a special focus on the urban poor and other vulnerable groups. All this added up to a fundamental change in the basic vectors which had so far marked the political economy of the 301 Tunisian Republic. 301 The driving force behind this policy revision were a number of people who had risen to positions of power in the wake of the ‘Change’, among them Ismail Khelil, minister of the economy under Bourguiba, and governor of the central bank from 19871990. As he made clear in an interview published in May 1988, “toute notre politique 337

At first glance, it appeared that ‘les hommes du changement’ had fully endorsed the main tenets of the ‘open regionalism approach’. The basic idea behind this policy was to build up spatially defined political orders and/or economic clusters, made up of countries linked among themselves by special economic relations and preferential trade agreements, while remaining open to similarly structured entities and to the world market at large. The argument normally put forward to justify this (pro)position was that Tunisia would be much too small (and the Maghreb too fragmented) to mobilize private investment capable of generating growth rates commensurate with demographic pressures. Only as part (and possibly the hub) of a larger regional market, and of an integrated Maghreb, could Tunisia justify its rela302 tively high labor costs and fully exploit its reasonably skilled workforce. The conclusion which was usually drawn from proponents of this viewpoint (especially after the failure of the UMA, the initially preferred option of the new rulers) was that the achievement of meaningful economic growth rates allowing for the maintenance of the socio-political status quo would only be feasible via their country’s re-insertion into globalized value chains still largely dominated by the so-called ‘Triad’ (US-EU-Japan). The most advantageous option (if not the only conceivable one) for a country like Tunisia would lie in its sequential association with the Single European Market via the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership initiative launched at the 303 Barcelona ministerial conference in late 1995. In either case, it was private entrepreneurship in general, and private investment in particular, that were attributed a primordial importance for tend à responsabiliser le Tunisien et à dégager l’Etat. Ce dernier ne peut s’occuper de tout. La notion d’Etat-providence est dépassée. C’est un grand luxe que de continuer à l’être. D’ailleurs la Tunisie n’a plus les moyens de continuer dans cette voie”. And with regard to the role the state ought to play, he pointed out that “l’Etat doit être là pour aider, encourager, orienter et tracer les grandes lignes. C’est pour cela que toute notre politique actuelle consiste essentiellement à créer l’environnement nécessaire pour que l’entreprise tunisienne puisse s’activer et surtout assumer pleinement sa responsabilité” (Quoted in Harik 1990: 10). 302 An informed observer had summarized this viewpoint as follows: “Aux yeux des responsables, le processus est irréversible. La Tunisie est un petit pays dont le marché intérieur ne suffit pas à alimenter la croissance et développer l’emploi. Pour se développer, il faut donc exporter. Et pour exporter, il faut disposer d’un outil moderne et concurrentiel. D’où la nécessité de libéraliser, malgré les risques” (Ziyad Limam: “La révolution libérale”. JA 1691, 03/06/93, p. 26-28). 303 These propositions also reflect Tunisia’s complete dependence on its northern neighbors. In 1995, commercial exchanges with European countries represented about 80 percent of Tunisia’s foreign trade, while the relevant data for Arab countries amounted to only about 8 percent. As we will see later on, these discrepancies have actually further increased since that time. 338

achieving the twin goals of industrial modernization and economic integration. It would be up to them to generate more substantial growth rates, and to secure the necessary employment opportunities to uphold the secular promise of both collective advancement and individual improvement contained in the welfarist bargain developed under Bourgiba and defended by Ben Ali. By doing so, they should also help the new rulers deliver on the promises made after the ‘Change’, and renew the contract which had linked their predecessors to the populace, before it had collapsed as a result of the crisis. This did not necessarily mean a change of paradigm, but it certainly implied an inversion of roles. Before, the state used (or claimed) to take the lead when it came to charting the way forward for the country, and allocating the resources needed for this task, while business was expected to follow in its wake, and fill the niches left by it. This meant that the private sector was attributed a subordinate and assisting role compared with the public sector. Henceforth, it was rather the other way round. Private capital was from now on supposed to act as the main driver for development, while the public authorities were called upon to assist it in achieving this task. This means that business was expected to become the motor of the economy, even though the state would remain in the driver’s seat (and take care of the course). The main starting point should be the light manufacturing industry as developed under the old regime (in the first degree textiles and garments and, to an increasing extent, mechanical and electrical appliances). Another priority area should be the services sector (mainly the tourism industry and business services). Both should follow an approach that would be both extensive and intensive. By gradually broadening the basis of production, and adding further components to the product cycle, they should help narrow existing gaps in the local value chains, and diminish national dependency on foreign inputs. Further, by stepping up the quality of the offer, they should 304 help achieve more significant financial returns for the local economy. Several arguments were advanced to justify these choices. The first was the vital importance of these two sectors for the Tunisian economy. Taken together, textiles and tourism still accounted for about half of total exports in the early 1990s, with textiles in the order of 30 percent, and tourism in the order of 20 percent. The second argument was the existence of major comparative advantages in these particular fields (like their country's proximity to Europe, its reputation for stability, its cost-effective workforce, and its fairly modern infrastructure). The third argument was the availability of major windfalls at that particular junction (like the war-produced market 304 Surprisingly, traditionally important (and employment-intensive) sectors like handicrafts and agriculture were mostly absent in the regime discourses at that time. 339

exit of several regional competitors in the tourism sector, the wish of Western governments to maintain stability in the region, their interest in finding reliable partners among Arab states, and the eagerness of Western firms to outsource labor-intensive activities to low-cost countries). From the point of view of the regime, however, this did not imply a hands-off, or laisser faire, approach to economic and social processes. Even though they agreed in principle to stop distorting prices and disengage from production, they still argued that the state would have to play both an active, and a central role in economic and social affairs. This was not just because of Tunisia's vulnerable position within its international context (because of the relative shortage of natural resources, and the limited size of the national market), but also because of great challenges facing the domestic industry (due to the country's impending association with the EU, and the scheduled out-phasing of the MFA). In their eyes, there was thus an urgent need for a forward-looking, hands-on industrial policy that facilitated the necessary reconversion of the domestic manufacturing industry, and prepared it for the economic rigors of global competition.

THE NEW MISSION OF THE TUNISIAN STATE: FACILITATOR AND ARBITER This in-depth re-definition of the economic strategy which ought to guide the development of the country also had a profound impact on the role which the state was supposed to perform in this regard. Henceforth, the public authorities should limit themselves to providing some basic public goods which the market could not deliver. These involved ensuring macroeconomic stability (including stable interests and exchange rates), providing basic social services (like education and health care); and establishing an ‘enabling’ institutional framework (including secure property rights and possible legal redress). Other important functions which the state ought to assume in this equation included maintaining public order and political stability, securing national independence and territorial integrity, and promoting social peace and cohesion. The state was thus expected to become less important as an ‘actor’ that actively interferes in productive life, and arbitrarily determines factor prices. On the contrary, it was poised to become more important as an ‘arbiter’ that decides on the ‘rules of the game’, and enforces them vis-à-vis the ‘rest of the players’. The state was thus attributed a key role for overseeing the interaction of the latter, harmonizing the performance of the ensemble, and guaranteeing the successful outcome of the whole process. It was also seen as being instrumental for managing relations between the ‘social partners’, 340

determining the distribution of the spoils, and settling conflicts between the parties. In short, the ‘new state’ would have to be both “un Etat stratège” and “un Etat arbitre”, as Aissa Hidoussi, then secretary of state in charge of privatization at the ministry of economic development, pointed out (Réalités 1998: 86-87). Thus, it must be noted that even though the Benalist regime pays lip service to a rather orthodox (‘neo-classical’) economic policy discourse, and tiptoes the main arguments of the (in)famous ‘Washington Consensus’, Ben Ali himself has always been careful to underline that he views the economy as a means to an end, and not as an end in itself. According to him, the overriding goal of economic policy should be the “edification of an open and balanced economy that reconciles economic efficiency with social prosperity” (13th anniversary speech, 07/11/00). The key slogan is ‘comprehensive development’ as contained in the economic chapter of the National Pact which stresses that “le développement intégral et équitable [at-tatawwur ash-shâmila wa-l-‘âdila] est la finalité suprême (sic!) du combat du peuple tunisien et de la politique de l'Etat” (ATCE 1994: 17). Regime representatives have made it very clear on many occasions that they regarded economic development as serving one main purpose: namely to help reproduce and perpetuate the ‘social contract’ on which their state was based and dependent. From this point of view, economic growth and technological progress were only desirable insofar and as long as they did not undermine the country’s stability and/or the regime’s power. This also meant that the state would have to provide for a ‘just distribution’ of the fruits of growth ‒ while being the one that defines the exact meaning of the word ‘just’. As the RCD’s first secretary-general Abderrahime Zouari pointed out in an interview at that time: “L’Etat doit intervenir là où le privé n’a pas les moyens de le faire. Pour nous, l’entreprise privée ne signifie pas une course effrénée vers des super-profits. Notre option majeure demeure la distribution équitable et plus juste des produits de la richesse nationale” (Abderrahime Zouari: “Le changement c’est nous”. JA 1491, 02/08/89, p. 26-27).

