Routledge Handbook on Political Parties in the Middle East and North 9781000293180, 1000293181

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Title Page
Copyright Page
Table of contents
Editors
Contributors
1 Political Parties in Mena: An introduction
Introduction
Parties in the Middle East and North Africa
Why parties matter in MENA
How do we know how much and how parties matter?
How parties develop with modernisation: from notable to mass parties
How parties consolidate and sustain authoritarianism: from single- party systems to dominant party rule in the republics ...
Single-party systems and Revolution from above
Post-populist limited political liberalisation
How parties can make, break or reverse the transition to democracy
Mass competitive party systems and democratisation. The cases of Turkey, Tunisia and Egypt
Political parties beyond democratisation and authoritarianism
Moving beyond the traditional literature: the contribution of this book
Bibliography
Part I Party families
2 The rise and fall of the Arab Left
Introduction
The first Arab parties: socialists, communists and the masses
Arab socialist party-states: the Baath, Nasser, FLN, and the ANM
The New Arab Left: proto parties in a global revolutionary world
The Arab Left in the era of resilient authoritarianism, Islamism and civil society
Epilogue: the Arab Left after the Arab Spring
Note
Bibliography
3 The establishment and success of Islamist parties
Introduction
What are Islamist parties?
Historical journey from Islamist movements to parties
Islamist parties in different political contexts
Islamist parties in authoritarian settings
Islamist parties in democratic settings
Is there an electoral advantage for Islamist parties?
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
4 New kids on the block: Salafi parties
Introduction
The foundations of Salafism
Salafis and the secular logic of politics
In the beginning was Kuwait: Salafi parties in the emirate
Salafism in Egypt: success and unsolved dilemmas
Tunisian Salafism: between democratic transition and class dynamics
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
5 Inheriting the past: Trajectories of single parties in Arab republics
Introduction
Ruling parties
Emergence: anti-colonial struggle and the origin of single parties in Tunisia and Egypt
Transformation: from single to hegemonic parties
Rupture: the dissolution of single parties
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
6 Liberal-secular parties in Arab political systems
Introduction
The significance of the ideological and religious divides in Arab MENA party systems
The ideological dimension
The secular/religious dimension
Methodological criteria for categorising liberal-secular parties
Identification of liberal-secular parties in the Arab MENA party systems
The origins and evolution of liberal-secular parties
Moroccan liberal parties
Egyptian liberal parties
Tunisia’s Afek Tounes
The Lebanese Future Movement
Dispelling some myths
The political influence of Arab MENA liberal-secular parties
Conclusion. The prospect for democratisation through the action of liberal secular parties
Notes
Bibliography
7 Personalism in MENA politics: The case of Tunisia
Introduction
Conceptualising personalist parties
Personalism as a modality of post-colonial rule
Personalities and personalist parties in post-2011 Tunisia
Personalist parties in context: ideology, legitimacy, and mixed resources
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Part II Political parties in authoritarian settings
8 Political parties under competitive authoritarianism
Competitive authoritarianism in the MENA: what is it?
Case selection: contestation at the executive level and parties as an intrinsic feature
Monarchies are not more competitive than republics
Civilian regimes are more competitive than their non-civilian counterparts
Parties in small party systems and in strong/stable regimes are not more institutionalised
Tribalism does not necessarily equate to weakly institutionalised political parties
Observations regarding the governing dynamics of competitive authoritarianism in the MENA: directive and clientelistic linkage
The foundations of competitive authoritarianism in the MENA: the party systems
Political dynamics in context: strong men and crony capitalism
Political parties at election time
Concluding remarks
Notes
Bibliography
9 Political intermediation in the Arabian Peninsula: Partisan organisations, elections, and parliamentary representation ...
Introduction
Genesis and constitutional-political context
Electoral participation and parliamentary representation
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
10 Pawns in the army’s hands: Political parties in military-dominated regimes
Introduction
The colonial legacy: armed forces and military strongmen as liberators and protectors
Façade parties instead of meaningfully diversified party landscapes
Islamist parties post-2011: winning at the ballot box, losing against the army
Conclusion
Bibliography
11 Party politics in the Islamic Republic of Iran
Introduction
Party systems and political authoritarianism: Iran before and after the revolution
From multi-party to single-party system
Post-1979 Iran: from one-party system, to factionalism, to quasi multi-party system
Iran under Khatami: promoting political parties
The 2009 presidential election: electoral campaigns and the survival of activism
From Khatami to the Green Movement
Post-2009 party politics
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
12 Coping with occupation: Hamas and governing Gaza
Introduction
Hamas’s move into politics
Learning to govern – soft-Islamisation and soft-authoritarianism in Gaza
Hamas and its diplomatic buttressing
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Part III Political parties in democratic settings
13 The delegitimation of political parties in democratic Tunisia
Introduction
Overestimating the identity cleavage and the obsession with consensus: towards the disintegration of responsibility and responsiveness
Tendency to party autonomy and crisis of representation
Historical parties: the lack of social anchoring
Ennahda leaders’ professionalisation and the break between the base and the leadership
Floating new parties
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
14 Consociationalism and political parties in the Middle East: The Lebanese case
Introduction
Lebanon’s sectarian model of consociationalism
Political parties in Lebanon’s power-sharing trajectory
Party politics and divergences in the context of Syria’s post-2011 war
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
15 Dominance and democratic backsliding under AKP rule in Turkey
Introduction
Multi-party politics in Turkey
The turbulent years of the 1990s and the origins of the AKP
AKP’s rise to dominance
The opposition under AKP’s dominance
Effects of the AKP’s dominance on democracy
Wither the AKP?
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
16 “Conventio ad excludendum”: Palestinian parties in Israel
Introduction
The Palestinian political parties in Israel
The evolution of election behaviour and participation in institutions
The municipal level
The state, parliament, and government
The Palestinian parties in Israeli and Palestinian politics
Conclusion
Bibliography
17 Party politics in quasi-states: Iraqi Kurdistan
Introduction
Armed struggle and party politics: the origin of the post-2003 Kurdish party system
Post-2003: Kurdish party politics at the regional level
Post-2003: Kurdish party politics at the national level
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Part IV Political parties and social constituencies
18 Youth activism and political parties
Introduction
The specificities of youth activism
Youth activism across political generations
National liberation movements
Post-populism and political differentiation
Liberalisation and marginalisation
New hope: the Arab Uprisings
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
19 Tribes and political parties in the contemporary Arab world
Introduction
What are tribes?
The continuing social and political salience of tribes
Are tribes in the Arab world inherently pro-regime?
Tribes and electoral politics
Tribes as parties
Tribes and parties
Mostly parties, few tribes
Why tribes? Why parties?
Tribes and political parties in the Arab world: what next?
Bibliography
20 Women in Arab political parties
Introduction
Women rising
Women’s membership in Arab political parties and political engagement
Women in government
Women, Arab parties, and parliamentary politics
Egypt
Tunisia
Morocco
Algeria
Women and party ideology
Representation in authoritarian and transitional contexts
The role of electing women
The role of electing islamists
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
21 Shi’a Islamist parties in Iraq: From opposition to governance
Introduction
The evolution of Shi’a Islamist parties
Shi’a Islamism, state-building and constitutional process
Da’wa Party, elections and governance
The ISCI, Sadrist movement, and PMF groups
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
22 Armenian political parties in Lebanon
Functions and survival strategies
Introduction
Functions of political parties and diaspora institutions
Historical background
History of the Armenian political parties in Lebanon
Armenian political parties
Lebanese Armenian party functions or a little state within Lebanon?
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
23 The workers and the Left are not one hand: Insights from Algeria
Introduction
Rediscovering political parties in the Middle East and North Africa
Class transformations and de-industrialisation
The institutional environment
How Algerian Leftist parties moved away from class politics
Conclusion
Bibliography
24 Urban bias, rural embeddedness: Using the rural–urban divide to explain political party organisational and ideological ...
Introduction
The state-building origins of the rural–urban divide in MENA political parties
Strengths of the rural–urban framework: loyalist parties’ embeddedness in the rural politics of North Africa
Limitations of the rural–urban framework: proto-party systems of the Gulf region
State formation, oil, and party organisational development
Tribe and ideological development in the Gulf
Conclusion
Bibliography
Part V Political parties and policy positions
25 Political parties and neo-liberal economics
Introduction
Capitalism and primitive Islamist Politics: an explicit relationship
The socialist turnaround
The return of the repressed capitalist
Islamism in power
Regime parties and economic liberalism; the Algerian case
Conclusion
Bibliography
26 “The Terminal”: Political parties and identity issues in the Arab world
Introduction
Structuring (identity) conflicts in the Arab world
Identity politics in homogenous societies: Tunisia and Egypt before and after the Arab Spring
Identity politics in divided societies: Iraq and Kuwait
Conclusion
Note
Bibliography
27 Islamist political parties, international relations, and foreign policy: Historical overview and theoretical insights
Introduction
World politics at the crux of the rise of Islamism
A narrative system built around the remedial action of religion
Multifarious strategies at play to stand the test of time: world politics at the heart of national doctrine overhauls
Grasping an elusive variable: the benefits of constructivism to understand ideology
Notes
Bibliography
28 Between the battlefield and the ballot box: Armed political parties in the Middle East
Introduction
Why do rebels form parties?
To be or not to be part of the political system?
Negotiating sovereignty through elections
The Lebanese Hezbollah between the battleground and the ballot box
Hezbollah’s accommodation in post-war Lebanon
Framing the exception
Conclusion
Notes
Bibliography
Index

Citation preview

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ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK ON POLITICAL PARTIES IN THE MIDDLE EAST AND NORTH AFRICA

This comprehensive Handbook analyses political parties and party systems across the Middle East and North Africa. Providing an in-​depth, empirically grounded, and novel study of political parties, the volume focuses on a region where they have been traditionally and often erroneously dismissed. The book is divided into five sections, examining: •

the trajectories of Islamist, Salafi, leftist, liberal, nationalist, and personalistic parties drawing from different countries; • the role political parties play in authoritarian and semi-​authoritarian countries; • the centrality of political parties in democratic or democratising settings; • the relationship between parties and specific social constituencies, ranging from women to youth to tribes and sects; and • the policy positions of parties on a number of issues, including neo-​liberal economics, identity, foreign policy, and the use of violence. This wide-​ranging and systematic analysis is a key resource for students and scholars interested in party politics, democratisation and authoritarianism, and the Middle East and North Africa. Francesco Cavatorta is Professor of Political Science and Director of the Centre Interdisciplinaire de Recherche sur l’Afrique et le Moyen Orient (CIRAM) at Laval University, Quebec, Canada. His research focuses on the dynamics of authoritarianism and democratisation in the Middle East and North Africa. His current research projects deal with party politics and the role of political parties in the region. He has published several journal articles and books. Lise Storm is Senior Lecturer in Middle East Politics and Director of the new Center for Middle East Politics at the University of Exeter (UK). She is the author of Political Parties in the Arab World (with Francesco Cavatorta, 2018), Political Parties and the Prospects for Democracy in North Africa (2013), Democratization in Morocco (2007), and several journal articles, chapters and papers on democratisation, political parties, and the state of democracy in the Middle East and North Africa. She is currently putting the final touches to a book on international party assistance and party politics in the Middle East and North Africa.

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Valeria Resta completed her PhD at the University of Milan (Italy) and is an adjunct professor at the Catholic University of the Sacred Heart and at Bocconi University. Her research focuses on the role and functions of political parties in authoritarian and transitional settings across the Arab World. Her latest works have appeared in Politics and Religion and in the Italian Political Science Review.

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ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK ON POLITICAL PARTIES IN THE MIDDLE EAST AND NORTH AFRICA

Edited by Francesco Cavatorta, Lise Storm and Valeria Resta

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First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Francesco Cavatorta, Lise Storm and Valeria Resta; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Francesco Cavatorta, Lise Storm and Valeria Resta to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-​in-​Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-​in-​Publication Data Names: Cavatorta, Francesco, editor. | Storm, Lise, editor. | Resta, Valeria, editor. Title: Routledge handbook on political parties in the Middle East and North Africa / edited by Francesco Cavatorta, Lise Storm, and Valeria Resta. Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2021. | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020032781 (print) | LCCN 2020032782 (ebook) | ISBN 9780367219864 (hardback) | ISBN 9781000293180 (adobe pdf) | ISBN 9781000293302 (epub) | ISBN 9781000293241 (mobi) Subjects: LCSH: Political parties–Middle East–Handbooks, manuals, etc. | Political parties–Africa, North–Handbooks, manuals, etc. | Middle East–Politics and government–Handbooks, manuals, etc. | Africa, North–Politics and government–Handbooks, manuals, etc. Classification: LCC JQ1758.A979 R68 2021 (print) | LCC JQ1758.A979 (ebook) | DDC 324.20956–dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020032781 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020032782 ISBN: 978-​0-​367-​21986-​4  (hbk) ISBN: 978-​0-​429-​26921-​9  (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Newgen Publishing UK

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CONTENTS

List of editors  List of contributors 

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1 Political parties in MENA: an introduction  Raymond Hinnebusch, Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm PART I

1

Party families 

15

2 The rise and fall of the Arab Left  Idriss Jebari

17

3 The establishment and success of Islamist parties  M. Tahir Kilavuz

33

4 New kids on the block: Salafi parties  Massimo Ramaioli

44

5 Inheriting the past: trajectories of single parties in Arab republics  Kevin Koehler

57

6 Liberal-​secular parties in Arab political systems  Inmaculada Szmolka

69

7 Personalism in MENA politics: the case of Tunisia  Giulia Cimini

83

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Contents PART II

Political parties in authoritarian settings 

97

8 Political parties under competitive authoritarianism  Lise Storm

99

9 Political intermediation in the Arabian Peninsula: partisan organisations, elections, and parliamentary representation in Bahrain, Kuwait, and Yemen  Hendrik Kraetzschmar

114

10 Pawns in the army’s hands: political parties in military-​dominated regimes  125 Jan Claudius Völkel 11 Party politics in the Islamic Republic of Iran  Paola Rivetti

137

12 Coping with occupation: Hamas and governing Gaza  Martin Kear

150

PART III

Political parties in democratic settings 

163

13 The delegitimation of political parties in democratic Tunisia  Maryam Ben Salem

165

14 Consociationalism and political parties in the Middle East: the Lebanese case  Tamirace Fakhoury and Fidaa Al-​Fakih

179

15 Dominance and democratic backsliding under AKP rule in Turkey  Sebnem Gumuscu

192

16 “Conventio ad Excludendum”: Palestinian parties in Israel  Isaías Barreñada

205

17 Party politics in quasi-​states: Iraqi Kurdistan  Irene Costantini and Dylan O’Driscoll

218

PART IV

Political parties and social constituencies 

229

18 Youth activism and political parties  Kressen Thyen

231

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Contents

19 Tribes and political parties in the contemporary Arab world  Eleanor Gao

243

20 Women in Arab political parties  Lindsay J. Benstead

255

21 Shi’a Islamist parties in Iraq: from opposition to governance  Harith Hasan

271

22 Armenian political parties in Lebanon: functions and survival strategies  282 Daria Vorobyeva 23 The workers and the Left are not one hand: insights from Algeria  Gianni Del Panta

295

24 Urban bias, rural embeddedness: using the rural–​urban divide to explain political party organisational and ideological development in the MENA 307 Matt Buehler and Allison Critcher PART V

Political parties and policy positions 

319

25 Political parties and neo-​liberal economics  Samir Amghar

321

26 “The Terminal”: political parties and identity issues in the Arab world  331 Valeria Resta 27 Islamist political parties, international relations, and foreign policy: historical overview and theoretical insights  Mohamed-​Ali Adraoui

344

28 Between the battlefield and the ballot box: armed political parties in the Middle East  Marina Calculli

356

Index 

369

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EDITORS

Francesco Cavatorta is Professor of Political Science and Director of the Centre Interdisciplinaire de Recherche sur l’Afrique et le Moyen Orient (CIRAM) at Laval University, Quebec, Canada. His research focuses on the dynamics of authoritarianism and democratisation in the Middle East and North Africa. His current research projects deal with party politics and the role of political parties in the region. He has published several journal articles and books. Lise Storm is Senior Lecturer in Middle East Politics and Director of the new Center for Middle East Politics at the University of Exeter (UK). She is the author of Political Parties in the Arab World (with Francesco Cavatorta, 2018), Political Parties and the Prospects for Democracy in North Africa (2013), Democratization in Morocco (2007), and several journal articles, chapters and papers on democratisation, political parties, and the state of democracy in the Middle East and North Africa. She is currently putting the final touches to a book on international party assistance and party politics in the Middle East and North Africa. Valeria Resta completed her PhD at the University of Milan (Italy) and is an adjunct professor at the Catholic University of the Sacred Heart and at Bocconi University. Her research focuses on the role and functions of political parties in authoritarian and transitional settings across the Arab World. Her latest works have appeared in Politics and Religion and in the Italian Political Science Review.

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CONTRIBUTORS

Fidaa Al-​Fakih is a graduate student in International Affairs at the Lebanese American University in Beirut. His professional experience includes public diplomacy and humanitarian responses to refugee crises. Mohamed-​Ali Adraoui holds a PhD in Political Science from Sciences Po Paris. His book based on his dissertation is forthcoming, examining how Salafism went global. Mohamed-​Ali’s research deals with Salafism and Jihadism and Political Islam. Currently a Marie Sklodowska Curie Fellow at the LSE Centre for International Studies and a Visiting Fellow at the Rothermere American Institute at Oxford University. He has published his work in journals like the International Affairs and International Politics among others. He is the editor of The Foreign Policy of Islamist Political Parties (2018). Samir Amghar graduated in law, in Political Science and Arabic. He obtained a PhD in sociology at the Ecole des hautes etudes en sciences sociales in Paris, France. He is the author of several books on Islam in Europe and political Islam. He taught at several universities in France, Belgium and Switzerland. He had a postdoctoral fellowship at the Montreal University, at the Université du Québec à Chicoutimi and at the Université Libre de Bruxelles. He was also political advisor on North African issues at French Ministry of Defence and consultant for the Swiss Ministry of Defence. Isaías Barreñada has a PhD in Political Science (International Studies) and is a lecturer in International Relations at the Madrid Complutense University, and associate researcher at the Instituto Complutense de Estudios Internacionales (ICEI). His research focuses on political reform, social movements and civil society in Arab countries; Spanish and European Foreign Policy, and the conflicts in Israel-​Palestine and Western Sahara. He is co-​author of books such as:  Entre España y Palestina. Revisión crítica de unas relaciones (2018), Sahara Occidental 40 años después (2016), Conflictos en el ámbito internacional: aportaciones para una cultura de paz (2008). Maryam Ben Salem has a PhD in Political Science from the University of Paris 1 –​Panthéon Sorbonne. She is Assistant Professor of Political Science at the faculty of Law and Political

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Science –​University of Sousse, Tunisia. Her research focuses on political and religious activism, political participation and gender. She has published numerous articles, contributed several book chapters and organised several scientific conferences and workshops on gender and politics. Lindsay J. Benstead is Associate Professor at the Mark O. Hatfield School of Government and Director of the Middle East Studies Center (MESC) at Portland State University. She served as a Fellow at the Woodrow Wilson International Center for Scholars in Washington, DC. Her research appeared in Perspectives on Politics, International Journal of Public Opinion Research, Governance, and Foreign Affairs. She holds a PhD from the University of Michigan in Ann Arbor. Matt Buehler is Assistant Professor at the University of Tennessee, and a global security fellow at the Howard H. Baker, Jr. Center for Public Policy. Dr Buehler is the author of Why Alliances Fail: Islamist and Leftist Coalitions in North Africa (2018), which received the 2019 book award from the Southeast Regional Middle East & Islamic Studies Society (SERMEISS). His research has appeared in journals, including Political Research Quarterly, the British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies, and others. He serves as an editor of the journal Mediterranean Politics. Marina Calculli is currently a lecturer in International Relations at Leiden University, The Netherlands. She is a scholar of International Relations and Critical Security Studies, focusing on the Middle East. Her research and publications concentrate on rebel politics, the logic of political violence and the interaction between states and non-​state armed groups in the Middle East and beyond. Giulia Cimini is a post-​doctoral researcher at the Department of Political and Social Sciences –​ University of Bologna, Italy with a Fellowship supported by the Gerda Henkel Foundation. In 2019, she has been awarded a POMEPS TRE Grant for her research on marginalised communities and the challenges of decentralisation in Tunisia. She holds a PhD in International Studies and specialised in Middle Eastern Studies. Her research interests include Maghrebi political parties, dynamics of contention and security assistance. She published in The Journal of North African Studies, Middle Eastern Studies and Contemporary Arab Affairs, among others. Irene Costantini is a post-​ doctoral researcher in Politics and International Relations at Università L’Orientale, Naples. She worked as a research fellow at the Post-​war Reconstruction and Development Unit, University of York and at the Middle East Research Institute (MERI), Erbil, Iraq. Her research interests include the politics of international interventions, the political economy of conflict and post-​conflict transition, and processes of state transformation in MENA region, focusing on Iraq and Libya. She published in several academic journals and she is the author of Statebuilding in the Middle East and North Africa (Routledge, 2018). Allison Critcher is a PhD candidate in the Department of Political Science at the University of Tennessee in Comparative Politics focusing on Middle Eastern Studies. Previously, she was a graduate research fellow in global security at the Howard Baker Center for Public Policy. She also received a Master of Arts in Political Science from Appalachian State University. Gianni Del Panta is post-​doctoral research fellow at the Scuola Normale Superiore, Pisa, Italy. His research focuses on regime change, non-​democracies, and revolution. His articles have been published in Democratization, Government & Opposition, and Italian Political Science Review. x

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Tamirace Fakhoury is Associate Professor of Political Science at the Lebanese American University and the Director of the Institute for Social Justice and Conflict Resolution. Currently she is the Scientific Advisor to the Kuwait Chair under the Kuwait Program, and Visiting Professor at the Paris School of International Affairs at Sciences Po in Paris. Tamirace is also the Principal Investigator of a Carnegie grant on “Resilience and Inclusive Governance in the post-2011 Arab Landscape” at LAU. Eleanor Gao is a senior lecturer in Middle East Politics at the University of Exeter. She is interested in tribal politics, electoral politics, and public goods provision in the Middle East and authoritarian states overall. Currently she is at work on a manuscript about tribal diversity and public goods provision in Jordan. Sebnem Gumuscu is Assistant Professor of Political Science at Middlebury College and the co-​author (with E. Fuat Keyman) of Democracy, Identity, and Foreign Policy in Turkey: Hegemony Through Transformation (2014). Her current book project focuses on democratic commitments of Islamist parties in power and her research has appeared in various journals including Comparative Political Studies, Journal of Democracy, Third World Quarterly, and Government and Opposition. Harith Hasan is a senior fellow at the Carnegie Middle East Center, where his research focuses on Iraq, identity politics, borders, religious actors, and state–​society relations. Hasan holds a PhD in political science from Sant’Anna School for Advanced Studies in Pisa, Italy and an MA in political communication from the University of Leeds. Hasan was also a non-​resident senior fellow at the Atlantic Council where he led their Iraq Program, a fellow at the Radcliffe Institute for Advanced Studies at Harvard University, and a post-​doctoral fellow at Brandeis University. Raymond Hinnebusch is Professor of International Relations and Middle East politics at the University of St Andrews. His works include Egypt under Sadat (1985); Authoritarian Power and State Formation in Ba’thist Syria (1990) and Syria: Revolution from above (Routledge 2001); he co-​edited Syria: From Reform to Revolt (2014) and The Syria Uprising: Domestic Factors and Early Trajectory (Routledge 2018) and edited After the Arab Uprisings: between democratization, counter-​ revolution and state failure (Routledge 2016). Idriss Jebari is currently al-Maktoum Assistant-Professor in Middle East Studies at Trinity College Dublin, Ireland. He held the inaugural Andrew Mellon Postdoctoral Fellowship in Middle East History at Bowdoin College (Maine, USA), and was a visiting-assistant Professor from 2017 to 2020. He has published on the intellectual projects of several North African intellectual figures such as Abdelkebir Khatibi, Mohamed Abed al-Jabri, and Malek Bennabi, and on the theory and practice of Arab intellectual engagements in public affairs. Martin Kear is a Senior Researcher and Director of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) Programme at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI). His work focuses on the drivers of conflict and pathways to peace in the MENA Region and beyond. He is particularly interested in understanding people’s behaviour in relation to acts of peace and conflict at the everyday level. He was previously Associate Research Fellow at the LSE Middle East Centre and held the Conflict Research Fellowship at the Social Science Research Council, New York. Prior to joining SIPRI he worked as a Researcher and Lecturer at the Humanitarian and Conflict Response Institute (HCRI) at the University of Manchester. xi

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Dylan has spent over two years working and conducting research in Iraq and has published widely in both policy and academia. M. Tahir Kilavuz is a post-​doctoral research fellow at Harvard Kennedy School’s Middle East Initiative. His research interests include authoritarianism, regime change, religion and politics, coup d’état, survey analysis, mixed methods research, and experimental design, both in the Middle East and North Africa and in the cross-​regional setting. More specifically, he examines durability of authoritarian regimes and transitions both to other types of dictatorship and to democracy, with a particular emphasis on how institutions shape and constrain the behaviour of political regimes and the masses. Kevin Koehler is Assistant Professor of Comparative Politics at Leiden University. His research and teaching focuses on issues of governance and security in the Middle East and North Africa. He is co-​author of Safer Field Research in the Social Sciences (2020) and his work appeared in journals such as Comparative Political Studies, Comparative Politics, Security Studies, Mediterranean Politics, and others. Kevin holds a PhD and MRes in Social and Political Sciences from the European University Institute in Florence as well as an MA in Political Science from the University of Tuebingen in Germany. Hendrik Kraetzschmar is Associate Professor in the Comparative Politics of the MENA at the University of Leeds, United Kingdom. He has published widely on electoral, associational and party politics in the Middle East and North Africa and is the editor of Opposition Cooperation in the Arab World: Contentious Politics in Times of Change (Routledge 2012) and co-​ editor (with Paola Rivetti) of Islamists and the Politics of the Arab Uprisings: Governance, Pluralisation and Contention (2018) and (with John Schwarzmanel) of Democracy and Violence: Global Debates and Local Challenges (Routledge 2010). Dylan O’Driscoll is a Senior Researcher and Director of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) Programme at the Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI). His work focuses on the drivers of conflict and pathways to peace in the MENA Region and beyond. He is particularly interested in understanding people’s behaviour in relation to acts of peace and conflict at the everyday level. He was previously Associate Research Fellow at the LSE Middle East Centre and held the Conflict Research Fellowship at the Social Science Research Council, New York. Prior to joining SIPRI he worked as a Researcher and Lecturer at the Humanitarian and Conflict Response Institute (HCRI) at the University of Manchester. Dylan has spent over two years working and conducting research in Iraq and has published widely in both policy and academia. Massimo Ramaioli is Assistant Professor in the Social Development and Policy Program at Habib University in Karachi, Pakistan. He received a PhD in Political Science from Syracuse University where he majored in Comparative Politics and International Relations. He also holds an MA in African and Asian Studies from the University of Pavia and an MA in Middle Eastern Studies from SOAS. His main research interests are Middle East politics, political Islam, Gramscian theory, and Postcolonial theory. Previously, he taught for two years at the Center for International Exchange and Education in Amman. Paola Rivetti is Associate Professor in Politics of the Middle East and International Relations in the School of Law and Government, Dublin City University. She is the author of Political xii

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List of contributors

Participation in Iran from Khatami to the Green Movement (2020). She is co-​editor of Islamists and the Politics of the Arab Uprisings: Governance, Pluralisation and Contention (2018) and Continuity and change before and after the Arab uprisings: Morocco, Tunisia and Egypt (2015). Inmaculada Szmolka is Professor at the Department of Political Science and Administration in the University of Granada, Spain. She is also editor of the Revista Española de Ciencia Política (RECP) since May 2012. Her main research interests focus on political regimes, process of political change, party systems, elections and government formation. She has published in journals such as Mediterranean Politics, The British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies and the Arab Studies Quarterly. She has coordinated the Research Project “Authoritarianism persistence and political change processes in North Africa and Middle East”, supported by the Spanish and Andalusian governments. Kressen Thyen is Research Fellow at the Institute for Intercultural and International Studies and the Collaborative Research Center “Global Dynamics of Social Policy” at the University of Bremen. She holds a doctorate in political science from the University of Tübingen and has worked and researched in Rabat, Cairo, and Tunis. She has published on contentious politics and autocratic legitimacy, youth activism and, most recently, politics of welfare in the Middle East and North Africa. Her research has been published, amongst others, in Democratization and Middle East Law and Governance. Jan Claudius Völkel is Senior Researcher at the Arnold Bergstraesser Institute, University of Freiburg. He holds a PhD in Political Science and has extensive research and teaching experience across the MENA region. He is member of the Arab-​German Young Academy of Sciences and Humanities and MENA regional coordinator at the Bertelsmann Foundation’s Transformation Index. From 2013 to 2017, he was DAAD lecturer in Euro-​Mediterranean Studies at the Faculty of Economics and Political Science, Cairo University, and Marie Sklodowska-​Curie Fellow at the Vrije Universiteit Brussel with a research project on “The role of national parliaments in the Arab transformation processes”. Daria Vorobyeva holds a PhD from the School of International Relations at the University of St Andrews. Daria cotinued to research on forced migration and diaspora studies and has recently updated the results of her PhD through further research in Lebanon. She is currently working on turning this material into a book. Both during the PhD and at present Daria has studied Russian foreign policy towards the Middle East, especially Syria. She has written and presented on both topics in a number of conferences and workshops, as well as on radio and TV.

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1 POLITICAL PARTIES IN MENA An introduction Raymond Hinnebusch, Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm

Introduction How much do political parties matter for governance in MENA? Classic studies on parties, notably those in the structural-​functional tradition, agree that they are absolutely crucial to good governance in an age of mass politics; they provide the key link between decision-​making elites and citizens, enabling key functions necessary to the health of the political system to be preformed. Parties provide vehicles of elite–​mass linkage that allows elites and masses to have some leverage over each other, but the balance of the two can vary considerably. Crucial to allowing the citizenry meaningful participation is the function of aggregating interests (Powell, 2007) into a limited number of alternative programs that, in competitive party systems, offer voters a choice and allow them to hold governing elites accountable for their delivery on these in periodic elections. But parties also perform functions –​political mobilisation and socialisation –​ that allow elites to establish support in society while in legislatures party discipline provides support for stable government –​both crucial to effective governance. Modernisation theorists were convinced that as politicisation increased, in a fairly linear fashion from the upper classes to the middle classes and so on to the mass level, parties not only would become more crucial to the functioning of political systems but they would also develop more complex organisational structures enabling them to perform elite–​mass linkage functions, until high levels of inclusion were reached. We now know that in an age of financial globalisation subordinating government policy everywhere to the dictates of neo-​liberalism, the ability of parties to perform their historic functions, appear, to varying and arguable degrees, been compromised: they may cease to offer major alternatives, such that voters de-​align and drop out (Cavatorta, 2010); in parallel, parties inclusionary capacity may decline, and they come close to becoming mere parliamentary factions as they had been when they were first born in the age of liberal upper-​class oligarchy (Dalton and Wattenberg 2000; Kitchelt 2000; Gallagher et al. 2005; van Biezen and Poguntke 2014, Storm 2020). A the same time, there is a rising risk that the particularistic demands of special interests or media demagogues will fill the vacuum left by party decline, resulting in the debilitation of governance and the loss of trust in political systems, as multiple surveys suggest. The apparent results of party decline therefore actually make the point as to how pivotal parties are to good governance.

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In regard to MENA there was scepticism even before globalisation as to the role parties played given the prevalence of authoritarian governance in the region. Parties seemed unable to fully perform the functions attributed to them elsewhere for multiple reasons: the dominance of the executive –​presidents or kings –​and the weakness of parliaments through which parties could try to hold them accountable; the scarcity of multi-​party free elections, hence of the party competition needed for them to perform their accountability functions; the formalistic character of many parties, colonised by “traditional” practices, such as personal dominance of party leaders and lack of internal democracy or endemic factionalism based on “shillas” (small groups bound by primordial or personal ties), with party organisations “facades” for the “real” politics of clientelism; and the ability of about a third of the states in the region to do without parties, arguably more than anywhere else in the world. It is indisputable that all this weakens and debilitates the ability of parties to do what is expected of them. Symptomatically, few of the general texts on MENA politics have chapters on parties. But it does not follow that they do not matter.

Parties in the Middle East and North Africa Why parties matter in MENA Reasons for thinking that parties matter in MENA are multiple. First, organisations with a family resemblance to parties exist in two-​thirds of Arab states and while their roles may be more marginal than in established democracies, similar structures are unlikely to perform wholly dissimilar functions in a political system. Second, that their role is intimately connected to real politics can be seen in the fact that they have evolved in parallel to political change in the region, both a reflection of this and affecting it: notably the expansion in politicisation has been accompanied by ideological and organisational development of parties, which, in turn, have been instruments of political mobilisation. Third, few regional polities have been able to do without parties once modernisation has advanced enough to politicise the middle class. They are absent only where exceptional conditions hold: small tribal societies where face to face links between ruler and people, consultative councils and the distribution of social entitlements enabled by large hydrocarbon revenues to small population ratios can substitute for parties. Fourth, even if parties have not been wholly effective in the functions expected of them, their existence has made a difference for who rules and how. The mass independence parties that made colonial rule too expensive, the sectarian parties that made consociational democracy operative in Lebanon and more recently Iraq; the single-​party systems that consolidated authoritarian populist republics, and the dominant party systems that were instruments of authoritarian upgrading under post-​ populist republics; the pluralist party system under monarchical tutelage in Morocco, and the (near) two-​party systems that were the pivotal instruments of democratisation in Turkey and more recently Tunisia all testify to the difference they make. This underlines the paradox that while parties are necessary to democratisation, they also appear to be crucial to the establishment, consolidation and resilience of authoritarian republics (Cavatorta and Storm 2018; Storm 2020): being legitimised on the basis of popular sovereignty, it is incumbent on the latter to provide vehicles of ostensible political participation. Yet, even monarchies that enjoy traditional legitimation, as notably in Morocco, are also not able to avoid permitting parties except at prohibitive cost, unless the special conditions noted above hold. Fifth, even to the extent to which parties are weak or ineffective, they matter since this can be seen as a major explanation for MENA’s dysfunctional governance –​lack of responsiveness to publics –​and as such, a factor in their periodic de-​stabilisation. The question therefore is not whether parties matter in MENA, but how much, under what conditions and to what effect. 2

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How do we know how much and how parties matter? How do we assess, much less measure, the role of parties? Early structural functionalist approaches identified the functions that parties were expected to play such as interest aggregation and political recruitment, structuring political identity and constituting and supporting governments, and the structures and practices that performed these functions (Almond and Powell, 1966). This remains a fruitful approach; thus, we can measure how much parties matter by examining whether they have the structures needed to perform key political functions expected of parties and also whether instead alternative structures in the political system do this, for example, in authoritarian republics, does the military substitute for the party as the main recruitment channel to top elite positions, as in Nasser’s Egypt? Literature on the development of party organisations over time notably assessed if they became more elaborate and institutionalised as membership numbers grew, reflective of the expansion of politicisation and inter-​party competition for support. Their complexity and institutionalisation are ways of measuring their efficacy at elite–​mass linkage at different stages of politicisation; toward this end we might usefully assess membership size and type (notable, cadre or mass parties); degree of centralisation and hierarchy and the capacity to reach beyond the political centre and penetrate the peripheries to mobilise followers; financing modes (mass membership dues or big donors), possession of civil society auxiliary organisations, whether the parliamentary organisation is accountable to mass membership or not; party discipline in parliament versus factionalism. We can also explore the strategies of party elites in seeking to mobilise support, i.e. what mix of ideology/​issue/​programmatic orientation, patronage or personalistic appeals are made and ask what difference this makes for the performance of party functions (LaPalombara and Weiner 1966; LaPalombara, 1974). This also applies to MENA. The sociological-​oriented literature focused more on state–​society relations, asking how party systems reflected societal cleavages emergent as a result of “development crises,” including independence struggles, the drive for state bureaucratic penetration of society, and industrialisation, as it gave rise to new classes; and how parties represented the clashing interests of different social forces and contributed to their resolution (Lipset and Rokkan, 1967). This has been and can be done for MENA parties, too, notably asking how far they incorporate and represent constituencies in society, reflective of its main lines of societal cleavage (or seeking to bridge these), as countries encounter developmental “crises.” Institutionalist approaches would ask what difference the wider institutional set-​up makes for the behaviour and efficacy of parties. Much of the literature in democracies focuses on electoral rules and what difference they make for parties, but comparing the impact of different regime types would be important in the MENA. Relevant to this, a literature has evolved assessing party systems, especially the difference made by the number of parties in the system for performance of functions, such as enabling inclusive representation. A central debate relevant to the MENA was how far single-​party systems could be inclusive. Conversely multi-​party systems have been seen as carrying a risk of ineffective or unstable coalition governments (Huntington, 1968). This debate remains relevant since in the MENA single-​party or dominant-​party systems have monopolised the political landscape and where they do not exist, the opposite, namely excessive party fragmentation, appears to be the norm; are these systems relatively ineffective at representation as well as at mobilising power compared to two-​party systems? Indeed, can it be an accident that it has been the exceptional (near) two-​party systems in the MENA that were associated with the exceptional democratic consolidation, namely, in Turkey and Tunisia? The following sections will briefly explore some of these issues while adumbrating some of the major variations in parties and their roles in MENA. 3

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How parties develop with modernisation: from notable to mass parties Parties are arguably more authentic to the extent they reflect the state of society, its cleavages and level of socio-​economic development. Parties appear once traditional legitimacy is eroded and constitutions, parliaments and elections are permitted. Once this occurred, emergent elites in MENA adopted a new “political technology”–​party ideology and organisation –​in order to mobilise support for their agendas (Halpern, 1963). The earliest precursors of political parties appeared in the late Ottoman period when groupings of officers, bureaucrats or professionals formed to press for constitutional rule. In Ottoman Turkey and Iran parties were precipitated by the creation of parliaments where factions of deputies grouped together in “conservative” or “liberal” blocs supporting or opposing the government. In the early Iranian majlis, caucuses (maslaks) of royalists and liberals appeared. In the Arab world such proto-​parties further developed where nationalist agitation spurred political mobilisation, into large-​scale mass independence movements, such as the Egyptian Wafd, the Moroccan Istiqlal, and Tunisia’s Destour Party. Their dependence on the clientele networks of notables plus their mobilisation of a socially heterogeneous base around the single issue of independence doomed most of them to fragment after independence when they tended to lose their intellectual activists (which formed opposition parties) and their mass bases, being thereby reduced to rumps of notables. In the immediate post-​independence years in the Arab world these parties of “notables” dominated; they were initially the instruments of small groups of wealthy local leaders (ayan, zuama), normally great landlords or merchants, whose extended families controlled certain urban quarters or villages. Linked more by personal ties than ideology, they were ephemeral and vulnerable to factionalism. Able to count on the dependents of the notables, such as peasants on their estates or clients in urban quarters, to win elections, notable parties had little need for party cadres or organisation. Classic examples of such parties were the Liberal-​Constitutionalists of Egypt, the various royal parties in Morocco and Jordan, and the National and Constitutional blocs in Lebanon. The main initial opposition to the upper-​class notable parties grew as a still-​small Westernised middle class emerged. New parties formed, led by intellectuals and professionals, subscribing to liberal or radical ideologies, often organised around a political newspaper. However, they lacked voter-​mobilising machines, and could not access the mass voters embedded in the dependencies and clientele networks of the notables. Yet these middle-​class parties allowed individuals and groups to cooperate on a less asymmetric basis by comparison to the clientele networks of the notables. This early party development reflected the main emergent cleavage in these societies, the new middle class versus the oligarchy. Politics still remained relatively limited to the upper and middle classes and seldom penetrated rural areas. But the accelerating spread of literacy, and some industrialisation and class formation propelled politicisation and the consequent development of larger-​scale parties. The evolution of parties beyond the personal factions of notables took place via development of the party organisation needed to incorporate larger numbers of participants being politicised from ever further down in the stratification system: in the first stage, middle-​class-​led parties created branches in the provincial towns that were dominated by educated professionals and civil servants. The potential of the region’s liberal oligarchies to make a democratic transition was, however, aborted because their party systems were too fragmented or polarised to widen participation and manage peaceful change simultaneously: to a considerable extent the failure of early democratisation was a function of lags in (multi-​) party development. This opened the way for the emergence of single-​party regimes, “the modern form of authoritarianism,” (Huntington, 1968; Perlmutter, 1981) which consolidated 4

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non-​democratic regimes across the Arab world. At the same time, however, Turkey embarked on the transition to democracy via its two-​party system. These single-​and two-​party systems would take party development to the next stage, becoming mass parties, with cells in factories and villages that brought in workers and peasants and a permanent staff at the centre. In parallel, as party recruitment widened from the upper class to include activists of middle-​and then lower-​class origin, the ideologies of parties came to appeal to wider constituencies, promoting more egalitarian and reformist programs, with indeed “socialism” widely embraced, thereby potentially changing the balance of social class power in the region.

How parties consolidate and sustain authoritarianism: from single-​party systems to dominant party rule in the republics and multi-​party royalism Institutional configurations matter, particularly the number of parties and amount of party competition permitted.

Single-​party systems and Revolution from above With the rise of populist-​authoritarian republics in the Arab world, parties came to matter for their mass incorporating capacity, hence the stability of regimes. Middle-​class political leaders, variously originating in middle-​class parties and/​or the military, established single-​party systems as an indispensable new “political technology” in the launching of “revolutions from above” that mobilised and organised large sectors of the middle and lower classes. Enver Koury (1970) traced the stages in development of such parties, beginning with intellectuals that devise the ideology, to the politicians who seize power, and the organisation builders that consolidate single-​party regimes. According to Huntington, the single-​party system originates in a bifurcation between the revolutionary regime and “traditional” society (or the old oligarchy), its function to both concentrate power in the hands of the revolutionary elite (and exclude the oligarchy from power) while expanding power by mobilising a mass constituency. The revolutionary struggle substitutes for party competition in keeping the party dynamic and the ruling elite responsive; where there is little such struggle, the single-​party tends to be weaker and as conflict with the old oligarchy declines, so does the party’s responsiveness to its mass constituency. Indeed, as, at a later stage, the party elite becomes part of a new upper class, the party starts to change from an instrument of revolution into a patronage machine through which clients seek favours and careerists pursue upward mobility (Huntington, 1974). Authoritarian republics that did not develop an effective ruling party proved unstable, such as North Yemen and Iraq from 1958 to 1968. To be sure, party association by itself proved unable to consolidate the radical republics and the resort of leaders to small group solidarity and clientelism as a supplementary political cement inside or parallel to formal institutions tended to curtail political life within ruling parties. Single parties aspired to be mass parties penetrating the peripheries and organising the masses, but they varied widely in their ability to do so. What Roger Owen (1992) called “rallies and unions” were relatively weak parties established by military leaders from above (such as the Liberation Rally and National Union in Egypt, and the Arab Socialist Unions (ASU) established by military leaders in Egypt, Iraq, Sudan and Libya). In these parties, ideological commitment was unimportant and nominal membership was extended to virtually the entire population except for active opponents of the regime. This made these organisations vulnerable to infiltration by many contradictory vested interests, diluting their mobilisational capacity 5

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(Harik, 1973). Stronger single-​party regimes resulted when the party, through a history of grassroots struggle, acquired a cadre of militants and some roots in the population prior to the assumption of power; thereafter party leaders normally adopted a “Leninist” strategy of party building from top down, in which ideological militants recruited from plebeian strata to establish party cells in villages, factories, and schools, while creating or taking over labour, peasant and youth unions. The ruling party acquired a full time professional apparatus, and a pyramid of congresses –​partly elected, partly co-​opted –​linked base and centre. The party might share power with a charismatic leader and/​or the military, but the sign of its “strength” was its greater centrality in the performance of political functions than in the “rally” form of single party. Thus, the party organisation was a major ladder of recruitment into the political elite and its top congress, representing the regime elite assembled, had some role in policy making. The party normally subordinated and supervised the government bureaucracy in the implementation of policy and, at the local level, party militants played a key role in social reforms, notably land reform. But what would citizens get out of involvement in single parties? This would vary according to the basis of mobilisation. For more ideological parties, the ideology and programme could attract activists, particularly when the party was out of power. Once in power, however, this was invariably mixed with careerism since membership in stronger ruling parties was a channel to elite status, while for many in local constituencies, patronage and privilege were the attraction, and the main one in the weaker less ideological parties (Hinnebusch, 1983). In the populist period when resources were being redistributed downward or expanded by modernisation, ruling parties had some capacity to deliver both policy and patronage. In the post-​populist era when this ended, parties’ functions shifted.

Post-​populist limited political liberalisation In the next phase of development beginning in the seventies, the region was dominated by post-​populist republics or monarchies under which a dominant president or monarch allowed limited scope for political pluralism. Such states were associated with two main types of party system, the “dominant party system” (in which the ruling single party permits small opposition parties) and the “palace-​dominated multiparty system.” The dominant party system was an outcome of the liberalisation in the authoritarian republics beginning in the seventies. As the populist consensus that accompanied single-​party rule collapsed and rulers began to economically liberalise against the resistance of statist interests while populations threatened by this turned to political Islam, regimes sought to mobilise social forces favourable to liberalisation, find ways to co-​opt opposition, and trade limited participation rights for public acceptance of the gradual abandonment of the populist social contract. Their strategy, a limited pluralisation of the party system was, arguably, an adaptation to the ideological pluralisation of the political arena. Egypt after Nasser is the best case of the dominant party system in the Middle East. As Egypt’s Nasserite consensus dissolved, the all-​embracing ASU was disbanded in 1976 and some of its fragments or the remnants of pre-​revolutionary parties allowed to constitute themselves as “loyal” opposition parties. While the presidency remained the centre of authoritarian power and the ruling party never failed to win a large parliamentary majority, opposition parties were allowed to compete in elections, not for governing power, but for access to power (e.g., parliamentary seats). While the government party sought to straddle the centre of the political spectrum, opposition parties flanked it on the left and right. More an appendage of government than an autonomous political force, the ruling party enjoyed little loyalty from its members, and 6

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Introduction

had few activists, hence only a primitive organisation. This reflected its lack of interest in mass mobilisation; if anything, its function was to enforce demobilisation. As such, it had to depend on village headmen and local notables to bring out the vote. An array of opposition political parties seemed to give expression to different interests and values than those of the ruling party. More than personalistic factions, they either revived some pre-​Nasser political tradition or were rooted in a major societal or issue cleavage, hence the rough correspondence between their ideologies and their social bases. The representative potential of a dominant party system required opposition parties become “parties of pressure” representing constituencies left outside the ruling coalition in order to pressure the government to adopt parts of their programs. The potential for such a system in Egypt peaked in the most open and competitive elections of 1984 and l987 in which opposition parties won substantial numbers of parliamentary seats although never enough to challenge the majority of the ruling dominant party. While the government majority remained unchallengeable, liberal and Islamist interests emerged as a significant opposition presence in parliament where, however, instead of combining against the government, the first advocated economic and political liberalisation and the second won Islamisation concessions from the secular regime. Moreover, the regime stopped short of allowing (and even reversed) the political freedoms needed to expand party pluralisation to the level of the mass public required to make the opposition parties effective parties of pressure. In general, thus, the pluralisation of the party system actually reinforced the regime: elections functioned to co-​opt and channel political activity that might otherwise have taken a covert, even violent, anti-​regime direction into more tame, manageable forms. Additionally, the divisions in the opposition generally allowed the regime to play off secularists against Islamists, left against right (Hinnebusch, 1988; Kassem, 1999). A second type of limited pluralism was the palace-​dominated fragmented party system. The palace pluralism practiced by monarchies in Morocco and, intermittently, in Jordan and Kuwait, allowed multiple party competition arbitrated by a monarchy “above” partisan politics (Lust, 2001). Parties competed for parliamentary seats but if they challenged royal authority –​ notably to pick and dismiss governments  –​the king had the option to dissolve parliament, even to close down party politics and assume “personal rule.” Monarchic pluralism was most authentic in Morocco where the main parties had programs, organisations and substantial constituencies. The king, however, retained considerable executive powers and party pluralism actually sustained royal power by dividing and forcing parties to compete for his favour. To be played off against the urban-​centred opposition parties, there was always a party of the “king’s men” recruited from the high bourgeoisie and the traditional rural tribes. Ironically, the main parties fragmented precisely over whether to play the king’s game, with the Nationl Union of Progressive Forces (NUPF) splitting from the Istiqlal party over its refusal to play and it itself later eclipsed by breakaway elements that were willing to do so (which formed the Socialist Union of Popular Forces). Under this system, the parties did have a role in providing the ministerial elite and in mediating between the king and people. The king tolerated this limit on royal sovereignty because he found the narrowing of his support under personal rule invited instability (attempted coups), and because limited pluralism actually helped, as Zartman (1988) argued, to consolidate the regime. Their participation in the system not only co-​opted the party elite but, because their inclusion required that they moderate the demands of their constituencies, it tended to weaken their societal support to the king’s benefit. Yet, parties have regularly demonstrated sufficient electoral support that the king has felt obliged to include them in government or, alternatively, to take the wind out of their sails by co-​opting their demands as his own; in this sense they function as “parties of pressure” serving as crucial safety valves by ensuring some responsiveness to interests outside the establishment. The system allows enough 7

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party pluralism to satisfy participatory pressures without challenging royal authority (Cavatorta and Storm 2018; Storm 2020). In short, the regions’ experiments in controlled party pluralism were exercises in “authoritarian upgrading” (Heydemann, 2007) that produced hybrid regimes –​competitive authoritarianism –​that, rather than being a transitional period on the road to democratisation, were a substitute for it.

How parties can make, break or reverse the transition to democracy The rare transformation to democracy in Turkey was dependent on the emergence of two relatively equal parties sufficiently close in ideology for each to accept democratic electoral competition over power (Penner Angrist, 2004). Additionally, democratisation depended on the emergence of a mass-​incorporating multi-​party system and was threatened first by the fragmentation of the party system in the period between the 1970s and the 1990s and currently by its seeming decline into a dominant party system.

Mass competitive party systems and democratisation. The cases of Turkey, Tunisia and Egypt In the Middle East’s most “advanced” and recognisably “democratic” societies, Turkey and Israel, mass incorporating competitive party systems have played central roles. The alternation in power of ruling and opposition parties is central to the formation and accountability of governments and the party configuration is crucial to their effectiveness. After the Arab Uprising, it looked as if democratic transitions would take place elsewhere, notably Egypt and Tunisia and party development both reflected and helped explain whether this was sustained. Turkey’s transition from a single to a two-​party system in the 1950s remains the prototype for democratisation in the region. Each of the two rival parties that emerged on the eve of transition from single-​party rule incorporated distinct social constituencies: the formerly ruling Republican Peoples Party (RPP) centred on retired military officers, urban bureaucrats and intellectuals, while the new opposition Democrat Party (DP), led by businessmen and rural notables, appealed to the rural majority. Competitive elections made a difference, for example, in allowing peasant voters to force governmental responsiveness to formerly neglected rural interests. Societal and parliamentary support enabled the majority DP to sustain stable government for a decade (Karpat, 1959). The two main parties proved remarkably institutionalised, surviving leadership and ideological changes and forced reconstructions during periods of military intervention. The RPP survived the transition to a two-​party system, a long period in opposition in the fifties, and a transformation in its leadership to professionals and intellectuals and of its base to urban white-​and blue-​collar workers, becoming, under Bulent Ecevit, a social democratic party. The Democrat Party, although mutating into several new incarnations, notably the Justice Party (JP), could be said to have survived several leadership changes while still representing the same broad business–​rural coalition. After 1960, the two-​ party system evolved into a multi-​ party system, reflective of the deepening mobilisation and polarisation of society, with smaller more radical parties emerging on the left and right and speaking for those dissatisfied by the two main centrist parties. In addition, periodic military interventions that briefly banned and forced parties to reconstitute themselves, weakened the parties. After the 1960 intervention, the Islamic National Salvation party, mobilising imams and religious students as grass roots activists, built an effective 8

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Introduction

organisation that incorporated a constituency among small businessmen and artisans, becoming the third largest party. The National Action party, an authoritarian nationalist, Pan-​Turkist party with some middle-​class and youth support exercised disproportionate influence owing to its pivotal role in making up centre-​r ight coalitions in the seventies. In this period, the JP and RPP alternated pluralities but the JP was more successful in forming governing (centre-​ right) coalitions. After the 1980 military intervention, the party system became increasingly fragmented. The centre-​right split into the Motherland party (neo-​liberal, Anatolian based) and the True Path party (descendent of the Justice party). The centre-​left was divided by rival personalities between the Democrat Left Party of Ecevit, Erdel Inonu’s Social Democratic Populist Party, and Deniz Baykal’s Republican People’s Party. Thus was ushered in another period of weak coalition governments, increasingly discredited in public eyes, which ended in the implosion of all the parties except the Islamic Justice and Development Party (AKP) (descendent of the Islamic Salvation, later the Refah Party) that decisively won the 2003 elections. Its successful formation of a government, in the face of the Islamophobia of the military, was a test of the power of durable parties. The Turkish party system had been notoriously weak for decades, producing fragmented parliaments and coalition governments that allowed the military to dominate until the AKP won majorities in several successive elections in the 2000s. The causes of AKP success was its conservative yet democratic version of Islam, combined with neo-​liberal policies such as privatisations of state owned enterprises, that appealed to a cross-​class constituency, linking the Anatolian capitalist class to the pious provincial middle and lower classes. Economic growth after several economic crises consolidated the party’s position as a dominant party within a multi-​party system. The consequence were in one respect positive for democracy:  government that could govern and enjoyed popular support, but had, nevertheless to face regularly accountability to the electorate; and the ability of a strong ruling party to marginalise the endemic military intervention in politics. On the other hand, the party leader, Erdogan gradually assumed a majoritarian notion of democracy in which he interpreted electoral mandates as enabling him to curtail opposition criticism, liberties, and press freedoms. Turkey increasingly seemed to slide into electoral authoritarianism in which the ruling party abused its power. The 2011 Arab uprisings opened the door to unrestricted mass political participation in a number of countries across the region and notably in Tunisia and Egypt where genuine processes of transition to democracy began in earnest following the demise of presidents Ben Ali and Mubarak. Both processes of democratisation followed the path that many other democratising countries had been down and political parties, marginalised under previous authoritarian structures, became the protagonists of the institutional game. Parties that had been legal under the previous regime participated in the construction of the new political system, while previously banned movements were quickly legalised, making the political arena highly competitive. The sudden rise in the number of political parties applying for legal status testifies to the vitality of both societies and the willingness on the part of many citizens to take part in the political life of the country. Parties belonging to many different families emerged, from Islamists to Salafists to socialists, national-​modernists and liberals. In fact the whole of the ideological spectrum was represented in addition to a number of newly created personalistic parties. In the Tunisian case, political parties managed to set aside their considerable ideological difference and diverging policy preferences to approve a new constitutional text providing for the new rules of the game by which all parties agreed to abide. In the Egyptian case such consensus was not reached and eventually the political crisis led to the military’s intervention and the return of authoritarianism. Political parties therefore played a crucial role in determining 9

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the institutional fate of their respective countries. Although a genuine competitive party system survived only in Tunisia, the participation of large sectors of the population in elections and formal politics more broadly in contexts where parties were supposed to be marginal actors testifies to their relevance (Storm 2017). As the cases mentioned above demonstrate, during significant political openings in authoritarian regimes, political parties take centre stage. The 2011 revolts brought about the end of a number of authoritarian regimes and very quickly political parties filled the void and began negotiating the new rules of the game. In Tunisia this worked reasonably well and political parties managed to construct a liberal-​democratic system, while in other countries parties failed to do so. This has sparked a renewed interest in political parties with a number of studies attempting to understand why Tunisian political parties were able to negotiate a transition while Egyptian, Libyan, and Yemeni ones were not. This meant focusing once more on organisational capacities, ideological tenets and linkages with society, but very often within the theoretical constraints of the paradigms of democratisation and authoritarian resilience.

Political parties beyond democratisation and authoritarianism The debate about the singificance of political parties across the Middle East and North Africa has been revived following the Arab revolts. With some notable exceptions (Catusse and Karam, 2010; Hinnebusch, 2017), research on political parties in the Middle East and North Africa has traditionally been rather narrow and intimately linked to the paradigms of democratisation and authoritarianism (Lawson and Ibrahim, 2010; Storm, 2013), with the focus often on Islamist parties. It followed that both paradigms informed much of what we have come to know about Islamist parties, by far the most contentious and problematic parties in the region for scholars, policy-​makers and citizens alike. Both before and after the 2011 uprisings we have therefore works examining the history of Islamist parties in search of what it may tell us about their democratic potential or, alternatively, authoritarian tendencies (Wegner, 2011; Wolf, 2017). The same can be said about their ideological tenets (Schwedler, 2006; Schwedler 2011; al-​Anani 2012; Kandil, 2015). We have also a number of works looking at their electoral strategies (Hamid, 2011; Pellicer and Wegner, 2014; Masoud, 2014) and their policy proposals (Kienle 2013; Resta 2019), with both sets of studies attemtping to demonstrate how Islamists conceived of governance –​whether democratic or authoriatrian. While such studies have certainly contributed to a much greater knoweldge of political parties in the region, analysing them simply though the lenses of democratisation or authoritarian resilience limits the scope of what we can discover about political parties and party systems. First, focusing on the link between democratisation, authoritarianism, and Islamism has led to the negelct of non-​Islamist parties such as leftist parties, the fate of formerly single ruling parties in more competititve electoral environments and that of new parties emerging from processes of tentative political liberalisation. Second, there are very few analyses of the interactions among parties beyond the ones looking at the benefits and pitfalls of cross-​ ideological cooperation. The latter studies do not capture the complexity of interactions because parties are not solely ideological and operate in a much more complex space where other cleavages exist and might be important. Fourth, the near-​exclusive focus on Islamism prevents scholars from linking developments in party politics across the Middle East and North Africa to similar developments occurring elsewhere. A recent study (Cavatorta and Storm, 2018) has demonstrated, for instance, that some of the problems affecting political parties in established democracies resemble the difficulties parties experience in the region such as diminishing trust among citizens. 10

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Moving beyond the traditional literature: the contribution of this book This book attempts to build on and move beyond the previous literature on parties in MENA surveyed above and, in doing so, to demonstrate their continuing if changing relevance (Willis, 2002). It does so through five broad themes that correspond to different sections (Parts) of the book. Part 1 explores in detail party families, ensuring therefore that Islamist parties are not the only actors under scrutiny. There are important insights to be gained for instance by analysing leftist parties and the reasons behind their lack of appeal despite a context within which the socio-​economic demands of wealth redistribution and equality are the overwhleming priority of citizens in the region (Teti et al., 2019). The same can be said about the role former single-​ parties play and how they have fared in a more competitive environment, albeit an often semi-​ authoritarian one. The arrival of salafi parties, tradtionally confined to Kuwait, has affected the way in which mainstream Islamists operate and have added an extra dimension to the Islamist–​secular divide in a number of countries. In addition, personalistic parties have always been present across the region, as mentioned earlier in the chapter, and they have managed to retain a significant role even in democratising settings. Part  2 focuses on the way in which political parties operate under severe authoritarian constraints and how they might be organising differently from in the past given the considerable socio-​economic and political changes that authoritarian Middle Eastern and North African regimes have undergone. This is most clearly illustrated in the increasing relevance of proto-​ parties in the Gulf, and also the way in which proto-​parties’ electoral competition is structured in Iran. The Arab uprisings and their aftermath have also underscored the importance of the military as a political actor and it is therefore useful to look at the way in which political parties interact with the regime and with each other in military-​dominated regimes. Finally this section examines what it means for parties to operate in places under international tutelage or occupation such as Palestine and Iraq. How do the constraints international powers put in place affect party political dynamics? Part 3 examines party politics in democratic or quasi-​democratic settings. Although only Tunisia has transitioned successfully from authoritarianism to liberal democracy, there are other countries where party politics takes place in a reasonably pluralistic if at times unstable environment. This is the case for Turkey and Isarel, but also for Lebanon and Iraq where consociational arrangements, whether formal or not, prevail. Part 4 examines the cleavages that characterise party politics in the MENA such as the rural/​ urban divide or the class one. The section also looks at the engagement in party politics of specific social groups, explaining under which conditions their participation occurs or does not. Although we have some studies for instance looking at the role of women in Islamist parties (Schwedler and Clark, 2003; Dalmasso and Cavatorta, 2014), we know very little about their political engagement more broadly. The same can be said of youth’s particpation in formal political parties and the way in which confessional belonging matters. Again we know very little for instance of how Christians mobilise, if at all, through political parties. Part 5 studies the policy preferences of political parties. The comparative politics literature on parties has revealed much about the way in which they set forth policy preferences and how they go about ensuring that they are implemented; there are, for instance, countless studies relying on analysts’ coding of electoral manifestos to identify where parties stand on a number of different issues. Despite improvements in the collection of electoral data and data on individual attitudes in MENA, there are only a few studies attempting to shed light on how the offer of parties matches voters’ attitudes and preferences. Althought clientlism and patronage networks are often seen as crucial to explain how parties operate and voters respond in the 11

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MENA, particularly during elections, some studies have found that there is a rather surprisingly high level of programmatic voting in the Arab world (Wegner and Cavatorta, 2019). This finding should therefore encourage scholars to look at the policy preferences of different parties and how they are formed. The fifth section explores this in some detail. In short, the contention of this project is that political parties matter and are worth investigating. Political parties are important in their own right because of the functions they have regardless of the type and nature of the regimes within which they operate and the MENA is no exception. Little has been written on MENA political parties in such a broad comparative perspective, and several of the themes are hitherto under-​studied, yet crucial if we are to understand the intricate dynamics of regional politics past and present.

Bibliography Al-​Anani, Khalil. 2012. ‘Islamist Parties Post-​Arab Spring’. Mediterranean Politics 17 (3): 466–​472. Almond, Gabriel and G Bingham Powell. 1966. Comparative Politics: A Developmental Approach. Boston, MA: Little, Brown. van Biezen, Ingrid and Thomas Poguntke. 2014. ‘The Decline of Membership-Based Politics’. Party Politics 20 (2): 205–​216. Catusse, Myriam and Karam Karam. 2010. Returning to Political Parties? Political Party Development in the Arab World. Paris: Presses de l’Ifpo. Cavatorta, Francesco and Lise Storm (eds.). 2018. Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Cavatorta, Francesco. 2010. ‘The Convergence of Governance. Upgrading Authoritarianism in the Arab World and Downgrading Democracy Elsewhere?’ Middle East Critique 19 (3): 217–​232. Clark, Janine and Jillian Schwedler. 2003. ‘Who Opened the Window? Women’s Activism within Islamist Parties’. Comparative Politics 35 (3): 293–​312. Dalmasso, Emanuela and Francesco Cavatorta. 2014. ‘Islamist Women’s Leadership in Morocco’. In Karen Celis and Sarah Childs (eds.) Gender, Conservatism and Political Representation. Colchester: ECPR Press. Dalton, Russell and Martin Wattenberg. 2000. Political Parties without Partisans. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Gallagher, Michael, Michael Laver and Peter Mair. 2005. Representative Government in Modern Europe. London: McGraw-​Hill. Halpern, Manfred. 1963. Politics of Social Change in the Middle East and North Africa. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Hamid, Shadi. 2011. ‘The Rise of the Islamists’. Foreign Affairs 90 (3): 40–​47. Harik, Iliya. 1973. ‘The Single Party as a Subordinate Movement: The Case of Egypt’. World Politics 26 (1): 80–​105. Heydemann, Steven. 2007. ‘Upgrading Authoritarianism in the Arab world’, Analysis Paper, Brookings Institution. Available at: www.brookings.edu/​papers/​2007/​10arabworld.aspx Hinnebusch, Raymond. 1983. ‘Party Activists in Syria and Egypt: Political Participation in Authoritarian Modernizing States’. International Political Science Review 4 (1): 84–​93. Hinnebusch, Raymond. 1988. Egyptian Politics under Sadat. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Hinnebusch, Raymond. 2017. ‘Political Parties in MENA: Their Functions and Development’. British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 44 (2): 159–​175. Huntington, Samuel. 1968. Political Order in Changing Societies. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Huntington, Samuel. 1974. ‘Social and Institutional Dynamics of One-​Party Systems’. In Louis J. Cantori (ed.) Comparative Political Systems. Boston, MA: Holbrook Press, 323–​370. Kandil, Hazem 2015. Inside the Brotherhood. Cambridge: Polity Press. Karpat, Kemal. 1959. Turkey’s Politics:  The Transition to a Multi-​Party System. Princeton, NJ:  Princeton University Press. Kassem, Maye. 1999. In the Guise of Democracy: Governance in Contemporary Egypt. Reading: Ithaca Press. Khoury, Enver. 1970. The Patterns of Mass Movements in Arab Revolutionary Progressive States. The Hague: Mouton.

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Introduction Kienle, Eberhard. 2013. ‘Nouveaux régimes, vieilles politiques? Réponses islamistes slamdéfis économiques et sociaux’. Critique Internationale 61 (4): 85–​103. Kitchelt, Herbert. 2000. ‘Linkages between Citizens and Politicians in Democratic Polities’. Comparative Political Studies 33 (6/​7): 845–​879. LaPalombara, Joseph and Myron Weiner. 1966. Political Parties and Political Development. Princeton: Princeton University Press. LaPalombara, Joseph. 1974. ‘Political Parties and the Political Process’. In Joseph LaPalombara (ed.) Politics within Nations. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall, 508–​555. Lawson, Kay, and Saad Eddin Ibrahim. 2010. Political Parties and Democracy: The Arab World. New York, NY: Praeger. Lipset, Seymour Martin and Stein Rokkan. 1967. Party Systems and Voter Alignments. New  York, NY: Free Press. Lust, Ellen. 2001. ‘The Decline of Jordanian Political Parties:  Myth or Reality?’ International Journal of Middle East Studies 33 (4): 545–​571. Masoud, Tarek. 2014. Counting Islam:  Religion, Class and Elections in Egypt. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. Owen, Roger. 1992. State, Power and Politics in the Making of the Modern Middle East. London: Routledge. Pellicer, Miquel and Eva Wegner. 2014. ‘Socio-​economic voter profile and motives for Islamist support in Morocco’. Party Politics 20 (1): 116–​133. Penner Angrist, Michelle. 2004. ‘Party Systems and Regime Formation in the Modern Middle East: Explaining Turkish Exceptionalism’. Comparative Politics 36 (2): 229–​249. Perlmutter, Amos. 1981. Modern Authoritarianism:  A Comparative Institutional Analysis. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Powell, Bingham G. 2007. ‘Aggregating and Representing Political Interests’. In Carles Boix and Susan C. Stokes (eds.) The Oxford Handbook of Comparative Politics. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 653–​677. Resta, Valeria. 2019. ‘The Effect of Electoral Autocracy in Egypt’s Failed Transition:  A Party Politics Perspective’. Italian Political Science Review/​Rivista Italiana di Scienza Politica 49 (2): 157–​173. Schwedler, Jillian. 2011. ‘Can Islamists Become Moderates? Rethinking the Inclusion-​ Moderation Hypothesis?’ World Politics 63 (2): 347–​376. Schwedler, Jillian. 2006. Faith in Moderation. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Storm, Lise. 2020. ‘Political Parties in the Middle East’. In Raymond Hinnebusch (ed.) The Routledge Research Companion to Middle East Politics. London: Routledge, 136–​152. Storm, Lise. 2017. ‘Parties and Party System Change’. In Inmaculada Szmolka (ed.) Political Change in the Middle East and North Africa: After the Arab Spring. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 63–​88. Storm, Lise. 2013. Party Politics and the Prospects for Democracy in North Africa. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Teti, Andrea, Pamela Abbott and Francesco Cavatorta. 2019. ‘Do Arabs Really Want Democracy? Evidence from Four Countries’. Democratization 26 (4): 645–​665. Wegner, Eva and Francesco Cavatorta. 2019. ‘Revisiting the Islamist-​Secular Divide: Parties and Voters in the Arab World’. International Political Science Review 40 (4): 558–​575. Wegner, Eva. 2011. Islamist Opposition in Authoritarian Regimes:  The Party of Justice and Development in Morocco. Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. Willis, Michael. 2002. ‘Political Parties in the Maghrib:  The Illusion of Significance’. Journal of North African Studies 7 (2): 1–​22. Wolf, Anne. 2017. Political Islam in Tunisia. The History of Ennahda. London: Hurst. Zartman, I. William. 1988. ‘Opposition as Support of the State’. In Adeeb Dawisha and William Zartman (eds.) Beyond Coercion:  the Durability of the Arab State. London:  Croom Helm for Istituto Affari Internazionali.

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PART I

Party families

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2 THE RISE AND FALL OF THE ARAB LEFT Idriss Jebari

Introduction The Arab Left has been a foundational actor in Arab politics. This broad term refers to a multitude of political parties labeling themselves as ‘socialist’ or ‘communist.’ They have worked and mobilised for electoral gains, social change, anti-​imperial foreign policies, or political take-​overs, though rarely succeeded (Ismael 1976, ix; Darraj Barrout 2000; Resta 2018). The label is also used more widely for individuals, intellectual groups, workers’ unions, or guerilla movements espousing Marxist principles. This is a testimony to the Arab Left’s wide-​ranging popularity, but raises issues over what the label covers. In the absence of a single definition, there is a considerable consensus over the Arab Left’s history told as a ‘rise and fall.’ Despite its popularity, the Arab Left never lived up to the promise of its ideals. Yet, its history is entangled in the important moments of Arab history, from the era of Arab Socialism to the Six-​Days War defeat against Israel in June 1967 to the reverberations of the 1979 Islamic Revolution in Iran and the New World Order following the Soviet Union’s demise (Hanssen, 2020). Within its domestic political context, the Arab Left has suffered under the weight of authoritarian repression and Islamist competition for popular support (Resta, 2018). Recent historiographical studies on the ‘New Arab Left’ after the Arab uprisings attest to the never-​ending interest in its resurgence as a democratising force (Haugbølle, 2019; Hillal and Hermann, 2014). This chapter historicises the Arab Left and anchors it in its political parties rather than the movement as a whole.1 It discusses its changing typologies during the twentieth century amidst changing Arab politics. We consider their evolving forms, roles, social bases, ideological positioning and relationship with the regimes in place (Hudson, 1977; Catusse and Karam, 2013). This helps us avoid common limitations in writing the Arab Left’s history: from a quest for the ‘reasons for the defeat’ (including recriminations among former activists) to lengthy ideological and theoretical squabbles, to a nostalgic portrayal of the revolutionary era. Our goal is to draw out a variety of models and experiences across the Arab region, from the Left wing in the Levant, the Maghreb and the Gulf, while connecting their history to the academic literature on democratisation and resilient authoritarianism. The history of the Arab Left illustrates the challenges political parties have faced in the region. The Left, a victim of its own popularity, has been continuously targeted by the authorities; its 17

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leaders and supporters jailed, and its parties banned, while lingering in the margins of decision-​ making. The Arab Left also suffered from internal fragmentation due to internal debates over the suitability of Marxist theory for Arab realities, criticism from religious conservatives, and tactical disagreements on whether to participate in limited political openings or remain in opposition. However, this chapter argues that left-​wing parties should not be solely judged for their failures, but how they shaped modern Arab politics by politicising key social groups. This explains the continued interest in the Left despite its current limited political standing. The chapter provides a historical overview of the four typologies of the Arab Left and it then offers an assessment of its fate since the Arab uprisings.

The first Arab parties: socialists, communists and the masses The first half of the twentieth century saw the radicalisation of bourgeois nationalist politics and the development of the first Arab communist parties. As the first Arab parties with mass membership, they formulated an ideology to suit Arab culture and society (Ismael, 1976). They mobilised the urban middle classes and workers using modern tactics that allowed them to secure their political independences and usher in modern political life. These parties grew in strength, but a series of setbacks, from state repression to the Palestinian Nakba, drove them to extinction (Ismael, 1976). The first parties were closely tied to the labour issue. Socialist ideas began spreading in the Arab world in the nineteenth century among intellectuals, but the first parties were formed by labor activists influenced by Marxist theories and the 1917 Revolution (Ismael, 2005; Rodinson, 1972; Halliday, 1997; Smolansky, 1974). During these early decades, the Soviet Union offered substantial support, including funding and logistical assistance and general policy directions, which, sometimes, clashed with local realities (Franzen, 2017; Hanssen, 2020). Jewish migrants who galvanised workers on the ground established the two pioneer Communist parties in Egypt and Palestine. In Egypt, Joseph Rosenthal mobilised the Greek workers of Alexandria and progressively integrated Arabs in their ranks. During the 1919 Revolution, workers strikes shook the British protectorate and the Egyptian Communist Party was established in its wake. It took on the cause of the peasants –​the fellahin –​cultivating them as an oppressed class with revolutionary potential (Franzen, 2017). In Palestine, Rosenthal’s daughter Charlotte was instrumental in establishing ties between the Comintern and the local Socialist Workers Party. However, ethnic tensions hampered the party, as Jews dominated its membership at the expense of Arabs (Franzen, 2017). In the next decades, the party struggled with two competing aims:  to Arabise the party’s membership and to lead the struggle for workers’ economic rights in a largely peasant country workforce, while facing the British colonial authorities (Hanssen, 2020). The party split along ethnic lines during tensions in Palestine in the 1930s (Budeiri, 2018; Swedenburg, 1996). The following decade was marred by instances of confrontation and popular riots across the region. Arab communist parties played a leading role, grew their membership and disrupted public order to secure concessions from the colonial authorities (Lawrence, 2013). This includes the 1919 Egyptian Revolution, the 1925 Druze and Syrian Revolts, and the 1936 Great Arab Revolt in Palestine. These parties soon evolved from demanding workers’ rights to the struggle for independence. The Comintern provided tactical instructions and these Arab political parties became centralised and well-​drilled organisation, obeying to instructions from a central committee issuing ideological directions to local cells of militants. The Soviet Union had given its blessing to Comintern-​affiliated parties to strike tactical alliances with the nationalist bourgeois classes in 1920. Communists vowed to keep the proletariat away from the bourgeoisie and 18

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break these alliances after the achievement of national independence (Franzen, 2017; Ismael, 2009; Laqueur, 1959). The Egyptian case shows the limits of these tactical alliances with bourgeois nationalists and the risks for communist fragmentation. After 1923, the Egyptian communists orchestrated a series of labor strikes against the British and the Wafd government, but the latter passed a series of anti-​communist laws, arrested communist leaders and closed their headquarters thus weakening the communist movement (Lockman and Beinin, 1987; Ginat, 2011). In the next three decades, the party splintered into a multitude of organisations. In the mid-​thirties, the Left embraced nationalism but remained unable to unify into a single force (Meijer, 2002; Azaola-​ Piazza, 2018). The one-​time front Democratic Union (al-​Ittihad al-​Dimuqrati) broke into the Egyptian Movement of National Liberation (al-​Haraka al-​Misriyya li-​l-​Taharrur al Watani, or HAMITU from 1943 to1947), New Dawn (Al-​Fajr al-​Jadid 1945) also known as the Workers’ Vanguard (Tali’at al-​Ummal). In the mid-​1940s, they temporarily struck an alliance with the Left-​leaning branch of the Wafd, which later broke away to form the Banner (al-​Raya) (Meijer 2002; Azaola-​Piazza, 2018). Thus, the Egyptian Left came out fragmented from its temporary alliance with the national bourgeoisie. The communist parties in Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq all became leading forces in the inter-​ war years thanks to Moscow’s support and mass recruitment among a radicalised middle class (Ismael and Ismael, 1998). Then, at the Seventh Comintern Congress in 1935, the Arab communists were instructed to fight fascism by recruiting massively among the masses rather than the professional classes (Franzen, 2017). However, this turn also reinforced party dogmatism and an increasing authoritarianism against internal dissent and external opponents. The Syrian-​Lebanese Communist Party (SLCP), established in 1925, illustrates these dynamics. The Comintern fostered a new group of younger leaders, including Khaled Bakdash, Niqula Shawi and Farjallah Helou, who typically spent several years in the Soviet Union for training (Franzen, 2017). On his return to Lebanon, Bakdash oversaw the party’s growing numbers and took over formally in 1932, remaining in power until later in life. Bakdash weathered several crises including the party splintering into a Syrian and Lebanese party in 1943 (Ismael and Ismael, 2005; Rodinson, 2015; Hanssen, 2020). He ran the party through a combination of manoeuvring and repression of internal dissent, including in his personal opposition to the LCP’s Secretary General, Fajrallah Helou, assassinated in 1959 (Munoz, 2018). Similarly, the Iraqi Communist Party (1934) grew as the largest Arab party thanks to the professional classes and students who were inspired by the ideas of social justice and nationalism (Franzen, 2011). A vanguard emerged thanks to Comintern support, including the leader Yusuf Salman Yusuf, known as Comrade Fahd, who underwent training from 1935 to 1937 and led the party from 1938. His policy of infiltrating institutions such as the army prompted an anti-​communist law and waves of repression in 1941 (Jabbar 2013; Franzen 2017). Hence, the examples in Syria, Lebanon and Iraq tell a similar story of national fronts, party institutionalisation, Soviet Union support, and professional and middle classes joining the party’s ranks. The Maghrebi communists evolved amidst the nationalist struggle and a lively workers’ rights scene. The first cells of the French Communist party, which had focused on European workers early on, began integrating ‘assimilated’ Algerians, Moroccans and Tunisians during the 1930s during a decade of anti-​colonial riots (Julien 1956; Sivan, 1976; Bourqia et al., 1981; Koulaksis and Meynier, 1985; Sebag, 2001; Drew, 2014). Parties took off thanks to their links to the workers movement. During the War of Independence, the Algerian Communist Party broke with the French mother organisation, and its leaders Sadek Hadjeres and Bachir Hadj Ali joined the armed National Liberation Front in 1955 (Le-​Foll Luciani, 2018). Moroccan socialists were militants in the nationalist Istiqlal party and its leaders included Abderrahim 19

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Bouabid, Mehdi Ben Barka, and Abdallah Ibrahim. They brought strong mobilising tactics and were able to reach the professional classes while speaking to the masses thanks to their working-​class origins. They transformed these political parties by adopting political programs, mass membership structures and local cells, communicating a consistent ideology through party newspapers against colonial occupation (Zisenwine, 2010). After securing national independence, these tactical alliances and united fronts often turned sour. The national bourgeoisies often prevailed in the contest for power and were wary of the communists’ ability to mobilise the masses and the middle classes. Furthermore, the Palestinian Nakba proved the crucible for Arab communists. The Soviet Union supported the partition of Palestinian in 1947 for geopolitical reasons, which put it on the wrong side of Arab public opinion (Franzen, 2017). The Syrian CP’s offices were burned down in November 1947 and the authorities banned the party’s newspaper. Communists in Iraq were similarly targeted, including the arrest and execution of its leader Comrade Fahd (Franzen, 2017). Arab Communist parties went underground to escape regime repression and popular disaffection, while King Hussein banned them in the 1950s in Jordan. As clandestine organisations, communist parties grew more radical. They introduced an armed struggle component to their repertoire, such as the Iraqi National Committee for Unity of Soldiers and Officers, (Franzen, 2017) but repression struck them down. The repressive turn was similarly fatal for the Maghrebi parties. In Tunisia, Trade Union leader Ferhat Hached was assassinated by settlers in 1952, leaving the field open for the neo-​ Destour Party and Bourguiba to take over the state. The socialist wing of the Istiqlal party broke off from the party in 1959 and suffered a wave of repression from 1962. After Algerian independence in 1962, the communists had close to 10,000 members. However, the new authorities banned the Communist Party of Algeria in 1965 in the name of national unity. Some communists began to integrate ‘state-​party structure’ individually (Le-​Foll-​Luciani, 2018), while the most committed Marxists were rounded up, jailed or fled in exile after the 1965 coup against Ben Bella. Thus, here too, after independence, communists were the victims of the tactical alliance with the nationalists. Mass Arab politics declined during the Cold War, after Khrushchev scaled down the Soviet Union’s support, and reoriented its policy from communist take-​overs to economic support for progressive Arab regimes. This proved costly for Arab communist parties: some negotiated this transition (such as Bakdash’s SCP), others were incorporated in the state coalition (Egyptian and Algerian communists), and most faced state repression and went underground (Iraqi, Moroccan, and Tunisian communists). Generational shifts further undermined these historic parties. This period represents a mixed bag for the Arab Left. Franzen claims they failed in their political bids because they were caught between incompatible forces: Soviet communism and Arab nationalism (Franzen, 2017). Nonetheless, these parties revolutionised society and politics by attracting middle classes and workers to a message of social justice, while introducing modern, mass political structures.

