The Hijaz: The First Islamic State 9780190943226 , 9780190934798

Table of contents :
Part I. Statehood: pre-modern --
Idealized statehood --
International order and the nation-state --
Part II. Self-determination: modern --
Arab self-determination and the rise of the modern state --
Hijazi self-determination and the new international system --
Islamic self-determination and the international legal system --
International law and its impact on the Hijaz --
Part III. Present and future --
Geopolitical challenges: ideology and statehood --
The ideological drivers of submerged statehood in the afterlife of the Hijaz --
The reluctant Hijaz: a moment for pause, reflection, and legitimate policy reset --
Conclusion --
Epilogue.

Citation preview

THE HIJAZ

MALIK R. DAHLAN

The Hijaz The First Islamic State

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1 Oxford University Press is a department of the University of Oxford. It furthers the University’s objective of excellence in research, scholarship, and education by publishing worldwide. Oxford is a registered trade mark of Oxford University Press in the UK and certain other countries. Published in the United States of America by Oxford University Press 198 Madison Avenue, New York, NY 10016, United States of America. © Oxford University Press 2018 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of Oxford University Press, or as expressly permitted by law, by license, or under terms agreed with the appropriate reproduction rights organization. Inquiries concerning reproduction outside the scope of the above should be sent to the Rights Department, Oxford University Press, at the address above. You must not circulate this work in any other form and you must impose this same condition on any acquirer. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Malik Dahlan. Title: The Hijaz: The First Islamic State / Malik Dahlan. Description: Oxford [UK]; New York: Oxford University Press, [2018] ISBN 9780190909727 (print) ISBN 9780190934798 (updf) ISBN 9780190935016 (epub)

To King Salman, who said: ‘If you read the history of a thousand years... you have the experience of a thousand years...’

CONTENTS

Chronology xi Acknowledgements xix Preface xxi Introduction 1 PART I STATEHOOD: PRE-MODERN 1.  Idealized Statehood 33 The Birth and Evolution of Statehood from The Hijaz 35 The Dilemma of Successorship and the State: Birth of the Caliphate 42 The Jurisprudence of the State: Shari’a and the Objectives of  Statecraft 45 Political–Economic Evolution of the State 47 2. International Order and the Nation-State 51 TheWestphalian Sovereign State 51 Islamic Public Interest and the Dawla 54 Islamic Statehood and Nationalism 56 Orientalism and the Nation-State 57 The Nation-State in Islamic Reform Scholarship 58 The State and the Mandate of the Jurist 59 Grotian Moment? 61 International Treaties in Islam 62 The Caliphate as International Cooperation 65

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CONTENTS PART II SELF-DETERMINATION: MODERN 3. Arab Self-Determination and the Rise of the Modern State 71 Roots of Arab Nationalism:The Arab Revolt 74 The British Alliance with the Arab Nationalist Movement 77 The King of The Hijaz Declares Independence 79 French and German Outlook on Arab Statehood 82 Self-Determination in the Era of the League of Nations 84 The Mandate System and its Legal Challenges 86 Arab Representation at the Paris Peace Conference 90 San Remo 94 The Collapse of the Hijazi–British Relationship 95 4. Hijazi Self-Determination and the New International System 99 Historical Context: Invasion, Conquest, and the Absorption of the   State of Hijaz 99 The Taif Massacre 101 The Birth of Hijazi Nationalism:The Hijaz National Party 105 ‘Hijaz is for Hijazis’: Saving Statehood and the Promise of Self-Governance 108 Imam Ibn Saud’s Correspondence with The Hijaz and the Islamic  World 111 The Kingdom of Hijaz and Najd 113 Challenges to Ibn Saud’s Rule over The Hijaz 116 The Hijaz Liberation Movement 118 British–Saudi Repression of The Hijaz Liberation Party 121 Unification: Arabian Kingdom vs.The Hijaz 123 The Status of The Hijaz as a Sovereign State and as a Signatory   to the Covenant of the League of Nations 125 Non-Recognition and its Application to The Hijaz 128 5. Islamic Self-Determination and the International Legal System 131 The Fall of the Caliphate and the Triumph ofWahhabism 133 Bartering the Caliphate:The Kemalists and Sharif Hussein 135 The Fall of the Caliphate and the Islamic Diplomatic Conferences  (1924–1932) 137 Islamic Jurisprudence and the Caliphate 144 Caliphate and Muslim Unity 150 viii