CONCLUSION Since the ‘Change’ of 1987, the ‘mother of all questions’ which had antagonized Tunisian PREs for over three decades has seemingly been settled for good. The only officially accepted standpoint (and declared government policy) is now that economic development should be achieved through market forces rather than through state planning, and that private business rather than the public sector should act as the driving force. An increasingly deregulated, predominantly private-owned manufacturing industry and services 341

sector would thus have to assume locomotive functions for producing welfare gains. By penetrating global productive and distributive networks, they should generate the financial (and technological) inward transfers needed for socio-political stability. The consequence of this rethink was the decision to shift from an essen tially closed, import-substituting, administered economy to an increasingly open, export-driven market economy. This new policy no longer aimed at a horizontal decoupling from the world market, to be achieved through the systematic substitution of economic inputs via a rapid extension of local value chains. Rather, it opted for a vertical integration into the world market, based on the systematic capture of new market segments via a deliberate exploitation of one’s comparative advantages. Access to export markets and the securing of resource inflows were to be pursued via preferential trade accords and privileged economic relations with Tunisia’s most important trading partners. This new policy was hoped to produce the long-desired breakthrough as an emerging economy that would be knowledge-intensive, quality-based, skill-driven, and value-intensive. It would build on the structures which had been put into place under Bourguiba (with light manufacturing industry as its main starting point), while at the same time venturing into those fields where their country was supposed to enjoy comparative advantages over global competitors. In particular, Tunisia should learn from the manifold experiences of the ‘Asian Tigers’ with whom it was claimed to share a number of traits. The main example for Tunisian policy to follow should be Singapore, which was seen as attractive both from an economic and a political point of view. The overall policy orientations were inscribed into the new industrial strategy ‘Horizon 2016’, which the Tunisian government adopted in spring 2009. According to this strategy, Tunisia's industrial policy should build on four main components: growth, quality, diversification, and cross-fertilization. The declared objective is to double exports and triple investments between 2008 and 2016: from TD 15 to 30 billions and from TD 1 to 3 billions respectively. Tunisians should thus move beyond traditional sectors (like textiles & clothing, leather & footwear, agribusiness, mechanical & electrical appliances, building materials, and chemical industries) and specifically target higher added value sectors (like automotive & aeronautic components, technical plastics, pharmaceutical & paramedical industries, and ICT services). The ‘ability to innovate’ in particular is seen as key for the success of this policy. It must be noted, however, that the main starting point of this in-depth redefinition of the national development strategy had not a priori been an ideological ‘revirement’ within the ruling camp, but the actual political fall342

out of a major systems crisis. This produced a growing awareness at the political top level of the need to ease systemic pressures and gain a new lease of life, by shedding past obligations and finding alternative sources of income. This, in turn, bolstered the standing of the so-called liberalizers within the ruling camp, who subsequently moved into positions of power after the ‘Change’. The reconfiguration of the ruling coalition, combined with the concurrence of external (f)actors, gave the proponents of a (more) liberal economy enough ‘added weight’ to overcome the resistance of the ‘old guard’. It must also be noted that these changes were first and foremost limited to the leading echelons of the executive elites. At first, they did not really impact deep into the ranks of ordinary party members and civil servants. Moreover, even amongst top decision makers and senior state officials, the decision to liberalize was much more tactical than strategic. It resulted from the awareness that the state had overstretched its forces and resources, and would thus have to share tasks and powers. In other words, they chose to ‘open up’ because they had to, not because they wanted to. The real conflicts among regime elites were thus not played out in public (i.e. on the level of policy discourse), but rather fought out ‘on the ground’ (i.e. on the level of policy implementation). This becomes visible by having a closer look at policy making processes in those fields that were considered as key to the political economy of the ‘New Tunisia’.

3. Reforming the Public Sector: The Politics of Disengagement THE RE-CONVERSION OF THE TUNISIAN STATE In the politico-economic universe of Bourguibo-Destourian Tunisia, the state used to be the undisputed centerpiece and cornerstone of both politics and economics. As such, it was supposed to determine not only the allocation of financial resources, but also the distribution of social opportunities. By the time of the ‘Change’, however, it had become increasingly clear that the state had ‘overstretched’ itself in the past, was no longer able to perform the entirety of its functions, and would be thus forced to cede parts of his powers. It was also clear that the question of how to reform such an entity would touch upon the very heart of the existing ‘social contract’, cut deeply into the clientelist networks of the ruling elites, and rock the very pillars of 305 the existing political system (cf. Harik 1990; Waltz 1991; Belev 2000). 305 This paragraph is meant to only be concerned with the shifting boundaries of the public sector, its changing role in society, and its interrelations with other social factors; it shall not deal with functional or procedural aspects of public institutions, 343

The sensitivity of this issue (as well as the degree of resistance it aroused) can be gleaned from the sluggish progress of public sector reform, which took almost a decade to gather momentum. It started timidly in the early 1980s with the decision to limit price controls to ‘basic products’ (even though this decision was only very restrictively implemented in practice). It did not, however, involve the sale of a single public enterprise until the end of Bourguiba’s rule (except for the reversal of agricultural collectivization which took place in the late 1960s). This meant that until the late 1980s, reforms were mainly concerned with stabilization, and not restructuring; they stopped at the macro-economic surface, without getting into the micro-economic ‘substance’. Real change did not make itself felt before the late 1980s. Although the institutional groundwork of the privatization process had been laid before the ‘Change’, the decisive choices were made afterwards. The first step was to redefine what a state-owned enterprise actually entailed. Before 1985, it was sufficient that the state owned 10 percent of the company for the latter to be considered an SOE (a definition applying to some 500 companies). Law 85-72 then raised the minimum participation to 34 percent (which decreased the number of SOEs to 307). And Law 89-9 raised this critical threshold once again to the present 50 percent (which reduced the number of SOEs to 189). These measures drastically increased the number of enterprises which were officially no longer considered SOEs, but which were effectively controlled by the state. The second step was to create the necessary framework for privatization to gain momentum. Thus, Law 87-47 of August 1987 determined the overall parameters of the privatization program as well as the responsible institutions for its subsequent implementation. And Law 89-9 of February 1989, Law 94-102 of August 1994, and Law 94-117 of November 1994 all provided for the reorganization of the domestic financial markets as well as for the establishment of a new semi-public stock exchange (BVMT). The main characteristics of all of these laws were that they were as short as they were vague, thereby leaving authority over the actual implementation of the privatization package in the hands of the government bureaucracy. The third step was to create the institutions charged with managing the process. Decree 87-65 of January 1987 first assigned overall responsibility for the privatization program to the prime ministry. Decree 89-377 of March 1989 then replaced the three initial commissions with a single inter-ministerial body, CAREPP, which was chaired by the prime minister himself and included the main government stakeholders (the ministries of planning, fitheir internal organization, or their relative effectiveness. 344

nance, interior, social affairs, state affairs, and the central bank). Decree 932408 of November 1993 finally transferred responsibility for privatization to the ministry of economic development. The main effect of all of these changes was to lay actual responsibility for the entire process in the hands of a single state body (cf. Belev 2000: 145 for a short overview of the institutional architecture). All in all, the privatization process has gone through three successive stages, gradually gaining in pace and scope. Prior to the mid-1990s, only a few small-scale and mainly loss-making companies were divested (or liquidated). This concerned about 60 out of 500, with 50 percent in the tourism industry, and another 30 percent in the chemical, mechanical, and food sectors. Until the late 1990s, also larger, profit-making and labor-intensive ventures (mainly in the textiles, foodstuff, mechanical, and electrical sectors) were sold to private investors. Since that date, even previously closed, and politically sensitive sectors (like transport, energy, telecommunication, commercial banking, health care, and education) have been opened to private participation. It must be noted, however, that none of these have led to a decisive (let alone irreversible) loss of economic control by the state authori306 ties. Generally, the roles and tasks of private and public operators are almost always compatible or even symbiotic. Outsourcing has mainly taken place in the form of a concession (i.e. on a purely temporary basis), or in the form of sub-contracting (i.e. with a purely subordinate role for the participating private firm). One example is the power sector. Private firms have been given responsibility for the production of fuels as well as for the generation of power (in exchange for fixed prices and guaranteed returns). The Tunisian state, in turn, will be assured safe supply of the needed energy, and 307 a more efficient use of its scarce resources. Another example is the transport sector. Tunis Air retains its monopoly over outbound flights, but in306 Altogether 217 companies (worth TD 6.059 millions) have been divested between 1987 and 2008 (more information can be found at www.privatization.gov.tn). Milestones of this process included (alongside the aforementioned developments in the financial sector) the construction and operation of the ‘Rades II’ power station by an American-Japanese consortium since 1996; the exploration and exploitation of the ‘Miskar’ gas field by a BP-led consortium since 1998; the tendering of a second GSM license to an Egyptian-Kuwaiti consortium in 2002; as well as the decision to open the company capital of major SOEs like Tunis Air and Tunisie Telecom to private investors (further details will be given in the paragraph dealing with economic infrastructure). 307 Thus, the Société Tunisienne de l'Éléctricité et du Gaz (STEG) lost its monopoly for the generation, but not for the distribution of energy, meaning it retained its control of supply networks and price setting. 345

creasingly ‘cooperates’ in domestic flights with newly founded private firms. Many of these were launched by people close to the ‘family’, like ‘Karthago Airlines’, owned by Belhassen Trabelsi, ‘Nouvelair’, owned by Aziz Miled, 308 and ‘Tuninter’, owned by Ezzeddine Lagha. These examples demonstrate the increasing emergence of ‘public private partnerships’ based on common interests of both sides. Generally, Tunisian government authorities have so far prioritized political objectives (like maintaining social peace and political stability) over economic ones (like maximizing efficiency and profitability). With this in mind, they were usually anxious to clean up the company’s balance sheets before starting the bidding process. The aim was not only to arouse the interest of investors, and obtain a better sales price for the whole transaction, but also to facilitate the survival of the enterprise in question, and reduce the risk of layoffs after its sale. Further, they normally obliged the new owners to accept quite extensive ‘cahiers de charge’, which either prevented them from firing redundant workers or obliged them to offer a severance package. “L’intérêt est ainsi porté plus sur la pérennité de l’entreprise qu’à la maximi sation du produit des ventes” (Nadia Cheour: “La privatisation en Tunisie: bilan et perspectives”. L’Entreprise 52, 03/01, p. 11-17). This was a policy the government was clearly unwilling to change, despite the criticism it earned them from the IFIs. In most cases, the Tunisian authorities preferred the direct model over an indirect approach, which implied selling the targeted SOE to a ‘strategic investor’ (often with Tunisian or Arab banks acting as intermediaries or interim owners). Only rarely did they sell it via the domestic stock exchange or international capital markets, and hardly ever via a management buyout 309 or an employee takeover. Practically all transactions to date have thus led to a change in management. This was a policy which clearly aimed to prevent the emergence of a new class of ‘super-rich’ from among the former management or state officialdom, and thereby minimize the likelihood of an unwelcome proliferation of power resources within the regime elite or at social level. The goals were to prevent the economic empowerment of parts of the state elites, and to avoid the entrance of ‘hidden agendas’ and role con-