Arab socialist party-​states: the Baath, Nasser, FLN, and the ANM The 1950s saw the state-​party model assert itself among progressive Arab countries. It drew from the experience of socialists and communists to reinforce the authority of Nasser’s Egypt, the Baath party in Syria and Iraq, the Arab Nationalists Movement (ANM), and the Front the Libération Nationale in Algeria. Their commitment to the ideas of the Left varied between picking and choosing principles of social justice or merely paying lip service to them, while they continuously targeted ‘autonomous’ Marxists. 20

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In 1942, two Syrians, Michel Aflaq and Salah al-​Din Bitar, established The Hizb al-Baath al-Arabi al-Ishtiraki (Arab Socialist Party for Resurrection), during the era of ideological parties in Syria. The Baath had a distinctive message on Arab unity, independence from foreign control and social justice (Devlin, 1991; Reilly, 2018). The Baath truly embraced socialism when it merged in 1952 with the Arab Socialist Party (Perlmutter, 1969; Ismael, 1976). It won 22 seats out of 142 in the 1954 elections, coming in second place while advocating for workers’ rights and pan-​Arab unity (Reilly, 2018). It made serious inroads in Syria by stepping up its recruitment within the army and among teachers and students (Devlin, 1991). Overall, the party prevailed thanks to its organisation, tactical pragmatism in national elections, and judicious positioning in relation to military coups in the 1950s, while setting up branches in neighboring Arab countries. The Baath’s ideology provided a template for Gamal Abdel Nasser and the Free Officers movement after they took power in 1952, as they struggled to define a state-​driven reform agenda to unite the country. During the first stage of the Egyptian revolution, the Free Officers were part of a broad alliance containing the Muslim Brotherhood and HADITU, the collaborating Egyptian Communists, until the 1954 purges (Azaola-​Piazza, 2018). The 1956 Suez Canal nationalisation bolstered Nasser’s prestige and gave him a broad mandate to pursue Arab Socialism (Abdel-​Malek, 1964; Torrey and Devlin, 1965). He established a single party to translate his popularity into a coalition of power: the Liberation Rally in 1953 first, then the National Union (1956–​62), and finally the Arab Socialist Union (1962–​76). Hence, these Arab regimes built on the Arab Left party structure to mobilise and reinforce state populism. In spite of the 1960–​1962 radical reforms involving the nationalisation of key economic sectors, the expansion of the bureaucracy, economic planning, and a commitment to social reform (Ginat, 2011: 13), Nasser’s route toward state-​led Arab socialism was pragmatic rather than ideologically committed to Marxism (Ismael, 1976). Drawing on the Yugoslav model (‘socialism with a human face’), the state reduced large landowners properties, raised taxes on big fortunes, and reiterated the state’s commitment to a strong welfare model in education, social life and work provisions (Ginat, 2011). However, like the Baath, Nasser’s revolution rejected class struggle as divisive and preferred to speak of unity, social justice and social equality. He maintained private property and opposed the Marxist refutation of religion. Nasser was not a doctrinaire Marxist, but Ismael (1976) argues he was able to communicate its principles across the Arab masses. The policies he implemented secured the support of students, peasants, workers, and the middle class, alongside the army, and formed a strong ruling coalition (Abdel-​Malek, 1962). The Baathist and the Egyptian Arab socialist models spread across the Arab region, calling for pan-​Arab revolutionary take-​overs and the establishment of state-​socialism through single-​party rule. The examples of the Palestinians in the Arab Nationalist Movement and the Algerians attest to the attractiveness of this model. The Arab Nationalists Movement represents a hybrid form of political party in this period (Kazziha, 1975; Hoepp, 1985). Created as a response to the 1948 Arab defeat and Palestinian disaster, the ANM sought to unify an Arab vanguard and mobilise the energies of its youth toward liberation from western imperialism (Kazziha, 1975). The lack of democracy, the wealth of the notable classes, the dispersal of youth energies, and the frequent interventions of the army in politics dismayed the party’s members across the region (Kazziha, 1975) and the party offered a ‘transnational’ answer to those issues. It did not operate as a traditional party. Instead, the ANM frequently organised meetings, demonstrations and strikes as its mode of action. Party recruits typically returned to their home countries with their diplomas (as doctors or engineers) from the American University in Beirut, and as a vanguard to establish cells of the movement, especially among students in Jordan, Iraq, and the Gulf (Kazziha, 1975; Ismael, 1976). 21

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The ANM did not become a classical party in the Levant and its members were often arrested in Jordan and Lebanon in the mid-​1950s (Kazziha, 1975). In Kuwait and Bahrain, it filled the gap, as parties of the Left were absent there. Ahmed al-​Khatib in Kuwait returned from the AUB in 1954, worked as doctor and was elected to Kuwait’s parliament in 1963. He addressed local issues of social justice that won him support among workers of the oil industry (Kazziha, 1975: 72; Jadaliyya, 2012). After 1960, the ANM made a sharp ‘turn to the Left.’ Musa Ibrahim (the managing editor of its newspaper al-​Hurriya) wrote about the need for the ANM to join the Arab social progressive revolution, taking up the cause of students, workers and peasants and taking away the revolutionary prerogative from the defeated communist parties (Kazziha, 1975). Therefore, the ANM introduced the notion of class struggle in its ideological material, in great part as a way to conform to the ideological winds from Cairo and Damascus. These calls lost strength after the United Arab Republic’s demise in 1961 (Kazziha, 1975). Nasser’s regime-​state model also influenced Algeria’s Front de Libération Nationale, after its independence in 1962. Faced with the sizeable task of overcoming 132 years of colonialism, Presidents Ahmed Ben Bella (1962–​5) and Houari Boumedienne (1965–​1978) embraced the principles of state-​led socialist revolution, financed with the country’s hydrocarbons (Ottaway, 1970; Etienne, 1977). The state-​party was an inclusive structure, that made space for the neo-​ ulema and the secular Leftists. Any Algerian aspiring to positions of responsibility had to have a party membership card. The FLN doubled down as an instrument of authority and control with local cells spread out across the country, with some political scientists defining it as parallel ‘double-​pyramid’ structure (Michel, 1967; Harbi, 2006). Several other proto-​socialist regimes in the Maghreb were similarly set up, including Libya under Qadhafi (from 1969). In South Yemen, a Nasser-​inspired Marxist guerrilla National Front fought to secure independence from Britain from 1963 to 1967 and established the People’s Republic of South Yemen run by the South Yemen Socialist Party (Stookey 1982; Halliday, 1990). It has been the ‘most radical socialist experiment’ in the region (Lacker, 2017). The Arab defeat of 1967 is traditionally seen as the end of the Arab unity project and the Arab Left. Its dislocation began earlier in 1961 due to the United Arab Republic’s demise (Dawisha, 2003). In its wake, the Syrian and Egyptian regimes doubled down on their socialist aspirations through their respective parties while cracking down on Marxist organisations (Beinin, 1987). At its 6th National Congress in 1963, the Baath adopted a final document embracing social revolution through class struggle. It denounced private property as petty bourgeois socialism, nationalised industries and redistributed lands (Ismael, 1976; Reilly, 2018). It did, however, reject ‘divisive’ communism in the name of unity (Ismael, 1976; Franzen, 2017). In 1970, a ‘corrective’ coup by Hafiz al-​Assad and his supporting military officers punished the neo-​Baath for its radicalism and the 1967 defeat. Similarly, Nasser reasserted state control by establishing the Arab Socialist Union in 1962 to shore up allegiance to the regime (al-​Astal, 2002). After a yearlong wave of arrests, torture and jailing of Egyptian communists, in 1965 the two remaining Egyptian communist parties decided to voluntarily disband and integrate into the ASU (Beinin, 1987; Azaola-​Piazza, 2018). Nasser weathered the political consequences of the 1967 defeat, but his successor Anwar Sadat dropped Arab socialism altogether. State-​parties of the Arab Left made good use of the principles of Arab socialism but continued to target communists and concentrate power. The repression of communists under these regimes challenges the idea that this was the apogee of the Arab Left in the region. In addition, their ideological positions were not sufficiently consistent with Marxism. State-​ parties embraced social justice and anti-​imperialism but rejected class struggle and secularism. This watered down and hybrid form did offer though an original synthesis between a national 22

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revolution and a social revolution (Ismael, 1976). In the following decade, a renewed form emerged from the new generation’s desire for a purer rapport to Marxism.

The New Arab Left: proto parties in a global revolutionary world The period following the June 1967 defeat against Israel corresponds to the ‘fall’ of the Arab Left, after which Islamism swooped in to capture the hearts and minds of the masses (Ismael, 2004). A new historiography has shed light on its reinvention into a ‘New Arab Left’ after 1967 (Haugbølle, 2017; di-​Capua, 2018; Hanssen, 2020). Guerrilla groups, Marxist discussion circles and university student movements grew in response to the weakness of socialist and communist parties. They attracted their disillusioned social bases to break from their nationalist and bourgeois tendencies and pursue a revolutionary alternative. The ‘New Arab Left’ emerged from within the old parties and took inspiration from a return to the original sources of Marxism-​Leninism. Haugbølle illustrates the characteristics of this New Left in comparison with the New European Left: a young movement that criticised multiple forms of oppression, favored ‘direct action’ and a total social revolution (Haugbølle, 2017). China’s Maoism inspired them and they worked outside party structures, setting their sights on an ‘evolution in the name of socialism’ as a tangible political project rather than the empty rhetoric of their predecessors (2017: 501–​502). The most illustrative case was the Palestinian movement, which became the New Arab Left’s vanguard (Dot-​Pouillard, 2017). Pro-​Palestinian ANM groups splintered into autonomous organisations in two broad camps: a Left-​leaning Palestinian Arab nationalist camp and radical Leftist-​socialist camp (Baumgarten, 2005). They shared a belief in armed struggle as the means of liberal Palestine and the Arabs. The PLFP of Georges Habash and Muhsin Ibrahim, and the DLFP of Nayif Hawatmeh represented these competing currents. These Palestinian revolutionary Leftists inspired revolutionary praxis from Morocco to the Gulf, from the ashes of the old Lefts: the Revolutionary Workers party in Syria, Socialist Lebanon (Lubnan Ishtiraki) founded by Fawwaz Traboulsi, Ahmad Baydoun and Waddah Sharara, the Organisation of Communist Action in Lebanon (OCAL), and the Lebanese Progressive Socialist Party of Kamal Jumblatt; in Tunisia, the Perspectives /​ Amal Ettounsi movement (Mohamed Charfi, Gilbert Naccache, Nourredine Ben Khidder). In Egypt, tanzim al-​shuyu’i al-​misri (1969) became the Egyptian Communist Workers’ Party (ECWP, hizb al-​’ummal al-​shuyu’i al-​misri) in 1975 (Gervasio, 2020). In Morocco, the 23 Mars and Ila al-​Amam movements, operating underground, saw the rise of influential figures such as Aziz Belal, Edmond el Maleh and Abraham Serfaty (Heckman, 2018; Koumiya, 2019). In Oman, the Dhofar rebellion interconnected with other revolutionary movements across the Arab Gulf (Takriti, 2013). In Algeria, the Leftist struggle continued through the Parti d’Avant-​Garde Socialiste (PAGS) but was unable to grow against a regime that marketed its image as the ‘Mecca of Revolutions’ (Rahal, 2016; LeFoll-​ Luciani, 2018). Yemen, Oman, and South Lebanon became sites where these organisations came to acquire training in guerrilla tactics alongside Palestinian groups. These organisations of the 1960s and 1970s do not fall under the formal rubric of political parties. Tarek Ismael labeled them as ‘parasitic groups of opportunists’ who were soft on their understanding and application of Marxist theory. They often emphasised fighting strategies over class struggle and conversion of the masses, and lacked internal democratic structures, thus repeating the mistakes of authoritarian Arab regimes (Ismael, 1976). Others in Lebanon were more akin to theoretical discussion groups, populated by intellectuals such as Yassine al-​Hafiz, Sadiq Jalal al-​Azm, Ilias Murqus, and Afif Lakhdar (Haugbølle 2013; Bardawil, 2020). Yet, their status as proto-​parties is precisely what made their strength. 23

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University campuses became leading sites of Leftist activism. Students rebelled against social paternalism and authoritarian rule, often connecting with the above-​ mentioned organisations, announcing an impending revolutionary wave. In Egypt, Leftist activism began infiltrating campuses in 1972–​3 with students disappointed with the failed promises and the ‘collaborationalism’ of Egyptian communism (Gervasio, 2020). This blend of hope and disillusionment is encapsulated in the trajectory of Arwa Salih who describes in her memoirs The Stillborn the ‘romanticisation of the defeat’ and the performative nature of student activism over the true struggle (Hammad, 2011; Hammad, 2016; Lyndsey, 2019). In Tunisia, the Perspectives/​ Amel Tounsi Leftists found a willing audience on campuses. However, as former activists Cherif Ferjani and Ben Haj Yahia wrote dismissively, the struggle contained a lot of posturing and arguing from ‘professional revolutionaries,’ who ‘moved from the [intellectual] circles [reading groups] to the [militant] cell before having finished reading the Marxist basics’ (Ben Haj Yahia, 2009). Instead, their strength was their organisational skills in disrupting Bourguiba’s regime and crafting popular slogans for the masses. The movement though crumbled following the 1968 and 1972–​3 repressive waves and lacked firm party structures to continue operating (Ayari, 2009). The 1967 defeat reshuffled the deck of Arab Leftism by mobilising students, intellectuals, workers and guerrilla fighters as the fulcrum of the Left in Arab politics. However, these groups often lacked the formal party structures to challenge the genuine sites of power. They often dissipated once their revolutionary aspirations were not met. Their rejection of rigid party structures made them temporarily strong, as they sought to recover the enchantment of the revolutionary dynamic. However, their revolutionary romanticism illustrates the Arab Left’s continued inability to translate enthusiasm into tangible gains.

The Arab Left in the era of resilient authoritarianism, Islamism and civil society This section considers the fate of left-​wing parties after 1967 when they had to adapt to the challenge of Islamist competition (Harman, 1994; Garcia, 2018) and the authoritarian manipulation of façade democracy (Brownlee, 2007; Browers, 2004). To survive, the left-​wing shifted strategies, seeking official recognition to ensure survival, but effectively robbing them of their revolutionary credentials and accelerating the Left’s demise. Parties completed their transformation ‘from representative parties to clientelist organisations, tributaries to communitarian or tribal considerations with little real political power’ (Catusse and Karam, 2013:  11–​12). This transformation occurred despite their participation to elections. After the era of mass parties, of Arab socialism and the New Arab Left, Arab left-​wingers were forced to adapt in countries that allowed a degree of liberalisation. The socialist parties in Egypt, Jordan, and Morocco were progressively included. Egyptian President Sadat replaced Nasser’s Arab Socialist Union with his own National Democratic Party in 1976, leaving in its wake Left-​leaning figures to constitute a progressive party, the Tagammu’, which would become the new party of the Left (Waterbury, 1983; Jadaliyya, 2011; Stacher, 2012). The Moroccan UNFP suffered more than a decade of repression during Hassan II’s ‘years of lead’ (Schaar, 1969; Waterbury, 1970; el-​Mossadeq, 1987), but then joined the national front in support of the Sahara Green March. In January 1975, the party met in Casablanca to reinvent itself as al-​ ittihad al-​ishtiraki lil-​quwat al-​shaabia or Union Socialiste des Forces Populaires, to turn the page on its revolutionary platform and run in national elections. In Jordan, King Hussein had banned the communists in 1957, but allowed them to run again during his 1980s liberalisation, and later authorised the Jordanian Democratic Popular Unity Party and the People’s Democratic Party (HASHD), to compete in 1992 (Shteiwi, 2014). 24

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These refurbished parties ran in national elections and were meant, from the regime’s perspective, to alleviate the economic-​related discontent that had led to riots across different countries (1977 Egypt, 1984 Morocco and Jordan 1989 and 1992) and that had strengthened Islamist parties. However, these left-​wing parties scored poorly after decades in the wilderness, as they were unable to mobilise support. In 1984, the Moroccan USFP secured 12% of the vote. The Egyptian Taggamu’ came third behind the neo-​Wafd and the Muslim Brotherhood in 1984 with 11% of votes, and the total of left-​wing actors won a mere 7 seats in the Egyptian parliament (Milton-​Edwards, 1993; Lust-​Okar, 2001; Blaydes, 2011; Stacher, 2012; Azaola-​Piazza, 2018). According to Ellen Lust (2001: 545), the Left ‘lacked ideological foundations and mass support […] unable to provide political leadership or make effective political demands.’ Left-​ wing parties were managed by the regimes, becoming subordinate and powerless through their integration into façade democratic systems. In the socially unstable climate of the 1980s and 1990s, authoritarian regimes banked on progressive alliances to counter Islamist growth, and the Left supported these regimes in the name of reform. In turn, the popularity of these parties plunged further. In Egypt, Tagammu’ representation declined from five seats in 1990 to two in 2005, as it broke the boycott of national elections that opposition parties were calling for on several occasions (Blaydes, 2011; Brownlee, 2012). Moroccan socialists became accepted members of the opposition and a ‘party of notables’ that vouched for the reformist drive of the monarchy (Bennani-​Chraibi, 2008; el-​ Maslouhi, 2009). In 1997, despite another poor electoral showing, Hassan II invited them to head an ‘Alternance’ (alternative) government to ensure a smooth transition after his passing a year later (Miller, 2013). From then onward, radical and progressive opposition came from left-​wing movements outside of elected institutions. Among them was the Egyptian Kifaya movement (‘Enough’) against Mubarak Presidential reelection bid (2004–​2005) (Ottaway and Hamzawy, 2007:  11–​12), Jordanian Leftists working with grassroots organisations including with Islamic charities, or trade unions in Morocco and civil society activist organisations for the reform of family code (Clement, 1984; Beinin, 2001). As left-​wing activism shifted outside party structures, the Arab Left lost traction as a viable opposition force. It had become too vulnerable to regime interference, petit bourgeois tendencies, and ignored working-​class interests. By the 2000s, these parties had successfully broken from their past heritage to become pillars of the regime by acting as an accepted loyal opposition rather than organisations with strong social bases advocating for radical change. The authoritarian regimes included Leftist personalities, guaranteeing them seats in an ineffective parliament, preserving the system and falling in the trap of liberalised autocracy (Brumberg, 2002). Alongside these parties there were others that remained at the margins of the institutional game: banned, excluded or irrelevant through contingent circumstances. They represent multiple trajectories in the decline of the Arab Left. In Lebanon, Kamal Jumblatt’s Progressive Socialist Party could not overcome sectarian political dynamics put in place with the 1988 Taief Agreements. Instead, the Left grew outside of party structures and turned its message toward democratic reform. Meanwhile Hizbullah coopted the revolutionary agenda, especially after the 2006 War (Naef, 2001; Abisaab and Abisaab, 2004). In the Gulf, aside from individual personalities, a few left-​wing factions joined larger reformist coalitions such as Kuwait National Liberation Front and the Democratic reform (Dazi-​Heni, 1996). In Bahrain’s dynamic political scene, several political elites presented the Emir in 1992 with petitions to restore political life, the national assembly and free and fair elections (Da Lage, 1996). In the ensuing political dialogue in 1996, two notable socialists Ahmed al-​Shamlane and Saed al-​Asbool took part but were later arrested. The NLFB and the Popular Front of Bahrein in exile came together to cooperate and demand political opening in 1981 but failed to secure any significant gains. 25

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In the Maghreb, Islamists and Leftists clashed repeatedly in the 1980s and 1990s (Alexander, 2000; Ayari, 2017; Buehler, 2018). The Algerian PAGS and the Kabyle based Front des Forces Socialiste benefitted from the 1988 regime liberalisation reforms but could not compete against the electoral strength of the Front Islamique du Salut. They chose to side with the authorities during the Civil War following a series of assassinations of secular and progressive figures (Rahal, 2017). Similarly, Tunisian Leftists were progressively re-​included in the 1980s: the Communist Party was legalised, along with the reformist Mouvement des Socialistes Democrates, and the growing civil society including the Tunisian league for human rights (LTDH). During the early Ben Ali years, these actors proved similarly accommodating to his regime’s excesses in the 1990s to counter the growing strength of Ennahda (Garon, 2003). The fate of the Palestinian Left offers a cautionary tale of a party that diluted its principles and lost popular support. The Palestinian Communist Party maintained its identity and legitimacy despite Israeli occupation, and Gresh (1989, 36) cites the healthy figure of 35,000 workers represented by pro-​PCP trade unions. The Intifada and its aftermaths forced the PCP to play second fiddle to larger political developments including occupation and national politics. After joining the National Council during the Oslo accords negotiations, it moderated its ideology in support of the PLO’s state building efforts. Writing in 1992, Tamari found the Palestinian Left had broken its fierce ideology and was ‘unable to challenge reactionary forces on social freedoms (including the status of women) and individual liberties, while the masses were drawn to the Islamist platform.’ During the legislative electoral rounds of the 1990s, the Left took a backseat to PLO/​Fateh politics (Mahler, 1996; Abu Amr, 1997) and by the 2006, commentators lamented how its positions was characterised by severe confusion and inconsistency. The electoral result in the 2006 legislative elections was dismal: 7.9% compared to 44.4% and 41.4% for Hamas and Fateh respectively. The score translated in only five out of 132 seats (Ladadweh, 2014). The ‘fall’ of the Arab Left did not come from seismic shifts from outside its control. Instead, these examples address their response to Islamist competition and authoritarian repression. For Ottoway and Hamzawy (2007) the story lies in their failure to reorganise and their lost hold on their traditional bases. In the few countries that somewhat liberalised, they ran in elections but failed to secure widespread support, while in the others, they remained clandestine or disappeared altogether. Along the way, they diluted the substance of their ideology, negotiated their place between recognised opposition and co-​optation, and prompted the public’s disinterest in a watered down version of the Left. In fighting and compromising to remain relevant, the Arab Left lost its identity and accelerated its downfall (Jabar, 1997).

Epilogue: the Arab Left after the Arab Spring During the 2011 Arab uprisings, protesters demanded social justice and regime change, which spurred talk of the Arab Left’s revival. Nine years on, it has missed another historical rendezvous. Are these parties more than vestiges of the past or a full-​fledged actor in Arab politics? This past decade shows the Arab Left is stuck between a cumbersome ideological legacy and overwhelming current challenges. Based on Hillal and Herman’s mapping efforts (2014), it seems unlikely that the Arab Left will experience a renewal of its political parties despite the continued popularity of its ideals across the board. The Arab uprisings decade went from hopes of an Arab resurgence to depressing disillusionment. This is illustrated in the Leftist Lebanese scholar Achcar’s reading of events. In The People Want (2013), he offered an optimistic Marxist reading of historical forces ushering radical transformation. By the time he wrote Morbid Symptoms (2016), the Arab world saw the return of authoritarianism and violence in Egypt, Libya, Syria, and elsewhere, with the exception of 26

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Tunisia. He diagnosed deeper issues that stifled the ‘people’s will’ and undermined the likelihood of a Leftist revival. Their only hope lied in a ‘radical turn in the region’s political trajectory, one capable of erasing the reactionary developments of the last few decades reviving progressive social projects on a profoundly democratic basis… the emergence of an organised and determined progressive popular leadership’ (Achcar, 2016: 21–​22). The Arab Left wing was caught in its own feet during these events. It still suffered from the crisis of identity and values diagnosed in the previous section. The Arab uprisings elicited a diversity of positions. First, a defeatist position embraced a nostalgic remembrance of the Arab Left and when it was great, especially in its revolutionary era and the glorious seventies decade (Lyndsey, 2019; Guirguis, 2020). This position echoed the forum on the Arab Left between 2008–​11 held by al-​Adab, as it opened its pages for its thinkers to chart an ideological route after the crisis of cultural heritage, or turāth (Agbaria, 2019). The old guard reiterated its anti-​imperialism of old posture which clashed with the aspirations of a new generation, for whom the Arab uprisings were about progressive values and social justice. They clashed on the Syrian crisis, with the older generation supporting the Baath regime, while the younger generation supported the social uprising against the authoritarian Assad regime (Dot-​Pouillard, 2012; Majed, 2014; Dot-​Pouillard, 2016). The Syrian question revealed a rift between supporters of the national question versus those of the social question. This generational tension will come to define the Levantine Arab Left going forward. Lebanese Leftist intellectual and figurehead, Fawwaz Traboulsi called on new programs, new values and modes of action better suited for this context rather than the era of ‘vanguard parties’ and traditional communists. For him, the future can learn from the past. He explains that mass parties are no longer suited for this era of politics, and the Left should ‘discover techniques that are suitable for the struggles and competitions of democratic electoral regimes’ (Traboulsi, 2012). Jordan novelist Ahmad Bustani speaks for the younger generation and calls for a break away from this compromised legacy. He denounces the old Left’s ‘complacent participation [that] has contributed to the aura of democratic legitimacy which surrounds and covers up the oppressive and divisive practices of authoritarian regimes’ (Bustani, 2014). The Arab Left wing has been riddled with problems: applying nationalist frameworks at the expense of ethnic minorities, aligning with the states for state preservation, and failing to express the concerns of its base. In conclusion, Bustani writes, the ‘Arab Leftist project lacks a clear intellectual foundation that anyone who wishes to call him-​or herself a Leftist can do so, even as his or her proposals contradict the fundamental principles of the Left’; emphatically, the Arab Left has failed because ‘it has not yet been born [it is] a compilation of psychological complexes and dissonances’ (Bustani, 2014). The chances of a political revival of the Arab Left are bleak. In 2014 and 2015, Jamil Hilal and Katja Hermann carried out an ambitious mapping of existing left-​wing actors. The result illustrates the Arab Left’s continued crisis of identity and its ideological inconsistencies. Its groups are committed to the masses, but reject their religious orientations; they adopt a staunch anti-​imperial posture, but continuously explain their failures through external events; they rehash criticism of Marxist theses, organisational party rigidity, bureaucratic centralism and importance of the party, without addressing the continuous history of factionalism and recriminations of their movements (Hilal and Hermann, 2014). Despite their best efforts, their attempt to offer a single framework encompassing democratisation and economic justice remain incomplete. Hence, the possibilities for a ‘New Arab Left Project’ is boxed in by the conundrum of its identity and its past legacy. As these left-​wing parties move forward, their hopes of revival rest on whether to maintain their polarising stance (authentic to their long heritage) or dilute their 27

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principles to appeal to broader audiences in order to reconstitute strong social bases. Despite all their disagreements, the voices of the Arab Left rarely see the future in terms of political parties and as a vanguard for political change, but rather as a struggle to stay relevant. Perhaps, like the Phoenix, the Arab Left has to fall completely before it can rise again.

Note 1 In line with the rationale of this edited volume, we exclude movements such as trade unions or NGOs at the margins of electoral politics. They deserve a full and proper enquiry.

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Idriss Jebari Garon, Lise. 2003. Dangerous Alliances: Civil Society, the Media, and Democratic Transition in North Africa. London and New York: Zed Books. Gervasio, Gennaro. 2010. The Marxist Movement in Egypt 1967–​ 1981. Cairo:  al-​Markaz al-​qawmi li-​l-​tarjama. Gervasio, Gennaro. 2020. ‘Marxism or Left-​wing Nationalism? The New Left in Egypt in the 1970s.’ In Laure Guirguis (ed.) The Arab Lefts. Histories and Legacies, 1950s–​1970s. Edinburgh:  Edinburgh University Press, 148–168. Ginat, Rami. 2011. A History of Egyptian Communism: Jews and Their Compatriots in Quest of Revolution. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Gresh, Alain. 1989. Review ‘Palestinian Communists and the Intifadah.’ Middle East Report 157: 35. Guirguis, Laure. 2020. ‘Introduction.’ In Laure Guirguis (ed.) The Arab Lefts. Histories and Legacies, 1950s–​ 1970s. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1–17. Halliday, Fred. 1990. Revolution and Foreign Policy:  The Case of South Yemen, 1967–​1987. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Halliday, Fred. 1997. ‘Marxism and the Arab world.’ In Faleh Jabar (ed.) Post-​Marxism and the Middle East. London: Saqi Books, 13–​23. Hammad, Hanan. 2011. ‘The Other Extremists:  Marxist Feminism in Egypt, 1980–​2000.’ Journal of International Women’s Studies 12 (3): 217–​233. Hammad, Hanan. 2016. ‘Arwa Salih’s The Premature: Gendering the history of the Egyptian left.’ Arab Studies Journal 24 (1): 118–​142. Hanssen, Jens. 2020. ‘Communism in the Middle East and North Africa: From Comintern Parties to Marxist-Leninist Movements.’ In Amal Ghazal and Jens Hanssen (eds.) The Oxford Handbook of Contemporary Middle Eastern and North African History. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Hanssen, Jens and Hicham Safieddine. 2016. ‘Lebanon’s al-​akhbar and Radical Press Culture: Toward an Intellectual History of the Contemporary Arab Left.’ Arab Studies Journal 24 (1): 192–​227. Harbi, Mohamed. 2006. ‘Le FLN:  mobilization autoritaire et participation populaire.’ Raison Présente 157–​8: 119–​125. Harman, Chris. 1994. ‘The Prophet and the Proletariat.’ International Socialism 64: 3–​64. Haugbølle, Sunne. 2013. ‘Social Boundaries and Secularism in the Lebanese Left.’ Mediterranean Politics 18 (3): 427–​433. Haugbølle, Sunne. 2019. ‘Entanglement, Global History, and the Arab Left’ in the Roundtable ‘Toward New Histories of the Left.’ International Journal Middle East Studies 51 (2): 301–​304. Heckman, Alma Rachel. 2018. ‘Jewish Radicals of Morocco:  Case Study for a New Historiography.’ Jewish Social Studies 23 (3): 67–​100. Hilal, Jamil and Katja Hermann. 2014. Mapping of the Arab Left: Contemporary Leftist Politics in the Arab East. Regional Office Palestine: Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung. Hoepp, Gerhard. 1985. From Nationalism to Socialism: History and Ideology of the Movement of Arab Nationalists and Its Successor Organizations. PhD dissertation. Humboldt University. Translated from German. Hudson, Michael C. 1977. Arab Politics: The Search for Legitimacy. New Haven: Yale University Press. Ismael, Tarek and Jacqueline Ismael. 1998. Communist Movement in Syria and Lebanon. Gainesville, FL: University of Florida Press. Ismael, Tarek. 1976. The Arab Left. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. Ismael, Tarek. 2004. Communist Movement in the Arab World. London and New York: Routledge. Ismael, Tareq Y. and Jacqueline S. Ismael. 1998. The Communist Movement in Syria and Lebanon. Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Jabar, Faleh A. 1997. PostMarxism and the Middle East. London: Saqi. Jabbar, Fateh Abdel. 2013. ‘The Iraqi Communist Party.’ In Myriam Catusse and Karam Karam (eds.) Returning to Political Parties? Political Transformations in the Arab World. Beirut: Presses de l’IFPO. The Lebanese Center for Policy Studies, 293–​312. Jadaliyya and Ahmar Online. 2011. ‘National Progressive Unionist (Tagammu) Party’ Jadaliyya and Ahram Online. 18 November. Accessed 4 March 2020. www.jadaliyya.com/​Details/​24645 Jadaliyya Profiles. 2012. ‘Ahmad al-​Khatib: a profile from the archives’ Jadaliyya 7 NovemberAccessed 4 March 2020. www.jadaliyya.com/​Details/​27351 Julien, Charles-​André. 1956. L’Afrique du Nord en marche: Algérie-​Tunisie-​Maroc 1880–​1952. Paris: Payot. Kazziha, Walid. 1975. Revolutionary Transformation in the Arab world:  Habash and His Comrades from Nationalism to Marxism. New York: St Martin’s Press.

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The rise and fall of the Arab Left Koumiya, Ghassane. 2019. ‘The Rise of the Moroccan New Left (60-​70s).’ The Mosaic Rooms. May 8th. https://​mosaicrooms.org/​event/​the-​r ise-​of-​the-​moroccan-​new-​left-​60-​70s/​ Lackner, Helen. 2017. ‘Socialist Revolution in Arabia.’ Orient XXI. 30 November. Accessed on 4 March 2020. https://​orientxxi.info/​magazine/​socialist-​revolution-​in-​arabia,2151 Ladadweh, Hassan. 2014 ‘The Palestinian Left:  Realities and Challenges.’ In Jamil Hilal and Katja Hermann (eds.) Mapping the Arab Left. Contemporary Leftist Politics in the Arab East. Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung Regional Office Palestine, 34–55. Laqueur, Walter. 1955. ‘The Appeal of Communists in the Middle East.’ Middle East Journal 9 (1): 17–​27. Laqueur, Walter. 1959. ‘The ‘National Bourgeoisie’: A Soviet Dilemma in the Middle East.’ International Affairs 35 (3): 324–​331. Lawrence, Adria K. 2013. Imperial Rule and the Politics of Nationalism. Anti-​Colonial Protest in the French Empire. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Le-​Foll-​Luciani, Pierre-​Jean. 2019. ‘The Communists in Algeria (1920–​93).’ In Laura Feliu and Ferran Izquierdo-​Brichs (eds.) Communist Parties in the Middle East. London and New  York:  Routledge, 168–​183. Lust-​Okar, Ellen. 2001. ‘The Decline of Jordanian Parties: Myth or Reality?’ International Journal of Middle East Studies 33 (4): 545–​569. Lyndsey, Ursula. 2019. ‘Lessons of Defeat: Testimonies of the Arab left.’ The Point Magazine. 18 February. Accessed  4 March 2020.https://​thepointmag.com/​politics/​lessons-​of-​defeat-​testimonies-​of-​the-​ arab-​left/​ Mahler, Gregory S. 1996. ‘The Palestinian Election of 1996.’ Electoral Studies 15 (3): 414–​421. Majed, Rima. 2014. ‘Did Arab leftists betray the revolution?’ Aljazeera.com, 17 February. Accessed on 4 March 2020. www.aljazeera.com/​indepth/​opinion/​2014/​02/​did-​arab-​leftists-​betray-​revolu-​ 201421674037574769.html Marchesin, Philippe. 1994. ‘Origine et évolution des partis et groupes politiques.’ Politique Africaine 55: 20–​30. Matthiesen, Toby. 2018. ‘Red Arabia: Anti-​Colonialism, the Cold War, and the Long Sixties in the Gulf states.’ In Chen Jian, Martin Klimke, Masha Kirasirova, Mary Nolan, Marilyn Young, and Joanna Waley-Cohen (eds.) Routledge Handbook of the Global Sixties. London and New  York:  Routledge, 94–105. Meijer, Roel. 2002. The Quest for Modernity: Secular Liberal and Left-​Wing Political Thought in Egypt (1945–​ 1958). London: Routledge. Messarra, Antoine. 1996. ‘Les partis politiques au Liban: une experience arabe pionnière et en déclin.’ Revue des Mondes Musulmans et de la Méditerrannée 81–​82: 135–​151. Michel, Hubert. 1967. ‘L’expérience algérienne du parti unique constitutionnalisé.’ Revue des Mondes Musulmans et de la Méditerrannée 4: 81–​97. Miller, Susan. 2013. A History of Modern Morocco. New York: Cambridge University Press. Milton-​Edwards, Berverley. 1993. ‘Façade Democracy and Jordan.’ British Journal for Middle Eastern Studies 20 (2): 191–​203. Moutadayene, Abdellatif. 2007. ‘Economic Crises and Democratization in Morocco.’ Journal of North African Studies 6 (3): 70–​82. Munoz, Rosa Velasco. 2019. ‘The Lebanese Communist Party.’ In Laura Feliu and Ferran Izquierdo-​ Brichs (eds.) Communist Parties in the Middle East. London and New York: Routledge, 90–​108. Naef. Silvia. 2001. ‘Shīcī–​Shuyūī or: How to Become a Communist in a Holy City.’ In Rainer Brunner and Ende Werner (eds.) The Twelver Shia in Modern Times:  Religious Culture and Political History. Leiden: Brill, 255–​267. Ottaway, Marina and Amr Hamzawy, 2007. ‘Fighting on Two Fronts: Secular Parties in the Arab World.’ Carnegie Papers 85 (2007). Ottaway, Marina and David Ottaway. 1970. Algeria: The Politics of a Socialist Revolution. Berkeley: University of California Press. Perlmutter, Amos. 1969. ‘From obscurity to rule:  The Syrian army and the Ba’th party.’ The Western Political Quarterly 22 (4): 827–​845. Rahal, Malika. 2016. ‘1965–​1971 en Algérie:  Contestation étudiante, parti unique et enthousiasme révolutionnaire.’ In Etudiants africains en mouvements. Contribution à une histoire des années 1968. Paris: Publications Sorbonne.

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Idriss Jebari Rahal, Rahal. 2017. ‘1988–​1992:  Multipartism, Islamism and the Descent into Civil War.’ In Patrick Crowley (ed.) Algeria: Nation, culture and transnationalism, 1988–​2015. Liverpool: Liverpool University Press, 81–100. Reilly, James A. 2018. Fragile Nation, Shattered Land. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Resta, Valeria. 2018. ‘Leftist Parties in the Arab Region before and after the Arab Uprisings: “Unrequited Love”?’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 23–​48. Rodinson, Maxime. 2015. Marxism and the Muslim World. London: Zed Books. Ryan, Curtis. R. 2011. ‘Political Opposition and Reform Coalitions in Jordan.’ British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 38 (3): 367–​390. Schaar, Stuart. 1969. ‘The Failure of Multi-​party Politics in Morocco: A Historian’s View.’ Middle East Studies Association Conference Paper:  11–​12. Schedler, Andreas. 2002. ‘Elections without Democracy: The Menu of Manipulation.’ Journal of Democracy 13 (2): 36–​50. Shefter, Martin. 1994. Political Parties and the State. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Shteiwi, Musa M. 2014. ‘The Jordanian Left:  Today’s Realities and Future Prospects.’ In Jamil Hilal and Katja Hermann (eds.) Mapping the Arab Left. Contemporary Leftist Politics in the Arab East. Rosa Luxemburg Stiftung Regional Office Palestine, 56–​81. Sivan, 1976. Communisme et nationalisme en Algérie (1920–​1962). Paris: Presses de la Fondation Nationale des sciences politiques. Smolansky, Oles M. 1974. The Soviet Union and the Arab East Under Khrushchev. Lewisburg, PA: Bucknell University Press, 1974. Smolansky, Oles M. 1991. The USSR and Iraq:  The Soviet Quest for Influence. Durham, NC:  Duke University Press. Stacher, Joshua. 2012. Adaptable Autocrats:  Regime Power in Egypt and Syria. Stanford, CA:  Stanford University Press. Stookey, Robert W. 1982. South Yemen: A Marxist Republic in South Yemen. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Storm, Lise. 2010. Democratization in Morocco: The Political Elite and Struggles for Power in the Post-​independence State. London: Routledge. Swedenburg, Ted. 1996. Comrades and Enemies:  Arab and Jewish Workers in Palestine (1906–​1948). Berkeley: University of California Press. Takriti, Abdel Razzaq. 2013. Mansoon Revolution: Republicans, Sultans, and Empires in Oman, 1965–​1976. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press. Tamari, Salim. 1992. ‘Left in Limbo.’ Middle East Reports 179: 20–​1. Torrey, Devlin. 1965. ‘Arab Socialism.’ Journal of International Affairs 19 (1): 47–​62. Traboulsi, Fawwaz. 2012. ‘The Left in time of revolution.’ Jadaliyya November, 9th. Translated from Arabic. Originally published in Bidayat (27 April 2012). Accessed on 4 March 2020. www.jadaliyya. com/​Details/​27368 Vairel, Frederic. 2013. ‘Protesting in Authoritarian Situations:  Egypt and Morocco in Comparative Perspective.’ In Frederic Vairel and Joel Beinin (eds.) Social Movements, Mobilization, and Contestation in the Middle East and North Africa. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press, 27–​42. Waterbury, John. 1970. Commander of the Faithful:  The Moroccan Elite—​A Study in Segmented Politics. London: Weidenfeld and Nicolson. Waterbury, John. 1983. The Egypt of Nasser and Sadat:  A Political Economy of Two Regimes. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Zisenwine, Daniel. 2010. The Emergence of Nationalist Politics in Morocco: The Rise of the Independence Party and the Struggle Against Colonialism after World War II. London: Tauris Academic Studies.

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3 THE ESTABLISHMENT AND SUCCESS OF ISLAMIST PARTIES M. Tahir Kilavuz

Introduction Islamist parties are among some of the most salient, influential, and established parties in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA). Despite significant variation in their organisational capacities, histories, and records of success (Mandaville, 2014; Mecham and Chernov-​Hwang, 2014), they pose some of the most significant challenges to the ruling regimes across the region. With their proliferation after the 1990s and electoral successes during the early years of the Arab Uprisings, the Islamist parties are a rising power in the MENA politics. In light of their salience in regional politics, what makes Islamist parties distinct from and similar to other parties in the region? When and how did their role in the political scene increase? How do the political contexts they operate shape the structure and behaviour of Islamist parties? What are the opportunities, challenges, and prospects for these parties in the post-​Arab Uprisings era? This chapter aims to understand this significant category of political parties in the MENA. In doing this, the chapter presents and synthesises some of the core arguments of the rich literature on Islamist movements and parties, with a focus on how different political regimes shape them. It also explains how Islamist parties fare in elections in their respective countries and discusses the reasons for variations in electoral outcomes.

What are Islamist parties? Despite various ways of defining “Islamism,” there are two aspects of the concept of “Islamist parties” preferred in this chapter. First, these are parties and therefore one distinctive feature from other social organisations is that they compete in elections when possible and seek votes and seats. Second, “Islamist” refers to those parties with a belief that Islam has something to say about politics and society (Mecham and Chernov-​Hwang, 2014; Sadowski, 2006). Some definitions emphasise the aim of establishing an Islamic order (Mandaville, 2014), yet it is more useful to follow a broader definition. As Islamist parties are not all the same, it is important to find the common denominator among them. Therefore, such a broader conceptualisation helps better to define Islamist parties. This denominator is also what makes them different from than the rest of the parties in the region. Islamist parties seek either the creation of a society that adheres to Islamic teachings or, 33

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more generally, the Islamisation of the society. In doing so, Islamist parties emphasise certain policies more than other parties, such as opposition to Western influence, religious education, morality in politics, or closer ties with other Muslim majority countries. Some Islamist parties, if not all, also seek enacting Islamic laws. Some of these policies are not necessarily particular to Islamist parties though. For example, some socialist parties may oppose Western influence and nationalist parties may also support laws based on sharia, such as the regulation of inheritance. However, most of these issues are more salient in the policy agenda of Islamist parties than of others. While Islamist parties are distinct as such, there are several aspects in which Islamist parties are not particularly different from other parties in the region. First, they all run in elections when possible and seek elected office. They strive to gain power in order to control or influence the state and benefit from its resources (Salih and El-​Tom, 2009). Second, as Sinno and Khanani (2009) point out, Islamist parties are strategic actors just like others. They operate under certain constraints defined by the institutional and the societal contexts and, in return, these constraints shape their behaviour and strategies to take advantage of the opportunities. For that, they invest in organisation building and mobilisation just like other parties do (Salih and El-​Tom, 2009). Third, they are not monolithic and are subject to change based on the local conditions. Just like behavioural and policy changes of socialist (Przeworski and Sprague, 1986) and Christian Democratic parties (Kalyvas, 1996) in Europe and other parties in the MENA experienced over time, Islamist parties do change as well. These changes are sometimes observed only in the behaviour of these parties (Schwedler, 2011; Shehata and Stacher, 2006); yet, ideological changes do take place as well (Cavatorta and Merone, 2013; Schwedler, 2006; Wickham, 2004). Finally, while there are several policies that are more specific to Islamist parties, other policy priorities are common for both Islamist and several other parties: economic development, social and economic justice, and concern for Palestine.

Historical journey from Islamist movements to parties Islamism, as a political ideology, evolved over the last century and a half. There are different approaches in defining the historical turning points of Islamist movements (Al-​Anani, 2012; Mandaville, 2014; Roy, 1994; Sadowski, 2006), as multiple changes take place in different places at the same time. However, there is a clear pattern from an ideology to movements and from movements to participation in formal politics through parties, with ups and downs in the process. The origins of Islamism go back to some of the early ideologues of reform in the late nineteenth century who believed that Islam could be a driver of political and social change (Hourani, 1983). The first reflection of the spread of these ideas in the political scene was observed with the establishment of the Muslim Brotherhood (MB) in 1928. The following decades witnessed the spread of Islamist movements to other countries in the region. While Islamist movements started to penetrate their societies despite repression from their respective regimes, the real breakthrough of Islamist movements occurred in the 1970s and 1980s. The Iranian Revolution had a crucial impact on this resurgence. The Revolution of 1979 allowed “the articulation of Islamist ideology in a political order” (Al-​Anani, 2012) and served as a driver for increasing activism for most Islamist movements, if not necessarily as a model to replicate. The beliefs about the diffusion of similar revolutions across the region led to the idea among some Islamists and others that Islamist regimes would be established elsewhere. However, when this did not occur, some scholars dubbed the following period as the “failure of Political Islam” 34

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(Roy, 1994). Yet the 1990s and the aftermath of the Arab Uprisings have been the last turning point for the journey of Islamist movements (Al-​Anani, 2012; Bayat, 2013b), showing the continuing salience of Islamists. With the changing political context in the region, including political openings in several countries and authoritarian retrenchment in others, Islamists faced new challenges and opportunities. The emergence of Islamist parties has been a more recent development in the journey of Islamist movements. While Islamist parties have been present in other regions, such as the parties in Malaysia and Pakistan. Islamist movements had not been allowed to form parties and participate in elections for a long time in the MENA, with the exception of Turkey. The rise of Islamist parties was mostly observed during the 1990s onwards, during what is called the re-​emergence of Islamism. Several countries in the MENA experienced a degree of liberalisation during the 1990s, creating space for opposition actors. Operating in more open political environments provided incentives for Islamist movements to invest in political parties. While they had been crucial opposition actors as social movements, Islamists during that decade formed political parties or participated in elections through nominally independent candidates (El-​Ghobashy, 2005; Hamzawy, 2008; Langohr, 2001; Schwedler, 2002). The second phase of liberalisation, which took place during the Arab Uprisings, led to further spread of the Islamist parties, along with their electoral successes in several countries. As a result, there are Islamist political parties operating today through different means in Algeria, Bahrain, Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, Kuwait, Lebanon, Libya, Morocco, Palestine, Tunisia, Turkey, and Yemen.1 In the meantime, most movements that gave birth to Islamist parties did not necessarily disappear, creating dualities between parties and movements in some cases (Hamid and McCants, 2017; Joffé, 2019).

Islamist parties in different political contexts Institutional design in a political system significantly affects how parties and party systems are shaped. The opportunities and constraints that the political systems create, in turn, shape the strategies of Islamist parties (Brown, 2012). Factors such as the electoral system, thresholds, party regulations, and role of religion in a political system may shape parties, but in the MENA –​ where most regimes are authoritarian  –​regime type plays a crucial role. Since the rise of Islamist parties is associated with the tides of political liberalisation in the 1990s and 2010s, there is a strong association between regime type and the variation of Islamist parties. In line with the thematic approach of this edited volume, it is helpful to pay special attention to different types of political regimes and how Islamist parties are shaped by and, in return, operate under these systems.

Islamist parties in authoritarian settings There are two main characteristics of regimes in the MENA that primarily shape the Islamist movements. First, the Middle East and North Africa is one of the most autocratic regions of the world (Lührmann et al., 2019). Even after the Arab Uprisings, most of the autocrats in the region survived with a variety of repressive and co-​optative tools. Second, with the exception of the Gulf and Iran, most of the authoritarian regimes in the region are secular authoritarian regimes, despite the rhetoric used in some (Mandaville, 2014). This makes most Islamist movements rather unwanted as opposition actors in the eyes of the regimes. Authoritarian regimes in the region though are not all the same. The types or degree of authoritarianism change depending on time and space. As discussed above, a number of 35

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MENA regimes have experienced liberalisation and moved to relatively more open political systems over time. Since the degree of openness of authoritarian regimes is closely associated with opposition activities, including Islamist organisations, it is helpful to look at two different authoritarian contexts. First, authoritarian regimes, which are closed off to opposition participation  –​such as several Gulf states today and Egypt, Syria, Iraq, and Algeria in the mid-​century –​outright ban and prevent the formation of Islamist parties. In some of these cases, particularly in the Gulf, Islamists do not even operate as conventional social movements.2 In most other cases, Islamists exist and their movements legally or illegally operate; however, they are not formally allowed to found parties and run in elections. Most MENA regimes up until liberalisation in the 1990s left nearly no space to the opposition and Islamist parties were unable to operate. The Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood (MB) and its affiliate Islamists in Syria, Jordan, Morocco, Algeria, Libya, and other countries were not allowed to found parties and run in elections for decades. While some of these regimes banned all opposition party politics, others concentrated their bans on Islamists. Second, several authoritarian regimes are more open to opposition politics and electoral participation. Following the wave of liberalisation in the 1990s and the 2010s, a number of so-​called liberalised autocracies as in Jordan, Morocco, and Algeria (Brumberg, 2002) started to allow the formation of Islamist parties. As a result, the 1990s witnessed the proliferation of Islamist parties. While some of these parties were banned in the following years unlike their non-​Islamist counterparts, such as the Tunisian Ennahda (McCarthy, 2018; Wolf, 2017); others such as the Jordanian Islamic Action Front (IAF) (Schwedler, 2006), the Algerian Movement for Society of Peace (MSP) and Islamist Renaissance Movement (Ennahda) (Sakthivel, 2017; Willis, 1998, 2013), the Moroccan Justice and Development Party (PJD) (Cavatorta, 2009; Daadaoui, 2017), the Kuwaiti Islamic Constitutional Movement (Hadas) (Freer, 2017), and the Bahraini al-​Minbar (Freer, 2019) continued to operate under limitations defined by the regimes. In other cases where there are relatively competitive elections, but where the political context is unstable, such as in Lebanon, Iraq, and Palestine, Islamists participated in elections as well, marking important electoral success in Iraq and Palestine. The Arab Uprisings led to the further proliferation of Islamist parties around the region. Even in countries that could not succeed in democratic transitions, Islamists found opportunities for the first time to organise under political parties such as the formation of the Justice and Construction Party (JCP) in Libya. The authoritarian contexts that they operate create challenges and opportunities for Islamist parties and shape their strategies. When Islamist parties are not allowed, Islamists look for other ways to gain influence. For example, the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood (MB) forged two electoral alliances with other parties in the 1980s (Hamzawy and Brown, 2010) and ran with independent candidates in 2005, recording a remarkable success (Shehata and Stacher, 2006). Similarly, before its legalisation, the Islamic Action Front in Jordan participated in elections in 1989 for the first time through independent candidates and secured more than one-​fourth of the seats. However, in most cases where the party scene is closed for the Islamist parties, their influence through elections remains limited. Islamists have a broader set of strategies to use when they are allowed as parties under authoritarianism. As legal entities, Islamist parties can participate in elections, pursue electoral alliances, win seats, and even take part in governments. Islamist parties tend to be important opposition actors in the parliament, as seen in Jordan and Kuwait, when they are allowed to participate and win seats. However, Islamist parties use boycotts as another strategy at times. When they think that electoral gains will not be as effective, they choose electoral boycotts as 36

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a tactic for attracting attention and appeasing their voting base by showing themselves to be principled. The IAF in Jordan boycotted elections several times (Buttorff, 2019), most notably the boycott in 2013, criticising the unfair electoral law. Islamists also have experience in participation in governments. In Algeria, the MSP took part in several governments and held ministry positions for more than a decade starting in the late 1990s. But a greater role by Islamists in government under authoritarianism is experienced in Morocco.3 The Justice and Development Party (PJD) won the first elections during the Arab Uprisings in 2011 and formed a coalition government with three other parties while the Islamist leader Abdelaziz Benkirane became the Prime Minister. This has been an important experience, not only for the Moroccan Islamists but also others, in which Islamists held the top cabinet positions under authoritarianism. Another strategy that Islamists pursue is building opposition coalitions. There have been cross-​ideological attempts for coalition building all across the region (Kraetzschmar, 2011), including Jordan (Clark, 2010), Morocco (Buehler, 2018), Algeria, Syria (Ziyadeh, 2011), Egypt (Clarke, 2011), Yemen (Browers, 2007) and Tunisia (Haugbølle and Cavatorta, 2011). While these coalitions vary in terms of their focus and degrees of cooperation (Lust, 2011; Schwedler and Clark, 2006), they created space for Islamists to put pressure on regimes in coordination with non-​Islamist parties. While authoritarian “openings” create opportunities for the Islamist parties, there also are clear constraints, specifically for their success. In such cases, as Brown (2012) puts it neatly, victory is not always a viable option for them. An important reminder for that was seen following the 2016 legislative elections in Morocco. After one term leading the government, the PJD won a plurality of seats in the elections once again. However, the King Mohamed VI did not allow the Benkirane to form the new government, leading to a political deadlock. Eventually, Benkirane had to step back and a government more amenable to the regime was formed under another PJD leader (Fakir, 2017). This incident showed the limitations of an Islamist victory under authoritarian conditions, despite the relative openness in the political system.

Islamist parties in democratic settings Even though the region is mostly authoritarian, there have been some experiments with democracy, in which Islamist parties found larger political space to operate. The oldest Islamist parties in the MENA are found in Turkey, which had its transition to democracy in 1950. Even though there have been various Islamist groups in Turkey, the mainstream Islamist parties originated from the National Outlook (Milli Görüş) Movement in the early 1970s. While relatively small, the subsequent Islamist parties have mostly been in opposition during the 1970s and 1980s, but they, participated at times in several governments as minor partners. The genuine rise of Islamists in Turkey was first observed in the 1990s. In 1995, the Welfare Party (RP) won the legislative elections and led the coalition government. However, less than two years later, the government was forced to step down under pressure from the military in what is called a “postmodern coup” in 1997 (Ozel, 2003). Following bans and the splits within the movement, the Justice and Development Party (AKP) was founded in a more centre-​r ight platform in respect to its predecessors and won a landslide victory in 2002 (Somer, 2012; Tezcür, 2010). Since then, the Islamists have been in power in Turkey, winning all the legislative elections. Despite interruptions to democracy over the course of its modern history and the recent democratic erosion in Turkey, a democratic system was in place when Islamists came to the political scene with a party. Yet in other cases, Islamist parties became an integral part of the 37

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democratic transition processes. In one of the earliest examples of Islamist competition under free and fair elections, the Algerian Islamic Salvation Front (FIS) recorded significant success during the democratic transition process between 1989 and 1992. Following the success in the local elections in 1990, the FIS won a landslide victory in the first round of the 1991 legislative elections. However, the rise of the FIS and the fierce rhetoric of change were not welcomed by the Algerian political elites and the transition culminated in a coup d’état in early 1992, right before the second round of the elections (Burgat and Dowell, 1997; Willis, 1999). Finally, the democratic transition attempts during the Arab Uprisings witnessed the significant role and success of Islamist parties in Egypt and Tunisia. Following the departure of dictators, the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and Ennahda in Tunisia founded their political parties4 and competed in the free electoral scene. Both parties won plurality in their respective first elections and played an important role in the transition processes under Islamist-​led governments. The Islamists’ experience with government in Egypt and Tunisia involved ups and downs and their record chart included political mistakes.5 While their early successes were similar, the fate of the Islamist parties in Egypt and Tunisia significantly differed later on. In Egypt, the army intervened and ended the short experiment with democracy with a coup in 2013. Establishing an even more repressive regime than pre-​2011, the Egyptian regime banned the Muslim Brotherhood and its party. In Tunisia, on the other hand, despite all the difficulties in the democratic transition process, a new constitution was ratified, free and fair elections took place and power peacefully changed hands in 2014 and then again in 2019. Ennahda, after two years in government, have been one of the most salient political parties in democratic Tunisia. As seen, Islamist parties have significantly different trajectories even under democratic systems. On the one hand, emerging in an already democratic system provided opportunities for Islamist parties in Turkey to build their electoral base over a long time and experience the democratic system as opposition actors. On the other hand, Islamists in Algeria, Egypt, and Tunisia found themselves in a much more influential position at the onset of their countries’ democratisation processes, without having any experience with party politics before. For the secular authoritarian regimes in Algeria and Egypt, the rise of Islamists during democratisation was alarming; hence they hung onto power through coups against Islamist victories. The Tunisian Islamists could only avoid a similar scenario through serious compromises (Boubekeur, 2015; Stepan, 2018).

Is there an electoral advantage for Islamist parties? Islamist parties, whatever the system they operate in, are presumed to have an electoral advantage over their opponents in generating mass appeal, establishing a strong support base, and attracting voters. Accordingly, when the elections are free, fair, and competitive, Islamist parties can (or will) win elections. There are cases of Islamist success that bolster the image of Islamist advantage, especially in founding elections or when relative competition is allowed for the first time. The landslide victory of the FIS in the first free and fair elections in the Arab world and relatively successful records in elections following openings in the electoral scene under authoritarianism from the 1990s onwards (Brynen, Korany, and Noble 1995) in Jordan (1989), Bahrain (2002), Iraq (2005), Egypt (2005), and Palestine (2006) are among such examples. The founding elections and expanded competition following the Arab Uprisings further supported this image when Ennahda in Tunisia, the Muslim Brotherhood-​affiliated Freedom and Justice Party in Egypt, and Justice and Development Party (PJD) in Morocco became victorious. In most these cases, 38

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though, the Islamists could not continue their success or lost relative support in the following elections. Still, these examples along with the electoral success of Turkish Islamist parties since the 1990s provide some support for the presumption about the presence of an Islamist electoral advantage. Despite the success stories of Islamists presented here, there is limited empirical evidence and systematic analysis demonstrating the Islamist advantage (Cammett and Luong, 2014). Most Islamist parties, especially in the Arab world, operate under authoritarian regimes with unfree and unfair elections. Their electoral success is presumed by looking at their popularity among urban poor and rising bourgeoisie (Kepel, 2003; Roy, 1994), dominating social discourse (Burgat, 2003), and role as opposition actors under authoritarian rule (Wickham, 2002), along with singular electoral successes discussed above. Furthermore, some studies cast doubt on this presumption of Islamist electoral advantage. Kurzman and Naqvi (2010) argue that the electoral performance of Islamist parties has been generally unimpressive. Looking at almost a hundred elections that Islamist parties competed in up until 2010 in the MENA and elsewhere, they found that the median electoral performance of these parties does not even reach 10% of the votes. Even though the post-​Arab Uprising elections seemed to change this trend, the median vote still remained at 14% (Kurzman and Türkoğlu, 2015). Therefore, it is difficult to conclude that there clearly is an electoral advantage for Islamist parties. It is probably correct to say that Islamists have a strong electoral base that can translate into votes, particularly in founding elections. Since they are usually influential opposition actors, citizens who are discontent with the existing regimes show a tendency to elect Islamists in the MENA in first elections after political openings. However, their success in opposition do not always translate into success in government. The electoral record of Ennahda in Tunisia, which won plurality in founding elections and lost votes in the following elections, is illustrative. For that, it is possible to say that electoral advantage for the Islamist parties is inconclusive. A sounder conclusion would be that Islamists attract votes through different mechanisms, such as success in mobilisation and organisational strength (Kandil, 2014) or social services provision (Brooke, 2017; Cammett and Issar, 2010; Masoud, 2014) and they may be more successful in those areas than other parties.

Conclusion Islamist parties, except the ones in Turkey, are relatively latecomers to the political scene of the MENA. However, following the waves of liberalisation in the 1990s and 2010s, Islamist parties were founded in most countries in the MENA. There are several common themes that Islamist parties share, such as having a political vision derived from an Islamic worldview, Islamisation of the society, and emphasis on specific religiously sanctioned policies. However, they have significant differences when it comes to their specific ideas, tactics, and record of success. First, while some of them have a more explicit emphasis on what is called an Islamic state (e.g., the Algerian FIS in 1991), others emphasise morality and religiosity in the society more than changes in the legal system (e.g., the AKP in 2000s, Ennahda in 2010s) (Mecham and Chernov-​Hwang, 2014). While there are concerns about the extent of moderation of Islamists (Lust-​Okar, 2006), there is a path towards a more liberal discourse in their party platforms in certain areas (Kurzman and Naqvi, 2010). In this vein, some Islamists are seen as more moderate or “post-​Islamist” than others (Bayat, 2013a; Cavatorta and Merone, 2015). Second, as a central theme of this chapter, the institutional context matters to shape the strategies of the Islamist parties. They are all rational strategic actors that pursue their goals 39

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(Sinno and Khanani, 2009), yet as different regimes create different constraints and opportunities for Islamists, they define their tactics based on the context they operate in. As a result, under authoritarianism, their set of strategies range from operating underground without legal parties to participating in elections through independents and from forming parties and running in elections to participating in governments. In more democratic or democratising contexts, where there is a broader set of tools, Islamist parties are not without constraints either, as Islamists were subject to the military intervention in Algeria, Egypt, and Turkey and made concessions to survive in Tunisia and Turkey. Third, even when they participate in elections, Islamists are not always successful. In the MENA, there is some inconclusive evidence that Islamists fare well in elections; yet, there are varying levels of support that Islamist parties attract from voters based on country, regime type, and parties. Then, what is next for the Islamist parties? Despite their different experiences, the Arab Uprisings opened a new stage for Islamists across the MENA. However, almost a decade after the beginning of the Uprisings, the prospects are not as bright for Islamist parties as they were in 2011. In Egypt, the Islamists were heavily repressed following the coup in 2013. In Tunisia, despite still being a key player, they did not have the same electoral success as in 2011. In Morocco, they were forced to make concessions due to the limitations defined by the regime. In Turkey, despite still being in power, they are not seen as strong and safe as they were once. In Algeria, they could not play an important role in mobilising masses during the 2019 anti-​government protests. In Jordan, Kuwait, and other countries, they remain strong opposition actors, but without making significant electoral gains. Just like it has been so far, the institutional conditions will play a role in defining the prospects for Islamist parties going forward. As the political space has closed down in several countries after early openings following the uprisings, the Islamists are likely to go through a re-​evaluation of their experiences at the time of the Uprisings. Potential changes in institutional mechanisms in the MENA regimes and in the regional power dynamics will play a role on the fate of Islamists.6 In the face of these changes, as al-​Anani (2012) puts it nicely at the onset of the Uprisings, it is likely that “Islamists will have to compromise, bargain and negotiate” to attract support and expand power and these strategies will make them more open to change. Eventually, the success of the Islamist parties is contingent both on the institutional conditions and on their strategies defined in response.

Notes 1 For an extensive list of Islamist parties along with party platforms of some, see the website prepared by Charles Kurzman as part of his research on Islamist parties: https://​kurzman.unc.edu/​ islamic-​parties/​ 2 This does not mean that there are no Islamists in the Gulf. For more on Islamist movements and influence in this sub-​region, see (Freer, 2018). 3 It should be noted that Islamists are selectively allowed in Morocco, as the Justice and Spirituality Movement (Cavatorta, 2007; Maddy-​Weitzman, 2003) is not allowed unlike the PJD. 4 While Ennahda founded the party with the same name, the MB’s party was called Freedom and Justice Party (FJP). 5 The surveys conducted in Egypt and Tunisia as part of the Arab Barometer Project shows declines in citizens’ perceptions about government and economic performance from 2011 to 2013. For more, see: (Kilavuz and Sumaktoyo, 2020) 6 For two roundtables on the future of Islamism, one from early years of the Uprisings and another after the first years, see: (Al-​Arian et al., 2013; Kilavuz et al., 2018)

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4 NEW KIDS ON THE BLOCK Salafi parties Massimo Ramaioli

Introduction In the first parliamentary elections in Egypt after the fall of Mubarak, the impressive performance of the Muslim Brotherhood caught no one by surprise, as its political wing, the Freedom and Justice Party (FJP), won 37.5 per cent of the vote and became the largest party in the country (Al-​Awadi, 2013). The Muslim Brothers had been preparing for decades for this moment. They had familiarised themselves over time with some key features of modern day politics, including forming an official party, developing political cadres, grooming candidates, and campaigning for elections. Moreover, in constant bargain and negotiations with the erstwhile regime, they had gone through a profound ideological shift finally embracing peaceful means and democratic procedures to enhance their agenda (see El-​Ghobashy, 2005; Kandil, 2014). Downplaying some of their most rigid Islamist dogmas, they acknowledged crucial principles such as popular sovereignty and the secular space of politics (Farag, 2012). They entertained and stipulated alliances with rival political forces, like liberals and leftists. What really shocked the public, domestic and international alike, were instead the stunning results of Salafi parties, which hailed from a more conservative and rigid brand of Sunni Islamism. A loose coalition of three forces (the ‘Alliance for Egypt’), Salafis obtained 28% of the votes and 123 seats in the lower house (Majlis ash-​Sha’ab) out of 498 (Utvik, 2014: 6; McCants, 2012: 3). Unlike the Muslim Brothers, their electoral results seemed to come out of nowhere. They had never participated in previous elections under the old regime; they never sought to bank upon their societal presence and clout to make explicit political claims; and, even more puzzling, their ideological coordinates were at odds with the rules of the game they had just so successfully played. In fact, the very phrase ‘Salafi parties’ is an oxymoron. Salafis’ earlier reluctance from participating in official and institutionalised politics stemmed, allegedly, from their aversion to and rejection of modern politics as a whole. A puritanical and dogmatic approach to Sunni Islam, Salafism tends to focus on issues of learning, devotion, and piety. It supposedly shuns away from establishing any formal organisation, so much so that it is more appropriate to speak of a Salafi ‘trend’ as opposed to a ‘movement’ (Wiktorowicz, 2001) –​let alone a party! Yet, this is precisely what happened: Salafis across the Middle East have established parties and in particular after the Arab Spring they chose to run for elections where possible. Their 44

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averred opposition to the ideas of popular sovereignty, civil state (dawlah madaniyah),1 and majority rule did not seem to represent insurmountable obstacles any longer; much less then was the adoption of modern forms of contestation like political parties to aggregate popular demands, present programs to the wider public, and run for office. This trajectory  –​from dogmatic ideological stances to pragmatic compromises  –​made some scholars speak of an ‘ikhwanasation of Salafis’ (Utvik, 2014). Brown (2012) posited that Islamist fringe groups and movements, when confronting reward for political participation and risks for other courses of action, “will indeed become politicised” and orient themselves towards legal and formal political activity (33, emphasis in the original). By ‘becoming politicised’, Brown hinted at the gradual relinquishing of positions grounded in a religious ideology and the consequent adoption of a logic of politics entailing pragmatism, malleability, and adaptation. However, Brown further claims, this proposition does not necessarily entail moderation –​ ideological or behavioural –​if by this we mean embracing liberal values. And Salafism, in its fundamental ideational coordinates, is not liberal. We thus confront the following puzzle: Salafism seems able to give birth to political parties and engage in legal and peaceful electoral competition, whereby foregoing some of its initial misgivings about these operations. However, some of its fundamental ideological tenets may not render such moves harbingers of a full embrace of liberal democratic principles (Yenigun, 2016). This chapter will first outline the main features of Salafism. To surmise its key aspects will make it possible to explore its complex and, dare we say, paradoxical relation with modern politics. This discussion shall address the main points of contention that Salafism, when it gives birth to political parties, has to confront. These considerations will be illustrated via a cursory review of the origin, trajectory and current position of Salafi parties in three Arab countries, namely Kuwait, Egypt, and Tunisia

The foundations of Salafism As pointed out, Salafism is a specific approach to Islam (Duderjia, 2011). There has been a lively debate about its exact contours, origins and intellectual developments (see Lauzière, 2010, 2015; Griffel, 2015). However, from a historical perspective, it is safe to say that Salafism is a relatively recent socio-​religious phenomenon, emerging in earnest during the twentieth century. After the demise of Arab nationalism in the wake of the 1967 war, Salafism, together with other, larger Islamist trends, would gain further ground. By the 1990s, it had become a stable presence in most Muslim countries, including the Arab Middle East. What separates Salafism from other Sunni Islamist trends and movements is its particular focus on the paradigm of the ‘pious ancestors’, or ‘as-​salaf as-​salih’, whence its name. All Muslims tend to look at the pious ancestors with devotion: they are usually considered the first three generations of Muslims that, by virtue of their proximity to the original message of the Prophet, displayed particular piety and behavioural and moral rectitude. Contemporary Salafism goes a step further and claims that their way of practising Islam (madhdhab as-​salaf) is to be rescued as the only true Islam. To do so, Salafism proposes an epistemological approach that relies on a scripturalist and literalist understanding of the Qur’an and the Sunnah. Salafism maintains that human reasoning and logic, in particular rational and deductive thinking, lead astray from the righteous path of Islam. Exercises like exegesis (tafsir) of the holy texts and interpretative efforts (ijtihad) beyond their literal meanings are not allowed. Salafism consequently rejects other tools that Islamic tradition and scholarship, particularly in the realm of jurisprudence (fiqh), have developed, such as the consensus of the community (‘ijma) or reasoning by analogy (qiyas). Only by sticking to the pristine and unadulterated word of God the true message of Islam can 45

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be adhered to. This quest for a single truth is thus the product of Salafism’s anti-​pluralist epistemological stance: if there is just one correct way to understand Islam, it follows there is only one correct practice. There are two related principles that stem and sustain such exclusivist approach. Any notion that cannot be found in the pristine template of the salaf is labeled as ‘bid’a’ (plural bida’), or unlawful innovation. This move has led Salafism to brand as marred by unlawful innovation most of Islamic history, deeming the developments and changes that occurred as deviations from the correct madhdhab of the ancestors. For example, Salafism rejects the four recognised jurisprudential schools of Sunni Islam (Hanbali, Hanafi, Maliki, and Shafi) as examples of bid’a, despite close proximity when it comes to substantial issues with the conservative Hanbali school. This logic evidently compels Salafism to reject even more forcefully concepts and notions originating outside the abode of Islam. Crucially, it follows that Salafis regard the discourse and practices of modernity as an instance of bid’a. In particular for our purposes here, modern political institutions such as nation-​states, representative assemblies and parties are all innovations that have no place in a true and pure Muslim community. This stance is further corroborated by a third founding principle of Salafism, namely the understanding of God’s monotheistic unity or tawhid. According to Salafis, such unity does not pertain solely to the attributes and features (asma’ and sifat) of God, but also extends to the Islamic community and its relation with God itself. The unity of God must be mirrored at all times by the unity of its community, wherein a separation of different realms and domains –​ particularly the secular and the religious –​ought not to be entertained. How do the concrete manifestations of Salafism map out onto these core doctrinal coordinates? In a very influential study, Wiktorowicz (2006) argued that all Salafis share these basic doctrinal tenets (to which he refers as ‘aqidah), but that they differ in their concrete socio-​ political praxis (or manhaj). The shared ‘aqidah envisions a future where the establishment of a caliphate will finally reinstate the hallowed religious-​political template of the pious ancestors, get rid of bida’, and heal the tragic loss of unity between God and its community. However, how Salafis seek to achieve these broad goals marks their actual differences. While Wiktorowicz’s taxonomy has received some criticism (see Wagemakers, 2017), it is still widely adopted as a useful, if not always accurate, compass. He posits three main categories:  quietist, jihadi and politico Salafis. Quietists, as the name suggests, avoid active and direct participation in official and institutional politics. They focus on learning and studying, establishing loose networks of followers under the leadership of a learned sheikh (Wiktorowicz, 2001). Concerned primarily with the recovery of Islam’s original message, they postpone the actual establishment of the caliphate in an ill-​defined future. Consequently, they tend to accept incumbent regimes. In their view, obedience to the ruler is also mandated in that, as long as he is not an infidel or an apostate, order and governance are to be preferred over chaos and dissent. Jihadis, on the other side of the spectrum, intend instead to expunge political impurity by taking on the incumbent regimes headlong. The absence of a caliphate is not something the ummah can accept. Regimes in the Arab world clearly violate the principle of unity between the religious and the political, and fail therefore to implement shari’ah, the hallmark of an Islamic state. They are therefore ready to adopt any means to rectify this state of affairs, including violence. Jihadis do not regard other ways to foster change (through preaching, for example, as their quietist counterpart advocate) as either feasible or advisable. Jihadi Salafis are a minority not only in the galaxy of Islamist groups at large but also within Salafism. However, unsurprisingly, by coupling the uncompromising ideology of Salafism with often times violent tactics, they have attracted most of the scholarly and policy making attention (not to mention of the public at large: groups such as Al-​Qa’idah and ISIS are jihadi Salafi formations). 46

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Last, Wiktorowicz indicates a third category, the politicos. They choose to engage in ‘contained’ politics, where contention takes place via established institutional practices and routines (as opposed to ‘transgressive’ contention, which challenges such routines and the institutions from which they stem: see McAdam et al., 2001, especially pp. 7–​9). They believe that, because there is no separation between religion and politics, the quietists’ position is flawed. While no current political system is a true Islamic state, it does not follow that one ought not to participate in politics. At the same time, jihadis’ outright recourse to violence, especially against self-​professed fellow Muslims, is even more untenable. This stance at first manifested itself as advice to the ruler with the Sahwa (‘awakening’) movement in Saudi Arabia in the 1990s. But in different contexts, where a degree of opposition to the regime is possible, politicos went further and resorted to establishing political parties. And where elections were called, they ran for office.

Salafis and the secular logic of politics Where are we then to locate Salafi parties? First of all, Salafi parties represent one the last iterations of political Islam: the attempt at (re)defining Muslim politics (Eickelman et al., 2004) in the context of modernity. This context is primarily articulated and codified along non-​ Islamic tenets. In particular, the modern state, “the most public symbolic and actual repository” (Tripp, 1996: 51) of a distinct form of power, is predicated on the constitution of a political realm separated from the religious sphere. States in the modern Middle East, their indigenous and idiosyncratic features notwithstanding, are expressions of this basic principle. Despite the presence of Islamic references in their constitutions and official public rhetoric, none of them is an Islamic state in the way Islamist movements envision it (with the relevant exception of Iran and, to a different and lesser degree, of Saudi Arabia Sudan recently underwent quite radical changes in this regard that make this reference inappropriate). Now, Islamists are Islamists for a reason: they reject the secular disposition that separates religion and politics. They seek instead “to reclaim the terrain of political activity in the name of Islam by declaring that there is no distinction between religion and politics” (Tripp, 1996: 52). Therefore, in principle, they would represent anti-​system formations. But then, what is to be done meanwhile –​when secular politics and modern states rule? This question has generated a diverse set of responses on the part of Islamist movements. Brown (2012) has placed such responses in a comparative context. He has looked at movements in Western societies that went through dilemmas similar to the Islamists’: whether to accept or reject the rules of a political game that seemed to clash, at a fundamental level, with the movement’s core tenets and values. Socialist and Christian parties eventually accepted the principles of liberal democracy. Can we expect the same from Islamist parties? Can they ever embrace a secular logic of politics, a necessary precondition for even talking about liberal democracy? Steering clear from either theological or functionalist analysis, Brown looks first at the political opportunities structure to understand Islamist parties’ trajectory and behaviour. The Muslim Brotherhood and its various offshoots have indeed shown a progressive and encouraging acceptance of such principle, even when operating in environments that did not feature any real possibility to attain political power and facing constant threat of repression. Their brand of Islamist ideology was, apparently, flexible enough to accept the secular logic of the modern state –​even when confronting a non-​democratic state! When we consider a movement like Salafism, can we posit the same? Is Salafism, within the coordinates outlined above, sufficiently malleable to welcome a socio-​political system that is not predicated on the erasure of the politico-​religious dichotomy, let alone the hallowed template of the pious ancestors? Salafism’s raison d’ȇtre is to offer an allegedly uncompromising refusal of 47

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any political system other than the caliphate. A secular state, and even more so a democratic one, would operate (in its legislative, executive and judicial efforts) along a markedly and seemingly incompatible logic in the eyes of Salafis. Modern states break the unity of God’s law for and with its people. They introduce sources other than the Qur’an and Sunnah in both the public and private domains, including democratic law making via parliamentary works. Laws may be passed that contravene the shari’ah on the basis of popular, as opposed to God’s, sovereignty. They consequently potentially produce an incredibly vast array of unlawful innovations to soil the life of the ummah –​including political parties, the chief instrument to gather and articulate demands and preferences across a vast body politic. This last point is crucial for our discussion here. If other Islamist formations have confronted the same dilemmas when facing the secular logic of the state, they did not have to ponder over the permissibility of founding parties: only the opportunity to do so. For Salafis, political parties represent instead, at least in theory, a prime example of bid’a. How do they reconcile then their aqidah and their manhaj? As we have seen, Salafis of different stripes have provided different answers. Quietists rejected any involvement with institutional politics and did not form parties (or any structured, formal organisation, for that matter). Jihadis have engaged incumbent regimes primarily via violent methods and thus avoiding institutional political contestation. Politicos instead chose to wager that they could deal with and manage the logic of secular politics to pursue the ultimate establishment of a caliphate. In other words, they bet that the logic of their Islamic ideological principles could best the logic of modern, secular politics. They conceded operating with an unlawful innovation (the political party) to foster their agenda: in the short run, issues of public and social morality; in the medium run, the insertion of Islam as the sole guiding principle of the state; in the long run, the establishing of a true Islamic state. Admittedly, this broad analytical framework has limits when applied to the specific manifestations of Salafi political parties we are about to discuss. Categories are not so clear-​cut, and Salafis do move across them. However, it allows probing for the following contentions. First, the logic of secular politics ultimately compels Salafis to abide by its demands rather than those of their ideological commitments. Second, Salafis have yet to offer a clear and sophisticated political theology that convincingly addresses the inherent tension arising out of these competing logics. Third and last, these considerations in no way speak either for the ultimate irrelevance of contemporary Salafi parties or for their inevitable acceptance of the secular framework.