CONTENTS 6. International Law and its Impact on The Hijaz 155 The Legal Background 157 The 1933 Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States 158 The Territorial Principle 159 Could The Hijaz Secede from the Saudi State? 161 The ‘Self-Determination Trap’ 170 The Involuntary Extinction of States vs. their Creation 172 The Right to Secession by Agreement: Czechoslovakia and Quebec 173 Lessons from Scotland 175 Escaping the Self-Determination Trap in the Case of Hijaz 177 Internal Self-Determination 181 Autonomy 183 Self-Determination Spectrum Disorder 189 PART III PRESENT AND FUTURE 7.  Geopolitical Challenges: Ideology and Statehood 207 A Region at the Crossroads 207 Arab Statehood after the Second World War: Decolonization, Mandates,   and Arab Disorganization 215 The Second World War and its Aftermath: Paving the way for Decolonization and the Evolution of Statehood 216 The Failure of a System and the Birth of a Better: From the League   of Nations to the UN 217 From Mandates, Colonies, and Protectorates to Decolonization 218 The 1950s and 1960s: From Anti-Colonialism and Anti-Imperialism   to Ba’athism and Nasserism 219 What Became of the ‘Arab East’ 227 Decolonized Liberal Monarchies 231 Statehood and the Pursuit of Secularism 233 The Re-emergence of Islam 241 Above Statehood:The First Efforts at Regionalism 246 The Superpowers and the Cold War 254 The SovietWar in Afghanistan:The Mujahideen 257 The Rise of the Taliban 263 Al-Qaida: Postmodernism 269 ix

CONTENTS Neo-Medievalism: DA’ISH and theViolent Bid for a   (Terrorist) ‘Islamic State’ 274 8. The Ideological Drivers of Submerged Statehood in the   Afterlife of The Hijaz 279 Negative and Positive Islamic Space 279 Wahhabism: Ideological Prototypes and Influences 283 Islamic Revivalism: Sunna and Government 298 Revolutionary Shi’ism: Iran 308 Neo-Medievalism:Terror and the Forceful State 322 Islamic Centrism: A New Pan-Islamic Counter-Effort 331 9. The Reluctant Hijaz: A Moment For Pause, Reflection, and Legitimate Policy Reset 339 Positive Space: Integrating the Rebirth of Islamic Governance 340 The Hijaz: an Integrative Political Solution? 355 Integration in lieu of Broken Arab Statehood 362 Conclusion 375 The Afterlife of The Hijaz and the Right to Self-Determination 377 Finding the lost Space 381 Inclusive Statehood 384 Epilogue 391 Notes 393 Select Bibliography 491 Index 517

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CHRONOLOGY

Pre-Modern Chronology 570 575 594

610 622

624 628



The Prophet Mohammad is born into the tribe of the Quraysh in Makkah. Mohammad is orphaned by the death of his parents. Mohammad serves Lady Khadija as a caravan agent. The following year they are married, and eventually have six children, of whom four daughters survive. Mohammad falls into a trance on Mount Hira and receives his first message from God, recited to him by the Angel Gabriel. After being persecuted in Makkah, Mohammad and his followers flee to Yathrib, later called Medina, the City of the Prophet. The battle of Badr is fought between Mohammad’s followers and a Makkan army. Mohammad’s forces are victorious. Mohammad and 1,600 followers go on a pilgrimage to Makkah. They are impeded by the citizens of the town, which leads to the Pact of Hudaybiyya, which ends hostilities and establishes the right of pilgrimage to the city. xi