308 Foreign airlines can fly to Tunisia, but have to match the high prices of Tunis Air. The only exceptions from this rule are foreign charter companies serving Tunisia’s main tourist destinations. 309 This was a clear victory for the ministries of planning and finance over the governor of the central bank and the chairman of the stock exchange who both preferred the latter. It also differed from international practices where the IPO model has so far prevailed (cf. Belev 2000 for further details). 346

flicts into the public bodies and task forces charged with steering the privatization process. It must be noted, however, that the state authorities have normally been eager to retain at least part of their control over a company even after its sale. This has often been done by retaining a ‘minimum threshold’ of the company capital, which guarantees the state a seat on its board of directors, and a look into the policy of the new owners. It has also been done by acting via the involved banks which, if not being state banks in the first place, are often controlled by persons close to the regime. Thus, there are still a large number of companies (found in basically all sectors of the economy) which are by fact, albeit not by name, controlled by the state. This also means that the economic presence of the state authorities is still much larger than it may appear at first. In the case of Tunisia, the process of privatization has been exclusively controlled, and its outcomes determined, by the state, and not by business. This has been due to the rather restrictive approach of the government authorities, which have so far ‘ring-fenced’ a large number of economic sectors (labeling them ‘strategic assets’ or ‘natural monopolies’), and imposed quite onerous obligations onto the new owners. It has also been due to the tangible hesitations of Tunisian business, which is hardly surprising given the limited attractiveness of many SOEs (often overburdened by past debts and a bloated workforce), and the sometimes rather limited capacities of potential private operators (both in terms of financial resources, and managerial know-how). It is obvious that the disengagement of the state has so far not really entailed a loss of power. This is not only due to the sheer size of state assets and resources, but also to its newly gained powers as a regulator and facili tator. As Ridha Abdelhafidh, director-general at the prime ministry, has argued: “La tendance de l’Etat à se désengager des activités économiques de production n’engendre pas pour autant une réduction de son rôle économique. Elle aboutit plutôt à une recentrage de sa mission (…). L’Etat est certes de moins en moins entrepreneur mais il est de plus en plus régulateur pour prévenir les dysfonctionnements des marchés, coordonner et favoriser les activités du secteur privé et assurer l’équité sociale” (Abdelhafidh 2001: 310 69). 310 Mohamed Nouri Jouini, minister of economic development and international cooperation, has clearly indicated the ‘red lines’ in an interview with the Economiste Maghrébin: “Les entreprises qui après trois appels d’offres ne trouvent pas preneur sont automatiquement liquidées parce qu’elles ne sont pas viables; on ne peut pas justifier leur maintien. Reste la question des grandes entreprises publiques ayant une situation de monopole ou de quasi-monopole. Or, le but de la privatisation est de 347

THE RESTRUCTURING OF THE FINANCIAL SECTOR In the years before 1987, the banking sector used to play a vital role for the Tunisian regime. Banks, which themselves were either owned or controlled by the state, used to administer and distribute the lion’s share of national savings. As such, they were not only used for channeling money into priority sectors, but also served to reward politically important groups. By the same token, they were charged with covering up the deficit policies of the regime authorities, and supply the latter with fresh capital (inter alia by having to reserve 20 percent of their total deposits to purchase low interest state bonds from the central bank). The question of how to reform such a system is a particularly sensitive part of public sector reform, because it directly affects the clientelist resources available to regime elites (cf. Moore 1991; Henry 1996; Saafi 1999). All of this might explain why changes started relatively late, and progressed pretty slowly. The reform process consisted of three main strands. It began with the liberalization of interest rates after 1986, followed by the removal of state controls over lending operations in 1994, and the abolition of preferential rates for priority sectors in 1996 (although controls on deposit rates for small savers have been upheld until today). It then moved on to the liberalization of banking activities after 1988 (including the removal of the central bank authorization for bank loans), followed by the phase out of mandatory lending to SOEs, and by the ending of the forced purchase of state bonds. Finally, it saw the strengthening of prudential standards after 1989 (including the introduction of risk weighted capital ratios for local banks), followed by the creation of a banking supervision system, and by the 311 adoption of other international regulatory standards. From 1999 onwards, banking reforms gained further momentum, with three key words as their guides: rehabilitation, modernization, and restructuring. The ‘rehabilitation’ strand involved the urgently needed assainissement of most banks, via the systematic elimination of soft loans, and the concurrent recapitalization of ailing banks. The ‘modernization’ strand concerned the technical upgrading of banking procedures. This was done via créer un environnement concurrentiel. Il est donc impensable de transformer un monopole publique en monopole privé” (L’Economiste Maghrébin 325, 16/10/02, p. 22). 311 This included the creation of a special safety net, consisting of an obligatory reserve fund under the auspices of the central bank, and an obligatory credit recuperation fund with contributions from the private sector. It also included the imposition of an overall credit ceiling; since 1992-94, total credits awarded to a single beneficiary must not exceed 25 percent of the bank’s own capital; and total credits awarded to a bank shareholder must also not exceed 10 percent of bank’s own capital. 348

the creation of an inter-bank exchange system, the introduction of telebanking services, and the installment of internationally connected ATM facilities. The ‘restructuring’ strand entailed a radical remodeling of the banking landscape. This was done via the abolition of the artificial vertical specialization of the different banking segments, thanks to the new law on the ‘universal bank’ adopted in 1999, and the subsequent fusion of individual banks under the control of the state. The overall goal was not only to allow Tunisian banks to acquire the necessary means to survive the impending introduction of direct competition with foreign institutes, but also to provide local operators with the entire range of financial services. The ministry of finance has thus merged a large number of financial institutes in recent years: the STB with the BNDT and BDET; the UIB with the BTEI; and the BS with the BTKD. At the same time, it has granted foreign operators direct access to the formerly closed banking system by awarding on-shore licenses to off-shore banks like Citibank and ABC; and by finally allowing foreign institutes to take over some local banks. As Taoufik Baccar, then minister of finance (and now governor of the central bank), declared in an interview with Jeune Afrique: “Notre objectif est d’amener le secteur privé à nous emboîter le pas et à aller dans le sens de la mise en place d’ensembles financiers capables de soutenir le développement de l’économie tunisienne” (“Cap sur la banque universelle”. JA 1992, 16/03/99, p. 54-72). These reforms, however, did not end state control over the banking sector, they just shifted modalities of control: from direct management to indirect regulation. As an informed observer has pointed out, “ce nouveau cadre réglementaire a introduit une nouvelle philosophie en matière de contrôle des banques qui n’est plus a priori et quantitatif mais plutôt un contrôle a posteriori et qualitatif” (Saafi 1999: 79). The central bank plays a key role in this regard. Although it has withdrawn from day-to-day micro-management, it has retained its most important powers (and even gained new 312 ones). It is still in charge of managing the state’s monetary policies (which also includes controlling exchange rates and cross-border transactions), and overseeing other banks’ lending policies (albeit now more ex post than ex ante). Most importantly, it continues to be placed under the tutelage of the ministry of finance, and headed by a close aide of Ben Ali. Thus, the regime has so far not conceded the admission of an independent watchdog into this crucial sector. 312 Laws adopted in 2006, for example, enable it to enforce transparency, ensure alignment with prudential norms, and speed up the court-ordered sale of assets to collect debts. 349

CONCLUSION Privatization in Tunisia is generally considered as having been relatively successful, at least when compared with the respective experiences of other MENA countries, such as Algeria (Dillman 1998) and Egypt (Belev 2000). All in all, there have been no major ‘holds-ups’ or ‘shake-ups’ so far. Largescale social unrest has proven elusive, as has intra-regime elite infighting over this issue. Most ex-SOEs appear to be performing better than before their privatization, and have even begun to hire new staff. Dillman argues that four factors were instrumental for this outcome. These were the ability of the regime to maintain elite cohesion behind its policy choices; prevent the crystallization of an organized opposition; adopt a cooperative approach toward international organizations; and preserve the credibility of its orientations. Belev largely shares this view. For him, four key choices of the Tunisian leadership explain the smooth progress of privatization: to centralize management and control over the process; to depoliticize procedures and outcomes; to exclude the main stakeholders from decision making; and to avert the crystallization of resistance. A characteristic feature of the Tunisian privatization process has been the concentration of decision making powers at a very senior level in a specialized government body. Another important and closely related factor is that Ben Ali has thrust his full support behind this policy at a very early stage, and has not wavered on questions of principle so far, all of which is said to have increased the credibility of the process, and reduced the potential for conflicts. “The more centralized the process of decision-making, the more restricted the scope of public participation and contestation in the formulation and implementation of the economic policy, the smaller the involvement of representative institutions and the greater the space for discretion of the executive, the greater the likelihood that within a reasonable period of time the government will be able to set the public sector reform in motion” (Belev 2000: 117). It must be noted, however, that sales have been relatively modest, and results rather ambivalent, to date. The number of SOEs sold from 1987-2008 stood at only 217 companies, and the amount of revenues raised altogether did not exceed TD 6,06 billions; over three quarters came from foreign investors (see also footnote 301 in this chapter). These resulted mainly from the proceedings of a few large transactions, that often involved the acquisition of low-risk public shares. At the same time, many large transactions to date involved only a transitory outsourcing of public tasks, and did not imply a definite loss of state control, as they tended to follow the BOT (buildoperate-transfer) rather than the BOO (build-operate-own) model. From the 350

point of view of the regime, private participation in these sectors should be both controllable and reversible, and complement rather than replace the state (cf. also Ridha Kefi: “Les privés à la rescousse” JA 2233, 26/10/03, p. 6667). On the contrary, the financial sector has undergone more substantial changes. The institutional framework has been revamped, a clear majority of banks has been divested, and the fundamentals of the sector have been improved. At the same time, however, these reforms have not really overcome all of the deficits from which the sector used to suffer in the past. Tunisian banks continue to be under-sized and under-capitalized, even by regional standards. The legacy of high levels of non-performing loans still persists, even though these numbers vary significantly from one bank to another. Official estimates put them at 17.6 percent of total credits as of late 2007 (down from 23.4 percent in late 2003). In spite of substantial improvements in recent years, new financial tools continue to be relatively under-developed and under-utilized, and the domestic stock exchange particularly lacks depth and variety. It must also be noted that the opening of the financial sector has not diminished the structural power of the Tunisian regime. The latter is obviously resolved to maintain its control over the sector: with the help of the central bank, but also via its majority ownership of the three most important insti 313 tutes (STB, BNA, BH). At the same time, it is obvious that the ‘family’ has been able to gain direct access to several (partly) privatized banks, and particular the BS and BT. Thus, the appraisal presented by Clement Henry over a decade ago continues to hold forth: “The struggle for political survival conditioned any efforts of financial reforms far more than any technical advice from the World Bank or the IMF. Financial systems were an integrated part of their [Tunisian elites'] respective ‘black boxes’ of power and patronage” (Henry 1996: 7).