In the beginning was Kuwait: Salafi parties in the emirate The trajectory of quietist and then politico Salafis in the small Gulf emirate illustrates some of the issues outlined thus far. As a testimony to the difficulty of applying hard and fast analytical categories to concrete historical experiences, Kuwaiti quietists were the first Salafis in the Middle East to participate in legislative elections. In 1981, they gained two seats in the 65-​member Kuwait parliament.2 Unlike the vast majority of Arab countries, Kuwait has in fact featured throughout its history a meaningful representative assembly that could actually draft bills and laws, offering a potentially real opposition to the government, although the reigning Al-​Sabah family always appoints the latter. At the same time, Kuwait does not to this day legally recognise political parties. Formations that resemble closely Western models of parties in their functions and role (selection of candidates for office, aggregation of societal demands, and presence in society not merely during election time) operate in a “grey zone of constitutional politics” (Kraetzschmar, 2018: 234) and have been labelled ‘proto-​parties’: “not legalised, yet tolerated, parties-​in-​waiting” (ibid: 233). 48

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Salafism in Kuwait thus needed to negotiate with this legal and political structure, as it also foreshadowed developments similar to Salafi formations in other countries. At first, it was a loose movement of likeminded believers, gathering around prominent and respected scholars. In Kuwait, Egyptian born Shaykh ‘Abd al-​Rahman ‘Abd al-​Khaliq (b. 1939) quickly emerged as the most reputed Salafi preacher in the country. Al-​Khaliq was a disciple of Nasir ad-​Din al-​ Albani (1914–​1999), arguably the most prominent quietist Salafi in the Arab world (Hamdeh, 2016). From a scant presence in the late 1960s, Salafis became an important movement a decade later (Pall, 2014). In 1981, they founded the Revival of Islamic Heritage Society (RIHS, Jama’a Ihya al-​Turath al-​Islamiyy), a charitable organisation that soon established branches in other countries. Kuwaiti Salafis, up until that time, had followed Al-​Albani’s distinct apolitical stance, succinctly expressed as ‘tark as-​siyasah min as-​siyasah’, ‘leaving politics is political’. In the absence of a proper caliphate, Salafis ought to restrain from modern politics –​contaminated by bida’ –​as they violate the mandated unity of politics and religion, possibly fostering, given their inherent competitive nature, dissent and discord (fitna) within the Muslim community. Yet, over time, Al-​Khaliq grew apart from his erstwhile mentor. In 1985, he had argued in his pamphlet ‘Al-​ Muslimun wal-​Amal al-​Siyasi’ (Muslims and political work) for the duty to participate actively in politics. Al-​Khaliq maintained that, “abstaining from politics is equal to handing victory to the enemies of the faith” (Utvik, 2014: 11). Confronting a national parliament endowed with meaningful prerogatives, quietist Salafis in Kuwait seemingly became, in Wiktorowicz’s taxonomy, politicos. That politics dictated Salafis’ strategic and tactical choices was apparent after Iraqi troops invaded the country on August 2, 1990. RIHS-​affiliated members had up until then insisted on issues of public morality3 and forgone a real, staunch opposition to government policies. They were rewarded with government positions and, in the 1990s, with key ministries, for example Religious Endowments and Islamic Affairs (Freer, 2016: 13). With the country under occupation, most fled to Saudi Arabia, abiding by the line of the regime: it was permissible to ask for infidels’ help (namely, US troops) to repel the Iraqi invaders. Not all Salafis, however, accepted this stance. It seemed to contravene the precept of separating from infidels, which was becoming one of the cornerstones of Salafi thinking.4 Kuwaiti Salafism knew then the first of several splits: a breakaway faction of RIHS founded the Islamic Salafi Association (ISA, al-​Tajammu’ al-​Islamiyy al-​Salafiyy) immediately shortly after the liberation of Kuwait in March 1991 (Utvik, 2014: 19; Freer, 2016: 13). Protesting the perceived cooptation of RIHS by the government, the ISA’s position was significant in that foreign policy issues, with their charged political content, became a relevant matter of contention for Salafis in regards to their relation with the government. In other words, the logic of politics, with its mundane preoccupations, was compelling Salafis’ action just like any other political formation in the country. That this logic has been indeed at play ever since is evident in the subsequent further divisions within Kuwaiti Salafis, with the establishment of the Salafi Movement (al-​ Harakah al-​Salafiyyah) in 1996 and the Ummah Party in 2005.5 In the elections of 2012, after the Arab Spring, Salafis’ relevant presence in the political life of the country was mirrored by their results: the ISA obtained four seats, the Salafi movement one and six Salafis running as independent were elected. Particularly significant is the fact that none of the Salafi forces is now merely concerned with public morality. Salafis play increasingly the role of the opposition, as they advocate for issues of substantial political reform: a parliament elected government, free party formation and alternation in government of rival forces (Utvik, 2014: 20). In doing this, Salafis seem to become ever more comfortable with the principles of pluralism and constitutionalism. Given Salafism’s foundational stance on such institutions, it is certainly a remarkable development. However, we are left wondering if such 49

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acceptance goes beyond simple majority rule and procedural democracy. Have Kuwaiti Salafis reconciled themselves with the secular nature of the political game? Have they elaborated, as mentioned above, a political theology consonant with the opportunities and constraints of modern nation-​states democratic politics?

Salafism in Egypt: success and unsolved dilemmas The participation and performance of Salafis in Egypt only underscores these issues. There are clear parallels between the trajectory of Kuwaiti and Egyptian Salafis and their decision to establish political parties and run for elections. In the case of Egypt, this choice occurred only in 2011 after the fall of Mubarak. Prior to that, the political system did not offer them enough incentives to do so: on top of the doctrinal misgivings discussed above about entering modern politics (McCants, 2012: 1) Salafis considered, and rightly so, elections under the old regime as a sham exercise. Salafis accused the Muslim Brothers precisely of this:  they had forgone much of their religious purity and commitment in joining the political fray, which was rigged against them. In addition to that, they had not achieved much: the Brotherhood’s open political activism had often spurred the regime to increase its surveillance and repression; furthermore, by participating in the political game according to the rules of the regime, they had ended up legitimising the latter’s political institutions and practices. At the same time, the regime tended then to look at Salafis with relative favor as opposed to the more politically active Muslim Brothers. Competing largely for the same constituencies, Salafis could drain part of the support for the most relevant challenge to Mubarak’s rule.6 When various Salafi groups finally chose to form parties, it was under the auspices of a new, more open political system. They could not only fill seats in the national parliament, but also (unlike Kuwait) partake in the formation of the government, or at least work as a true political opposition force (ibid, 2). If these incentives were not enough, the risk of simply handling the country over to another, rival Islamist force (the Brotherhood’s FJP), not to mention liberal and leftist forces (regarded as dreaded secular formations, bent on betraying the Islamic nature of Egypt) proved decisive. As we have seen, the Egyptian Salafis performed extremely well in the first free elections. This outcome was no accident. We can list a number of factors to account for it. First, Salafism enjoys a long history in the country. The foundation of the first Salafi institution, Ansar al-​ Sunnah, dates back to 1926 (two years prior the Muslim Brothers). Salafism, in its quietist branch, acted just like other Islamist movements: to make inroads within society and foster its proselytising activities (da’wah), Salafis organised vast networks of social services, often targeting the most socially disadvantaged and marginalised (Al-​Anani and Maszlee, 2013). In this sense, Egyptian Salafis could enjoy the support of various Gulf charities, more financially endowed. The Kuwaiti RIHS discussed above is a prime example of such foreign supporter of Egyptian likeminded Salafis. The popularity of the movement grew then rapidly in the 2000s thanks to the launching of various Salafi oriented satellite TV channels (El-​Ashwal, 2013: 2). All these efforts found fertile ground in large swaths of Egyptian society, which espoused particularly conservative social mores and religious devotion. We may look at Salafism as a grassroots expression of such inclinations. It does answer popular demands for a conservative understanding of Islam to have a more prominent role in private and, alas, public affairs. Salafis can capitalise on such religious conservatism of the Egyptian public as long as it can hedge their main competitors in this arena, namely the Muslim Brothers and the Al-​ Azhar Sunni establishment (Gauvin, 2010). In the 2012 elections, Salafis managed to present

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themselves as more devout and faithful than the Brothers and as more independent from the former regime than Al-​Azhar scholars, whose stipends are paid by the government. However, just as we saw in the case of Kuwait, Salafis were divided along different lines. They formed three parties: the Party of Light (Hizb an-​Nur), the Building and Development Party (Hizb al-​Bina’ wa-​l-​Tanmiya), and the Authenticity Party (Hizb al-​Asala). Hizb an-​Nur was by far the most powerful party, taking 107 seats of the 123 won by the Salafi front. It hailed from arguably the most important Salafi organisation in the country, the Da’wah Salafiyah of Alexandria, a strictly quietist movement (Shalata, 2016). Hizb al-​Asala stemmed instead from a Cairene based movement called As-​Salafiyah al-​Harakiyah, whose name betrays its more activist political bent (Høigilt and Nome, 2014: 40). Last, Hizb al-​Bina’ wa-​l-​Tanmyia represents former jihadi affiliates to the Jama’at Islamiyy, the notorious Islamic Group who killed Sadat in 1981 (McCants, 2012: 4). While the two smaller Salafi parties tend to be relatively more conservative than Hizb an-​Nur, there are no significant differences amongst them, as they presented a common front in the 2012 election (the ‘Alliance for Egypt’). Following the elections, Salafi parties partook in the drafting of the new constitution. It was an opportunity to gauge actual Salafis’ stances on a number of issues: relation with and position of religious minorities in the country; role and rights of women; and, in particular, sources of legislation. This last point deserves more attention, as it highlights some of the themes I dealt with thus far. Article 2 off the 2014 constitution (‘the principles of Islamic Sharia are the main source of legislation’)7 did not alter the wording of the 1980 revision on such matter.8 Such wording reveals indeed the vague, compromise solution that Salafis wanted to tackle and rectify: they wished to refer to shari’ah as the sole source for legislation, a move that secular minded members of parliament could not countenance. Indeed, one is left wondering what such ‘principles’ are and who is to speak authoritatively about them. Salafis tried to obviate to such issues with two moves: they proposed Al-​Azhar to have a consultative role in the legislative process; and they explicitly tied such principles to Sunni doctrine (El-​Ashwal, 2013: 4). They had no objections then to list many of the dispositions that outline a liberal democratic system:  separation of powers, accountable government, freedom of speech and association. The removal of Muhammad Mursi from power in 2013 and the re-​establishment of dictatorship with Al-​Sisi cut short the democratic experiment in Egypt. Opinion polls however show that the support for Hizb an-​Nur has fallen (Utvik, 2014:  22):  insofar as Salafi parties own their success to ideological purity, staunch conservativism and religious devotion, their voters may punish them when they compromise in ways not dissimilar to what the Muslim Brothers are used to do. Compromise, an essential ingredient of politics, may blunt Salafis’ edge.

Tunisian Salafism: between democratic transition and class dynamics We shall conclude this brief overview with Tunisia. There are at least two factors that make the small North African country a compelling case for analysing Salafi parties. First, Tunisia is ostensibly the most secular country in the Arab world, both in terms of its public institutions and general dispositions of its people. Second, Tunisia is, to date, the only successful case of democratic transition following the Arab Spring. The situation, which ushered in with the fall of Bin Ali’s regime, in terms of political openness, has no parallel in the Arab world. The combined results of these two factors were paradoxical only at first: in the new open political space, Salafis emerged suddenly, imposing their presence in a social-​political landscape unaccustomed to this brand of Islamism. In fact, Bin ‘Ali’s repressive regime and, before him, 51

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Bourguiba’s forceful secularisation had driven Islamist movements underground –​even those with a less radical approach than Salafis. Policy analysts and civil society activists alike then explained Salafism as a foreign import: a movement with no real roots in the country, merely financed and sustained from abroad (Torelli et al., 2012: 141; Torelli, 2016: 157). However, this contention does not stand up to scrutiny. Salafism has had a long-​standing presence in the country, dating back at least to the 1980s. Even An-​Nahdah, the leading ‘mainstream’ Islamist party in the country, espoused Salafi inclinations before its full reintegration in the political system (Torelli et al., 2012: 148). Interestingly for our discussion, we must note that Tunisian Salafis had already expressed political parties to go along with the informal gatherings typical of the movement, at a time when this move was still a matter of contention for most of other Salafis, as we have seen. In the wake of the Arab Spring, therefore, politico Salafis did not have to be fully institutionalised, but only re-​institutionalised by granting their parties the legal status denied under Bin ‘Ali (Merone and Cavatorta, 2013: 8). The trajectory of these parties is linked to the already mentioned An-​Nahdah. Torelli argues that, “the emergence of the Salafi current in Tunisia was directly connected to the concomitant path of al-​Nahdah [sic] towards full political and institutional maturity” (Torelli, 2016: 158). Led by Islamist intellectual Rachid Gannouchi, An-​Nahdah won 90 of the 217 seats in the first free elections in 2011, thereby establishing itself as the main party in the country. An-​Nahdah has undergone a process of liberalisation and acceptance of democratic principles that has no parallel in the Arab world (Hamid, 2014). Yet, this process, just like in Egypt, reduced the capacity of An-​Nahdah to cater to the grievances and desires of many Tunisians who were looking for a different brand of Islamism. The most important Salafi party in the country, Jabhat al-​Islah (Front of Reform), was founded by Mohammed Khouja, indeed a former member of An-​Nahdah. And unlike its motherboard, it displays instead a much more instrumental adoption of democracy to achieve undemocratic goals, pursuing explicitly an Islamisation of society to be achieved both through social activism and institutional politics (Torelli, 2016: 160). However, An-​Nahdah has pushed strongly for the inclusion of politico Salafis (together with Jabhat al-​Islah, also other two smaller formations, Hizb Al-​Asala or Authenticity Party and Al-​Rahma or Mercy Party) and maintains with them non-​conflictual relations. An-​Nahdah may try in this way not to sever ties with parts of the more conservative electorate; and at the same time, to offer, via support for politico Salafis, an institutional outlet to address the more radical grievances of which these parties are expression of. We can read in this fashion An-​Nadhah’s reluctance to welcome in the political process Ansar al-​Sharia, arguably the most important Salafi movement in the country. Ansar al-​Sharia defies Wiktorowicz’s taxonomy: founded by Abu Ayyad, a former jihadi militant, it clearly espouses a jihadi Salafi ideology when it comes to foreign policy (supporting, for example, global jihad); at the same time, its activities in Tunisia have, for the most part, consisted of typical quietist tactics –​preaching and educating. While not a political party, Ansar al-​Sharia is nevertheless important in that it reveals what a consistent number of Salafis reject when it comes to An-​Nahdah:  ideological and behavioural moderation and liberalisation, alliances with secular parties, and the relinquishing of any reference to shari’ah in the new Tunisian constitution. The criticism An-​Nahdah offered to some of Ansar al-​Sharia most egregious demonstrations9 only further complicated the already strained relations. What kind of grievances does Ansar al-​Sharia represent and voice? Why such different relations with An-​Nahdah? Ansar al-​Sharia, more forcefully than politico Salafis and definitely more than An-​Nahdah, offers an outlet for a diverse set of grievances: political, cultural and 52

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socio-​economic, in ways again similar to fellow Salafi movements across the region. In the case of Tunisia, the socio-​economic or class element seems to be particularly relevant: Salafism in Tunisia is linked to the political and social expression of a social group of largely disenfranchised youth that perceives, rightly or wrongly, the construction of a new political system as the renovation of a mechanism that, while no longer authoritarian, still excludes them from the enjoyment of material and ethical benefits they feel entitled to for having played a crucial role in the defeat of the Ben Ali regime. (Merone and Cavatorta, 2013: 19–​20) Tunisian Salafism clearly illustrates the following: we cannot ignore how socio-​economic factors played a relevant role played in its emergence, persistence and evolution. It would be apt to redeploy class based analytical categories (ibid) to make sense of its appeal. However still limited in sheer numbers, Salafism in Tunisia –​just as in the other countries in the region –​ has shown how a doctrinal trend can become a viable and relevant vessel to express most forceful and uncompromising forms of dissent and protest with the prevailing order (see also Karagiannis, 2019, for a comparison in this regard between Tunisian and Egyptian Salafis).

Conclusion To contend that Salafi parties have ‘ikhwanised’ is certainly plausible. Yet it begs the question of what shall we make of it. If by ‘ikhwanise’ we mean to become full-​fledged legal participants in the official political process, then Salafi parties seem to have checked most, if not all, of the important boxes. They have toned down ideological imperatives, shown pragmatism, shifted their focus from public and social morality towards a wider array of political issues, including real, meaningful opposition to the incumbent power holders. They have shown acceptance of the procedures of parliamentary democracy and the principle of majority rule. Brown, correctly, refrains from using the term ‘moderation’ to describe this set of behaviours. He prefers to say Islamist movements have been ‘politicised’, brought into a political game that their ideology allegedly rejected at first. This finding is in line with what Tripp argued: “[t]‌he proponents of a distinctively ‘Islamic politics’ […] may find that their activities are resting, in tum, on a set of distinctly secular preoccupations” (Tripp, 1996: 52). The logic of politics, in other words, seems to trump religious and theological concerns –​ something that holds true for Salafis as well. These concerns and attendant practices seem indeed more prevalent the more Salafis are integrated, we might even say socialised, within the political system. As distinct political ends emerge by virtue of this socialisation process, Salafis respond to incentives and rewards, risks and punishments that the political system presents them with (Monroe, 2012). Consequently, Salafis progressively downplay ideological commitments and dogmatic responses. We observe this in the form of alliance making, attention to popular demands and pressures, and compromise and negotiations with political rivals. We ought to welcome these considerations in that they present Islamists in general and Salafis in particular as social actors confronting the same dilemmas, conundrums, and difficulties of other social and political formations. It is a powerful antidote against essentialist (and thus sophomoric) arguments where an overpowering radical ideology, impervious to political calculations, dictates the behaviour of social actors. In this sense, Utvik further claims: [p]‌olitical engagement also works to de-​sacralise the discourse and practice of salafis [sic] in another important way. Accepting that they compete in an open political field 53

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at least implicitly means acknowledging the legitimacy of other ideological trends, thus giving up the claim to represent the only possible truth. (2016: 26) This may be true. However, in accepting the thesis that Salafis have walked in the footprints of the Brotherhood, we should not infer more than it promises. If Islamists are Islamists for a reason, then this contention is all the truer for Salafis. Accepting the rules of the political game does not equate in embracing, much less internalising them. Especially if this acceptance is limited: yes to current nation states, political institutions, and democratic procedure; no to liberal values (including secularism) and progressive politics. It seems that we cannot simply ignore Salafis’ religious-​ideological core beliefs: these tenets may represent a glass ceiling beyond which no Salafi can venture  –​as long as he wants to remain a Salafi in the way we have discussed here. Therefore, while it is true that they ‘ikhwanised’, we are left with two questions. First, does ‘ikhwanise’ mean liberalise, in the sense of accepting the founding principles of an exclusive secular space of politics? Second, have Salafis produced a political theology that coherently grapples and positively relates with such space? I would suggest that the answer to both questions is no. There is a distinct illiberal flavor to their understanding of democracy (Yenigun, 2016). Of course, the lack of coherence or of a sophisticated political theology is no impediment for Salafi parties to enjoy widespread support and electoral success as it has already happened –​ or face public reprimand and defeat. As a political actor, Salafi parties will have to deal with the inherent dynamics of a political system, including voters’ punishment, accountability and competition with other parties. However, as a social phenomenon, the conditions that brought about the rise of Salafism in the Arab Middle East seem to persist: lack of economic development and meaningful political reforms, cultural and social dislocation, identity crisis (see Haykel, 2013 and Roy, 2004 on this last point). Salafi parties are likely to keep giving expression to such conditions and contribute shaping in turn Arab Middle East societies.

Notes 1 The Arabic term for secular state, dawlah ‘alamiyyah, is rarely used in the public discourse as it carries the idea of ‘atheism’ or of a system inimical to religion. 2 Fifty seats only are actually up for election, the other fifteen being the executive appointed ministers. 3 For example, successfully promoting the ban of alcohol consumption on Kuwait national air carrier. 4 This issue was particularly important for the development of Jihadi Salafism in 1990s and beyond. In particular, jihadi ideologue Abu Muhammad al-​Maqdisi will elaborate upon the concept of ‘loyalty and disavowal’ (al-​wala’ wa al-​bara’), rejecting any contamination or contact with unbelievers. 5 For further discussion on Salafi splits within the country, see Pall, 2017. 6 This paradoxical relation with state power is not unique to Egypt. In Jordan, for example, quietist Salafis receive a degree of support from the regime precisely because they espouse apolitical, and hence non-​confrontational, stances, as opposed to the Muslim Brothers with their political wing Islamic Action Front. 7 Available at www.constituteproject.org/​constitution/​Egypt_​2014.pdf) 8 Prior to the revision sponsored by Anwar Sadat, shari’ah was described as ‘a source’ of legislation. 9 For example, Ansar al-​Shari’ah was at the forefront of some clashes in front of the US embassy in Tunis in 2012, which resulted in four deaths.

Bibliography Al-​Anani, Khalil and Maszlee Malik. 2013. ‘Pious way to politics: The rise of political Salafism in post-​ Mubarak Egypt’. Digest of Middle East Studies 22 (1): 57–​73.

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New kids on the block: Salafi parties Al-​Ashwal, Nagwan El. 2013. Egyptian Salafism between Religious Movement and Realpolitik. German Institute for International and Security Affairs. Al-​Awadi, Hesham. 2013. ‘Islamists in power: The case of the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt’. Contemporary Arab Affairs 6 (4): 539–​551. Anjum, Ovamir. 2016. ‘Salafis and democracy: Doctrine and context’. The Muslim World 106 (3): 448–​473. Brown, Nathan. 2012. When victory is not an option: Islamist movements in Arab politics. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Duderija, Adis. 2011. ‘Neo-​ traditional Salafi Qur’an-​ Sunna hermeneutics and its interpretational implications’. Religion Compass 5 (7): 314–​325. Eickelman, Dale, and James Piscatori. 2004. Muslim politics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. El-​Ghobashy, Mona. 2005. ‘The metamorphosis of the Egyptian Muslim brothers’. International Journal of Middle East Studies 37 (3): 373–​395. Farag, Mona. 2012. ‘Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood and the January 25 Revolution: New political party, new circumstances’. Contemporary Arab Affairs 5 (2): 214–​229. Freer, Courtney. 2015. The rise of pragmatic Islamism in Kuwait’s post-​Arab Spring opposition movement. Washington: Brookings Institution. Freer, Courtney. 2016. The changing islamist landscape of the gulf Arab states. The Arab Gulf States Institute in Washington. Freer, Courtney. 2018. ‘Kuwait’s post-Arab Spring Islamist landscape: The end of ideology?’ Issue Brief 8. Gauvain, Richard. 2010. ‘Salafism in modern Egypt: panacea or pest?’ Political Theology 11 (6): 802–​825. Griffel, Frank. 2015. ‘What do we mean my “Salafī”? Connecting Muḥammad ʿAbduh with Egypt’s Nūr Party in Islam’s contemporary intellectual history’. Die Welt des Islams 55 (2): 186–​220. Hamdeh, Emad. 2016. ‘The formative years of an iconoclastic Salafi scholar’. The Muslim World 106 (3): 411–​432. Hamid, Shadi. 2014. Temptations of power: Islamists and illiberal democracy in a new Middle East. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Haykel, Bernard. 2009. ‘On the nature of Salafi thought and action’. In Roel Meijer (ed.) Global Salafism: Islam’s new religious movement. London: Hurst, 33–​57. Høigilt, Jacob and Frida Nome. 2014. ‘Egyptian Salafism in revolution’. Journal of Islamic Studies 25 (1): 33–​54. Kandil, Hazem. 2014. Inside the Brotherhood. Oxford: Polity Press. Karagiannis, Emmanuel. 2019. ‘The rise of electoral Salafism in Egypt and Tunisia: The use of democracy as a master frame’. Journal of North African Studies 24 (2): 207–​225. Kraetzschmar, Hendrik. 2018. ‘In the Shadows of Legality:  Proto-​Parties and Participatory Politics in the Emirate of Kuwait’. In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political parties in the Arab world: Continuity and change. Edinburgh University Press. Lacroix, Stephane. 2012. Sheikhs and politicians: Inside the new Egyptian Salafism. Brookings Doha Center. Lauzière, Henri. 2010. ‘The construction of Salafiyya: Reconsidering Salafism from the perspective of conceptual history’. International Journal of Middle East Studies 42 (3): 369–​389. Lauzière, Henri 2015. The making of Salafism: Islamic reform in the twentieth century. New York: Columbia University Press. McAdam, Doug, Sidney Tarrow, and Charles Tilly. 2001. Dynamics of contention. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. McCants, William. 2012. The lesser of two evils: The Salafi turn to party politics in Egypt. Saban Center at Brookings. Merone, Fabio and Francesco Cavatorta. 2013. ‘Salafist movement and sheikh-​ism in the Tunisian democratic transition’. Middle East Law and Governance 5 (3):1–​23. Monroe, Steve. 2012. ‘Salafis in parliament: Democratic attitudes and party politics in the gulf ’. Middle East Journal 66 (3): 409–​424. Pall, Zoltan. 2014. Kuwaiti Salafism and its growing influence in the Levant (Vol. 7). Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Available at:  https://​carnegieendowment.org/​2014/​05/​07/​ kuwaiti-​salafism-​and-​its-​growing-​influence-​in-​levant-​pub-​55514. Pall, Zoltan. 2016. ‘Salafi dynamics in Kuwait: Politics, fragmentation and change’. In Francesco Cavatorta and Fabio Merone (eds.) Salafism after the Arab awakening: Contending with people’s power. London: Hurst, 169–​187. Roy, Olivier. 1994. The failure of political Islam. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Roy, Olivier. 2004. Globalized Islam: The search for a new ummah. New York: Columbia University Press.

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Massimo Ramaioli Shalata, Ahmed Zaghloul, 2016. ‘The Salafist call in Alexandria: The trajectory of the organization and outcomes of its politics’. Contemporary Arab Affairs 9 (3): 351–​364. Torelli, Stefano. 2016. ‘The multi-faceted dimensions of Tunisian Salafism’. In Francesco Cavatorta and Fabio Merone (eds.) Salafism after the Arab awakening: Contending with people’s power. London: Hurst, 155–​168. Torelli, Stefano, Fabio Merone, and Francesco Cavatorta. 2012. ‘Salafism in Tunisia:  Challenges and opportunities for democratization’. Middle East Policy 19 (4): 140–​154. Tripp, Charles. 1996. ‘Islam and the secular logic of the State in the Middle East’. In Abdel Salam Sidahmed and Anoushiravan Ehteshami (eds.) Islamic fundamentalism. Boulder, CO:  Westview Press,  51–​69. Utvik, Bjorn. 2014. ‘The Ikhwanization of the Salafis: Piety in the politics of Egypt and Kuwait’. Middle East Critique 23 (1): 5–​27. Wagemakers, Joas. 2017. ‘Revisiting Wiktorowicz: Categorising and defining the branches of Salafism.’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Fabio Merone (eds.) Salafism after the Arab awakening: Contending with people’s power. London: Hurst, 7–​25. Wiktorowicz, Quintan. 2001. The management of Islamic activism: Salafis, the Muslim Brotherhood, and state power in Jordan. New York: SUNY Press. Wiktorowicz, Quintan. 2006. ‘Anatomy of the Salafi movement’. Studies in Conflict & Terrorism 29 (3): 207–​239. Yenigün, Halil Ibrahim. 2016. ‘The political and theological boundaries of Islamist moderation after the Arab Spring’. Third World Quarterly 37 (12): 2304–​2321.

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5 INHERITING THE PAST Trajectories of single parties in Arab republics Kevin Koehler

Introduction For most of their post-​colonial history, electoral politics in Arab republics was dominated by single-​party organisations. Examples include the Iraqi and Syrian Ba’th (Renaissance) parties, the Egyptian Arab Socialist Union (ASU, al-​Ittihad al-​Ishtiraki al-​Arabi) and its successor parties, the Algerian Front de Libération Nationale (FLN, Jabha al-​Tahrir al-​Watani), the Tunisian Destour (Constitution) party and its later incarnations, as well as the General People’s Congress (GPC, al-​Mu’tammar al-​Sha’bi al-​’Amm) in what was then the Arab Republic of Yemen (North Yemen) and the Yemeni Socialist Party (YSP, al-​Hizb al-​Ishtiraki al-​Yamani) in the People’s Republic of Yemen (South Yemen). In brief, just as in other parts of the developing world, single-​party politics at one point seemed to be the modal form of governance in the post-​independence Middle East and North Africa (Huntington and Moore 1970; Slater and Smith 2016). Appearances can be deceptive, however. While many of these single-​party organisations dominated legislative bodies and party systems, their institutional strength varied considerably  –​and, as a consequence, so did the political dynamics surrounding these parties. The Egyptian ASU (Harik 1973) or the Yemeni GPC (Burrowes 1987) were less instruments of interest aggregation or elite recruitment, but rather tools which bound relatively autonomous local elites to the political centre. The extent to which these organisations could shape political processes thus remained limited. The Tunisian Destour (Moore 1965) or the Syrian Ba’th (Hinnebusch 2002), on the other hand, possessed considerable institutional strength. These parties not only dominated parliamentary politics, but also played significant roles in other areas at least at some point in their development. Differences in institutional strength were thrown into stark relief during a first wave of liberalisation when many regimes in the Arab World opened up their formal political systems to controlled competition. Between the late 1970s and the early 1990s, Egypt introduced multipartyism (1979), followed by Tunisia (1987), Algeria (1989), and Yemen (1990). In all of these cases, however, the formal (re-​)introduction of multiparty politics did not spell the end of regime control over the electoral arena. While Algeria’s experience with genuine multiparty competition was cut short by a military coup, this first wave of liberalisation generally marked a more gradual transition from single-​party systems to hegemonic party dominance (Brownlee

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2007; Magaloni 2006). The degree to which former single parties actually controlled electoral politics varied considerably. While in Syria and Tunisia, formal rules guaranteed the respective parties almost complete control and party discipline was enforced, in Egypt and Yemen, the hegemonic ruling parties saw significant amounts of intra-​party competition. A second wave of change occurred in the wake of the 2011 uprisings. Hegemonic parties were outlawed and formally dissolved in Egypt1 and Tunisia;2 in Yemen, the GPC split into competing factions aligned with different sides in the civil war,3 while in Syria, the monopoly of the Ba’th party was formally abolished in a constitutional amendment in 2012.4 The ongoing political struggle in Algeria might yet lead to the demise of the FLN as well. Ostensibly, the Arab Uprisings seems to have brought the era of Arab single parties to an end. To what extent the dissolution of single parties also changed the composition of political elites, however, remains an open question. This chapter traces the emergence, evolution, and dissolution of single-​party organisations in the post-​colonial Middle East and North Africa (MENA), focusing mainly on the contrasting experience of Egypt and Tunisia. The chapter is structured around three junctures: The first section discusses the emergence of single-​party organisations in the region by contrasting the external mobilisation of the Tunisian ruling party with the internal mobilisation of its counterpart in Egypt (on the concepts, see: Shefter 1994). The following section then traces party transformation throughout the first wave of liberalisation. It illustrates the top-​down, elite-​ driven nature of the transition to multipartyism and suggests that this helped sustain regime dominance over the electoral arena even in cases where hegemonic parties were institutionally weak. The last empirical section, finally, discusses the rupture which came about with the dissolution of former hegemonic parties in Egypt and Tunisia. It shows that, somewhat paradoxically, the influence of old ruling party cadres is more formalised in the context of Tunisia’s democratic transition than in Egypt’s authoritarian regression. The concluding section reflects on the state of the art in the study of Middle Eastern ruling parties and suggests avenues for further research.

Ruling parties Interest in ruling parties within the larger subfield of Comparative Politics came in waves. From a modernisation theoretical perspective, early analysts saw ruling parties mainly as instruments of national integration in the context of political development (Huntington and Moore 1970; Weiner, LaPalombara, and Binder 1966; Zolberg 1966). Single-​party organisations, the argument went, were instruments of nation building and as such characteristic of a specific stage of post-​colonial political development. Reflecting the institutionalist turn in the larger discipline as well as in the study of authoritarianism (Art 2012), by contrast, later contributions focused on the relation between ruling parties and authoritarian durability. Building on Geddes’ (1999) original intuition, scholars such as Lisa Blaydes (2011), Jason Brownlee (2007), Steven Levitsky and Lucan Way (2012), Beatriz Magaloni (2006, 2008), and Dan Slater and Nicholas Smith (2016) have examined the relationship between ruling parties and regime durability. This discussion can be summarised in two main points. To begin with, more historically oriented studies have suggested that strong ruling parties emerge from particular types of conflicts in a country’s early post-​independence history. If political elites have incentives to band together in the face of challenges which threaten their elite status, they form strong ruling parties around ‘joint projects’ aimed at defeating and excluding their challengers (see in particular Slater and Smith 2016; Slater 2010). A second

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type of argument links ruling parties to the reproduction of elite cohesion. If access to political power is partially institutionalised in a ruling party, political elites have reasons to believe that exclusion from such access will be only temporary and that continued loyalty is preferable to immediate defection. In other words, ruling parties perform important functions of elite management in authoritarian regimes (see especially the formal elaboration of this dynamic in Magaloni 2008). These basic arguments structured the study of ruling parties in the MENA up to the Arab Uprisings. The uprisings of 2011 seemed to contradict such expectations. In Egypt and Tunisia, presidents were overthrown despite their reliance on ruling parties; in Syria and Yemen, the presence of a ruling party did not prevent civil war onset. What is more, ruling parties were conspicuous mainly by their absence throughout these regime crises. These experiences thus remind us that institutions do not exist in a vacuum. Rather, they emerge from concrete historical situations and therefore to some extent reflect the constellation of forces which give rise to particular institutional forms (see Storm in this volume, also see Slater 2010). While institutionalist scholarship has focused on institutional effects, it has failed to produce comparably strong explanations for the origin of institutions. To quote Benjamin Smith, we lack an explanation for how powerful authoritarian regimes come into being in the first place since institutions are taken as given. Missing from the study of authoritarianism is a causal account linking origins to institutions and institutions to outcomes, that is, a theory of how the origins of regimes shape their long-​term prospects for survival. (Smith 2005, 421) The origin of ruling parties matters, not least because it shapes their institutional strength. Smith, for example, goes on to suggest that strong parties only emerge against opposition and in the absence of easy access to rents (Smith 2005); similarly, Levitsky and Way (2012) have suggested that experiences of violent struggle forge cohesive party organisations. More generally, such arguments reflect the difference between external and internal mobilisation in the emergence of party organisations which has been noted by Martin Shefter (1994). Describing the impact of external mobilisation on the characteristics of political party organisation in the United States, Shefter argues that the more ‘external’ the circumstances of the party’s origin –​the fewer the allies it had within the preexisting regime, the greater the social and ideological distance between the party’s founders and that regime, the greater the resistance the party is compelled to overcome in order to gain power –​the less likely it is that the party will decay into a patronage machine after it does come to power. (Shefter 1994, 32) This dynamic captures the essence of single-​party emergence in the post-​independence MENA: Where parties emerged from more or less protracted anti-​colonial or domestic political conflict –​as in the cases of Algeria, Iraq, Syria, and Tunisia –​party organisations developed into relatively strong institutions; where, on the other hand, parties were formed to prop up existing regimes –​as was the case in Egypt and Yemen –​party organisations remained weak. The following section illustrates this dynamic by focusing on a comparison of ruling party emergence in Tunisia and Egypt.

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Emergence: anti-​colonial struggle and the origin of single parties in Tunisia and Egypt Throughout their post-​independence history, the political regimes of Egypt and Tunisia relied to some extent on ruling parties to control political processes. The Tunisian Neo-​Destour and its successor parties –​most notably the Rassemblement Constitutionnel Démocratique (RCD) –​and the Egyptian Arabic Socialist Union and its successor, the National Democratic Party (NDP), dominated the political scene in their countries for about 50 years, first as formal single parties, and later as hegemonic parties under the conditions of heavily controlled multipartyism. Most other Arab republics experienced some variation of this theme. The FLN dominated Algerian post-​independence politics from 1962 until 1988. When the introduction of multiparty competition threatened the old elite’s hold on power, the military intervened to stop an Islamist electoral victory and triggered a bloody civil war, but also instituted a much more controlled form of multipartyism (Willis 2012). In Iraq and Syria, the Ba’th Party held a constitutional monopoly over representation until the American invasion of Iraq in 2003 and the onset of civil war in Syria in 2011, respectively (Farouk-​Sluglett and Sluglett 2001; Hinnebusch 2011). Dominant party politics is thus reflective of a more general trajectory across authoritarian Arab republics. Yet, similarities notwithstanding, ruling party organisations showed a number of crucial differences as well. In a nutshell, while some parties were instruments of elite recruitment and control, others mainly served to bind locally influential elites to the political centre but had little independent institutional power. The Tunisian Neo-​Destour represents the first category, while the Egyptian ASU exemplifies the second. This difference reflects the fact that the Neo-​Destour was mobilised externally during the anticolonial struggle, while the ASU was mobilised internally in a top-​down fashion after the 1952 coup in Egypt. While the Neo-​ Destour thus developed a strong organisational structure and deep roots in the social and political landscape of the country, its Egyptian counterpart never developed a comparable level of penetration. The original Destour Party was founded in 1920. Though the Destour was the leading force in the Tunisian nationalist movement, its initially elitist orientation prevented it from linking its political agenda to growing social and economic grievances in the country. This is especially visible in the Destour’s failure to maintain links with the first nationalist Tunisian labour union that broke away from the existing French dominated union in 1924. Initially, the Confédération Générale des Travailleurs Tunisiens (CGTT) was founded with the active involvement of Destour members, but before long the relationship soured over the CGTT’s confrontational stance and the Destour officially distanced itself from the union which was shut down by the authorities less than a year after its foundation (Alexander 1996, 72; Anderson 1986, 164–​65). Worsening economic conditions in the context of the global recession of the 1920s and 1930s were one factor behind the emergence of a split within the nationalist movement (Moore 1964, 73; Nouschi 1970) and the foundation of the Neo-​Destour. In contrast to its mother organisation, the Neo-​Destour explicitly aimed at mobilising the rural hinterlands, relying on a mixture of pre-​existing networks, service provision, and organisational strategies (Anderson 1986, 167–​177) and cooperated extensively with urban-​based ‘national’ organisations such as the Union Générale Tunisienne du Travail (al-​Ittihad al-​’Amm al-​Tunisi li-​l-​Shughl, UGTT), which had succeeded the CGTT. The Neo-​Destour thus “appealed mainly to the new middle classes rather than to the Old Destour’s broad-​based but entirely traditional elite. This difference helps to explain the success of the Neo-​Destour, for socially and politically the newer classes, 60

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created but not compromised by the colonial situation, were more prepared to spearhead political change” (Moore 1964, 81). The Neo-​Destour subsequently became the dominant political force in the Tunisian nationalist movement and led the resistance against the French. This role was reflected in membership figures: The Neo-​Destour counted 100,000 members in 1954, 325,000 in 1955, and 600,000 in 1957; (Moore 1962, 467; Rudebeck 1969, 33 and 141). With Tunisia’s population reaching five million only in 1970 this still reflected an organisational density of more than 10 per cent of the population at the time of independence. Moreover, the Neo-​Destour Party commanded a range of so-​called national organisations that organised different social interests and bound them to the party in a corporatist arrangement, most notably the UGTT, the country’s powerful trade union, but also the Union Tunisienne de l’Industrie, du Commerce et de l’Artisanat (al-​ Ittihad al-​Tunisi li-​l-​Sana’a wa-​l-​Tujjara wa-​l-​Sana’at al-​Taqlidiyya, UTICA), the main employer’s association (Bellin 2002). Significantly, Tunisia’s charismatic first president, Habib Bourguiba, emerged from the pary and remained tied to the Neo-​Destour throughout his years in power. Taken together, reflecting its origin in the anticolonial struggle, the Neo-​Destour developed into a relatively strong organisation which dominated political life in the country for more than half a century. Party development in Egypt followed a different path. The rough equivalent to the Tunisian Destour party was the Wafd (delegation) party. The Wafd emerged from the 1919 revolution and remained the main organizational expression of the Egyptian movement against British colonialism until the 1952 coup (Deeb 1979; Reid 1980). The social coalition backing the Wafd included traditional elite sectors such as large and medium landholders who, by virtue of their control over the peasantry, furnished the party with rural mobilization potential (Deeb 1979, 154), along with more progressively oriented forces such as an emerging group of national capitalists (Davis 1983) and urban members of the effendiyya such as students, professionals, and government employees (Abdalla 2009, 18; Botman 1991, 56 and 87–​89). Held together by their common opposition against the British, this cross-​class coalition dominated pre-​independence Egyptian politics.5 While the Wafd continued to dominate electoral politics due to its control of the rural electorate, it progressively lost appeal in the politicised urban strata to extra-​parliamentary challengers throughout the late 1930s and 1940s. By the end of World War II, this loss of influence became blatant in the violent uprisings of spring 1946 that could neither be controlled nor contained by the Wafd. Moreover, as a result of the palace incident of 1942, in which a Wafd-​ led government was imposed on the Egyptian king by the force of British tanks, the Wafd lost its credibility as a champion of Egyptian nationalism (Gordon 1989). This opened the way for radical challengers to seize power through the military. The party, which had been at the forefront of the Egyptian nationalist movement for more than three decades, thus did not develop into an instrument of regime formation. Instead, the Free Officers who took power though a military coup in 1952 dissolved all existing political parties, including the Wafd, and tried to channel political support through a succession of single-​party organisations in which the social groups that profited from the regime’s development policies constituted the dominant forces (Harik 1973). The first of these attempts was the Liberation Rally (Hay’a al-​Tahrir, LR) active between 1953 and 1958, followed by the National Union (al-​Ittihad al-​Qawmi, NU) in the context of union with Syria in the United Arab Republic (UAR) between 1958 and 1961, and the Arab Socialist Union (al-​Ittihad al-​’Arabi al-​Ishtiraki, ASU) after 1961. These organisations did not function as tools for the mobilisation of support but “served mostly to bind locally influential people to the regime, and to prevent Nasser’s opponents from running for office” (Harik 61

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1973, 86). As Mark Cooper suggested (1982, 32), “in practice, discipline at the elite level never originated in the party and discipline at the mass level never flowed through the party. The elite was disciplined by Presidential appointment and dismissal; the masses were disciplined by the police.” Reflecting their emergence from top-​down attempts at institution building, Egyptian single parties thus never developed strong organisational structures or institutional clout. This also influenced the form of electoral control, which emerged under the new conditions of multipartyism and hegemonic party politics.

Transformation: from single to hegemonic parties The emergence of multipartyism in the MENA was largely an elite-​driven process as several countries moved away from single-​party rule as part of larger dynamics of political and economic reform. Two sets of factors shaped this process and the emerging party systems:  As constitutional or legal frameworks protecting the leading role of single parties were removed, competing parties often emerged from among former members of the single party; secondly, significant differences in institutional systems and the strength of party organisations combined to create distinct party systems and electoral dynamics in each country undergoing reform. Egypt began the transition to controlled multipartyism in the mid-​1970s. In 1974, President Anwar al-​Sadat endorsed the concept of different platforms (referred to as manabir, pulpits) within the ASU. This led to an explosion of political pluralism within the single party and, in late 1975, 43 such platforms had emerged and applied for official recognition (Beattie 2000, 190). In March 1976, of the 43 original platforms proposed, three were authorised to operate within the ASU, including a platform of the Left, one of the Centre, and one of the Right. The rightist platform was led by Mustafa Kamal Murad, a Free Officer and personal friend of Sadat, and was generally supportive of the President’s policies. From this grouping, the Liberal Socialist Party (Hizb al-​Ahrar al-​Ishtiraki) was to emerge. To the left, a platform under the leadership of Free Officer Khalid Muhi al-​Din was authorised, that would later develop to become the National Progressive Unionist Party (Hizb al-​Tagammu’ al-​Watani al-​Taqaddumi al-​Wahdawi, or Tagammu’, in short). The political centre was organised in the Egyptian Arab Socialist Organisation that later was transformed in several stages first into the Egyptian Arab Socialist Party (Hizb Masr al-​’Arabi al-​Ishtiraki) under the leadership of Prime Minister Mamduh Salim (Beattie 2000, 192–​196), and then into the National Democratic Party (Hizb al-​Watani al-​Dimuqrati, NDP). These former parts of the ASU formed the nucleus of Egypt’s party system up to 2011. The emergence of multipartyism in Tunisia followed a similar pattern. Ben Ali’s constitutional coup in 1987 was initially greeted with high expectations in terms of political reforms (Angrist 1999; Erdle 2010). A National Pact in 1988 charted the contours of Tunisia’s political and economic development and included members of the opposition and even unofficial representatives of the Islamist movement; the ruling party was renamed Rassemblement Constititutionnel Démocratique (al-​Tajammu’ al-​Dusturi al-​Dimuqrati, RCD) and by the 1994 elections there were six legal opposition parties (Anderson 1991). The core of the party-​political landscape in Tunisia emerged from splits within the Neo-​ Destour, most of which had occurred during the Bourguiba-​era and thus preceded the political opening (see Camau and Geisser 2003 Chapter 6). These successive splits also represented a narrowing of the regime’s social constituency: The first such breakaway from the single party was the Mouvement d’Unité Populaire (Haraka al-​Wahda al-​Sha’biyya, MUP) that split in 1973. Founded by Ahmad bin Salah, the main architect of Tunisia’s radical phase in the 1960s, the MUP gathered supporters of socialist policies and collectivisation and could draw on support 62

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in the UGTT, although it never developed into a mass party. After an internal split in 1977, a moderate faction of the MUP was officially recognised in 1983 and became a loyal opposition party under the name of Parti d’Unité Populaire (Hizb al-​Wahda al-​Sha’biyya, PUP). Another opposition party, the Mouvement des Démocrates Socialistes (Haraka al-​Dimuqratiyyin al-​Ishtirakiyyin, MDS), originated in a group of Neo-​Destour elites around Ahmad al-​Mistiri in 1978. Representing a moderate leftist current, the MDS became the strongest loyal opposition party under Ben Ali. A  split from the MDS in 1992 led to the establishment of the Forum Démocratique pour le Travail et les Libertés (al-​Takattul al-​Dimuqrati min ajli-​l-​ʿAmal wa-​ l-​Hurriyat, FDTL). Together with two communist parties and a number of smaller loyal opposition parties, notably the Union Démocratique Unioniste (al-​Ittihad al-​Dimuqrati al-​Wahdawi, UDU) and the Parti Social Libéral (Hizb al-​Ijtimaʿi al-​Tahriri, PSL), these groups constituted the main players on the formal political scene in Tunisia under Ben Ali. The similarities between the Egyptian and Tunisian experiences of liberalisation notwithstanding, the two hegemonic parties differed quite significantly –​not least in terms of institutional strength. Having experienced some organisational decline in the later Bourguiba-​era, under President Ben Ali the newly re-​branded RCD saw a revival and counted 7,800 party cells as well as around 2 million members (Angrist 1999, 93–​94; Erdle 2004, 217), numbers which are quite impressive for a country of about 10 million inhabitants even if the degree of active participation might well be questioned (Hibou 2011). Moreover, the RCD exerted considerable control over its members. According to Michelle Angrist (1999, 99), some RCD deputies have reportedly described themselves as ‘prisoners’; others routinely refer to them as such. RCD deputies sometimes ask opposition colleagues to raise criticisms they themselves do not feel free to voice. […] The fear is that deputies perceived by the RCD leadership as disloyal or undisciplined will not be proposed as candidates in subsequent legislative elections.6 Now, by way of contrast, consider the Egyptian NDP. Before the uprising of 2011, the NDP officially claimed a nationwide membership of some 1.9 million. While this is slightly less than the Tunisian RCD’s membership even in absolute terms, the difference is really much more pronounced given the fact that Egypt with its 80 million inhabitants is about eight times the size of Tunisia. NDP members were organised on three administrative levels, the unit (qism), district (markaz), and governorate (muhafaza), with elections being held at each level and top-​down relationships prevailing among the levels (Collombier 2007, 109). Despite these organisational structures, observers agree that the party was actually “structured along very simplistic lines” (Kassem 1999, 77), that it was the “government’s party” rather than the “governing party” (Soliman 2006, 249), and that intra-​ party procedures lacked efficiency.7 Moreover, in terms of the party’s control over its official representatives, the contrast to Tunisia could hardly be more pronounced: Most importantly, the party could not enforce its selection of candidates against its own membership and thus did not control access to office. Ever since the 1990 elections, the party’s official standard bearers were regularly challenged by independent candidates who, once elected to parliament, joined the NDP’s caucus (see Koehler 2008, 2018; Zahran 2006 on this phenomenon). Despite its control over parliament, the NDP did thus not really control electoral processes in Egypt. In fact, the share of seats secured by the party’s official candidates reached an all-​time low of 33 per cent in the 2005 elections (Koehler 2018, 104). In contrast to the Tunisian RCD, the potential of not being re-​nominated as the official party candidate did little to discipline NDP members. 63

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Despites these differences in the degree of electoral control, the RCD and NDP both dominated their respective legislatures. In the Tunisian case, this was guaranteed partially through a rather unusual electoral system in which a (changing) majority of seats in parliament was contested in a majoritarian tier, while a smaller number of parliamentarians was elected through proportional representation. Thus, in 1994, the RCD finished with 98 per cent of the vote, taking all 144 seats in the majoritarian tier while four of the six legal opposition parties were collectively awarded 19 seats via the proportional tier. The proportion of opposition deputies was increased after the 1999 elections due to a change in the electoral law that brought the number of seats distributed via the proportional tier up to 34, or about 19 per cent of the 182 seats. All 148 majoritarian seats were again swept by the RCD, while this time five opposition parties were accorded a share of the 34 proportional seats. The same pattern was repeated in 2004 when the RCD claimed 87 per cent of the vote and all majoritarian seats. The number of opposition representatives increased to an all-​time high of 53 (24 per cent) in the last elections before the revolution held in 2009. As these patterns clearly demonstrate, elections in Tunisia were firmly controlled by the RCD. Not only was the number of oppositional deputies a direct function of the electoral laws rather than of electoral competition, but given the closed list electoral system applied in the majoritarian tier, the party also retained a close grip on candidate nomination (see Angrist 1999). In Egypt, on the other hand, legislative dominance was produced informally by re-​integrating NDP members who had run and won against the official party candidates into the hegemonic party’s parliamentary caucus. Institutionally, the re-​introduction of an electoral system based on individual candidacy in 1990 was a precondition for this form of electoral competition and from the 1990 elections onwards, the number of NDP-​affiliated candidates per seat increased steadily, with party members who had unsuccessfully attempted to secure nomination as the official candidate running as independent (or rather ‘NDPendent’) candidates instead and re-​joining the party’s parliamentary bloc once they had been successful. In 1990, 95 NDP members of parliament (22 per cent of NDP deputies) were elected this way; these numbers grew to 100 (or 23 per cent) in 1995, 218 (or 56 per cent) in 2000, and 170 (or 53 per cent) in 2005 (Koehler 2008); in the 2010 elections the party even gave up all pretence of controlling its own members and nominated several official candidates per seat.8 This system of competitive clientelism gave political entrepreneurs an opportunity to translate financial and social capital into limited political influence and, more importantly, opportunities for further self-​enrichment. Given these incentives, elite competition for inclusion into the regime’s networks reproduced the dominant status of Egypt’s NDP despite the introduction of party pluralism but simultaneously made sure that the party remained weak institutionally.

Rupture: the dissolution of single parties The regime crises which shook the MENA in 2011 also led to the emergence of new institutional forms (Brownlee, Masoud, and Reynolds 2015). In Egypt and Tunisia, the 2011 regime crises spelled the end of the era of single-​party politics. The former hegemonic parties were officially disbanded and no equally dominant successor parties have emerged –​even though Nidaa Tounes (Call for Tunisia) emerged as a standard bearer of former Destourian elites in Tunisia since 2014 and individual feloul (remnants) gained access to the Egyptian legislature in 2015. Egypt and Tunisia took similar steps to reform their formal political arena after the fall of Mubarak and Ben Ali. The two formerly hegemonic parties were dissolved in April and March 2011, respectively (Debbich 2011; Koehler 2013), new laws regulating the foundation 64

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of political parties and electoral procedures were promulgated, and a host of both pre-​existing and new political parties were legalised. Within a matter of weeks from the ouster of Mubarak and Ben Ali, the party political landscapes of Egypt and Tunisia had been fundamentally altered (see Allal and Geisser 2011; Debbich 2011 on Tunisia; Koehler 2013 on Egypt). Of course, the formal dissolution of party organisations did not remove the elite networks, which had undergirded ruling party hegemony. In Tunisia, former RCD office holders were officially banned from running in the first post-​revolutionary elections by law.9 Despite this, nine post-​RCD parties participated in the October 23, 2011 elections to the constituent assembly (Heurtaux 2018, 108). Most notably, the National Destourian Initiative (al-​Mubadara al-​Wataniyya al-​Dusturiyya), a party led by former Minister of Foreign Affairs Kamel Morjane, won five seats in the assembly. In Egypt, concerns voiced by some over a massive return of former NDP cadres in the 2011/​12 parliamentary elections proved unfounded as the assembly was swept by Islamist candidates affiliated with the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice Party (Hizb al-​Hurriya wa-​l-​’Adala, FJP) or the Salafist Hizb al-​Nur (Party of Light), respectively (Koehler 2013). Over the following years, however, the initial marginalisation of former regime supporters began to weaken in both countries. In Tunisia, to begin with, the emergence of Nidaa Tounes as the main competitor against the Islamists and the fact that Nidaa won the 2014 parliamentary and presidential elections, led to the re-​emergence of former RCD cadres on the highest levels of Tunisian politics. Most notably, the second post-​revolutionary president, Béji Caïd Essebsi, was a former minister under both Bourguiba and Ben Ali; moreover, a government reshuffle in September 2018 led to a record number of 18 ministers who had been affiliated with the old regime.10 More generally, and at least partially as an effect of the politics of reconciliation between Nidaa Tounis and the Islamist al-​Nahdha, “post-​Ben Ali Tunisia is characterised by the near-​absence of a politics of disqualification of agents of the Ben Ali regime” (Gobe 2018, 155; my translation). In Egypt, on the other hand, the recycling of political elites has been less formal. Despite the fact that the backbone of the military-​led regime returned in the 2013 coup (Holmes and Koehler 2018), this has not led to a formal revival of the NDP –​or indeed of any successor party. Former NDP members, however, have gained representation in parliament as independents, or on the lists of a number of different political parties. In the run-​up to the elections held in 2015, Mubarak-​era politician and former prime minister Kamal al-​Ganzouri, moreover, unsuccessfully tried to bring together different pro-​regime forces, many of which drew support from former NDP-​members. Following President al-​Sisi’s direct call on party leaders to unite in a single coalition,11 such a group finally emerged in the form of the Fi Hub Masr (For the Love of Egypt) coalition which brought together a wide range of pro-​military groups to contest the 2015 elections. Having won the elections, however, the coalition fell apart (Koehler 2016). Despite this and similar attempts, a coherent pro-​regime political force has yet to emerge in Egypt after 2013.

Conclusion The study of ruling parties in Arab republics has gone through different stages. While early studies were mainly interested in the contribution of party organisations to political development (Binder 1966; Huntington and Moore 1970; Moore 1965; Weiner, LaPalombara, and Binder 1966), the focus later shifted to understanding the effects of ruling parties, in particular in terms of authoritarian regime stability (Blaydes 2011; Brownlee 2007; Magaloni 2006; Magaloni and Kricheli 2010). Connecting these two perspectives, moreover, some scholars 65

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have tried to understand the historical emergence of ruling parties as well as their organisational characteristics (Slater and Smith 2016; Smith 2005). In this chapter, I  have examined the origin, transformation, and dissolution of ruling parties in Arab republics by focusing on the experiences of Egypt and Tunisia. Needless to say, the trajectories examined here –​albeit illustrating larger trends –​are not perfectly reflective of other cases. Idiosyncratic features inevitably produce variations in the concrete historical development of ruling parties in other cases. There are also commonalities, however. One of these commonalities is how the conditions of party emergence structure their organisational characteristics, with strong parties often emerging from situations of conflict and struggle. A second commonality concerns the transformation of single into hegemonic parties. Where such a transformation occurred in Arab republics, it was driven by top-​down processes of institution building, not by bottom-​up initiatives. Given the strongly controlled nature of these reform periods, it cannot come as a surprise that party dominance was reproduced under new conditions. The rupture of the Arab Uprisings might be a different case. While it is still too early to tell what the final result of this process might be, it is clear that the regime crises which shook many Arab republics have also fundamentally disrupted the model of ruling party dominance.

Notes 1 See al-​Akhbar, ‘Hakm tārīkhī nihā’ī li-​idāriya al-​’āliya hall al-​hizb al-​watani al-​dīmuqrātī wa i’āda amwalihi li-​l-​dawla’ (Historical Ruling by the Supreme Administrative Court on Dissolution of NDP and Return of Its Funds to the State), 16 April 2011. 2 Leaders, ‘Le Rassemblement constitutionnel démocratique dessous,’ 9 March 2011. 3 See al-​Araby al-​Jadid, ‘Al-​mu’tammar al-​yamani yanqasim rasmiyan: ra’īs jadīd bi-​ishrāf al-​huthiyyūn’ (The Yemeni Congress Is Officially Divided: A New President Under the Supervision of the Houthis), 8 January 2018. 4 Given the escalating civil war in Syria, it is hard to disagree with a headline in the pan-​Arab (and Saudi-​funded) daily al-​Sharq al-​Awsat which read “Syria Begins Parliamentary Elections Today… And Nobody Cares.” See al-​Sharq al-​Awsat, ‘Sūryā tabdaʾu al-​intikhabāt al-​barlamāniyya al-​yaum… wa lā aḥad yahtamu’ (Syria Begins Parliamentary Elections Today… And Nobody Cares), 7 May 2012. 5 While Egypt attained formal independence in 1921, the British maintained significant influence over domestic politics until the 1952 coup. 6 In an interview with the author, a former RCD cadre in the Tunis-​area confirmed that party discipline was strictly enforced; interview with former RCD cadre, Tunis, September 2012. 7 Author’s personal interview with Muhammad Kamal, member of the NDP’s influential Policies’ Secretariat, Cairo, October 2005. 8 For 2010 see the lists of NDP-​candidates published by al-​Masry al-​Yaum, (www.almasryalyoum.com/​ taxanomy/​term/​59620). 9 Article 15 of law 2011–​35 of 2011. 10 See Le Monde, ‘En Tunisie, les anciens bénalistes passent de l’ombre à la lumière,’ 29 January 2018, www.lemonde.fr/​afrique/​article/​2018/​01/​29/​en-​tunisie-​les-​anciens-​benalistes-​passent-​de-​l-​ombre-​ a-​la-​lumiere_​5248856_​3212.html. 11 Daily News Egypt, ‘Al-​Sisi calls for ‘1 political coalition’ in meeting with political party leaders,’ 13 January  2015.

Bibliography Abdalla, Ahmed. 2009. The Student Movement and National Politics in Egypt, 1923–​1973. Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Alexander, Michael Christopher. 1996. “Between Accommodation and Confrontation: State, Labor, and Development in Algeria and Tunisia.” PhD Thesis, Duke University.

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Former single parties Allal, Amin, and Vincent Geisser. 2011. “La Tunisie de l’après-​Ben Ali. Les partis politiques à la recherche du « peuple introuvable ».” Cultures & Conflits 83 (3): 118–​125. Anderson, Lisa. 1986. The State and Social Transformation in Tunisia and Libya, 1820–​1980. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Anderson, Lisa. 1991. “Political Pacts, Liberalism, and Democracy: The Tunisian National Pact of 1988.” Government and Opposition 26 (2): 244–​260. Angrist, Michele Penner. 1999. “Parties, Parliament and Political Dissent in Tunisia.” Journal of North African Studies 4 (4): 89–​104. Art, David. 2012. “What Do We Know About Authoritarianism After Ten Years?” Comparative Politics 44 (3): 351–​373. Beattie, Kirk J. 2000. Egypt during the Sadat Years. New York: Palgrave. Bellin, Eva. 2002. Stalled Democracy Capital, Labor, and the Paradox of State-​Sponsored Development. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Binder, Leonard. 1966. “Political Recruitment and Participation in Egypt.” In Joseph LaPalombara and Myron Weiner (eds.)Political Parties and Political Development. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 217–​240. Blaydes, Lisa. 2011. Elections and Distributive Politics in Mubarak’s Egypt. New  York:  Cambridge University Press. Botman, Selma. 1991. Egypt from Independence to Revolution, 1919–​ 1952. Syracuse, NY:  Syracuse University Press. Brownlee, Jason. 2007. Authoritarianism in an Age of Democratization. New York: Cambridge University  Press. Brownlee, Jason, Tarek Masoud, and Andrew Reynolds. 2015. The Arab Spring: Pathways of Repression and Reform. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Burrowes, Robert D. 1987. The Yemen Arab Republic the Politics of Development, 1962–​1986. Boulder, CO: Westview Press. Camau, Michel, and Vincent Geisser. 2003. Le Syndrome Autoritaire : Politique En Tunisie de Bourguiba à Ben Ali. Paris: Presses de Sciences Po. Collombier, Virginie. 2007. “The Internal Stakes of the 2005 Elections: The Struggle for Influence in Egypt’s National Democratic Party.” The Middle East Journal 61 (1): 95–​111. Cooper, Mark N. 1982. The Transformation of Egypt. Baltimore, MD: Johns Hopkins University Press. Davis, Eric. 1983. Challenging Colonialism: Bank Miṣr and Egyptian Industrialization, 1920–​1941. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Debbich, Yazid. 2011. “Paysage à (re)composer?” Outre-​Terre 29 (3): 233–​37. Deeb, Marius. 1979. Party Politics in Egypt: The Wafd and Its Rivals, 1919–​1939. London: Ithaca Press. Erdle, Steffen. 2004. “Tunisia:  Economic Transformation and Political Restoration.” In Volker Perthes (ed.) Arab Elites: Negotiating the Politics of Change. Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 207–​236. Erdle, Steffen. 2010. Ben Ali’s “New Tunisia” (1987–​2009): A Case Study of Authoritarian Modernization in the Arab World. Berlin: Klaus Schwarz. Farouk-​Sluglett, Marion, and Peter Sluglett. 2001. Iraq since 1958: From Revolution to Dictatorship. Rev. ed. London; New York: I.B. Tauris. Geddes, Barbara. 1999. “What Do We Know About Democratization After Twenty Years?”Annual Review of Political Science 2 (1): 115–​144. Gobe, Éric. 2018. “L’impossible Politique d’épuration.” In Amin Allal and Vincent Geisser (eds.) Tunisie: Une Démocratisation Au-​Dessus de Tout Soupçon? Paris: CNRS Éditions, 155–​172. Gordon, Joel. 1989. “The False Hopes of 1950: The Wafd’s Last Hurrah and the Demise of Egypt’s Old Order.” International Journal of Middle East Studies 21 (02): 193–​214. Harik, Iliya. 1973. “The Single Party as a Subordinate Movement: The Case of Egypt.” World Politics 26 (01): 80–​105. Heurtaux, Jérôme. 2018. “Elites and Revolution: Political Relegation and Reintegration of Former Senior Government Officials in Tunisia.” Historical Social Research /​Historische Sozialforschung 43 (4): 98–​112. Hibou, Béatrice. 2011. La force de l’obéissance: economie politique de la répression en Tunisie. Sfax: Med Ali Editions. Hinnebusch, Raymond. 2002. Syria Revolution from Above. London; New York: Routledge. Hinnebusch, Raymond. 2011. “The Ba’th Party in Post-​Ba’thist Syria: President, Party and the Struggle for Reform.” Middle East Critique 20 (2): 109–​125. Holmes, Amy Austin, and Kevin Koehler. 2020. “Myths of Military Defection in Egypt and Tunisia.”​ Mediterranean Politics 25 (1): 45–​70.

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Kevin Koehler Huntington, Samuel P, and Clement Henry Moore. 1970. Authoritarian Politics in Modern Society; The Dynamics of Established One-​Party Systems. New York: Basic Books. Kassem, Maye. 1999. In the Guise of Democracy: Governance in Contemporary Egypt. Reading: Ithaca. Koehler, Kevin. 2008. “Authoritarian Elections in Egypt: Formal Institutions and Informal Mechanisms of Rule.” Democratization 15 (5): 974–​990. Koehler, Kevin. 2013. “Zwischen Religion Und Revolution: Die Parlamentswahlen von 2011/​12 Und Das Entstehende Ägyptische Parteiensystem [Between Religion and Revolution: The Parliamentary Elections of 2011/​12 and the Emerging Party System in Egypt].” In Holger Albrecht and Thomas Demmelhuber (eds.) Revolution Und Regimewandel in Ägypten. Baden-​Baden: Nomos, 87–111. Koehler, Kevin. 2016. “Don’t Listen to Anyone But Me! Will al-​Sisi Consolidate Military Rule in Egypt?” Florence: Mediterranean Research Meeting. Koehler, Kevin. 2018. “State and Regime Capacity in Authoritarian Elections: Egypt before the Arab Spring.” International Political Science Review 39 (1): 97–​113. Levitsky, Steven, and Lucan A. Way. 2012. “Beyond Patronage: Violent Struggle, Ruling Party Cohesion, and Authoritarian Durability.” Perspectives on Politics 10 (4): 869–​889. Magaloni, Beatriz. 2006. Voting for Autocracy: Hegemonic Party Survival and Its Demise in Mexico. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Magaloni, Beatriz. 2008. “Credible Power-​Sharing and the Longevity of Authoritarian Rule.” Comparative Political Studies 41 (4–​5): 715–​741. Magaloni, Beatriz, and Ruth Kricheli. 2010. “Political Order and One-​Party Rule.” Annual Review of Political Science 13 (1): 123–​143. Moore, Clement Henry. 1962. “The Neo-​Destour Party of Tunisia: A Structure for Democracy?’ World Politics 14 (3): 461–​482. Moore, Clement Henry. 1964. “The Era of the Neo-​Destour.” In Charles A. Micaud (ed.) Tunisia: The Politics of Modernization. New York: Preager, 67–​128. Moore, Clement Henry. 1965. Tunisia since Independence: The Dynamics of One-​Party Government. Berkeley: University of California Press. Nouschi, André. 1970. “La crise de 1930 en Tunisie et les débuts du Néo-​Destour.” Revue de l’Occident musulman et de la Méditerranée 8 (1): 113–​23. Reid, Donald M. 1980. “Fu’ad Siraj al-​Din and the Egyptian Wafd.” Journal of Contemporary History 15 (4): 721–​744. Rudebeck, Lars. 1969. Party and People: A Study of Political Change in Tunisia. New York: Praeger. Shefter, Martin. 1994. Political Parties and the State: The American Historical Experience. Princeton Studies in American Politics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Slater, Dan. 2010. Ordering Power:  Contentious Politics and Authoritarian Leviathans in Southeast Asia. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Slater, Dan, and Nicholas Rush Smith. 2016. “The Power of Counterrevolution: Elitist Origins of Political Order in Postcolonial Asia and Africa.” American Journal of Sociology 121 (5): 1472–​1516. Smith, Benjamin. 2005. “Life of the Party: The Origins of Regime Breakdown and Persistence under Single-​Party Rule.” World Politics 57 (03): 421–​451. Soliman, Samer. 2006. Al-​Nizam al-​Qawi Wa-​l-​Dawla al-​Da’ifa: Idara al-​Azma al-​Maliyya Wa-​l-​Taghir al-​ Siyasi Fi ‘ahd Mubarak [The Strong Regime and the Weak State: The Management of the Financial Crisis and Political Change under Mubarak]. Cairo: Dar li-​l-​nashr wa-​l-​tawsi’. Weiner, Myron, Joseph LaPalombara, and Leonard Binder. 1966. Political Parties and Political Development. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Willis, Michael J. 2012. Politics and Power in the Maghreb: Algeria, Tunisia and Morocco from Independence to the Arab Spring. London: C Hurst & Co. Zahran, Gamal. 2006. “Al-​Mustaqqilun Wa-​l-​Munashiqun [The Independents and the Splitters].” In Amr Hashem Rabi’ (ed.) Al-​Intikhabat Maglis al-​Sha’b 2005 [The 2005 People’s Assembly Elections], 171–​194. Cairo: Al-​Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies. Zolberg, Aristide R. 1966. Creating Political Order; the Party-​States of West Africa. Chicago: Rand McNally.

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6 LIBERAL-​SECULAR PARTIES IN ARAB POLITICAL SYSTEMS Inmaculada Szmolka

Introduction Liberal parties in countries in the Arab Middle East and North African (Arab MENA) region have received little scholarly attention compared to leftist and, in particular, Islamist parties. This may be due to two factors. First, liberal parties have been identified as the least influential actors on the political scene in the MENA countries. Leftist parties were the dominant opposition forces in the 1970s, losing consistently social support to Islamist parties (Resta 2018: 23). Second, liberal parties have usually been studied together with leftist political forces under the joint label of ‘secular parties’ in opposition to ‘Islamist’ ones (Boduszyñski, Fabbe, and Lamont 2015). Nevertheless, here it is argued that it is worth taking into account liberal-​secular parties as a specific category of political party because doing so assists us in answering a number of questions regarding such parties: Is the left-​r ight ideological divide meaningful in Arab MENA party systems? Does the ideological dimension converge with the religious/​secular one? What parties can be identified as possessing liberal and secular principles? What is the social support for liberal-​secular parties and, therefore, their parliamentary representation? Do they assume governmental roles? Are liberal-​secular parties an alternative to Islamist or officialist political forces? Do liberal-​secular parties have an agenda for democratic change? On this basis, the aim of this chapter is to identify liberal-​secular parties in Arab MENA countries and to explain their position in their respective political systems. From a comparative perspective, we will take into account those countries where a broad spectrum of political parties is recognised and currently run for election; that is: Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, and Iraq. Due to the high number of licensed parties in each country, the units of analysis are restricted to liberal-​secular parties that have obtained seats in the most recent parliamentary elections. The chapter is structured as follows. First, the significance of the ideological and religious divides of the party systems is discussed. Second, the criteria for categorising liberal-​secular parties are put forward with the purpose of identifying and analysing them in Arab MENA party systems. Third, the origins and development of the liberal-​secular parties are studied, taking into account their ideology and whether they have experienced splits or mergers. Fourth, the political influence of liberal-​secular parties is determined via their parliamentary size and their 69

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participation in government. Finally, the chapter concludes by discussing to what extent it is possible to achieve democratic change through the political action of liberal-​secular parties in Arab MENA countries.

The significance of the ideological and religious divides in Arab MENA party systems As Wolf (2018: 49) points out, many scholars of the Arab world nowadays characterise liberal-​ secular parties in opposition to conservative-​Islamist parties. Nevertheless, the label of ‘liberal-​ secular parties’ overlaps two dimensions of the party systems: the ideological and the religious. Therefore, it is necessary to narrow down what is a liberal party and what is a secular party.

The ideological dimension The classification of parties according to the ideological camps to which they belong has become a common procedure in comparative research on political parties and party systems (Mair and Mudde 1998: 212). According to von Beyme’s classic work (1985), the following political families can be distinguished: conservative; liberal and radical; Christian democratic; socialist and social democratic; communist; agrarian; regional and ethnic; right-​wing extremist; and environmental parties. Although Von Beyme’s influential classification is based on the origins and ideology of European parties in the nineteenth and twentieth century, the most of these categories can be used taking into account the specifities of Arab party systems, in particular the presence of Islamist parties. It supposes that parties belonging to one party family should be significantly distinct from parties that belong to other families, and that there should be enough ideological and policy cohesion among the parties belonging to each party family (Freire and Tsatsanis 2015). Some scholars have considered liberal parties as the least homogeneous of all ideological families (Ennser 2012: 167; Freire and Tsatsanis 2015: 17). However, other authors maintain that liberal parties display an ideology that it is significantly distinct from that of the other main ideological families (Close 2019: 344), or that liberal parties are not particularly more heterogeneous than other party families (Camia and Caramani 2012: 61). In this respect, three main distinct liberal traditions can be distinguished: classical liberalism, social liberalism and conservative liberalism. Therefore, the position of the liberal party family in the left-​r ight space has been described as ‘ambivalent’ (Winter and Marcet 2000). Even so, it is assumed that liberal parties tend to occupy a rather central position on the left-​r ight spectrum (Close 2019: 344).

The secular/​religious dimension Many scholars have considered the secular/​religious divide as the most important axis of the MENA party systems (Blaydes and Linzer 2012:  4). Nevertheless, as Wegner and Cavatorta (2019: 15) have recently suggested, the relevance of the religious divide in the political and social organisation of Arab countries may be overestimated. The authors maintain that the Islamist–​secular divide may exist at the elite level for strategic reasons but may not be reflected in the electoral behaviour of ordinary citizens. Wegner and Cavatorta argue that the ideological attachment of voters is limited to differences concerning the role of religion in politics and gender values. Furthermore, most of the so-​called secular parties in Muslim Arab countries do not call for a genuine separation of religion and state. These parties ‘are not militantly secular, à la 70

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Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, or ideologically committed to a French-​style laïcité. They simply do not embrace a political platform inspired by religious ideals’ (Ottaway and Hamzawy 2012: 42–​ 43). Certainly, secular parties do not renounce Islamic values and culture, and several of them invoke their Islamic legacy.1 Thus, the divergence between secular and Islamist parties is more accurately about the ‘correct’ interpretation of Islam. Some secular parties see themselves as defenders of traditional Islam versus the transnational vision inherited from the Muslim Brotherhood from which many Islamist parties stem (Wolf 2018: 54 and 65). It is also important to point out that the complete separation of religion and politics does not exist in Arab countries. Constitutions recognise Islam as the official religion in all countries except Lebanon, which is a multi-​confessional. Islam is also a source of legitimation for rulers, and Islamic institutions (mosques, religiously endowed properties, religious courts) are placed under state control. Finally, although governments have substituted Islamic law with legal systems inspired by Western secular codes, Muslim family law (marriage, divorce, guardianship of children, inheritance, etc.) has remained in force (Esposito 2000: 2–​3). Lastly, the secular/​religious divide is sometimes associated with the dichotomy between modernism (secular parties) and conservatism (religious parties). This may be because secularism ‘came to the Muslim world in the company of other terms such as modernity, Westernisation and modernisation within the context of colonialism’ (Tamimi 2000: 13). Nevertheless, as Wu explains, ‘the Westernisation forces in the Islamic world consist of liberals as well as leftists and nationalists’ (Wu 2007: 62). Similarly, it is possible to distinguish nowadays between progressive and conservative tendencies among secular parties. Thus, it is not easy to conflate secularism and modernism. In conclusion, ‘secular parties’  –​in reference to Arab MENA party systems  –​is a broad term used for organisations that are not based on religious ideals, irrespective of their ideology. Thus, rather than secular parties, we come across non-​Islamist parties and, in certain cases, anti-​Islamist parties.

Methodological criteria for categorising liberal-​secular parties The previous section has called attention to the difficulties in distinguishing liberal-​secular parties. Therefore, the next stage in order to carry out our empirical research is to specify the methodological framework, which allows us to identify and characterise liberal-​secular parties in the Arab MENA political landscape. We will proceed by identifying political parties with a liberal ideology in the Arab MENA countries on the basis of Mair and Mudde’s (1998) criteria for classifying ideological family parties. Those are: the origins or sociology of the party; the party name; the party’s own ideological identification in their statutes and political programmes; membership in international organisations; and party positions on certain political issues. Examining party positions via party manifestos and policies is probably the best way to approach ideology in political parties. However, no systematic study has been undertaken using these instruments to categorise Arab MENA political parties (Wegner and Cavatorta 2019: 5). Consequently, the following as indicators of ‘being a liberal party’ are employed: (a) the label ‘liberal’ in the official party name; (b) the self-​definition by a political party as liberal, as well as references to individual rights or the role of the state in the economy in the party’s statutes or political programmes; and (c) membership in international liberal organisations. We also assume a broad conceptualisation of a secular political party as being ‘non-​Islamist’. As previously mentioned, a strict separation between religion and state is not really supported by the ‘secular parties’, except for some Leftist ones. Thus, we will exclude parties that have 71

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an Islamic basis. Even so, we will pay particular attention to references to secularism or laïcité, such as the separation of religion and state or religious freedoms, in the analysis of political party statutes.

Identification of liberal-​secular parties in the Arab MENA party systems The task of identifying liberal-​secular parties in Arab MENA countries is challenging. To start with, the official party name is not useful in classifying a political party as liberal, since none of the current parliamentary parties in Arab countries employs the label ‘liberal’ in its name.2 Second, serious problems were encountered in obtaining the statutes or programmes of the other political parties. Thus, only the statutes or political programmes of the following organisations were obtained:  via the internet, in French, the Moroccan Popular Movement (MP), the Algerian Democratic National Rally (RND), and the Algerian Rally for Culture and Democracy (RCD), and, in Arabic, the Algerian Ahd 54, the Tunisian Afek Tounes (AT), and the Jordanian National Current Party (NCP); and, after an email request, the Moroccan Authenticity and Modernity Party (PAM) in Arabic.3 Explicit liberal principles were only detected in the political programmes of the MP, the FEP, and Afek Tounes. Therefore, the best criterion to identify liberal parties has been affiliation to a transnational liberal organisation. The ‘Liberal International’ (LI) is the world federation of liberal parties. Three political parties from the Arab MENA region are full members of the LI: the Popular Movement (MP) and the Constitutional Union (UC) in Morocco, and the Future Movement (FM) in Lebanon. In addition, the Moroccan National Rally of Independents (RNI) is an observer member of the LI. Apart from the LI, there are two regional liberal organisations for African or Arab countries, which are partners of the LI: the Arab Liberal Federation (ALF) and the Africa Liberal Network (ALN). The ALF was established in 2008 and it is committed to the principles of ‘freedom, responsibility, pluralism, tolerance, market economy, civil state and separation of religion from state affairs’.4 Thus, we can maintain that a party belonging to this organisation satisfies both conditions of being liberal and secular. Eight political parties from four countries are members of the ALF: the MP and the UC in Morocco; Afek Tounes (AT), in Tunisia; the Free Egyptians Party (FEP), the Congress Party (CP), and the Freedom Party (FP), in Egypt; and the FM and the National Liberal Party in Lebanon, the latter currently without parliamentary representation since the 2018 elections. For its part, the ALN was formally launched in 2003, with only three political parties from the Arab world belonging to it: the MP, the RNI, and the UC, all from Morocco. The ALN aims to ‘empower liberal parties to grow their support, to increase their influence on politics and to implement liberal policies when in government’.5 Finally, based on scholarly references, only the Egyptian New Wafd (Delegation) Party was added to our list of liberal-​secular parties (Hinnebush 1984; Ottaway and Hamzawy 2007: 7). In short, nine liberal-​secular parties with parliamentary representation from four countries were identified (see Table 6.1). None of these political parties is based in Algeria, Jordan, or Iraq.