CHRONOLOGY 630 632 635 655 661 680 710 750 762 848 937 1055

1095 1099 1147–49 1169 1174 xii

Mohammad marches to Makkah with 30,000 followers; the city surrenders and its citizens convert to Islam peacefully. Death of Mohammad. Abu Bakr, his father-in-law, becomes the first successor, or caliph. The Qur’an is compiled. Islam spreads throughout the Maghreb. Mu’awiya becomes caliph and establishes the Umayyad dynasty with its capital in Damascus. Husayn and his followers revolt against the Umayyads, but are slain. The incident gives rise to the Shi’a schism. Arab armies enter Spain. Abu al-‘Abbas establishes the Abbasid dynasty. Baghdad becomes its capital. The Samarra Mosque is built in Iraq. The Fatimid dynasty is established in Egypt with its capital in Cairo. The Seljuk Turkish army captures Baghdad and its leader becomes the sultan; the Seljuks take control of the Abbasid Empire. First Crusade. Fall of Jerusalem, resulting in the creation of the Kingdom of Jerusalem and the Outremer Crusader states. The Second Crusade results in a Muslim victory in the Holy Land. The Crusaders take Iberia and the Baltic. Saladin takes control of Egypt, makes himself sultan, and ends the Fatimid dynasty. Saladin declares himself sultan of Egypt and Syria.

CHRONOLOGY 1187 1189–92 1258 1260

1291

The battle of Hittin; Saladin conquers the Crusader Kingdom of Jerusalem. Third Crusade; Crusaders capture Acre and Jaffa but fail to take Jerusalem from Saladin. The Mongol army sacks Baghdad and ends the de facto rule of the Abbasid Empire. The battle of Ain Jalut; Egyptian Mamluks defeat the Mongols in Palestine, thereby stopping Mongol expansion in the Middle East. Fall of Acre, signalling the end of the Crusader states in the Middle East.

Modern Chronology 1517 1745 1745–1818 1802 1811 1824–1891 1871 1889 1891 1902

The Ottomans assume sovereignty over The Hijaz and Sultan Selim adopts the title of caliph. Pact between Abdul Wahhab and the House of Saud. First Saudi Islamic state. Mohammad ibn Saud captures Makkah. Mohammad ‘Ali Pasha recaptures The Hijaz in Ottoman–Saudi War. Second Saudi Islamic state. The Ottomans occupy Hasa and Asir. Muhammad ibn Rashid captures Hasa from the Al Saud. Abdul Rahman ibn Faysal evicts Ibn Rashid from Riyadh. The Saudis are defeated by the forces of Muhammad ibn Rashid, bringing an end to the second Saudi state. Imam Abdulaziz ibn Saud launches a successful attack against Riyadh and initiates the third Islamic Saudi state.

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CHRONOLOGY 1906 1908

Ibn Saud conquers Qasim. The Young Turks seize power in the Ottoman Empire. Hussein ibn ‘Ali becomes the Sharif of the Two Holy Cities under Ottoman auspices. Factionalism begins to emerge between Ibn Saud and his cousins the Araif. 1910 The British send Captain William Shakespear to initiate contact with Ibn Saud. 1912 The Ikhwan (‘Brotherhood’) is established. 1913 Saudi forces advance on Hofuf and disarm the Turkish garrison, expanding the Saudi state to the Gulf. 28 July 1914 Outbreak of the First World War. October 1914 Lord Kitchener, the British Agent and Consul in Egypt, establishes contact with Emir Abdullah. 14 November 1914 The Ottoman Empire declares jihad against the Allied powers. July 1915–January 1916 The Hussein–McMahon Correspondence. December 1915 The Darin Pact between Great Britain and Imam Ibn Saud. 1916 Ibn Saud defeats the Ajman tribesmen with British assistance. May 1916 The Sykes–Picot Agreement. June 1916–October 1918 The Arab Revolt. June 1916 The Hijaz declares independence from the Ottoman Empire. November 1917 The Balfour Declaration. 11 November 1918 End of the First World War. January 1919 The Paris Peace Conference starts. 28 June 1919 The Treaty of Versailles. January 1920 The League of Nations founded. April 1920 The San Remo Conference. 10 August 1920 The Treaty of Sèvres.  