4. Strengthening Private Business: The Politics of Industrialization The in-depth redefinition of the state’s socio-economic role and the corresponding restructuring of its legal-institutional apparatus have also had profound consequences for private entrepreneurs. The state’s pull-out from ‘micro-management’, together with the gradual opening of the domestic market, meant that business would have to take over at least parts of the func313 Debates concerning the future of these banks continue to resurface from time to time, but have so far not led to clear-cut decisions by the regime authorities. 351

tions which the state used to perform in the past, while simultaneously having to cope with the pressures resulting from the introduction of direct competition with foreign businesses. This dual task was likely to be a difficult undertaking given the generally lopsided situation of the private sector. Admittedly, the industrialization of the country had progressed considerably by then. Industry’s share of Tunisia’s GDP rose from 11.9 percent in 1980 to 20.3 percent in 1995, and its share in exports soared from 36 percent in 1980 to 75 percent in 1995. Between 1992 and 1996 alone, the manufacturing industry showed an annual average growth of about 20 percent (cf. Englert 1997). A number of deficits subsisted, however, and it was clear that these not only threatened the success of the new development strategy, but also the survival of many private firms. A 1995 survey commissioned by the government found that 60 percent of local enterprises employed less than 20 workers, and only 1.4 percent more than 300. Among the 8552 enterprises registered at that time, 53 percent were capitalized at less than TD 50.000, and only 8 percent at over TD 500.000. Industry was still largely dominated by the textile sector which accounted for almost 50 percent of all manufactured exports, and for over 50 percent of industrial jobs. Further, the Tunisian economy was still totally dependent on European markets which accounted 314 for over 70 percent of imports, and almost 80 percent of exports. The answer of the authorities consisted of a pro-active support policy for domestic manufacturers. As Afif Chelbi, then the DG of API and currently minister of industry, underlined: “La base économique de la compétitivité ne requiert pas seulement la maîtrise des grands équilibres macro-économiques (…), mais surtout l’existence d’un appareil productif développé, car l’industrie reste au cœur du développement économique (…). C’est pourquoi le choix stratégique de la libéralisation, première caractéristique de notre politique industrielle, s’accompagne d’une deuxième caractéristique, non moins importante, à savoir: la mise en œuvre d’une véritable stratégie de développement industriel (…). Le principe directeur de ces mesures consiste en la conviction que seule une politique industrielle volontariste et ciblée, aujourd’hui mise en œuvre, peut nous permettre d’atteindre nos ambitieux objectifs de développement” (Afif Chelbi in Réalités 1999; emphasis added). 314 The same observations applied to the manufacturing sector as well. Most private manufacturing companies were still of a very small size in the late 1990s. 5160 companies (55.2 percent) employed less than 20 people, and 3441 (36.8 percent) less than 10. Only 4200 companies (44.8 percent) employed more than 20 people, and 2430 (26 percent) more than 50. There was still only a very small number of ‘real players’. Only 711 companies had more than 100 employees, and only 256 more than 200 (all figures from the presentation of Afif Chelbi, then DG of API, in Réalités 1999). 352

Government support for the industrial process was proposed at three levels: at micro level (company), meso level (policies, institutions), and macro level (infrastructure, macro-economics). It would consist of three basic elements: first, the development of an attractive, business-friendly, progrowth legal framework to encourage and facilitate private investment and production; second, the development of an efficient, enterprise-focused, tailor-made support policy to accompany and accelerate industrial restructuring and modernization processes; and third, the development of a nationwide, modern socio-economic infrastructure to help clear trade hurdles and lower transaction costs. It was hoped that the combined impact of all these measures would help facilitate, and accelerate, Tunisia's difficult and potentially dangerous transition from a state-dominated and over-protected ‘hybrid’ economy into a fully competitive and globally integrated market economy (cf. Erdle 2010).

COMPANY LEVEL The national upgrading program ‘Programme de Mise à Niveau’ (PMN), which was first adopted in 1995, and then successively revised over time, was to become the key tool for helping Tunisian companies to face international competition. The PMN aims to help private (and later also public) actors working in the industrial (and later also services) sectors to reach the efficiency and quality standards necessary for survival in an open market 315 economy. It is supported via the Fund for the Development of Industrial Competitiveness (FODEC), which was created as PMN's financial base and which is funded via a one percent tax slapped on the sales of local enter prises and the value of finished imports. It specifically targets the most sensitive sectors of the national economy, those protected by the four-year transitional period under the EMAA. The existence of the PMN thus hints at the awareness of the Tunisian authorities that their manufacturing firms will need a major collective overhaul to make them internationally competi316 tive. 315 The PMN's main reference point was the Portuguese industrial development program PEDIP, launched in 1988 to prepare Portuguese manufacturing industries to face European competition. 316 The PMN intervenes on two main levels: on the level of the environment of an enterprise, and on the level of the enterprise itself. Initially, it consisted of a pilot scheme, scheduled for five years, and limited to a sample of 100 firms; and the main program, scheduled for ten years, and also accessible for the rest of Tunisian industry. Overall, participation was targeted at 4000 firms, and program costs were projected at TD 2.5 billion. Public support would cover up to 20 percent of tangible investments, and up to 70 percent of immaterial investments. In 2000, the scope of the 353

Several characteristic features make the PMN an internationally recognized ‘success story’: On the one hand, programming was kept deliberately lean. The PMN's concept and objectives are not based on a specific legislative text; only its operational mechanisms and the financial resources have been laid down in a special regulation. It was decided early on that any firm operating in the manufacturing and related services sectors could participate in the PMN, as long as it had been active for the past two years, was not in public hands, and not in financial straits. Applicants were not required to comply with particularly elaborate criteria or pass through a formalized selection process, but ought to define the problems facing them, and propose ideas of how to tackle them. This would then serve as the basis for an action plan to be drawn up with the help of a consultancy, a bank and/or the Technical Centers. At the same time, decision making would be highly centralized. It was thus decided that responsibility for the PMN would lie entirely with the ministry of industry in order to safeguard the coherence of the program. The obligatory entry point for any applicant was the newly created Bureau de Mise à Niveau (BMN), located within the ministry of industry, and led by a senior representative of the ministry. Upon its examination by the BMN, the entire dossier would be submitted to a special steering board, the Comité de Pilotage (COPIL), chaired by the minister of industry, and gathering the main stakeholders at government level, in addition to representatives from the financial sector, employers' associations, and labor unions. The COPIL would then decide on whether to approve an application or not, the last word in this regard belonging to the minister of industry. The Tunisian authorities have thus made it clear from the very beginning that the entire programming and selection process would be a highly political and collective exercise. It would not only involve the concerned governmental agencies, but also non-state actors(albeit the last word was clearly reserved for the former). Procedures and instruments would have to remain lean and flexible in order to account for the highly diverse needs of participating firms. Modalities would be devised by Tunisians and by nobody but them; contributions from foreigners were welcomed, but not allowed to dictate the terms. “These decisions amounted to a strong degree of centralization in terms of the formulation and management of the program, and an accompanying restrictiveness with regard to the public debate or the opportunities allowed for interest groups to oppose or derail the process” (PMN 317 2004: 32). program was significantly broadened, while procedures were further streamlined. 317 In the course of time, the implementation of the program has considerably picked up. Altogether 4310 applications from manufacturing companies were received by 354

In retrospect, PMN (2004) identifies five key choices which have shaped the unfolding of ‘mise à niveau’ in Tunisia. The first was to secure Tunisian ownership from the very beginning, and to reject external interference with key decisions. The second was to put the PMN at the heart of the national development strategy, with unequivocal support from the core elite. The third was to include important stakeholders into decision making, such as concerned ministries, banks, employers, and unionists. The fourth was to address the social dimension of industrial modernization, with the timely provision of back-up schemes buttressing the impact of restructuring, and compensating the victims of the process. And the fifth was to extend the PMN to adjacent sectors also affected by the association with Europe, and relevant for the success of this policy (like public administration, education, agriculture, and finance). However, a number of issues remain to be tackled: To begin with, the weak capitalization of many companies has posed serious problems for program implementation, reinforced by the structural deficits of the banking sector. Further, despite the incentives offered in the framework of the program, most investments are still focused on tangible goods, whereas the real deficits of many companies are to be found in the realm of immaterial goods. Also, it still leaves out many traditional sectors with a considerable employment potential, e.g. small traders and craftsmen. Finally, all declarations of intent notwithstanding, actual participation (and thus state support) is still heavily slanted in favor of large companies, which are already fairly competitive (at least more so than the many thousands of small firms which remain grossly under-represented among the beneficiaries of the pro318 gram). the end of May 2009, 2925 out of whom were approved, and 1376 out of whom remain ‘under consideration’ (the respective numbers for the services sector are 277, 114 and 163). Total investment amounted to TD 4837 million, with a grant element of TD 676 million, i.e. 15 percent on average (the respective numbers for the services sector are TD 57 million and TD 14.5 million). Sectorial and regional participation more or less reflects the basic structure of the national economy, with one important exception: large firms have so far been over-represented among beneficiaries. 318 One of the most important obstacles encountered by the PMN was precisely the specific structure of Tunisian SMEs described in more detail in chapter five. This included the lack of distinction between ‘firm’ and ‘owner’, the patriarchal habitus displayed by many patrons, as well as the often rather half-hearted, and thus lack-luster, compliance with legal and fiscal obligations. All of this might explain the reluctance of businessmen to exhibit the degree of transparency that was required for participation in the program. The inevitable consequence of these structural obstacles was that “the momentum for mise à niveau has diminished as the program has been rolled out to the weakest and most conservative elements of the industrial sector” (PMN 2004: 30). 355

Aware of the challenges awaiting their country, the state authorities decided to create another ‘safety net’ as a complementary measure to the upgrading program: namely the new Law 95-34 for ‘enterprises in difficulty’ (LED). The LED was adopted by parliament in 1996 in order to provide the state with a tool that would allow it to safe firms from bankruptcy. The aim of the LED is thus to “help firms which, owing to economic difficulties, can no longer (1) secure their activities, (2) maintain their jobs, and (3) repay their debts” (JORT 33, 25 April 1995, p.792-795). From this point of view, the LED represent the ‘alter ego’ of the PMN, the main difference being that the PMN intervenes ex ante, or ‘upstream’, and the LED ex post, or ‘downstream’. The guiding principle of the new law is that the survival of the firm (and eo ipso the maintenance of jobs) takes priority over the recovery of debts (and eo ipso the interests of creditors). This means that a distinction is made between legal and natural persons, i.e. the enterprise and the entrepreneur; while the latter may be taken to court and sued for his actions, the former needs to be helped and saved. This was the task of the Commission de Suivi du LED that was placed under the tutelage of the ministry of industry. Its mission was to monitor the development of the economy, and analyze the situation of enterprises, in order to preempt the occurrence of crises or help limit their impact. In the worst of cases, it would also be responsible for elaborating a recovery plan and overseeing its implementation. For the purpose of this study, it is important to understand that both the PMN and the LED greatly enhanced the power of the state which will henceforth be able to intervene directly in the affairs of companies. Thanks to both tools, the state is now in a position to ‘extract’ valuable insights into private companies, and its decisions to allocate or withhold resources will be crucial for the success or the survival of many companies. Very much like the PMN, the LED is extremely vague in its main operational definitions, e.g. about what ‘economic difficulties’ means, or how long the recovery program should last. In either case, the outcome of the process is exclusively at the discretion of the state. “The judge remains the sole decision maker affecting the survival of the firm, and his decision may be at the expense of either the 319 entrepreneur or his creditors” (Cassarino 1999: 69). 319 The first serious test for the LED has been the crash of BATAM, which had within less than ten years become one of the largest firms of the country, by offering creditfinanced consumer goods to middle-class Tunisians. The ‘Affaire BATAM’ quickly took on a national dimension, not only for financial reasons (nearly all banks of the country and thousands of its citizens were involved), but also for political reasons (BATAM having turned into a publicly vaunted ‘success story’ and ‘window case’ of the new regime and its economic policy (Rida Lahmar: “Qui arrêtera la chute de BATAM?” Réalités 877, 17.10.02, p. 12-14; “BATAM: les vrais chiffres”. Réalités 883, 28.11.02, p. 24-27). 356