The origins and evolution of liberal-​secular parties Moroccan liberal parties In Morocco, the liberal parties –​the MP, the RNI and the UC –​were formed at different political moments but with the same aim of serving the interests of the monarchy, namely 72

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Liberal-secular parties Table 6.1  Identification of parliamentary liberal parties

Criteria to categorise liberal parties

Units of analysis

‘Liberal’ label in the official name of the party Liberal transnational membership (LI, ALF, ALN)

None Morocco: Popular Movement, Constitutional Union, National Rally of Independents (observer) Tunisia: Afek Tounes Egypt: Free Egyptians Party, Congress Party and Freedom Party Lebanon: Future Movement Morocco: Popular Movement Tunisia: Afek Tounes Egypt: New Wafd Party

Liberal ideology in party statutes or political programmes Scholarly references Source: By author.

weakening opposition parties and assuming government roles. The three parties are usually referred to as administrative or royalist parties. Formed in 1958, the MP was the first political party to be established after independence in 1956. In comparison with other Arab countries, Morocco has one of the oldest multiparty systems and the monarchy favoured a fragmented one to prevent any one predominant group from challenging the king. Thus, the MP benefited from the support of the monarch, who sought to diminish the political dominance of the nationalist and conservative Istiqlal (Independence) Party (PI), founded in 1943. The MP was established by the Berber tribal chief Mahjoubi Aherdane and gained the majority of its main support from rural areas, where the population displays a strong Berber identity (Storm 2014: 45 and 48). However, the MP cannot be considered an ethnic party insofar as it has not developed a distinct Berber agenda (Willis 2008: 233). Regarding its ideology, the MP makes explicit references to the defence of individual and collective rights, but there are no nods to economic freedoms. Based on the MP’s political discourse and action, its liberalism might be considered conservative. The other two Moroccan liberal-​secular parties were also created by the royalist inner-​circle. The RNI was founded in 1978 by then Prime Minister Ahmed Osman, King Hassan’s brother-​in-​ law, and among the majoritarian independents’ bloc in the parliament. Similarly, Prime Minister Maati Bouabid created the UC in 1983 to compete in the 1984 legislative elections, winning the greatest number of seats. Neither the RNI nor the UC developed a strong ideology. A possible reason could be that they are not parties that have been boosted by particular social groups, as well as the fact that, due to their proximity to the monarchy, they do not depend on votes in order to gain political influence (Storm 2014: 53). In fact, although the RNI has a complete website both in French and Arabic, there are no references to the party’s political programme, and the only ideological reference is to point out social democracy as its political model. Likewise, there are no political documents or ideological statements in the UC’s Arabic website.

Egyptian liberal parties The Egyptian liberal-​secular parties were also created at different times. The New Wafd Party (NWP) has its roots in the oldest political party in Egypt, Hizb ‘Almani (Secular Party), which 73

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was founded in 1919 in the context of the national independence movement against British occupation. Later, the party changed its name to Wafd Party. The party opposed both the monarchy and British influence. Its preeminent position in parliament allowed the Wafd Party to govern until the overthrow of the monarchy following the Free Officers’ Revolution of 1952. After the military coup, all political parties were banned, and a new regime based on socialism, nationalism, and secularism was established under the presidency of Gamal Abdel Nasser. The next president, Anwar Sadat (1970–​1981), pushed a limited political liberalisation in 1977, restoring political parties. As a consequence, the Wafd Party was relaunched as the New Wafd Party (NWP) in 1978, although it was disbanded several months later to prevent regime harassment (Hinnebush 1984: 117). The party returned to the Egyptian political scene in 1984, after Hosni Mubarak assumed the presidency. The NWP turned its back on its legacy of liberal-​secular nationalism and forged an alliance with the Muslim Brotherhood, accepting Islamist candidates in its lists to run for the 1984 election (Ottaway and Hamzawy 2007: 8). The cross-​ideological party alliance can be explained by considering that the NWP ‘provided a legal channel while the Ikhwan [Muslim Brotherhood] offered a popular base, both seeking to reclaim their place on the national stage after long years of state-​enforced’ (El-​Ghobashy 2005: 378). Furthermore, as a result of the democratic transition in 2011, the NWP joined the National Democratic Alliance for Egypt, which was dominated by the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice Party (FJP), although the liberals left the coalition to compete in the 2011–​ 2012 elections on their own. Therefore, despite its secularist principles, the NWP has forged tactical alliances with Islamists. Regarding economic issues, the NWP has tried to represent an alternative to the historic Arab socialism and unbridled capitalism. The liberal party encourages Arab and foreign investment, and it is considered to be a strong supporter of economic liberalisation (Ottaway and Hamzawy 2007: 8).6 In terms of party organisation, the NWP has a coherent internal structure, a large network of branches covering major Egyptian cities and a wide membership, consisting of various social segments (Egypt Today, 22 May 2018). However, the NWP has not been entirely free of internal struggles. In 2001, a faction of the party led by Ayman Nour –​close to the Muslim Brotherhood –​left the party to found El-​Ghad (Tomorrow) party, legalised in 2004. In 2005, a new clash between two factions within El-​Ghad split the party, with both groups claiming the party name. Following a court decision, Nour’s group created the Ghad El-​Thawra Party (Revolution’s Tomorrow Party), which was granted its license in October 2011. Neither of the parties won a single seat in the 2015 parliamentary elections. The other Egyptian liberal parties were established after the 25 January Revolution. The tycoon Naguib Sawiris founded the Free Egyptians Party (FEP) in June 2011. Most of the founders came from the business world, and the issue of free-​market economics was a cornerstone in the formation of the party in a country with a socialist background.7 Accordingly, the party’s political programme refers to a liberal economy committed to social justice. Additionally, the FEP’s membership is mostly Coptic. In this vein, the 2015 party manifesto reaffirms a separation between the religious and the political spheres, and it acknowledges Islam (along with Christianity) as the hallmark of the Egyptian character (Resta 2019: 12). In 2011 and 2013, the party favoured maintaining article 2 of Egypt’s constitution, which states that Islam is the religion of the state and provides the guarantee for non-​Muslims to be governed by their own personal status laws. Nevertheless, this article also states Islamic shari’ah principles as the main source of legislation. Regarding its organisation and interparty relationships, the FEP has branches all over the country. In December 2013, the FEP absorbed the Democratic Front Party, founded in 2007 74

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and a full member of the Liberal International. Following the military coup, which overthrew President Morsi, the FEP became the largest party in the House of Representatives after the 2015 elections. Nevertheless, the party has faced severe struggles and it is no longer seen as the main political force. The FEP is currently divided into two factions: one is headed by Essam Khalil, elected party leader in 2015; and another led by Alaily, elected president of the party in a parallel process to Khalil’s re-​election in 2017, and supported by Sawiris’ followers (Daily News Egypt 6/​5/​2017).8 Furthermore, in May 2018, some 51 of the 65 FEP parliamentary members resigned from the liberal party and tried to join the Nation’s Future Party, the second largest party in terms of number of parliamentary seats. However, according to party law, a party member cannot change parties mid-​term (Egypt Today 22/​5/​2918).9 Thus, the FEP is expected to lose a high number of seats in the 2020 parliamentary elections. The Freedom Party (FP) was founded in July 2011. Many party members came from the National Democratic Party (NDP), which was dissolved after the 2011 revolution. A group of the FP merged into the Congress Party, created in September 2012 under the leadership of former Arab League Secretary-​General Amr Moussa. A broad ideological spectrum of political parties and movements converged in the new political party, including, among others, the Democratic Front Party, the Ghad El-​Thawra Party, and several offshoots of the National Democratic Party, such as the Conservative Party, the Egyptian Citizen Party and the aforementioned Freedom Party (Amr Online 12/​9/​2012).10

Tunisia’s Afek Tounes The democratic transition that took place following the Jasmine Revolution triggered the rapid growth of the number of political parties in Tunisia (Martínez-​Fuentes 2017). In this political context, Afek Tounes (AT) was founded on March 2011 to represent liberal and secular values. Nevertheless, the party’s ties with the former authoritarian regime were critised. Several leaders of the party had in fact previously belonged to the Democratic Constitutional Rally (RCD) (Storm 2014: 116). The main feature of the Tunisian party system is its lack of institutionalisation because of the recent democratic transition (Szmolka and G. del Moral, 2019). Aside from the expansion of new parties licensed since 2011, mainly with the aim of running for election, continuous splits and mergers have characterised the party landscape. Concerning AT, in April 2012, the liberal party merged with the Progressive Democratic Party, the Tunisian Republican Party, and other minor parties and independent figures, to form the Republican Party. Nevertheless, several former party members of AT revived the organisation in August 2013. Thus, AT stood independently at the 2014 parliamentary elections, developing an aggressive Facebook and ground campaign to communicate practical policy proposals. As a result, the liberal party won eight seats (out of 217) (Yerkes and Yahmed 2019). After the polls, the elected members of AT formed the parliamentary group ‘Afek Tounes et l’appel des tunisiens à l’étranger’ but, at different moments, seven of the eight joined the National Coalition Bloc (Marsad Majles 2019).11 In the last parliamentary elections, held on 6 October 2019, AT only got two seats. As a consequence, Yassine Brahim resigned as president of AT. Regarding AT’s ideology, it is the only party to define itself as ‘social-​liberal’. Its website describes the party thus: in the social sphere, it is progressive and committed to individual liberties; in the economic sphere, it is liberal and social, in favour of liberalising the strategic sectors and maintaining an active role of the state in education, health, and transport.12 On the other hand, AT defended religious freedoms (belief, worship, and conscience) and the state’s responsibility to protect them during the constitutional process. 75

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The Lebanese Future Movement The Future Movement (FM) was founded by the former Prime Minister Rafic Hariri in Lebanon in 1992, in the post-​civil war period. After his assassination in 2005, his son Saad Hariri took over the leadership of the party, which was officially registered in 2007. The MP declares itself as a non-​sectarian party, although it receives the majority of its support from Sunnis (Konrad Adenauer Stiftung 2018: 23). The party has a weak organisational structure and works somewhat in the manner of a royal court, where access to resources is generally a function of proximity to the ruling family. The FM enjoys a national network of social and charitable services to guarantee the social support from the Sunni community (International Crisis Group 2010: 15–​17). Regarding FM’s ideology, it is considered not to have a clear and coherent political programme. Its opposition to the Shia Hezbollah party and Iran’s role in the region is the FM’s main ideological orientation. In addition, Saudi Arabia has long been a supporter of the liberal party due to its interest in weaking Iran’s regional influence. The FM played a leading role in the 14 March Alliance –​against Syrian intervention in Lebanon’s affairs, in opposition to the 8 March coalition headed by Hezbollah. Nevertheless, several authors maintain that the ties and common political action among the members of each coalition have lost momentum (Konrad Adenauer Stiftung 2018: 4).13 Finally, the FM has been a staunch defender of economic liberalism. However, despite the fact that Rafic Hariri’s governments subscribed to neoliberalism, the state incurred in a high level of indebtedness that favoured economic and political elites, which emerged following the civil war (Goenaga 2016: 353).

The political influence of Arab MENA liberal-​secular parties The Moroccan party system is characterised by a high fragmentation of political parties (Szmolka and G. del Moral, 2019). This factor explains the small parliamentary size of the majority of political parties. None of the liberal-​secular parties is the largest party in the House of Representatives: the RNI is the fourth largest; the MP the fifth largest; and the UC the seventh largest (9.37, 6.83 and 4.81 per cent of the seats won in 2016 elections respectively) (Szmolka 2018).14 Despite this, Moroccan liberal-​secular parties enjoy a significant influence on government. This was evident in the process of government formation following the 2016 elections, when the RNI blocked the coalition government talks and imposed the party’s coalition partners.15 The three liberal parties are part of the coalition government, formed by Saadeddine Othmani in April 2017, together with other political parties with different ideologies:  Islamist (PJD) and progressive (USFP and PPS).16 Aside from them, one must add the independents in charge of the so-​called ‘sovereign ministries’ in the government, whose appointment falls within the Crown’s prerogative. Consequently, Moroccan government coalitions are traditionally characterised as heterogeneous and not ideologically coherent (Szmolka 2015). In Egypt, liberal parties are also supportive of the political regime,17 although they are less influential on parliament and government than in Morocco. The House of Representatives elected in 2015 is composed of a majority of independents (351 elected), making political parties nearly irrelevant. The parliamentary size of independents is mainly due to the majoritarian electoral system, but also because ‘individuals closer to prominent leaders or businessmen are capable of providing more services to their constituencies and had greater chances of getting elected without any party affiliation’ (Sanyal 2016: 449).

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Table 6.2  Origin and evolution of liberal-​secular parties in Arab MENA countries

Context

Ideology

Mergers and splits

Popular Movement

1958

Independence/​Promoted by monarchy

Conservative liberalism

National Rally of Independents Constitutional Union

1978

Promoted by monarchy

Classical liberalism

1983

Promoted by monarchy

Tunisia

Afek Tounes

2011

Democratic transition following the Arab Spring

Conservative liberalism Social liberalism

Egypt

New Wafd Party

1919 (Wafd) 1978 (New Wafd)

National independence movement Political liberalisation (adoption of a multiparty system) The party was relaunched after being disbanded in 1978 Democratic transition after the Arab Spring Democratic transition after the Arab Spring Democratic transition after the Arab Spring

Classical liberalism

1967, split: MPDC 1991, split: MNP 2006, merger into MP (MP, MNP, UD) 1982, split: PND 2001, split: PRD 2002, split: PML 2006, split: UMD 2012, merger into Republican Party 2014. Afek Tounes is relaunched 2001, split: El-​Ghad

Post-​civil war period

Classical liberalism

Morocco

77

1984

Lebanon

Free Egyptians Party

2011

Freedom Party

2011

Congress Party

2012

Future Movement

1992 (creation) 2007 (registered)

Source: By author.

Classical liberalism Not determined Not determined

2012. Partially merged into the Congress Party Born from the merger of a broad spectrum of political parties and movements

Liberal-secular parties

Year of creation

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The FEP, the NWP, and the CP took part in the 2015 elections through the dominant and pro-​regime electoral coalition For the Love of Egypt, together with other parties that differed ideologically, such as the Nation’s Future Party, the Conservative Party, the Sadat Democratic Party, Tamarod, the Modern Egypt Party, and the Reform and Renaissance Party.18 The FEP won 65 seats in the 2015 election (10.91 per cent of the total seats), the most of any political party. The NWP obtained 36 seats, coming in third position; the CP won 12 seats; and the FP earned 3 seats. After the elections, the FEP and the CP joined the Support Egypt coalition, a pro-​government and majoritarian parliamentary bloc which holds around 400 seats, including the Nation’s Future Party (53 seats, second largest parliamentary party), the Homeland Defenders Party (18 seats), the Republican People’s Party (13 seats), as well as independents. The NWP decided not to join the Support Egypt bloc, but it has largely supported the government and has backed the ambitious economic reforms designed by President Sisi. The role of the NWP is very representative of how opposition parties are co-​opted in authoritarian regimes. In fact, the three liberal parties supported Sisi’s candidacy in the 2014 and 2018 presidential elections.19 In short, Egyptian parliament is a very docile actor, which in fact serves as ‘a rubber-​ stamp institution whose only task is to approve the government’s actions and proposals’ (Völkel 2016: 611–​612).20 Thus, in February 2019, the members of the House of Representatives voted overwhelming for an amendment to the Constitution, ratified by popular referendum in April, which extended Sisi’s presidential term until 2034 and increased his powers over the judiciary. In the same vein, political parties are not decisive in government. Egyptian cabinets are traditionally formed of technocrats and independents, as is the case of the current government sworn in June 2018.21 The Tunisian party AT won eight out of the 217 parliamentary seats (3.69 per cent) in the 2014 elections, four more seats than the party won in the foundational elections of 2011. The winning party, Nidaa Tounes, and the runner-​up, the Islamist Ennahda Movement, concentrated 71.4 per cent of parliamentary seats in 2014. Despite their ideological differences, both parties agreed to form a coalition government, along with AT and another liberal party, the now extinct Free Patriotic Union (UPL), and independents. In July 2016, after the signature of the Carthage Agreement, a National Unity Government (NUG) was established expanding the previous government to bring in five opposition parties:  Machrouu Tounes, the National Destourian Initiative, the Republican Party, the Social Democratic Path, and the People’s Movement (Yerkes and Yahmed 2019). In January 2018, the political bureau of AT decided on the two ministers and the two state secretaries to leave the government coalition. However, the prime minister did not accept their dismissal and they remained in government, later renouncing their membership of AT. In addition, as mentioned above, seven out of the eight elected members of AT renounced its own parliamentary bloc and joined the National Coalition Bloc. It is a common practice in Tunisia for MPs to continuously resign and switch from one parliamentary group to another. In short, AT has not been able to ensure party discipline neither in parliament nor in government. Finally, the Lebanese FM lost its position as the largest party in the House of Representatives after the election held in 2018 under a new proportional electoral system and preferential voting. Hariri’s party went from 33 seats in 2009 to currently 19 (out 128). Despite the adverse electoral results, Hariri retained the post of Prime Minister held since 2016 –​and from 2009 to 2011. The FM is part of the national unity government together with Hezbollah and other parliamentary parties, as occurred in previous cabinets. Nevertheless, the FM has lost political influence to Hezbollah, which has made significant gains because of its successful fight against the Islamic State and its increasing role in regional politics. 78

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Liberal-secular parties Table 6.3  The political influence of liberal-​secular parties in Arab MENA countries

Morocco

Tunisia Egypt

Lebanon

Name of the party

Electoral performance (percentage of seats in parliament)

Participation in power

Popular Movement National Rally of Independents Constitutional Union Afek Tounes

6.83 9.37

In government coalition In government coalition

4.81 3.69

New Wafd Party Free Egyptians Party Freedom Party Congress Party Future Movement

6.04 10.91 0.50 2.11 14.85

In government coalition In government coalition until January 2018 Supporting government Supporting government Supporting government Supporting government Prime Minister. In government coalition

Source: By author.

Conclusion. The prospect for democratisation through the action of liberal secular parties Political parties are considered to have a crucial part to play in democratisation processes. This is so, even though there is a fragmented party landscape and ‘new parties are often very weak, with few regular supporters, little fundraising ability, and scant public trust or esteem’ (Schmitter 2010: 23). In this regard, could liberal-​secular parties play a significant role in democratisation processes in Arab MENA countries? The previous discussion suggests that liberal-​secular parties are not expected to encourage democratic change. They are not in opposition but are largely pro-​regime political forces, and they lack an agenda for political change and the capacity to bring together political forces of different ideological positions. This is the case of Morocco’s RNI, MP, and UC, which have been royalist parties since their creation and they have assumed governmental roles in different coalition governments. However, despite the participation in government of liberal-​officialist parties and parties of the old democratic opposition –​such as the USFP, the PI and the PJD, democratic reforms have not been implemented; rather, it has contributed to maintaining the status quo. The parties that have entered the government from the opposition have subordinated their democratic demands to their access to power. In Egypt, even the newcomers FEP and CP  –​formed in the context of the Egyptian democratic transition  –​are strong supporters of Sisi’s authoritarian regime. In addition, the older NWP is also a co-​opted party (Dunne and Hamzawy 2017). The supportive position of Egyptian liberal parties does not differ from that the other political parties in general with a few minor exceptions; and so, a reformist platform of political parties is unlikely in Egypt. In Tunisia, negotiations and pacts between political parties –​as well as other social actors –​ were necessary conditions for the success of the democratic transition. AT took part in the coalition government formed in 2016 and signed the Carthage Agreement in 2018, which brought about a national unity government. Nevertheless, the liberal party has played a secondary role in the Tunisian party system due to its small parliamentary size and has suffered severe internal divisions. AT got only two seats in the legislative elections held on 6 October 2019. 79

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Finally, in the case of Lebanon, the dense network of clientelist relations woven by the FM makes the latter reluctant to embrace political change. Furthermore, the confessional political system makes difficult Lebanon’s transition from a defective towards full democracy.

Notes 1 That is the case, for example, of the Istiqlal Party (PI) in Morocco, which was ‘the party of the conservative, religious element in the society, founded by a religious scholar and embodying tradition’ during the independence struggle (Ottaway and Hamzawy 2007: 4–​5). 2 We have only observed political parties using the ‘liberal’ term in the following cases: parties that are actives but without parliamentary representation –​the National Liberal Party (1958) in Lebanon and the Moroccan Liberal Party (2002); inactive parties –​the Social Liberal Party in Tunisia (founded in 1988 but without political activity since 2011); banned parties  –​the Algerian Liberal Social Party, banned in 1998; and parties that have merged with other parties –​the Liberal Egyptian Party, which in March 2011 merged with the Egyptian Democratic Party to form the Egyptian Social Democrat Party. 3 The PAM’s classification on the basis of ideology has sparked debate. While some people regard the PAM as a liberal party, it should be noted that there are no liberal references in its political statutes. Also, in relation to the origin and sociology of the party, when it was founded there was a convergence of a diverse mix of people coming from the human rights movement, Marxists, neoliberals from the business world, and rural notables. Emanating from the Movement of All Democrats, the party was created by Fuad Ali El-​Himma, ex-​Minister Delegate to the Interior Minister and a close friend of Mohammed VI, by merging five minor parties, as a ‘bulwark’ against the increasing electoral weight of the PJD (Boussaid 2009). 4 It is significant that the network changed its name to the Arab Alliance for Freedom and Democracy in 2011, due to the negative connotations of the term ‘liberal’ in some Arab countries. Nevertheless, in 2016, the organisation reverted back to its previous name. 5 www.africaliberalnetwork.org/​liberal-​democracy-​in-​africa/​ 6 No party political documents are found on the NWP’s Arabic website, which is more of a news journal reporting on the party’s activities. 7 Interview to FEP president Mahmoud Alalily. Available at https://​aldepartyim.wordpress.com/​2018/​ 02/​13/​an-​interview-​with-​dr-​mahmoud-​el-​alaily-​president-​of-​free-​egyptians-​party/​ 8 See https://​dailynewsegypt.com/​2017/​05/​06/​happening-​inside-​egypts-​biggest-​political-​party/​ 9 www.egypttoday.com/​Article/​2/​50623/​51-​’Free-​Egyptians’-​party-​members-​become-​members-​of-​ ’Nations’-​Future’ 10 http://​english.ahram.org.eg/​NewsContent/​1/​64/​53211/​Egypt/​Politics-​/​Former-​Arab-​League-​ head-​Amr-​Moussa-​establishes-​Egy.aspx/​ 11 https://​majles.marsad.tn/​2014/​fr/​assemblee. This bloc is opposed to both Islamist Ennahda Movement and secular Nidaa Tounes. The latter is a heterogeneous party formed by regime members, Leftists, liberals, and trade unionists, established in 2011. Nidaa Tounes has been also affected by internal struggles, which have brought about new parties. 12 www.afek-​tounes.org/​Fr/​pr-​-​sentation_​11_​41 13 Two opposite coalitions have polarised the Lebanese political scene: on the one hand, the 8 March Alliance, in which two Islamist Shiite organisations Hezbollah and Amal, the Maronite Christians of the Free Patriotic Movement, and the Druze of Walid Yumblat were grouped; and, on the other hand, the 14 March Alliance, that unites the anti-​Syrian parties led by Saad Hariri. 14 The Moroccan largest party is the Islamist PJD (31.65 per cent of the seats). 15 See Szmolka 2018: 28–​29. 16 Liberal-​secular parties have also assumed governmental roles in earlier governments: Benkirane’s first government, formed on 3 January 2012, included PJD, PI, MP, and PPS; Benkirane’s second government (10 October 2013), PJD, RNI, MP, and PPS; El-Fassi (19 September 2007), PI, RNI, USFP, PPS; and Jettou’s first government (7 November 2002) and second government (8 June 2004), USFP, PI, PPS, RNI, MP, and MNP. 17 Dunne and Hamzawy (2017) characterise the three liberal parties as co-​opted. 18 The FEP’s decision represented a different strategy to that of the 2011–​2012 elections, when the liberal party was part of the Egyptian Bloc coalition, together with two leftist parties: the Egyptian

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Liberal-secular parties Social Democratic Party and the National Progressive Unionist Party (known as Tagammu) (Völkel 2016: 602). 19 El-​Ghad –​also liberal but not a parliamentary party –​campaigned for Sisi for his first presidential term and began to do so for his second until its leader, Moussa Mostafa Moussa, decided to submit his candidacy at the last minute. His presidential bid was seems as a way of legitimating a pluralist presidential election. 20 According to Gur (2016: 463), as the new Egyptian parliament was not opened until January 2016, President Sisi used his legislative power to pass more than 250 laws. Some of these laws were political, and some of them increased the power of the president. After the opening of parliament, the parliament voted on laws passed during its absence, with only a few exceptions. 21 www.dailynewsegypt.com/​2018/​06/​14/​madboulys-​government-​sworn-​in-​before-​al-​sisi-​changes-​ include-​defence-​interior-​ministers/​

Bibliography Beck, Martin and Simone Huser. 2015. ‘Jordan and the «Arab Spring»:  No Challenge, No Change?’ Middle East Critique 24 (1): 83–​97. Benstead, Lindsay J. 2019. ‘Rally for Culture and Democracy (RCD), Algeria.’ In Conflict in the Modern Middle East: An Encyclopedia of Civil War, Revolutions, and Regime Change. Broomfield, CO: ABC-​CLIO. Beyme, von Klaus. 1985. Political Parties in Western Democracies. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Blaydes, Lisa and Drew A. Linzer. 2012. ‘Elite Competition, Religiosity, and Anti-​Americanism in the Islamic World.’ American Political Science Review 106 (2): 225–​243. Boduszyñski, Mieczysāaw P., Kristin Fabbe and Christopher Lamont. 2015. ‘After the Arab Spring: Are Secular Parties the Answer?’ Journal of Democracy 26 (4): 125–​139. Boussaid, Farid. 2009. ‘The Rise of the PAM in Morocco: Trampling the Political Scene or Stumbling into it?’ Mediterranean Politics 14 (3): 413–​419. Camia Valeria and Daniele Caramani. 2012. ‘Family Meetings: Ideological Convergence within Party Families across Europe, 1945–​2009.’ Comparative European Politics 10 (1): 48–​85. Close, Caroline (2019). 2019. ‘The Liberal Party Family Ideology: Distinct, but Diverse.’ In Emilie van Haute and Caroline Close (eds.) Liberal Parties in Europe. London: Routledge. Dunne, Michele and Amr Hamzawy. 2017. ‘Egypt’s Secular Political Parties: A Struggle for Identity and Independence.’ Carnagie Endowment for International Peace. https://​carnegieendowment.org/​files/​ CP305_​Dunne_​and_​Hamzawy_​Parties_​Final_​Web.pdf El-​Ghobashy, Mona. 2005. ‘The Metamorphosis of the Egyptian Muslim Brothers.’ International Journal of Middle East Studies 37 (3): 373–​395. Ennser Laurentz. 2012. ‘The Homogeneity of West European Party Families: The Radical Right in Comparative Perspective.’ Party Politics 18 (2): 151–​171. Esposito, John L. 2000. ‘Islam and Secularism in the Twenty-​First Century.’ In Esposito John L. and Azzam Tamimi (eds.) Islam and Secularism in the Middle East. New York: New York University Press. Freire André and Enmanouil Tsatsanis. 2015. ‘Party families, ideological distinctiveness and cohesion: A strong test of the heuristics of the concept of “familles spirituelles.” ’ Paper presented at the ECPR General Conference, Montreal, 26–​29 August. www.researchgate.net/​publication/​308780307_​Party_​ families_​ideological_​distinctiveness_​and_​cohesion_​A_​strong_​test_​of_​the_​heuristics_​of_​the_​concept_​ of_​’familles_​spirituelles’ Goenaga, Amaia. 2016. El sector bancario libanés y su papel en el diseño y reproducción del orden social, político y económico del Líbano contemporáneo. Departamento de Estudios Árabes, Islámicos y Orientales. Facultad de Filosofía y Letras. Universidad Autónoma de Madrid. Gur, Serap. 2016. ‘The 2015 Parliamentary Elections in Egypt.’ Electoral Studies 44: 445–​464. Hinnebush, Raymond. 1984. ‘The Reemergence of the Wafd Party: Glimpses of the Liberal Opposition in Egypt.’ International Journal of Middle East Studies 16: (1): 99–​121. Konrad Adenauer Stiftung. 2018. ‘Political Party Mapping in Lebanon Ahead of the 2018 Elections.’ www.kas. de/​c/​document_​library/​get_​file?uuid=d5efc091-​a9b8-​4357-​36f6-​7717164c277e&groupId=252038 International Crisis Group. 2010. ‘Lebanon’s Politics:  The Sunni Community and Hariri’s Future Current. Middle East Report nº 96. www.files.ethz.ch/​isn/​116648/​96%20Lebanons%20Politics%20-​ %20The%20Sunni%20Community%20and%20Hariris%20Future%20Current.pdf

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Inmaculada Szmolka Lust-​Okar, Ellen 2001. ‘The Decline of Jordanian Political Parties: Myth or Reality?’ International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 33(4): 545–​569. Mair, Peter and Cas Mudde. 1998. ‘The Party Family and Its Study.’ Annual Review of Political Science 1: 211–​229. Martínez-​Fuentes Guadalupe. 2017. ‘Political Islam in Tunisia:  A Comparative Approach.’ In Ferrán Izquierdo, John Etherington and Laura Feliu (eds.) Political Islam in a Time of Revolt:  Islam and Nationalism. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Ottaway, Marina and Amr Hamzawy. 2007. ‘Fighting on Two Fronts Secular Parties in the Arab World’. Carnegie Papers nº 85. https://​carnegieendowment.org/​files/​cp85_​secular_​final.pdf Ottaway, Marina and Amr Hamzawy. 2012. Getting to Pluralism:  Political Actors in the Arab World. Washington: Brookings Institution Press. Project MUSE. Resta, Valeria. 2018. ‘Leftist parties in the Arab region before and after the Arab Uprisings: “unrequited love”?’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the World. Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Sanyal, Paulami. 2016. ‘Parliamentary Elections in Egypt, 2015’. Contemporary Review of the Middle East 3(4), 445–​454. Schmitter, Philippe C. 2010. ‘Twenty-​five Years, Fifteen Findings.’ Journal of Democracy 21: 17–​28. Storm, Lise. 2014. Party Politics and the Prospects for Democracy in North Africa. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner Publishers. Szmolka, Inmaculada. 2010. ‘Party System Fragmentation in Morocco.’ The Journal of North African Studies 15 (1): 13–​37. Szmolka, Inmaculada. 2015. ‘Inter-​and Intra-​Party Relations in the Formation of the Benkirane Coalition Governments in Morocco.’ The Journal of North African Studies 20 (4): 654–​674. Szmolka, Inmaculada. 2017. ‘Successful and failed transitions to democracy.’ In Inmaculada Szmolka (ed.) Political Change in the Middle East and North Africa: After the Arab Spring. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Szmolka, Inmaculada. 2018. ‘A Real Electoral Duel between the PJD and the PAM? Analysing Constituency-​level Competitiveness in the 2016 Moroccan Elections.’ British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 46 (4): 535–​563. Szmolka, Inmaculada and G. del Moral, Lucía. 2019. ‘A Proposal of Party Systems Typology for Democratic and Pluralist Authoritarian Regimes. Its Application to the Maghreb Countries’. Revista de Estudios e Investigaciones Sociológicas 168. Tamimi, Azzam. 2000. ‘The Origins of Arab Secularism.’ In Azzam Tamimi and John L. Esposito (eds.) Islam and Secularism in the Middle East. New York: New York University Press. Völkel, Jan C. 2017. ‘Sidelined by Design: Egypt’s Parliament in Transition.’ The Journal of North African Studies 22 (4): 595–​619. Yerkes, Sarah and Ben Yahmed. 2019. ‘Tunisia’s Political System:  from Stagnation to Competition.’ Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. https://​carnegieendowment.org/​2019/​03/​28/​ tunisia-​s-​political-​system-​from-​stagnation-​to-​competition-​pub-​78717 Wegner, Eva and Francesco Cavatorta. 2019. ‘Revisiting the Islamist-​Secular Divide: Parties and Voters in the Arab world.’ International Political Science Review 40 (4): 558–​575. Willis, Michael. 2008. ‘The Politics of Berber (Amazight) Identity: Algeria and Morocco Compared.’ In Yahia H. Zoubir and Haizam Amirah-​Fernández (eds.) North Africa: Politics, Region, and the Limits of Transformation. London: Routledge. Winter, de Lieven and Joan Marcet. 2000. ‘Liberalism and Liberal Parties in the European Union.’ In De Winter L. (ed.) Liberalism and Liberal Parties in the European Union. Barcelona: Institut de Ciències Politiques I Socials: 11–​24. Wolf, Anne. 2018. ‘What Are Secular Parties in the Arab World? Insights from Tunisia’s Nidaa Tounes and Morocco’s PAM.’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Wu, Bingbing. 2007. ‘Secularism and Secularization in the Arab World.’ Journal of Middle Eastern and Islamic Studies (in Asia) 1 (1): 55–​65.

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7 PERSONALISM IN MENA POLITICS The case of Tunisia Giulia Cimini Introduction In the broad field of the social sciences, personalism in politics is a widely debated phenomenon. In the absence of a scholarly consensus on a clear definition of personalism itself (Kostadinova and Levitt 2014), its role and relevance in party politics has consequently lacked extensive theoretical and empirical research. This is even more evident when it comes to analyse Arab political parties, which only recently have been the object of a renewed interest (Cavatorta and Storm 2018; Hinnebusch 2017; Eyadat 2015; Hamid 2014). When approaching the issue of political parties in the post-​2011 period, a recurrent feature has been their proliferation, particularly in countries like Tunisia, Egypt and Libya where authoritarian regimes collapsed. At the same time, out of those impressive numbers, only a tiny minority managed to achieve parliamentary representation, a nationwide appeal or genuine influence in the decision-​making process. These newly formed parties  –​or newer versions of older parties  –​reveal also another phenomenon, namely the overabundance of political parties revolving around a political entrepreneur who organises the party according to his own interests, personal values, and, above all, ambitions. In short, what is commonly termed a “personalist party.”1 This label encompasses a heterogeneous spectrum of political formations, some marginal, some others quite central to political life and some still acting as surprisingly successful electoral machines able to win the popular vote despite being recently created or weakly structured. In all these experiences, the common thread is the over-​reliance on the leader to such an extent that the fate of the party is intimately associated with his/her fate. Leadership is either a blessing or a curse for the survival of the party itself. In other words, its greatest strength and pitfall. This chapter reflects on the personalisation of politics through the lens of political parties and explores its dominant traits, underlying assumptions and prospects. While acknowledging that a large portion of political parties in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region is oft-​considered as personalistic in nature, the focus here is on Tunisia because the variety and sample size of its nascent or rebranding parties offer a privileged vantage point. In a context of liberalised political arena, a process of personalistic atomisation has taken root and resulted in a myriad of parties or formations rotating around their leaders/​founders without a meaningful party structure as counterweight. Leaders, not parties, are the central actors in electoral politics 83

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and the political arena more broadly, partly in continuity with the individualisation and privatisation of politics undertaken by former Tunisian autocrats. But personalism as key feature taken up by most of Tunisian parties –​and regardless of their party family –​recalls a general trend occurring worldwide though with much variance among countries (Rahat and Kenig 2018). In forging and preserving Tunisian personalist parties, charisma plays a big role, albeit not necessarily, as multiple factors often come in: among others, personal wealth, identitarian claims and neo-​patrimonial linkages. Moreover, these parties tend to be short-​lived and pretty unstable, experimenting sudden and sharp ups and down, which are actually only loosely related to the “adjustment” phase of Tunisian politics. The structure of the chapter will be as follows: in the first paragraph a short overview of the main theoretical approaches exploring the meaning of the concept is provided. Before zooming in on this typology of parties, the following section reflects on personalism as striking feature of post-​colonial Arab regimes and on how it transfers into the party systems building on the tradition of the zaʿim (literally, “leader”). The contribution then turns to the Tunisian partisan landscape, as a particularly fertile ground for personalist parties and evidence of the contradictions they embody, Tunisia having been among the most personalistic authoritarian governance found in the region (Volpi 2013). Lastly, it explores the relationship of personalism with charisma, ideology, and programmatic stances.

Conceptualising personalist parties Personalist parties have been analysed through several overlapping frameworks, including through the vantage points of charisma, populism, anti-​establishment or anti-​system. Although these are all aspects often associated with parties deemed as personalistic, they are neither necessary nor sufficient conditions to define them. As Keffor and McDonnell (2018) argue, this type of parties has to date been variously termed as “personal” (Calise 2010 [2000]), “personalistic” (Gunther and Diamond 2003), or “personalist” (Kostadinova and Levitt 2014). Although a slightly different terminology is used, all definitions seem to share the centrality of the leader who is functional to the survival of the party itself. In the personal party –​the category that Calise (2010 [2000]) coined for classifying the emerging form of political parties that was taking hold in Italy as well as in other Western countries (Musella 2018: 9) –​the founder-​president embodies and fully directs the party. Being the true creation of the leader, the party and the leader are inseparable entities whose fate is inextricably linked, with an evident dependency of the party’s identity on the leader. The personalistic party as described by Gunther and Diamond (2003) falls within the genus of “electoralist” parties –​a family that also includes programmatic and catch-​all parties whose common ground is the thin organisational structure. In their view, the party is undoubtedly a vehicle in the hands of the leader for satisfying his/​her own ambitions in terms of electoral success and power exercise. Against this backdrop, the electoral appeal of the party rests on the leader’s charisma, rather than on programmatic or ideological basis. What is more, the leader is often portrayed as “indispensable to the resolution of the country’s problems or crisis” (Gunther and Diamond 2003: 187). When compared to previous approaches, Kostadinova and Levitt’s (2014) conceptualisation of personalist parties rests on two main criteria: the presence of a dominant leader and a weakly institutionalised party organisation by design. A personalist party, they argue, exists and functions around a prominent political entrepreneur who uses and often creates a party to pursue his or her agenda. Regardless of his charisma, the leader dominates the intra-​organisational party dynamics, from nominating candidates, to distributing spoils, to determining policy directions. 84

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Within such an architecture, intra-​party interactions are driven by loyalty to the leader “rather than organisational rules, ideological affinities or programmatic commitment” (Kostadinova and Levitt 2014: 492). When comparing these definitions, the most striking difference is the degree of ownership between personalist/​personalistic (or more simply, personalised) parties on the one side and the personal party on the other. Whereas the latter suggests that the leader, given a specific combination of patrimonial and charismatic resources, is the owner of the party (Pasquino and Valbruzzi 2017), the former do not imply the total control of the leader on the party organisation, notwithstanding the exercise of far-​reaching prerogatives and powers within it. Furthermore, by measuring parties on leadership and organisational complexity, Kostadinova and Levitt (2014) provide us with a useful tool to trace the trajectories of contemporary political parties regardless of their ideological dimension, or lack thereof. As the above studies have mostly analysed political parties in transitional or established democracies, future research will also need to further empirical validation and assess the degree of variation in other, not necessarily democratic, contexts. If there is no agreement on a theoretical definition of the personalist party and its operationalisation in contexts where the literature on political parties abound, it is even more complicated to detect personalist parties in the Arab world where systematic analyses and comparisons are far more scant. Research on more consolidated democracies points to the increasing importance of individual politicians at the expense of the party as a corporate apparatus and the carrier of a specific ideology. Similarly, whereas in newer democracies parties seem to face the same challenges of their counterparts in Europe or North America, the tendency towards personalism in party politics is actually even more pronounced wherever there are fragile institutions or a lack of a consolidated tradition of party system (Mainwaring and Torcal 2005). This chapter adopts the Kostadinova and Levitt’s parsimonious definition of personalist parties based on intra-​organisational power and two core conditions –​the leadership centric character and a thin organisational capacity –​as it specifically allows for the identification of key traits of personalism, which in the Middle East politics translates from past regimes into new partisan domain. Before looking at political parties more closely therefore, it is worth recalling that the theme of personalisation is not a new one in the region.

Personalism as a modality of post-​colonial rule In the MENA, the cult of a strong man and need for a leader, enshrined in the political practice of the zaʿim, is intimately tied to the post-​colonial period. In the new independent states, this practice served as a technique of “surveillance and normalisation” of “undisciplined” populations as conceived by a mainstream intellectual tradition stemming from orientalism (Hibou 2011[2006]: 272). The appearance of major political leaders characterised most of the nation-​state building processes in the Arab regimes, whose defining features have been precisely personalism and durability. Personalisation is a common trait of post-​colonial leadership styles in the Arab world and it comes to be inevitably associated with authoritarianism, centralisation, arbitrariness, clientelism and patronage. Whereas pre-​2011 Tunisia can be rightly considered among the most personalistic regimes region-​wide, many are the examples of personalised polities, from Iraq to Egypt, Morocco, Algeria, and many others. In Tunisia, Bourguiba constructed a patriarchal “personalization of the political relation” (Camau and Geisser 2003:81) between state and citizens. This is evident in the extent to which his rhetoric was deeply permeated with a paternalistic dimension and father-​like imagery, as if he had to guide the populace along a “correct pact” (Barakat 1993). Indeed, by adopting 85

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the symbolism of the family for the new Tunisian nation-​state and portraying himself as the “Father,” he crafted a new identity based on centralised power patriarchy, while superseding other competing structures or forms of identity that might compete for people’s loyalty, such as tribes and kin-​groups or religion (Charrad 2011). What is more, to frame the personalisation of his rule, he claimed for himself the title of zaʿim that is intimately connected with the patrimonial tradition of regional and local chiefs or patrons as well as the system of reciprocal obligations (namely, obedience exchanged for protection) stemming from it. The Ben Ali’s regime that followed reproduced the personalisation of power, although without Bourguiba’s charisma and paternalistic side. Ben Ali’s personalist rule was exemplified by the personality cult he established through, for instance, the omnipresent representation of the number seven (his fetish number recalling the day he succeeded to the presidency) and the colour mauve, said to be his favourite. Another key characteristic of such a personalised regime is the excessive centralism of the system where everything is decided in Cartage (the presidential palace) and passed on through the hegemonic regime party (Constituent Democratic Rally, RCD) that acted as “a vehicle for toothless citizen integration” and a policy-​discussion forum, although to a limited extent (Storm 2014:104–​5). Equally prominent were the informal networks that the presidential family, regional relations and business milieus hoarding the spoils of the system created. Likewise, in the construction of Saddam Hussein’s regime, personal ties were given prominence, meaning that appointment to top posts as well as career advancement were based almost exclusively on officeholders’ personal relationship with the ruler. As Charrad (2011) points out, in stuffing the state apparatus, Saddam Hussein strategically appointed tribally unaffiliated party cadres to top positions, while simultaneously recruiting members of his own clan for military, intelligence, and security organisations. In a way similar to what happened in Tunisia, the regime opposed local patrimonial networks, and strengthened patrimonialism at the central level. In Egypt, the military-​backed personalistic rule of Mubarak established a nomenklatura system dominated by clientelism and nepotism as well as a personality cult to solidify the centre of power (Mezran 2011). The case of Morocco is slightly more peculiar, as the centrality of the king, who enjoys religious authority and legitimacy through his lineage from the Prophet, unfolds through the Makhzen, a family-​ based, neo-​ patrimonial and personalistic circle of power, which rules the country through a system of patronage resources, “which are the king’s most effective levers of political control” (Mezran 2011). In Algeria, Bouteflika, the once-​ charismatic veteran of the independence war from France who stepped down from presidency in April 2019 after weeks of mass protests and twenty years in power, established a charismatic style of governance, not least in the attempt of emancipation from the military (Mezran 2011; Werenfels 2007). In Libya, Qaddafi’s idiosyncratic rule derived its legitimacy from the idea of a revolutionary mission he pretended to embody having overthrown king Idris I’s regime, which was considered corrupt and backward. In so doing, he laid the foundations for a personalised system of government centring on a close-​knit group made up of his family and a narrow elite against the backdrop of poorly functioning institutions (Mezran 2011). Personalisation entails a straightforward identification between the chief patron and the supposedly personalised entity, as a corollary of the former’s influence and concentration of power. Or, in Brownlee’s words (2007:204) “generally speaking, when we begin to associate a regime with an individual leader’s name, this signals the onset of ‘personalistic rule’ […] and a corresponding departure from institutions.” By definition, in a personalistic regime, ruler’s discretion pervades most if not all domains of politics at the expense of the rule of law, and is a crucial feature of regime’s longevity and resistance to political reforms (Bellin 2004). It is 86

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worthy to bear in mind that there is not a binary dichotomy “leader vs institutions,” but rather the point is to what extent institutions can serve as a counterweight to his or her authority, and exist and function independently from the will of the leader. Equally, personalism is a feature found not only at the level of the Heads of State (Presidents or monarchs), but also in political parties and civil society associations. The importance attached to the zaʿim in post-​colonial Arab politics translates into the partisan domain and also reflects the persistence of traditional structures of patrimonialism which have been incorporated within the structures and functions of emerging parties throughout the MENA (Tachau 1994). That a party is regularly associated and recognised through its leader above all other dimensions (e.g. ideological tenets, programmatic stances, or a plurality of prominent figures) shows the extent of personalisation. What is more, party politics increasingly becomes, from the point of view of voters, about personalities. For instance, particularly in the case of post-​2011 Tunisia, with the abrupt changeover from a de facto hegemonic multi-​party system to an extremely atomised one, the electorate was indeed presented with an impossible number of parties to choose from with similar names and lacking clear programmes (Storm 2014; Hibou 2011). In such a confusing political offer, the electorate opted for those well-​known entities, whose leaders were easily recognisable, whether for their political activities  –​especially in terms of opposition to Ben Ali’s rule (the main evidence being the vote to the Islamists of Ennahda and to the once-​exiled human-​rights activist Moncef Marzouki’s Congress for the Republic, but also to Ettakatol, the centre-​ left social democratic party)  –​or for their enormous wealth (as for Hachmi’s Popular Petition, PP).

Personalities and personalist parties in post-​2011 Tunisia In personalist parties the primacy of a “strong man” strikes above all other dimensions, and the identity of the party and that of the leader are tightly intertwined. These two aspects have manifold implications. Among others: • • •

the party is a personal vehicle if not a personal possession; internal crises connected to succession issues are more likely to occur once the leader –​who acted as “the glue” of the party –​leaves; internal democracy is somewhat limited in order to secure the leader’s position.

Examples drawn by the experience of Tunisia clearly illustrate these features. To begin with, being these parties created by and around the leader and not under the impetus of a bottom–​up movement, they come to be perceived as vehicles for self-​promotion and heavily depend on their leaders’ personal resources. In this, leaders are either rampant newcomers to politics or senior and more experienced politicians. Tunisian multi-​party system showcases a constellation of personalistic formations, some small and pretty uninfluential, others able to build wide popular support almost from scratch and in a short period of time relying on an efficient electoral machine. In order to do so, leaders’ money and popularity undoubtedly helped promoting the party’s profile. Whereas countless examples of personalist parties are found locally, the most prominent examples with a nationwide appeal include the Current of Love (known as the Popular Petition, PP, before May 2013) and the now-​dissolved Free Patriotic Union (UPL). Both parties are backed by wealthy leaders who leveraged on personal media resources and popularity, experiencing rapid successes and failures in their political career. The former, a completely new and personalistic formation, emerged suddenly in 2011 by gathering 87

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a coalition of (at least formally) independent candidates but under the banner of Mohamed Hechmi Hamdi, a Tunisian businessman who lived in London where he ran the satellite TV station Al-​Mustakilla since the 1990s. Running in the first democratic elections in 2011, the PP obtained 26 seats, becoming the third force in the National Constituent Assembly. But, in the 2014 parliamentary elections, Hamdi saw his fortune reversed winning only two seats with the coalition he had renamed as the Current of Love, and seized but one seat in the current parliamentary term after the October 2019 legislative elections. By contrast, Slim Riahi’s UPL came in third at the 2014 polls after conducting an expensive, high profile campaign. Riahi, a relative newcomer to politics in 2011 when he managed to get only a tiny percentage of vote, is a wealthy businessman with a big stake in Tunisian media, and owns Club Africain, one of the most popular Tunisian football teams. After repeated corruption allegations and internal criticism to Riahi for considering the party as a one-​man project, the UPL merged in late 2018 with Nidaa Tounes (Call for Tunisia), the then-​incumbent party. Because of the combination of these features, some analysts compared Riahi with Italy’s former Prime Minister Silvio Berlusconi, an oft-​cited example of personalist and, more specifically, personal party leader (Fabbrini 2013; Musella 2014). Both Hamdi and Riahi ran for the presidency in 2014 and in 2019.2 More recently, the media tycoon Nabil Karoui, the founder of Nessma TV, a major private television channel that played up its highly-​publicised charity work, started leading a new-​born party in June 2019, Qalb Tounes (Heart of Tunisia). While quickly emerging as a frontrunner in polls as the early presidential election neared, Karoui was taken into custody on tax fraud and money laundering charges in August 2019. After an unconventional electoral campaign by proxy –​ through his wife and Nessma TV being Karoui in pre-​trial detention –​he secured the presidential runoff by capitalising on widespread anti-​establishment discontent and championing for the fight against poverty. He was finally largely defeated by law professor Kais Saied, but his party came in second at last legislative elections and seized 38 seats. In view of this round of voting, Qalb Tounes was among the last of a long list of Tunisian parties that re-​branded themselves and re-​organised around a clash of personalities rather than substantive policy issues or ideological approaches, as the astonishing number of competing party lists underscored.3 Whereas the aforementioned leaders are relatively newcomers to politics, different is the figure of the now deceased Beji Caid Essebsi, an experienced politician from the Bourghiba and Ben Ali’s eras who set up Nidaa Tounes in 2012 to strengthen secular modernists’ ranks against the Islamist Ennahda. Compared to previous examples, Essebsi’s party not only meets the two highlighted criteria of a personalist party  –​the presence of a dominant leader serving as kingmaker of the party with an embryonic party structure to secure his power –​but it has also been far more relevant due to its electoral and political success, at least until the last elections. Just like many parties in the region, Nidaa Tounes is not a bottom-​up party inspired by a social movement or class, but was born at the initiative of a single political figure with close ties to the centre of power, representing an old regime secularist and French-​speaking elite. With the creation of Nidaa, Essebsi provided a new platform for most of the formal and informal networks of cronyism connected to the now disbanded RCD and an opportunity to protect their economic and political privileges. Nidaa is also an interesting case as it represented a heterogeneous spectrum of political forces  –​ nationalists, leftists, trade unionists and former RCDists –​that came together under the aegis of a charismatic and politically experienced zaʿim. It is not by chance that Essebsi presented himself as the heir of Bourghiba who, as the dominant single leader claiming to embody the interests of the society as a whole in the construction of the post-​independence State in Tunisia, represents the zaʿim par excellence. 88

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Second, as a consequence of the leader being so vital to the party’s life, the transition to a new one might be extremely difficult. Evidence suggests that in the history of many Arab parties, changes of leadership have usually occurred upon the death of the incumbent leader, and they have been a major factor in explaining the splits and formal divisions within parties (Willis 2002). This is exactly what happened in the case of Nidaa, which collapsed over the issue of succession at the party’s leadership when Essebsi had to leave it because of the constitutional incompatibility between partisan responsibilities and his newly appointment as Head of the State in 2014. In the absence of a founding congress and elected institutions, the dismissal of powers from the original body of Comité Constitutif to a new political bureau and the succession at the party’s presidency was the battlefield between Mohsen Marzouk, a member of the first hour, and Hafedh Caid Essesi (Essebsi’s son), and their respective factions. The haemorrhage of MPs from November 2015 onwards harshly impacted the party, which had come out on top in the legislative 2014 elections: it lost more than half of its MPs by featuring in third place at the end of the parliamentary term with 37 seats in the Assembly from 86 deputies it originally had (Al Bawsala 2019). After the October 2019 general elections, Nidaa got only three seats. Although the split within the party also reflected ideological differences and disagreements over the leadership’s approach to governing (Williamson 2016), it mirrored first and foremost a power struggle between personalities (Cherif 2015). As long as Essebsi officially held the reins of the party, he was able to keep at bay internal criticism over party’s management and the decision to integrate former RCDists, as well as that to include Ennahda in the post-​2014 governmental coalition despite the original purpose of confronting Islamists. With him gone, the weakly structured Nidaa crumbled. What is more, Essebsi’s passing away in July 2019 –​which led to early presidential elections –​further depressed the confidence in what was left of his party, as the last electoral performance clearly shows. Furthermore, in personalist parties, a feckless pluralism is more often than not the rule. By describing a party whose leader is dominant, Susan Scarrow (2005:16) highlights that there may be “little concern about promoting intra-​party democracy.” This translates into a lack of clear criteria for recruiting candidates, appointing members to local and national positions, or establishing mechanisms to solve possible controversies and conflicts. While formal rules may exist, they mainly remain on paper because the leader’s discretion is far more relevant. An absent or deficient organisational capacity often runs in parallel with the aforementioned features. Once again, Nidaa Tounes fits the description. Since its creation, it has been delineating temporary structure and bodies while waiting for a founding congress. The delay in holding it and agreeing on a statute left a significant level of arbitrariness and ambivalence. Against this backdrop, personal power struggles took place reflecting clientelistic logics and interests. First, the group of founding members and that of new comers competed over the composition of executive bodies and then over the awarding of internal responsibilities. Second, from the examination of party’s statute and bylaws (Nidaa Tounes 2016a, 2016b),4 the procedures of “vote” for and within party’s bodies occur by designation or recommendation. On the occasion of the first national congress in January 2016, four years after the party’s creation, many, especially local representatives, complained about its being pointless and uncompetitive:  the main decisions had already been taken and they were deprived of their effective choice about the candidates for the executive and political bodies. That was due to the fact that the list of candidates was already agreed upon, as well as the party’s statute, which was not examined article by article (Dahmani 2017, Kapitalis 2016). Finally, the rules concerning the leader of the party, labelled as Executive Director are absent at all. And in practice, evidence points at a strong centralisation of decisions. Thus conceived, elitist and clientelistic dynamics have far more space within the party, depending on the leader’s will and ability to hold together multiple and even competing 89

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interests under the umbrella of a minimalist ideology and/​or the rewards of material and other benefits. In sum, the accountability, centralisation and exclusiveness of the leadership on the one hand, and the complexity and articulation of the party apparatus speak to the two criteria that Kostadinova and Levitt emphasise for personalist parties. Nonetheless, parties other than personalist ones may have strong leaders or powerless organisations. Hence, what makes the difference is the extent to which the leaders, deemed as charismatic or simply popular, are held accountable vis-​à-​vis the rest of the party. For instance, whether the leadership is effectively individualistic rather than collective and to what extent the leader is exclusively responsible for administration, planning and policymaking. Indicative of this trend, are the establishment of formalised mechanisms of succession, the ways in which decisions are taken, and the existence of other relevant bodies within the party as defined by standardised operating procedures. That is why leadership and organisational capacity speak to each other in the identification of personalist parties.

Personalist parties in context: ideology, legitimacy, and mixed resources Against this backdrop, three further considerations are needed to better frame our “typology” of parties:  the potential co-​existence of personalism with the ideological or programmatic dimension; the preference of multiple strategies from which the leader draws his or her political legitimacy; and personalism as a crosscutting feature across the political spectrum. First, the fact that a single personality overshadows other party members as well as the centrality of ideological or programmatic commitments does not necessarily imply their absence. Ideally, personalist parties may have very comprehensive policy platforms as well as little more than a vague campaign slogan, or may be deeply ideological as well as only superficially so (Kostadinova and Levitt 2014). In other words, as Coppedge (1998) notes, these dimensions are not necessarily mutually exclusive. This is particularly evident if one looks at past personalised regimes or parties, where nationalism, pan-​Arabism or socialist ideas provided some kind of ideological backing to and reinforced the role of leaders such as Muammar Qaddafi and Saddam Hussein among others. That said, it has become increasingly evident that dominant ruling and even opposition political parties face significant disincentives to formulate meaningful policy alternatives, while the flattening of ideologies and the ambivalent use of secular-​Islamist identity make them converge in an office-​seeking direction, where strategic concerns prevail over programmatic stances to survive in the partisan arena. Personalist parties, like others, tap into this trend: increasingly, ideology is seen as something negative as it opposes pragmatism. In the eyes of many, moreover, the rigidity of ideological positions may also be counterproductive insofar it alienates possible allies (Liddell 2010). Second, whereas charisma is undoubtedly a recurrent trait associated with personalism, by no means it is an exclusive and omni-​present feature. Quite the opposite, it becomes increasingly evident how leaders resort to multiple strategies for seizing power, enhancing their appeal, and strengthening political linkages, both within the party and vis-​à-​vis their constituencies. Although in this chapter the focus is on intra-​party dynamics, the issue of legitimation, as well as the strategies to increase and secure the appeal of a leader can be tackled from at least two standpoints: the political elite of his/​her party and the society at large. Kitschelt and his colleagues (2009) detect two core strategies for political linkage building: “instrumental” and “affective.” The former focuses around a calculated exchange between principals and agents, that can take either a clientelistic or a programmatic form, and gathers support based on allocating material benefits or delivering preferred policies. By contrast, an emotional attachment is more often 90

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characteristic of a charismatic leadership. In this sense, the “politics of symbolism” also comes into play, and adds to the classic Weberian dimension of charisma and tradition, inasmuch as it “looks at the immaterial aspects of culture, identity and discourse” (Bank and Richter 2010). Nonetheless, leaders build on a discursive strategy which refers to aspects connected to religion, tribal allegiances or country’s tradition and heritage (often intertwined with religiosity). With regard to this, Essebsi’s rhetoric and imagery is a case in point. By claiming Destourian roots (Tunisian independence movement), he boosted the legitimacy of the party on this legacy and the modernist Bourghibian heritage, in stark contrast to the allegedly anti-​democratic and obscurantist societal project the Islamists represent. At the same time, since the Muslim identity is conceived as part and parcel of the Tunisian identity, Essebsi frequently quotes the Qur’an, and remarkably ended his final speech during the presidential electoral campaign with a verse from it (Hammami 2014). Ironically, whereas Ennahda insists on the separation between the party and the movement to avoid accusations of being too Islamist, other parties such as Nidaa appropriate religious credentials from time to time in order not to be considered as not enough Muslim, and thereby Tunisian (Wolf 2018). Lastly, the presence of a popular or charismatic leader neither implies the personalistic nature of the party tout-​court, nor it is an extraordinary feature confined to any party family. Indeed, the presence of dominant personalities is a crosscutting feature along the conventional left-​r ight axis and other possible partisan cleavages. The popular appealing of Islamists and their external image resting upon a great degree of cohesion and discipline has been often associated to prominent figures, undoubtedly charismatic. Suffice it to think to Abdelillah Benkirane, whose frank and direct rhetoric, use of darija (colloquial Arabic), and modest and unassuming lifestyle gained the PJD an increased popular appeal in Morocco (Cimini 2018). Another example is the influential personality of Rached Ghannouchi within Ennahda in Tunisia, whose longevity at the top of the party hierarchy has caused murmurs on undemocratic rule and personalised style as well. Hence, Ennahda and the PJD are indicative examples of Islamist parties whose popular and electoral appeal has been undoubtedly linked to the personality of their leaders, though they can hardly be considered personalist, not least because of the presence of collective bodies and mechanisms able to provide check and balances to the leader’s authority. On opposite sides to the Islamist field, the reliance on the leaders’ charisma is a characteristic of many leftist parties as well (Resta 2018).

Conclusion Personalism is far from novel in MENA politics, being a defining feature of post-​colonial Arab regimes. But whereas the appearance of major leaders serving as Heads of State has been widely scrutinised, the phenomenon of personalistic leadership within the realm of partisan politics has largely been understudied. Political parties themselves have only recently received a renewed scholar attention after being too easily dismissed out as irrelevant or biased long enough. In addition, theoretical deficiencies on what precisely is a personalist party reflected on the complex operationalisation of a set of recognisable features. Hence, the challenge of categorising personalist parties. The present contribution employs two core features that should both be present in order to consider a party personalist: a dominant leader and a weakly institutionalised organisation. The examples drawn from Tunisia, Nidaa Tounes in primis, illustrate how the leadership-​ centric nature of the party frequently makes internal crises on succession issues very likely to occur. Personalism also comes at the expense of internal democracy and pluralism. What is more, Tunisia has been experiencing a kind of paradox, with a rising number of personalist 91

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parties in a social and political context where feelings of repulsion and nostalgia for a strong man co-​exist. On the one hand, the uprisings of 2011 expressed the desire of change vis-​à-​vis the ancien régime, and the practices it embodied as people demanded greater accountability and end to cronyism. In other words, a more rational, value-​driven, open and responsible leadership. The will to prevent the authoritarian return of Ben Ali-​style of governance –​intimately associated with centralisation and personalism in the collective imaginary  –​has been constitutionalised with “interwoven powers” invested in the heads of the executive branch, the Prime Minister and the President. This idea is further evidenced by the pure proportional system purposely chosen to prevent a single party and a single man to impose themselves. It has also been the intention of the Constituent Assembly to create a highly inclusive political system after years of exclusion, as representativeness has been preferred to the more likely guarantees a majoritarian system offered in terms of governmental stability. On the other hand, Tunisia witnessed an extreme proliferation of parties revolving around single personalities and parties which simply serve as vehicles of self-​promotion, a fact that has also fuelled popular disaffection vis-​à-​vis partisan entities, still perceived as elitist vehicles of self-​promotion, detached from society. In addition, the conjunction of the strong Essebsi’s presidency since 2015 with the slow pace of reforms enacted by newly democratic institutions pointed to the “dysfunctionalities” of constitutional parliamentarism that is often held responsible for blocking government action. Such a condition echoes from time to time in a growing nostalgia for a strong man as opposed to the alleged inefficiency of “representative” but polarised bodies like parliament and government. If President Essebsi epitomised a political culture where personal power and State centrality constitute fundamental pillars, there is plenty of other leaders, charismatic or not, more popular or less known, who set up personalist parties cast very much in their own image. All these parties are top-​heavy, ego-​driven, with light organisational structure, and highly vulnerable to infighting, splits and reshuffles. As a result of the party leader being so central to the party life, the fortune and durability of the latter are inevitably associated with those of the former. The flip side of the coin is that the lifespan of a personalist party, though it may last for many years under the founder-​leader, is usually recognised as limited, thus temporary, as highlighted elsewhere (Kefford and MacDonnell 2018). This carries at least two relevant consequences. First, it may encourage opportunistic behaviour and lead to the constant need by the leader to secure his primacy and the loyalty of members by delivering on high expectations through the provision of material or other benefits, particularly if the established linkage is instrumental rather than emotional. Second, against this backdrop, the system is injected with a higher degree of unpredictability, given that personalist parties find themselves in electoral markets more competitive and volatile than they once were. The findings presented in this chapter have implications for our understanding of how regional praxis of personalisation of politics, traditionally associated with the various post-​ independence regime types and authoritarian presidential/​monarchical styles of governance, mutated and spread among political parties not least making ever greater use of mediatisation and professionalisation. At the same time, the increasing importance of political entrepreneurs, be they outsiders or professional politicians, is a phenomenon unlimited by space (Rahat and Kenig 2018). In this sense, personalistic Arab parties are not exceptional. Rather, they position themselves in the wake of a broader trend connecting to transnational phenomena such as public discontent with traditional parties, populist waves and a more general personalisation of politics emphasised by the use of media (Van Aelst et al. 2012) that provide instant access to the electorate and society reducing the need of an intermediary structure like the traditional party apparatus. 92

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It remains to be seen to what extent these leaders, and their personalist parties as a consequence, are sustainable in the long run. In other words, regardless of the success and popularity of the moment, whether they are able to enact long-​term visions and projects rather than acting as merely adventurers in politics, so as to avoid the risk of rapid consumption as for some media celebrities.

Notes 1 In the chapter, I will refer to these parties simply as “personalist.” In the author’s understanding, whereas the term “personal” comes with a different connotation, terms such as “personalistic” and “personalised” are considered here as synonym. 2 Following the issuing of a sentence for corruption, Riahi is in self-​imposed exile. He finally withdrew from the 2019 presidential race in favour of Nidaa Tounes’s candidate and former Defence Minister Abdelkrim Zbidi. 3 Just like in 2014, numbers have been incredibly high: more than 15,000 candidates running on more than 1,500 lists (163 coalition lists, 687 party lists and 722 independent lists) competed for the 217-​seat parliament. 4 The bylaws and statute considered here are those prior to April 2019, when two parallel congresses were held with each rival factions electing a party leader.

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Giulia Cimini Gunther, Richard, and Larry Diamond. 2003. ‘Species of Political Parties: A New Typology.’ Party Politics 9 (2): 167–​199. Hamid, Shadi. 2014. ‘Political Party Development Before and After the Arab Spring.’ In Mehran Kamrava (ed.) Beyond the Arab Spring: The Evolving Ruling Bargain in the Middle East. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 131–​150. Hammami, Mohammed Dhia. 2014. ‘Essebsi and Tunisia: The Support of Ben Ali’s Elites.’Al Araby, December 15, 2014. Available at: www.alaraby.co.uk/​english/​indepth/​b4dbcc7a-​735e-​4f1d-​af6bd453ca679917. Hibou, Béatrice. 2011. ‘Le Moment Révolutionnaire Tunisien en Question : Vers l’Oubli du Mouvement Social ?’ Dossiers du CERI, 1–​ 15. Available at:  https://​hal-​sciencespo.archives-​ouvertes.fr/​hal-​ 01024404/​document. Hibou, Béatrice. 2011 [2006]. The Force of Obedience:  The Political Economy of Repression in Tunisia. Cambridge: Polity Press. Hinnebusch, Raymond. 2017. ‘Political Parties in MENA:  Their Functions and Development.’ British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 44 (2): 159–​175. Kapitalis. 2016. ‘Sousse:  Vives Protestations Au Congrès Du Nidaa.’ Kapitalis News, January 10, 2016. http://​kapitalis.com/​tunisie/​2016/​01/​10/​sousse-​vives-​protestations-​au-​congres-​du-​nidaa/​. Kefford, Glenn, and Duncan McDonnell. 2018. ‘Inside the Personal Party:  Leader-​ Owners, Light Organizations and Limited Lifespans’. The British Journal of Politics and International Relations 20 (2): 379–​94. Kitschelt, Herbert, Kent Freeze, Kiril Kolev, and Yi-​ Ting Wang. 2009. ‘Measuring Democratic Accountability: An Initial Report on an Emerging Data Set.’ Revista de Ciencia Política 29 (3): 741–​773. Kostadinova, Tatiana, and Barry Levitt. 2014. ‘Toward a Theory of Personalist Parties: Concept Formation and Theory Building.’ Politics & Policy 42 (4): 490–​512. Liddell, James. 2010. ‘Notables, Clientelism and the Politics of Change in Morocco.’ The Journal of North African Studies 15 (3): 315–​31. Mainwaring, Scott, and Mariano Torcal. 2005. ‘Party System Institutionalization and Party System Theory after the Third Wave of Democratization.’ Working Paper 319. The Helen Kellogg Institute for International Studies. Available online at https://​pdfs.semanticscholar.org/​509b/​bd1d69cfe47a12b 7775e34ce95c0d4337034.pdf Mezran, Karim. 2011. ‘Political Leadership in North Africa  –​What Comes After Authoritarian Regimes?’ The SAIS Europe Journal of Global Affairs, January 4, 2011. www.saisjournal.org/​posts/​ political-​leadership-​in-​north-​africa. Musella, Fortunato. 2018. Political Leaders Beyond Party Politics. Palgrave Macmillan. Musella, Fortunato. 2014. ‘How Personal Parties Change: Party Organisation and (In)Discipline in Italy (1994–​2013).’ Contemporary Italian Politics 6 (3): 222–​237. Nidaa Tounes. 2016a. Harakat Nidaa’ Tunis: al-Nizam al-Asasi [Nidaa Tounes: Statute]’ ———. 2016b. Harakat Nidaa’ Tunis: al-Nizam al-Dakhili [Nidaa Tounes: Bylaws]’ Pasquino, Gianfranco and Marco Valbruzzi. 2017. ‘The Italian Democratic Party, Its Nature and Its Secretary.’ Revista Española de Ciencia Política 1 (44): 275–​299. Rahat, Gideon and Ofer Kenig. 2018. From Party Politics to Personalized Politics? Party Change and Political Personalization in Democracies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Resta, Valeria. 2018. ‘Leftist Parties in the Arab Region Before and After the Arab Uprisings: Unrequited Love?’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh University Press, 23–48. Scarrow, Susan E. 2005. ‘Implementing Intra-​Party Democracy’. Political Parties and democracy in Theoretical and Practical Perspectives. National Democratic Institute. Available at:  www.ndi.org/​sites/​ default/​files/​1951_​polpart_​scarrow_​110105_​5.pdf. Storm, Lise. 2014. Party Politics and Prospects for Democracy in North Africa. Boulder:  Lynne Rienner Publishers. Tachau, Frank. 1994. ‘Introduction.’ In Frank Tachau (ed.) Political Parties of the Middle East and North Africa. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press, xiii–xxv. Van Aelst, Peter, Tamir Sheafer and James Stanyer. 2012. ‘The Personalization of Mediated Political Communication:  A Review of Concepts, Operationalizations and Key Findings.’ Journalism 13 (2): 203–​220. Volpi, Frédéric. 2013. ‘Explaining (and Re-​Explaining) Political Change in the Middle East during the Arab Spring: Trajectories of Democratization and of Authoritarianism in the Maghreb.’ Democratization 20 (6): 969–​90.

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Personalist parties in Tunisia Werenfels, Isabelle. 2007. Managing Instability in Algeria: Elites and Political Change since 1995. Abingdon: Routledge. Williamson, Scott. 2016. ‘A Silver Lining in the Nidaa Tounes Split.’ Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 29 January 2016. Available at: http://​carnegieendowment.org/​sada/​62624. Willis, Michael. 2002. ‘Political Parties in the Maghrib: The Illusion of Significance?’ The Journal of North African Studies 7 (2): 1–​22. Wolf, Anne. 2018. ‘What Are “Secular” Parties in the Arab World? Insights from Tunisia’s Nidaa Tounes and Morocco’s Pam.’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 49–71.

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PART II

Political parties in authoritarian settings

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8 POLITICAL PARTIES UNDER COMPETITIVE AUTHORITARIANISM Lise Storm

Competitive authoritarianism in the MENA: what is it? From the mid-​1990s onwards, competitive authoritarianism –​or its cognate electoral authoritarianism  –​has been spreading rapidly in the MENA, eventually becoming the dominant regime form, although fully authoritarian regimes do remain commonplace. Defined here along the lines of the classic texts by Schedler (2002, 2006) and Levitsky and Way (2002), the term competitive authoritarianism refers to regimes that fail to meet the conventional minimum standards for democracy in the sense that, while national elections are competitive and formal democratic institutions are seen as the main avenue for arriving at and exercising power, the democratic rules are routinely violated, thus undermining these in practice. Such regimes are accordingly not seen as a subtype of democracy, but rather as a form of authoritarianism as Linz (2000) also argued. This chapter is concerned with political parties under competitive authoritarianism in the MENA, exploring their role and functions across different types of party systems, in regimes affording varying degrees of freedom, and in contexts which, at times, offer up alternatives to the political parties and, thus, increased competition. The analysis begins with an exploration of assumptions regarding political competition and party (system) institutionalisation, moving on to a discussion of competitive clientelism and the importance of deep local politico-​historical knowledge. Party dynamics in the competitive authoritarian regimes of present-​day MENA can only be fully understood if one grasps the experiences that shaped the formation and evolution of the various party systems and the parties within these, as well as the three factors that chiefly govern the party systems of today: (1) who the various parties are clients of; (2) the competition the parties face from other actors in delivering linkage; (3) the extent to which the parties experience competition within the party system and internally within the party itself.

Case selection: contestation at the executive level and parties as an intrinsic feature Most regimes in the MENA region have introduced elements of electoral contestation, but not all qualify as competitive authoritarian regimes, either because competitive elections are not held at the national (executive) level, or because political parties are not part of the formal 99

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institutional fabric. Both Levitsky and Way (2002) and Schedler (2002, 2006, 2015) make it crystal clear that, as per their definitions, political parties are an intrinsic part of this type of regime. According to Schedler (2002: 6) electoral authoritarian ‘regimes allow for organised dissidence in the form of multiparty competition’, while Levitsky and Way (2002: 55) maintain that in contrast to the situation in fully-​fledged authoritarian regimes, where opposition parties are routinely banned, in competitive authoritarian regimes ‘elections are regularly held, competitive (in that major opposition parties and candidates usually participate), and generally free of massive fraud’ and, furthermore, these elections are often ‘bitterly fought’. By ‘instituting multiparty politics’ as Schedler (2006: 14) phrases it, competitive/​electoral authoritarian regimes thus not only acknowledge, but also legitimise, opposition parties (and other such actors), while also accepting the existence of societal cleavages, thereby necessarily abandoning the idea of a monopolistic definition of the so-​called common good (Brichs 2013). Consequently, as detailed in Table  8.1, the discussion in this chapter only covers those MENA states where competitive legislative elections are a regular part of the political set-​ up and where the main vehicles for contestation are political parties rather than candidates being forced to compete as independents or via ‘societies’.1 In other words, all other states, including the ones that tolerate so-​called proto-​parties (Bahrain and Kuwait) but fall short of recognising parties out of fear of legitimising tangible opposition forces, as well as those that have institutionalised party systems but have not held competitive legislative elections at least once in the past decade (Palestinian Occupied Territories) have been excluded on the basis that they either fall into the category of full-​blown authoritarian regimes or are democratic states (Israel and Tunisia).2 Other states omitted from the analysis are those currently at war and where national elections are accordingly rendered virtually impossible and/​or meaningless, namely Libya, Somalia, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen. Some of these latter cases would also have been excluded if not at war, either because only independent candidates are afforded the opportunity to contest legislative elections despite the existence and legality of political parties

Table 8.1  Regime classification: MENA 2019

Full-​blown authoritarian

Competitive authoritarian

Democratic

At war

Bahrain*♔ Iran Kuwait*♔ Oman ♔ Palestine** Qatar ♔ Saudi Arabia ♔ UAE ♔

Algeria Comoros Djibouti Egypt Iraq Jordan*** ♔ Lebanon Mauritania Morocco ♔ Turkey

Israel Tunisia

Libya Somalia Sudan Syria Yemen

♔ Monarchy * Political parties are prohibited, but so-​called ‘proto-​parties’ exist, operating as ‘societies’. ** Political parties are allowed, but competitive legislative elections have not taken place since 2006. *** Political parties are allowed and are not restricted at election time. However, the parties are so weak that a majority of candidates habitually choose to contest legislative elections as independents. Source: By author.

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Parties and competitive authoritarianism Table 8.2  Types of competitive authoritarian regimes: MENA 2019

Monarchies ♔ Strong/​ stable Weak/​ volatile

Morocco Jordan

Presidential non-​civilian regimes

Presidential regimes

Algeria (military) Djibouti (police) Egypt (military)* Comoros (military) Mauritania (military)

Turkey Lebanon Iraq

* The Egyptian military regime under al-​Sisi, despite its relative youth, is categorised as strong/​ stable given the military’s profound involvement in politics at the national level throughout the post-​ independence period. Source: By author.

(Libya) or because legislative elections have not been held on a regular basis in recent years (Somalia and Yemen).

Dispelling some myths Within the group of competitive authoritarian regimes, there is distinct variation as illustrated in Table 8.2. Some regimes are monarchies, while others are republics. A number are civilian regimes, yet others are military or police states.3 The regimes combine different features and display varying levels of strength, but anno 2019, they can all be categorised as cases of competitive authoritarianism. This naturally raises the question of whether these different institutional set-​ups and environments have impacted upon the dynamics of party politics in these regimes? The subsequent sections shall briefly shed light on some of these issues.

Monarchies are not more competitive than republics It has been a widely held view that the monarchies in the MENA have had an easier time than their republican counterparts when it comes to adopting a more liberal (i.e. less restrictive) approach to opening up the political system by virtue of being one step removed from government or, rather, above the law, while simultaneously the embodiment of political (particularly executive) power. In other words, Arab monarchs, whether in competitive or full-​blown authoritarian regimes, not only rule, but also govern. Yet, they remain unaccountable to the electorate, while parliament is accountable to both. Hence, the strategy of opening up the political system, allowing not only for opposition parties to gain a footing, but also for the entry into the party system of alternatives to already established regime vehicles, thus creating fragmentation, instability and weakness within the party system, has served the region’s monarchs well. Such reforms have assisted them in maintaining –​and often strengthening –​their power, while at the same time either appeasing or effectively silencing voices (domestic and international) calling for political pluralism and electoral contestation, with most citizens in the MENA demanding reform of their governments (parliamentarians and cabinet), rather than complete regime change (Ottaway and Muasher 2011; Ottaway and Riley 2006; Brumberg 2014; Lust 2014; Schedler 2006, 2015; Sadiki 2009). In this light, one would assume that the competitive authoritarian monarchies would be more competitive than their republican counterparts. Yet this is not the case, as highlighted in 101

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Lise Storm Table 8.3  Party systems and party institutionalisation in the MENA 2019

Party institutionalisation

Predominant

Significant institutionalised core

Algeria M Djibouti P

Effective 2-​party system

Multiparty system (3+) Morocco ♔ Turkey Lebanon Iraq*

Non-​institutionalised core

Mauritania M

Egypt M Comoros M Jordan ♔**

* Recently post-​war. ** While some parties –​such as for instance the Islamic Action Front (IAF) –​have existed for many years, they remain largely politically irrelevant and have frequently boycotted elections too. M, P Military regime or police state. Source: By author.

Table 8.3. Although both monarchies (Jordan and Morocco) operate with multi-​party systems that are not predominant, so too do several of the presidential regimes. This is the case in Egypt, Turkey, Lebanon, Iraq, and the Comoros, while previously predominant Mauritania can now best be described as a nascent two-​party system by virtue of patterns of seat allocation in parliament, although multiple parties contest elections at the executive level. If one takes a broader perspective and casts a glance at the data in Table 8.1, it is also evident that several of the region’s monarchies are amongst the most authoritarian, either prohibiting parties altogether (Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE) or allowing only for so-​called proto-​parties (Bahrain and Kuwait). In short, in the case of the MENA, regime type alone does not give an indication of the degree of competitiveness.