 

 

 

 

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CHRONOLOGY 3 March 1924 March 1924 July 1924  

September 1924 October 1924 December 1925 1926 May 1926 June 1926 September 1926 1927 May 1927 1928 1929 December 1931 1932 September 1932 1933 1938 1940s

Atatürk abolishes the Caliphate. Sharif Hussein adopts the title of caliph. The Pilgrimage Congress convened in Makkah. Wahhabi forces carry out the Taif massacre. The Hijaz National Party established; Emir ‘Ali replaces Sharif Hussein as King of The Hijaz. King ‘Ali surrenders Jeddah to Imam Ibn Saud’s forces. The Kingdom of Hijaz and Sultanate of Najd proclaimed. The General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate convened in Cairo. The Congress of the Islamic World in Makkah. Organic Instructions for The Hijaz announ­ ced. Certain groups of the Ikhwan rebel. The Treaty of Jeddah signed between Imam Ibn Saud and Great Britain. The Free Hijaz Party established in Makkah. King Saud prevails over rebellious Ikwhan with British air support. The General Islamic Congress in Jerusalem. King Saud suppresses the Hijazi revolt. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is proclaimed. The Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States. Discovery of an unprecedented crude oil reserve in Saudi Arabia. The Second World War; founding of the UN; Saudi reliance on the USA; rise of pan-Arab regimes and liberal monarchies; start of the Cold War.

xv

CHRONOLOGY 1970s 1980s–1990s

2001 2002 2003 2010 2014

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Iranian Islamic Revolution; Capture of Makkah Decline of the pan-Arabist movement; rise of the Mujahideen in Afghanistan; increasing build-up of US bases throughout the Middle East; Islamic political discourse; fall of the Berlin Wall; end of the Cold War. Al-Qaida’s 11 September (9/11) terrorist attacks in the USA. War in Afghanistan. War in Iraq. Arab Spring/Arab Uprisings in wider Middle East and North Africa (MENA). Rise and expansion of DA’ISH.  

In music theory, The Hijaz Maqam or Scale is distinguished by its [clarity] and compassion. It lends itself to melancholic passion…. It is a scale through which feelings of sorrow, of nostalgia, and a trove of sadness are expressed. It is the enabler, par excellence, of delivering the expression of the long journey; the longing by the revelation of the vastness of its vocal reach … for the sense of distance …  

It is the foundational scale of Arab Music, and indeed the only inclusive musical scale that is at once Eastern and Western. This Scale is balanced, possessing a dignified temperament … in its folds there is reverence. Sometimes … it unearths a buried joy … and a happiness tainted by sorrow; or sorrow visited by celebration. It is sublime when expressing the desert and its limitless abundance….The night and its enveloping darkness … and the ever scattering of scarred stars. It is so very soulful…. So magnificent is its space of yearning for the lover. And finally, The Hijaz, for the weary … is the Oasis… Amjad al-Attafi, Maestro of the Arab Music Orchestra, Cairo



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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

My sincerest gratitude goes out to the following people, without whom this book would not have been completed: 1. The following distinguished peers who took the time out of their very busy schedules to review earlier drafts of the manuscript: Professor Ahmad Atif Ahmad, Professor of Religious Studies, University of California, Santa Barbara; Dr Tom D. Grant, Senior Research Fellow, Wolfson College, and Associate, Lauterpacht Centre for International Law (LCIL), University of Cambridge; Dr James Summer, Lecturer, Director of the Centre for International Law and Human Rights, Lancaster University; and, especially, Professor Marc Weller, Professor of International Law and International Constitutional Studies and Director of the LCIL. 2. The Lauterpacht Centre and its staff have been incredibly generous with their time and resources to make a comfortable intellectual home for me to write this book. Special thanks to Marc Weller (and his Havana Club), to Dr John Barker, the late Sir Eli Lauterpacht, LCIL’s founder, James Crawford for his invitation to the Centre, and, of course, Karen Fachechi for all her kind support. 3. Peterhouse College, for deepening my fellowship and association at the University of Cambridge. I especially thank my friend and first lecturer on English legal methods, Dr Roderick Munday, Fellow and Director of Studies in Law at Peterhouse, and the former Master, Professor Adrian Dixon. I also thank Professor Brendan Simms, Professor of the History of European International Relations, for his intellectual comradeship and continued support  