INSTITUTIONAL & ADMINISTRATIVE FRAMEWORK One of the declared goals of Tunisian policy is to create an institutional environment that encourages private entrepreneurship. During the first phase of the ERSAP, an array of measures were passed that were meant to limit bureaucratic interference with business affairs, reduce political hazards for private investors, and unlock the growth potential of the Tunisian economy. Reform policies clustered around three pillars. The first was about re-establishing monetary stability and reducing budgetary pressures, by cutting back on public expenses and tightening money supply. The second aimed to deregulate market access and facilitate foreign trade, by easing or lifting import restrictions and licensing practices. The third aimed to foster market mechanisms and reduce price distortions, by freeing up prices, interests, and credits. The results were quick reductions in trade deficits, excess spending and inflation rates. By late 1994, 87 percent of all domestic prices were ‘untied’, except for a small number of basic products (like bread, milk, oil, and sugar). During the second phase of the ERSAP, the government systematically passed legislation whose aim was to enhance ‘the ease of doing business’, coax private investors into assuming a more active role, and lure foreign capital into the country. Measures adopted in this regard included both financial and non-financial incentives, combined with other support and facilitation schemes. In August 1992, a new law on off-shore free-trade zones was passed, which offered prospective exporting companies a very attractive legal and fiscal framework (e.g. multi-annual exoneration from taxes and duty-free imports of components), in addition to substantial technical and financial assistance (e.g. free provision of basic infrastructure and partial reimbursement of investment costs). In January 1994, the new ‘code d'investissement unique’ entered into force. Unifying existing legislation in this field, it covered nearly the entire range of economic activities (with the noticeable exception, however, of four crucial sectors, namely mining, energy, finance, and commerce), and led to a considerable simplification of administrative 320 procedures for all investors. Henceforth, new companies set up on Tunisian soil would enjoy a raft of privileges. These included the availability of special customs or tax rates for imported or locally purchased investment goods and economic inputs. Further, there was now the possibility to deduct re-invested incomes or profits for up to 35 percent of taxable net incomes or profits. Foreign investors can 320 The investment code was complemented by the presidential decree 94-492, itself modified by the decrees 97-503 of 14 March 1997 and 2000-821 of 17 April 2000. The texts of both decrees can be found in the annexes of AAN: 1992 & 1993. 357

freely dispose of their capital, moving it in or out of the country at any time and for any reason (while resident companies are required to repatriate their 321 profits). A particularly privileged treatment has been reserved for exportonly companies, especially those established under an off-shore regime (a 322 ‘light version’ was available for partially exporting companies). They enjoy a complete exoneration from corporate or personal taxes over a timespan of ten years, followed by a 50 percent bonus for another ten years. Further, the state grants duty-free access to all inputs and equipments, plus a full tax allowance for re-invested profits or incomes. Finally, the state provides the infrastructure for the realization of the project, and assumes the employers’ contributions for all local employees to the CNCS over a five323 year period. One of the main concerns of the Tunisian government has been to shift the tax burden from trade levies to other sources, in order to limit fiscal losses due to market opening. Since the fiscal reforms of the late 1980s, public revenues have essentially stemmed from five sources: direct taxes, indirect taxes, administrative duties, customs duties, and development aid. Direct taxes include income taxes for natural persons, which lie between 15 percent and 35 percent, and profit taxes for legal persons, which vary between 35 percent for firms operating on the domestic market, and 10 percent when active in some special sectors (like agriculture, fisheries, and handicrafts). Indirect taxes involve a standard value added tax of 17 percent 324 that applies to about 85 percent of all goods. These are complemented by a number of other levies, such as excise duties (for vehicles, petrol, alcohol, and tobacco), transport taxes, registration and stamp duties, land and property taxes. Other revenues come from the obligatory 16 percent contribution from locally registered employers to the CNCS (6.25 percent for their employees), plus another two percent for a vocational training and a social 321 Companies are considered non-resident when at least two thirds of their equity capital has been imported (also allowing them to open convertible currency accounts without prior authorization). 322 Theoretically, off-shore exporting companies could sell up to 20 percent of their total export volume on the local market (30 percent for agricultural ventures). However, the large number of strings attached made clear that this should remain the exception rather than becoming the rule. 323 Special incentives are provided for private investments in certain priority sectors, mainly ‘regional development’, and ‘agricultural development’. Special conditions are also available for two other categories, especially SMEs and ‘start ups’ (more details can be found on the API website). 324 Preferential rates of 6-10 percent are available for some special products (like medical goods, IT-related goods, machine tools, tourism services, etc.), while 29 percent is slapped on ‘luxury goods’. 358

housing fund. Importantly, there are still no taxes on capital or investment. With regard to the main sources of state income, an important shift has been observable in recent years from income derived externally (mainly from custom duties and ODA transfers) to income generated internally (both from direct and indirect taxes). It must be noted, however, that private investment in many sectors is still dependent on the express authorization of the public authorities. This applies in particular to all those sectors which are regarded as politically ‘relevant’ or otherwise ‘sensitive’ (e.g. construction, transport, communication, education, publishing, and food processing). The same rule applies if a foreign investors plans to take over more than 50 percent of a local company. By the same token, those sectors that offer the greatest interest for potential investors (and that have indeed attracted large quantities of FDI as of late) are still exempt from the single investment code and governed by special regulations. These are the mining, energy, financial, and commercial sectors. There are private (foreign) businesses active in these four sectors, but they are only allowed to do so for a transitory period, and under special conditions. With the exception of the foreign banks now operating in the financial sector, permissions have been generally awarded on a concessionary basis or under a PPP regime, which means that the state remains in full control of the associated risks. In addition to this, the Tunisian government has further fine-tuned its tool box of business support tools. Alongside the creation of FIPA and APIA, and the restructuring of API and CEPEX, measures have included the broadening of the financial guarantee lines within the state’s main support instrument (Fonds de Promotion et de Développement Industrielle, or FOPRODI); the creation of a new fund dedicated to supporting upgrading processes in the industrial sector (Fonds de Développement de la Compétitivité Industrielle, or FODEC); as well as the launching of a new fund dedicated to helping exporters access foreign markets (Fonds d’Accès aux Marchés d’Exportation, or 325 FAMEX). Other measures involve the creation of a special risk fund component for start-ups, which is managed by commercial banks and co-funded from the state budget, as well as the creation of a special investment bank for SMEs, the Banque pour le Financement des Petites et Moyennes Entreprises (BFPME), which provides bonified loans in the TD 100.000-5.000.000 range. It must be noted, however, that there is still no indigenous investment bank

325 The undisputed ‘flagship’ of this policy, namely the Industrial Upgrading Program (PMN) launched in the mid-1990s, shall be described in more detail in a separate chapter below. 359

to finance large-scale projects in the fields of industry and infrastructure; for 326 these, Tunisia still has to rely on funding from abroad. Another important novelty has been the gradual creation of an institutional framework that is (more) conducive to the launch of new businesses. Thus, new ‘one-stop shops’ (‘guichets uniques’) have been set up all over the country to help investors carry out their projects. Registration now involves a simple declaration of intent presented to the authority in charge, which 327 will then assume the follow up of the project. These have been complemented by the successive creation of further support structures, which are tasked with helping prospective entrepreneurs set up their companies. These include, first, the creation of special ‘business centers’ (‘centres d'affaires’) in all of the provincial capitals, which are mainly targeted at local start-ups and micro-enterprises; second, the creation of ‘regional development offices’ and ‘investment societies’ which are mainly charged with supporting the socio-economic development of the interior provinces; and third, the creation of ‘espaces d'entreprendre’ within the national employment agency ANETI, which are supposed to help the jobless set up their own business. An important role is also played by the Technical Centers which have been set up since the 1970s in the country's main economic hubs and which provide vi328 tal technical services to private industrial companies. Compared with the situation a few decades ago, and some deficiencies notwithstanding, private investors and company owners are now facing a more coherent and efficient legal-institutional framework, as well as a substantially more performing and targeted technical and financial support base. At the same time, however, they are still confronted with a large number of special ‘safeguard clauses’ and legal exceptions leading to a considerable degree of vertical fragmentation and compartmentalization. On the one hand, this has given the public authorities a surplus of discretion and flexibility when it comes to dealing with requests and complaints from the private sector. On the other hand, it has added to the complexity and opaqueness of the business framework, which is in itself not particularly conducive to the work and success of private enterprise. Moreover, all of this has con326 The other public credit mechanisms ‒ those which are mainly tasked with providing micro-credits for start-ups ‒ shall be described in more detail in the following sections. 327 These are the API (Industrial Promotion Agency) for investments in industry or services, the APIA (Agricultural Investment Promotion Agency) for agriculture, the ONTT (National Tourist Office) for tourism, and the ETAP (Tunisian Enterprise for Petroleum Activities) for energy. 328 Related support structures, like téchnopôles, business incubators (pépinières d'entreprises), and new-style business clusters (pôles de compétitivité) shall be described in more details in the following sections. 360

tributed to creating a large number of incentives and opportunities for ‘political capture’ and ‘rent seeking’, i.e. to non-productive and discriminatory arrangements and practices which more often than not work both ways; they may lead to the harassing and bullying of business by the state, but can also 329 result in the fleecing and blackmailing of the state by business.