Civilian regimes are more competitive than their non-​civilian counterparts Given the non-​civilian nature of military regimes and police states, it would be straightforward to assume that such regimes are less competitive than their civilian counterparts, and in the competitive authoritarian regimes in the MENA, this does indeed ring true. As is evident from Table 8.3 above, only 40 per cent of the five non-​civilian cases (Egypt and the Comoros) employ multiparty systems, which is in stark contrast to the 100 per cent track-​record in the civilian regimes, and although multiple political parties are allowed to contest executive elections in a further three (Algeria, Djibouti, and Mauritania), the party systems in those cases are best defined as either predominant or nascent two-​party systems despite the competitive element. Hence, there is a clear tendency for non-​civilian regimes in the MENA to be less competitive than their civilian counterparts. In other words, it appears fair to conclude that the central military/​police involvement in government is likely to have inhibited the formation of more competitive party systems in these regimes, particularly if measured along range/​ideological span, rather than size/​number of parties contesting executive elections.4 In terms of range, both the Mauritanian and Djiboutian regimes are clearly severely restrictive. In the case of Mauritania, there were constraints on Islamist access to the party system until very recently, although regime-​friendly Islamist independents were allowed to 102

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contest national elections, and to this day parties representing the (former) slave population remain prohibited (Ojeda 2018).5 With regard to Djibouti, the Issa-​dominated regime clearly marginalises the opposition Afar tribe, ensuring that it will remain subordinate, albeit not disenfranchised (Schraeder 1993; Berouk 2011). However, constraints on the range of parties allowed to contest executive elections in the MENA’s competitive authoritarian regimes is far from limited to these two cases. Other examples include Algeria, Egypt and Morocco tightly controlling Islamist participation, and Turkey curtailing alternative Islamist forces as well as parties representing the Kurdish and other minority populations (Cavatorta and Storm 2018).

Parties in small party systems and in strong/​stable regimes are not more institutionalised In the competitive authoritarian regimes of the MENA, it is not the case that parties in small party systems are necessarily more institutionalised than those in multiparty systems, although smaller party systems overall tend to be more institutionalised than multiparty systems as electoral volatility is generally much more muted.6 However, if one disregards flash parties while simultaneously digging deeper into electoral volatility data and place this within the specific local (national), political (historical) contexts, it is clear that even within the multiparty systems of the MENA, one can speak of a significant degree of institutionalisation (defined along the lines of age and, where possible, sustained presence in parliament) of a core group of parties –​ individually and as a group –​in just over half of the cases despite the political upheaval related to the Arab Uprisings (see Table 8.4). In other words, the seat share of a small handful of parties, which are themselves institutionalised, has stayed fairly constant over the past few decades, although volatility within the group remains pronounced at times. This is the case in Algeria, Lebanon, Morocco, and Turkey as well as in Iraq to some extent, where several parties have continued in operation over the years and contested executive elections on a continuous basis, some even dating back to the pre-​independence period.7 Accordingly, it is not the case that the level of party institutionalisation can be explained by regime strength/​stability, given that Iraq, in particular, has had a very volatile recent political history as a consequence of the 2003 invasion and the fall of Saddam Hussein, as has Lebanon, albeit to a lesser extent, following the civil war (1975–​1990) and the political upheaval in the aftermath of the assassination of prime minister Rafik Hariri in 2005.8

Tribalism does not necessarily equate to weakly institutionalised political parties Finally, there is the issue of tribalism, which remains a central feature of the make-​up of many MENA states, although tribalism is not highly politically significant at the executive level in all countries. With reference to the region’s competitive authoritarian regimes, tribalism plays a key role in national politics in Jordan, where the tribes clearly out-​strip the political parties in terms of political relevance, as well as in Djibouti and Mauritania as touched upon above (Schraeder 1993; Berouk 2011; Ojeda 2018), and in Iraq, where it is compounded by sectarianism (Edwards 2018). In some states, tribalism has been one of the driving forces behind the formation and longevity of political parties, such as for instance in Iraq and Djibouti, thus contributing to competitiveness and assisting institutionalisation, while in others, most notably in Mauritania, tribalism has served as a key factor in the restriction of party politics too, in this case in preserving the dominance of the Arab, Berber tribes over their black, African counterparts. In Jordan, tribal allegiances and primordial attitudes and norms amongst the citizenry, rather 103

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Lise Storm Table 8.4  Regime strength/​stability and party institutionalisation

Party institutionalisation

Strong/​stable

REGIME

Weak/​volatile

Significantly institutionalised core

Non-​institutionalised parties

Morocco (♔; multiparty) Djibouti (police; predominant; tribalism)

Egypt (military; multiparty)

Turkey (multiparty) Algeria (military; predominant) Lebanon (multiparty) Iraq (multiparty; tribalism)

Jordan (♔; multiparty; tribalism) Mauritania (military; 2-​party; tribalism) Comoros (military)

Source: By author.

than the regime’s desire to promote a particular tribe over others, have been crucial factors behind the stunted development and severely limited institutionalisation of the country’s political parties (Lust 2006; Watanabe 2019).

Observations regarding the governing dynamics of competitive authoritarianism in the MENA: directive and clientelistic linkage If factors relating to regime structure, regime strength, party institutionalisation, and the size of the party system are not the main defining features of the competitive authoritarian regimes of the MENA, then what are? What else, apart from the negative impact of non-​civilian regimes explain the workings of these and the role of parties within? The answer to this question is context-​bound. The region’s political parties, while undeniably ideologically weak, although not ideologically void, are not mere pawns in a game. Their role and functions as well as their behaviour cannot be reduced to mere structure; to where they each position themselves vis-​à-​ vis the regime (Lust 2005, 2009, 2016; Sadiki 2009; Schedler 2006, 2015; Storm and Cavatorta 2018; Storm 2014). Yes, the parties are clients, but they also have clients. And this is the crux of the matter. Competitive clientelism, as Lust (2009) terms it, is what really governs the present-​ day MENA, but the intricate fabric varies from state to state based on the environment –​local historical and cultural factors.9

The foundations of competitive authoritarianism in the MENA: the party systems The competitive authoritarian systems of the MENA as we known them today have been greatly shaped by the political configurations of the immediate post-​independence era and, subsequently, by the party systems that emerged from these. Thus, in many instances, the nature of the region’s political parties during the first few decades after independence were, indeed, 104

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fundamentally about their position vis-​à-​vis the regime. Although this is generally no longer the case, understanding how the party systems that preceded the current ones came into being and functioned is crucial for comprehending the dynamics of the party systems in place today in the competitive authoritarian regimes in the MENA as well as the parties operating within these and the wider political system. Such knowledge grounds the analysis beyond patterns and statistical relationships. In the case of the MENA, a brief survey of the region’s party systems prior to the initiation of the processes of authoritarian upgrade of the 1990s, as illustrated in Table 8.5 below, shows how several countries arrived at the same outcome (type of party system) but via different routes and sometimes as a result of two-​or three-​step journeys. What historical data (beyond the remit of Table 8.5) also shows us is that the parties most institutionalised, either in the sense of consistently performing well at the polls over a longer period of time and/​or in terms of mere survival (frequently the case for opposition forces), these have been parties with a clear agenda: the parties that emerged from the independence movements, some of which made the successful transition to partis uniques (e.g. the PPM in Mauritania and the CHP in Turkey) and others which did not (e.g. the PI in Morocco); the single ‘nation building’ parties that reigned first in the 1-​party systems and later in the predominant party systems (e.g. the FLN in Algeria, the PRP in Djibouti, and the NDP in Egypt); and the Islamist parties, which were frequently the main opposition force (examples include the IAF in Jordan, the Hezbollah and Amal in Lebanon, the PJD in Morocco, and the AKP in Turkey).10 Initially, the two former sets of parties maintained their status and, to some extent, popular backing on the basis of their historical and/​or regime credentials, the former commanding respect for their past achievements, and the latter popular backing due to their promise to deliver prosperity in a new era, coupled with harsh repressive methods which created an atmosphere such that very few people dared not at least feign support (Martín Muñoz 1999; Brichs 2013). These parties were not, in other words, taking their cue from the populace, but rather were either regime vehicles focused on directive and clientelistic linkage, that is. keeping the electorate acquiescent and the opposition weak and underground, or elite ventures seeking to carve out and maintain a prominent position for themselves within the newly independent states and thus a share in the system of patronage –​as clients of the regime and with clients of their own (Storm and Cavatorta 2018; Sadiki 2009; Hinnebusch 2017). By the mid-​1970s it was becoming readily apparent that the promises made, particularly on the economic front, were going to be near-​impossible to honour and many MENA states found themselves entering a period that can best be labelled as ‘quasi-​revolutionary’, with bread riots occurring regularly across the region since the 1980s (Sadiki 2009; Devarajan and Ianchovichina 2018; Hafez 2009). In most Arab states, the initial response to popular disaffection was economic liberalisation, which in several instances was enacted under strong pressure –​and steer –​from the international community, i.e., structural adjustment policies (Hafez 2009; Devarajan and Ianchovichina 2018). However, whereas structural adjustment programmes (despite their flaws) had brought privatisation and liberalisation to economies elsewhere, which ultimately assisted in the democratisation of political systems in many cases too, this was not what transpired in the MENA. Rather, crony capitalism took hold and, eventually, competitive authoritarianism. Just as economic liberalisation saw economic privileges extended to a greater circle of regime cronies, political liberalisation translated into the legalisation of more political parties, albeit largely parties loyal to the regime and only very few opposition vehicles of gravitas. Multiparty executive elections had thus been introduced in the majority of MENA states beyond the Gulf by the mid-​to late-​1990s when structural adjustment policies were accelerated, but the purpose of the elections remained the same as previously: to distribute spoils. Now a multitude of parties and individuals with political 105

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Table 8.5  Party system journeys: independence-​Arab Uprisings

Starting point

End pt 1

End pt 2

Algeria

1962

President (+ military)

1975 1977

Tentative multiparty (2004-​) Predom. (PRP) (1992-​)

President

Djibouti Mauritania

1960

Egypt

1922

Morocco

1956

President + parti unique (FLN) President + parti unique (CUP/​NRD) President + parti unique (PRP) President + parti unique (PPM) President + parti unique (NDP) Monarch + multiparty

Predom. (FLN) (1997-​)

Comoros

Jordan

1946

Iraq

1932

Lebanon

1943

Turkey

1923

Indep. movement + president Indep. movement + president Indep. movement + president Indep. movement + president Indep. movement + president Indep. movement + monarch Indep. movement + monarch Indep. movement + monarch Multiparty/​ independents Indep. movement + president

Source: By author.

Monarch + multiparty /​ atomised Monarch + multiparty /​ atomised Monarch + atomised/​ independents President + parti unique (CHP)

Predom. (PRDS/​R) (1992–​2001) Predom. (NDP) (1979–​2011)

End pt 3

Most powerful political actor

President (+ Issa tribe) 2-​party (UPR, Tewassoul) (2006-​) Multiparty /​atomised (2011-​)

Military Military (+ president under Mubarak) Monarch Monarch (+ tribes)

President + parti unique (Ba’ath) (1979–​2003)

Multiparty (1946-​)

Multiparty /​atomised (2003-​)

Factional leaders (+ president under Saddam) Factional leaders President (+ military pre-​Erdogan)

Lise Storm

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Indep.

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ambition competed for the right to distribute patronage (i.e., clientelistic linkage) by showing themselves to be loyal and effective actors in terms of delivering directive linkage. Hence, the organisation and structure of the system altered with the introduction of competitive authoritarianism, but the fundamentals did not (Lust 2005, 2016; Resta 2018, Blaydes 2010, Sadiki 2009; Hinnebusch 2017).

Political dynamics in context: strong men and crony capitalism The (re-​)introduction of multiparty systems across the MENA region might initially have fooled some international observers, but it did not trick the local electorate given that the legalisation of political parties was clearly a highly controlled affair at the outset and, more importantly, this move was unaccompanied by other more fundamental reforms to the political system. Hence, it was evident that the main power holder –​whether a monarch, a president, international forces and/​or the military –​had no intention of actually relinquishing substantial powers. The contrary was indeed the case (Heydemann 2007). Furthermore, the parties that emerged were overwhelmingly personalistic, centring around a charismatic personality and/​or prominent figure either previously active within (party) politics or the elite more broadly speaking (Hinnebusch 2017; Storm 2014; Hamdi 2014).11 These were not, in other words, mass parties, although some of these parties, most notably the Islamist ones, had the potential to mobilise the masses, nor were they particularly rooted in popular concerns, a reality that has led the parties and parliamentarians across the MENA to be viewed as not only ineffective, but also self-​centred and corrupt and, therefore, untrustworthy as various surveys testify.12 This reality is to some extent well-​founded if one takes a look at various measures of corruption in the region, but it is also a consequence of the fact that the political parties were initially offered very little opportunity to make a difference and after a while they grew complacent as the new system institutionalised (Hinnebusch 2017). And, thus, anno 2020, the political parties in the region’s competitive authoritarian regimes find themselves between a rock and a hard place. They have become an integral part of the present-​day political systems, yet, just like the middle-​men in crony capitalism, they add nothing new. The parties do not produce anything, but are simply an added layer, and not a particularly relevant one from the viewpoint of the electorate. Whereas the crony capitalist middle-​men have had some (albeit rapidly waning) success in sticking to their side of the bargain, the same cannot be said for the political parties. This is partly as a consequence of the reality that the parties are not the only actors providing clientelistic and directive linkage, but also because of the prominence of primordialism within MENA society more broadly speaking. The political parties, in other words, have to contend with other actors, such as e.g., the tribes, they compete amongst themselves too, and furthermore have to deal with internal contestation as different parliamentarians seek to favour different constituencies as discussed further below.13

Political parties at election time Election time in the MENA, as already discussed above, is about spoils. About access to such and who will be in a position to disperse these. That said, the role played by the political parties within this system of patronage varies considerably within this context, although some semblance of patterns or trends can be detected. In the predominant party systems (Algeria and Djibouti) and nascent 2-​party Mauritania, which appears to be slowly edging out of the predominant category, the purpose of elections is two-​fold: to give a pretence of democracy and to determine which candidates and parties should be given access to distribute spoils. From the 107

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perspective of the political parties, executive elections are a crucial point in time when they get to demonstrate very publicly their ability to provide directive linkage assisting the regime in its real purpose: to remain in power as well as, in the case of Djibouti and Mauritania, perpetuating the dominance of one tribe/​ethnic group over the other(s). The parties thus court two audiences: the electorate and the regime. Facing the electorate, each party –​as well as the various candidates within the party –​seeks to demonstrate to the voters that they are better equipped to deliver than the competitors, usually by virtue of being the regime party or by being proximate to the regime, including the military/​police establishment, but also other sectors such as e.g., the business elite (Perthes et al. 2004). Put crudely, the message is along the lines of ‘vote for me and, whereas other parties/​candidates (including from that same party) will struggle, I  shall deliver x, y, and z, which you, the citizen, has requested and will thus benefit directly from’. Facing the regime, which often plays a deciding role in determining the outcome of elections via electoral engineering and assisting in vote-​buying (Sadiki 2009, Lust 2009, 2014, 2016; Blaydes 2010, Hinnebusch 2017), said party’s message is that while there are other parties and candidates as well as alternative actors (most notably the tribes) vying for access, none of these are as well equipped to provide directive linkage and/​or these alternatives have grown too powerful and now constitute a threat to the regime’s monopoly on power and, therefore, this particular party is a safer bet and can, furthermore, assist with controlling the alternatives.14 In the multiparty systems, the situation is somewhat different, but only on the directive side of the linkage framework. That is, when facing the electorate, the dynamics are similar to those in the competitive authoritarian regimes with predominant party systems. When facing the regime, however, the actor(s) whom the parties seek to ingratiate themselves with vary. In the cases of Morocco, Egypt and Turkey, the parties cater to one actor –​the monarchy in the former, the military in Egypt, and the president in the latter case. This has created a situation where the main power holder is easily able to play off parties against each other whilst creating a sense of uncertainty as the sieable multiparty systems in both countries offer up alternatives to each and every party regardless of their ideological orientation or status as regime/​opposition party. In other words, no party, including those defined as regime parties, very proximate to or supportive of the regime, can rely on being guaranteed a prominent position within the political system and/​or the spoils network. This scenario is particularly pronounced in Morocco, where the party system was designed to this effect and further compounded by the penchant for oversized coalition governments or what is sometimes labelled ‘governments of unity’, which is often merely a more flattering term for divided and thus ineffective governments orchestrated by the monarchy.15 In contrast, in Egypt, this state of affairs has been a coincidence. Sisi’s military regime simply arrived in power at a time when the party system was young and atomised in the wake of the overthrow of the Mubarak regime and the subsequent mushrooming of political parties in the more liberal political climate during 2011. With the prohibition and dissolution of the Islamist FJP in 2014, the military effectively eradicated any serious formal opposition to its regime from within the party system and, thus, most parties are fairly modest in size, unable to attract voters at a scale matching the now defunct FJP and old regime party, the NDP. This reality, coupled with the fact that executive elections are contested much like local elections, i.e., catering to local constituents rather than addressing national priorities, to some extent explains why (secular) pro-​Sisi parties, particularly those with ties to the ancien régime (military and/​or NDP), such as the Free Egyptians Party, the Nation’s Future Party and the Republican People’s Party generally performed the strongest in the 2015 legislative elections, the only to have taken place since the military coup of 2012.16 108

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In Turkey, since the arrival in power of President Erdogan, the military, which used to be an immensely powerful political actor, has been edged out, and in recent years Erdogan has consolidated his hold over the political system. With the adoption of the constitutional amendments of 2017, Turkey abolished the post of prime minister and now operates with a presidential system in which the president appoints the cabinet, without needing the approval of parliament.17 Hence, the country’s political parties are clearly courting one actor, and one actor only:  President Erdogan. And that even at a time when the president is increasingly challenged by other actors within the state as well at the polls as the old regime party, the CHP, is resurrecting and gaining a growing support base amongst the electorate, largely at the expense of the AKP.18 In the multiparty systems of Lebanon, Iraq and Jordan the political parties compete for the attention and favour of several actors at election time, although the polls are not the main arena for political contestation and formal political institutions generally remain weak.19 In Iraq and Lebanon, factional leaders hold the key to the allocation of posts and spoils, resulting in a situation where party leaders are vying for their support to become president, prime minister or simply cabinet member as there are several political parties representing each ethnic/​sectarian group (but notably rarely cutting across).20 In Jordan, where political parties were prohibited by King Hussein from 1957 until 1989, the various tribal heads wield tremendous power over the electorate, with tribal allegiances largely determining which candidate a member of the electorate is voting for (Gao 2016; Carter Center 2013). However, the monarch, rather than the tribal heads, is the ultimate power holder in what appears to be an increasingly fragile system as tribal discontent continues to grow, fuelled by the monarch’s interference in tribal politics and the role of tribes in executive politics. This move by King Abdullah is clearly aimed at weakening and undermining the tribes vis-​à-​vis the monarchy, but interestingly without using the political parties as instruments of directive linkage up until now. In the event that they were to be deployed as such and thus strengthened, the dynamics of the Jordanian political system would change significantly, and the parties would be in a situation where they would have to focus their efforts and attention much more clearly at the monarchy.21

Concluding remarks This chapter has analysed party dynamics under competitive authoritarianism in the MENA. The discussion has been very much rooted in the local politico-​historical contexts, illustrating the point made early on that very few trends and patterns beyond the negative impact of non-​civilian regimes can be identified if the objective is to look beyond the surface and mere categorisation. That said, it is indeed true that in the competitive authoritarian regimes in the region, the amount of space afforded the political parties within their respective political systems as well as the incentive of the various parties to act as vehicles of citizen representation and interest aggregation is predominantly governed by competitive clientelism, which is closely related to crony capitalism. But the parties are not mere pawns in a game, and although they are clients themselves, they also have clients of their own. Thus, three factors largely determine how the different parties behave: who the various parties are clients of, the competition they face from other actors in delivering linkage (clientelistic and directive), as well as the extent to which they experience competition within the party system and internally (i.e. within the party itself). These three factors vary from country to country and are greatly shaped by the political developments in the post-​independence era, as the new political systems began to take shape and eventually institutionalised. The ability of independence movements to transform into political parties, one party successfully monopolising power, the 109

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experience of ethno/​sectarian rivalries, the presence of tribes and strong primordial loyalties, military involvement in politics, and other experiences like these, played a fundamental role in how the various parties and party systems were formed and evolved over the years. And as these experiences differed from state to state, they consequently also account for a great deal of the variety amongst the present-​day party systems in the competitive authoritarian regimes of the MENA and, of course, the variety of the components within the party landscapes.

Notes 1 Jordan is thus included because it affords candidates the opportunity to run on party slates. The reality that a majority of candidates contest elections as independents is down to an active choice by these, not regime parameters. 2 These two categories of regimes (i.e. full-​blown authoritarian and democratic) not included are admittedly very broad by virtue of simply not meeting the criteria of competitive authoritarianism and, thus, there is a plethora of regimes covered by these, some more democratic/​authoritarian than others. That said, such crude categorisations do not make a difference to the analysis in this chapter, as it is limited to competitive authoritarian regimes only. 3 The inclusion of the non-​civilian regimes will undoubtedly prove controversial to some as Levitsky and Way (2002: 54) expressly exclude tutelary ‘competitive regimes in which nondemocratic actors such as the military or religious authorities wield veto power’. However, the decision has been made to include them in the analysis because these regimes are competitive at the executive level and operate in a similar fashion to many of the other competitive authoritarian regimes where the head of state is either only nominally accountable to the electorate (republics) or is wholly unaccountable to the citizenry (the monarchies). In Egypt, the military has exercised its powers directly in national politics since the time of the overthrow of President Morsi in 2013, while Algeria following the exit of President Bouteflika in 2019 is displaying signs that the military might (again) exercise political veto powers. It is also worth noting that Mauritania has witnessed numerous military coups since independence from France in 1960. The most recent was in 2008, which resulted in the high-​ranking officer Mohamed Ould Abdel Aziz taking over the presidency. Aziz was succeeded by General Mohamed Ould Ghazouani in 2019. Ghazouani is former General Director of National Security and former Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces. 4 This is particularly interesting, although beyond the remits of this study, in light of Geddes (1999) and Hadenius and Toerell’s (2006) findings that multi-​party regimes are more durable than military regimes. 5 Do note that the prominent anti-​slave activist, Biram Dah Abeid, came second in the presidential elections of 2019, ahead of the Islamist candidate (endorsed by Tewassoul), but well behind the ruling party’s candidate, former general Mohamed Ould Ghazouani. 6 In Djibouti, the People’s Rally for Progress (RPP) has dominated politics in the country since 1979. Opposition parties were legalised in 1992, but only became represented in parliament as of 2013. At times, the PRP has contested the legislative as part of an alliance (in 1997 in an alliance with the Afar Front for the Restoration of Unity and Democracy (FRUD), and in 2003, 2008, 2013 and 2018 as part of the alliance Union for a Presidential Majority (UMP)) in order to give a pretence of pluralism and power-​sharing. Over the years, the PRP has effectively held between 92 and 100 per cent of the seats in parliament. For full data, please refer to http://​archive.ipu.org/​parline-​e/​reports/​2089_​arc.htm (page last visited 25 August 2019). In Mauritania, the 1992 elections saw the Democratic and Social Republican Party (PRDS) win all seats in elections boycotted by the opposition. In 1996, the PRDS won 61 out of 63 seats and its ally, the Rally for Democracy and Unity (RDU), secured the remaining two. In 2001, the PRDS won 79 per cent of the seats with the remainder split between two allies and four smaller opposition parties. Following the military coup of 2005, elections were held again in 2006. The PRDS, which changed its name to the Republican Party for Democracy and Renewal (PRDR) in the wake of the coup, won a limited share of seats this time, securing only seven mandates out of 95 in the newly enlarged assembly. Victory went to various former opposition parties, the Rally of Democratic Forces (RFD) winning 15 seats, the People’s Progressive Alliance (APP) five seats, and the Union of Forces of Progress (UFP) securing a further eight. Eleven former opposition parties -​including the RFD, the APP and the UFP) –​contested the elections as an alliance under the name Forces of Change for Democracy (CFCD). Islamist parties remained banned, but so-​called moderate

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Parties and competitive authoritarianism Islamist independents associated with the former regime (al-​Mithaq) won 41 seats. Following an interruption due to another military coup in 2008, legislative elections were held again in 2013. These were won by the new president’s party, the Union for the Republic (UPR), which secured 75 out of 146 seats, while the main opposition party, the Islamist Tewassoul, won 16 seats. Many opposition parties boycotted the elections, and the Tewassoul was the only member of the 11-​party opposition alliance (the Coordination of the Democratic Opposition (COD)) to take part. 2018 saw legislative elections held once more, but reliable data is not available. However, it is clear from what limited data that does exist that the UPR emerged victorious, while the Tewassoul came second. For further election data, please refer to http://​archive.ipu.org/​parline-​e/​reports/​2207_​arc.htm and https://​web.archive. org/​web/​20131208064045/​; www.ceni.mr/​spip.php?page=article&id_​article=79 (pages last visited 25 August 2019). See also Ojeda (2018) and Buehler (2015). 7 The relevant parties are as follows: Algeria: the National Liberation Front (FLN), the National Rally for Democracy (RND), the Movement for Society and Peace (MSP/​Hamas), the Islamic Renaissance Movement (MRI/​An-​Nahda), the Rally for Culture and Democracy (RCD), the Socialist Forces Front (FFS), and the Workers Party (PT). Lebanon: Amal, the Free Patriotic Movement (FPM), the Lebanese Forces, Hezbollah, the Progressive Socialist Party (PSP), Kataeb, and Marada. Morocco: the Party of Justice and Development (PJD), the Istiqlal Party (PI), the Popular Movement (MP), the National Rally of Independents (RNI), the Constitutional Union (UC), the Party of Authenticity and Modernity (PAM), and the Socialist Union of Popular Forces (USFP). Turkey: the Justice and Development Party (AKP), the Nationalist Movement Party (MHP), the Republican People’s Party (CHP), the Felicity Party (SP), the Democrat Party (DP), the Peoples’ Democratic Party (HDP). Please note that parties that have changed name over the course of the years as a means to stay in operation in the face of regime oppression have been included. This is particularly pertinent in the case of Turkey. In Iraq, some of the Kurdish parties can be characterised as institutionalised, namely the Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP) and the Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK), which remained in operation during the reign of Saddam Hussein. Amongst the Iraqi parties, the Iraqi National Accord (INA), the Islamic Da’wa Party, the Islamic Supreme Council of Iraq (ISCI), the Iraqi Turkmen Front (ITF), the Badr Organisation, the Sadr Movement, and the Iraqi Communist Party (ICP) have all existed for a considerable period of time, but the parties were barred from participating in executive elections for many years, and subsequently faced difficulties in the highly volatile and war-​torn post-​Saddam era. 8 It is worth noting that Gandhi and Vreeland (2004) find that civil conflict is less likely to occur in authoritarian regimes with parliaments, which ought to bode well for both Lebanon and Iraq, as well as Algeria, which is in a somewhat precarious situation following the departure of long-​reigning president Bouteflika. 9 Do note that competitive clientelism is not an exclusive MENA phenomenon. For a recent discussion of competitive clientelism in broader perspective, please see Camp and Szwarcberg (2015). 10 Detailed electoral data going back decades can be accessed at http://​archive.ipu.org/​parline-​e/​ parlinesearch.asp 11 The same scenario unfolded following the Arab Uprisings in 2011. For a detailed analysis, see Storm (2017). 12 See, among others, the Arab Transformations Project survey from 2014 (www.arabtrans.eu/​); Power2Youth (available via www.iai.it/​en/​pubblicazioni/​lista/​all/​power2youth-​papers); the World Values Survey 6th wave (2010–​2014); and the Arab Opinion Index (www.dohainstitute.org/​en/​ News/​Pages/​ACRPS-​Releases-​Arab-​Index-​2017–​2018.aspx). All pages last visited 4 October 2019. 13 This is not to say that programmatic political parties and voters do not exist, but rather that they are less widespread. For a recent analysis of the issue, please see Wegner and Cavatorta (2019). 14 For an illustration of this point in the context of Palestine, see Robinson (2009). 15 That said, it is clear that parties viewed as having the ears of the monarch tend to do particularly well at the polls as evidenced by the relative success of the Party of Authenticity and Modernity (PAM) and other more established entities (the MP, the RNI, the UC), although co-​opted ‘opposition’ parties with roots in the independence movement (the USFP, the PI) as well as the endorsed Islamist vehicle (the PJD) remain attractive too. 16 The Salafi al-​Nour Party and the country’s oldest party, the New Wafd, also managed to secure a sizeable proportion of the seats in the 2015 elections. 17 Despite being in a coalition with the Nationalist Movement Party (MHP) and the Great Unity Party (BBP), the fourth Erdogan cabinet, which was declared on 9 July 2018, only included party-​affiliated ministers (six) from the AKP. The remaining twelve were so-​called independents.

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Lise Storm 18 This new reality was clearly evidenced in the 2019 mayoral elections, in which the AKP fared badly in Istanbul, leading the first poll to be annulled. In the much talked about re-​run, which many viewed as an effort by the president to ensure his party’s victory in the crucial city which is regarded as a microcosmos of Turkey, the AKP candidate suffered a crushing defeat to his rival from the CHP. 19 The case of the Comoros is similar to those of Iraq and Lebanon if one were to treat the different islands as clans/​tribes. Politics in Comoros is dominated by the issue of federalism, with some islands strongly in favour and others very much against. 20 Please note that this was not done by design as in Morocco, but rather by coincidence (much like in Egypt post-​Mubarak) as parties mushroomed in a more liberal political environment following the civil war in Lebanon and the overthrow of Saddam Hussein in Iraq. 21 The monarchy had initially empowered the tribes at the expense of the political parties (with the IAF being the main target) when it introduced the single non-​transferable vote in 1992.

Bibliography Berouk, Mesfin (2011) ‘Elections, Politics and External Involvement in Djibouti’, Africa Portal, 1 April. Available online at www.africaportal.org/​publications/​elections-​politics-​and-​external-​involvement-​ in-​djibouti/​ (page last visited 26 August 2019). Blaydes, Lisa (2010) Distributive Politics in Mubarak’s Egypt. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brichs, Ferran Izquierdo (2013) Political Regimes in the Arab World. London: Routledge. Brumberg, Daniel (2014) ‘Theories of Transition’, in Marc Lynch (ed.) The Arab Uprisings Explained. New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 29–​54. Buehler, Matt (2015) ‘Continuity through co-​optation: Rural politics and regime resilience in Morocco and Mauritania’, Mediterranean Politics 20(3): 364–​385. Camp, Edwin and Mariela Szwarcberg (2015) ‘Competitive Clientelism’. Available online at http://​ cpd.berkeley.edu/​wp-​content/​uploads/​2015/​02/​CompetitiveClientelism.pdf (page last visited 26 August 2019). Carter Center (2013) ‘Study Mission Report on Jordan’s 2013 Parliamentary Elections’. Available online at www.cartercenter.org/​resources/​pdfs/​news/​peace_​publications/​election_​reports/​jordan-​2013-​ study-​mission-​eng.pdf (page last visited 26 August 2019). Cavatorta, Francesco and Lise Storm (eds.) (2018) Political Parties in the Arab World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Devarajan, Shantayanan and Elena Ianchovichina (2018) ‘A Broken Social Contract, Not High Inequality, Led To The Arab Spring’, Review of Income and Wealth, series 64, number S1, pp. 5–​25. Edwards, Sophie (2018) ‘Sectarian friction and the struggle for power: party politics in Iraq post-​2003’, in Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds) Political Parties in the Arab World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 164–​183. Gandhi, Jennifer and James Vreeland (2004) ‘Political Institutions and Civil War: Unpacking Anocracy’. Available online at https://​pdfs.semanticscholar.org/​0fe0/​35177eeec83a613bf11932daef6621ceb5ea. pdf (page last visited 26 August 2019). Gao, Eleanor (2016) ‘Tribal mobilization, fragmented groups, and public goods provision in Jordan’, Comparative Political Studies 49(10): 1372–​1403. Geddes, Barbara (1999) ‘Authoritarian Breakdown:  Empirical Test of a Game Theoretic Argument’. Available online at https://​pdfs.semanticscholar.org/​ff90/​c7b0c6f0633dc894d4c2ced78c78ddfef463. pdf?_​ga=2.117790921.1976791428.1566801475-​284099422.1566801475 (page last visited 26 August 2019). Hadenius, Axel and Jan Teorell (2006) ‘Authoritarian Regimes:  Stability, Change, and Pathways to Democracy, 1972–​2003’, Kellogg Institute working paper 331. Hafez, Ziad (2009) ‘The culture of rent, factionalism, and corruption: a political economy of rent in the Arab World’, Contemporary Arab Affairs 2(3): 458–​80. Hamdi, Shadi (2014) ‘Political party development before and after the Arab Spring’, in Mehran Kamrava (ed.) Beyond the Arab Spring. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 131–150. Heydemann, Steven (2007) ‘Upgrading authoritarianism in the Arab world’, Analysis Paper 13, Saban Center for Middle East Policy at the Brookings Institution. Hinnebusch, Raymond (2017) ‘Political Parties in the MENA’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 44(2): 159–​175.

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Parties and competitive authoritarianism Levitsky, Steven and Lucan A. Way (2002) ‘The rise of competitive authoritarianism’, Journal of Democracy 13(2): 51–​65. Linz, Juan (2000) Totalitarian and Authoritarian Regimes. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Lust, Ellen (2016) ‘Institutions and Governance’ in Ellen Lust (ed.) The Middle East. London:  Sage, pp. 160–​204. —​—​—​(2014) ‘Elections’, in Marc Lynch (ed.) The Arab Uprisings Explained. New  York:  Columbia University Press, pp. 218–​245. —​—​—​(2009) ‘Democratization by elections? Competitive clientelism in the Middle East’, Journal of Democracy 20(3): 122–​135. —​ —​ —​(2006) ‘Elections under authoritarianism:  Preliminary lessons from Jordan’, Democratization 13(3): 456–​471. —​—​—​ (2005) Structuring Conflict in the Arab World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Martín Muñoz, Gema (1999) Islam, Modernism and the West. London: I.B. Tauris. Ojeda, Raquel (2018) ‘Transformations in the political party system in Mauritania:  The case of the Union for the Republic’ in Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds) Political Parties in the Arab World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 252–​275. Ottaway, Marina and Meredith Riley (2006) ‘Morocco:  From Top-​ down Reform to Democratic Transition’, Carnegie Papers 71. Ottaway, Marina and Marwan Muasher (2011) ‘Arab Monarchies:  Chance for Reform, Yet Unmet’, Carnegie Papers, December. Perthes, Volker (2004) Arab Elites. Boulder, CO.: Lynne Rienner. Resta, Valeria (2018) ‘Leftist parties in the Arab region before and after the Arab Uprisings:  ‘unrequited love’?’ in Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds) Political Parties in the Arab World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 23–​48. Robinson, Glenn (2009) ‘Palestinian tribes, clans and notable families’, Center for Contemporary Conflict, report, January. Sadiki, Larbi (2009) Rethinking Arab Democratization:  Elections Without Democracy. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Schedler, Andreas (2015) The Politics of Uncertainty. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —​—​—​ (2006) Electoral Authoritarianism. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. —​—​—​(2002) ‘Elections without democracy: the menu of manipulation’, Journal of Democracy 13(2): 36–​50. Schraeder, Peter (1993) ‘Ethnic Politics in Djibouti: From “eye of the hurricane” to “boiling cauldron”’, African Affairs 92(367): 203–​221. Storm, Lise (2017) ‘Parties and party system change’ in Inmaculada Szmolka (ed.) Political Change in the Middle East and North Africa. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 63–​88. Storm, Lise (2014) Party Politics and the Prospects for Democracy in North Africa. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Storm, Lise and Francesco Cavatorta (2018) ‘Do Arabs not do parties?’ in Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds) Political Parties in the Arab World. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 1–​20. Watanabe, Shun (2019) ‘Dynamics of Linchpin Monarchical Rule: Jordan in the Neoliberal Era’, Paper prepared for the annual conference of the Political Science Association, Nottingham, 17 April. Wegner, Eva and Francesco Cavatorta (2019) ‘Revisiting the Islamist-​Secular Divide: Parties and Voters in the Arab World’, International Political Science Review 40(4): 558–​75.

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9 POLITICAL INTERMEDIATION IN THE ARABIAN PENINSULA Partisan organisations, elections, and parliamentary representation in Bahrain, Kuwait, and Yemen Hendrik Kraetzschmar1 Introduction When thinking about Middle Eastern and North African (MENA) party politics, the scholarly spotlight rarely falls on the Arabian Peninsula.2 This is due to the fact, of course, that –​ unlike elsewhere in the region where we encounter a diverse range of political parties and party systems (Cavatorta & Storm, 2018) –​governments here remain overwhelmingly controlled by monarchical rulers who show scant regard for the idea that mass politics should revolve around multiparty contestation. Whilst since the 1990s countries across the peninsula have injected into their authoritarian regimes a veneer of electoral politics –​thus addressing to some extent growing domestic and international pressures for political reform –​in most of these cases elections are conducted on a nominally competitive, yet non-​partisan basis. Cases in point include Saudi Arabia, Qatar, Oman and the United Arab Emirates, all of which have banned political parties from forming and from partaking in elections (Lawson, 1994: 69–​70).3 Below the radar of this prevailing trend exist, however, three peninsula states whose domestic politics have to varying degrees attained a distinctly partisan flavour. These are the Kingdom of Bahrain, the Emirate of Kuwait, and the Republic of Yemen. Disparate as they are in their societal and institutional characteristics, all three states have over the past three decades come to either tolerate or formally recognise through legislation the existence of partisan organisations and their role as political intermediators in national elections. As such they warrant inclusion and comparative scrutiny within this comprehensive handbook on political parties in the MENA. Striking a fine balance between the need to acknowledge local singularities and the possible insights gained from broader juxtaposition, this chapter explores the genesis, constitutional-​ political contexts and collective performance of partisan organisations at the ballot box with a view to establishing in how far they have emerged as principle structuring agents of the popular vote. It is argued here that a focus on these aspects of partisan life on the Arabian Peninsula carries comparative merit not only because it highlights some of the unique circumstances 114

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under which partisan organisations operate in some of the countries explored, but because it draws out discernible parallels to the experiences of political parties elsewhere in the MENA.

Genesis and constitutional-​political context In Bahrain, Kuwait, and Yemen the genesis of partisan organisations and their entry into electoral politics each date back to cataclysmic national events during the 1990s, prompting substantive processes of (albeit mostly short-​lived) political liberalisation. In Bahrain, the (re)turn to plural politics traces back to the 1999 royal succession, which followed on the heels of sustained popular unrest (also known as the Bahraini intifada) triggered by the oil glut of the 1980s and the ensuing economic downturn. Confronted with growing calls for political change, and in an attempt at shoring up his own fledging legitimacy, the new King Shaikh Hamad al-​Khalifa embarked on a top-​down process of political liberalisation, as part of which he permitted the emergence of party-​like formations and their participation in legislative and municipal elections. Widely referred to in Bahrain as ‘political societies’, these political parties in all but name were initially required to register under the 1989 Law No 21 on Associations, Social and Cultural Clubs, before being put on more solid legal footing in 2005 with the passage of a distinct political societies law (Niethammer, 2008: 147; Valeri, 2018: 167; Kapiszewski, 2006:  108–​109).4 As a result of the King’s liberalising reforms, dozens of political societies sprung up in Bahrain at the time, heralding in an era of vibrant multiparty politics that –​as will be discussed below –​was ultimately cut short by the unfolding events of the 2011–​12 Arab uprisings and their aftermath. Although the catalysts for change were markedly different in Kuwait and Yemen, they carried liberalising effects on their domestic politics similar to those following the 1999 Bahraini royal succession. Kuwaiti politics, of course, is comparatively unique in this regard, given that unlike many of its peninsula neighbours the country boasts a long and relatively uninterrupted history of plural electoral politics, dating back to the early days of independence (Lawson, 1994: 73–​ 77). This said, it is really only in the aftermath of the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait and its US-​led liberation in 1991 that we here too see the emergence of a plethora of party-​like organisations on the domestic political scene as part of a broader post-​invasion top-​down process of political liberalisation. Indeed, whilst officially political parties remained banned, from 1991–​1992 onwards the regime tolerated the formation of what I have labelled elsewhere as ‘proto-​parties’ and their participation in national, local and associational elections (Kraetzschmar, 2018: 237). Nowadays, dozens such proto-​parties operate in Kuwaiti electoral politics. Their existence is tolerated by the Kuwaiti monarchy not only because it helps project an image of liberal politics to the international community, but importantly to ensure the country’s legislature remains fragmented and dominated by regime supportive forces. In Yemen, lastly, the introduction of multiparty politics was a direct consequence of the unification of the two single party regimes of the Yemen Arab Republic/​YAR (1962–​1990) to the north and the People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen/​PDRY (1967–​1990) to the south. With the two ruling parties –​the General People’s Congress (GPC) in the north and the Yemen Socialist Party (YSP) in the south –​each determined to retain power post-​unification, multipartyism emerged effectively by default rather than design. Following the codification of multpartyism in article 5 of the 1991 Constitution and the passage of Law No 66 on Political Parties, a plethora of new parties were granted operating licences, turning unified Yemen into the only peninsula polity with a functioning multiparty system similar to those extant elsewhere in the region (Alles, 2018: 213–​215; Carapico, 1993: 3–​4). For the next decade, the country held regular elections for parliament and the presidency, with parties playing a pivotal role 115

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in them. This cycle of regular elections was, however, broken in 2009, first by president Ali Abdullah Saleh’s (1990–​2012) decision to postpone scheduled legislative elections until 2011 and then by the onset of the Yemeni uprising and its tragic descent into civil war (Freedom House, 2018). Constitutionally, the status of partisan organisations as they have emerged in the 1990s and 2000s in the three peninsula countries thus varies considerably.5 It is most precarious in Kuwait, where the constitution allows for the formation of (non-​political) civil associations, yet fails to make any allowance for the creation of political parties, and where the regime has thus far interpreted this omission as a justification for its refusal to issue any secondary party legislation. Indeed, without any such secondary legislation in place, which would regulate amongst others their formation, internal structures, operations and finances, Kuwait’s proto-​parties are forced to operate in a legal void, prone to a regime that remains lukewarm in its commitment to participatory politics and weary of the rise of any socio-​political challengers to its rule (Kraetzschmar, 2018: 235). In Bahrain and Yemen, meanwhile the status of partisan organisations rests on a more solid legal footing, although even here marked differences exist between the two countries. As in Kuwait, for instance, the Bahraini constitution is void of any references to political parties. Yet unlike the Kuwaiti case, the regime here appears to have deployed a broader interpretation of its constitutional provision guaranteeing the freedom to form associations (article 27)  to accommodate for the legalisation and regulation (Law No 26) of political societies. Whilst this regulatory framework confers on Bahrain’s political societies legal certainty, it comes with a heavy price tag attached. Indeed, with ever more restrictions imposed on political societies, Law No 26 and its amendments leave little scope for autonomous political activity, circumscribing amongst others the funding they can obtain and the activities they can pursue as well as providing the authorities with wide-​ranging powers to deny/​withdraw a society’s operating licence and/​or monitor its internal operations.6 Yemen’s constitutional set-​up, lastly, is again much more closely aligned to the global norm when it comes to party politics. As in other MENA countries where multipartyism is permitted, the Yemeni constitution authorises the formation of political organisations and mandates policymakers to initiate further legislation to this effect. As for political parties, this legislation has taken the shape of Law No 66, which governs all aspects of party political activity in the country. As in Bahrain, this law is restrictive, particularly in so far as it confers the power to license a new political party to a committee staffed and run by key government ministers, and tightly circumscribes its programmatic outlook.7 Bahrain, Kuwait and Yemen thus differ markedly in the regulatory framework governing partisan organisations and activities; a difference that is also manifest at the broader level of institutional politics. In the monarchies of Bahrain and Kuwait, for instance, partisan organisations, while present in parliament, have little influence over the composition of government and are not directly involved in its formation. In both cases, the power to appoint the prime minister (PM) and other members of government resides exclusively with the king and, although the cabinet may contain representatives of partisan organisations  –​as has been the case in both countries –​the king is not bound in his choice of its members by the arithmetic of a sitting parliament (Kraetzschmar 2018: 234; 2002 Constitution of Bahrain, article 33). In republican Yemen, by contrast, the executive is party-​led. This means firstly that the presidency is open to multiparty contestation –​and has since unification been held by a representative of the ruling GPC –​and secondly that the PM and his/​her cabinet must be drawn from the party/​coalition of parties holding a parliamentary majority (1991 Constitution of Yemen, articles 101.b1, 108.e, 132, and 133).8 In terms of constitutional prerogatives, Yemen’s political parties hence 116

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exceed their Bahraini and Kuwaiti counterparts not only in legal status but also in the centrality they hold in the country’s decision-​making institutions and processes. This being the case, it is important to recall that, notwithstanding any observable variance in institutional-​legal context, ultimately in all three cases partisan organisations operate under authoritarian constraints, which (at times severely) impede their day-​to-​day operations and capacity for societal outreach and electoral mobilisation as well as their performance at the ballot box. Eclipsing any liberalising policies introduced by the three governments during the 1990s and 2000s, these include, but are not limited to, restrictions imposed on key civil and political rights (such as e.g. freedom of speech, assembly and movement), on equitable media access and press freedoms as well as the prevalence of ballot fraud and the prosecution of (opposition) party officials and activists.9

Electoral participation and parliamentary representation According to Sartori, one of the defining characteristics common to political parties, irrespective of whether they operate under democratic or (semi-​)authoritarian settings, is their participation in elections through the nomination of candidates for public office (Sartori, 1976: 63). This is the case also in Bahrain, Kuwait and Yemen, where partisan organisations have been part and parcel of the landscape of forces partaking in electoral politics ever since their emergence in the 1990s and 2000s. Here, as elsewhere in the region, partisan candidates have run for elections at different levels of government, including for local councils, lower houses of parliament and in the case of Yemen also the presidency. With the prospects of entering government remote –​ certainly in monarchical Bahrain and Kuwait –​the objectives driving such participation remain varied, ranging from a genuine desire to shape as much as possible the policy-​making process along programmatic lines to the provision of services and/​or patronage to local constituents and supporters (Storm & Cavatorta, 2018: 14). How then have partisan organisations in the three peninsula states fared in past elections and to what extent have they managed to assert themselves as principle, if not sole, structuring agents of the popular vote? Focussing on the national level and here on the elected institution present across all three polities –​that is parliament10 –​a closer comparative analysis of its elections and results reveals this:  whilst both partisan and non-​partisan/​independent candidacies are commonplace in legislative elections across all three states, it is only in Yemen that the former have come up trumps, winning collectively on average between 81 and 94 per cent of all legislative seats and thus constituting the lion’s share of members in the House of Representatives.11 In Bahrain and Kuwait, by contrast, the picture is far less clear-​cut, with overall partisan representation fluctuating across time and with independent (mostly pro-​government) MPs constituting a non-​negligible contingent of representatives in parliament. This is probably most evident in Kuwait, where the combined seat share of proto-​parties never even approximated the 50 per cent mark and where independent MPs have dominated the country’s National Assembly ever since its reconstitution in the early 1990s. In the Bahraini case, meanwhile, two concurrent trends are observable. Whilst political societies collectively held a majority of seats in the country’s Council of Representatives pre-​Arab uprisings –​albeit in the presence of a strong bloc of independent MPs –​by 2014 this dominance unravelled with partisan representation dropping significantly below that of independent representatives in the chamber. Thus, whilst during Yemen’s period of multiparty politics pre-​2011 political parties managed to emerge as principle structuring agents of the popular vote, this does not hold true for Kuwait, and increasingly so also for Bahrain, where the battle for parliamentary representation between partisan and independent candidates has historically been a much more closely fought affair. 117

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Hendrik Kraetzschmar Table 9.1  Partisan representation in the 40-​Seat Bahraini Council of Representatives

Year

Political Societies Independents

20021

2006

20102

20143

2018

Seats

%

Seats

%

Seats

%

Seats

%

Seats

%

20 20

50.0 50.0

29 11

72.5 27.5

23 17

57.5 42.5

 5 35

12.5 87.5

 6 34

15.0 85.0

 Some of the main political societies, mostly Shi’a, boycotted the poll to protest their disagreement with the new constitution and electoral law. These included the National Accord Islamic Society, the National Democratic Action Society, the National Democratic Gathering Society and the Islamic Action Society (National Democratic Institute, 2002: 2). 2  The elections were boycotted by the Shi’a Islamic Action Society over ongoing concerns about the lack of democratic reforms (The National, 26 August 2010). 3  The elections were boycotted by five mostly Shi’a political societies including the National Accord Islamic Society, the Islamic Action Society and the National Democratic Action Society (Valeri 2018: 176–​177; The Economist 2014). 1

Table 9.2  Partisan MPs in the 65-​Seat1 Kuwaiti National Assembly

Year

1992 1996 1999 2003 2006 2008 2009 2012Feb. 2012Dec.4 20135 2016

Proto-​Parties2

Independents3

Elective Seats

%

Elective Seats

%

22 13 20 14 13 12 10 11 5 4 5

44.0 26.0 40.0 28.0 26.0 24.0 20.0 22.0 10.0  8.0 10.0

28 37 30 36 37 38 40 39 45 46 45

56.0 74.0 60.0 72.0 74.0 76.0 80.0 78.0 90.0 92.0 90.0

 Of these, 50 seats are filled through competitive elections. The remaining seats are allocated to cabinet members on an ex officio basis. The seat percentages calculated above are on the basis of elective seats in parliament. 2  Only included are MPs who ran and won explicitly on a proto-​party ticket. 3   Includes independents with ideological affiliations and/​or linkages to proto-​parties. 4/​5   Numerous proto-​parties, including the Islamic Constitutional Movement (ICM) boycotted the polls. 1

That the Yemeni situation is so noticeably different in this regard from that of either Bahrain or Kuwait might, at first sight, appear surprising, given that all three countries feature similarly unfavourable conditions for the development of strong programmatic parties with a substantial following and electoral clout. At the broadest level, these conditions pertain to the aforementioned authoritarian context, which, albeit to varying degrees, circumscribes the political activities (outreach and mobilisation) organised groups can engage in across all three cases. More specifically, they also pertain, however, to the presence of candidate-​centric parliamentary 118

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Partisan organisations in the Gulf Table 9.3  Partisan MPs in the 301-​Seat Yemeni House of Representatives

Year

1993 19971 2003

Parties

Independents

Vacant

Seats

%

Seats

%

Seats

%

253 245 284

81.1 81.4 94.4

47 54 14

15.6 17.9 4.6

1 2 3

0.3 0.7 1.0

 Elections were boycotted by the Yemen socialist parties and some of the smaller leftist parties, following the 1994 civil war (Carapico, 1997: 260).

1

electoral rules12 which, combined with the prevalence of communal affiliations as primary identity markers (e.g. towards the extended family, tribe or religious community) and overall low levels of public trust in political parties,13 render non-​partisan candidacies not only a legal possibility, but an utterly viable and potentially successful route to elected office. Indeed, where such conditions prevail, a candidate’s electoral success, rather than being tied to his/​her programmatic position and/​or partisan affiliation, is likely to be determined by his/​her personal standing/​reputation within, and ability to successfully mobilise and serve, the constituency one seeks to represent. How can the Yemeni outlier be explained? As far as can be established, the comparative success of Yemen’s political parties at the ballot box during the 1993–​2003 period rests in no small measure on the distinct symbiosis that has emerged over the decades between the country’s larger parties and its principle tribes which in turn meant that, rather than seeking political office outside the party political framework, tribal elites have done so mostly from within. It all started, of course, with the establishment of the single party regimes in the YAR and PDRY which set the stage for a political process in which partisan organisations morphed into key gatekeepers for access to state officials and resources and mechanisms for the co-​ optation of societal groups such as the country’s tribes, religious establishment and business elites (Alles, 2018:  215; Al-​Yemeni, 2003:  31; Lackner 2017:  689). With unification this connect, particularly between parties and tribes, was further strengthened and cultivated, with key tribal elites not only intimately involved in the formation of new political parties (as for instance the Yemeni Congregation for Reform; al-​Islah) but through the retention of a formidable presence at leadership and membership levels (Alles, 2018: 217; Al-​Yemeni 2003: 50, 52, 67–​68; Bonnefoy & Poirier, 2010:  67, 70–​72). This is particularly pertinent within the GPC which, as the predominant party in parliament and government until 2011, proved highly effective in co-​opting tribal elites through state patronage and positions as well as by selecting/​ endorsing tribal candidates in elections, particularly in rural constituencies (DRI 2008; Al-​ Yemeni, 2003: 40, 49). In the Yemeni case as well, the calculus of whether or not tribal (and other) political hopefuls sought elected office on a party ticket, is likely to have been shaped by the 2001 rule change affecting the nomination requirements for parliamentary elections which rendered it much more cumbersome for candidates to run independently. Whilst these requirements were identical for partisan and independent candidates before 2001, this changed notably thereafter. Henceforth independent candidates –​unlike those nominated by a political party –​were required to obtain endorsements from at least 300 registered voters ‘drawn from the majority of electoral centres within the electoral constituency’(DRI, 2008: 49) and verified by a judge, 119

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all of which had to happen during a short ten-​day nomination period. Although hard to verify, the rule change was in all likelihood introduced to ensure that independent candidates carry sufficient cross-​constituency support to warrant their nomination for public office. Be this as it may, on the ground, the introduction of additional time-​and resource-​consuming hurdles for non-​partisan contestants contributed in no small measure to the noticeable decline in independent candidacies from around 3,700 in 1997 to a mere 571 in the 2003 elections and the preponderance of partisan candidacies (NDI, 2003: 14; DRI, 2008: 50). In Kuwait, by contrast, there are few factors (if any) that could –​despite the prevalence of an overall party-​hostile environment –​sway political hopefuls to seek election on a proto-​party ticket. This holds particularly true for the country’s tribes, which have shown little appetite of seeking parliamentary representation through proto-​parties that carry no official status, are widely seen as organisationally weak as well as lacking in popular trust and in any meaningful influence over government formation and policy. In fact, with no obvious benefits in sight, tribes have for the most part stayed clear from proto-​party politics, selecting instead their own candidates through so called ‘tribal primaries’14 for parliamentary elections.15 For Kuwait’s proto-​parties, in turn, this has meant that wherever they sought to tap into the tribal vote (particularly in the country’s predominantly tribal constituencies 4 and 5), they were for the most part only able do so by association; that is they would endorse tribal (or other unaffiliated) candidates in the hope that, once elected, these would then work closely with their elected proto-​party MPs in parliament (Kraetzschmar 2018: 244). Observable variance in the nature and density of interactions between partisan organisations and tribes thus goes some distance in accounting for their comparatively poor electoral showing in Kuwait as opposed to those in Yemen. To this must be added, however, a range of additional local determinants that over the years have contributed in no small measure to the collective performance of partisan organisations at the ballot box. These determinants are both of strategic and institutional nature. In pre-​2011 Bahrain, for example, the fluctuations in levels of partisan representation were very much a consequence of the electoral calculus driving the political societies themselves, with both election boycotts and alliances playing a key part in it. For various reasons, in both 2002 and 2010 some of the principle political societies –​ including the preeminent Shi’a Islamist National Accord Islamic Society (also known in Arabic as Wifaq) –​opted to stage a boycott of the polls, leaving the field wide open to pro-​government independents and as such precipitating in no small measure their failure to capture collectively more than about 50 per cent of all parliamentary seats. In the 2006 elections, by contrast, partisan representation witnessed an all-​time high, reaching a total of about 73 per cent of all legislative seats. As Marc Valeri highlights elsewhere, this collective electoral success of Bahrain’s political societies was primarily the result of the strong showing of the country’s Islamist parties, which was aided on the Sunni Islamist side by the forging of district-​level non-​competition agreements between the National Islamic Tribune Society (a Bahraini Muslim Brotherhood affiliate) and the Salafi Islamic Authenticity Society (Valeri, 2018: 170). In Kuwait, meanwhile, low levels of public trust in, and electoral support for, the country’s proto-​parties, as well as their inability –​for the most part –​to tap into the tribal vote, intersect with additional institutional and organisational barriers in accounting for their persistently poor showing at the ballot box. Unlike in Bahrain and Yemen, where partisan organisations are financially relatively well endowed, due in part to the receipt of public funding, Kuwaiti proto-​parties have to survive without any such sources of income, depending instead in large measure on the financial goodwill of individual sympathisers and members. For many this means that, with limited (financial) resources at their disposal, they struggle to maintain expansive organisational structures on a sustained basis, let alone field and sponsor a full slate of 50 candidates in legislative 120

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elections. Complicating matters further  –​even for the likes of the ICM which is renowned for being one of the most organised and well-​endowed proto-​parties in the country (Brown 2007:  7)  –​are the singularities of the various Kuwaiti electoral laws which since 2006 have mandated that voters cast fewer votes for candidates than seats available per district.16 Under these electoral conditions, proto-​parties needed to consider very carefully how many contestants they put forward per district so as to avoid the risk of spreading their electoral support too thinly and thus of not winning a single seat. Given their limited electoral base, for virtually all proto-​parties this ultimately meant that in past elections they rarely selected more than two candidates per district, knowing full-​well that nominating any more would be counterproductive to their electoral prospects. For the overall electoral game, in turn, this meant that, with partisan candidates constituting a minority of those seeking elected office, the chances of proto-​parties to collectively capture a majority of parliament seats remained slim indeed. Last but not least, the plight of partisan organisations and their electoral performance have also been closely intertwined with the unfolding dynamics of the 2011–​2014 popular uprisings and beyond. Undoubtedly, this is most evident in Yemen, where normal political life has come to a virtual standstill amidst the continuation of a brutal civil war whose end is sadly nowhere in sight and which has seen routine politics suspended. It is also evident in Bahrain and Kuwait, however, where by and large the regimes managed to weather the wave of popular demonstrations without suspending the formal political process, yet where partisan organisations suffered dramatically from their involvement in them. In Bahrain, for instance, the Al-​Khalifa regime used the pretext of the uprising to radically alter the domestic electoral landscape; quashing its political societies and engineering parliaments almost exclusively comprised of pro-​regime independents.17 Tested authoritarian practices were hereby deployed to achieve these objectives. Most prominently, these included the recourse in 2014 to electoral engineering aimed at undercutting the electoral prospects of partisan candidates to the advantage of tribal and independent pro-​regime contestants, as well as the instigation of court cases resulting in the banning of some of the country’s largest opposition political societies, including al-​Wifaq and the National Democratic Action Society –​Promise (also simply known in Arabic as Wa’d).18 In Kuwait, meanwhile, the comparatively low levels of partisan representation pre-​ 2011 took a further hit during the era of the Arab uprisings largely due to a boycott instigated by some of the principle opposition proto-​parties (including the ICM) of the December 2012 and July 2013 elections in protest against the 2012 electoral law change. Even though this boycott was eventually terminated prior to the 2016 poll, it failed to revive the fortunes of the country’s proto-​parties, whose representation stagnated at 5 elective seats.

Conclusion As Lisa Anderson once aptly noted, all too often MENA scholars tend to search for answers where the light shines to the detriment of the less apparent/​visible spaces and dynamics of regional politics (Anderson, 2006). Although coined with an altogether different political conundrum in mind, this analogy bears relevance also to the study of Arab party politics, where over the years the locus of research has fallen squarely onto the more well-​established parties and party systems of the region. ‘Deviant’ cases of partisan politics and/​or those at the periphery of the regional system, as can be found on the Arabian Peninsula, tend to receive, by contrast, scant academic attention. This chapter sought to present a small step towards rectifying this neglect, by showcasing partisan life in three peninsula polities, which, although they may fall outside the limelight of scholarly interest, constitute valuable pieces of the puzzle that makes up our understanding of 121

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party politics in the MENA. They do so in fact on several grounds. For one, and as highlighted above, they showcase that partisan life can, and does, prevail under varied conditions, including circumstances where the legal status of parties remains ill-​defined. A case in point is Kuwait where, as we saw, the constitutional-​legal framework is void of any references to political parties, thus rendering them illegal, and yet where proto-​parties were able to emerge out of the shadows of this illegality and gain a foothold in the country’s electoral and parliamentary processes. Importantly also, the three cases provide valuable insights into some of the factors shaping the electoral success of partisan organisations under circumstances that remain not only marked by authoritarian constraints but by electorates whose voting intentions often remain little informed by partisan affinities. Indeed, albeit rather unusual, the juxtaposition of the Bahraini, Kuwaiti, and Yemeni cases presented here has been rather revealing on this front, highlighting some of the conditions that determine whether partisan contestants are either more or less likely to prevail over their principle electoral rivals (such as e.g. tribal, sectarian, or [pro-​government] service candidacies). As the Yemeni case illustrated, both the specificies of the electoral law as well as the distinct nature of relations extant between tribes and partisan organisations under a presidential republican system, go a long way to account for why the country’s parties outperformed their Bahraini and Kuwaiti rivals at the ballot box. Certainly, further research on the matter is in order to ascertain more fully the tentative findings presented here, including more detailed analysis of the precise relationship between partisan organisations and tribes/​sects in the three polities and beyond. Be this as it may, the direction of travel is clear: the study of Arab political parties and party politics is not only empirically enriched by closer scrutiny of its manifestations on the Arabian Peninsula, but tremendously enriches our quest to understand the conditions shaping partisan life across the region more broadly.

Notes 1 My gratitude goes to Hussain Sana and Marwa Ammar for collating the Kuwaiti electoral data. 2 With the exception of Yemen, which features a sizeable literature on party politics, little scholarship is available on the subject for the remainder of the Arabian Peninsula. Notable exceptions include the comparative work by Fred Lawson (1994), and several case studies by, e.g. Nathan Brown (2007), Hendrik Kraetzschmar (2018) and Marc Valeri (2018). 3 This is not to say, of course, that broader political movements/​formations never existed in these countries. Indeed, as Lawson (1994: 69–​85) has shown, their post-​independence political history was greatly shaped by the rise of various nationalist/​oppositional groupings and movements and their (at times violent) struggles with the state. 4 Law No 26 of 2005 with respect to political societies. 5 To reflect these differences in constitutional status, the following pages will utilise the more inclusive term of ‘partisan organisation’ when addressing all three country cases concurrently, yet revert to the specific terms used to denote their legal status in country-​specific deliberations. Hence, on Yemen reference is made to ‘political parties’, on Bahrain to ‘political societies’ and on Kuwait to ‘proto-​parties’. 6 For details on the various amendments issued on Law 26 since its passage in 2005, consult the NATLEX database of the International Labour Organisation, available: www.ilo.org/​dyn/​natlex/​natlex4.detail?p_​ lang=en&p_​isn=73008&p_​country=BHR&p_​count=311. 7 See particularly articles 8, 13, 14, 15, and 16 of Law 66. 8 Between 1993 and 2003 the Yemeni party political scene morphed from a system of limited pluralism and coalition governments to a predominant party system with the GPC at its helm (Al-​Yemeni, 2003: 44–​45,  64). 9 A solid source, detailing various rights violations in the three countries during the last two decades, are the country reports pages of Freedom House, which offer annual evaluations of the status of political/​ civil rights between 1998 and 2019. The reports are available at Freedom House, https://​freedomhouse. org/​reports.

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Partisan organisations in the Gulf 10 Parliaments in Yemen and Bahrain are bicameral, featuring an elected lower and an appointed upper house of parliament, whilst the Kuwaiti legislature is unicameral. This chapter will analyse data for elections to the lower houses of parliament only, discarding scrutiny of the (partisan) composition of the unelected upper houses of parliament. 11 In line with the emergence of a predominant party system in Yemen, as noted in note 8, the lion’s share of this percentage was held by the GPC, followed by the mainstream Sunni Islamist Yemeni Congregation for Reform (also known in Arabic as al-​Islah) as the second largest party. 12 Elections to the Bahraini lower house of parliament have since 2002 been conducted on the basis of a two-​round absolute majority system in 40 single-​member districts. In Yemen, parliamentary elections from 1993–​2003 were conducted on the basis of a single-​member plurality system in 301 districts. In Kuwait, elections to its 50-​seat assembly were held under simple plurality in 25 multi-​member districts between 1992–​2006, after which they were conducted on the basis of the limited vote (2006–​2012) and the single-​non-​transferrable vote system (2012–​) in five multi-​member districts. For details consult the Inter-​Parliamentary Union National Parliaments Database, available: http://​archive.ipu.org/​ parline-​e/​parlinesearch.asp. 13 Arab Barometer (AB) data (Wave III, 2012–​2014) for Yemen and Kuwait show overall low levels of public trust in partisan organisations. In Kuwait 96 per cent of respondents felt unrepresented by the country’s proto-​parties, whilst in Yemen over 70 per cent of respondents held little confidence in their political parties. AB Wave I data (2006–​2009) and a more recent DERASAT Centre poll (2018) in Bahrain also reveal limited levels of utility seen in, and trust placed in, the country’s political societies (Arab Barometer, DERASAT Centre). 14 According to Al-​Kandari, the country’s main tribes have a history of engaging in so-​called tribal primaries (now illegal) in order to nominate candidates ‘who would represent the tribe and its interests’ (2010: 277). Because of these primaries, scholars have suggested that during election times Kuwaiti tribes themselves operate effectively like political parties (e.g. Tétreault, 1995: 33–​34). 15 The exception being the connect that exists between the country’s tribes and some of the Sunni Islamist proto-​ parties, including the ICM. Because of their shared socio-​ religious conservatism, the tribes constitute a valuable source of electoral support, which why some of these proto-​parties (the ICM included) have sought to have their candidates approved through tribal primaries (Salih, 2011: 147; Brown 2009: 124–​126). 16 See note 12 for details of the electoral law and its reforms. 17 See results of 2014 and 2018 legislative elections. 18 Prior to the 20014 elections, the Bahraini government pushed through a major reform of the country’s electoral districts, which according to Justine Gengler was meant to disadvantage (Sunni) Islamist ‘in favour of tribal independents’ (2014). More on the ban of al-​Wifaq and Wa’d can be found in the Freedom House 2018 Bahrain report, available:  https://​freedomhouse.org/​report/​freedom-​world/​ 2018/​bahrain.

Bibliography Al-​Kandari, Yagoub Yousif and Ibrahim Naji Al-​Hadben. 2010. ‘Tribalism, Sectarianism, and Democracy in Kuwaiti Culture’. Digest of Middle East Studies 19 (2): 268–​285. Alles, Larissa. 2018. ‘Tribes and Political Parties in the Contemporary Arab World: A Reassessment from Yemen.’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Al-​Mdaires, Falah A. 2010. Islamic Extremism in Kuwait: From the Muslim Brotherhood to al-​Qaeda and other Islamist Political Groups. London: Routledge. Al-​Yemeni, Ahmed A.H. 2003. The Dynamic of Democratisation –​Political Parties in Yemen. Friedrich-​Ebert Siftung, Bonn. Available: https://​library.fes.de/​pdf-​files/​iez/​01459.pdf. Anderson, Lisa. 2006. ‘Searching where the Light Sines: Studying Democratization in the Middle East’. Annual Review of Political Science 9: 189–​214. Bahry, Louay. 1997. ‘The Opposition in Bahrain: A Bellwether for the Gulf?’ Middle East Policy 5 (2): 42–​57. Bonnefoy, Laurent and Marine Poirier. 2010. ‘The Yemeni Congregation for Reform (al-​Islah):  The Difficult Process of Building a Project for Change.’ In Myriam Catusse and Karam Karam (eds.)

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Hendrik Kraetzschmar Returning to Political Parties? Partisan Logic and Political Transformations in the Arab World. Paris: Presses de L’Ifpo. Brown, Nathan. 2007. ‘Pushing towards Party Politics? Kuwait’s Islamic Constitutional Movement’. Carnegie Papers No 79, Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Brown, Nathan. 2009. ‘Kuwait’s Islamic Constitutional Movement: A Model or a Warning for Democratic Islamism?’ In M. A. Mohamed Salih (ed.) Interpreting Islamic Political Parties. London: Palgrave. Carapico, Sheila. 1993. ‘Elections and Mass Politics in Yemen’. Middle East Report 26(6): 2–​6. Carapico, Sheila. 1998. ‘Pluralism, Polarization, and Popular Politics in Yemen.’ In Baghat Korany, Rex Brynen and Paul Noble (eds.) Political Liberalisation and Democratization in the Arab World. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Democracy Reporting International (DRI). 2008. Comprehensive Assessment of Electoral Framework:  Yemen. Available:  http://​democracy-​reporting.org/​wp-​content/​uploads/​2016/​02/​dri_​ yemen_​report_​08.pdf. DERASAT Centre, 2018. ‘National duty major driver for participation in election’, 11 November. Available:  www.bna.bh/​en/​2018.aspx?cms=q8FmFJgiscL2fwIzON1%2bDjb%2b2FVX%2fIbuXEWI tqDJg0M%3d. Freedom House, 2018. Yemen Profile. Available:  https://​freedomhouse.org/​report/​freedom-​world/​ 2018/​yemen (last access 21/​08/​2019). Gengler, Justin. 2014. ‘Electoral rules (and threats) cure Bahrain’s sectarian parliament’. The Washington Post, 1 December. Available:  www.washingtonpost.com/​news/​monkey-​cage/​wp/​2014/​12/​01/​ electoral-​rules-​and-​threats-​cure-​bahrains-​sectarian-​parliament/​?noredirect=on. Kapiszewski, Andrej. 2006. ‘Elections an Parliamentary Activity in the GCC States: Broadening Political Participation in the Gulf Monarchies.’ In Abdulhadi Khalaf and Giacomo Luciani (eds.) Constitutional Reform and Political Participation in the Gulf. Gulf Research Centre. Kraetzschmar, Hendrik. 2018. ‘In the Shadow of Legality: Proto-​parties and Participatory Politics in the Emirate of Kuwait.’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Lackner, Helen. 2017. ‘The People’s Democratic Republic of Yemen: Unique Socialist Experiment in The Arab World at a Time of World Revolutionary Fervour.’ Interventions 19(5): 677–​91. Lawson, Fred. 1994. ‘Postwar Demands for Political Participation in the Arab Gulf States.’ International Journal 49(2): 378–​407. National Democratic Institute (NDI). 2002. Bahrain’s October 24 and 31, 2002 Legislative Elections. NDI Report, pp. 1–​15. National Democratic Institute (NDI) 2003. The April 27, 2003 Parliamentary Elections in The Republic of Yemen, NDI Report, pp. 1–​33. Niethammer, Katja. 2008. ‘Opposition Groups in Bahrain.’ In Ellen Lust-​Okar and Saloua Zerhouni (eds.) Political Participation in the Middle East. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Salih, Kamal El Din Osman. 2011. ‘Kuwait Primary (Tribal) Elections 1975–​2008: An Evaluative Study’. British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 38 (2): 141–​67. Sartori, Giovanni. 1976. Parties and Party Systems:  A Framework for Analysis. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. Storm, Lise and Francesco Cavatorta, 2018. ‘Do Arabs Not Do Parties? An Introduction and Exploration.’ In Francesco Cavatorta and Lise Storm (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. The Economist. 2014. ‘Boycotted elections underline Bahrain’s polarised politics’, 24 November. Available:  http://​country.eiu.com/​article.aspx?articleid=1422515526&Country=Bahrain&topic=Pol itics. The National. 2010. ‘Opposition party votes against Bahrain election’, 26 August. Available:  www. thenational.ae/​world/​mena/​opposition-​party-​votes-​against-​bahrain-​election-​1.537990. Valeri, Marc. 2018. Islamist Political Societies in Bahrain: Collateral Victims of the 2011 Popular Uprising.’ In Henrik Kraetzschmar and Paola Rivetti (eds.) Islamists and the Politics of the Arab Uprisings: Governance, Pluralisation and Contention. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Zweiri, Mahjoob and Mohammed Zahid. 2007. The Victory of Al Wefaq: The Rise of Shiite Politics in Bahrain’. Research Paper No 108, Research Institute for European and American Studies.

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10 PAWNS IN THE ARMY’S HANDS Political parties in military-​dominated regimes Jan Claudius Völkel

Introduction The Middle East and North Africa (MENA) remains a region where militaries still hold considerable political influence, and irrespective of the call for an end of the old regimes in 2011, almost all countries might still be called “securitocracies” or “mukhabarat states” (Droz-​Vincent, 2014:  701). Most regimes in fact base their hold on power on the security forces and the mukhabarat (secret services) rather than democratic legitimacy. In Egypt, the army has reclaimed political power after the short democratic interlude in 2012–​2013; in Mauritania, a putsch in 2008 ended the only two-​year interim period of civilian leadership since 1978. Libya’s internationally supported Presidential Council under Fayez Mustafa al-​Sarraj is under threat from the troops of General Khalifa Haftar. Syria’s dictator Bashar al-​Assad bases his power on elite troops within the armed forces, as Yemen’s Ali Abdallah Saleh and Iraq’s Saddam Hussein had done for a long time. The Islamic Republic of Iran, as well as the oil-​r ich monarchies in the Arab peninsula and the royal courts in Jordan and Morocco might not be understood as classic military regimes, but they also partly secure their power on their armed forces –​as Turkey did until its EU-​triggered reforms to limit the military’s control over politics from 1999 onwards. In Algeria and Sudan, despite the topplings of their two long-​term presidents Abdelaziz Bouteflika and Omar al-​Bashir in April 2019, gradual transformation processes happen, if at all, only under the scrutiny of both countries’ armed forces. Paradoxically, the Arab Uprisings have not diminished the overall influence of militaries on politics across the Arab world. On the contrary, they strengthened it. As an indicator of this, arms imports by MENA countries more than doubled between the periods 2008–​2012 and 2013–​2017. Saudi Arabia, Egypt and the United Arab Emirates were the world’s second, third, and fourth largest weapon importers in the 2013–​2017 period (SIPRI, 2018). The role political parties have been playing under these military-​dominated regimes varies widely, depending on specific conditions resulting from historic particularities. Muammar al-​ Qadhafi’s concept of “Jamahiriyya” (Republic of the Masses) made parties obsolete, as they were seen as an obstacle to people’s direct rule. In Saddam Hussein’s Iraq and pre-​2011 Syria, the Ba’th party was the all-​dominating party, resembling a militarist-​political entity that comprehensively controlled citizens’ fate. In Egypt, Mauritania, and Sudan, multi-​party systems were gradually introduced from the 1970s on, after the military-​based regimes felt securely consolidated 125

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and carefully changed their strategy from mobilisation through single parties to demobilisation through a diversification of the party system (Hinnebusch, 2017:  160). This, however, occurred only formally: substantially, regimes developed strategies to indefinitely ensure their sanctity through absolute control of the political processes in omnipotent state-​linked parties. When multi-​party elections brought Islamist victories on various occasions, regimes quickly responded either by violence (Algeria in the early 1990s), by suppression (Egypt after the 2005 elections), by co-​optation (Mauritania and Yemen), or by boycott, namely Fatah in Palestine after the electoral victory of Hamas in the 2006 elections. This chapter analyses in a comparative perspective the role and functions of political parties in military-​dominated regimes, highlighting three factors that characterise their position: a) MENA party systems arose in the overall atmosphere of anti-​ colonialism and anti-​ imperialism, carried forward and exploited by charismatic leaders such as Mustafa Kemal “Atatürk” (Turkey), Gamal Abd al-​Nasser (Egypt) or Habib Bourguiba (Tunisia). The dominance of individual revolutionary leaders and the call for national unity against colonial interests posed unfavourable conditions for the establishment of meaningful parties. Instead, the call for patriotism lifted the armed forces into an ideal(ised) fervent proponent as “saviour of the nation” (Dris and Aït-​Hamadouche, 2017: 154–​155). b) Beyond state single parties, which usually had served as bridge between the armed forces and the political system, existing parties were not more than a façade meant to create an illusion of democracy (Völkel, 2019: 4). Thus, while all military-​dominated regimes eventually have allowed for the provision of multi-​party systems, this does not automatically imply the establishment of a truly diverse party landscape. In contrast to ideology-​based parties in established democracies that gradually arose from different social classes, parties in military-​dominated MENA countries are top-​down creations, often resulting from internal splits of prior parties with the hidden involvement of the (military) intelligence services. c) A “schism of ambiguity” between the regimes and Islamist parties has been a permanent pattern in all military-​dominated MENA regimes, in particular with the Muslim Brotherhood (MB) and its multiple local offsprings (Joffé, 2019:  219). Algeria tragically slipped into a devastating civil war over this struggle in the 1990s, and the autocratic regimes deduced much of their legitimacy from proclaiming the “threat” of Islamist parties to peace and stability across the region (Lust, 2011). Military regimes used Islamists to cultivate their image as protectors against the threat Islamists supposedly posed. It is worth noting that the military regimes applied the same strategy against potential democratic rivals after the 2011 and 2019 uprising. In the following sections, this chapter focuses especially on Algeria, Egypt, Libya, Mauritania, Sudan, Syria, Turkey (until the 1990s), and Yemen. Since developments in Egypt have been formative for many other MENA military-​dominated regimes though, it will be analysed particularly extensively as a reference point.