ECONOMIC & SOCIAL INFRASTRUCTURE The state authorities were also fully aware at an early time that the country’s physical and non-physical infrastructure ‒ and particularly its communication, transport, education and training sectors ‒ would have to be upgraded if their bid for competitiveness was to be successful. Special importance was attributed to enhancing both the quantity and quality of basic social and economic services to individuals and corporate actors. Thus, they substantially increased public investments allocated to infrastructure projects (with a disproportionate percentage earmarked for the interior provinces), while seeking complementary funds from foreign donors (with a particularly active role of the World Bank, the European Investment Bank, the African Development Bank, and several national development banks). Further, as previously outlined, they began to devise new (mixed) financing mechanisms for large-scale infrastructure investments, in order to lure private money into related projects. There has been a clear focus so far on transport and energy, with budgetary allocations given substantial increases since the mid-1990s. As a result, Tunisia's transport infrastructure is in a fairly good state. There are six commercial sea ports and eight international airports; the national road system is generally good (the railway system less so); and all of them are currently undergoing rapid modernization and extension works. Important projects underway or in the pipeline include the construction of a major new airport and deepwater port complex at Enfidha (east of Tunis); the extension of the national highway system (westbound to Algeria, and southbound to Libya); and finally the installation of major new power generation capacities all over the country. It must be noted that Tunisia's a priori very limited fossil reserves have been significantly upgraded in recent years, with an active role played by foreign private companies. This will allow Tunisian policy makers to cover the country's growing energy demand for approxi329 Several of my interlocutors have pointed out that the Tunisian state has tended to become entrapped by its own incentives, in the sense that businessmen have become so ‘addicted’ to these ‘carrots’ that they refuse to budge unless they are provided with ‘input’ from ‘above’. 361

mately another two decades (cf. Abdelaziz Barouhi: “Soif d’énergie”. JA 330 2282, 03/10/04, p.40-41). Another clear focus has been on information and communications, which have had undergone a significant overhaul since the mid-1990s. After a relatively late start, rising demands for mobile lines rapidly exceeded the moderate supply capacities of the only public provider, Tunisie Télécom. Thus, it was decided to admit a private provider into the telecom business and, in 2002, the license was awarded to Tunisiana, a joint venture of Egypt's Orascom and Kuwait’s Wataniyya. As a result, prices have gone down, and service has picked up. Penetration rates have risen from 15 percent in 2001 to 99.9 percent in 2007. At the same time, the availability and quality of internet connections and services have equally improved. 12 Tunisian providers (seven public, the others private) have received the go-ahead so far. The number of subscribers has risen from 30.000 in 1999 to 253.000 in 2007, while the number of users is estimated at 1.7 million. The state has encouraged this trend by offering financial incentives for the purchasing of personal computers, and by creating a country-wide network of subsidized internet shops (publinets) for less affluent citizens. This means that in spite of some problems, the ICT sector is no longer the national ‘stranglehold’ it 331 used to be some years ago, and has rather become a driver of growth. A clear key role has been reserved for education and training. In fact, these sectors have undergone major changes since the early 1990s, which have all greatly modified the parameters and opportunities for elite production and social mobility. The government has not only significantly increased its allocations to the sector, but has also greatly broadened its accessibility for citizens. Today, educational facilities (including for higher learning and professional training) have become available across the entire territory. In 2007, the country's education system received 28 percent of the state 330 Tunisia's has only 400 million barrels of proven oil reserves, and 65 billion cubic meters of proven gas reserves. In 2007, the national output was 34.6 million barrels for crude oil and 2.2 billion cubic meters for natural gas. Hydrocarbon exports (still 40 percent of total exports in the early 1980s) have constantly decreased, and Tunisia finally became a net importer in 2000. However, its current reserves, enhanced by new finds along the Tunisian-Libyan border and by ‘royalties’ from the AlgerianItalian pipeline, still allow it to satisfy large parts of its domestic demand. This situation is likely to continue for about 15 years with regard to oil, and for about 30 years with regard to gas. Whether they should be substituted by renewables or nuclear energy is currently a matter of intense debate in policy circles. 331 As it wishes to expand the network and develop new services, the government is planning to tender a second licence for fixed lines (which is a TT monopoly until the present time). There were 70.000 broadband connections available in early 2007, but the government wants this to rise rapidly through cable, ADSL (asymmetrical digital subscriber line) connections or wireless WiMAX links. 362

budget, which is the equivalent of 7 percent of GDP. This may also explain why Tunisia has one of the highest literacy rates in the entire region. Literacy rose from 65 percent in 1990 to 79 percent in 2006. Current enrolment ra tes stand at 97 percent for the primary level, 75 percent for the secondary level, and 25 percent for the tertiary level. The number of students has risen tenfold since the ‘Change’, from about 40.000 in 1986/87 to almost 400.000 in 2009/10. The number of diplômés has equally seen strong increases over time; from among the current annual 90.000 newcomers on the national labor market, at least 50.000 possess a high school certificate - and their num332 ber is expected to grow further in the future. At the same time, the government has launched a raft of measures in order to bridge the traditionally strong gap between the official requirements of the national education system, and the actual requirements of the local labor market. These involve the creation of applied research and vocational training schemes on the one hand, and a growing concern with the promotion of knowledge-based and skill-intensive employment opportunities on the other. The most important steps in this regard have been the creation of a country-wide network of Instituts Supérieurs d'Enseignement Technique (ISET) and Centres de Formation (CF), which are supposed to produce the urgently needed technicians and skilled workers for the country's growing manufacturing and handicrafts sectors; plus the creation of Technopôles and Pepinières d'entreprises at the level of universities, which are supposed to provide the necessary propitious framework for a new generation of ‘hitech’ start-ups, and to lay the bases for the next stage of industrial develop333 ment, based on the principle of innovation. At the same time, however, it must be noted that these reforms have so far not been able to do away with a large number of structural problems that have for a long time haunted the country’s education system: First, Tunisian universities still fail to produce sufficiently large numbers of highquality graduates in the fields of sciences and technology; 60 percent of their students continue to be enrolled in the liberal arts, social sciences, law, and economics, which is more than the labor market can absorb in the foreseeable future. Second, public spending is still targeted almost exclusively at 332 The number of young people enrolled in higher education has particularly increased in recent years: Around 350.000 students (over half of whom are women) are currently attending one of the 13 universities or 178 institutions of higher education in the country, which are producing more than 60.000 graduates each year. This means that the share of young Tunisians (18-24 years) receiving a higher education has risen to 25 percent of their respective age cohort (up from 7.5 percent in 1983). 333 Government plans foresee to establish altogether 24 technopôles, one for each governorate. Only one, however, is fully operational at present, namely ‘El-Ghazala’ in Tunis-Ariana (*1999). 363

teaching, with research being put on the back burner. Third, expenditure has been directed mostly at buildings and equipment, while the improvement of curricula and teaching staff has been neglected. Fourth, the traditionally large gap between the parameters of higher education and the requirements of professional life remains unabridged. The resulting high rate of graduate unemployment or underemployment is a major concern both for Tunisian parents, and for state planners, and the latter have launched a wide array of support schemes aimed at better preparing their youth for the challenges of ‘real life’.

CONCLUSION The political strategists of the Benalist regime both continued and modified the economic development policies of their predecessors. They still back private sector industrialists in general, and their export-oriented elements in particular, but this time on a more comprehensive scale, and with more strategic focus. Their aim has been to facilitate the emergence of regional productive clusters in the manufacturing industry able to compete with foreign firms on the world market. This means that the new ruling elites have devised (and partially implemented) a more systematic industrial policy, one that actually transcends the rather limited approach of the Bourguibist era. The key objective behind this new policy is to help business take over some of the tasks which the state used to perform, but has (or wants) to shed (or share). The PMN played a key role in this regard. It must be noted, however, that in spite of the (sometimes) populist discourse of the Benalist regime, the main concern of its industrial policy is not to save the largest possible number of small firms. Instead, it focuses on fostering the emergence and development of ‘national champions’ or ‘national beacons’ sufficiently large and modern to compete and succeed in an open economy. As an informed observer has already pointed out at a relatively early stage, “its purpose is not to rescue business concerns as a whole, but to buttress the ability of a select number of private firms to survive international competition, by modernizing and optimizing their production lines, developing vocational training, and promoting their export capacity” (Cassarino 1999: 65; cf. also the related statement of Lotfi Abdennadher presented in chapter five). The economic policies of the Benalist regime have thus systematically contributed to accelerating concentration processes within the Tunisian business landscape. This has mainly benefited the established economic elite clustering around the main industrial groupings, and a few newcomers active in the services sector. As each of these holdings is composed of numerous (often 364

several dozens and mostly rather small) firms, consolidation and concentration has occurred along horizontal rather than vertical lines. It must thus be borne in mind that the strengthening of the ‘captains’ has not been an accidental ‘side effect’ of government policy, it has been its deliberate goal right from the very start. It is part and parcel of an in-depth reconfiguration of the ruling coalition, and of the socio-political contract underlying it.

5. Maintaining Social Cohesion: The Politics of Welfarism These restructuring processes at economic and elite levels had, of course, a profound impact on established mechanisms of social cohesion and upward mobility, and the ruling elites have been fully aware of the dangers resulting from these. When designing and implementing the above policies and programs, they have thus been careful to not only stay in control of the process of change, but also to cushion their impact on society. Generally, they have chosen to follow a rather careful, incremental approach to economic and social reforms. Further, they have been eager to accompany them with all kinds of support mechanisms in order to mitigate disruptive effects on the social fabric, and to compensate the losers of reforms. Despite strong misgivings, and sometimes open criticism, from among its own economic liberalizers and international donors, the Ben Ali regime has clearly steered clear of any move that could have eventually led to a real backlash. By the same token, they have never consented to any move that could have substantially affected their patronage potential. A case-in-point is the sluggish reform of the labor code. Despite strong pressures for freeing up the labor market, the new rulers have by and large preserved a legal heritage of the previous regime that places relatively strict controls on industrial relations. Adopted in 1966, the labor code spelled out the general provisions for industrial relations, including the conditions for hiring and firing workers. (It also allowed workers to organize themselves in any firm above a certain size, although these provisions were not enforced until the 1970s.) As a general rule, workers received life-time contracts which employers could only revoke for two reasons: when their firm was in economic difficulties, or a worker had committed a serious offense. For employers to lay off workers, they needed the authorization of both the ministry of social affairs, and the labor inspectorate. This process normally proved quite lengthy and costly for business, as officials generally tended to side 334 with workers. 334 In order to lay off workers, employers had to obtain the approval of a commission (presided over by the ministry of social affairs) which normally worked to prevent 365

In 1972/73, the labor code was complemented by the newly created collective framework conventions (conventions collectives cadre). Negotiated every few years between the ‘social partners’ (government, UGTT, UTICA), these conventions laid down basic rules applicable to the entire Tunisian economy, including minimum wages, working hours, and pay rises. On the basis of these accords, the ‘social partners’ would then conclude sectoral accords detailing pay scales, promotion rules, and other rights and duties for workers and owners in that sector. The only real novelty was collective wage bargaining, i.e. abandoning the monopoly of the state with regard to determining the level of wages. This means that at the end of the day, these new conventions simply imposed existing labor legislation in a more systematic way. At the same time, however, the state did nothing to strengthen workers’ rights at plant level, or to reduce the unions’ dependency on the state’s protection. This system, however, ran into trouble over time. The main problem was the growing discrepancy between theory and practice or, to put it differently, between the state’s official rules and their actual application. To begin with, labor laws were rarely fully enacted in the private sector. The main reasons for this were the small size of most units, which fell under the critical threshold established by the labor code, and the patriarchal mentality of most employers, who tended to regard their firms (and those working in them) as their private property. Further, the nation-wide standardization and homogenization of legal conditions and pay scales contrasted with the increasing ‘adhocism’ of their enforcement. One explanation was that the labor code had not been updated for many years, and its provisions had thus become totally outdated. Another explanation was that all parties involved were clearly interested in keeping labor legislation as vague (and thus as flexible) as possible, as it increased their latitude and their leverage. This situation, however, had changed by the early 1990s in that both labor and business representatives were now interested in obtaining a revision of the code. The UTICA was pressing for its liberalization (specifically regarding the use of short-term contracts and of short-notice dismissals) to allow them to adjust their workforce to market fluctuations (especially in anticipation of the growing competition with foreign companies in the runup of free trade). The UGTT was pressing for its clarification (especially regarding the definition of ‘serious offense’ and of ‘economic difficulties’) to dismissals. If it consented, employers were often taken to court by labor representatives who tried to extract hefty indemnities for dismissed workers. The labor code provided some ‘back doors’ for short-term contracts but the extensive legal-administrative obligations involved clearly indicated that these were supposed to remain the exception rather than becoming the rule (at least until the mid-1990s). 366

help them gain a better foothold in the private sector (whose buoyant growth contrasted favorably with the continuous shrinking of the public sector, their main support base). The government itself was actually sympathetic to these demands, but not willing to move before the economy had picked up, and Nahda was ‘finished off’. Labor code reforms were enacted in two rounds: first, by Law 94-29 of February 1994, and then, by Law 96-62 of July 1996 (cf. Alexander 2001 for further details). The most important provisions of Law 94-29 were to streamline the diverse plant committees into a single commission consultative for all firms with more than 40 workers, and to provide for a more precise definition of a ‘serious offense’ (even though the latter would still remain quite pervasive). The most important provisions of Law 96-62 were to broaden the list of cases under which employers could hire workers under fixed-term contracts, while narrowing down the list of clauses under which employers could fire them due to ‘economic difficulties’. Henceforth, employee performance was to play a stronger role in determining wage levels, 335 and employers gained more leeway for the organization of working time. Labor code reforms thus once again confirmed some typical features of the Tunisian reform process. Despite the collective interests and advocacy activities of ‘social partners’, both the timing, and the outcome of the reforms were essentially decided by the government authorities. And despite sometimes strong pressures from external parties, the regime elites have consistently taken a very political approach to these issues. “It is difficult to avoid the very strong impression that the ministry of social affairs played the dominant role in shaping new bargaining institutions and code provisions that the UGTT and UTICA had little choice but to accept (…). From the beginning of the process, President Ben Ali and other officials saw the code as part of the government’s broader effort to pursue economic reform without sparking social unrest” (Alexander 2001: 121). From their point of view, reform was certainly about upgrading productivity and competitiveness in the business sector, but not at the expense of social peace and political stability in the country as a whole. A major step forward was made in the mid-1990s when two new ‘national funds’ were launched by the state authorities: the National Solidarity Fund (FNS), created in 1994 (and named ‘26-26’ after its bank account); and the National Employment Fund (FNE), created shortly afterwards (and named ‘21-21’ for the same reason). Originally, the aim of the FNS was to fi335 Similar amendments were made to the collective convention system; the institution of tri-annual negotiations under the tutelage of the ministry of social affairs was maintained, but the leeway of sectoral negotiators to deviate from the provisions of the general accords was broadened. 367

nance basic physical and social infrastructure in particularly disadvantaged and underdeveloped areas (the so-called zones d’ombre). However, it underwent a major qualitative change two years later; its mission was now substantially widened, and its scope extended, to every corner of the country, and every aspect of social life. This meant “passant de l'étape de désenclavement des zones d'ombre et de l'amélioration des conditions de vie de leurs habitants (…) à la création de sources de revenue stable susceptible de fixer les habitants de ces zones sur leur terre” (Hamed Karoui quoted in AAN 336 1995: 798). The goal of the FNE, in turn, was to support training and employment schemes for young and jobless Tunisians. It was soon complemented by other support mechanisms for negatively affected groups, the most important of these being the Tunisian Solidarity Bank (BTS), created in late 1997. It offers special credits to university graduates and other applicants, whose amounts may vary between TD 5.000 and TD 100.000. These are repayable after a period of six months to seven years, with interests pegged to inflation. In this sense, the BTS bridges the gap between micro-credits (which are normally extended through so-called development associations, created in 1999) and normal start-up credits (which may be obtained through the BFPME, created in 2004) (cf. also Ridha Kefi: “Microcrédit, grand succès”. JA 337 2196, 09/02/03, p. 81).

CONCLUSION The new ruling elites around Ben Ali have been very careful from the outset to not take a hands-off approach to socio-economic reform. They have thus on numerous occasions reconfirmed the ‘duty of the state’ for upholding peace, cohesion, and justice in society. Ben Ali himself made this very clear in a speech he gave in 1995: “L’expérience a montré, en effet, que les pays qui ont enregistré les meilleurs taux de réussite dans ce processus [de déve336 Theoretically, the FNS is funded through ‘voluntary contributions’ from private donors. However, these are practically mandatory for businessmen, since the refusal to pay has almost invariably been followed by a visit from the tax inspector. In this sense, the FNS actually resembles a new social levy (or capital tax), and exemplifies the shadow fiscality as it has developed under Ben Ali. 337 At first glance, the results achieved appear quite promising: The national funds have mobilized TD 900 millions since their inception, and covered 1829 zones d'ombre with 1.3 million inhabitants. 580.000 ‘operations’ with a total investment volume of over TD 1 billion have been approved by the BTS so far (cf. the Special Dossier “Les Années Ben Ali”, JA 2541, 20/09/09, p. 51-75 for more details). The main downside of these schemes is that they do not allow for a direct involvement of the grant-giving authority in the management of the start-up during the critical first years. 368

loppement] et ont pu le mener à bon terme sans provoquer de convulsions sociales sont ceux qui, dans l’élaboration et l’exécution de leurs plans, ont su assurer la complémentarité entre les réformes économiques et sociales” (Quoted in AAN 1995: 800). The regime has thus been careful to combine efficiency-oriented and productivity-enhancing measures with redistributive relief schemes. This fairly consistent and pro-active social policy approach has played a crucial role for the relatively speedy and smooth implemen entation of economic reforms and structural adjustment (cf. Loewe 1999 & 2004 for a regional overview). Generally speaking, the ruling elites have opted for mixing two approaches. On the one hand, they have largely maintained the existing social security systems, which were primarily focused on politically strategic groups (like the urban middle classes and public sector employees). Benefits include subsidized commodities and utilities (e.g. staples, fuel, health care, housing, education, etc.). A noteworthy decision is also that they maintained the institution of minimum wages as an integral part of their policy. At the same time, they have created new support schemes which now specifically benefit their main political clients or socially ‘vulnerable’ elements. These measures include preferential customs rates for small-size cars (‘voiture populaire’), subsidized personal computers for low-income families (‘ordinateur populaire’), subsidized internet access via the ‘publinet’ network, etc. A particularly important novelty is also that a generally much higher percentage of public resources has been devoted to the regions off the coastline. It must be noted, however, that these schemes are partly run outside the official state budget, and often granted on an ad-hoc basis. This applies in particular to the national funds which are directly controlled by the presidential palace and usually targeted at a specific population: namely those who used to provide the popular bases for the political opposition under Bourguiba ‒ and those who do so with regard to Islamist parties in other countries of the region. Moreover, they are characterized by very low degree of transparency: it is thus very difficult to obtain reliable information either with regard to the origin and the destination of the funds disbursed, or with regard to the outcomes and the impact of the projects pursued. In fact, it is not least the use of such tools that has been decisive for the survival (and consolidation) of the regime as well as for the allegiance (or acquiescence) of the population. ‘Social policy’ mechanisms have thus become important building blocks of the (partly existing, partly emerging) neo-patrimonial apparatus which has emerged over time and underpins the regime.

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6. Emerging Market or Economic Mirage? The Ambivalent Political Economy of a Patrimonial Capitalist System OVERALL POLITICAL ORIENTATIONS Economic policy represents the policy domain where the Ben Ali regime has so far admitted the most radical changes to take place. Over time, the new ruling elites have increasingly come to accept the basic principles of an open market economy, which is itself embedded into a multilateral trading order. Since then, the official line in economic policy has been that growth should be achieved through market mechanisms and export promotion instead of state planning and import substitution, and that private business should play a lead role in this regard. It was clear that a key requirement for this strategy to work out would lie in gaining full access to global economic circuits, and especially Western factor markets. For this reason, the Tunisian leadership has given its full support to multilateral trade initiatives, especially if they are run under the aegis of the UN. At the same time, this (re)integration into the world market was to be preferably achieved via the affiliation with other regional blocks. The preferred partner in this process should be the EU, and more specifically the EMP launched in 1995. Two sectors of the economy were supposed to play a key role in this process. The first was the manufacturing industry (particularly textile, garment, and leather products; mechanical, electrical, and electronical appliances; and food processing). The second was the services sector (such as information and communication technologies; marketing and customers services; and the tourism and traveling industry). These sectors would allow Tunisia to benefit from the comparative advantages which it enjoyed from an international perspective, particularly regarding its relatively skilled workforce, modern infrastructure, and political stability. At the same time, specific attention should be paid to both widening and deepening the country’s economic fabric. This meant, on the one hand, trying to cover the entire value chain and product cycle in both industry, and services. And it implied, on the other hand, trying to chart high-end markets and skill-intensive products, which deliver a high degree of added value and high returns on invested capital. The main reasons behind this strategy were not only the desire to make better use of their past investments, but also the fact that competition was increasing with other low-cost producers. The role which the state is supposed to play in this equation is quite ambivalent. On the one hand, it is supposed to withdraw from undue interference with market decisions (i.e. cease to distort prices, and engage in pro370

duction). At the same time, however, it is expected to maintain social peace, provide ‘essential’ public goods, and control ‘strategic’ economic sectors. The key slogan employed by regime representatives since the early 1990s was that the Tunisian state should transform from an ‘Etat-patron’ into an ‘Etatstratège’ or, as the official pun had it, from an ‘Etat-providence’ (‘welfare state’) into an ‘Etat-prevoyance’ (‘foresight state’). The official leitmotif is the famous ‘développement intégral’, which includes the maintenance of the overall equilibria in Tunisian society, and a ‘just distribution’ of the acquired wealth. This target is perfectly compatible with the (neo)nationalist discourse of the Benalist regime. It is flexible enough as a symbolical device and ideological platform to accommodate a large number of the regime’s functional elites and social allies, while avoiding to unduly bind the hands of the state. It also allows the regime to keep on board all those who do not a priori agree with many of the new orientations in economic policy, but who find their key concerns sufficiently represented in it to go along with it.