The colonial legacy: armed forces and military strongmen as liberators and protectors Armies became an important part of the national narrative in the vast majority of MENA countries during and after the struggle for independence from colonial powers. Within these army circles, revolutionary leaders became the strongmen that directed their country’s fate with 126

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a highly personalistic leadership style. Both, army predominance and personalised leadership, were limiting conditions for the establishment of effective parties. In Turkey, General Mustafa Kemal turned out as national hero after the Ottoman Empire’s defeat in World War I. The Republic of Turkey that he founded in 1923 combined many of the traits that most Arab republics would later also display: secularist (and often socialist) states based on strong militaries defending the state against external as well as internal threats. As such, the armed forces, and with them their generals, smartly rode the wave of patriotism and consecutively gained the image of saviours of the nation. Nasser’s military coup of the Free Officers on July 23, 1952, was a turning point in many of the Arab states’ political trajectories. It not only ended British influence over Egypt, but it also sealed the Egyptian army’s supremacy over politics. Since Napoleon’s invasion in 1798, and especially since Muhammad ‘Ali had become Wali of Egypt and Sudan in 1805, the modernisation efforts served the purpose of building a strong, European-​style army, both to gain independence from the Ottoman rulers in Istanbul (Constantinople) as well as the dominating European powers France and the United Kingdom. In the 1870s, a secret society of army officers became the nucleus for the “National Party” (Hizb al-​watani), Egypt’s first political party, which increasingly fought against the British occupiers (Landau, 1953: 87ff.). In parallel, members of the Egyptian parliament, which had been established in 1866, further mobilised public support against colonial rule. Politics and military strategy were thus closely interlinked from Egypt’s early modern history. The de jure independence from British dominance in 1922, enshrined in the 1923 constitution, allowed for a hitherto unparallelled liberal political system, with a comparatively influential parliament and a variety of parties. Among them, the Wafd (Delegation) party became dominant and its participation in the 1919 Lausanne peace conference about Egyptian independence gave it considerable credit among Egyptians. Its real influence, however, remained limited, due to Britain’s continuing de facto control, and even though it was by far the most popular party, it held governmental power for only seven years during the period 1923–​1952 (Baaklini et al., 1999: 223). The Free Officers’ putsch quickly “terminated Egypt’s quarter-​century experience of raucous party politics and attempted to monopolize organized political life” (Lust and Waldner, 2016: 163), and erased any opinions or ideologies diverging from the official state doctrine. Pre-​revolutionary political parties were banned in 1953, largely discredited as corrupt and complicit with the British. Instead, through single-​party rule and the role of an increasingly powerful police force based in the ministry of interior and the increasing role of military-​ controlled intelligence services, the army took over political leadership (Zohny, 2019: 97). After the Free Officers’ Revolutionary Command Council (RCC) had “appointed hundreds of fellow officers as advisors and representatives in the new administration” (Bou Nassif, 2013: 513), the Egyptian army was eventually fully embedded into institutional politics. In parallel, Nasser’s state-​led economic development made the army “the engine of industry and the supplier of public services” (Marshall, 2015: 4). The omnipotent Arab Socialist Union (ASU), founded in 1962 as successor of the “Liberation Rally” and “National Union” (founded in 1953 and 1956, respectively), meant to serve as comprehensive umbrella organisation for all Egyptians. As happened later also in Algeria, Mauritania, Iraq, and Syria, single-​party states (along with single trade unions and professional associations) had the predominant task of controlling all social aspects on behalf of the armed forces. The developments in other Arab republics followed similar patterns, though at a later stage. In Algeria, independence came after a devastating eight-​year war against France (1954–​1962). From the beginning, Algerian politics was under the leadership of the Front de Libération 127

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National (FLN, National Liberation Front), a party founded in 1954 along with the rebellious Armée de Libération National (ALN, National Liberation Army). Initially headquartered in Cairo, supported and protected by Nasser, the FLN ruled Algeria for decades, interrupted only by the civil war (1992–​1999). With Abdelaziz Bouteflika, it was again an FLN member (and army veteran) who took power after the war, preserving the army’s dominance behind the scenes (Benchikh, 2016: 370). The ALN, while formally merged into the country’s army after 1962, continued to send leading figures into politics: General Houari Boumédiène, President from 1965 to 1978, and successor Chadli Bendjedid, in office until the break-​out of the civil war in 1992. Bendjedid had, however, understood “the need to strengthen the ruling party in order to penetrate and control the army, so he appointed one of his loyal aides as the party’s secretary-​ general” (Sassoon, 2016: 79). After independence from France, Mauritania’s first, and civilian, President Moktar Ould Daddah, merged all existing parties into the Mauritanian People’s Party, and joined Nasser’s Non-​Aligned Movement. However, the party remained internally split between the country’s Arab and Black-​African communities, a conflict also with international repercussions as difficult relations with Algeria, Morocco, and Senegal over the Western Sahara conflict demonstrate. This gave the army a dominant position, and its 1978 coup initiated military rule, which lasts until today and was interrupted only by the short intermezzo of civilian president Mohammed Ould Abdallahi (2007–​2008). Although the regime allowed party pluralism with the introduction of a new constitution in 1991 (Horma Babana, 2016: 364), the 2008 coup formally turned back the clock, putting the military firmly in control of all public positions and processes in today’s Mauritania. This continous political involvement, however, comes with a heavy price for the army’s internal coherence, as it has triggered envy within different army factions: “four of the six coups d’état which have been carried out since independence were launched by army officers against other army officers who had themselves seized power” (Hill, 2016: 188). It is thus clear that political involvement must be backed by sufficient internal means to quell potential conflicts inside army ranks. Resource-​r ich regimes like the Algerian one, or those that generate massive revenues from external support such as Egypt (USA, Saudi Arabia) and Syria (Iran), seem better suited for this challenge than the one in Mauritania. Syria’s Ba’th party has its roots also in the anti-​imperialist struggle. Founded in 1947, one year after Syria’s formal independence, it combined elements of pan-​Arab unity and Arab self-​ determination, aiming to become a leading force in a unified Arab world. The unification of Syria and Egypt in the “United Arab Republic” (UAR, 1958–​1961) was a tangible sign of this orientation. It, however, quickly showed the rivalry between Nasserists and Ba’thists, both belonging to the group of qawmiyeen, to be the leader of Arab nationalism (Aleya-​Sagher, 2012: 37). Nasser tried to split Ba’th party and Syrian army, but Ba’th-​aligned officers brought the party back into power with their March 8, 1963 putsch. Henceforth, the party would remain in power, closely linked to the national army and increasingly militarised in its internal structures. While Bashar al-​Assad initiated some reforms during the 2000s, trying to limit the officers’ as well as old Ba’thist apparatchicks’ influence and bringing well-​educated, modernist technocrats into core positions instead, the 2011 protests showed the brutality of the regime and its sustaining forces within the military circles. The developments in Iraq and Yemen were quite similar. Nasser’s ideas had appeal in these countries as well and the militaries gained upper hand in Saddam Hussein’s Iraq in Yemen, where Ali Abdallah Saleh became president and strongman of North Yemen in 1978, and remained in power also after Yemen unified in 1990 and until his fall from power in 2012. The same in Libya, where Colonel Mu’ammar al-​Qadhafi fervently admired Nasser. He literally copied the Free Officers’ putsch with his own coup against King Idris I. On September 1, 128

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1969, he set up a “Jamahiriyya” which formally consisted of people’s direct rule but in reality was a hardline autocracy built on Qadhafi’s “third universal theory”. Political parties had no space in this institutional set-up, as in Qadhafi’s rhetoric they prevented people from directly executing power. In reality they were feared as alternative power centres to his excentric rule. While the armed forces played a crucial part in securing his revolutionary progress, several coup attempts made him increasingly suspicious of the army, which he therefore tried to sideline through the creation of alternative paramilitary troops outside the official army structures (Röder, 2016: 312). Sudan, meanwhile, was an exception to the overall trend. Until Omar al-​Bashir eventually seized power through a military coup in 1989, the country oscillated between civil and military rule, yet without clear leadership figures. It was only al-​Bashir who would grow into the country’s leading figure, securing his rule with an iron fist by creating a “mafia-​like interdependence between the government apparatus, the Islamist elite and the military” (Weber, 2019: 3).

Façade parties instead of meaningfully diversified party landscapes While the initial decades after independence saw the consolidation of the revolutionary regimes and the establishment of the armed forces as crucial for their retention of power, a phase of relaxation began in the 1970s, leading to a gradual, if only cosmetic, opening of most regimes –​ except for the Ba’th-​ruled Iraq and Syria. In Egypt, after Nasser’s death in 1970, his successor Mohammad Anwar al-​Sadat officially split the ASU along its three main components as part of his opening (infitah) policies, creating the centrist Arab Socialist Egypt Party, which subsequently became the regime’s very own National Democratic Party (NDP), the leftist Tagammu’ and the centre-​right Liberal (Ahrar) Party (Durac, 2018:  74f.). This tripartition, suitably, “was an artificial construction that left the pro-​military elite conveniently centered in political life” (Dunne and Hamzawy, 2017: 4), namely in the NDP, which continued ASU’s main purpose as unifying umbrella party for all Egyptians and nexus between the people and the regime. Organised in a strictly hierarchical manner, the party was present in each and every level of the state, and party committees were closely interlinked with the respective ministries (Grimm and Roll, 2017: 109). This also did not change after the new political parties law (Law 40/​1977) opened the door for the further creation of new party creations, such as the (New) Wafd Party, the Socialist Labour Party (SLP) and the Umma Party. These liberalising tendencies were embedded in Egypt’s broader reorientation away from the Soviet Union into a closer alliance with the United States. They were also the product of Sadat’s efforts to reconcile with Israel. One of the consequences of these foreign policy changes was the pressing need to reduce the political influence of those generals who objected to Sadat’s “corrective revolution” (Joya, 2018: 9ff.). It was for this reason that Sadat looked for lucrative economic compensations for the retired (or soon to be retired) generals (Bou Nassif, 2013: 514). The Egyptian army’s deep involvement in economic activities has its roots here, and Mubarak intensified the economic orientation of the army, which, in the words of Springborg and Williams (2019: 2), became a “slumbering giant” under his regime. Mubarak succeeded in moving the army into the political backseat by extending lucrative economic “carrots” and smart selection of core army leaders who would not question his political leadership (Bou Nassif, 2013: 515), and making the NDP the leading political player. This situation could have gone on indefinitely, with a fruitful interrelation between the military as an economic powerhouse and the NDP as its civilian arm into politics. The relations between the 129

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army and political parties had taken similar turns also in most other military-​dominated regimes of the MENA region –​even the Syrian Ba’th rulers had eventually loosened their ideological stubbornness under President Bashar al-​Assad. Political parties there had already existed after independence, and the pre-​Ba’th army was in fact filled with officers who openly supported or were members in different parties (Moussa, 2019: 25) but were increasingly coopted and gradually integrated into the Ba’th party from 1970 onwards (Pratt, 2008: 74). Before 2011, the Syrian Ba’th party had secured its power in a way that the armed forces were tasked to protect not only the territorial integrity of the country, but specifically also the Baʿth movement and its goals. The party, through its Military Bureau, effectively controlled the army (Röder, 2016:  299). This stipulation (Article 11 of the 1973 Constition) was removed by the 2012 constitutional amendment, but the Ba’th party still controls life in Assad-​controlled territories. Algeria had introduced a multi-​party system in 1989 in the wake of the massive economic crisis of the mid-​1980s and the collapse of socialism. In the following local and general elections, the FLN surprisingly lost against the Front Islamique du Salut (FIS, Islamic Salvation Front), and the military’s intervention in late 1991 saved the regime, ending the democratisation effort abruptly. The cancellation of the second round of elections and the crackdown on FIS leaders and activists led to the civil war. The end of the Cold War triggered Yemen’s unification in 1990, along with the introduction of a formally democratic system, allowing for the creation of the al-​Islah party, supported by Saudi Arabia “to control the Arab nationalist regime of Ali Abdullah Saleh” (Joffé, 2019: 221). Whether in Egypt, Algeria, or Yemen, military regimes never accepted the changes to multi-​ party systems as factually necessary, but rather understood and promoted these liberalising steps as the most appropriate riposte to external demands (end of Cold War, increasing demand for democratisation from Western donors) or internal ones (bread riots, workers’ strikes, requests for free and fair elections). The riposte was meant to be instrumental and short-​lived. Turkey was a forerunner in the liberalisation process, as party competition had already been initiated in 1945, after President İsmet İnönü had ended the rule of Atatürk’s Republican People’s Party (CHP, Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi) by allowing the establishment of opposition parties. For the army, “the end of the single-​party state broke its symbiotic relationship with the regime and thereby opened the door for the reemergence of political activism within the middle ranks of the corps” (Abd Rabou, 2016: 40–​41), leading to consecutive military coups in 1960, after the Democratic Party had won the elections shortly before. Further coups followed in 1971 and 1980, leading to temporary closures, though also quick reestablishment, of political parties.

Islamist parties post-​2011: winning at the ballot box, losing against the army Egypt’s generals had accepted their subordinate position until they felt that NDP cadres became too independent and started to lean more towards private businessmen than the old army cadres. The planned succession of Mubarak’s son Gamal as an influential figure and president-​ to-​come facilitated the army’s decision in February 2011 to let Mubarak’ fall (Albrecht and Bishara, 2011: 18). His unexpected demise, along with the expulsion of Tunisia’s President Zine Abidin Ben Ali shortly before, seemed to reshuffle the cards for political parties in MENA military-​dominated regimes –​despite parties had neither initiated nor initially supported the protests (Collombier, 2013; Eyadat, 2015:  161). Rather, social movements, such as the National Association for Change (NAC) in Egypt, a conglomerate of different political and social actors founded in 2010 130

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by presidential-​hopeful and Nobel Peace Prize winner Mohamed Elbaradei, which combined “young revolutionaries” from earlier protest initiatives such as Kefaya (“Enough”) or “April 6”, but also Wafd and MB representatives, called for change. Traditionally weaker opposition parties, especially Tagammu’ and the Nasserist party, meanwhile rejected NAC as an unwanted new competitor (Elshobaki, 2010). Meanwhile, Islamist movements quickly turned out to be the most effective and influential political actors. In Egypt, the MB’s newly founded Freedom and Justice Party (FJP) as well as the Salafist al-​Nour Party won the country’s first free and fair elections in 2011/​2012. When the MB’s candidate Mohamed Morsi won the presidential elections, it was clear that Islamist politicians were now the dominating group in Egypt’s political arena. This situation was reminiscent of the 1990/​1991 elections in Algeria, which had apparently been conducted without the manipulating influence of the military-​controlled Department of Intelligence and Security (Département du Renseignement et de la Sécurité, DRS) and also ended with a clear dominance of the Islamist party (Benchikh, 2016: 383). Indeed, the question of how to deal with Islamist groups and parties had been a constant and long-​stading concern in all military-​dominated MENA regimes. Nasserist and Ba’thist leaders followed a clear strategy of suppression and exclusion, but Anwar al-​Sadat initiated a more inclusionary approach, gradually expanding the possibilities for Islamist activism. However, his eventual assassination by Islamist militants during a military parade on October 6, 1981, was just the highest-​profile attack during the low intensity Islamist insurgency of the 1980s and 1990s. This helped Hosni Mubarak to uphold a permanent state of emergency during his rule, and later on President al-​Sisi employed a similar repressive strategy against the MB, framing the movement as Egypt’s most imminent threat (Ottaway, 2015: 19). The developments in other military-​dominated regimes were quite comparable, although the tolerance for Islamists’ involvement differed somewhat. While Islamist parties were part of the state doctrine in Sudan and (North) Yemen, the Ba’th regimes in Iraq and Syria as well as the Libyan Jamahiriyya did not tolerate any Islamist party; the Syrian army’s infamous Hama Massacre, executed in 1982 to end the MB-​led uprising since 1976, was one of the most severe actions by state armed forces against Islamists. Regimes saw Islamists as dangerous also because of the wide support they enjoyed among the population due to their extensive social engagement. With the unexpected changes in 2011, the Egyptian Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) had acted quickly to secure its privileges and control against the new competitors. Similar to the Free Officers’ 1952 coup, the SCAF used the MB’s influence to manipulate the public’s support in its interest, either through mobilisation or demobilisation, but in any case as a counterweight to potential alternative political strongholds (Alexander, 2011: 536). In consequence, the MB’s acquiesence helped SCAF securing the army’s continuing dominance over politics, despite being “fully cognizant of the military’s ability to sabotage its ambitions to govern Egypt” (Aziz, 2017: 291). Having secured its own privileges in a “Constitutional Proclamation” announced on March 30, 2011, explicitly stating the military’s preferences “regarding the conduct of legislative elections and the nature of political parties that might be allowed to participate” (Albrecht and Bishara, 2011: 19), quick elections also meant a “safe way out” for the SCAF back into its comfort zone (Roll, 2016: 32). For the MB, quick elections meant having a competitive advantage over other parties, especially the newly founded “revolutionary” ones. This seemed to be the beginning of a mutually fruitful alliance between the SCAF and the FJP. The revised political parties law, which SCAF enacted in February 2011, fit perfectly in this cooperative arrangement between the military and the MB because it made it seemingly easier for parties to be set up. The thorough reform of the formerly NDP-​controlled notorious 131

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Political Parties Affairs Committee in particular was a welcome step; in reality, however, major hurdles remained, especially for smaller, “revolutionary” parties (Völkel, 2017a: 600). Thus, the prevention of the emergence of a credible opposition beyond SCAF and MB must be seen as SCAF’s second main concern in the initial post-​Mubarak months. Discriminated by SCAF’s legislation, most secular parties failed to extend their presence in the countryside, and thus were not able to generate support among Egypt’s rural citizens –​ about 57% of the population (Collombier, 2013: 9). It is no surprise then that the Islamists, who focused more on rural areas, won a landslide victory in the December 2011/​January 2012 parliamentary elections. The FJP and al-​Nour won 235 and 121 of the 508 seats respectively, thus controlling more than 70% of parliamentary seats. The Social Democratic Party, the most successful secular party, secured only 16 seats, followed by the Free Egyptians Party (13 seats) and the Popular Alliance (seven seats). FJP’s and al-​Nour’s success in the 2011/​2012 parliamentary elections did not mean, however, that they could bypass the military’s dominance. Irrespective of some important decisions the elected government took in 2012 and 2013 in favour of the army’s undisputed economic supremacy over private competitors (Marshall, 2015: 10), the army-​MB alliance began to crumble quickly. In the spring of 2012, a number of secular parties had already urged the army “to interfere in politics and to postpone drafting of the constitution and all elections until a different balance of power between Islamists and secular forces was reached” (Dunne and Hamzawy, 2017: 16). Morsi’s infamous attempts to secure greater powers in November 2012, to normalise relations with Hamas in Gaza, and to downgrade military companies as junior partners in the strategic Suez Canal extension –​announced in March 2013 –​provoked the army’s resistance (Aziz, 2017: 291). Secular parties, among them Elbaradei’s Dustour (Constitution), Wafd, Free Egyptians Party, Social Democrats, Democratic Front and the Popular Current joined forces in the “National Salvation Front” against the perceived ikhwana (“Brotherhoodisation”) of the state. Also al-​Nour decided to seek salvation in the army and not in the governing FJP (Cavatorta, 2015: 141). The “Tamarod” (rebel) protests peaking in the streets on June 30, 2013, Morsi’s first anniversary in the president’s office, were largely supported –​and eventually hijacked –​by the military’s secret service, both in financial and organisational terms (Wessel, 2018: 363f.). Morsi’s arrest and the following reinstallation of the army-​backed regime of Abdel Fatah al-​Sisi ended the short interlude of party-​based democratic politics in Egypt. The new parliament, elected in late 2015, consists mainly of independent MPs and party programmes play no particular role (Völkel, 2017a). The poor rootedness and legitimacy of Egypt’s current political parties, in combination with their underdeveloped political ideologies, is meanwhile “a particularly worrying observation” (Cavatorta and Storm, 2017: 13). During the election campaign in May 2015, President al-​Sisi had called all parties to join forces in one unified list, indicating that instead of party competition he wishes a unified parliament unconditionally supporting him. While parties did not join in one list, many smaller parties decided to boycott the elections, recognising that against the regime’s dominance they had no chance to compete fairly. Indeed, the General Intelligence Directorate (GID) succeeded through manipulative actions in making parliament a stark Sisi supporter (Bahgat, 2016), with the notable exception of about two dozens deputies who joined the oppositional 25–​30 list (in reference to the January 25 and June 30 “revolutions”) and some reformists from the Wafd party (personal interview with a former MP in Cairo, April 16, 2018). Yet, an unprecedented 75 MPs are former army or police officers (Aziz, 2017: 294), and the GID closely observes parliamentary debates. This tight control notwithstanding, allegedly al-​Sisi is still not satisfied with parliament’s behaviour, and has ordered the military-​aligned National Security Agency to take the next elections in 2020 under its control, instead of leaving it to GID (Mada Masr, 2019). 132

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Al-​Sisi has brought the regime’s control over parliament to perfection, but the other military-​ dominated regimes have deployed similar strategies over time. In Algeria, “Bouteflika marginalized the parliament, ruled by presidential decree, co-​opted the opposition, and revised the constitution to eliminate term limits” (Boubekeur, 2014). Multiple parties are permitted, but the regime secured its power through a split of parliament (the 2017 elections brought 27 different parties into the People’s National Assembly, many of them with just one deputy) and the cooptation of the three largest parties: the FLN, the Rassemblement National Démocratique (RND, National Democratic Rally) and the Mouvement de la Société pour la Paix (MSP, Movement of the Society for Peace), the Islamist party tolerated by the regime (Storm, 2014: 135). The situation in Mauritania is similar. The 2018 elections brought the president’s party, the “Union for the Republic”, a comfortable  89 (out of 153) seats, while the MB-​affiliated Tawassoul came in second with 14 seats. 22 more parties share the remaining 50 seats. The effect in both countries is the same as in Egypt: the regime-​supporting parties dominate and the other, usually smaller parties have difficulties to get organised (Völkel, 2017b: 91). In addition it is clear that intelligence services are closely monitoring parliament and parties. In all military-​dominated regimes, the armies have cultivated the image of saviour of the nation through their self-​proclaimed war against terrorism and their supposedly redistributive efforts. In Egypt the military puts forth the image of a media-​effective charity organisation that distributes food to the poor before religious holidays. Through this, “unlike other fractions of the ruling class, the military has successfully presented itself as the representative of all of Egypt—​those in the opposition as well as government supporters” (Joya, 2018: 16). From this perspective, it has taken over the core functions of the former ASU and NDP as a form of all-​encompassing, quasi-​totalitarian state party. As Dunne and Hamzawy (2017:  23) stated:  “in some ways, it is more the military than any political party that has taken the NDP’s place in Sisi’s Egypt”. Indeed, the army seeks to unify the nation, to provide support to central state institutions as much as to control them. It formulates policy goals, feeds news reports, drafts school curricula, develops land, employs hundreds of thousands of workers, conducts external relations, bakes bread and provides recreational activities. Unofficial tasks that the former NDP had to fulfil to control the citizenry, such as spying on neighbours or monitoring students at universities, have now been fully taken over by military intelligence, or affiliated units of the general intelligence or the police forces (Sassoon, 2016: 43f.). This is a risky game, as a diverse party landscape would help voicing different grievances and thereby channel conflicts into institutionalised paths, if not bringing tangible changes in policy making. As Aziz (2017: 281) claimed: “without a political party to do its bidding, the military is likely to depend more on brute force against emerging opposition groupings”.

Conclusion In MENA military-​dominated regimes, armies have maintained or even extended their strength and influence since 2011. Political parties have been mostly pawns in the army’s hands: they were used when necessary, but dismissed when possible. This in particular refers to Islamist parties, which have been either banned and their members suppressed, as in Egypt and the Ba’th ruled Iraq and Syria, or coopted as in Algeria. Sudan under Omar al-​Bashir used to be a special case, since here Islamism and military rule had entered a kind of symbiosis. But it also refers to the “revolutionary parties” newly founded in the course of 2011. Wherever Islamists were successful in elections, those secular parties quickly split over the question whether to 133

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accept them as legitimate actors. Military-​based regimes have exploited this weakness in their favour: they crushed, co-​opted, or marginalised Islamist parties, and then they did the same with the secular parties. This has been evident in Egypt. Anwar al-​Sadat, chairman of the Reform and Development Party, was stripped of his parliamentary mandate in 2017. Mustafa al-​Najjar, a former MP and cofounder of the al-​Adl (Justice) Party, disappeared in dubious circumstances in October 2018 after having received a three-​year jail sentence for alleged “contempt of the judiciary.” Abdel Moneim Aboul Fotouh, founder of the Strong Egypt Party and contender in the 2012 presidential elections, was arrested in February 2018 and has been held in custody since. Amr Hamzawy, former MP and founder of the Freedom Egypt Party, left Egypt in 2015 after being accused of insulting the judiciary. Mohamed Elbaradei, after serving as vice-​president in the immediate post-​Morsi government, left the country shortly after the Raba’a massacre in August 2013 and has limited himself to occasional comments on Egypt’s developments from abroad since. Ayman Nour, former Wafd MP and founder of the Ghad (Tomorrow) party in 2004, as well as presidential competitor against Mubarak in 2005, who eventually left Egypt after the beginning of the purge in 2013. Magdi Kerqar of the Independence Party, Abdel Nasser Ismail of the Popular Socialist Alliance Party, Abdelaziz al-​Husseini of the Karama Party and Khaled Dawoud of the Constitution Party were arrested in September 2019 (MESA, 2019). Many other former leading party politicians can be added to the list as well (Dunne and Hamzawy, 2019). However, in regional comparison, the Egyptian army is exceptional for its outstanding entrenchment within society, its size and financial possibilities due to its economic strength and generation of financial revenues. By this, it has means to secure loyalty through distributing lucrative incentives. Other armies, especially the Mauritanian one, struggle more to keep a united front. Here, the permanent involvement in politics may lead to a structural overextension, bearing the risk of fracturing or coups by rival generals, even more if societal tensions already exist in the country or within the armed forces, such as has been the case most recently in Iraq, Libya, Sudan, Syria, and Yemen.

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Jan Claudius Völkel Roll, Stephan. 2016. ‘Managing Change: How Egypt’s Military Leadership Shaped the Transformation’. Mediterranean Politics 21 (1): 23–​43. Sassoon, Joseph. 2016. Anatomy of Authoritarianism in the Arab Republics. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. SIPRI. 2018. ‘Asia and the Middle East lead rising trend in arms imports, US exports grow significantly, says SIPRI’.  Stockholm International Peace Research Institute March 12, 2018. www.sipri. org/​news/​press-​release/​2018/​asia-​and-​middle-​east-​lead-​r ising-​trend-​arms-​imports-​us-​exports-​g row-​ significantly-​says-​sipri. Springborg, Robert and F. C. Williams. 2019. The Egyptian Military:  A Slumbering Giant Awakes. Beirut:  Carnegie Middle East Center. https://​carnegieendowment.org/​files/​1-​9-​19_​Springborg_​ and_​Williams_​Egypt.pdf. Storm, Lise. 2014. Party Politics and the Prospects of Democracy in North Africa. Boulder: Lynne Rienner. Völkel, Jan Claudius. 2017a. ‘Sidelined by Design:  Egypt’s Parliament in Transition’. Journal of North African Studies 22 (4): 595–​619. Völkel, Jan Claudius. 2017b. ‘Parteien in Nordafrika: Als Politikgestalter weder gewollt noch gebraucht’. In Sigrid Faath (ed.), Politische Parteien in Nordafrika: Ideologische Vielfalt –​Aktivitäten –​Einflüsse. Sankt Augustin/​Berlin: Konrad Adenauer Stiftung, 79–​102. Völkel, Jan Claudius. 2019. ‘The “Chicken and Egg” Problem of Relevance:  Political Parties and Parliaments in North Africa’. Journal of North African Studies, online first, https://​doi.org/​10.1080/​ 13629387.2019.1644923. Weber, Annette. 2019. For a Peaceful Transition in Sudan. SWP Comment 39. Berlin: Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik. www.swp-​berlin.org/​fileadmin/​contents/​products/​comments/​2019C39_​web.pdf. Wessel, Sarah. 2018. ‘The “Third Hand” in Egypt –​Legitimation and the International Dimension in Political Transformations’. Middle East Law and Governance 10 (3): 341–​374. Zohny, Ahmed Y. 2019. ‘The Balancing Act in a Military-​Dominated Transition to Democracy in Egypt after the Arab Spring’. Digest of Middle East Studies 28 (1): 89–​106.

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11 PARTY POLITICS IN THE ISLAMIC REPUBLIC OF IRAN Paola Rivetti

Introduction The existence and the functions of political parties have been at the core of the interests of scholars of social sciences for centuries. Scholars have debated the class origins of political parties, their networks and the efficiency of their bureaucratic machines, and more recently, their relationship to democracy and pluralism (Stokes 1999; Geddes 1999; Storm 2014). Scholars of Middle Eastern and North African politics, in particular, have showed interest in examining the relation between the presence of political parties and functional democratic systems, or lack thereof, in the region. While the paradoxical role of non-​democratic, mass political parties in introducing elements of pluralism after de-​colonisation in countries such as Egypt and Tunisia is acknowledged (Hinnebusch 2017), scholars have generally highlighted that political parties are used by authoritarian regimes to deflect political contention, co-​opt rivals, and show off their supposedly democratic credentials to gain international legitimacy (Storm and Cavatorta 2018; Seeberg 2018; Posusney 2002; Levitsky and Way 2002; Lust 2009; Sater 2009; Brownlee 2011; Blaydes 2011). Multi-​party systems have paradoxically played into the hands of authoritarian leaders when it comes to curb political dissent and tame it into party politics, resulting into façade pluralism (Schedler 2006; Gandhi and Lust-​Okar 2009; Gandhi and Przeworski 2007). Futhermore, the series of protests and revolutions known as the Arab Uprisings in 2011–​2012 and, more recently the second revolutionary wave in 2019–​2020 have showed how the presence of multi-​party systems failed to channel popular participation, which took place outside of regime-​approved political parties (Cavatorta and Haugbølle 2012; Pace and Cavatorta 2012; Randjbar-​Daemi et al. 2017), because the latter were perceived as tokens of the ruling authoritarian regimes. Building on this literature, this chapter examines party politics in the Islamic Republic of Iran with the goal of gauging their potential as platforms for real participation, and even dissent and opposition activism. The Islamic Republic does not have institutionalised political parties, rather its political life is based on the existence of factions and political formations which represent the interests of specific classes or groups in society.1 While not formally institutionalised, factions participate

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in elections and are present in the parliament. They are extremely fluid to the point that candidates affiliated with different factions can run in the same electoral list. Fluidity and flexibility are two important characteristics of Iran’s political sphere and they allow for a certain competition among factions to emerge. While distinct factions do not enjoy the same access to resources (Levitsky and Way 2010), during elections and electoral campaigns the political potential and capacity of all factions expand. Electoral lists and the factions behind them increase their mobilisational capacity, as budget expenditures increase and the usual limitations to freedom of speech and assembly are lighter, with the result that electoral campaigns platforms may become venues for political participation and activism (Kadivar and Abedini 2019). This does not mean rejecting the argument that the Iranian regime is becoming increasingly authoritarian, as the suppression of the November 2019 protests has shown (Jadaliyya 2019). It rather means that Iran is a good case-​study for re-​thinking and refining the argument according to which political parties/​regime-​approved organisations are mere tokens of the authoritarian regimes by discussing their functions in specific contexts and times, such as during electoral cycles.

Party systems and political authoritarianism: Iran before and after the revolution Can we have a party system under authoritarian constraints? And what kind of party system is it? These two questions have been at the core of the debate among scholars of political science. This section examines the debate that has developed in response to these questions making reference to the pre-​revolutionary history of Iran, thus setting the necessary background for the analysis of Iran’s post-​1979 party politics. The commonality underpinning the analysis of the pre-​and post-​revolutionary period is that both can be considered to fit the definition of hybrid or semi-​authoritarian setting, although in its early stage the post-​revolutionary Islamic Republic presented a high level of pluralism and ideological diversity, and even later, it has continued to tolerate some degree of political pluralism.

From multi-​party to single-​party system Nominated king in 1941, Mohammad Reza Shah Pahlavi’s reign was characterised by the presence of a multi-​party system under the strict control of the monarchy. In the mid-​1970s, however, the multi-​party system came to be considered dangerous. In 2002, Parvin Amini reflected on the reasons behind the Shah’s decision to introduce the one-​party system in 1975. Amini (2002) argues that during the 1970s economic and political conditions potentially endangered the Shah’s social and political control over the Iranian society, hence pushing him to replace the multi-​party system with party homogeneity. The Shah’s decision, apart from its contingency and contextual urgency, was in line with what influential political scientists argued, namely that one-​party systems better served the needs of modernising monarchies (Keddie 1997; Castiglioni 2011). In his famous Political order in changing societies (1968), Huntington argued that while modernising countries need political participation to achieve modernity, they also need to control it to avoid political contention and socialism –​a pressing concern considering that Huntington’s book was published during the Cold War and focused on the so-​called Third World. Single-​party systems are best suited to do so. They do not promote political unity only but social unity too, reinforcing the sense of homogeneity and cohesion necessary for a society to bear the price of modernisation, which usually involves huge societal transformations that

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place a heavy burden on extant social structures. The Shah’s decision to abolish the multi-​ party system thus sat well with his top-​down modernisation plan. Authoritarian politics was considered to be a necessary evil to achieve a modern and functional society which, after modernisation, would have been able to deal with political freedom without falling into the trap of revolutionary socialism. As Ansari (2011) noted, while the Shah’s idea of democracy was contradictory at best, he asserted that true democracy requires intellectual maturity, education, and a modern mentality. In such a worldview, democracy was the last step completing the process of modernisation, as the mainstream political science of that period suggested, too (Rustow 1968; Lerner 1958; Bernstein 1971). While the one-​party system was introduced as the most efficient way to curb dissent and strengthen the modernisation process through political stability, as Keddie and Richard (2006) observed, it significantly contributed to increase popular discontent with the Shah, eventually leading to the revolution. It is rather ironic that only four years later, in 1979, a major revolution ousted the Shah, leading to the formation or re-​emergence of hundreds of political groups and parties (Abrahamian 1982). The Shah’s assumptions about the strength of single-​party systems, then, proved wrong. The foundations of scholarly convictions about the efficacy of single-​party systems too were shaken. Furthermore, the decade between 1979 and 1989 opened and closed with two major events –​the revolution in Iran and the collapse of the Soviet Union –​which had a profound impact on the debate about the role of political parties and groups and their relationship to political stability, democracy, and authoritarianism. Not only did the scholarship moved in the direction of leaving behind normativity when analysing the functions of political parties and elections in authoritarian systems, but also multi-​ party systems began to be considered more efficient in defusing potential dangers coming from political opposition –​thus strengthening the stability of authoritarian regimes –​in contrast with what was argued earlier. Thus, since the 1990s, the resilience of authoritarianism in the Islamic Republic of Iran has been partly explained by the presence of limited political pluralism, which is able to deflect threats to the regime’s stability thanks to its flexibility and adaptability (Ansari 2000; Keshavarzian 2005; Tezcür 2013; Randjbar-​Daemi 2017). Features that are typical of heterogeneous political systems, that is multi-​party elections and distinct policy preferences, are considered necessary to balance out the existence of political opposition and the authoritarian practices adopted by the regime’s institutions –​i.e. the judiciary or law-​enforcement agencies (Brumberg and Farhi 2016). Thus, in the space of two decades, the scholarship radically changed perspective on multi-​party systems in authoritarian countries and in Iran: from considering parties a source of potential instability because conducive to political fragmentation, to seeing them as elements that strengthen the authoritarian status quo through the deflection of opposition. The co-​option of and attempts at taming oppositional political activists, however, may have unintended consequences. In fact, while political groups in Iran must respect ideological boundaries and their ability to campaign for profound changes in the system is limited, legal political groups may offer a viable platform-​with-​a-​voice to activists for organising dissent, thus amplifying more radical voices. This is what happened during the 2009 electoral campaign and subsequent protests, when activists saw in legal political parties and their electoral campaigns an opportunity to activate, network, and promote an agenda that was not necessarily the one adopted by those very same parties (Rivetti 2017). In conclusion, it is hard to assign a predetermined, fixed function to political parties in Iran; rather their role depends on broader configurations of power relations and structural constraints in specific contexts, i.e. election times.

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Post-​1979 Iran: from one-​party system, to factionalism, to quasi multi-​party system Since 1979, the Islamic Republic has gone through different phases that marked a different relationship with political parties. During the early revolutionary days, new political parties formed and old, previously banned, parties re-​emerged. Clerics and Khomeinists organised in new formations, while liberals and leftists revived parties that had been outlawed during the reign of the Shah. Such political pluralism, however, did not last long, as it soon became a threat to the stability of the new revolutionary system which was consolidating under the leadership of Khomeini. Several parties, in fact, opposed clerical rule which Khomeini and its allies had started to strengthen and routinise. For this reason, not only a restrictive party law was passed in 1981, but also political parties began to be targeted through the judicary system, denouncing them as anti-​revolutionary or anti-​nationalists, or through violence and physical repression (Fairbanks 1998). Ironically, after a few years of political pluralism, the Islamic Republic walked the same path as the Shah’s and turned into a one-​party system, with the Islamic Republic Party (IRP) as the only legal party. The IRP was eventually dissolved in 1987, under the pressure of increasing factionalism and competition over resources, privatisation of state property, the collective ownership of the means of production (Ehsani 2013), as well ideological differences. The introduction of single-​party arrangements, however, did not precipitate a process of systemic disintegration and anti-​system activism, as the abolition of multi-​party system did during the last five years of the Shah’s rule. Political disaggregation was in fact avoided through specific contextual circumstances, first of which was the war against Iraq (1980–​1988). The war facilitated the elimination of anti-​Khomeinist elements –​accused of anti-​nationalist activities –​ and produced a “rallying behind the flag” effect (Axworthy 2013).2 After the dissolution of the IRP, Iran’s political class regrouped into two factions: the Majma’-​ e Rouhaniyoun-​e Mobarez (Assembly of the combatant clerics, MRM), or the Islamic left, and the Jam’eh-​ye Rouhaniyat-​e Mobarez (Association of the combatant clergy, JRM), or the Islamic right. During the 1990s, these two formations constituted the backbone of factional politics in Iran. The MRM included members of the political elite that, broadly speaking, favoured a stronger role of the state in the economy, while the JRM catered to those who insisted on private property and private economic initiative. However, in the late 1990s a convergence between part of the MRM and the JRM emerged on both economic issues (whereby the MRM came around favouring privatisation and entrepreneurship under the banner of economic modernisation and post-​war reconstruction) and political issues (whereby the two components advocated for the protection and enhancement of individual and democratic rights). This convergence and the subsequent normalisation of the discourse of neoliberalism, human rights, and democracy reflected the demographic transformations that occurred at the social level and of the dominant values in society, which had become more liberal (Moaddel 2009; Mohseni 2016). Such changes were often presented as part and parcel of a modernisation process which, in the post-​Cold War era, equated to the acceptance of democracy, coupled with neoliberal economic reforms. This drive to modernisation, as it was seen (Keshavarzian 2015), also occurred in factional politics. One of the ambitions of the post-​war reconstruction plan was to “rationalise” Iranian politics by establishing party system. The necessity for more structured party system was something that politicians and journalists voiced, lamenting that the existing factions lacked proper strategies and clarity about principles, ideas, and programmes (Razavi 2010). Thus, in 1995, the party Kargozaran-​e Sazandegi (the Servants of Reconstruction, KS) was established, marking the beginning of a new era during which factionalism was partly replaced by party politics. A number of other parties were established in the late 1990s (see the next section). The 140

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establishment of structured political parties was, however, strongly opposed by the conservatives as a Western import (Razavi 2010). During the first two decades after the revolution, intra-​elite political competition in Iran presented significant variations, taking the shape of factional politics as well as “quasi” party politics.3 Concomitantly, scholars have generally regarded factional pluralism and the establishment of new political parties as a positive step towards the modernisation of Iran’s political system and the opening up of the political sphere, which became more welcoming of popular political participation. At the turn of the century, some wondered if such increased political participation would eventually lead to a fundamental change in the regime (or even, of regime) (Yaghmaian 2002; Khosrokhavar 2000), considering the tumultuous cultural, social, and demographic transformations in taking place in the Iranian society. According to them, political infrastructures for participation, such as parties, would have facilitated the process of change. Others voiced the opinion that the proliferation of parties and more generally civil society organisations was, on the contrary, a tactic to co-​opt dissent, tame it, and coerce it into political spaces controlled by the regime, where the potential for profound and radical change could be diffused (Amuzegar 2002).

Iran under Khatami: promoting political parties Between 1997 and 2005, the two reformist governments led by Mohammad Khatami, who promised to reform the institutions, policies, and the governance structure of the Islamic Republic in a democratic sense, ruled the country. These successive governments aimed at stimulating and controlling political participation through the promotion of political parties and civil society organisations. In 1995, KS was established and during the 1997 presidential election, it supported Khatami’s candidacy. The Organisation of the Mojaheddin of the Islamic Revolution of Iran (Sazman-​e Mojaheddin-​e Enqelab-​e Eslami-​e Iran, OM) already existed, and also supported Khatami as its candidate. After Khatami’s election, 18 groups united to form a coalition known as the Jebheh-​ye Dovvom-​e Khordad (JDK). JDK functioned more as an electoral platform than a political party, and its role was fundamental in supporting reformist candidates in the 1999 local and 2000 parliamentary elections. In 1999, the Iranian Islamic Participation Front (Jebheh-​ye Mosharekat-​e Iran-​e Islami, IIPF) was established. IIPF was a coalition reuniting Khatami’s allies with the goal of structuring itself as a party, thus facilitating the formation of a “modern party landscape” in the country. Another important political party established in 2005 was the National Trust Party (Hezb-​e Ettemad-​e Melli, HEM). The HEM, like the IIPF, was founded to elicit electoral support for a specific candidate –​in the case of HEM, for its founder, Mehdi Karroubi, during the 2005 presidential election. The government promoted the establishment of political parties through the House of Parties (Khane-​ye Ahzab-​e Iran), which offered to them a number of services such as registration, consultancy, and rooms and offices for meetings, with the ambition of becoming a hub and a meeting point for reformist parties, increasing interactions among them, and promoting the setting up of interorganisational structures. Structural weaknesses, however, were present, such as for example the lack of independence and political autonomy of the newly established parties from pre-​existing factions and centres of power. In 2008, 179 parties were registered with the House. The House’s registration list however included many organisations whose function was to mobilise the electorate in favour of the major reformist parties’ candidates during elections, thus explaining the high number of registered organisations. The absence of legislation regulating the parties’ activities also accounts for the lack of parties with an independent programme and that are active beyond the electoral cycle. Parties are regulated through the provisions included in Article 26 of the constitution (which specifically allows parties, trade, 141

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Islamic, and religious minorities’ associations) and the 1981 “Law Concerning the Activities of Parties, Associations, Political Associations and Guild Associations, Islamic Associations or the Associations of Recognised Religious Minorities”. A commission was created (called the Article 10 Commission) to issue (or deny) permits for political and social organisations to operate –​an assessment conducted in junction with the Ministry of the Interior. This legal framework is very broad, qualifying the right of NGOs, parties, and other organisations to operate only as long as the principles of national independence, freedom and unity, Islamic standards, and the constitutional foundations of the Islamic Republic are not violated (Katirai 2005). It follows that the legislation was open to diverging and instrumental interpretations. Furthermore, such legal provisions do not differentiate between political parties, NGOs, and other organisations, guilds or religious minorities’ associations, for example. Such loose legal framework too explains why the number of political parties is so high, since what counts as a party is uncertain.4 In addition, the electoral, temporary or unstable nature of many of Iran’s political parties has also created a peculiar party landscape and, consequently, a sui generis relationship between party politics and popular participation. Many among the political parties, in fact, resume activities during elections and, in-​between elections, go in abeyance. However, although weak, they may mobilise significant popular support during election times. It follows that while parties’ democratic impact on the regime’s structures has been rather limited, they however succeeded in igniting popular, political participation under specific circumstances –​that is, electoral campaigns and election times.

The 2009 presidential election: electoral campaigns and the survival of activism Since the late 1990s, when the reformist government actively promoted the establishment of political parties, party politics has become more and more popular, with anti-​liberal politicians establishing their own political parties and alliances too (Razavi 2010). Findings from fieldwork confirm that participation in electoral campaigning is a widespread phenomenon linked to the routinisation of party politics. Parties in fact approach social and political groups (student groups, for example) asking them to campaign for their candidate. While these parties might not expand –​at least, significantly –​the number of their members, they extend their network, organise campaign machines and get national visibility, raising awareness about their politics. Seen from the point of view of students/​ g rassroots activists, participating in electoral committees is positive for strengthening and diversifying their activist networks, making new contacts, and promoting their voice and opinions within the party structures. By participating in electoral committees, activists hope to influence the contents of the candidates’ programmes in the absence of party programmes and cooperate with like-​minded people. J.J., a prominent woman activist, said that I was part of Khatami’s electoral committee in 1996–​1997 […] I established life-​long friendships. After that I moved to social activism. [The electoral committee] however […] was more about our own empowerment, it was very important to us to have the opportunity to experience empowerment.5 J.J. has been involved in several campaigns and political initiatives along with people she met while campaigning for Khatami in the first place. Similar remarks are offered by S., who was part of Moussavi’s campaign in 2009. He said that he entered the campaign to push forward his pro-​trade unionist agenda, hoping to establish a public discourse on the topic within the 142

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campaign and expand his political network.6 Electoral committees represent a valuable asset for activists coming from loosely organised groups, as they offer opportunities to establish useful networks, alliances, and relationships with peers and the elite.

From Khatami to the Green Movement The end of the “reformist period” in 2005, when Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was elected president bringing under conservative control both the executive power and the parliament, marked the end of an institutional experiment whereby political participation was encouraged through regime-​permitted political parties and civil society organisations. After 2005, although they were relegated to the opposition, reformist parties and political forces have continued to exist and operate in Iran with alternate fortune –​between waves of state and governmental repression and periods of lesser pressure (Human Rights Watch 2008). In 2009, a new electoral cycle opened up in preparation for the tenth presidential election in June, offering “safe” opportunities for activism. The two major reformist political parties, the IIPF and HEM, resumed activities. The IIPF first asked Mohammad Khatami to be their candidate. Initially, Khatami accepted but in March 2009 dropped out of the race. This served to draw attention to the electoral campaign, thanks to Khatami’s popularity. One week before Khatami pulled out, Mir-​Hussein Moussavi proposed his candidacy and, after Khatami’s departure, the IIPF endorsed it. HEM supported Mehdi Karroubi’s candidacy, as it did in 2005. On the other side of the political spectrum, all the major conservative groups and parties supported Ahmadinejad’s re-​election campaign and few others supported Mohsen Rezai. The pro-​reformist 2009 electoral campaigns benefitted from the legacy of the political participation that the reformist governments engineered between 1997 and 2005 through parties and civil society organisations.7 Not only that: activists from marginalised and independent activist networks joined Moussavi and Karroubi’s electoral committees. Both independent activists and political parties saw the election as an opportunity to re-​surface and renew political participation after the conservative presidency of Ahmadinejad. This resulted into “spectacular” electoral campaigns, both in terms of organisation and structure, and in terms of the magnitude of the events. The reformist candidates made sure they toured universities and defended students and their freedom to express political stances; showed respect and a listening attitude to the demands of the “women’s coalition”,8 all in marked contrast to their competitor Ahmadinejad who pointedly ignored them (Pourmokhtari 2014). Their electoral campaign was run by an organised “machine”, especially so in the case of Moussavi, with local committees and a national board supervising them all (Ghafouri 2009). Large rallies and celebrations were held, and the colour green was adopted as the campaign’s colour to create a sense of unity, strength, and communion. For their part, independent activists joined the student branches of the IIPF and HEM parties to continue their activities, after their on-​campus student associations were shut down during the wave of repression under Ahmadinejad’s government (Safshekan 2017). As the electoral results were announced on 13 June 2009 declaring that Ahmadinejad had been re-​elected president of the Republic, Moussavi and Karroubi asked for a recount, suspecting an electoral fraud. They also called on the population to take to the streets and demonstrate against the suspected irregularities. The intra-​elite conflict escalated, paralleling popular mobilisations and protests. During the 2009–​2010 winter, the Green Movement was eventually crushed and the protests stopped. With a heavy toll in terms of deaths, incarcerations, and people fleeing the country, the executive, led by Ahmadinejad, and the judiciary proceeded to outlaw reformist political parties, arresting their representatives and officials. Among them 143

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were Moussavi and Karroubi, who have since been under house arrest with no official trial (Mokhtari 2016). The political participation the reformist parties and the electoral committees catalysed, however, did not “get lost” in spite of repression. The Green Movement expanded its composition and demands beyond the support for Moussavi and Karroubi, but it was unable to capture the state, substantiating its demands into policies. It remained dramatically exposed to repression (Holliday and Rivetti 2016). In such circumstances, going underground represented the only option for activists who wished to remain active in the reformist camp. Between the end of Khatami’s government in 2005 and the demise of the Green Movement in late 2009, political parties played a double role, both low-​profile (as political repression targeted reformist personalities and politicians during Ahmadinejad’s first mandate) and high-​profile (as a new electoral cycle opened in 2008–​2009). In this latter circumstance, during election times, they offered a platform for political participation open to and welcoming activists, who used parties as amplifiers of their voices. This is not unique to 2009 Iranian political parties. Under exceptional circumstances, structured, non-​revolutionary political organisations may be “taken over” by activists and turned into revolutionary actors (LeBas 2007).9 It follows that in this specific context –​elections followed by a protest cycle –​parties lost their function as “token” of the regime to become meaningful hubs of oppositional politics. In such an exceptional situation, however, party pluralism did not threaten the stability of the Islamic Republic because the regime proceeded to repress street protests and outlaw reformist political groups and parties.

Post-​2009 party politics The 2009 crisis marked a fracture in Iran’s domestic politics and party landscape. Reformist forces, in fact, were decimated by repression, arrests, and incarceration (Ghobadzadeh and Rahim 2016), significantly changing the scene of domestic politics and the number and type of legalised political organisations. This securitised situation, however, did not equate with the complete elimination of political opposition to Ahmadinejad’s government, both by anti-​ Ahmadinejad conservative forces and those moderate reformist forces that survived or escaped political repression. As Boserup et al. (2019) noticed, this led to the partial co-​optation of some of the legal opposition. As a consequence of political repression post-​2009, new cadres were included in both the reformist and conservative camps. The conservative camp, in particular, became fragmented and new groups were formed, especially as the 2012 parliamentary elections approached. With the electoral victory of the anti-​Ahmadinejad conservative forces in 2012, the centre of political gravity of domestic politics in Iran changed and swung towards the centre and the right which came to represent mainstream politics. Along with this change, a less securitised public discourse about political participation was introduced. In 2013, Hassan Rouhani gathered around his candidature as president of the Republic a group of pragmatic, ex-​reformist, and moderate conservative politicians and figures, and established the Hezb-​e E’tedal va Towse’eh (Moderation and Development Party, MDP), whose members and supporters had previously been part of the List of Hope at the 2016 parliament election. Rouhani and the MDP won the presidential elections in 2013 and again in 2017. Since 2013, elections have featured candidates supported by political parties with a minimal structure, mirroring the spreading within the elite and the public of the idea that defined groups/​parties had to support candidates in elections. Interviews with student activists in 2017 revealed that the MDP and the List of Hope platformed student groups (which succeeded in reorganising on campus after the repression between 2005 and

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2013, especially after 2009–​2010) as their representatives on campus, asking them to work on the electoral programme, indicating policy preferences, and helping with the campaign.10 However, it would be unrealistic to argue that this has generated a solid party system in Iran. Iranian parties function as support groups and, after elections, factionalise again and give birth to new elite alliances and factions –​which might consolidate into new parties for upcoming electoral rounds. At the popular level, parties’ poor structuration (Giddens 1991) is evident in the way in which political participation within the structure of the parties follows the electoral cycle, with heightened participation during elections and campaigns, and limited participation after the end of the electoral period. Poor structuration has historical roots and continues to characterise the party/​factional system of Iran, where parties swing between being token and instruments perpetuating electoral authoritarianism, and platforms that make some space for political participation more safely than protest movements may do.

Conclusion What does the Iranian case tell us about party politics in authoritarian regimes? The weak structural conditions of Iran’s party system are the result of a long-​term historical legacy which has looked at party politics suspiciously. While the Shah’s attempts at disciplining and channelling social and political consensus through party engineering constitutes a negative term of reference for Iranians, the early post-​revolutionary political turmoil and proliferation of parties simply worsened such a memory. The revolutionary elites have made sure that such negative memories of chaos and political violence remained alive, as a strategy to repress spaces of dissent and curb attempts at meaningful political opposition. Efforts to consolidate what was seen as a “modern” party system between 1997 and 2005 have succeeded only partially. Today, while the notion that party politics is not exclusively negative has successfully penetrated in society, existing parties have remained mostly elitist, difficult to access for ordinary Iranians, and with a limited membership. It follows that parties seem to play the role of the mere instruments of a larger authoritarian structure which needs parties for elections only. However, Iran hardly fits the definition of an electoral authoritarianism and its parties have, under specific conditions, channelled significant participation to the point that it mounted an unprecedented challenge to the stability of the regime in 2009. Mostly serving the needs of internal diversification and organisation of the national elite (more than channelling political participation from below), political parties can nevertheless offer a working platform and resources to organise dissent under specific circumstances, such as elections. In conclusion, parties are not inherently positive or negative for the advancement of democracy or the stability of authoritarianism. They have a number of functions that may introduce elements of pluralism in the political and social sphere of authoritarian political systems, but that, under different conditions, may tame political participation into a strategy of authoritarian upgrading. It follows that it is important to integrate contextual nuances when analysing a complex topic like party politics in hybrid regimes.

Notes 1 While there are meaningful differences between structured political parties and loose factions, in this chapter the two terms will be used interchangeably unless the difference between the two has a direct methodological bearing for the analysis here proposed.

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Paola Rivetti 2 Significant political contention and conflict directed against the new-​born Islamic Republic, however, persisted, especially in the peripheral areas of Iran. See Ehsani (2017). 3 I use this expression to highlight that, although political parties were established, they have remained poorly structured and with limited inclusion of the general population in terms of membership and meaningful participation. 4 According to data made available to me, in 2008, 179 parties registered with the House while 240 registered with the Ministry of Interior in the same year. According to Mehrzad Boroujerdi and Kourosh Rahimkhani (2018, pp. 299–​329), in 2018, 238 licensed political parties and groups were present in Iran. 5 Interview, July 2016, Tehran. J.J. was a student activist when she was part of Khatami’s campaign. After that, she joined a feminist NGO and then the One Million Signatures Campaign. She was jailed twice. 6 Interview, April 2013, Kayseri, Turkey. S. was an asylum seeker and labour activist. 7 The biographies of activists available on the Iran Human Rights Documentation Centre highlight the connection existing between the two periods. See:  https://​iranhrdc.org/​category/​english/​ publications/​witness-​testimony/​page/​2/​ (last accessed 29 November 2019). 8 This platform was established to exploit the visibility provided by the electoral moment to make specific demands to the presidential candidates, such as supporting the approval of the Convention of Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW); the elimination of discriminatory laws against women; and, finally, the recognition and fulfilment of constitutionally asserted public freedoms, such as the freedom of expression or freedom of assembly, among the others. The coalition’s statement also reads that “We demand the end of various [political and discriminatory] pressures on women, students, labours, teachers, and ethnic and religious groups”. See “Statement of ‘Iranian Women’s Movement Coalition’ to Propose Their Demands for the Coming Presidential Election”, available on Human Rights & Democracy for Iran, www.iranrights.org/​library/​document/​ 579 (last accessed 29 November 2019). 9 Although it is a trade union, and not a political party, the Union General des Travailleurs Tunisien (UGTT) had a similar faith in 2010–​2011, in the context of the protests that led to the fall of Ben Ali’s regime. While its high ranking officials were co-​opted by Ben Ali’s regime, low-​rank members were not and were able to utilise the well-​established organisation –​that is the UGTT, a de facto state trade union great penetration capacity in society  –​for their revolutionary goals. See Yousfi (2017) and Zemni (2014). 10 Interviews took place in Tehran in 2017.

Bibliography Abrahamian, Ervand. 1982. Iran between Two Revolutions. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Amini, Parvin M. 2002. ‘A Single Party State in Iran, 1975–​78: The Rastakhiz Party-​the Final Attempt by the Shah to Consolidate his Political Base.’ Middle Eastern Studies 38 (1): 131–​168. Amuzegar, Jahangir. 2002. ‘Khatami’s first-term presidency: an outsider’s assessment.’ SAIS Review 22 (1): 1–​21. Ansari Ali M. 2001. ‘The myth of the white revolution: Mohammad Reza Shah, ‘modernization’ and the consolidation of power.’ Middle Eastern Studies 37 (3): 1–​24. Ansari, Ali. 2000. Iran, Islam and Democracy: The Politics of Managing Change. London: Chatham House. Axworthy, Michael. 2013. Revolutionary Iran:  a A History of the Islamic Republic. Oxford:  Oxford University Press. Bernstein, Henry. 1971. ‘Modernization theory and the sociological study of development.’ The Journal of Development Studies 7 (2): 141–​160. Blaydes, Lisa. 2011. Elections and Distributive Politics in Mubarak’s Egypt. Cambridge:  Cambridge University Press. Boroujerdi Mehrzad and Kourosh Rahimkhani. 2018. Postrevolutionary Iran. A Political Handbook. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press. Boserup, Rasmus Alenius, et al. 2019. Restoration, transformation and adaptation: Authoritarianism after 2011 in Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Iran. MENARA Working Papers, No. 30, January. Available at: www.iai.it/​ sites/​default/​files/​menara_​wp_​30.pdf Brownlee, Jason. 2011. ‘Executive elections in the Arab world: when and how do they matter?’ Comparative Political Studies 44 (7): 807–​828.

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Party politics in Iran Brumberg, Daniel, and Farideh Farhi. 2016. Power and Change in Iran: Politics of Contention and Conciliation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Castiglioni Claudia. 2011. ‘Economic development and political authoritarianism: The Pahlavi Iran, path to modernisation in the framework of the Cold War.’ Rivista degli studi orientali 84 (1/​4): 183–​194. Cavatorta, Francesco, and Rikke Hostrup Haugbølle. 2012. ‘The end of authoritarian rule and the mythology of Tunisia under Ben Ali.’ Mediterranean Politics 17 (2): 179–​195. Ehsani, Kaveh. 2013. ‘The Politics of Property in the Islamic Republic of Iran.’ In Said Amir Arjomand and Nathan Brown (eds.) The Rule of Law, Islam, and Constitutional Politics in Egypt and Iran. New York: SUNY Press, 153–​178. Ehsani, Kaveh. 2017. ‘War and resentment: critical reflections on the legacies of the Iran-Iraq war.’ Middle East Critique 26 (1): 5–​24. Fairbanks, Stephen C. 2013. ‘Theocracy versus democracy: Iran considers political parties.’ The Middle East Journal: 17–​31. Gandhi, Jennifer and Adam Przeworski. 2007. ‘Authoritarian institutions and the survival of autocrats.’ Comparative Political Studies 40 (11): 1279–​1301. Gandhi, Jennifer, and Ellen Lust-​Okar. 2009. ‘Elections under authoritarianism.’ Annual Review of Political Science 12: 403–​422. Geddes, Barbara. 1999. ‘What do we know about democratization after twenty years?’ Annual Review of Political Science 2 (1): 115–​144. Ghafouri, Arash. 2009. ‘Setad 88-​Iran’s Greatest Campaign in Support of Mir Hossein Mousavi.’ In Marcus Michaelsen (ed.) Election Fallout. Iran’s Exiled Journalists on Their Struggle for Democratic Change. Berlin: Verlag Hans Schiller, 50–​64. Ghobadzadeh, Naser, and Lily Zubaidah Rahim. 2016. ‘Electoral theocracy and hybrid sovereignty in Iran.’ Contemporary Politics 22 (4): 450–​468. Giddens, Anthony. 1991. ‘Structuration Theory. Past, Present and Future.’ In Christopher Bryant and David Jary (eds.) Giddens’ Theory of Structuration. A Critical Appreciation. London: Routledge, 201–​222. Heydemann, Steven, and Reinoud Leenders. 2013. Middle East Authoritarianisms: Governance, Contestation, and Regime Resilience in Syria and Iran. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Hinnebusch, Raymond. 2017. ‘Political parties in MENA: their functions and development.’ British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 44 (2): 159–​175. Holliday, Shabnam and Paola Rivetti. 2016. ‘Divided We Stand? The Heterogeneous Political Identities of Iran’s 2009–2010 Uprisings.’ In Shabnam Holliday and Philip Leech (eds.) Political Identities and Popular Uprisings in the Middle East. London: Rowman & Littlefield International, 17–​35. Human Rights Watch. 2008. UN: Hold Ahmadinejad Accountable for Iran Rights Crisis, 17 September. Available at: www.hrw.org/​news/​2008/​09/​17/​un-​hold-​ahmadinejad-​accountable-​iran-​r ights-​crisis Huntington, Samuel P. 1968. Political Order in Changing Societies. New Haven: Yale Universaity Press. Jadaliyya. 2019. ‘The November Protests in Iran: An Interview with Historian Peyman Jafari.’ 26 November. Available at: www.jadaliyya.com/​Details/​40299/​The-​November-​Protests-​in-​Iran-​An-​Interview-​ with-​Historian-​Peyman-​Jafari. Kadivar, Mohammad Ali and Vahid Abedini. 2019. ‘Electoral Activism in Iran: A Mechanism for Political Change.’ Comparative Politics, online first. Katirai, Negar. 2005. ‘NGO regulations in Iran’. International Journal of Not-​for-​Profit Law 7 (4): 28–​42. Keddie, Nikki. 1997. ‘Secularism and the state: towards clarity and global comparison’. New Left Review 226: 21–​40. Keddie, Nikki R. and Yann Richard. 2006. Modern Iran: Roots and Results of Revolution. New Haven: Yale University Press. Keshavarzian, Arang. 2015. ‘The Iran Deal as Social Contract.’ Middle East Report 277. Keshavarzian, Arang. 2005. ‘Contestation without Democracy: Elite Fragmentation in Iran’. In Marsha Pripstein Posusney and Michele Penner Angrist (eds.) Authoritarianism in the Middle East: Regimes and Resistance. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner, 63–90. Khosrokhavar, Farhad. 2000. ‘Toward an anthropology of democratization in Iran.’ Critique:  Journal for Critical Studies of the Middle East 9 (16): 3–​29. LeBas Adrienne. 2007. ‘The Politics of Institutional Subversion:  Organized Labour and Resistance in Zambia.’ In John Chalcraft and Yaseen Noorani (eds.) Counterhegemony in the Colony and Postcolony. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 228–​251.

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Paola Rivetti Lerner, Daniel. 1958. The Passing of Traditional Society. Glencoe: Free Press. Levitsky, Steven and Lucan A. Way. 2002. ‘Elections without democracy: The rise of competitive authoritarianism.’ Journal of Democracy 13 (2): 51–​65. Levitsky, Steven and Lucan A. Way. 2010. Competitive Authoritarianism: Hybrid Regimes after the Cold War. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Lust, Ellen. 2009. ‘Democratization by elections? Competitive clientelism in the Middle East.’ Journal of Democracy 20 (3): 122–​135. Miller, William Green. 1969. ‘Political organization in Iran: From Dowreh to political party.’ Middle East Journal 23 (2): 159–​167. Moaddel, Mansoor. 2009. ‘The Iranian revolution and its nemesis:  The rise of liberal values among Iranians.’ Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 29 (1): 126–​136. Mohseni. Payam. 2016. ‘Factionalism, Privatization and the Political Economy of Elite Transformation.’ In Daniel Brumberg and Farideh Farhi (eds.) Power and Change in Iran. Politics of Contention and Conciliation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 37–​69. Mokhtari, Shadi. 2016. ‘This Government Is Neither Islamic nor a Republic-​Responses to the 2009 Postelection Crackdown.’ In Daniel Brumberg and Farideh Farhi (eds.) Power and Change in Iran: Politics of Contention and Conciliation. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 251–​282. Pace, Michelle, and Francesco Cavatorta. 2012. ‘The Arab uprisings in theoretical perspective–​an introduction.’ Mediterranean Politics 17 (2): 125–​138. Posusney, Marsha Pripstein. 2002. ‘Multi-​party elections in the Arab world: Institutional engineering and oppositional strategies.’ Studies in Comparative International Development 36 (4): 34–​62. Pourmokhtari, Navid. 2014. ‘Understanding Iran’s Green Movement as a ‘movement of movements’. Sociology of Islam 2 (3–​4): 144–​177. Randjbar-​Daemi, Siavush, Eskandar Sadeghi-​Boroujerdi, and Lauren Banko. 2017. ‘Introduction to political parties in the Middle East: historical trajectories and future prospects.’ British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 44 (2): 155–​158. Randjbar-​Daemi, Siavush. 2017. The Quest for Authority in Iran: A History of the Presidency from Revolution to Rouhani. London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Razavi, Reza. 2010. ‘The road to party politics in Iran (1979–​2009).’ Middle Eastern Studies 46 (1): 79–​96. Rivetti, Paola and Alam Saleh, A. 2018. ‘Governing after Protests: The Case for Political Participation in Post-​2009 Iran.’ In Hendrik Kraetzschmar and Paola Rivetti (eds.) Islamists and the Politics of the Arab Uprisings. Governance, Pluralisation and Contention. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 36–​53. Rivetti, Paola. 2017. ‘Political activism in Iran:  strategies for survival, possibilities for resistance and authoritarianism.’ Democratization 24 (6): 1178–​1194. Rustow, Dankwart A. 1968. ‘Modernization and comparative politics: prospects in research and theory.’ Comparative Politics 1 (1): 37–​51. Safshekan Roozbeh. 2017. ‘An Unfinished Odyssey: The Iranian Student Movement’s Struggles for Social Justice.’ In Peyman Vahabzadeh (ed.) Iran’s Struggles for Social Justice. London:  Palgrave Macmillan, 237–​254. Sater, James. 2009. ‘Parliamentary elections and authoritarian rule in Morocco.’ Middle East Journal 63 (3): 381–​400. Schedler, Andreas. 2006. Electoral Authoritarianism: The Dynamics of Unfree Competition. Boulder, CO: Lynne Rienner. Seeberg, Merete Bech. 2018. State Capacity, Economic Control, and Authoritarian Elections. London: Routledge. Stokes, Susan. 1999. ‘Political parties and democracy.’ Annual Review of Political Science 2 (1): 243–​267. Storm Lise and Francesco Cavatorta. 2018. ‘Do Arabs Not Do Parties? An Exploration and Introduction’. In Francesco Cavatorta and Storm Lise (eds.) Political Parties in the Arab World: Continuity and Change. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1–​22. Storm, Lise. 2014. Party Politics and Prospects for Democracy in North Africa. Boulder:  Lynne Rienner Publishers. Tezcür, Güneş Murat. 2013. ‘Democratic Struggles and Authoritarian Responses in Iran in Comparative Perspective.’ In Steven Heydemann and Reinoud Leenders (eds.) Middle East Authoritarianisms: Governance, Contestation, and Regime Resilience in Syria and Iran. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 200–​221.

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12 COPING WITH OCCUPATION Hamas and governing Gaza Martin Kear

Introduction As this volume explains, political parties in the Arab world play a variety of roles in the predominantly authoritarian or semi-​authoritarian political systems in which they operate. These systems are often fraught with hazards meaning that over time these parties have developed specific typologies, strategies, and adaptations that are tailored to the political context within which they find themselves. In this they have been relatively successful, even if success is measured by mere survival. Nowhere in the Arab world is this situation exemplified better than in the case of the Palestinian political system. The system is dominated by two parties: the Arab nationalist, Fatah and the Islamist, Hamas. Both of these political movements are involved in the struggle to achieve Palestinian independence. Overshadowing these efforts and the Palestinian political system is Israel’s occupation of the West Bank, Gaza Strip, and East Jerusalem, known collectively as the Occupied Palestinian Territories (OPT). Israel’s occupation has lasted for over 50 years and it has developed into a unique form of ruling regime overseen by Israel’s government (Azoulay and Ophir, 2013: 201). This regime regulates and manages every Palestinian economic, medical, educational, social, and political institution in the OPT (Gordon, 2007:  464). The inequities and exigencies of Israel’s occupation have sparked intense and persistent Palestinian resistance. In turn, this has generated an intense rivalry between Fatah and Hamas as they wrangle for hegemony of the Palestinian resistance narrative, with both movements advocating different paths for ridding the OPT of Israel’s occupation and achieving Palestinian independence. The signing of the Oslo Accords in 1993 marked Fatah’s decision to rely solely on a diplomatic strategy to achieve Palestinian independence that has forsworn the use of violence (SAP 1993). This compels Fatah to participate in the Middle East Peace Process (MEPP), which is structured around assuaging Israel’s security concerns. The power asymmetry in the MEPP in favour of Israel costs Fatah support and credibility amongst Palestinians and opens it to harsh criticism from Hamas and other Palestinian factions who advocate for a more strident response to Israel’s occupation. Hamas’s strategy for achieving Palestinian independence is far more complex and remains an evolving process, and it is to this strategy post-​2006 that this chapter will largely devote itself. Hamas is an offshoot of the Palestinian Muslim Brotherhood (PMB) and was launched 150

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in 1987 with the twin objectives of challenging Fatah’s hegemony of the Palestinian resistance narrative and resisting Israel’s occupation by whatever means (Abu-​Amr, 1993: 5–​6). For the first 17  years of its existence Hamas’s resistance predominantly involved the use of violence. Seeking to differentiate itself from Fatah’s strategy, Hamas disparaged the Oslo Accords claiming that they are a betrayal of basic Palestinian rights to self-​determination (Tamimi, 2009: 190). However, from 2004 onwards Hamas began to evince a political facet to its resistance narrative that culminated in its surprise victory in the January 2006 elections for the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC). This victory prompted Israel to instigate a political and economic siege on Gaza, intended to vitiate Hamas’s capacity to govern, thereby curbing its influence on Palestinian politics and the MEPP. Nevertheless, Hamas has governed Gaza for nearly 15 years and remains a resolute political actor. So how can we account for this? What strategies has Hamas employed that enable it to continue to govern Gaza, taking it account its concomitant struggles with Fatah and Israel? This chapter aims to address these questions by arguing that since 2006 Hamas is driven primarily by the desire to have its election victory legitimised and to ensure that it retains a political voice in the debate on establishing a sovereign Palestine. This has forced Hamas to develop concurrent domestic and diplomatic strategies that are intended to buttress its political legitimacy domestically and internationally. Domestically, Hamas’s government implemented soft-​Islamisation and soft-​authoritarian policy frameworks that are intended to simultaneously build institutional capacity within a broad Islamist ideological framework while enabling Hamas to retain control over an increasingly disenchanted polity. Diplomatically, Hamas attempted to counter the narrative proffered by Fatah and Israel that its terrorist antecedence precluded it from any participation in the negotiations over the advent of a sovereign Palestine. Accordingly, since 2006, Hamas has adopted a more politically moderate tone, indicating its willingness to work within the confines of a political system that is defined by the Oslo Accords and the International Quartet’s (IQ) Roadmap for Peace (AP, 1993; UN, 2003).1 This has involved Hamas incrementally compromising on key ideological tenets concerning its positions on the two-​state solution and any recognition of Israel, by amplifying its resistance credentials and using these as a political bulwark.

Hamas’s move into politics Towards the end of the Second Intifada (2000–​2005), Hamas made the strategic decision to evince a distinct political facet to its narrative concerning its resistance to Israeli occupation and to its competition with Fatah by contesting the municipal elections held in 2004/​2005 and the PLC elections slated for early 2006. These elections were a cornerstone of the IQ’s Roadmap for Peace. The Roadmap was a plan promoting the institutional capacity building and democratisation of Palestinian politics as the precursors for statehood (UN 2003). For Hamas, the Roadmap presented a unique opportunity to participate in these elections without having to make any ideological compromises, particularly concerning its commitment to the armed resistance to Israeli occupation. Hamas aimed to capitalise on Fatah’s structural and political weaknesses, and the Quartet’s desire to include Hamas to ensure the elections appeared legitimate. As the political facet gained traction in Hamas’s organisational thinking, there was a perceptible change in its rhetoric, as leaders began emphasizing the multi-​faceted nature of Hamas’s resistance narrative (Brown and Hamzawy 2010: 170). Despite Hamas’s commitment to electoral politics, it was also an admission that its unilateral strategy of armed resistance had failed to liberate Palestine. Therefore, Hamas came to see electoral participation as another form of resistance, with greater political and electoral 151

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engagement advocating a contrary political narrative equating to a greater level of resistance, both to Israel’s occupation and to Fatah’s political hegemony. Developing a comprehensive policy suite, engaging in policy bargaining and compromise, and learning and adapting to the prospect of sharing power with Fatah became the initial focus of Hamas’s political resistance efforts. While this new narrative retained its Islamic character, it was also increasingly secular, in that its operationalisation was necessarily flexible, open to contradictions and inconsistencies, and was to a certain degree capricious (Kear, 2019: 11). In 2005 Hamas formed its own political party, Change and Reform (CR). Hamas did not conceive of CR as an autonomous entity, merely as the most effective vehicle for promoting its new political narrative (Mishal and Sela, 2006: 115). CR had a separate leadership structure that provided it with policy flexibility and a degree of organisational independence. However, its strategic goals and direction remained the purview of Hamas’s leadership. This allowed Hamas to create some political distance between CR and itself, enabling it to claim credit for any electoral success, while also possessing plausible deniability should CR fail (Brown, 2012a: 146). Later in 2005, CR published its political manifesto (Tamimi, 2009:  292–​316). Hamas wanted the manifesto to appeal to both domestic and international audiences. Domestically, it outlined a detailed set of policy proposals on fiscal, social, health, education, human rights, housing, agriculture, women’s, and youth issues, while also promoting Hamas’s anti-​corruption credentials. Internationally, the manifesto sought to alter the perception of Hamas as being an anti-​democratic terrorist movement by articulating Hamas’s commitment to “good governance” initiatives through promoting key normative democratic principles such as the separation of powers, political pluralism, and the peaceful alternation of power. Despite outward appearances, the underlying reason for these commitments was not about Hamas embracing democracy per se, but its desire to remove Fatah’s political hegemony.

Learning to govern –​soft-​Islamisation and soft-​authoritarianism in Gaza On 25 January 2006, the PLC elections resulted in an unanticipated outcome:  Hamas won 74 seats to Fatah’s 45 (Tamimi, 2009:  218). There were three key reasons for Fatah’s electoral repudiation that speak to the underlying causes of its rivalry with Hamas. Firstly, the Fatah-​dominated Palestinian Authority (PA) was riven with corruption, nepotism, and bureaucratic malfeasance. While Fatah bureaucrats maintained extravagant lifestyles, long-​term unemployment and poverty persisted throughout the OPT. Secondly, Hamas had for years provided valuable social services, such as subsidised education and health care, to all Palestinians. Finally, Fatah’s participation in the MEPP had failed to resolve any of the key Palestinian statehood issues such as the right of return, the fate of East Jerusalem as Palestine’s capital, and the continued appropriation of Palestinian land through the expansion of Israeli settlements (Hroub, 2010b: 64–​65). Despite the clear result, neither Israel nor the US would countenance Hamas playing any substantive role in Palestinian politics until it accepted the Quartet’s stipulations of renouncing violence, recognising Israel, and accepting all previous Palestinian/​Israeli agreements (UNSCO, 2006). When Hamas initially demurred, Israel imposed its siege. Israel began by stopping the transfer of tax revenues and fees it collected on behalf of the PA to Hamas’s government (ICG, 2007: 2). Israel also closed its border with Gaza, preventing labourers from accessing Israel for work and severely restricting the importing of goods and materials. Only the bare necessities of wheat, flour, frozen meat and vegetables, dairy products, rice, vegetables, fruits, vegetable oil, and fuel could enter Gaza (ICG, 2008:  1). Israel also blocked all money transfers from Arab and Islamic countries causing Gaza’s already fragile humanitarian situation to deteriorate 152

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as Gazans had less money to buy food and pay their bills (PCHR, 2007: 7). Finally, between June and August 2006, Israeli security services arrested and gaoled 40 recently elected Hamas PLC representatives. This meant that Hamas’s government lacked a quorum to overturn any of President Abbas’s decrees or pass any laws that might contradict or limit these decrees (Challand, 2009: 14). Faced with potential political and organisational oblivion, Abbas used Fatah’s re-​established PLC majority to further denude Hamas of governing power by authorising the control of critical financial and security institutions to be transferred from the PLC to the Presidency. With Hamas starved of funds with which to govern, Fatah hoped Hamas would be forced to either conform to Fatah’s political agenda or have its government collapse, necessitating fresh elections and a return to the previous status quo (Caridi, 2012: 203). The struggle between Hamas, Israel, and Fatah, became about legitimacy –​that is, who had justified access to power; who was justified to select the government; and how and under what conditions and limitations rule was legitimately exercised (Kailitz, 2013: 41). The imposition of Israel’s siege meant that the overarching goal of Hamas’s political resistance strategy altered to focus exclusively on ensuring its long-​term political survival. To achieve this, Hamas needed to demonstrate its capacity to govern by restoring a degree of normality to life in Gaza (Berti, 2015: 16). Consequently, for Hamas, “governance”, with its attendant institutional and societal capacity-​building functions, became an expression of resistance through establishing a monopoly on the legitimate use of force and re-​establishing law and order in Gaza (Milton-​Edwards, 2005:  312). Hamas wanted to demonstrate to Israel, Fatah, and the international community that they would resist all efforts to exorcise it from Palestinian politics. Unfortunately, the increasingly fluid political situation meant that CR became subsumed back into Hamas, as it struggled to deal with the fallout from its election victory. Despite Hamas’s steadfastness, it remained cognisant of how vulnerable it was to the whims of public opinion. Hamas had to quickly develop a strategy that would enable it to find a balance between meeting its supporters’ demands for Islamising Gaza’s political and social institutions, while being careful not to renege on this very commitment made to the broader Palestinian polity. Although many Gazans consider themselves religious, and are more socially conservative than West Bankers, this does not necessarily mean they would accept Gaza’s wholesale Islamisation.2 As Hroub (2010a: 173) explains, Palestinians…grant their Islamists generous margins within which to operate and tolerance with respect to their agenda for social change, yet, if the Islamists were to press the idea of Islamising…too strongly, the mode of reception…in Palestinian society would change in ways that would not necessarily be favourable to the Islamists. Cognisant of this and its competition with Fatah, Hamas implemented a “soft-​Islamisation” policy framework that was intended to guarantee that normatively Gaza’s political and social institutions conformed to Islamic ideals, while building institutional capacity through bureaucratising and professionalising the PA. As an advisor to Prime Minister (PM) Haniyeh (2010, cited in ICG, 2011: 26) explained, …when [Hamas] decided to contest elections, we did so in the framework of civil law, and we are committed to abiding by it. We can have Islamic views, but they must be expressed within the framework of the law.