KEY POLICY CHOICES At first glance, actual economic policies since 1987 have been generally in line with official discourses. Decisions that seemed to corroborate this impression were the early adoption and speedy implementation of an ERSAP (that was not only signed up to, but actually carried through). Second, it belonged to the first Arab countries that entered into international free-trade regimes, and broadly respected the obligations affiliated with membership. Third, it also figured among the first Arab countries that adhered to the Barcelona Process, and translated the respective founding documents into actual political practice. In reality, however, the Benalist regime has only conceded a selective liberalization of the Tunisian economy. This can be seen from the still incomplete implementation of public sector reform, as well as from the initially sluggish unfolding of the privatization program. In principle, the ruling elites had reached agreement on some essential points, e.g. that the state should withdraw from production, and only maintain control of ‘strategic sectors’. This term, however, was often nothing but a ‘smokescreen’, behind which they could struggle over the exact content of their economic policy. Disengagement has certainly picked up since the mid-1990s, reaching fields previously considered off-limits. Withdrawal, however, has mostly been tactical and transitory, and has not decisively or irreversibly ended state control over crucial sectors. Also, the regime has been visibly reluctant (or outright unwilling) to enact reforms that could threaten its bases of 371

power, or end its ability to distribute patronage. The result has been the increasing emergence of ‘hybrid’ arrangements, leading to a growing interlocking of public authorities and private operators. Another indication of this strategy has been the clear unwillingness of Ben Ali to create truly effective regulations for competition policy. A law was passed in 1995 that spelled out the general rules for anti-trust policy. It outlawed concerted actions among economic operators aimed at restricting market access, fixing price, or limiting production, investment, and sales. It also created a new Competition Council responsible for overseeing compliance with these provisions. However, the latter can only be seized by legal persons and, in case its verdict is ignored, submit the case to the courts. Generally speaking, the ruling elites around Ben Ali still favor the maintenance of political stability over an increase in economic efficiency. Absolute priority is given to preserving social peace and preventing mass layoffs, even at the cost of reduced economic growth and heightened opportunity costs. This can be seen in the regime’s extremely cautious approach toward socio-economic reform, and the fact that politically sensitive prices are still regulated (and many basic goods still subsidized) by the state. Their visible reluctance to ‘rush’ into public sector and social policy reforms is clearly inspired by the painful experiences of their predecessors (and of some neighbors). As Sadiki has pointed out, “the regime is taking no chances with welfarism. Thus it has absorbed the lessons of the past, from within and without, that state failure in this domain opens up space for not only pro-active Islamist-led grassroots social engineering, but also for all kinds of other non-state activism” (Sadiki 2002: 59). Even though it is a matter of fact that serious disagreements exist within the regime elites, hardly anybody has dared to openly attack the official line of thinking. One really has to read ‘between the lines’ in order to find out who are the ‘hawks’ and who the ‘doves’. One example for this political cautiousness is the stalled liberalization of money markets, especially with regard to the convertibilization of the dinar. In fact, the state’s monetary policy has played a key role in the country’s 338 economic development. As its traditional primary purpose is to maintain a current account balance, Tunisians have since the 1980s systematically depreciated their currency, with the dual aims of curbing the importing appetite of domestic consumers, and boosting the economic competitiveness of local manufacturers. Indeed, this is still one of the most sensitive issues in Tunisian politics. The state of affairs is that the national currency has been 338 Traditionally, Tunisian exchange rate policy consists of a controlled floating, with an implicit peg to European currencies (and since its introduction the Euro) (cf. Berthomien & Marouani 2000). 372

made fully convertible for current account transactions of non-Tunisian resident companies, which face no restrictions when it comes to exporting or repatriating their profits or their invested capital. When traveling abroad, Tunisian individuals can also change small sums of foreign currency and, with the prior approval of the central bank, Tunisian companies can make overseas investments. However, although most people seem to agree that these arrangements will make it very difficult for Tunisia to achieve the long-desired breakthrough as an emerging economy, the regime has so far shied away from crossing the threshold of full convertibility. Another example is the stalled liberalization of large parts of the services sector. In fact, with 60 percent of GDP, it is still a cornerstone of the national economy. This observation applies in particular to many ‘traditional’ sectors, such as tourism, gastronomy, construction, transport, and commerce (even though new sectors, like ICT, logistics, entertainment, financial services, and customer relations are quickly gaining in importance). At the same time, the large majority of business actors in these sectors are still small-size; small shop owners, service providers, and craftsmen continue to play a fundamental role in everyday life. (80 percent of retail trade, for instance, is still in the hands of the épicier du coin.) Moreover, the commercial sector is still largely shielded from international competition, and heavily regulated by the state authorities. The well-known transnational chains and brands are conspicuously absent from daily life. Services directly related to industry are the only part of this sector that is de facto open to the outside world. Even though this cautiousness is certainly vindicated from many perspectives, it must be noted that it has severe costs for the envisaged development of the national economy. A final example is the ongoing delay of genuine land reform, despite (or because of) the central role which this sector plays for the economy. Even though this issue is conspicuously absent in official discourse, it must not be forgotten that Tunisia continues to be heavily influenced by agriculture. Farming and fishing still represent slightly above 10 percent of GDP, and provide over 30 percent of total employment. However, the large majority of Tunisian farms continue to be small-sized and under-capitalized plots, with very little non-traditional technical and managerial know-how. Deficits concern a range of issues, like transport capacities, credit facilities, technical support structures, modern marketing tools, etc. Although most people seem to agree that the food (processing) sector has an enormous, untapped growth potential, discourse has tended to be followed by inaction. The main reason is that distribution is still controlled by the state, and many food products are still sold at artificially low prices in order to keep the urban population calm. Also, European markets are still very difficult to access for 373

foreign producers, which severely limits the incentives to expand the production of cash crops (cf. Ridha Lahmar: “L’agriculture tunisienne à l’orée du troisième millénaire: Un géant aux pieds d’argile”. Réalités 854, 09/05/02, 339 p. 24-26). All of this shows that Benalist Tunisia is a ‘political economy’ in the full sense of the term. For the regime, economic liberalization is not an end in it self, but a means to an end, and this is to preserve (and possibly enhance) its authority and control over society. In this sense, the evolution of Ben Ali’s New Tunisia is comparable to the trajectories of other Arab countries where the introduction of economic reforms has also first and foremost served to bolster the political position of the ruling elites. As Oliver Schlumberger has conclusively pointed out: “Die Strukturanpassung, wie sie in den arabischen Staaten praktiziert wurde, [war] weit eher ein politisches Projekt zur Modernisierung autoritärer Herrschaft denn ein ökonomisches Projekt der Etablierung von effizienten Marktstrukturen, die aufgrund ökonomisch effizienterer Ressourcenallokation zu einem nachhaltigen Aufschwung hätten führen können” (Schlumberger 2005: 4-5; cf. also the findings of Henry & Springborg 2001 and of Hakimian & Moshaver 2001).

MAJOR POLICY OUTCOMES All things considered, this economic policy has produced quite remarkable results. Since the early 1990s, the Tunisian economy has achieved sustained growth rates of over five per cent each year, well above the MENA average (with strong annual variations, however, due to agricultural output). GDP has risen to TD 54.1 billion in 2008, and GDP per capita to TD 4.810 (US$ 7.875 in PPP terms). GDP growth has continued in 2009, albeit at a slower pace, with about 3 percent. Private consumption accounted for 63-64 per cent during the 2000s, government consumption for 14-16 percent, and gross fixed investment for 22-24 percent. Moreover, economic growth has been largely trade-driven (with trade growth generally doubling GDP growth since 1985). Annual foreign trade flows amounted to TD 53.8 billion in 2008, with exports at TD 23.6 billion (+21.9 percent), and imports at TD 30.2 billion (+23.7 percent). Tourism brought another TD 7 billion. Foreign trade has on average grown by 10 percent each year since 1985, which has raised the market openness ratio from about 40 percent in the early 1980s to over 100 percent by now. 339 There are indicators that seem to suggest that the recent price rally on world food markets has also changed the minds of quite a few Tunisian policy makers, and private investment in agriculture has certainly picked up, but it is still too early to provide more information in this regard. 374

Importantly, gains in economic growth have not been bought at the expense of macro-economic stability. Most indicators show a healthy performance. In 2008, inflation averaged 3 percent, the budgetary deficit stood at 3 percent, the public debt had fallen to 39.2 percent of GDP (down from 58 percent in 1986). The foreign debt service consumed 7.9 percent of current receipts, a very moderate figure in historical perspective. Foreign cash reserves currently stand at a comfortable US$ 8.9 billion. Broadly speaking, inflows and outflows are at a balance. Persisting structural deficits in Tunisia's foreign trade (themselves a result of its need to import a wide range of goods, from primary products and raw materials via machines and spare parts to consumer and investment products) are counter-financed by surpluses in other fields (mainly via tourist receipts, migrant remittances, ODA transfers, and gas royalties). In 2007, the current-account and balance-ofpayment deficits were a manageable TD 1159 million and 883 million respectively. Crucially, this bright overall picture has so far been surprisingly 340 little affected by the current global economic crisis (s.b.) Moreover, these high economic growth rates have translated into substantial welfare gains for broad social strata ‒ something that cannot be said 341 for many other parts of the developing world. Today, most Tunisians, 80 percent of whom are officially rated middle class, enjoy considerably higher living standards than a few decades ago. Less than 5 percent of people now live below the poverty line (