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The “soft-​Islamisation” framework enabled Hamas to surreptitiously define distinct spheres of responsibility between Hamas the secular-​orientated government, and Hamas the Islamist movement. The former was responsible for supporting existing laws guaranteeing personal freedoms, and the provision of basic services, while the latter simultaneously implemented its Islamist social and religious reform agendas (Sayigh, 2010:  5). This made Hamas’s “soft-​ Islamisation” framework more attuned to community expectations than to enforcing normative ideological precepts. Hamas’s reformation of Gaza’s shambolic legal system is a good example. A key aspect of any government’s political authority is not just being able to administer the territory it controls, but to be able to enforce laws and ensure public order (Papagianni, 2008: 51). This made restoring law and order in Gaza one of Hamas’s core election promises. However, the implementation of shari’ah is a sensitive policy area for Hamas’s government. This forced it to adopt a compromise position by implementing a holistic approach to the reform process. Hamas introduced a law and order matrix that combined ideological motivation, political leadership, and a system that was ethically and bureaucratically superior to Fatah’s while maintaining the capacity to quash any opposition to its rule (Sayigh, 2011: 110). The resulting hybrid legal framework integrated shari’ah into the existing secular system, rather than supplanting it. Here a structured network of community-​ based conciliation committees was established that operated in conjunction with a government-​run judicial system that embraced the existing civil (statutory) system, shari’ah, and the military courts (Sayigh, 2011: 76). While shari’ah only formed part of this framework, Hamas wanted to create a moral, pious, and law-​abiding society through self-​monitoring, improvement, and adherence and piety towards God (Abu-​Tayr, 2010 cited in Sayigh, 2011: 89). The inclusion of shari’ah as an Islamic touchstone meant that Hamas could justify to Gazans its occasionally draconian responses to internal dissent by claiming that it needed to rid Gaza of fitna (chaos). Hamas argued that once fitna had been removed then Gaza could be reformed into an ordered and moral society reflecting Qur’anic tenets (Milton-​Edwards 2008, 664). The conciliation system became a vehicle through which Hamas could incorporate shari’ah into social arbitration (Sayigh, 2011: 79–​80). Hamas used shari’ah to provide a legitimate and acceptable form of community justice that was distinct from the capricious familial clan system of justice that had evolved in Gaza under Fatah during the Second Intifada. While the rulings of the committees carried no legal weight, they were able to more immediately meet key societal demands and address problematic issues (Brown, 2012b: 10–​11). The professionalisation and bureaucratisation of the social justice system gradually restored Gazans’ faith in the legal system, and by extension increased Hamas’s political authority. Hamas’s “soft-​Islamisation” framework was complemented by a “soft-​authoritarian” framework. Here Hamas imposes clear-​cut boundaries of acceptable and unacceptable behaviour that limits the space available for opposition voices, while remaining cognisant of its current predicaments and the need to retain public support (Brown, 2012b: 3). So long as groups and individuals do not challenge Hamas’s behavioural boundaries, then it is ready to provide them with an amount of freedom and expression to voice their dissent (Brown, 2012b: 5). Nevertheless, the increasingly parlous economic situation in Gaza, exacerbated by Israel’s siege, has caused increased domestic discord that is directed in part at Hamas because of its inability to resolve its conflict with Fatah and ameliorate the effects of Israel’s siege. Hamas feels vulnerable, which in turn makes it increasingly intolerant of any dissent. Paradoxically, in 2018 the domestic pressure on Hamas dissipated slightly with the marking of the 70th anniversary of the creation of Israel, which Palestinians refer to as al-​naqbah, or the catastrophe.

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To mark the anniversary, Gazan activists planned a series of protests that became known as the “Great March of Return”. Civil society groups and other stakeholders, including Hamas, formed a higher national committee and sub-​committees to organise these protests and establish demonstration sites along the separation fence with Israel (HRC, 2019: 4). The protesters demanded the return of expropriated Palestinian land, the “right of return” for Palestinian refugees, and an end to the 12-​year Israeli siege. These demands dovetailed into Hamas’s broader resistance narrative and it hoped that they would place increased diplomatic pressure on Israel by highlighting the plight of Gazans under its draconian siege. The protest marches began on 30 March 2018 and were scheduled to end on 15 May 2018 –​the anniversary of Israel’s declaration of independence. However, such was the passion and popularity of the protests that they continued throughout 2019. Importantly for Hamas, the protesters’ vitriol was directed at Israel, rather than at its government. This provided Hamas with the political space to remonstrate against Israeli occupation without provoking another disastrous war. Despite 275 Gazans being killed and over seventeen thousand injured during the protests, they formed a potent symbol of the “David vs. Goliath” character of Palestinian resistance and the associated cogency of Hamas’s own resistance narrative (Baconi, 2019). Nevertheless, Hamas used harsher measures against those protests that crossed its behavioural boundaries. On 16 March 2019, hundreds of Gazans protested against tax hikes, high food prices, and the overall economic situation in Gaza that was a product of Israel’s persistent siege. The protests were dubbed “the revolt of the hungry” and Gazans were shocked when security forces used live fire, clubs, metal rods, and pepper spray to disperse the protesters (Haas, 2019). The response from Hamas’s government illustrates its vulnerability to adverse public opinion and the operationalisation of its “soft-​authoritarian” framework. After the protests, representatives from the eleven factions in Gaza, including Hamas, held an emergency meeting. While they called on Gazans to protest peacefully, the representatives also expressed support for the protesters’ demands and urged Hamas to withdraw its security forces from the streets and to free the almost 500 demonstrators arrested. In a sign of conciliation, a senior Hamas official proposed establishing a national committee to allow people to voice their dissent in a controlled and less public manner (Abu-​Toameh, 2019).

Hamas and its diplomatic buttressing As well as having to respond domestically to the exigencies of Israel’s siege and its competition with Fatah, Hamas also recognised that it needed a diplomatic strategy that would appeal to potential international benefactors, by demonstrating Hamas’s politically moderate and conciliatory tone when it came to addressing the IQ’s stipulations. Given the pressures of the Palestinian/​Israeli conflict, Palestinians have always sought regional and international benefactors to validate their claims to self-​determination and to counter Israel’s dominance. The ongoing competition between Hamas and Fatah means they also have competing diplomatic strategies. As noted earlier, Fatah’s is welded to the MEPP, while Hamas’s is an ongoing process. One of the key aims of Hamas’s strategy is to counter the narrative proffered by Israel and Fatah that Hamas cannot be trusted to participate in the debate concerning the advent of the Palestinian state. However, any functional strategy means meeting the IQ’s stipulations. This poses several ideological problems for Hamas because they involve it having to concede on issues that lie at the core of its raison d’être: specifically, accepting the two-​state solution and recognising the Israeli state. Ipso facto this would mean legitimising Israel’s occupation, al-​naqbah, the expulsion of Palestinian refugees, the expropriation of Palestinian land, and the Judaisation of East Jerusalem. 155

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However, these hurdles have not prevented Hamas from articulating a nuanced and incremental strategy that involves ideological flexibility and compromise while simultaneously placing caveats on these compromises that provide Hamas with political room to manoeuvre and a degree of plausible deniability. Hamas does this by accentuating its resistance narrative to provide it with a political bulwark behind which it can incrementally modify its position on these key ideological tenets. First evidence of this strategy came in March 2006 when Hamas PM Haniyeh outlined his new government’s future political program (C-​SPAN, 2006). Haniyeh opened by declaring that his government’s top priority would be to protect the right of Palestinians to resist the occupation that, “…restrict[s]‌our nation and put us in reservations and camp towns…” (C-​SPAN, 2006). He proclaimed that Palestinians had a right to an independent and viable status with East Jerusalem as its capital, and committed his government to destroying Israeli settlements and the Separation Wall. He also defended his government’s right to ensure the “right of return” for Palestinian refugees (C-​SPAN, 2006). After Haniyeh had affirmed Hamas’s resistance credentials, he then proceeded to outline key political and ideological concessions. First, he acknowledged the authority and position of Mahmoud Abbas as President of the PA by committing his government to respect the constitutional relationship between the PLC and the Presidency so that they could work collaboratively to further Palestinian national interests. Second, he announced that his government would, “…work with the previous agreements that the PLO had already signed and the Palestinian Authority has signed with national responsibility and in a way that will work to the interests of our nation…” Furthermore, Haniyeh stated that his government would, “…deal with the international resolutions that are related to the Palestinian cause with great national responsibility in a way that also protects the rights of our nation” (C-​SPAN, 2006). For the first time, Hamas had agreed to operate in concert with a political system established by the previously loathed Oslo Accords, and deal with United Nations Security Council (UNSC) Resolutions 242(1967) and 338(1973), in a “responsible” way. These two Resolutions provide the international legal framework for the two-​state solution. Unlike the uncompromising language of its pre-​2006 treatises, Hamas was no longer advocating for the establishment a Palestinian state from “the river to the sea” or the destruction of the Israeli state. From this point on, Hamas agreed to govern within an institutional framework that promoted the two-​state solution and by extension, acceded to Israel’s legitimate existence. Without expressly stating as such, Hamas had complied with two of the IQ’s three stipulations. Despite the import of these concessions, Haniyeh was careful to place caveats on his government’s position. He noted that Hamas consented to “work” with these agreements only as far as they are in the national interests of Palestinians. Similarly, he stated that his government would deal “responsibly” with the UNSC resolutions in a way that also protects the rights of Palestinians (C-​SPAN, 2006). Here Haniyeh is declaring Hamas’s intention, as the legitimately elected government, to contribute to the debate on what is and is not in the Palestinian national interest. No longer do these decisions reside solely with Fatah and President Abbas. These caveats provide Hamas with political room to manoeuvre when it comes to any prospective deal for Palestinian statehood that Fatah may negotiate with Israel in the MEPP. Because there is no unequivocal acceptance of the two-​state solution framework per se, simply Hamas’s acknowledgement that it accepts its premise, it means that Hamas could criticise any peace agreement if it believed it was not in the Palestinian national interest. Importantly, the speech was the first indication that Hamas had altered the foundation of its justification for resisting Israeli occupation. By situating its conditional acceptance of the two-​ state solution and Israel’s right to exist within an internationally recognised legal framework 156

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created in part by UNSC Resolutions 242 and 338, rather than a religious/​ideological framework, Hamas was attempting to nullify any criticism from Fatah and Israel. Whereas Palestinians decry the MEPP as being biased towards Israel, UNSC Resolutions carry the weight of international law, the legitimacy of the UN, and are broadly reflective of international diplomatic positions. It meant that Hamas could justify its continued armed resistance to Israel’s occupation by arguing that it was protecting Palestinian national interests and their lawful right to self-​ determination. This could then be contrasted with Fatah’s seemingly obsequious commitment to the MEPP. The danger of this strategy is Hamas appearing disingenuous with the caveats causing doubt concerning Hamas’s real intentions. However, it does enable Hamas to espouse a more cogent narrative concerning its continued resistance to Israeli occupation, its refusal to recognise Israel, and to explain its rivalry with Fatah that has as its foundation international and humanitarian law, rather than dogmatic religious and ideological precepts. The next example of Hamas’s strategy occurred in 2007 with the signing of the Mecca Agreement (ECF, 2007a). The Agreement between Hamas and Fatah came during a period of acrimonious relations between the two adversaries and a rapidly worsening security situation in Gaza brought about by a combination of Israel’s enervating siege and Fatah’s refusal to relinquish its strangle-​hold on Palestinian politics and recognise Hamas’s election victory. As the armed wings of Hamas and Fatah struggled for control of Gaza, the prospect of civil war loomed. It was at this point that the Saudi regime intervened by arranging a meeting between the two leaderships in Mecca in February 2007. On 8 February 2007, the two parties reached an agreement to form a unity government led by Hamas. The Agreement resolved two key issues.  Firstly, it legitimised Hamas’s election victory by providing a framework for the de-​ centralisation and re-​ distribution of power in Palestinian politics through power-​ sharing arrangements intended to remove Fatah’s hegemony of Palestinian politics, and thus as sole arbiter of the Palestinian resistance narrative. Secondly, the Agreement stressed the continuing importance of Palestinian national unity, and the need to favour dialogue over violence (ECF, 2007b). The terms of the Agreement were a victory for Hamas. However, it was still the subject of Israel’s siege and entrenched diplomatic scepticism concerning the degree to which Hamas accepted the primacy of the two-​state solution and Israel’s legitimate right to exist. Displaying Hamas’s penchant for incrementalism, the Mecca Agreement stated that the unity government would “respect” UNSC Resolutions 242 and 338, the Oslo Accords, and its attendant political framework. This meant that Hamas had tacitly “respected” Israel’s right to exist. Equally, it meant that Hamas “respected” the primacy of the two-​state solution and “respected” the fact that any future Palestinian state would consist solely of the OPT. Despite the import of the Agreement, Hamas announced explanatory caveats that clarified its position on what it believed the two-​state solution should be:  firstly, that the borders of any Palestinian state should be the 1948 ceasefire lines established when Israel signed ceasefire agreements with Jordan and Egypt. Secondly, that East Jerusalem be Palestine’s capital. Thirdly, the acknowledgement of the “right of return” for all Palestinian refugees, and finally, the dismantling of all Israeli settlements and the complete withdrawal of all vestiges of Israeli rule from the OPT (ECF, 2007b; Tamimi, 2009: 261). As Hamas well knew, these were conditions that Israel would never accede to. However, they again provided Hamas with the political space to claim that it was willing to “respect” the two-​state solution framework, if only its own conditions were also met. It also brought Hamas in line with the thinking amongst most Palestinians concerning their continuing support for the two-​state solution. Finally, the Agreement’s politically moderate tone provided Hamas with the 157

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political ascendency over Fatah by legitimising its election victory and illustrating that Hamas was willing to make ideological concessions –​however unachievable in practice. In 2017, Hamas again used its bulwark strategy when it published a policy document it hoped would re-​set the parameters of how it was evaluated by the international community, especially within the EU where the Palestinian Question enjoyed more support (Hamas, 2017). In the intervening decade since the Mecca Agreement, Hamas found itself estranged from its two prominent financial supporters, Egypt and Iran. While Hamas could mitigate somewhat the loss of Iran’s financial patronage, the loss of Egyptian support had dire economic consequences for Hamas and its ability to remain a viable actor in Palestinian politics. The Rafah border crossing between Egypt and Gaza represents Hamas’s only contact with the outside world making Hamas susceptible to any Egyptian moves to restrict access. Since General al-​Sisi’s 2013 military coup, the Egyptian regime has classified Hamas as a terrorist movement and regularly engaged in operations demolishing Hamas’s smuggling tunnels scattered around Rafah (Kear, 2019: 250). Not only do these tunnels bring in sorely needed supplies, they are valuable sources of revenue for Hamas with the government imposing taxes on all smuggled goods. As the Egyptian regime tightened its grip, Gazans experienced increased electricity shortages and elevated levels of food insecurity (UNSCO, 2017). With Hamas desperate for financial support it hoped the policy document would contain enough concessions and changes of political attitude to encourage more diplomatic support from the EU, and remind key Arab states of the parlous situation confronting Palestinians and their struggle for self-​determination. As with the other two examples, for Hamas to justify any concessions, it needed to accentuate its resistance credentials to provide it with political cover. Consequently, the document is a rallying cry to all Palestinians, and a reminder to the Muslim world, specifically Arab states, of the special status that Palestine has in Islam as the location of its third holiest site. Harking back to its pre-​2006 treatises, the policy document articulates Hamas’s version of the Palestinian/​Israeli conflict and highlights the injustices inflicted upon Palestinians by Israel’s occupation. These injustices are used to explain Hamas’s commitment to armed resistance, arguing that resisting Israel’s occupation is an act of self-​defence and an expression of the natural right of all peoples to self-​determination (Hamas, 2017). Returning to its pre-​2006 position, the document spurned the Oslo Accords as being contrary to Palestinians’ inalienable right to self-​determination. The document also reiterated Hamas’s assertion that the Israeli state, as a Zionist entity, is illegal and as such Hamas will never recognise its legitimacy, because doing so would legitimise the occupation, the expulsion of Palestinian refugees, Israeli settlements, and the Judaisation of Jerusalem (Hamas, 2017). Despite these claims, the language and tenor of the document are instructive as they demonstrate a level of ideological flexibility and adroitness by Hamas that remains situated in a humanitarian and international legal framework. While Hamas rejected Israel’s legitimacy and declared it an illegal state, it again refrained from calling for Israel’s destruction. Importantly, Hamas argued that the enemy of the Palestinians is not the Jews because of their religion, but the Zionists because they occupy Palestinian land and deny Palestinians their right to self-​determination (Hamas, 2017). These are clear attempts by Hamas to assuage long-​held concerns by potential European benefactors who were hesitant to support the Palestinian cause because of the anti-​Semitic language in Hamas’s 1988 Charter and Hamas’s repeated calls for Israel’s destruction (AP, 1988). The document also emphasised the moderating spirit of wasatiyyah within Islam, and by extension Hamas, which promoted a model of coexistence, tolerance, and civilisational innovation. From a democratic standpoint, Hamas also reiterated its commitment to free and fair elections, and to Palestinian relations managed based on pluralism, democracy, national 158

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partnership, and dialogue (Hamas, 2017). Despite the apparent import of these commitments, in reality they are again expressions of Hamas’s desire to remove Fatah’s hegemony of Palestinian politics and have its election victory legitimised because only by Fatah relinquishing its control can these things occur. However, the most important concession came with Hamas’s acceptance that any future Palestinian state would consist solely of the OPT, with East Jerusalem as its capital. While in the previous two examples Hamas had agreed to “work” and then “respect” the premise of the two-​ state solution concept, Hamas had now come to “accept” the two-​state solution in totality. Like the Mecca Agreement, the caveat to this was that the borders of this sovereign Palestine needed to be the 1948 ceasefire lines, the evacuation of all Israeli settlements in the West Bank and East Jerusalem, and the transfer of control of East Jerusalem from Israel to the new Palestinian state (Hamas, 2017). Of import is the framing of this concession. While Hamas rejected the framework for the two-​state solution proffered by the Oslo Accords, it accepted the framework provided by UNSC Resolutions 242 and 338. Again, this provides Hamas with space to manoeuvre politically and ideologically. It could continue to denounce the Accords and the MEPP, thereby tainting Fatah with their failure and compromise, while publicly accepting the two-​state solution framed by the Security Council resolutions. Hamas hoped that it would no longer be tarnished diplomatically for its denunciation of the two-​state solution, and its refusal to accept Israel’s right to exist.

Conclusion The exigencies and vagaries of Israel’s occupation of the OPT dominate Palestinian politics and drives the decision-​making processes of both Hamas and Fatah as they wrangle for hegemony of the Palestinian resistance narrative. Whereas Fatah’s response to this predicament has remained constant, Hamas’s response has had to evolve since its surprise election victory in 2006. Faced with a battle for political survival, Hamas has been forced to develop concurrent domestic and diplomatic strategies that enable it to remain a viable actor in Palestinian politics capable of simultaneously resisting Israel’s occupation while retaining its desire to contribute substantively to the efforts to achieve Palestinian independence. Domestically, Hamas opted to introduce soft-​ Islamisation and soft-​ authoritarian policy frameworks that allowed its government to obtain and maintain a monopoly on the legitimate use of force in Gaza while selectively Islamising key social and political institutions. Hamas needed these frameworks to demonstrate its capacity to govern effectively thereby retaining its seat in Palestinian politics and countering efforts by Fatah and Israel to exorcise it through economic strangulation. Diplomatically, Hamas understood that it needed to project a politically moderate and conciliatory image to an international community that retained strong reservations about supporting its government given Hamas’s terrorist antecedence and its long-​ held antipathy towards Israel. Correspondingly, Hamas was determined not to be seen to have capitulated to the IQ’s stipulations that went to the heart of its raison d’être. Hamas’s diplomatic strategy successfully found a balance between these two disparate objectives. To do this it accentuated its resistance credentials to provide it with a political bulwark behind which it made incremental, but crucial, ideological modifications to its narrative that saw it come to accept the primacy of the two-​state solution concept and by extension Israel’s right to exist. To insulate itself from criticism Hamas placed explanatory caveats on these compromises to provide it with political room to manoeuvre and a degree of plausible deniability. Instructively, Hamas has situated its evolving narrative within an international legal 159

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and humanitarian framework allowing it to justify its continued armed resistance efforts while avoiding the diplomatic pitfalls of retaining its original ideological and religious rhetorical justifications. Despite the significance of these compromises they have elicited little tangible progress in relieving the economic and social desolation triggered by Israel’s siege. While Hamas has been able to cling to power in Gaza, it has been unable to convince potential international benefactors to intervene on its behalf. What has resulted is a retention of the status quo that sees Hamas imprisoned in Gaza and Fatah clinging to power in the West Bank. Unfortunately for Palestinians, this makes the prospects of achieving a sovereign Palestine remote at best and unachievable at worse.

Notes 1 The IQ consists of the United States, European Union (EU), United Nations (UN), and Russia. It was formed in 2000 in response to the outbreak of the Second Intifada. 2 In 2006 polling data an average of 96.7% of Gazans classified themselves as being religious or somewhat religious. See PCPSR 2006, Polls 19–​22. www.pcpsr.org/​en/​node/​154.

Bibliography Abu-​Amr, Ziad. 1993. ‘Hamas:  A Historical and Political Background.’ Journal of Palestine Studies 22 (4): 5–​19. Abu-​Toameh, Khaled. 2019. ‘Hamas faces harsh criticism for crushing Gaza protesters.’ The Jerusalem Post, 16 March. Available at: www.jpost.com/​Israel-​News/​Hamas-​faces-​harsh-​criticism-​for​crushing-​Gaza-​protesters-​583657. Avalon Project (AP). 1988. The Covenant of the Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas Covenant), 18 August. Available at: http://​avalon.law.yale.edu/​20th_​century/​hamas.asp. AP. 1993. Israel-​ Palestine Liberation Organization Agreement. https://​avalon.law.yale.edu/​20th_​century/​ isrplo.asp. Azoulay, Adi and Ariella Ophir. 2013. The One-​State Condition: Occupation and Democracy in Israel/​Palestine. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Baconi, Tareq. 2019. ‘The Deadly Political Paralysis behind the Gaza Flare-​ up.’ International Crisis Group, 7 May. Available at: www.crisisgroup.org/​middle-​east-​north-​africa/​eastern-​mediterranean/​ israelpalestine/​deadly-​political-​paralysis-​behind-​gaza-​flare. Berti, Benedetta. 2015. ‘Non-​State Actors as Providers of Governance:  The Hamas Government in Gaza  between Effective Sovereignty, Centralized Control, and Resistance.’ Middle East Journal 69 (1): 9–​31. Brown, Nathan and Amr Hamzawy. 2010. Between Religion and Politics. Washington DC:  Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Brown, Nathan. 2012a. When Victory Is Not An Option:  Islamist Movements in Arab Politics. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Brown, Nathan. 2012b. ‘Gaza Five Years On: Hamas Settles In.’ Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, June. Available at: www.carnegieendowment.org/​files/​hamas_​settles_​in.pdf. Caridi, Paola. 2012. Hamas: From Resistance to Government. New York: Seven Stories Press. Challand, Benoit. 2009. ‘Fatah-​Hamas Rivalries After Gaza: Is Unity Possible?’ The International Spectator 44 (3): 11–​17. C-​SPAN. 2006. Hamas Government Agenda, 27 March. Available at: www.c-​span.org/​video/​?191800–​1/​ hamas-​government-​agenda. Economic Cooperation Foundation (ECF). 2007a. Mecca Agreement, 8 February. Available at: http://​ecf. org.il/​media_​items/​1197. ECF. 2007b. Platform of the Palestinian National Unity Government, 8 February. Available at: https://​ecf.org. il/​media_​items/​1199.

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Hamas rule in Gaza Gordon, Neve. 2007. ‘Of Dowries and Brides: A Structural Analysis of Israel’s Occupation.’ New Political Science 29 (4): 453–​478. Haas, Amira. 2019. ‘Hamas detains hundreds after violently suppressing Gaza’s “revolt of the hungry”.’ Haaretz, 17 March. Available at: www.haaretz.com/​middle-​east-​news/​palestinians/​.premium-​hamas-​ detains-​hundreds-​after-​violently-​suppressing-​gaza-​s-​revolt-​of-​the-​hungry-​1.7025221. Hroub, Khaled 2010a. ‘Hamas:  Conflating National Liberation and Socio-​ Political Change.’ In Khaled Hroub (ed.) Political Islam: Context versus Ideology. London: The London Middle East Institute, 161–​181. Hroub, Khaled. 2010b. Hamas: A Beginner’s Guide. 2nd Ed. London: Pluto Press. Human Rights Council (HRC). 2019. Report of the Independent International Commission of Inquiry on the Protests in the Occupied Palestinian Territory, 25 February. A/​HRC/​40/​74. Available at: www.ohchr.org/​ Documents/​HRBodies/​HRCouncil/​CoIOPT/​A_​HRC_​40_​74.pdf. International Crisis Group (ICG). 2007. After Mecca: Engaging Hamas. Middle East Report No. 62, 28 February. Available at: https://​d2071andvip0wj.cloudfront.net/​62-​after-​mecca-​engaging-​hamas.pdf. ICG. 2008. Ruling Palestine I:  Gaza Under Hamas. Middle East Report No. 73, 19 March. Available at: https://​d2071andvip0wj.cloudfront.net/​73-​ruling-​palestine-​i-​gaza-​under-​hamas.pdf. ICG. 2011. Radical Islam in Gaza. Middle East Report No. 104, 29 March. Available at:  https://​ d2071andvip0wj.cloudfront.net/​104-​radical-​islam-​in-​gaza.pdf. Kailitz, Steffen. 2013. ‘Classifying Political Regimes Revisited: Legitimation and Durability.’ Democratization 20 (1): 39–​60. Kear, Martin. 2019. Hamas and Palestine: The Contested Road to Statehood. Oxon: Routledge. Milton-​Edwards, Beverley. 2005. ‘Prepared for Power: Hamas, Governance and Conflict.’ Civil Wars 7 (4): 311–​329. Milton-​Edwards, Beverley. 2008. ‘Order Without Law? An Anatomy of Hamas Security: The Executive Force (Tanfithya).’ International Peacekeeping 15 (5): 663–​767. Mishal, Shaul and Avraham Sela. 2006. The Palestinian Hamas: Vision, Violence and Coexistence. 2nd Ed. New York: Columbia University Press. Palestinian Center for Human Rights (PCHR). 2007. Black Pages in the Absence of Justice: Report on the Bloody Fighting in the Gaza Strip from 7 to 14 June, 2007. Available at: www.pchrgaza.org/​files/​Reports/​ English/​pdf_​spec/​Gaza%20Conflict%20-​%20Eng%209%20october..pdf. Palestinian Center for Policy and Survey Research (PCPSR). 2019. Index PSR Polls. Available at: www. pcpsr.org/​en/​node/​154. Papagianni, Katia. 2008. ‘Participation and State Legitimation.’ In Vanessa Wyeth and Charles Call (eds.) Building States to Build Peace. Boulder: Lynne Reiner Publishers, 49–​71. Rabbani, Mouin. 2008. ‘The Making of an Islamist Leader: An Interview With Khaled Mishal: Part I.’ Journal of Palestine Studies 37 (3): 59–​73. Sayigh, Yezid. 2010. ‘Hamas Rule in Gaza: Three Years On.’ Middle East Brief No. 41, March. Crown Center for Middle East Studies, Brandeis University. Available at: www.brandeis.edu/​crown/​publications/​ meb/​MEB41.pdf. Sayigh, Yezid. 2011. ‘ “We Serve the People” Hamas Policing in Gaza.’ Crown Paper No. 5, April. Crown Center for Middle East Studies, Brandeis University. Available at: www.brandeis.edu/​crown/​publications/​ cp/​CP5.pdf. Tamimi, Aazzam. 2009. Hamas: Unwritten Chapters. 2nd Ed. London: C. Hurst & Co. The Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas). 2017. A Document of general principles and policies, 1 May. Available at: http://​hamas.ps/​en/​post/​678/​a-​document-​of-​general-​principles-​and-​policies. United Nations (UN). 2003. A Performance-​Based Roadmap to a Permanent Two-​State Solution to the Israeli-​ Palestinian Conflict, 7 May. Available at:  https://​peacemaker.un.org/​sites/​peacemaker.un.org/​files/​ IL%20PS_​030430_​PerformanceBasedRoadmapTwo-​StateSolution.pdf. United Nations Security Council (UNSC). 1967. Resolution 242, 22 November. Available at:  https://​ undocs.org/​S/​RES/​242(1967). UNSC. 1973. Resolution 338, 15 August. Available at: https://​undocs.org/​S/​RES/​338(1973). United Nations Special Co-​ordinator for the Middle East Peace Process (UNSCO). 2006. Statement by Middle East Quartet, 30 January. Available at: https://​unsco.unmissions.org/​sites/​default/​files/​quartet_​ statement_​30_​jan_​2006.pdf. UNSCO. 2017. Gaza:  Ten Years Later, July. Available at:  https://​unsco.unmissions.org/​gaza-​ten-​years-​ later-​report-​july-​2017.

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PART III

Political parties in democratic settings

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13 THE DELEGITIMATION OF POLITICAL PARTIES IN DEMOCRATIC TUNISIA Maryam Ben Salem

Introduction On 13 October 2019, Tunisians elected Kais Saied, an independent candidate, to the presidency of the republic. Saied is Professor of Constitutional Law and the bearer of a political project expressly aimed at overhauling Tunisian democratic political institutions. Crucial to this overhaul is the overcoming of political parties through ‘inverse representation’. This form of representation starts at the local level where elected officials, whose mandate is revocable, propose development projects, which are synthesised at the regional and then national level. The defeat of the candidates political parties had put forth against this atypical outsider is a clear sign of the crisis of a representative democracy and the institutions –​parties –​supposedly underpinning it. There are several symptoms of the crisis. They include the emergence of citizen initiatives independent of parties during the elections that have taken place since 2011 and the dropping turnout rates. Turnout was 49.2% for the Constituent Assembly elections in 2011, 47.7% for the legislative elections of 2014, 33.7% for the municipal elections of 2018 (Gobe, 2018) and 41.3% for the legislative elections of 2019. Despite the diminishing appeal of political parties though, we have not witnessed a reduction in their number. This has led to the increasing fragmentation of the political offer at a time when the voters’ market is falling. Eight years after the fall of the Ben Ali regime, 218 political parties have been legalised in the country, most of them moribund or totally absent from the political scene. Those parties represented in parliament or in the executive enjoy very low levels of trust. The data the World Value Survey produced show that in Tunisia democracy as a political system is not questioned, but, rather, political institutions are and political parties in particular suffer from a very negative perception. In 2018 however, Afro-​Barometer data show a decline in support for democracy (from 70% in 2013 to less than 50%), at the same time as support for military or authoritarian regime increased from 2015. Trust in political parties is also on the decline since it does not exceed 9% in 2019 according to Arab Barometer1. These attitudes correspond to what Morlino (2010) calls specific delegitimisation, namely ‘the alienation of citizens from political parties, the appearance of anti-​partisan attitudes and the development of more general attitudes of dissatisfaction and rejection of the system’. This 165

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Attitudes towards political institutions Not at all

Not very much

Trust in political parties Trust in government Trust in parliament

59.7% 45.1% 59.9%

27.9% 29.4% 23.5%

Attitudes towards Democracy having a democracy is a very good thing democracy is absolutely important Tunisia is not at all democratically governed at all

58.3% 57.1% 23.6%

Source: WVS wave 6 (2010–​2014).

specific delegitimisation is related to responsiveness, one of the eight dimensions Diamond and Morlino (2004) identified to assess the quality of democracy. Responsiveness bridges procedure and substance by providing a basis for measuring how much or how little public policies (including laws, institutions, and expenditures) correspond to citizens’ demands and preferences as aggregated through the political process (Diamond and Morlino, 2004: 22). These attitudes therefore clearly signal a deficit in terms of the quality of democracy; a deficit in which political parties play a central role that is not sufficiently analysed (Kneuer, 2011). The notion of responsiveness is intrinsically linked to that of representation, which is characterised by its autonomy and its heteronomy. The heteronomy of parties refers to the fact that their activities depend on ‘social determinations outside political circles, for example aspirations and reactions from societal, social, professional, territorial, religious, ideological groups’ (Gaxie, 2019: 29). The representation of interests is therefore also inseparable from the legitimisation of the claim to representation (Gaxie, 2014). Many observers, especially jurists, argue that the Tunisian electoral system promotes the fragmentation of representation within the Assembly of People Representatives (APR) and forces the parties to resort to government coalitions (Mahfoudh, 2016).This in turn is believed to undermine the efficacy of parties. The electoral system (proportional representation with the highest residue and no threshold) was established in 2011 by the High Authority for the Achievement of the Objectives of the Revolution2 and was explicitly designed to avoid the hegemony of one party in the National Constituent Assembly (Ben Achour, 2016). It was then maintained for the 2014 elections because of the political pressure Ennahda exercised (Mrad, 2014: 104). Despite the criticism of many Tunisian jurists demanding its amendment, it was again maintained after the refusal of the President of the Republic, Beji Caid Essebssi, to promulgate a new electoral code in July 2019, setting, among other provisions,3 a threshold of 3%. That said, the electoral system does not entirely account for the delegitimisation of political parties and their perceived inability to govern. The behaviour of political actors and the weak link between Tunisian parties and society play a significant role in the crisis of representativeness and therefore legitimacy, as this chapter demonstrates. Through the analysis of the modalities of inter and intra-​party competition4, this chapter examines in what way the weakness of partisan organisations as main enterprises holding ‘the monopoly of the instruments of production of the political interests of the citizens’ (Bourdieu, 166

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1981: 5), contribute to divert citizens from politics and produce a delegitimisation that is not limited to parties but could include democracy as a system. The multiple constraints weighing on the practices of representation, the power struggles within the parties as well as the dynamics of political alliances tend to affect the capacity of parties to translate the structuring of public opinion, which they partly contributed to shape into policies. It follows that the ideological cleavage ‘conservative’ versus’ ‘modernist’ became more of a line of demarcation mobilised only during electoral campaigns, as the programmatic and ideological differences between parties tend to diminish. The trend towards autonomy of Tunisian political parties is the other explanatory element of the weak grip of Tunisian parties on society. As far as historic parties are concerned, this weakness has its roots in the partisan system inherited from the authoritarian period, which consisted essentially of what Camau describes as proto-​parties (2004). Such proto-​parties were characterised by a tendency to elitism and top-​down reformism. This elitist tendency is also reflected within new parties created after 2011 and results in the inability of parties to ‘take charge of the social and ideological cleavages around which the democratic debate and the logic of political representation are organized’ (Tiberj et al., 2002: 203). As for the Islamist party, it is riven with internal conflicts linked to its entry into the institutional political game, which has imposed a pragmatic strategy and hence the abandonment, to a certain extent, of its distinctive positions. Ennahdha is therefore in the midst of a transition phase in which the quest for balance between heteronomy (the satisfaction of the demands of its social base) and the preservation of its autonomy is crucial.

Overestimating the identity cleavage and the obsession with consensus: towards the disintegration of responsibility and responsiveness By adapting the Lipset and Rokkan (1967) cleavage model to the Tunisian reality, Gana and Van Hamme (2016) uncovered though several cleavages: a socio-​economic one, opposing liberal parties to leftist ones (socialists and communists); a lesser visible cleavage between revolutionaries and supporters of the old regime; and identity and religious cleavage between conservatives and modernists, which largely overshadowed the first two. The stability of the ‘modernist’ vote between the 2011 and 2014elections shows the reality and the depth of this divide. Although this cleavage exists, its overvaluation during electoral campaigns, in contrast to the reality of the exercise of power, contributes to the delegitimisation of parties. A number of factors structure the competition between the parties. First of all, there is an Islamist versus secularist opposition at election time and the programmatic weakness of the parties and the legacy of how the old regime’s structured party politics can account for this. Second is the mitigation of this opposition and cleavage due to the fragmentation of representation within representative institutions, which inevitably tends to then favour the quest for consensus. Third, the politics of consensus and the constraints of the exercise of power led Ennahda to revise greatly its specific identity and ideology. Finally, the parties of the ‘modernist’ camp present blurred the lines of demarcation, which contributes to increasing the fragmentation within the modernist camp. Partisan organisations only exist because they support and maintain social opposition and, beyond that, mobilise very specific social groups (Seiler, 1993). Capoccia and Ziblatt (2010: 949) also point out that the parties themselves largely shape the preferences of constituencies. In other words, the parties express divisions and they are at the heart of the work of forming and selecting politically relevant collective allegiances (Tiberj et al., 2002: 206). That 167

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said, the instrumentality of this cleavage during electoral campaigns is followed by a policy of consensus and avoidance of responsibility. This in turn discredits political parties to the extent that their responsiveness once in government is affected. Morlino and Diamond (2004) argue that responsiveness is based on the ability of parties to translate citizens’ preferences, once aggregated, into policies. However, by distorting political competition, which is more focused on interpersonal conflicts than on programs, the interests of the elites prevail over the general interest and undermine confidence in political parties (Kneuer, 2011). Furthermore, the gradual erasure of the programmatic and ideological lines of demarcation between competing parties favours the advent of populist parties and movements, as Chantal Mouffe (2003) points out, since it contributes to transforming agonism (fight between adversaries) into antagonism (fight between enemies). The shift in debate and political competition from socio-​economic issues to identity issues was at its peak during the constituent ‘era’ (2011–​2013) and was the main axis guiding the behaviour and strategic choices of political actors (Perez, 2016). This can be explained by the imperative of adopting a constitution organising political rights and individual liberties, and therefore bringing into play opposing societal and political visions and projects. The transition to routinised politicking should have in principle led to overcoming the identity cleavage, all the more since Ennahda had given guarantees of secularisation by formally separating preaching activities and engagement in political institutions at its tenth congress in 2016. However, the identity question was far from having been settled in the Constitution. Indeed, although there was no mention of sharia as a source of legislation, article 1 of the Constitution stipulates that Islam is the religion of the State and article 6 protects the sacred, potentially allowing Ennahda, through its presence in the APR and role it might have in establishing the constitutional court, to obstruct secular bills that depend on the interpretation of the first article of the Constitution (Interview with Fethi Ayadi, Ennahda). For Islamists, Islam is the identity of the Tunisian state and people, while for the ‘modernist’ elites, ‘religion of the state’ means that Islam benefits only from positive discrimination. This opposition explains the blockage in the APR over the election of the three members of the Constitutional Court. With regard to these specific articles of the Constitution, Fethi Ayadi considers that the 2014 constitution enshrined Muslim identity in Tunisia. The battle that the secular parties are waging is a battle against the Tunisian people and not against Ennahdha. They should succeed in convincing the Tunisians that secularism is not contrary to the teachings of Islam. By participating in the assembly, we can appeal unconstitutionality and the people must peacefully oppose these secular laws. (Interview with Fethi Ayadi, Ennahda). The identity debate within the constituent Assembly and the political crisis following the assassinations of Chokri Belaid in February 2013 and Mohamed Brahmi in July of the same year exacerbated the identity cleavage during the 2014 elections. Béji Caid Essebsi set up the party Nidaa Tounes in June 2012 to take advantage of the shortcomings of other political parties to present himself as an alternative to Ennahda. A sort of catchall party, Nidaa Tounes is an electoral machine without a clear ideology, apart from the mobilisation of the Bourguibist referential. The party brought together figures from the old regime, progressives, unionists, leftists, intellectuals and businessmen around a strictly electoral objective: to dethrone the Islamists. The instrumentalisation of the ‘identity antagonism’ during the electoral campaign around which inter-​party competition was structured was however quickly abandoned after the 2014 elections in the name of consensus. The legitimisation for the strategy of consensus and appeasement 168

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towards Ennahda can be found in the dynamics the National Dialogue engendered and, more prosaically, in the distribution of seats in parliament. Having won 86 seats in parliament in 2014 ahead of Ennahda’s 69, as well as taking the presidency of the republic with the victory of Béji Caid Essebssi over Moncef Marzouki, Nidaa Tounes allied with Ennahda. The alliance between the two parties lasted from 2014 to 2018 and had two important consequences. First of all, it caused schisms within Nidaa Tounes. Second, and more worryingly from a broader perspective, it helped to delegitimise political parties in general and Nidaa Tounes in particular, since the ruling party had neither kept its main electoral promise –​removing Ennahda from power –​nor was able to improve the disastrous economic situation. It should be noted though that this period saw the diminishing of the identity cleavage following the consensual policy Ennahdha and Nidaa Tounes adopted and the displacement of the conflict inside Nidaa Tounes. In addition to disagreements about the direction of the party, personal rivalries also undermined the unity of Nidaa. This resulted in the withdrawing of support from Beji Caid Essebssi and that of the Assembly of People’s Representatives from the technocratic head of government, Habib Essid. Subsequently, Youssef Chahed, head of a government whose majority is composed of figures from a wider coalition of political parties, was also sidelined. The transition from one government to another was motivated more with considerations of pacification of the differences between the different factions within Nidaa Tounes than for the reasons BCE invoked to dismiss H.  Essid, namely his inability to solve the economic crisis. It is for this reason that National Unity governments were then set up (Carthage 1 agreement in June 2016 and Carthage 2 agreement in May 2018). Without being institutionalised, the compromise has become a kind of formula that parties seek to apply at all levels: in the distribution of ministerial positions and within the APR through the maintenance of the consensus commission (Ben Salem and al., 2019b). This consensual policy between Rachid Ghannouchi, president of Ennahdha and Béji Caid Esssebssi was costly for both parties. The pressure Ghannouchi exerted on the deputies of Ennahdha to vote against electoral exclusion (bill on elections and referendums) and the agreement between Beji Caid Essebssi and Ghannouchi, in favor of the bill on economic and financial reconciliation (Gobe, 2018: 169–​170), which bypasses the transitional justice process, discredited the Ennahda in the eyes of its electorate and its base. In addition to diluting the responsibility of political parties, the constant quest for compromise was accompanied by a dispute between the signatories of the Carthage 2 agreement around the resignation of Youssef Chahed, thus anchoring the feeling of instrumentalisation of power in favour of partisan calculations and individual political interests. All the more so as the conflict opposed Hafedh Caid Essebssi, the son of the President of the Republic to the head of government around the issue of party leadership. Ennahdha’s support for Youssef Chahed in this conflict sealed the end of the consensus policy between the Islamist party and Nidaa Tounes and thereby reactivated the identity conflict. Beji Caid Essebssi made several attempts since then to destabilise the Islamists and to assert his opposition to the movement. It was only when the consensus with Ennahdha ended that Beji Caid Essebssi pledged his support for the Defense Committee of the two martyrs Chokri Belaid and Mohamed Brahmi which held Ennadha resposible for their assassination. The Inheritance Equality Bill is also used to undermine the Ennahda’s claims of openness and modernity since the announcement of specialisation between preaching and politics. This reversal of position of Beji Caid Essebssi, following a conflict in which his son is involved, helps to anchor the idea that the ‘modernist’ versus ‘Islamist’ opposition is exploited according to the interests of the parties involved rather than stemming from fundamental ideological and policy differences. 169

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Ultimately, Nidaa Tounes ended the 2014–​2019 legislature with only 25 deputies and won only 3 seats in the 2019 legislative elections. Ennahdha, although it remained the majority party in parliament after the 2019 legislative elections lost almost a third of its electorate5 (89 seats in 2011, 69 in 2014 and 52 in 2019 out of 217), which is said to have moved to the radical and supposedly revolutionary el Karama party. As for the fragmentation of “modernist” parties, it is more the result of intra-​partisan struggles than the expression of social or ideological cleavages in society. Indeed, while fragmentation had decreased in 2014 compared to 2011 due to the emergence of Nidaa Tounes, which had rallied the ‘modernist’ camp, and to the emergence of a united leftists front, it ostensibly increased in 2019 with the splintering of Nidaa Tounes into 3 different parties in the parliament: Nidaa Tounes, Tahya Tounes, Machrou Tounes, in addition to the appearance of two parties –​Qalb Tounes and Bani Watani –​whose founders were members of Nidaa Tounes. Fragmentation can be measured by the effective number of electoral parties (ENEP) and the effective number of parliamant parties (ENPP), providing a more precise indication than the absolute number of parties since it allows us to see the real weight and influence of parties in parliament. Fragmentation occurs when the effective number of parties is greater than 7. The consensus that had created legitimacy by allowing the resolution of the political crisis following the assassination of MP Mohamed Brahmi in 2013 had triggered, permitting the continuation of the transition to democracy, ultimately produced the delegitimisation of political parties because consensus diluted their political responsibility (Marzouki, 2015). The obsession with consensus among Tunisian political actors goes against an agonistic model of democracy and politics, that is to say democracy as a place where conflicts are resolved peacefully. The quest for consensus hollows democracy out insofar as it leads to the erasing of political antagonism between adversaries between whom there is a consensus on the rules of the democratic political game. Hence we have the emergence of conflicts around values and the transformation of the adversary into an enemy, which promotes populism and radical discourses (Mouffe, 2003). The consequences were especially visible during the 2019 legislative elections, which saw the entry into parliament of populist movements such as the Parti Destourien Libre (PDL), a party created by Abir Moussi, former assistant secretary general of the Democratic Constitutional Rally, whose objective is to eradicate Ennahda. The flattening of programmatic differences between the parties reinforces fragmentation. The political parties at the extremes of the political spectrum –​the Islamist Ennahda and the parties of the radical Left (the Popular Front) –​are those embodying the identity and ideological cleavage in the most clear-​cut manner. However, the poor performance of the Left and Ennahda’s move away from political Islam have led to a gradual diminution of ideological

Table 13.2  Party fragmentation1

Absolute number of parties ENPP ENEP

NCA elections 2011

APR elections 2014

APR elections 2019

27 4.6 5.7

18 3.6 4.9

30 8.02 10.2

Source: By author. 1 The effective number of electoral parties and the effective number of parliament parties is calculated according the Laakso-​Taagepera formula.

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and programmatic antagonism. The politics of consensus and the constraints of the political game led Ennahda to make compromises, with the party heavily signalling its distance from religion. Starting with the 2014 elections, the party dismissed the most radical figures of the movement from elected positions. In 2016 it then formally institutionalised the separation between preaching and political activism. Thus, the political offer is now limited to parties that do not stand out in terms of economic programs or in taking charge of the interests of certain social groups, which has the consequence, as Mouffe (2016: 100) points out, of ‘preventing the voter from making a real choice between significantly different political options’. The absence of clear programmatic differences between the parties can be seen in particular in Ennahdha, arguably the most ideological of them. The Islamist party, despite being the bearer of an Islamic economic project at its inception, has made little mention in its 2019 electoral platform of Islamic finance and economics apart from some broad references. An examination of the electoral programs of different parties competing in the 2019 legislative elections reveals that the lines of demarcation between the parties are blurred. These programs have similar priorities and objectives: fighting corruption, stimulating investment, reducing the budget deficit, fighting poverty, strengthening purchasing power, reducing the unemployment rate. They are thus content to offer very general measures rather than specific policies that can be translated into government action. The accession and promotion of the social and solidarity economy by parties as different as Ennahda, Tayyar dimouqrati, the Popular Front, and Tahya Tounes is a clear example of this. Although the meaning associated with it might differ from one party to another, the social and solidarity economy seems to have become the main framework in terms of economic policy when faced with the growing inability of the state to take charge of social problems and the permanent injunctions for progressive disengagement of the State in economic activities coming from the IMF and the World Bank. In other words, the constraints the international monetary and financial authorities exert (Hanieh, 2015) and the context of economic crisis reduce considerably the margin of action and programmatic drive of political parties. Thus, the question of identity remains the only significant element allowing parties to ‘rely’ on a cleavage capable of mobilising, to some extent, voters. Despite the economic crisis and the social and economic demands, it is thus reactivated at each election where competition comes down to the opposition between secularists and Islamists. The removal of Islamists from power, presented as the main electoral promise of the participants in electoral competitions, relegates programs of economic and social reform to the background.

Tendency to party autonomy and crisis of representation Beyond the instrumentalisation of the identity cleavage, the weak grip of parties over society finds its explanation in the tendency of Tunisian political parties to autonomy, meaning that ‘their activities depend on strictly political determinations’ (Gaxie, 2019). The fragmentation of parties, in particular the ‘social democrats’, and the tendency to splinter and fuse reinforces the caesura between parties and the electorate. The schisms within parties reveal the impact of the logic of intra-​party competition that prevails over ideological divisions. This brings us to focus our attention on what occurs inside parties, which refers to the definition Offerlé (2012) put forth. According to it, parties must also be analysed ‘as a space of struggles and forces, as more or less closed configurations of competitive relations between agents interested in the right to use collective resources accumulated, objectified, capitalised in this collective body that is the party’ (Offerlé, 2012: 35). 171

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Historical parties: the lack of social anchoring A classification of Tunisian political parties in terms of Left-​Right axis is not that relevant. The distinction that should be made oppose the historical parties to those created post 2011. Within the family of historical parties, Ennahda should be dissociated from others, which Camau and Geisser call, albeit somewhat controversially, proto-​parties (2003). These are defined by Weber as the parties created before universal suffrage. For the Camau and Geissier, authoritarianism and the closing of the field of political competition do not only justify the qualification of proto-​parties. It is rather, they argue, the absence of a popular basis, with elitist recruitment limited to the upper classes and liberal professions of urban centres that makes them proto-​ parties. In addition they are built around a ‘charismatic’ leader and operate in an extremely personalised mode, sometimes reproducing the presidential drift of the regime (Geisser and Allal, 2013). The evolution of historical parties in an authoritarian context, in particular under Ben Ali’s regime, exacerbated the ideological aspect while limiting the field of action, which was solely focused on the defence of political and human rights or the Palestinian cause. The case of the Progressive Democratic Party whose different local branches mobilise multiple ideological references (Maoism, Trotskyism, Pan Arabism, Pan Islamism, social democracy and pragmatism) illustrates the weak control of the party over them and the absence of a common frame of reference (Maâouia, 2017). The failure of these proto-​parties became clear in the 2011 National Constituent Assembly (ANC) elections and in their low electoral weight in the APR elections in 2014 and 2019 in addition to the frequent mergers and splits, as attempts at unity have often failed. The Ettakatol and the Congrès pour la République (CPR) parties were certainly able to obtain significant results at the ANC, but their alliance with Ennahda within the framework of the troika led to their failure in the 2014 and 2019 legislative elections (CPR won three seats and Ettakatol none in 2014 and they have not obtained any seat in 2019). The Tunisian Left is divided into a ‘political’ and an ‘ideological’ Left according to the terminology Baccar Gherib (2018) uses. The political Left is “moderate”, reformist, and social-​ democratic, having operated an aggiornamento from its roots in the Tunisian Communist Party. The ideological Left is “radical”, revolutionary, and Marxist-​Leninist. It did not operate any aggiornamento and finds its manifestation in the Group of Tunisian Socialist Studies and Analysis (GEAST)6 (Gherib, 2018). The political Left, although clearly positioned on social issues (equality between men and women in particular), has weak sociological anchoring in society. This has led to very weak electoral results in the ANC (five seats for the electoral coalition of the Modernist Democratic Pole –​PDM). In 2014, competing on the same ground as Nidaa Tounes, the new coalition Al Massar (Democratic and social way) won no seat in the APR in 2014. The tendency to split within the ideological Left of Marxist orientation dates from the pre-​revolutionary period and seems to be one of its fundamental characteristics. The strongly ideologised and puritanical posture of its militants gives it a weak grip on reality as well as a tendency to isolation in protests (Gherib, 2014: 87–​89). Its programmatic weakness is explained by the reactivation of its historical opposition to the Islamists and the former ruling party (RCD), now adjourned to Ennahdha and Nidaa Tounes (Gherib, 2018). Accustomed to operating in a vacuum by recruiting mainly from universities, the ideological Left has failed to broaden its electoral base. Indeed, during the 2011 elections, this Left obtained very low scores even in the regions supposed to be its stronghold (Gana and Van Hamme, 2016). On 15 December 2012, the ideological Left created the Popular Front. Composed of 12 Left political parties (Marxist, 172

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Arab nationalist, socialist, or even ecological),7 the PF was able to obtain 15 seats in the APR in the 2014 elections and constituted an opposition front in parliament, but contented itself with challenging the economic liberalism of the Islamists and the Nidaists without offering any alternatives. The Front later again experienced a schismatic movement following the conflict between the leader of Watad (Mongi Rahoui) and that of the Workers’ Party8 Hamma Hammami. Both parties ran a candidate for the presidential elections, obtaining respectively 0.81% and 0.69% of the votes in the first round of the 2019 presidential elections. They also went their separate ways in the 2019 legislative elections under the names of Popular Front and Front. As a result they obtained respectively 1.12% and 1.05% of the votes cast.

Ennahda leaders’ professionalisation and the break between the base and the leadership Ennahda is the only party that comes close to the partisan ideal (Camau and Geisser, 2003). It is the party with the largest mobilisation capacity, although it ceased to recruit during the great repression dating of the early 1990s. During the Ben Ali era its activities were centred around the defense of political rights, the survival of the movement and its members and the evaluation of the responsibility of the movement in its own ousting from the political scene. A specific bone of contention within the party was the participatory strategy adopted in 1989 when the party ran candidates for the legislative elections only to see its participation voided in the repressive wave the regime put in place. Ennahda though shares with the other parties the tendency to elitism and its predilection for reformism from above. This elitism, which appears as a particularism of the Tunisian Islamist movement compared to its counterparts in other Muslim countries, is linked to the social base of the movement, which is made up of lower middle-​class members (university students and teachers in primary and secondary schools) (Ben Salem, 2013; Netterstrøm, 2015). It also finds its source in the processes of production of claims to distinction among Nahdhaoui militants adopted by the movement when it comes to the training of militants (Ben Salem, 2020). In contrast to the other parties however, Ennahda possesses a clear organisational structure and training modalities for its members, which strengthen party attachment, and thereby party cohesion and discipline. Although it is the best structured party and the one that has succeeded among the historical parties in the post 2011 period, Ennahdha is today at a crossroads because it follows a line of action seeking to reconcile contradictory expectations. The entry of the movement into the institutional political game presents major challenges which could explain its relative fall during the legislative elections of 2014 then of 2019 in comparison with the elections of the ANC in 2011. The pragmatic strategy the party adopted and the openness policy consisting in bringing in militants not trained by the movement are dictated by strictly political determinations that the base of the movement and its electorate do not understand. This deepens the gap with the leadership which is added to the tensions within the movement between divergent factions. After the political crisis of 2013 and the results of the 2014 legislative elections, which the party lost to Nidaa Tounès, a significant change took place with the announcement of the separation of preaching from political institutional activism. This transformation took place at the expense of the coherence and ideological purity of the Islamist project. It was the leadership of the movement that wanted this and it did not consult the base. Although there were no significant defections due to partisan discipline and the high degree of attachment to the movement, the dilution of the identity issue, which had always distinguished Ennahdha, has heightened discontent of the base, which had already had a diffuclt time accepting the compromises made 173

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in the name of consensus and openess (the position of Ennahda in relation to economic and financial reconciliation, or the selection of independent candidates as head of lists for the 2018 municipal elections) This tendency towards autonomy is also visible in the logic of selection of the political staff of Ennahdha. The rejection of which the movement was the object and the imperative to integrate into society and to adapt to the institutional logic lead the movement to put forward and make more visible the leaders who have managed to make significant adjustments in terms of political practices to gain recognition in the political field and the development of skills in accordance with the status and role assigned to statesmen. The demands of political practice mean that the authentication of political and militant skills and therefore the legitimacy of Islamist actors, who were once limited to members of the movement and opposition groups, involve now international institutions, political parties, trade-​union organisations, and media among others. Thus, the excellence that was expressed through ethical and militant qualifications before Ennahdha entered the institutional political game tends today to be replaced by technical and political skills. The centrality of the figure of the ‘technocrat’ in Tunisian political life, in particular during political and economic crises, contributes to this tendency of selecting profiles having technical competencies acquired during experiences within the executive or the parliament (Ben Salem, 2019a). This selection was made at the expense of activists in the movement who stayed committed to the values ​​of the movement, who maintain a certain mistrust vis-​à-​vis the state and who fear the transformation of Ennahdha into a state and personalistic party (Interview with Zoubeir Chehoudi). The tensions between opposing factions explains why Ghannouchi preferred to leave it to the Shuura Council to appoint a Head of Government after the 2019 elections. The choice of Habib Jemli as head of government has been contested by leaders of the movement, including secretary general of the party, Zied Laadhari, whose profile corresponds to the one of a professional politician. He resigned from Ennahda and voted against the government formation proposed by Habib Jemli considering him inadequate to get the country out of the crisis. The choice of this candidate, with no notable political experience and whose qualifications do not correspond to those generally expected for such an important post, was costly since it made Ennahdha lose the high ground on the formation of the government as a majority party in within government. While Ennahda has been challenged by populist parties during 2019 elections which undermine its claim to represent the disadvantaged categories, we can assume that the loss of a strong ideological message compared to the other parties could undermine its position vis-​à-​vis its voters, in particular the educated middle class. Although Ennahda achieves its best scores in the peri-​urban working-​class districts, Alia Gana and Gilles Van Hamme had nevertheless demonstrated that the electoral volatility of Ennahdha’s voters (between 2011 and 2014 elections) is higher among the uneducated categories, while for the educated categories, it seems to be an ideological vote (Gana and Van Hamme, 2016: 221). The pragmatic strategy of the movement and the trend towards autonomy tend to divide the party’s leadership from its base and to stir up internal conflicts between its leaders having different resources and positions within the movement.

Floating new parties The parties born after the revolution, located on the centre Right or on the centre Left of the political spectrum, were built around political personalities (Nidaa Tounes), technocrats having occupied ministerial positions (Afek Tounes, el Badil, Béni Watani), media personalities (Qalb 174

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Tounes party founded by Nabil Karoui), or businessmen (UPL). They often use Ennahda as a foil. Their political recruitment privileges the local or national notability, media notoriety, the technical skills attested by diplomas from the grandes écoles which implies the prevalence of the individual resources of the leaders compared to the collective resources of the party. The outcome is a weak territorial and sociological anchoring of the party and an increased tendency to splits and parliamentary nomadism. During the 2014–​2019 legislature, 98 deputies changed their party or parliamentary bloc out of 217. Only one of them belonged to Ennahda, which clearly demonstrates the gap between the Islamists and the others in terms of organisation and loyalty. The parties with representation in Parliament set up after 2011 are for the most part the result of splits from other political formations. They were either created in parliament –​this is the case of Tahya Tounes, a splinter of Nidaa Tounes and Machrou Tounes, another Nidaa’s splinter. Others were created by individuals who held ministerial positions: Bani Watani was created in 2017 by Said el Aidi who was minister in Mohamed Ghannouchi’s executive and then in Baji Caid Essebssi governments in 2011. After having joined the Jomhouri party –​a fusion between Afek Tounes, PDP and the Republican Party –​he became a member of Nidaa Tounes in 2013 and was nominated minister in Habib Essid’s government in 2014. In 2017, he launched his own political party. El Badil, a party founded by Mehdi Jomaa, head of government between

Table 13.3  Parliamentary nomadism within the APR (2014–​2019)

APR 2014–​2019 Elected parties

Initial number of deputies

Elus sortants

Number of MPs changing blocks

Nidaa Tounes

86

12

53

Ennahdha Union patriotique libre

69 16

4 1

1 15

Independants

16

1

13

Front populaire Afek Tounes et l’appel Bloc social-​démocrate

15 8

0 3

6 5

7

2

5

Total

217

23

98

Source: Marsad Majles.1 1 https://​majles.marsad.tn/​2014/​fr/​assemblee/​mercato

175

29 –​Coalition nationale 10 –​ Independants 12 Bloc el horra (Machrou Tounes) 2 Allégeance à la patrie 1 Allégeance à la patrie 1 –​Coalition nationale 12 –​ Independants 2 –​Allégeance à la patrie 12 –​Bloc démocrate 1 –​Allégeance à la patrie 6 –​ Independants 4-​Coalition nationale 1 –​ Independants 2 –​Coalition démocrate 1 –​ Independants 2 –​Allégeance à la patrie

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M. Ben Salem Table 13.4  Score of parties born after 2014 in the 2019 legislative elections

Party

Score obtained%

Qalb Tounes PDL Tahya Tounes Aich tounsi El Badil Nidaa Machrou Tounes Bani watani Total

14.49 6.6 4.06 1.62 1.6 1.51 1.42 0.46 31.76

Source: High independent Authority for the elections (ISIE).

2013 and 2014, began with the creation of a think tank responsible for setting up a political program, but whose top-​down nature due to the prevalence of an elitist posture did not allow him gain more 1.6% of the votes. These different parties have a weak grip on their members and are characterised by their dependence on their founders, and a regression of programmatic activities. Constant divisions and mergers prevent voters from voting consistently from one election to another. Although we do not have data relating to changes in voting patterns, the results of the 2019 elections show the dispersion of voices of modernist voters between the different parties born after 2014.

Conclusion The purpose of this chapter was to highlight the weak institutionalisation of the party system in Tunisia and its impact on the quality of democracy by demonstrating that the crisis of representation is due to the inability of political parties to shape preferences and translate them into government policy. This inability is due to the overestimation of the identity (religious versus secular) cleavage, which fully plays out only during electoral campaigns. Although this cleavage exists, the confinement of the political offer to confrontation against the Islamists produces delegitimisation insofar as the reality of the exercise of power and the electoral system lead the parties to ally with the Islamists, as was the case between 2014 and 2019. In addition, the converging of the programmatic and ideological differences between parties and the fragmentation of the modernist camp do not offer other demarcation alternatives other than opposition to Ennahda. This weak institutionalisation is also explained by the autonomy of the Tunisian political parties. This is due to a number of factors. First is the weak social anchoring and the elitism of the historical proto-​parties who were not able after 2011 to widen their social base, mobilise voters or build lasting alliances. Second is the growing professionalisation of the leaders of Ennahda, which have led the movement to erase to a certain extent its identity specificities and to adopt strategies out of step with the expectations of its ordinary members. Third is the creation of personalistic political formations after 2011. The breakup of Nidaa Tounes in particular led to the setting up personalistic parties unable to create a stable link between party and constituents and that dispersed the modernist vote, adding to an already high volatility. 176

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It could be argued that the Tunisian democratic experience is too recent to conclude that there is a deficit in the quality of democracy and that parties are still in a learning phase. However, the Tunisian economic crisis constitutes the biggest challenge that political parties are facing. Indeed, the lack of representation echoes greater social demands that the parties are not able to capture and to which the conflicts around values, having substituted political and programmatic discussions, do not allow to respond.

Notes 1 www.arabbarometer.org/​wp-​content/​uploads/​ABV_​Tunisia_​Report_​Public-​Opinion_​2018-​2019.pdf 2 The High Authority for the Achievement of the Objectives of the Revolution, was set up on 11 February 2011 and was chaired by Yadh Ben Achour. 3 The amendments to the electoral law voted by the assembly in 2019 set out the obligation for candidates to have a clean criminal record, the obligation for presidential candidates to present a fiscal discharge from the year preceding the election, as well as a declaration of assets and interests in accordance with the law of 1 August 2018 . The Independent Higher Authority for elections (ISIE) can refuse candidates for the presidential and legislative elections, having committed, during the year preceding the elections, offenses already provided for under the law on political parties. 4 The focus of attention here is on two types of parties: the historical parties (leftist, “modernists” and Ennahda) and the so-​called progressive parties set up after the revolution. Given the large number of political parties and the recurrent changes in the partisan landscape due to splits and mergers, our analysis is limited to the parties, which managed to maintain representation in the APR after the 2014 and 2019 legislative elections. The analysis is based on documentary research (comparison of the programs of the political parties during the 2019 elections :  Ennahda, Tayyar dimouqrati, Nidaa Tounes, Tahya Tounes, Qalb Tounes and the Popular Front) and the data produced within the framework of various field research conducted in 2017 and 2018 (interviews with political actors of different political parties). 5 Respectively 34.81%, 26.46%, and 19.55% in 2011, 2014, and 2019. 6 The Tunisian far Left was born with the Tunisian Socialist Studies and Action Group (GEAST, known as the Perspectives group from the name of its publication Tunisian Perspectives for a Better Tunisia) between July and October 1963. (Mikael Bechir Ayari, 2017) 7 The 12 parties are :  parti des travailleurs, parti populaire pour la liberté et le progrès, parti Baath, Mouvement des démocrates socialistes, mouvement du peuple, parti Tunisie Verte, Front Populaire Unioniste, parti de lutte progressiste, Ligue de la Gauche ouvrière, parti d’avant-​ garde arabe démocratique, parti des patriotes démocrates unifié, and parti national socialiste révolutionnaire 8 Previously, Communist Party of Tunisian Workers.

Bibliography Allal, Amin and Geisser, Vincent. 2013. ‘La Tunisie de l’après-​Ben Ali’ Cultures & Conflits 83: 118–​125. Available at : https://​journals.openedition.org/​conflits/​18216#quotation Ayari, Mikael Bechir. 2017. Le prix de l’engagement politique dans la Tunisie autoritaire, gauchistes et islamistes sous Bourguiba et Ben Ali (1957–​2011). Paris: Karthala. Ben Achour, Yadh. 2016. Tunisie. Une révolution en pays d’islam. Tunis: Cérès. Ben Salem, Maryam. 2013. Le militantisme en contexte répressif. Cas du mouvement islamiste tunisien Ennahdha. PhD thesis in political science (unpublished). Paris 1 Panthéon Sorbonne University. Ben Salem, Maryam. 2019a. ‘Fluidité politique et transition incertaine d’Ennahdha vers l’islamo-​ démocratie’. In Hatem Mrad (ed.) Les partis politiques dans la Transition. Tunis: Nirvana. Ben Salem, Maryam, Xavier, Philippe and Geoffrey Weichselbaum. 2019b. Le régime politique tunisien dans le cadre de la Constitution de 2014. Analyse préliminaire du fonctionnement du régime politique de 2015 à 2018. Democracy Reporting International. Available at:  https://​democracy-​reporting.org/​wp-​content/​ uploads/​2018/​11/​DRI-​TN_​rapport_​r%C3%A9gime_​politique_​tunisien_​2018_​web.pdf Ben Salem, Maryam. 2020. ‘La quête de distinction. Logiques militantes au sein du mouvement Ennahdha entre 1970 et 1990’. Mélanges offerts à Mohamed Salah Ben Aissa. Tunis: Presses universitaires de Tunisie. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1981. ‘La représentation politique’. Actes de la recherche en sciences sociales 36–​37: 3–​24.

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M. Ben Salem Camau, Michel and Geisser, Vincent. 2003. Le syndrome autoritaire: Politique en Tunisie de Bourguiba à Ben Ali. Paris: Broché. Capoccia, Giovanni and Daniel Ziblatt. 2010. ‘The Historical Turn in Democratization Studies: A New Research Agenda for Europe and Beyond’. Comparative Political Studies 43(8/​9): 931–​968. Chiche, Jean, Florence Haegel and Vincent Tiberj. 2002. ‘La fragmentation partisane’. In Gérard Grunberg, Nonna Mayer and Paul Sniderman (eds.) La démocratie à l’épreuve. Paris: Presses de Sciences Po. Diamond, Larry and Morlino, Leonardo. 2004. ‘The Quality of Democracy. An Overview’. Journal of Democracy 15(4): 20–​31. Gana, Alia and Gilles Van Hamme. 2016. Elections et territoires en Tunisie. Enseignements des scrutins post-​ révolution (2011–​2014). Paris/​Tunis: Karthala –​  IRMC. Gaxie, Daniel. 2019. ‘Autonomie et hétéronomie des partis politiques’. In Hatem Mrad (ed.) Les partis dans la Transition. Tunis: Nirvana, 15–52. Gaxie, Daniel. 2014. ‘Postface. Les rouages de la représentation’. In Alice Mazeaud (ed.) Pratiques de la représentation politique. Paris: Broché, 931–​968. Gherib, Baccar. 2014. Pour une refondation de la gauche Tunisienne. Tunis: Diwen editions. Gherib, Baccar. 2019. ‘Les gauches tunisiennes après 2011: Aux origines d’un échec paradoxal’. In Hatem Mrad (ed.) Les partis dans la Transition. Tunis: Nirvana, 233–247. Gobe, Éric. 2018. ‘L’impossible politique d’épuration’. In Amin Allal and Vincent Geisser (eds.) Tunisie. Une démocratisation au-​dessus de tout soupçon? Tunis: Nirvana, 1–12. Gobe, Éric. 2019. ‘La Tunisie en 2018:  une année pré-​électorale très électorale’. L’Année du Maghreb 21: 359–​376. Hanieh, Adam. 2015. ‘Shifting Priorities or Business as Usual? Continuity and Change in the post-​2011 IMF and World Bank Engagement with Tunisia, Morocco and Egypt’. British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 42 (1): 119–​134. Kneuer, Marianne. 2011. ‘Deficits in Democratic Quality? The Effects of Party-​System Institutionalisation on the Quality of Democracy in Central Eastern Europe’. In Gero Erdmann and Marianne Kneuer (eds.) Regression of Democracy? Heidelberg: Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, 133–171. Lipset, Seymour Martin and Stein Rokkan. 1967. Party system and voters alignments: cross-​national perspectives. NewYork: Free Press. Mazeaud, Alice. 2014. ‘Introduction. Au-​delà de la crise, les modalités pratiques de la représentation politique’. In Alice Mazeaud (ed.) Pratiques de la représentation politique. Paris: Broché, 11–23. Mahfoudh, Amin. 2016. Contribution à l’étude de la transition démocratique en Tunisie. Tunis: Hans Seidel Stiftung. Marzouki, Nadia. 2015. ‘Tunisia’s rotten compromise’. Middle East Report Online. Available at: https://​ merip.org/​2015/​07/​tunisias-​rotten-​compromise/​ Maâouia, Walid. 2017. ‘Genèse de la campagne électorale du PDP, dans les régions, pour la Constituante de 2011’. In Hatem Mrad (ed.). La politique dans les régions. Quels défis pour les partis politiques? Tunis: KAS-ATEP, 61–72. Morlino, Leonardo. 2010. ‘Légitimité et qualité de démocratie’. Revue internationale des sciences sociales 196 (2): 41–​53. Mouffe, Chantal. 2010. ‘Politique et agonisme’. Rue Descartes. 1 (67): 18–​24. Mouffe, Chantal. 2016. L’illusion du consensus. Paris: Albin Michel. Mouffe, Chantal. 2003. ‘Le politique et la dynamique des passions’. Politique et sociétés 22 (3):143–​154. Mrad, Hatem & al. 2014. Le dialogue national en Tunisie. Tunis: Nirvana. Netterstrøm, Kasper Ly. 2015. ‘The Islamists’ Compromise in Tunisia’. Journal of Democracy 26 (4):110–​124. Offerlé, Michel. 2012. Les partis politiques. Paris: PUF. Perez, Deborah. 2016. ‘Mythes fondateurs et fabrique du politique dans l’hémicycle: le débat identitaire à l’Assemblée nationale constituante tunisienne’. In Alia Gana and Gilles Van Hamme (eds.) Elections et territoires en Tunisie. Enseignements des scrutins post-​révolution (2011–​2014). Paris/​Tunis: Karthala –​ IRMC,  31–​47. Sawicki, Frederic. 1996. ‘La science politique et l’étude des partis politiques’. Cahiers Français 276: 51–​59. Seiler, Daniel-​Louis. 1993. Les partis politiques. Paris: A. Colin. Interview with Fethi Ayadi, APR deputy, member of the shura council, head of the party academy. Headquarters of the Ennahda movement, Montplaisir, 25/​1/​2018. Interview with Zoubeir Chehoudi, member of the Shura Council, Bardo, Tunisia, 2018.

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14 CONSOCIATIONALISM AND POLITICAL PARTIES IN THE MIDDLE EAST The Lebanese case Tamirace Fakhoury and Fidaa Al-​Fakih

Introduction How do political parties govern in consociational or power-​sharing systems built on sectarian representation in the Middle East?1 And how do they cooperate or clash on contentious policy issues? Lebanon, a small state that has enshrined power-​sharing arrangements at the heart of its state-​building experience (Lijphart, 1977), has many insights to convey on party politics organised along sectarian lines (El Khazen, 2003). Since the establishment of the Lebanese state, political parties have evolved into key platforms for representing sectarian communities in legislative and policymaking debates. At the heart of their policy rhetoric and legislative behaviour lies the concern of safeguarding their own interests and the interests of the community they represent rather than articulating nation-​wide social and economic agendas. In this chapter, we explore the key characteristics of Lebanon’s political parties and their behaviour in Lebanon’s sectarian model of power-​sharing. We argue that political parties constitute a key vector for perpetuating Lebanon’s politics of sectarianism, which crystallises group identities and enshrines divisive governance (Fakhoury, 2019; Vaughan, 2018). By representing their constituencies in state institutions, they tighten the nexus between governance and sectarian representation (Hovsepian, 2007). Drawing on their clientelistic channels, they moreover constitute informal conduits for dispensing public goods and material benefits (Cammett, 2014). In order to increase their share of power in a competitive system, they further rely on external patrons to boost their bargaining leverage. By entrenching divisive allegiances and acting as “states in the international system” (Assi and Worrall, 2015), political parties end up generating friction and gridlock in government. In yet another perspective, they act as hybrid and quasi-​sovereign actors with both fuzzy formal and informal functions (Fregonese, 2014). The chapter is divided in three sections. We begin with a brief description of Lebanon’s consociational model, commonly framed as a model of political sectarianism.2 We then turn to the configuration of its party system, and describe the defining albeit complex features of Lebanon’s key political parties. The third section draws on illustrative examples to examine some of the ways through which Lebanon’s political parties have nurtured antagonistic loyalties and created deadlock in governance. We examine political parties’ polarised stances and behaviour in the 179

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context of Syria’s war since 2011. We also show what consequences this polarisation has yielded for Lebanon’s politics of power sharing. In so doing, we aim to provide revelatory examples of how conflictive logics of governance and loyalties have characterised party politics in Lebanon. By cementing divisive agendas serving various geostrategic interests, political parties enact and deploy power at the expense of programmatic agendas and policies.

Lebanon’s sectarian model of consociationalism Understanding the dynamics of Lebanon’s political parties requires an insight into its politics of sectarianism, “which envelopes every social structure in the country, including its political parties” (Suleiman, 1967: 682). Following Lebanon’s independence from the French Mandate, political elites devised an informal national pact in which Lebanon’s key communities were to share power along religious lines (Lijphart, 1977). In this pact, key constituent communities struck a deal set to preserve their share of power in executive cartels: the president is to be a Maronite, the prime Minister a Sunni Muslim and the Speaker of Parliament a Shi’a. The legislature was devised to ensure representation for both Christian and Muslim communities. Within this climate, political parties have emerged as platforms that seek to negotiate communal interests. In elections, they have usually won seats as a result of their capacity to mobilise their communities and wield sectarian power rather than their party manifestos and national agendas. Despite its tendency to heighten competitive political behaviour, Lebanon’s political system, which devolves power along religious lines, has remained resilient. Namely, it has survived recurrent shocks of both an external and internal nature (Fakhoury, 2014). Indeed, Lebanon’s power-​sharing formula weathered a devastating 15-​year-​long war in which several political actors claimed monopoly over government. In 1989, the Ta’if Accords –​lauded for ending the conflict –​re-​established the sectarian formula while introducing changes intended to ensure fairer communal representation. The Ta’if Accords allocated more power to the Sunni Prime Minister and to the Council of Ministers, reflecting the plurality of Lebanon’s various sectarian affiliations. They also curtailed the prerogatives of the Maronite President and allocated an equal number of seats to Christian and Muslim MPs in the legislature. In reality, by diluting power within institutions formed along sectarian lines, the Ta’if agreement ended up enshrining polarised fragmentation (Charara, 1992). As resilient as it may however seem, Lebanon’s political system has sparked heated debates. Scholars and policy-​makers have in some instances discussed the potential replication of the Lebanese power-​sharing model in post-​conflict divided societies of the Middle East such as post-​ 2003 Iraq or post-​2011 Syria. Yet consensus prevails today that Lebanon’s politics of sectarianism has stunted reforms and exacerbated public dissatisfaction. Political scientists have commonly portrayed it as a flawed model of corporate consociationalism (Nagle and Fakhoury, 2018) in which rules of governance rotate around sectarian-​based quotas that freeze group identities within rigid structures (McCulloch, 2014). In this context, specialists have explored how such a consociational model cements and strengthens divisions, making Lebanon prone to conflicts and wars (Hudson, 1968). Various analysts have argued, that Lebanon’s political sectarianism, especially since the end of the 1975–​1990 Civil War, has substantially deviated from the theoretical model of consociationalism that political scientists such as Lijphart, Daalder, and O’Leary had envisaged (Fakhoury, 2014). In this perspective, the politics of sectarianism has brought about various forms of conflict, violence and deadlock (Hermez, 2017; Salloukh et al., 2015). Invariably, the latter are inimical to the politics of accommodation that power-​sharing systems ought to induce.3 Against this backdrop, a plethora of literature has sought to understand how Lebanon’s party system interfaces with its power-​sharing trajectory. In particular, emphasis is placed on the role 180

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that political parties play in reproducing this sectarian-​based political system, and whether and if so how they act as key building and organisational blocks for such a system (El Khazen, 2003). In the section below, we provide an overview of the interface between Lebanon’s key political parties and its power-​sharing politics of sectarianism.

Political parties in Lebanon’s power-​sharing trajectory Lebanon’s political parties are influential institutional actors in Lebanon’s sectarian power-​ sharing system. They play a key role in parliamentary law making and debates to the extent that very few independent politicians have engaged in the political discourse (Suleiman, 1967). Through their parliamentary blocs, they elect the President of the Republic every six years and designate their ministerial representatives in the government’s power-​sharing system (Salamey, 2013). At the same time, as they are embedded within a governance model that feeds on sectarian representation, they defy typologies classifying parties according to their ideological and policy-​related stances. In practice, Lebanon’s political parties serve as ordering structures for Lebanon’s sectarian-​based system and can be easily described as an emanation of its political system, which organises power along sectarian lines. In other words, they act as key “power brokers” competing for the distribution of power and resources within this system and mediating services between the state and their “clientele” (Hovsepian, 2007: 46). Most importantly, political parties wield substantial informal power in their communities, and possess fluid attributes that make them at the same time state and non-​state actors as well as formal and informal players (Fregonese, 2012). In general, notwithstanding calls for establishing non-​sectarian parties, Lebanon’s communities tend to identify with parties affiliated to their sect. The Christian community generally identifies with Christian-​based parties such as the Lebanese Forces (LF), the Free Patriotic Movement (FPM), and the Lebanese Phalanges Party. The Druze community predominantly associates itself with the Progressive Socialist Party (PSP) led by Druze leader Walid Jumblatt. The Sunni community, historically affiliated with Arab nationalist parties, currently identifies with the Future Movement (FM) led by former prime Minister Saad Hariri. For their part, Shi’a generally rally around the Amal Party (Afwaj al-​Muqawamah al-​Lubnaniyyah) and Hezbollah, respectively formed in the 1970s and the 1980s. Originally, political parties evolved as groupings stemming from Lebanon’s traditional confessional sects and dominated by oligarchs and family dynasties. Indeed, since Lebanon’s inception, feudal party chiefs (or zu’ama, Arabic for feudal leaders) have controlled public affairs and sought to safeguard the political and socioeconomic interests of their own communities. By providing services, welfare and jobs to their followers, they have slowly turned into socio-​ political organisations mediating between the state and Lebanon’s manifold sectarian communities. In the pre-​Civil War period, some analysts tended to ascribe positive value to political parties especially when it comes to their role in enriching parliamentary politics. Some noted the increasing participation of political parties in the legislature and, consequently the ensuing elite turnover that they bring about (El Khazen, 2003). They have also credited Lebanon’s political parties, similar back then to parliamentary blocs, for promoting inter-​communal cooperation in parliamentary debates (Smock and Smock, 1975). Post-​war literature tends however to be wary of sectarian-​based political parties as institutional and good governance actors. Instead, this literature sheds light on the various ways they operate through informal practices (Issar and Cammett, 2010) and entrench polarisation (Corstange, 2018). In recent years, specialists have particularly flagged the negative implications of their wrangling and fragmentation on policymaking (Salloukh, 2018). For instance, as institutional actors, they have done little to pass legislation that is crucial to the advancement of welfare and essential services like social safety nets, 181

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healthcare, electricity, infrastructure, and internet provision (the Lebanese Center for Policy Studies, 2019). Several reasons explain why Lebanon’s political parties cannot be analysed solely through an institutional lens, and why they have not been able to emerge neither as national stakeholders in legislation nor policymaking. To that end, it is important to explore their multiple arenas of action. Heavily embroiled in regional affairs, Lebanon’s key parties represent in one way or the other extensions of broader regional and international cleavages. To consolidate their power base, the zu’ama, particularly those of established parties, derive support from their relationship networks with regional countries and external patrons. Christian parties have reinforced their external alliances with Western powers such as France and the United States. The Druze Progressive Socialist Party has also sought rapprochement with the West. Lebanon’s Sunni Future Movement, led by former Prime Minister Saad Hariri, has reinforced its ties with Saudi Arabia especially in the wake of the 2011 Arab uprisings and the regional polarisation that has ensued. In stark contrast, Hezbollah has strengthened its alliance with Iran and the Syrian regime, the key leaders of the so-​called regional Shi’a axis. In critical turning points, political parties resort to their external patrons, heightening polarities on Lebanese soil. In a context of divergent loyalties, parties have yielded little success in creating cooperation mechanisms that bridge divides and process conflicts. Usually, inter-​party alliances are tactical and interest-​based rather than ideological. A case in point is the tactical alliance that the Christian Free Patriotic Movement struck with Hezbollah in 2006. Competitive party behaviour is moreover a key factor enshrining governmental gridlock. Keen on ensuring their sectarian predominance, political parties wrangle for months over candidates and ministerial portfolios (Ajroudi, 2018). Due to their interest in cementing their sectarian power base, political parties have been unable to establish organisational structures conducive to transparent conduct, democratic norms, and sound accountability practices (El Khazen, 2003). In such a setting, and in line with Kamal Salibi’s observation that building a nationality is not synonymous with building a country (2003: 19), it is no exaggeration to stay that they have fared badly at creating channels for national integration. Against this backdrop, some of the parties that have aspired to become ideological platforms have not been able to transcend sectarian and regional divides. Parties such as the Communist Party and the Syrian Social Nationalist Party that have sought to appeal to various communities fell prey to internal divides. The Green Party seeks to formulate national principles around environmental justice, but yields little sectarian support. In pre-​war Lebanon, prominent political parties like the nationalist Constitutional Bloc Party and the liberal National Bloc Party (founded in the 1940s and the 1950s respectively by former presidents of the Republic Bechara El Khoury and Émile Eddé) could not sustain structural cohesion after their founders had passed away. At the heart of Lebanon’s party system lies the volatility and shifting functions of its political parties in addition to their propensity to polarise and militarise amid geopolitical turmoil. In 1958, political parties got embroiled in a six-​month-​long armed confrontation between pro-​ Gamal Abdel Nasser supporters versus pro-​Western allies (Khalaf, 2003). With the outbreak of Lebanon’s war in 1975, some of the parties that have traditionally served as platforms for feudal leaders between 1920 and 1975, such as the Lebanese Phalanges Party and the Progressive Socialist Party, transformed into militias struggling over government control. The militarisation of Lebanon’s party system led traditional leaders of political parties to transform overnight into warlords (Krayem, n.d). 182

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For fifteen years, political parties fought as militias over the distribution of power and rallied to competing external actors (Rizkallah, 2017). During this period, traditional party politics withered away, giving rise to intricate and complex configurations of conflict in which boundaries between formal and informal governance became increasingly fuzzier (Fregonese, 2012). As state authority intertwined with that of armed nonstate actors, political parties utilised their connections to the collapsing state system to ensure survival and assume state-​like functions (Fregonese, 2009). In the wake of Lebanon’s Civil war, as underscored, the Tai’f power-​sharing formula, approved by Lebanon’s parliament in November 1989, marked the cessation of hostilities. It also acknowledged Syria’s role as an external trusteeship force set to place Lebanon on the path of post-​conflict recovery (Krayem, n.d). With the revival of the power-​sharing formula, influential militias such as Amal and the Lebanese Forces hastily started the war to peace transition, without initiating any post-​war reconciliation process. Indeed, no sooner did the war end that militia leaders relinquished their status of armed groups and sought reintegration as formal political parties. Keen on preserving their political and financial interests, some of them allied themselves with the Syrian regime, Lebanon’s key external patron back then. Notwithstanding their reintegration in the political process, the blurred dynamics between state and non-​state governance continued to prevail. According to Ta’if, all Lebanese militias were to undergo disarmament except for Hezbollah that kept its arsenal as a resistance force in the face of Israeli occupation in Southern Lebanon (Fakhoury, 2015). It is against such a backdrop that Hezbollah’s military power has consolidated what Seeberg (2009) labels as Lebanon’s dual power. Indeed, Hezbollah exemplifies the blurry lines between state and non-​state governance that Lebanon’s political parties tend to entrench. In the post-​war period, the party has quite successfully consolidated its role as an armed resistance force, a political party represented in the parliament and the government, and a communal actor with its own social welfare and infrastructural system. The party has also emerged as key transnational actor with a strategic alliance to Iran. This has made it concomitantly “part of the state,” a “non-​state,” and a “state-​ like” actor (Fregonese, 2012). Although Hezbollah is often identified as the epitome of “non-​state sovereignty,” in post-​ war Lebanon, all parties are in one way or the other “non-​state governance entities substituting for, but also undermining and co-​opting, state governance” (Stel, 2014:  59). This is due to the fact that almost all them have developed their own welfare structures, social wings, educational programs and foreign policy bureaus. Though the sophistication of these apparatuses varies from one party to the other, political parties have by and large established themselves as authority sites with plural functions. Often, they have espoused competing agendas and allegiances, turning Lebanese politics into a highly conflictual game. A case in point is their polarisation by 2005 into two antagonistic blocs around the question of Syrian predominance in Lebanese affairs. In the wake of the assassination of former prime minister Rafiq Hariri, divergence over the presence of Syrian troops on Lebanese soil led political parties to form two rival political blocs:  a pro-​Syrian party coalition known as the 8 March Alliance and an anti-​Syrian party coalition known as the 14 March Alliance. Both coalitions have since then sustained conflictive interpretations of Lebanon’s state-​building trajectory and role in external conflicts (Fakhoury, 2015). The 8 March Alliance was named after a demonstration staged by pro-​Syrian parties in Central Beirut on 8 March 2005. The demonstration was held in gratitude for the Syrian regime’s so-​ called role in ending the Lebanese Civil War and in supporting Hezbollah’s operations in Lebanon during the period of the Israeli occupation of Southern Lebanon until May 2000. Initially, the Alliance brought together Hezbollah and the Amal Movement, with 183

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the Free Patriotic Movement joining later in 2005. Since then, the 8 March 8 Alliance has been calling for preserving strong ties with the Syrian regime and its staunch ally Iran. It has also been adamant about the necessity to preserve Hezbollah’s military wing as a national priority, portraying the party’s military wing as a bulwark in an unstable environment. By contrast, the 14 March Alliance –​named after a mass demonstration calling for the withdrawal of Syrian troops in Central Beirut on 14 March 2005 –​has incessantly called for emancipating Lebanon’s path from close coordination with the Syrian regime. Though it disintegrated in recent years, the Alliance has brought together the Future Movement, the Lebanese Phalanges Party, the Lebanese Forces, and the Progressive Socialist Party. For the decade that followed, such divisions have contributed to entrenching gridlock between party leaders. Power struggles and political competition have massively detracted from the state’s ability to carry out reforms and govern on matters at the heart of the economy and essential services (Fakhoury, 2019). Moreover, with the deepening of regional fault lines, the affiliation of the 14 March Coalition with the Saudi–​American axis and 8 March with Iran and the Syrian regime created a highly destabilising political environment (Salloukh, 2013). Policy deadlocks, power vacuums, the stalled elections in 2013 and 2014 (Holmes, 2015) and heightened sectarian strife were some of the manifestations of this polarisation (Hermez, 2017). The section below on political parties’ recent divergence in the context of Syria’s ongoing war provides an insight into such polarities and their consequences. It also shows how understanding Lebanon’s party system and its power configurations cannot be decoupled from an insight into the interest-​based alliances within the sectarian system and the affiliation of parties to outside actors.

Party politics and divergences in the context of Syria’s post-​2011 war In the context of the 2011 Arab Uprisings, Lebanon has remained generally aloof from the regional protests. Yet, the state has been highly vulnerable to the outbreak of the Syrian Civil War which has pitted the Syrian regime against a variety of opposition groups and foreign militias, and which has evolved into a proxy war with multilayered dimensions. As soon as the war began, Lebanon’s political parties rushed to announce their conflicting positions over the Syrian conflict. Throughout Syria’s post-​2011 war, as we hinted above, political parties associated with the 8 March Coalition declared their unwavering support to the Bachar el Assad regime and its regional allies, namely Iran. In contrast, political parties affiliated with the 14 March Alliance hailed Syria’s uprising as an opportunity to overthrow a longstanding authoritarian regime (Fakhoury, 2019). In this context, Lebanon’s political parties that had been harbouring antagonistic domestic and foreign policy views for some time were hopeful that the outcome of the war would help them to consolidate their power and partisan networks. On the one hand, the 14 March parties hoped that the events in Syria would lead to the fall of the Syrian regime and to the erosion of its role in Lebanese affairs (Assi and Worrall, 2015). On the other, the 8 March parties condemned the Syrian war as a foreign-​backed conspiracy. In their view, the defeat of the Syrian regime would entail the loss of a close ally, a political patron, and the weakening of their geopolitical liaison with Iran (International Crisis Group, 2012). Within this setting, Lebanon’s political parties engaged in heated debates over the Government of Lebanon’s position towards the Syrian war, and whether it should distance or ally itself with the Syrian regime. Their wrangling has taken precedence over their role in governance and legislation (The Daily Star, 2018). It has also heightened sectarian hostilities (Darwich and Fakhoury, 2017). As the Arab League suspended Syria’s membership in light of what it described as “merciless crackdowns by the Syrian regime on the mass protests 184

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that took to the streets demanding democracy” (Batty and Shenker, 2011), 8 March parties hurried to denounce the League’s decision (Ayman and Saleh, 2013). In contrast, 14 March parties welcomed the suspension and called on the Lebanese government to cut diplomatic ties with Syria (Asharq Al-​Awsat, 2017). In the wake of intense negotiations, the Government of Lebanon finally adopted a “disassociation policy” –​defined as a neutral and impartial stance towards its neighbour’s turmoil (Salem, 2012). Soon after, it refrained from formal coordination with the Syrian regime. Still, this policy was ineffective on the ground. While almost all political parties took rhetorical stances on Syria’s conflict, Hezbollah openly joined in 2013 the Syrian regime in fighting its opponents (Samir and Alsharif, 2013). Its overt military intervention has cast a pall over Lebanon’s so-​called disassociation policy, making the small state an active stakeholder in Syria’s conflict dynamics (Fakhoury, 2015). As soon as the Syrian regime gained the upper hand in the conflict, 8 March parties started strongly advocating for the restoration of communication channels with the Syrian regime even if a political settlement had not been concluded yet (Jacob, 2019). Hezbollah exerted pressure on the Lebanese government to normalise relations with the Syrian government and hold official discussions on border military cooperation and the return of Syrian refugees (Barrington, 2017). Its position is to be attributed to its close alliance to the Syrian regime and to its firm conviction that the latter is a guarantor of its security and military interests in the Middle East. Similarly, Hezbollah’s ally, Amal Movement –​the other less dominant yet widely influential Shi’a political party  –​advocates reinitiating official direct talks with the Syrian government to coordinate the return of refugees (The Daily Star, 2019a). The party’s close ties with the Syrian regime date back to the 1990s. During this period, the Syrian regime helped the Amal Movement acquire visibility and dominance in Lebanon’s political life and public administration. Another fervent advocate of resuming official talks with the Syrian regime is the Free Patriotic Movement (FPM). The Party joined the pro-​Syrian camp in Lebanon shortly before signing a memorandum of understanding with Hezbollah in 2006. At the time, FPM officials believed that restoring ties with Syria and establishing a solid alliance with the influential and militarily strong Hezbollah was a strategic move towards consolidating their domestic power base. Indeed, this alliance yielded gains to the party especially when its founder General Michel Aoun was elected President of the Republic in 2016 (Bassam and Barrington, 2016). Since then, the FPM, alongside President Aoun, has been lobbying for improving Lebanon’s relationship with Syria and for bridging the gap between Syria and the Arab League (The Daily Star, 2019b). In stark contrast, parties affiliated with the 14 March Alliance have openly objected against the resumption of ties between the Lebanese and Syrian governments. Some of the constituent 14 March parties such as the Druze Progressive Socialist Party, the Sunni Future Movement, and Christian-​based parties Lebanese Forces and the Phalangists have harbored longstanding grievances against the Syrian regime. Since the onset of Syria’s war, some of these actors have been moreover wary of the victory of the Syrian regime and its implications for their status. The Future Movement, which remains largely Sunni-​dominated despite being founded on secular principles, is a case in point. Following the uprising in Syria in 2011, the FM has greatly sympathised with the Syrian Sunni protesters who took to the streets to decry the rule of Assad’s Alawite regime. The party’s opponents later accused it of supporting Syrian opposition forces during the early stages of the war (Chulov and Black, 2012). Though it denied any financial or arms support to the opposition, the Future Movement admitted providing in-​kind donations and humanitarian assistance to some Syrian Sunni communities (National News Agency, 2012). Similarly, longstanding rivalries have characterised the relationship of the Lebanese Phalanges 185

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Party and the Lebanese Forces with the Syrian regime (Momni, 2014; Lebanese Phalanges Party, n.d). During the 1975–​1990 Civil War, both parties have fought against many external and domestic actors including, inter alia, Syrian troops and Syrian-​backed forces. Prominent opponents to the Syrian influence in Lebanon, their supporters struggled hard in the post-​war period to build an anti-​Syrian momentum (Agence France Presse, 2001). Today, among the many alleged reasons that prohibits them from communicating with the Syrian government is the uncertain destiny of their political detainees in Syrian jails (Asharq Al-​Awsat, 2019). Both parties also hold extreme reservations on the summonses issued by the Syrian judicial authorities against key 14 March political leaders for an alleged role in supporting armed groups in Syria (the Daily Star, 2012). The entanglement of Lebanon’s political parties in regional agendas and their divergences over Lebanon’s alliance with the Syrian regime has had various negative consequences on policymaking and governance. In the last decade or so, specialists have flagged the chasm between political parties’ concerns and ordinary citizens’ needs (Corstange, 2018; Fakhoury, 2019). The legislature and the council of ministers, whose composition reflects Lebanon’s fractious and sectarian-​based political parties, have been the key sites for this disconnect. Both institutions have done little to pass legislation and policies at the core of citizens’ concerns such as the provision of basic services including water, infrastructure and electricity (Chehayeb and Sewell, 2019). Before the outbreak of Lebanon’s 2019 October uprising that led to the collapse of the Saad Hariri government, polarisation over geostrategic interests including the extent of coordination with the Syrian regime has resulted in political immobilism (Azar, 2019a). As a result, state institutions have failed to address a looming fiscal deficit and burdensome public debt burdens that have caused by 2019 an unprecedented financial breakdown (Azar, 2019b; Chehayeb and Sewell, 2019). Polarisation has not only hampered the government’s capacity to formulate public policies towards its citizenry. It has to a large extent contributed to Lebanon’s fragmented policy response towards non-​citizens and more precisely towards Syrian refugees. Since 2011, Lebanon has welcomed more than 1 million Syrian refugees (UNHCR, 2019). With the victory of the Syrian regime over more than 80 per cent of its territory, Lebanon’s politicians have started calling for the hasty return of the refugees. In contrast, the international community has consistently underlined that the return of Syrian refugees must happen in the context of a political settlement in Syria to guarantee the safety of the returnees. Lebanese political parties, nevertheless, have had conflicting perceptions over conditions underlying repatriation. Their positions have largely revolved around their geostrategic interests, and the nature of their relationship with the Syrian regime (Fakhoury, 2020a). Anti-​Syrian parties have endorsed possible future return plans through the auspices of the United Nations Agencies following a transition of political power in Syria. Nevertheless, pro-​Syrian parties have called for direct political talks between the governments of Lebanon and Syria to discuss repatriation irrespective of a political settlement. Amid political stalemate, political institutions such as the Council of Ministers have shied away from articulating a nation-​wide refugee plan endorsed by the Government. Instead, ad hoc measures and programs coordinating returns have proliferated. Within this context, international agencies have decried Lebanon’s fragmented and highly erratic refugee response (Fakhoury 2017; Human Rights Watch 2019).

Conclusion As of 17 October 2019, an unprecedented protest movement has engulfed Lebanon. Protesters have been calling for the dismantlement of Lebanon’s sectarian-​ based model of politics 186

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(Chehayeb and Sewell, 2019). One of their demands is the sacking of sectarian-​based political parties that have entrenched immobilism, tensions and geopolitical rivalries. Indeed, protesters have advocated in some of their chants, slogans and communiques forming political parties that have a programmatic agenda articulated around social values, welfare, and state services. As Lebanon has never had such party platforms represented in legislative processes, protesters perceive their emergence as a milestone that could possibly unmake Lebanon’s longstanding politics of sectarianism. The 2019 uprising has however encountered massive challenges. The resilience of sectarian-​ based parties, their entrenchment in Lebanon’s political history and their capacity to co-​opt their followers have contributed to a large extent to derailing the protest path. In the context of the Covid-​19 pandemic and the harrowing financial crash, governing parties have revamped their patronage networks and strategies of rule, branding themselves “as ‘governors’ and ‘saviors’ in times of faltering national solutions” (Fakhoury, 2020b). The Beirut blasts of 4 August 2020 have, however, tolled the bell for their rule. On that day, twin explosions that were due to the storage of 2,700 tons of ammonium nitrate in the Beirut part sent shockwaves across the country and worldwide. The blasts destroyed key districts in historical Beirut and caused about 200 deaths and more than 5,000 injuries. This disaster, reported to be the largest non-​nuclear blast ever recorded (Harb, 2020), has been ascribed to the governing powers’ negligence, years of squabbling, greed, and slack governance. There is consensus that the storing of the ammonium nitrate in the port hangar dates to 2014, and ruling parties had been at various instances informed of its potential disastrous consequences. Against this background, the explosions epitomise the failure of Lebanon’s so-​called power-​sharing party cartels, and herald much grassroots contestation. This chapter has explored the key features of Lebanon’s party system and has provided some illustrative cases of how political parties entrench fragmentation and draw in geopolitical polarities at the heart of its political system. In such a setting, existing parties have shied away from articulating national plans for reforms. Rather they have been embroiled in struggles for predominance and sectarian survival. This fight for predominance also takes place between parties vying for the support of the same religious sect. A case in point is the intra-​communal competition between the Christian-​based Kataeb and the Lebanese Forces parties. What insights does the configuration of Lebanon’s party system convey? In the wake of the so-​called Arab Spring, practitioners and academics have debated whether Lebanon’s model of politics can inspire Arab states struggling to accommodate ethno-​sectarian identities (Fakhoury, 2019). Yet this chapter expands on various scholarly works that have warned against such a line of thought. As we explored, the polarisation of political parties and their clashing affiliations have placed massive constraints on Lebanon’s policymaking processes and on the state governance capacity. At an institutional level, their competitive behaviour has thwarted the capacity of governments to pass legislation and formulate policies at the heart of citizens’ wellbeing. As informal actors, they have perpetuated partisan and client-​patron networks. These networks have constituted key vectors through which the political economy of sectarianism has reproduced itself, leading to the monopoly of Lebanon’s party chiefs over the management of resources and private companies (Salloukh, 2019). In such a setting, privatised and public spaces easily merge, making it quasi-​impossible to draw a line between state and non-​state authority. From this perspective, the Lebanese case suggests that political parties acting as institutions organised along sectarian lines tend to entrench polarisation in government. This makes it particularly challenging for states to improve their governance capacity and become responsive to citizens. At the same time, understanding the behaviour of such political parties cannot be decoupled from a reading that accounts for their behaviour as actors within and outside 187

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political institutions. By politicising sectarian differences and vying for their share in power and resources, such parties reify formal and informal modes of power (re)production that are not easily reversible. It is against such a background that the Lebanese case informs us of the complex challenges associated with unmaking ossified sectarian-​based parties and forming instead secular party systems that serve nation-​wide goals.

Notes 1 Commonly framed as an instance of power-​sharing, consociationalism refers to as a type of governance designed to allow a society marked by ethno-​religious, linguistic or national cleavages to process conflicts and establish a stable democracy. See for instance Lijphart, 1969 and 2004; McRae, 1974. 2 For an account on the politics of sectarianism in Lebanon, see Fakhoury, 2014; Hermez, 2017; Salloukh et al., 2015; Haugbølle, 2010) 3 On the politics of power-​sharing as a tool of accommodation, see for instance Lehmbruch, 1974; Nordlinger, 1972.

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15 DOMINANCE AND DEMOCRATIC BACKSLIDING UNDER AKP RULE IN TURKEY Sebnem Gumuscu

Introduction Turkey is one of the few countries in the region that has a long history of multi-​party politics. The party system, despite occasional interventions from the military, remained, as Sayarı (2018: 10) claims, one of Turkey’s major political institutions since 1946. In the course of seven decades numerous parties emerged, won elections, and declined, leaving their place to new parties. At times it was military interventions or judicial bans that cut the lives of parties short; at others, it was the failure of party leaders to respond to social demands or intra-​party conflicts that led to their demise. Overall, the party system oscillated between two poles: 1) single-​party dominant multi-​partism in the 1950s, 1960s, and 1980s when a party would rise to dominance by uniting the Right, with which the majority of the voters self-​identify and 2) a fragmented parliament in the 1970s and 1990s when numerous parties on the Left and the Right appealed to voters (Sayarı, 2007). In 2002, however, Turkey entered a new period, and the party system in the country has changed drastically with serious consequences for the political system. The AKP (Adalet ve Kalkınma Partisi  –​Justice and Development Party) emerged from within the Islamist tradition and rebranded itself as a conservative democratic party at its inception in 2001. It came to power in 2002 and soon secured political dominance through multiple victories in general and local elections, leading to what Pempel (1990) calls “a cycle of dominance” whereby the party’s electoral hegemony delivered greater power to the incumbent while weakening the already frail opposition. The AKP’s repeated electoral victories and unprecedented dominance, the chapter argues, redefined the Turkish party system, restricted the political space for the opposition, and initiated democratic backsliding (Bermeo, 2016; Waldner and Lust, 2018). As a crucial part of this process, the AKP adopted a two-​pronged strategy. First, it took advantage of its access to public and private resources in a systematic manner, creating an uneven playing field and undermining the opposition, whose odds of winning elections declined. As a result, the cycle of dominance led to democratic backsliding and to the rise of competitive authoritarianism in the country (Esen and Gumuscu, 2016). The party also devised a strategy to divide the opposition, as discussed at length below. First, the AKP distanced its constituency from the main opposition through delegitimisation. Second, the party co-​opted minor parties, which could be potential kingmakers, through political 192

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coalitions. As a result, opposition parties remained weak and divided. Only after Turkey’s transition from parliamentarism to executive presidency in 2018 has the opposition attained greater coordination, as different parties across the political spectrum rallied around parliamentary politics and the re-​democratisation of the system. This chapter provides a brief historical background to Turkish parties and continues with an analysis of the AKP’s dominance and its influence on the party system, other political parties, and democratic rule in the country. It concludes with a brief discussion on the AKP’s future trajectory.

Multi-​party politics in Turkey The modern Turkish state has risen in the heartland of the Ottoman empire as a secular republic based on Turkish nationalism. The republican elite of primarily military and bureaucratic background rallied around Mustafa Kemal Ataturk to establish the CHP (Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi  –​Republican People’s Party) and initiate state and nation building reforms in a top-​down fashion. Mustafa Kemal, elected the first president of the young republic, encouraged multi-​party politics during his tenure (1923–​1938). However, the two parties established as the new opposition became centres of anti-​secular and anti-​republican activism, and they were both shut down. The CHP’s uninterrupted single-​party rule hence continued well into the late 1940s, surviving its founder’s death in 1938 and the turbulent years of the Second World War. However, by the end of the war, the CHP government had weakened. Several prominent figures from the rank of the CHP seceded to establish the DP (Demokrat Parti–​Democrat Party) in 1946 (Karpat, 1959). The transition to multi-​party politics occurred in 1946, and in the first free and fair elections of the republic in 1950, the DP ended the CHP’s single-​party rule. The challenger positioned itself on the centre-​Right with a more liberal economic program, and it relaxed some of the hard-​line secularist policies of the single-​party era. Thanks to its popularity among the conservative masses and rural classes, the DP quickly became a dominant party and won successive elections in 1954 and again in 1957. In their third term, however, the DP leaders began to use their position in power to undermine electoral competition and to tilt the playing field in their favour. Both the main opposition CHP and smaller parties established since 1950 had to compete under unfair circumstances. For instance, the ruling party passed several laws that restricted the opposition access to the public radio, which was a government monopoly on broadcasting at the time, repealed the immunity of the opposition deputies, and restricted political parties’ right to hold rallies. In those rallies they rarely permitted the opposition leaders to reach out to their supporters, who were physically harassed in frequent fashion. More importantly, the government established a committee (Tahkikat Komisyonu) composed entirely of the ruling party members in 1960 to investigate the “subversive” activities of the opposition (Demirel, 2011; Turan, 2017). It was a military intervention in May 1960 –​the first of a series of coups –​that prevented the DP to establish an authoritarian single-​party rule. The fact that DP’s rule did not end by popular vote but by a military intervention triggered a new fault line in Turkish politics. The right-​wing parties  –​DP’s successors  –​would frame this as a duality between the state (i.e. the military and judiciary) and the people’s will. For them, their parties represented the Turkish people, while the military, the judiciary, and the CHP, represented the state. This “cultural bifurcation,” the duality of state-​society, remained one of the central themes that informs current right-​wing political discourse (Turan, 2017). The AKP, as discussed below, joined the array of such parties which claimed to represent the society. 193

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In 1961 Turkey returned to multi-​party politics under a new constitution. The new era proved to be more liberal and competitive compared to the 1950s and witnessed the rise of radical movements and parties on both sides of the political spectrum. The Workers Party of Turkey on the Left and the Nationalist Action Party and Islamist National Order Party on the Right1 led to polarisation and conflict in the 1970s. The DP’s descendant, centre-​Right AP (Adalet Partisi –​Justice Party), and the CHP, which now self-​identified as centre-​Left, partook in this polarisation and pulled the political centre in opposite directions. The ideological conflict turned increasingly violent by the end of the 1970s and created a pretext for another military intervention. In 1980, the Turkish military banned all political parties and trade unions, arrested political leaders, and prosecuted hundreds of activists in military trials. Once again, the armed forces redesigned the country’s political landscape with a new draconian constitution and severely restricted political life. The aim was to stabilise the political system with powerful mainstream parties and to eliminate radical parties from the political scene. Soon after these modifications, Turkey made another transition to civilian rule in 1983. The ban on the former parties invited new political actors to the political arena. The centre-​ Right ANAP (Anavatan Partisi –​Motherland Party) filled the void left by the AP and enjoyed single-​party governance for two terms from 1983 to 1991. When the political ban on former political leaders was lifted in the 1987 referendum, the party system in the country fragmented once again. The centre-​Right that had made a strong showing in the 1980s fragmented and descended into rivalry in the 1990s. The centre-​Left also re-​emerged fragmented, as it tried to recover from military repression. Radical parties on the Right, nationalists and Islamists, resurfaced as well and posed a greater challenge to the centre-​ Right compared to the 1970s. The radical Left disappeared following the repression of the 1980 intervention, and was partly replaced by the ethno-​nationalist Kurdish political movement, which launched an insurgency, inspired by Marxist-​Leninist and Kurdish nationalist ideologies, in 1984.

The turbulent years of the 1990s and the origins of the AKP It is hard to fathom the rise of the AKP as an unprecedented dominant actor without understanding the 1990s, during which the republican regime faced two challenges: Islamism and Kurdish separatism. Both of these threats challenged the most fundamental characteristics of the republic: its secular nature, territorial integrity, and nationalist underpinnings. Much like the 1970s, the party system in the 1990s was deeply fragmented (Sayarı, 2007). Unlike the 1970s, however, none of the centre parties managed to unify and consolidate their constituency. This led to fragmentation in parliament and high levels of voter volatility, eventually producing coalition governments with short tenures. As a result, party leaders failed to address the deep structural problems of the country, namely security, the economy, urbanisation, and internal migration. The Islamist RP (Refah Partisi–​Welfare Party) managed to take advantage of this general political instability, ineffectiveness of coalition governments, and popular discontent (Eligür, 2010; Gülalp, 1999). Islamists worked their way up to national power from local governments, which, following their early electoral victories in the 1989 local elections, provided services to the urban poor hitherto unmet by the national government. Finally, massive migration to urban areas required the integration of newcomers to city life, yet neither the government nor labour unions could facilitate this integration. Islamist networks filled the void and welcomed the newcomers in addition to meeting their social and material needs at the local level (Tuğal, 2002; White, 2011). 194

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In the 1994 local elections, the RP candidate, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, won the mayoral race in Istanbul –​the largest city and the economic powerhouse of the country. The fragmentation of the centre-​Right and centre-​Left facilitated this unexpected victory. Erdoğan received only 25 per cent of the votes in the country’s largest city, yet this limited support sufficed, since the total vote for the centre-​Right (38 per cent) and centre-​Left (34 per cent) were divided among multiple candidates. A year after its triumph in mayoral races, the RP captured a plurality of the seats in the parliament. When coalition talks among the centre-​Right parties failed and the RP moved to form a government with the AP’s descendant, the DYP (Doğru Yol Partisi –​ True Path Party). The Islamists’ electoral successes triggered a backlash from the military and the judiciary, the self-​appointed guardians of the secular republic. In February 1997 the National Security Council imposed a set of policy constraints on the Prime Minister Necmettin Erbakan. In this indirect intervention, the military dictated an action plan on the elected government to eradicate the sources of Islamist activism in the country. Erbakan would have to shut down religious vocational schools and strictly enforce the headscarf ban on college campuses. Stuck between a rock and a hard place, Erbakan resigned in the summer of 1997. Subsequently, the Constitutional Court shut the RP down for violating the secular principles of the constitution. Its successor, the FP (Fazilet Partisi –​Virtue Party), suffered the same fate in 2000. This pressure from the secular establishment (the military and the judiciary) deepened the schism within the Islamist movement and culminated in a split in 2001 (Atacan, 2007). The moderate wing formed the AKP, whereas the old guard established the SP (Saadet Partisi –​ Felicity Party). As Islamists went through this repression, Turkish politics proved ever more unstable. Between 1995 and 2002 eight coalition governments were formed, all quite weak and unable to deal with the mounting economic and political problems of the country. Such issues culminated in one of the most severe economic crises in Turkish history in 2001. The coalition government in power at the time took austerity measures and implemented a series of structural reforms. The crisis and the government’s policies alienated many citizens and rang the death knell of the centre-​Right and centre-​Left parties in parliament. The AKP benefitted from this disillusionment more than any other party. The AKP positioned itself at the intersection of the centre-​Right and Islamist tradition. On the one hand the party claimed the DP’s legacy and portrayed itself as the true representative of the people. On the other hand, the party inherited the Islamist cadres and its grassroots organisation from the RP as well as its reputation for good municipal governance. The party’s ability to unite the centre-​Right tradition (at least in part) with the Islamist constituencies would underpin its predominance in the years to come (Gumuscu, 2013).

AKP’s rise to dominance The 2002 elections that brought the AKP to power proved to be a tsunami in Turkish politics (Özel, 2003). None of the parties that won seats in the 1999 elections2 could pass the electoral threshold in 2002. The electoral volatility was unprecedented, since half of the electorate changed parties in this election. The new parliament had only two parties, the AKP and the CHP, leading to a two-​party parliament, after a decade of parliamentary fragmentation. The AKP won five more consecutive elections at the time of writing after its first electoral victory in 2002 and quickly established its dominance.3 The high electoral threshold in general elections (10 per cent) partly contributed to this outcome, keeping several minor parties out of parliament, and giving a comfortable majority to the AKP. However, the electoral design is not 195

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why and how the AKP established its dominance (Gumuscu, 2013). As Ayan Musil (2015) finds in her comparative study of the Democrat Party of the 1950s and the AKP in the 2000s, social cleavages and institutions facilitate the rise of a dominant party, but economic performance determines its fate. Indeed, as Çarkoğlu (2008) shows, economic factors –​macroeconomic stability after years of turbulence, increasing employment, and decreasing poverty under the AKP rule –​underpinned its dominance. Sartori (2005:  173) defines a dominant party as a party that outdistances its independent antagonists and manages to win, over time, an absolute majority of seats in parliament. As Pempel details (1990: 4), a dominant party dominates the electorate, other political parties, the formation of governments, and the public policy agenda. Conforming with these criteria, the AKP has electorally dominated the opposition, controlled the executive office, and set the public policy agenda. First and foremost, the AKP has commanded clear support among the electorate in all elections for the past 17 years. In five general elections since 2002, the party captured a plurality of the votes and led the main opposition by double digits (Çarkoğlu, 2011). Moreover, the party dominated all four local elections held since 2004 (with the partial exception of 2019 local elections). Finally, the three referenda organised by the AKP government to redesign the political system in the country passed with clear majorities. When it comes to the formation of governments, the AKP’s recurring majority in the parliament has enabled it to establish single party governments, a rare occurrence in the fragmented legislature of the 1990s (Sayarı, 2007). The only exception proved to be the June 2015 elections, when the AKP gained a plurality of the seats but was still short of a majority. For this reason, Erdoğan pushed for snap elections instead of establishing a coalition government. In only five months, the party regained five million votes and recaptured the majority of the seats in parliament (Sayarı, 2016) in November of the same year. Thanks to successive majority governments, the AKP left a major imprint on the public policy agenda by changing the education system, reorienting Turkish foreign policy, and redesigning the political system as well as the bureaucracy, as we will discuss below. No other political party in modern Turkish history amassed so much political power, qualifying AKP’s dominance as unprecedented and exceptional. What are the effects of this dominance on the political system and on other parties in the country? It is to this question I now turn.

The opposition under AKP’s dominance The rise of a dominant party also shapes the opposition in a fundamental fashion. Echoing Pempel’s cycle of dominance, Greene (2010: 155) argues that “dominant parties win despite genuine electoral competition because the incumbent’s resource advantages and the costs it imposes on challengers make elections substantially unfair.” Hence, these costs, according to Greene, along with uneven resource distribution produce small, fragmented, niche/​ideological parties making specialised appeals to voters. As a result, a dominant party “alters the type of challenger parties that emerge and gives voters –​even the most dissatisfied voters –​options that they typically find unappealing… .shows how dominant parties bias competition before the elections day, typically without persistent outcome-​changing electoral fraud” (Greene, 2010: 156). Along Greene’s expectations, the AKP’s cycle of dominance restructured the party system while reinforcing some of the existing features of Turkish politics. More specifically, its dominance inhibited the re-​emergence of centre-​Right parties, which were defeated in the 2002 elections, while pushing the existing opposition ınto niche and ideological positions. In 2007 the Turkish nationalist MHP returned to parliament, while the pro-​Kurdish party won several 196

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seats as independents (they would pass the electoral threshold as a party in June 2015 for the first time). These four political forces would characterise the dominant party system in the years to come. The CHP, the main opposition party, remained the bastion of s​ecular constituencies, meanwhile the pro-​Kurdish parties represented the far Left, and the nationalist MHP represented the far Right. While the CHP’s electoral support hovered around 20 to 25 per cent, the Kurdish parties often found it difficult to surpass the electoral threshold until June 2015, and the nationalists’ support wavered around 15 per cent (Kemahlıoğlu, 2015). As Gumuscu (2013) argues, in all of these electoral contests, the AKP displayed a powerful presence across the entire country. Other parties, however, have become regional (Esen and Ciddi, 2011). For instance, the CHP gathers most of its support from western Turkey while the MHP receives its support primarily from central Anatolia and parts of the southern coast. Neither of the parties have an important presence in eastern and south-​eastern Turkey where the pro-​Kurdish parties receive substantial support. The AKP, in contrast, has competed with all three parties and received votes from all provinces in Turkey. Unlike the opposition, it has appealed to wide constituencies in urban and rural areas, Turkish and Kurdish regions, as well as conservative and liberal circles. Despite being the main opposition in Turkish politics since 2002, the secular CHP has performed as a regional party like other fringe parties. Although the AKP’s dominance kept the CHP as a weak challenger, the party had already been a frail contender at the time the AKP ascended to power, as it was unable to appeal to wider constituencies and was riddled with intra-​party conflicts. The party, between 2002 and 2010, adopted an ultra-​secularist and ultra-​ nationalist platform which failed to represent a diverse array of voter demands and instead relied on veto players such as the military and the judiciary (Ciddi, 2008; Ecevit and Celep, 2018). Hence, as Ciddi (2008) asserts, the main opposition was not a credible governing alternative to the AKP. Furthermore, in contrast to “the well-​oiled machine of the governing party, the CHP local officials did a much poorer job in recruiting volunteers and putting them in contact with voters, conducting get-​out-​the-​vote campaigns, and having a presence at voting booths during the election” (Ciddi and Esen, 2014: 425). When a leadership change occurred in 2010, the CHP came to adopt a more centrist and pragmatic position on a number of issues, including the place of secularism and religious identity in society and rebranded itself as a social democratic force. Ecevit and Celep (2018, 203) argue that the new party’s pragmatic positions held greater room for manoeuvre regarding the Kurdish movement and more democratic intra-​party operations. However, the AKP had already established its dominance by then and the structural features of the party’s cycle of dominance along with its political strategies –​delegitimisation and co-​optation –​limited the impact of the CHP’s transformation on Turkish politics. As Levite and Tarrow (1983: 295) suggest, dominant parties may co-​opt, tolerate, or delegitimise opposition parties. The aim of delegitimisation, according to Pempel (1990: 346), is to render it unreasonable for social groups to vote for the opposition by communicating to them that only the incumbent party can govern effectively and represent certain norms crucial to voters. Along these lines, the AKP has chosen to co-​opt smaller right-​wing parties, while delegitimising those it would or could not co-​opt for ideological or other political reasons. The AKP has indeed built a very strong discourse to delegitimise the main opposition and construct a political “other” out of the CHP through Islamic and democratic identifiers (Gumuscu, 2013). The AKP branded itself as the only democratic force in the country and labelled the main opposition anti-​democratic and dismissive of the preferences of the people (Çınar and Sayın, 2014; Turan, 2017).4 For instance, the AKP leaders made frequent references to the single-​party regime under CHP rule (1923–​1946) to discredit the 197

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current CHP as a descendant of an authoritarian and elitist political tradition that is ultimately repressive and dismissive of the values of Turkish people.5 The party also reinforced the existing cleavages, namely the Islamist-​secular and Sunni-​Alevi6 identities. The Islamic, conservative identity of the AKP hence constituted another point of attack against the CHP, which the AKP portrayed as anti-​Islamic, disrespectful of Islamic norms, or at best ignorant of its practices. Likewise, Erdoğan leveraged the Sunni-​Alevi cleavage in Turkish society by making frequent references to the Alevi origins of CHP’s new leader to discredit the opposition and thus increase the political distance between conservative Sunnis and the secular CHP.7 The AKP also kept the remainder of the opposition divided and weak through co-​optation and coercion. The party co-​opted several smaller parties successfully. The AKP devoured two minor right-​wing parties, which were highly critical of government corruption in the 2000s, the Democrat Party and the Has Party in 2012 (Milliyet, 2012a, 2012b). Their chairmen joined the cabinet soon after their merger with the AKP and have held prominent positions within the party and the cabinets since then. Despite this success for the AKP, its more recent efforts to co-​ opt the Islamist Felicity Party (FP) failed; when the party allied with the rest of the opposition the government switched to delegitimization and financial pressure to keep the FP in check (Karar, 2019). The government also alternated between Kurdish and Turkish nationalists for political alliances. These kingmaker parties, the ultra-​nationalists in particular played critical roles in passing constitutional reforms,8 as their support allowed the AKP to transform the political system in a series of referenda, first in 2010 to redesign the judicial system and then again in 2017 to replace the parliamentary system with an executive presidential system with weak checks and balances (Esen and Gumuscu, 2018). In 2015, after months of flirting with the Kurdish movement, the AKP formed a ruling coalition with Turkish nationalists. The aim was to garner enough support to shift to a presidential system. As the AKP turned to authoritarian measures after 2013, the Kurdish movement also re-​articulated its position and appealed to broader segments in the Turkish society. The Kurdish movement’s half-​hearted support for the AKP and its growing discontent within the movement towards authoritarianism and government’s hostile attitude towards Syrian Kurds amidst the civil war in Syria pushed Erdoğan to seek an alliance with the Turkish nationalists instead. In 2018, the AKP and the ultra-nationalist MHP formed the People’s Alliance, informed by conservative nationalism, with the aim of monopolising and consolidating the Turkish Right. The early signs of an alliance triggered a split among the nationalists in 2017 and yielded the ruling coalition a narrower electoral majority than intended. Regardless, this narrow majority allowed the government both to replace the parliamentary system with executive presidency in 2017 and to win the presidential elections in 2018. Upon its alliance with Turkish nationalists, the AKP cracked down on the Kurdish movement, signalling a return to the repressive measures of the 1990s. The chairmen of the pro-​Kurdish party have been imprisoned along with several prominent members of the parliament since 2016, the party’s capacity to mobilise had been curtailed with mounting pressure on its activists, and their successes in the last two local elections have been reversed by the interior ministry, which charged elected mayors with terrorism. As these developments prove, AKP’s dominance and alliances with different political parties had a significant impact on other actors as well as the political regime. It is to these effects now I turn.

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Effects of the AKP’s dominance on democracy What are the effects of AKP’s dominance on democratic rule in Turkey? Several studies of political dominance find dominant parties and democracy to be incompatible for a myriad of reasons. While Przeworski et al (2000) interpret the lack of alternation in government as a sign of democratic shortcoming, Panebianco suggests that dominant parties undermine choice and thus affect the free and fair nature of elections since “long-​term rule by a single party gives a party the opportunity to shape its own following using state resources” and generates pressure for “social groups, even those initially hostile to the party, to accommodate to its seemingly unshakable control” (1988: 4). Similarly, Schedler (2002: 97–​98) points out the possibility of erosion in electoral fairness as voters’ choices are undermined and alternative sources of information are weakened because the party uses its privileged access to state resources and to the mass media in ways that violate minimum standards of equal opportunity. For Greene (2010: 159), “hyper-​incumbency advantage” skews the playing field in their favour and make even genuine elections substantially unfair. For O’Donnell, a fusion of the party and state bureaucracy under dominant party rule leads to the loss of horizontal accountability. In short, as Bogaards (2005: 33) neatly summarises, “the dimensions of democracy that [are] most vulnerable to one-​party dominance are the electoral process, political rights, and the separations of powers.” In line with these expectations, the AKP’s unprecedented power as well as its strategies towards the opposition generated significant repercussions for democratic rule in the country. The AKP tilted the playing field in its favour through politicized state institutions and through uneven access to media and private and public resources. This in turn rendered elections unfair. Not surprisingly, these effects stemmed from the fusion of the state and the party, as Çarkoğlu (2011) warned in 2011. In fact, the AKP’s dominance has generated deeply politicised state institutions,9 which played a key role in election campaigns and supervision. More specifically, provincial governors (an unelected position in the Turkish context) distributed goods to voters on behalf of the AKP government, campaigned for it informally and promoted the ruling party during official functions, while the government mobilised state employees for its electoral campaigns and to undermine the opposition’s efforts (Esen and Gumuscu, 2016). The party also benefitted financially from prolonged incumbency. As the OSCE (Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe, 2015) observation reports document, Erdoğan’s campaign appearances were financed by public funds since he combined his rallies with official public events where he appeared as the president in a public ceremony of a function. The fusion of the party and the state also reinforced the AKP’s control over both the public and private media. In particular, the state-​owned Turkish Radio and Television (TRT) station has been a bastion of government propaganda. The party also leveraged state authority to subdue independent media. This pressure came as a result of the AKP’s dominance and its extensive control over the executive and legislative branches and the state bureaucracy. Echoing Panebianco (1988), using its access to state resources, the party has rewarded its supporters and punished or isolated its enemies, a trend we clearly observe in how the AKP has used its power to manufacture a government-​friendly media by punishing media companies critical of the AKP government. AKP’s cronies were encouraged to invest in pro-​government media in return for favourable contracts and privileges, while media outlets which preferred to remain politically neutral were harassed with frequent tax audits and fines (Esen and Gumuscu, 2018). AKP pressure on the press has created an exceedingly government-​friendly media

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environment, ultimately eroding the freedom of expression as well as silencing alternative sources of information. As a result, the opposition parties remained weak and their odds of winning elections remained slim thanks to the uneven playing field the AKP’s dominance created. The only space where they could find greater political space proved to be their strongholds, hence reinforcing their regional character. The AKP’s control over the state mechanism also undermined horizontal accountability. Several independent agencies, including the central bank, lost their autonomy over the years as the government subdued them through legal arrangements. More worrisome has been the constitutional referendum of 2010 that redesigned the judicial system to make it subservient to the executive authority (Özbudun, 2015). Thanks to these changes, the AKP packed the Constitutional Court, the Court of Appeals, the Council of State, the Supreme Council of Judges and Public Prosecutors, and the Higher Board of Elections with sympathetic judges.10 Such developments ended in sustained democratic backsliding in the country, which culminated in democratic collapse. As Diamond (2015) contends, it is hard to pinpoint a date when democratic collapse comes at the hands of freely elected executives. Although scholars may disagree when exactly Turkish democracy died, most of them concur that Turkey is now a competitive authoritarian regime (Esen and Gumuscu, 2016; Sayarı, 2016; Somer, 2016; Özbudun, 2015). The rise of the AKP and its dominance transformed the Turkish party system and the regime in fundamental ways. The power of the military and judiciary has subsided, multi-​party politics lost its free and fair character, presidentialism ended the century-​old Turkish parliamentarism, and Islamic-​nationalism has replaced secular-​nationalism as the state ideology. Such changes echoed Pempel’s (1990: 352) conclusions that one-​party dominance by its very persistence over time permits the recreation of the political regime…shape[s]‌a nation’s politics through public policy choices and [moves] the country along a trajectory different from that which might have occurred had its opponents been in power. In other words, the AKP has built a new Turkey that is quite different from the Turkey that existed before 2002.

Wither the AKP? How sustainable is AKP’s dominance? The party’s authoritarian measures suggest that it would be hard for the opposition to defeat it at the polls. Yet, recent political developments also display the party’s fragility. Interestingly enough, the AKP’s shift towards the right and its increasing authoritarianism along with the transition to presidentialism has had mixed effects on Turkish politics. The end of the parliamentary system and AKP’s repressive measures induced a pro-​democratic coalition among the opposition, which had remained sharply divided until 2017. Since then, the challengers of the AKP range from Kurdish nationalists on the far Left, to secular social democrats on the centre-​Left, centrist nationalists, and Islamists on the far-​Right. Although one would presume it would be quite improbable for such diverse parties to join their forces against the AKP, its increasing authoritarianism prompted these parties to rally behind democracy, parliamentarism, and anti-​corruption.

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More importantly, the new electoral law passed in 2018 allowed for electoral alliances, hence facilitating increasing collaboration among ideologically diverse opposition parties (Esen and Gumuscu, 2019). The CHP’s leadership, with its focus on centrism and pragmatism, has taken advantage of such developments and has attempted to build cross-​ideological coalitions against the AKP. These alliances produced more centrist candidates in the most recent local elections and filled the void left by the AKP’s shift further Right. In formal and informal electoral alliances, opposition parties supported each other’s candidates in different parts of the country. For instance, the pro-​Kurdish party did not run in the mayoral races in the western cities and chose to support the CHP, whereas the CHP did not field candidates where other opposition parties were stronger. Although, this strategy risked reinforcing the regional character of the opposition parties, it nevertheless allowed for the unification of opposition votes against the AKP-​MHP alliance. As a result, they ended AKP’s the local dominance in the largest Turkish cities in the 2019 mayoral elections (Esen and Gumuscu, 2019). The AKP’s first significant defeat at the ballot box since 2002 has its roots in the on-​going economic hardships in the country. The Turkish economy entered a recession in 2018 with increasing inflation and unemployment. Macroeconomic stability and economic growth, which underpinned AKP’s dominance, have withered, increasing political uncertainty. It is difficult to say at the time of writing whether such electoral victories at the local level can yield wins for the opposition in presidential or legislative elections. If the fate of a dominant party rests on economic performance, as Ayan Musil (2015) suggests, then it would be safe to expect AKP’s dominance to erode unless it can successfully reverse the country’s economic fortunes. All these political and economic developments triggered another key development that may threaten the AKP’s power:  several prominent figures within the party, including the former prime minister Ahmet Davutoğlu and former minister Ali Babacan along with their supporters, resigned in 2019 to establish splinter parties, most likely to be positioned in the centre Right. As Bogaards and Boucek (2010) claim, intra-​party competition is a critical dimension of dominance that must be integrated into any theory seeking to explain why dominant parties emerge, stabilise, decline, and lose office. Turkish political parties are no exception. Traditionally, party organisations in the country are highly oligarchic structures (Sayarı, 2002), and party splits have formed the main path towards political change in the country. In fact, transition to multi-​ party politics occurred when a faction within the CHP split to form a new political organisation, as discussed above. Likewise, the founders of the AKP broke away from the Islamist movement under a hierarchical and oligarchic leadership in 2001. Recently, Erdoğan’s growing authoritarianism within and outside the party has fuelled discontent and triggered another split. It is yet to be seen if this split will weaken the AKP and end its dominance, as Bogaards and Boucek suggest for dominant parties. It is also uncertain whether the AKP will utilise its control over the state mechanism to further tilt the playing field against the opposition to preclude an unfavourable electoral outcome in the future. Early signs suggest that splinter parties established by former AKP leaders, in particular, will face an uphill battle and would make re-​ democratisation harder than many foresee.

Conclusion Multi-​party politics is a major feature of modern Turkish politics. Unlike many other countries in the Middle East and North Africa, Turkish citizens organised political parties and enjoyed contestation for decades. This contestation proved largely inclusive and fair, occasional

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military interventions notwithstanding, until the AKP’s rise to power in 2002. The party quickly established its dominance via successive electoral victories and took the country in a new direction. AKP’s dominance reshaped Turkey’s political regime in fundamental ways. The party system was completely overhauled by wiping the former centre-​Right parties out of politics, while the remaining opposition emerged weak and divided. The AKP’s deliberate strategies such as delegitimisation and co-​optation played a crucial role in this outcome, as did the fusion of the party and the state. This fusion tilted the playing field in favour of the incumbent and suffocated the opposition’s political space pushing it further into regional existence. The party’s control over the media and state institutions contributed to its cycle of dominance and perpetuated its rule. As a result, Turkish political regime lost its democratic qualities and turned into a competitive authoritarian regime. Recent developments however proved the resilience of both the opposition parties and the Turkish people before AKP’s increasingly authoritarian practices. Despite unfair elections, neither the political parties, nor the electorate abandoned electoral politics. The opposition and the splinter parties of the AKP rally around democracy and parliamentarism. Although the immediate impact of such developments remains uncertain, the party system, as Sayarı suggests, has been one of the strongest institutions in the country after all.

Notes 1 Islamist parties in Turkey and elsewhere have traditionally defined their movements as an alternative to both capitalism and socialism until the end of the Cold War. In Turkey these parties self-​positioned in the right of the political spectrum due to their distance to what they deemed to be ‘atheistic’ left-​ wing movements. This, however, was mostly a socio-​cultural positioning since many of their policies prioritized social policies and welfare much like the left-​wing parties. 2 These parties were centre-​r ight ANAP and DYP, ultra-​nationalist Nationalist Action Party, centre-​Left Democratic Left Party, and Islamist Virtue Party. The Virtue Party was divided into Felicity and Justice and Development Parties after the Constitutional Court shut down the Virtue. 3 Applying Sartori’s definition, AKP’s dominance starts with 2007 national elections when the party received 47 per cent of the votes and established its control over the parliament, cabinet, presidency, and the local governments. 4 For instance see Erdogan’s various speeches in the municipal election campaign in 2009 and his speech in Isparta on June 2, 2011. 5 See for instance Erdogan’s various speeches in 2009 municipal election campaign 6 Alevis are an offshoot of Shi’a Islam and quite distinct from Syrian Alawites in their religious practices. 7 For a discussion of Erdogan’s discourse on the Alevi identity of his main opponent see Ergin (2011). 8 To pass a constitutional amendment the party either had to control two thirds of the seats in the parliament or bring the amendments to a referendum for simple majority. The AKP by itself lacked both, so it needed to form an alliance with smaller parties. 9 This section is partly based on Esen and Gumuscu (2016). 10 The purge of the Kemalist establishment succeeded thanks to the convenience of marriage between the AKP and the Gulen movement after 2007. The government allowed the members of the Gulen movement to infiltrate the higher echelons of the state bureaucracy, including the judiciary, police forces, and the education system. Using their power over the police and the judicial branch, the two allies managed to purge several Kemalist officers from the Turkish armed forces after 2009 in a series of politicized trials accompanied by negative media campaign. Once the two partners succeeded in capturing the state, they initiated a struggle of power. This power struggle escalated over the years with successive moves and counter moves on both sides and culminated in a failed coup when the Gulenists in the Turkish armed forces attempted to overthrow the Erdogan government in July 2016 (Gumuscu 2016). Divisions within the military, Erdogan’s popularity and control over the state, and the opposition parties’ united stance against the coup led to its failure (Esen and Gumuscu, 2017).

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16 “CONVENTIO AD EXCLUDENDUM” Palestinian parties in Israel Isaías Barreñada Introduction Since the 1990s, the Palestinian population in Israel has become increasingly prominent, not only domestically, but also regionally and internationally. While its existence was a matter of common knowledge, the research focus on it was peripheral to both the Palestinian question and to Israeli politics. However, the political and social dynamics of the Palestinian minority, the failure of the Oslo peace process, and the conservative, nationalist drift in Israel have all drawn particular attention to this group over the last three decades. The analysis of Arab/​Palestinian political parties in Israel is usually included in the group of countries with a competitive democratic framework. However, this categorisation can be problematic, because Israel is not a conventional democracy. After seven decades of existence, the Israel still possesses a wealth of anomalies. Since its original conception, the aim of political Zionism has been to establish a state for the Jewish nation that would be accepted and participate in the concert of nations like the other nation-​states. Its colonial origins though produced a unique state, whose legitimacy has always been challenged and was, in the end, rejected by the majority of its neighbours. Indeed, the question of international normalisation is still unresolved. The country’s domestic situation is equally anomalous; while Israel set itself up as a liberal democracy, its ethno-​national origins, its practices of segregation and discrimination, and the permanent unrest have turned the supposed ‘only democracy in the Middle East’ into an ethnic democracy. Israel has a democratic regime for the Jewish population that does not apply in toto to the non-​Jewish population, which is an obvious contradiction because there cannot be a selective democracy for part of the population. Moreover, for the last two decades, the Israeli political system has been in a state of tumult. Since the early 2000s, the traditional large parties have been losing influence, its national legislature –​the Knesset –​has become increasingly fragmented, and the volatility of government coalitions has intensified. In this context, Arab political parties have emerged on the parliamentary scene, becoming the third-​largest political group. However, instead of resulting in their normalisation, this success has exacerbated tensions between the Zionist parties and the Arab minority, reinforcing the determination to exclude Arab parties from any political agreement or coalition with Zionist parties, revealing the limits of the Israeli democratic system. The result is a Middle Eastern version of the ‘conventio ad excludendum’ (‘agreement to exclude’), 205

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a Latin formula that designates an explicit or tacit agreement made between some political parties, social forces, and economic interests to exclude a specific third party from government alliances, participation, or collaboration. The term was originally coined to describe the efforts made to keep the Communist Party from joining the post-​World War II Italian national government despite its electoral strength. Palestinians with Israeli citizenship are the main non-​Jewish community in Israel. They are the descendants of the indigenous Arab population before the creation of the State of Israel who, due to different circumstances, were not expelled during the ethnic cleansing of 1948–​1949. At the end of the conflict, some 158,000 Arabs were still living in the State of Israel, 15 per cent of the population of the recently established country. The Declaration of the Establishment of the State of Israel, approved in May 1948, guaranteed civil, political, and cultural rights to this non-​ Jewish population. Consequently, they became Israeli citizens and, as such, were integrated into the political life of the country, with the possibility of organising, participating in elections, and entering elected institutions. According to official Israeli statistics, at the end of 2018, the Arab population was estimated at 1,878,400, representing 20.9 per cent of the country’s population (CBS 2019). However, this minority has always been a foreign body in Israel despite enjoying full citizenship rights because it does not share its foundational ethos and is generally not recognised in the national project. This group is the remnant of a pre-​existing Palestinian Arab reality and a permanent reminder of how the state was established, through colonialism, ethnic cleansing, and dispossession. Moreover, for many in Israel this group has always been an extension of the Arab enemy at home, a potential fifth column. For that reason, the Arab population, which is currently segregated into more than 100 Arab towns and Arab neighbourhoods in a dozen mixed cities, was first subjected to an emergency regime (the military government) between 1949 and 1966, which allowed the authorities to establish a system of control using surveillance, co-​optation, and division. During this period, the foundations were laid for a reality that continues today: a security first approach to the minority and a subaltern, discriminating status that corresponds to second-​class citizenship. In a country that has boasted of having given birth to a new Israeli Jewish society –​the melting pot of numerous cultures and diaspora identities –​the Palestinians are the main non-​ Jewish ethnic minority and, therefore, do not share in this new society. They are the indigenous people in a colonial state that has perpetuated exclusionary practices and treats the original population differently. This dimension of the Israeli-​Palestinian question has been the focus of attention from early on, but in the 1990s, the number of studies increased and began to focus on a variety of facets of the Palestinian reality in Israel. Particularly important in this body of work are political science studies (Ghanem 2001, Jamal 2011, Neuberger 1998, Rekhess 1998, Rouhana 1997, White 2011, Zeedan 2019). This interest is related to one inescapable reality: the particular political participation of a subaltern national minority in a formally democratic system. Broadly speaking, the characteristics of Israel’s political system have both facilitated and constrained the development of the party structures. A  series of developments have shaped the parties’ policy frameworks. First is the freedom to create political organisations. Under the post-​1948 military control, Arabs could not create really autonomous national or ethnic organisations. Mapai –​the hegemonic social democratic –​generally oversaw Arab lists for the elections. Another option available to Arab militants and voters was to partner with a ‘refuge party’ like the communists or vote for Jewish lists. In the 1980s, increasingly autonomous organisations began to appear and a decade later, the three main groups in the Arab political arena took shape. In short, there is today freedom of political organisation, as long as the 206

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legal framework is respected, namely the use of the peaceful means and, more controversially, recognition of the Jewish state. Second is the possibility of competing in electoral processes. Both locally and nationally, Arab parties are guaranteed the right to participate in open, competitive elections. However, some extreme-​Right Jewish political parties have made repeated attempts to exclude them. Third is the electoral system for parliamentary representation. Israel has pure proportional representation in a single constituency, which facilitates the parliamentary representation of small groups, but also encourages considerable fragmentation. The system, which was designed to foster inclusion and the participation of the different Jewish actors in the process of state-​building, has also benefited the Arabs, who have always enjoyed e parliamentary representation. However, over time, the system has produced high fragmentation with quite volatile coalitions and chronically unstable governments that often do not finish the parliamentary term. Over the years, mitigation mechanisms have been introduced, such as the adoption of a minimum threshold –​3.25 per cent (since 2014) –​that reduces the possibility of parliamentary representation despite its proportionality. This threshold affects in particular parties with a restricted electoral and social base and forces the establishment of pre-​electoral alliances and joint lists. This is especially true for the Palestinian parties. In such a proportional system, the Palestinian community, which comprises around 14 per cent of the electorate, could be an important actor if its electoral behaviour were homogeneous. This has not always been the case. Historically, Palestinians have voted for very different parties and, as a result, their presence in the Knesset has lacked clout. However, the main problem in the Israeli political system is the problematic relationship between ethnic nationalism and democracy, a combination of democratic institutions and procedures with institutionalised ethnic domination that gives rise to exclusionary practices. Smooha (1997) developed the concept of ‘ethnic democracy’ and catalogued Israel as the archetype. It follows that the Arab minority enjoys civil rights and citizenship, but within a system of domination. Other authors have gone further, calling Israel an ‘ethnocracy’ (Ghanem and Khatib 2017, Yiftachel 2006), in which one ethnic group dominates and controls the rest of the population, with implications for structural violence and the violation of fundamental rights. Accordingly, Israel cannot be qualified as a liberal democracy. The efforts to assert and consolidate the Jewish character of the state both affects and deteriorates its democratic nature in addition to limiting the exercise of citizenship. The categorisation of Israel as a non-​liberal democracy, an ‘ethnic democracy’, or an ‘ethnocracy’ is essentially due to the status of its Palestinian Arab minority, whose demands have become not only an existential threat to the national state project, but also a security issue. This debate began to intensify in 2000, and escalated after 2009 with the successive governments of Benjamin Netanyahu in coalition with ultraconservative, ultranationalist, and religious groups, under whom the country’s political system has taken an illiberal turn.

The Palestinian political parties in Israel During the first three decades (1949–​the late 1970s) the consequences of the Nakba structured the Arab minority’s political scene. Although they were citizens with political rights, the military government prevented the setting up of autonomous political organisations. However, because of their electoral weight, there was competition for their vote and their participation was encouraged. At that time, they had three main electoral options: choosing the pro-​Mapai (Labour) Arab lists, voting for the Zionist lists, or supporting the mixed Israeli Communist Party as a ‘refuge party’. Strictly speaking, the parties presented as Arab were not really independent or were, in fact, Jewish-​Arab organisations. 207

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In the late 1970s and early 1980s, an important change took place in the Arab political arena due to a number of factors: the lifting of the military government in 1966; a process of Palestinian re-​identification beginning in 1967; the adoption of a confrontational strategy by communists with the creation of the far-​Left political coalition Hadash and greater emphasis on its Arab-​majority status; the loss of Mapai’s hegemony in 1977 and the disbandment of like-​ minded Arab lists; and the appearance of a new generation of leaders, Hebraicised Palestinians with a higher education level and without the burden of the Nakba. In the early 1980s, new mixed political parties appeared that had a strong Arab presence. In 1984, the Progressive List for Peace (PLP) was created, an Arab-​Jewish party led by Mohammed Miari and Mattityahu Peled. The party had a token representation in the Knesset between 1984 and 1992, openly calling for an agenda of social justice for the minority and the need for a peace agreement between Israel and the PLO. In 1988, the then Labour deputy Abdulwahab Darawshe created the Arab Democratic Party (al-​Hizb al-​Dimuqrati al-​Arabi, commonly known as Mada), which openly defined itself as Arab. As an independent party, it won one and two seats in the following parliamentary terms (1988–​1996). It is during this second period that the formation of the three political families that are most representative of the Arab camp and that still exist today occurred: the secular Hadash front; the conservative Islamic Movement; and Balad, an anti-​Zionist Palestinian nationalist party. Hadash (acronym of the Democratic Front for Peace and Equality, al-​Jabha ad-​Dimuqratiyah Lis-​Salam wal Musawah, which also means ‘new’) was created in 1977 after the traumatic Land Day in March 1976 (a state plan to expropriate land). The front is organised around Rakah (communist) and has included non-​communist Arab and Jewish groups and social movements. It took the lead in articulating the new political slogan of the minority –​‘peace and equality’ –​ combining a pacifist commitment with social demands. Formally, it is a Jewish-​Arab organisation like the communist party, but its Jewish component is now a small minority and its visibility is greater than its real influence. The front has a Left socialist agenda, prioritising social issues like labour rights and social policy. It is not Zionist and demands the recognition of Palestinians as a national minority. It criticises the occupation, calls for a just peace agreement, and supports the two-​state solution. It is the front most open to Jewish-​Arab collaboration on progressive politics. It is particularly well established in urban sectors and among minority communities (Christians and Druze). Its electoral base is concentrated in Galilee and the cities, among secular Arabs and the middle class, in addition to a small number of Leftist Jews. Hadash is established throughout the Arab sector and has traditionally received the most votes from Arabs, vying for the top position with the conservative Islamic Movement. Because of its communist tradition, it is the most structured and organised group. It has controlled important Arab municipalities (for instance Nazareth, the largest Palestinian city in Galilee, for several decades) either directly or in alliance with local lists. Hadash has maintained a continuous presence in the Knesset, doing important legislative work. Formally, Hadash does not define itself as an Arab party, but rather as a party that wants to change Israeli society from within. The Islamic Movement (Haraka al-​Islamiya, IM) is the main representative of Palestinian political Islam in Israel. Cheikh Abdullah Nimr Darwish created the IM in the early 1980s, and it is a product of the re-​establishment of links with the Palestinians of the West Bank. The IM began as a social movement focused on education and social development, promoting the establishment of mosques and cultural centres, combining dawa and community development. In the mid-​1980s, when Hamas was emerging in Gaza, it extended its reach and began to be represented in municipal councils. The movement made its first leap into national politics in 1996. The IM was later pivotal in the formation of the United Arab List, or UAL (commonly known in Israel by its Hebrew acronym Ra’am). Since then, the UAL has always maintained 208

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a parliamentary presence, competing alone and, occasionally, in alliances. The movement has traditionally had strong support in the Muslim-​majority towns and villages in the Triangle and the Negev, controlling cities such as Umm el Fahm, Kafr Qasem and Rahat. It is particularly strong among the Bedouin population. The Islamic Movement is religiously conservative, exemplifying a particular type of Palestinian Islamo-​nationalism in Israel. Its main activity is at the municipal level, supported by an extensive structure in many towns. It also resorts to occasional alliances with local candidates or other lists, making it a big tent party. In 1996, the Islamic Movement split into two currents. The reasons were tactical rather than ideological. There were different ideas about the peace process and the two-​state solution, but the real divide was the question of whether or not to participate in the elections for the Knesset. While the so-​called southern branch of the IM chose to participate in the elections, the northern branch, led by Sheikh Raed Salah –​then mayor of Umm el Fahm, the second largest Arab city in Israel –​chose to limit itself to the local level and promote social movements with pro-​Palestinian and Muslim identity messages, like the defence of Jerusalem. As mentioned though there were also differences regarding the broader Palestinian question. Although the natural counterpart of the southern branch in the occupied Palestinian territories is Hamas, it worked better with the nationalist Fatah, defending the legitimacy of resistance in situations of occupation, but respecting Israeli laws and rules of the game (such as the recognition of Israel) to ensure its survival. In contrast, the northern branch supports Palestinian resistance, Islamic activism, and the non-​recognition of Israel. The National Democratic Alliance (NDA), or Balad (Tajammu al-​Watani ad-​Dimuqrati) was created in 1995 as a secular party supporting a state project for all citizens and the recognition of the national identity of the Palestinian minority. Over time, it has become more Palestinian and Arab nationalist. Its members include activists with a political track record, intellectuals, and representatives of social organisations. The national Palestinian fight is the pillar of the party, and radical mistrust of liberal Zionism and the Zionist Left are important aspects of its stance. The party’s symbols are also the most nationalist; it labels itself as Palestinian and rejects the Jewish nation-​state. The NDA participates in national politics to take advantage of the parliamentary arena and not because it aspires to govern. In fact it uses the Knesset as a platform to denounce the state of Israel and its policies. It has, indeed, maintained continuous representation in the Knesset since 1996. Although Balad is the third-​largest party in terms of votes and seats, its visibility is greater thanks to its widely shared positions on the legitimacy of resistance and the criticism of racism and apartheid in Israel, which has led to clashes with the Zionist Right. Founder Azmi Bishara left the Knesset and went into voluntary exile before an impending trial, while other deputies have been temporarily suspended. These three main parties coexist with other smaller parties, some with significant history. An example is Abnaa el-​Balad (Sons of the Country) founded in the late 1960s and related to the PLO revolutionary organizations, but without legal recognition. A very different party is the Arab Movement for Renewal, or Ta’al (al-​Haraka al-​Arabiya lil-​Taghyeer). Ahmed Tibi, a politician with close ties to Fatah, created this small party in 1999. Ideologically, the party is Arab nationalist, but above all, Palestinian and a catch-​all party. Lacking a large social base, it has allied itself indiscriminately with the UAL, Hadash, and Balad, and participated in the recent Joint List with the goal of having Knesset representation. The makeup of the three main Palestinian political parties with continuous representation in the Knesset since the mid-​1990s has gone hand-​in-​hand with the presence of Arab candidates on Zionist party lists who have won seats. Until 1974, the Mapai-​Labour Party and Mapam-​ Meretz usually had an Arab Member of Knesset as a demonstration of their commitment to minority demands. Later, parties of the Right joined in (Likud, Yisrael Beiteinu, Blue and 209

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White) and former Druze soldiers in particular became members. Although the Arab vote for Jewish lists has dropped, it continues to be significant (between 15 and 20 percent in the last 15 years) and is proportional to fluctuations in Arab participation. The main Arab parties share a set of positions that distinguish them in Israeli politics. They do not identify with the Zionist project and reject the definition of the state as a Jewish nation-​ state. They also hold a different position to the Jewish majority on the Palestinian question. They usually agree on the social and economic issues that particularly affect the Arab minority. Their differences have more to do with values and secularism, with the conservative-​religious pole clearly opposed to the secular-​progressive one. A  further difference though is related to the question of Jewish-​Arab political cooperation, a debate that goes beyond the parties, affecting social movements as well. Generally speaking, Hadash is more inclined to collaborate, while Balad and Islamists have been reticent or radically opposed. Like the other legal parties in Israel, they benefit from public financing that allows them to run electoral campaigns, pay some of their running costs, and have parliamentary staff. Formally they are not ethnic parties per se, although they are identified as such and their electoral base is ethnic, with the exception of Hadash’s. Their platforms combine community-​social, ethnic-​national and state issues with the defence of individual and collective rights. In the Knesset, their key areas of action are: constitutionalising substantive national and civic equality, guaranteeing budget allocations for Arab municipalities, ensuring recognition policies, politicising indigeneity, defending the right to self-​government, and institutionalising autonomous Arab civic spheres. Additionally, they have articulated a discourse that contains an explicit demand for the recognition of bi-​ nationalism (Ghanem 2014). In sum, the field of Arab political parties in Israel has historically been characterised by a fragmentation that results in low representation and vote dispersion. For these reasons reason, the joint lists of 2015, September 2019, and March 2020 represented a dramatic turn.

The evolution of election behaviour and participation in institutions Estimating representativeness and evaluating the political role of Palestinian parties in Israel is open to very different interpretations. While the parties participate in national and local election campaigns and elected institutions, they do so in very different ways.

The municipal level After the creation of the State of Israel, the Arab minority was spatially segregated in more than 100 Arab towns and in Arab neighbourhoods in several mixed cities; a situation that continues today. This has allowed though for a space for Arab municipal and local politics. In Israel, municipalities have very few powers and depend on budgetary allocations from the government. In general, Arab towns have had to deal with considerable problems related to services, restrictive urban management, and budgetary discrimination. Historically, the municipalities were an area of competition for the political parties; Rakah and Hadash had their strongholds in Galilee and the Islamic Movement in the Triangle, competing fiercely for control of the large Arab urban centres of Nazareth, Umm el Fahm, Rahat, and Tayyiba. In some cases, they participated directly, while in others they supported local candidates in sui generis alliances in traditional clientelist and family-​based temporary arrangements. Municipalities allow for a form of Arab self-​government, organising community life and providing jobs. Turnout in the municipal elections of November 2018 was 85 percent. However, since 1990, there has been a change, with the national parties stepping back and the local lists dominating competitions. In 210

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the municipal elections of 2018, mayors from national parties were only elected in four out of the nearly 80 Arab municipalities. This phenomenon also occurs in Jewish towns, but is especially notable among the Arabs. Local politics also reflects social changes among the minority, the renewal of elites, and the emergence of populist expressions, in addition to the parties’ different strategies.

The state, parliament, and government In the 23 legislative elections held between 1949 and 2020, their electoral behaviour has varied. Traditionally, Arabs have reasonably high turnout, although usually five to ten points below the national average. Moreover, their vote has been dispersed among several options. This fact, in addition to the lower average age of Arabs, has resulted in a modest parliamentary representation. However, two phenomena characterised the recent Arab vote. First, a change occurred during the Oslo peace process when new parties appeared and Arab identity was reinforced. Since 1996, there has been a significant ethnicisation/​nationalization of the vote –​a solidification of Arab votes for Arab lists –​which grew from 47.4 per cent in 1992 to 65 per cent in 1996, 73 per cent in 2006, 81.9 per cent in 2009, 83.2 per cent in 2015, and more than 85 per cent in 2020. This has translated into an increase in parliamentary representation. At the same time, with the collapse of the peace process and the intensification of intercommunity tensions, there has been an increase in the abstention rate, which rose from 30 per cent in 1992 to 43.7 per cent in 2006 and to 50.8 per cent in April 2019. Since the failure of Oslo, questions regarding the usefulness of voting and participating in institutions have been part of the public Palestinian debate in Israel. As in any country, non-​participation has many causes. Some abstention is due to passivity, apathy, and a general lack of interest. However, part of it is due to frustration and mistrust in the system and its institutions. Although the Knesset may serve as a loudspeaker for Arab demands, a conclusion has been reached that the real effectiveness of participation is quite limited and that policies cannot be substantially changed. Political boycotts have become more widespread and, while not new, they are now articulated in campaigns calling for the boycott of parliamentary elections. Participation is condemned for legitimizing a ‘democratic farce’. Moreover, the parties are being radically challenged: the effectiveness of their pragmatism has been called into question, their legitimacy disputed, and their internal operation and dependence on state money questioned. Finally is the issue of unity of action. Historically, the fragmentation of the Arab political field has contributed to vote dispersion and low representation. Since the 1990s, electoral alliances have been common, but have also been very volatile. The creation of an Arab joint list in 2015 is not the result of a desire for unity of action or a political culture of compromise, but a reaction to external events, namely the electoral threshold and the threat that groups would disappear if fragmentation continued. To a large extent, this explains the internal diversity in the Arab bloc in the Knesset since 2015, along with the frequent disagreements and dissonant positions between its members. The 2015 and 2019–​2020 legislative elections are illustrative of the current role and significance of the Palestinian parties in Israel. In the elections of 17 March 2015, the four principal Arab parties ran on the so-​called Joint List (al-​Qa’imah al-​Mushtarakah) for the first time. This had two results: turnout increased, with the Arab vote going to the Arab list (82 per cent), which, in turn, translated into 13 seats, making the Joint List the third largest political party in the Knesset. The decision was taken to form the electoral alliance in January 2015, after the threshold was raised from 2 to 3.25 per cent. The result was a novel parliamentary bloc, which was ideologically diverse (communists, Islamic conservatives, Palestinian nationalists) and with 211

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disparate positions at times. The 20th Knesset had a much more visible and belligerent Arab group, which helped to put the minority question in the public debate. During this parliamentary term, the controversial Nation-​State Bill was passed, and the Knesset became the setting for a virulent confrontation between the anti-​Arab Zionist Right and the Joint List. The following elections took place in April and September 2019, with a third round being held in March 2020 due to the inability of the parties to form a government. The previous experience brought about an intensification of anti-​Arab discourse during the campaigns by the Zionist Right, with attempts for instance to again exclude certain candidates. At the same time, there was a growing divide in the Arab field about the issue of participation; the Popular Campaign to Boycott the Zionist Elections, for instance, questioned the legitimacy of the Knesset and the role Arab political parties play. During the April 2019 elections, the Joint List split and two lists ran:  Hadash-​Ta’al and UAL-​Balad. The results were bad. Turnout decreased to 49 per cent and the parties won only 10 seats, 6 for Hadash -​Ta’al and 4 for UAL-​Balad. Moreover, in an attempt to cast a useful vote, a portion of the Arab vote switched to the Zionist parties. In the September 2019 elections, the Joint List re-​formed in view of the events of April. This led to a ten-​point increase in turnout and a return of the Arab vote to the Joint List (82 per cent), which won 13 seats, once again confirming the experience of 2015. When neither Likud nor Blue and White were able to form a governmental majority, the question of whether or not to join forces with the Arabs and, in other words, accept them as legitimate received new visibility. The debate divided the members of the Joint List. While Hadash and Ta’al announced that they were willing to provide outside support to Blue and White leader Benny Gantz to form a government and set conditions for it –​a larger budget allocation for Arab towns, the repeal of the Nation-​State Bill, and meaningful dialogue with Palestinians –​Balad opposed this. In any case Gantz rejected Arab support and, in the end, a new round of elections was called for. The third elections in less than a year took place on 2 March 2020. Palestinian parties once again ran together. During the campaign Netanyahu promised to annex portions of the West Bank and the Trump Plan, which includes the possibility of ceedin gof the Triangle in the framework of a future Israeli-​Palestinian agreement, was launched. This favoured the Joint List and results exceeded all expectations: Arab participation reached 64.7 per cent (the highest in 20 years) and the Joint List captured 12.67 per cent of the valid vote and 87.2 per cent of the vote in Arab localities. This translates into 15 seats, four of them assigned to women. The Joint List is again the third political force of the Knesset and a potential essential partner for Gantz to prevail over Netanyahu, but both men preferred a grand coalition to delaing with the Arab parliamentarians. The Palestinian political coalition became the the main opposition force in the Knesset. Several points can be drawn from the 2015 and 2019–​2020 elections. First, when there is an Arab joint list, turnout increases, which translates into greater representation. Second, fragmentation in the Arab field contributes to low turnout and the migration of part of the Arab vote to Jewish Zionist lists. Third, abstention can once again become very important and boycott campaigns have an impact. However, the novelty of the Joint List has a significant limit: it continues to be a fragile electoral alliance with internal tensions and a limited shared programme. Although participation in the elections and the results obtained have given Arabs a continued presence in the Knesset, this does not mean that the situation has been fully normalised. As soon as Arabs achieve positions of power at state level, the limits of participation in the institutions become evident (Ghanem 1997). In the Knesset, Palestinian deputies participate in all the activities. They take part in committees and pressure groups and may even preside over them; they draft and promote legislative initiatives; and they participate in regulatory 212

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Palestinian parties in Israel Table 16.1  Evolution of the Arab/​Palestinian vote and seats in Israel in the general elections, 1988–​2020

General turnout (%) Arab turnout (%) Arab vote for Arab lists (%) Arab vote for Zionist lists (%) MK in Arab lists (*) MK in Zionist lists

1988 1992 1996 1999 2003 2006

2009 2013 2015 2019 2019 2020

79,7 74 59

77.4 79.3 78.7 67.8 63.2 69.7 77 75 62.3 56.3 47 65 68.6 69.2 71.9

64.7 67.7 72.3 68.41 69.8 71,5 53.4 56.5 63.5 49.2 59.2 64,7 81.9 77.2 83.2 71.6 82.2 >87

41

53

35

6 3

5 5

9 4

31.4 30.8 28.10 18.1 22.8 16.8 28.4

17.8