 

 

 



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ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS as we pondered the history, and indeed the future, of a Middle East Westphalia. 4. The captain and crew of the M/V Lady Sarya, for making the Lady of the Sea a place of solitude in the midst of the sea of ideas at a critical stage in writing the book. 5. The Institution Quraysh (iQ) staff have been indispensable, both in driving this research and, in my absence, taking the burden of managing everything related to iQ. I am eternally grateful to Monde Marshall. The iQ Policy Manager, Pavlos Efthymiou, provided a Hellenic touch to The Hijaz and exceptional support during the finalization of the manuscript. The book also benefited greatly from the editorial services of Robert Verkaik and David Rodgers. 6. The invaluable iQ researchers, Kinda Dahlan, Aleksandra Anna Bardon, Birju Mujahid Dattani, Maciej Zenkiewicz, Murshad Habib, and Mustafa Khedewi, without whom none of the research or drafting of this manuscript would have been possible. They each brought very distinct experiences, cultures, and knowledge to this project. 7. I thank Michael Dwyer, Publisher and Managing Director of C. Hurst & Co. (Publishers) Ltd. He not only appreciated the importance of The Hijaz at this important historical ‘Westphalian moment’, but was also firm about comprehensively establishing this work’s future intellectual value. My gratitude goes to the whole team at Hurst Publishers for their diligent efforts. 8. I wish to thank my family: my mother for her undying support; my forefathers, grandfather, and father for their wisdom and guidance; my siblings; my sons Sayyid Fihr, Sayyid Ahmad Zayni, and Sayyid Hamza, and my darling daughter Sirr al-Nada for their love. 9. Lastly, I wish to thank my beloved wife, Sarah, and the women of The Hijaz—the real last standing Hijazis. They have endured so much and, like most mothers, are the real heroines—they leave us with only the scales of an ancient song, forgotten but forever true.  

 

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PREFACE

Up until the first part of the last century, our house in Mecca (Makkah, for accuracy, henceforth) was adjacent to the palace of the Grand Sharif.1 The women in the family would take it in turn to pass my grandfather, a toddler then, from across the roshan to the young Turkish wife of the Sharif, Umm Zayd. The roshan is a unique Hijazi architectural structure, a bay-window balcony-like feature composed of mangour or teak wood artistically assembled in crossing forty-five degree angles to make up geometric shapes akin to a beehive. Indeed, like the word Hijaz itself, which, if taken literally, would mean barrier, the roshan has a unique feature: veiling the inside but allowing access to the light and breeze from the outside—a sort of breathing light.   My grandfather told me that he saw the Sharif once. He recounted how frightened he was as a child of three at the sight of the Sharif entering the room. Though not a large man, the Grand Sharif had a magnificent white beard, an imposing turban, and a black robe. He would describe to me his piercing gaze. He did not believe the Sharif was mortal until he took off his turban and asked his wife who the child was.   Many years after that first and last encounter with the Sharif, my grandfather wrote a long history on the Arab Revolt of 1916–18. Before he passed away, almost a decade ago, he entrusted me with the three-volume handwritten manuscript to publish after his death. For some reason—and I am not one to lose such things—it was lost. With a great sense of both shame and loss, I have attempted to recall the detailed accounts of the Sharif of Makkah, palace intrigue, the competing Hashemites, the war campaign, and, more poignantly, the promise

xxi

PREFACE of that era of change. Not much came back to my busy mind except the following single, lucid piece of history that he narrated numerous times throughout my childhood, youth, and adulthood. I am still both convinced and surprised that he somehow believed that it contained the moral or the code for the Arab Revolt: On a very hot late Thursday morning in June 1916 in Makkah, almost a century ago, days before the Arab Revolt, Sharif Hussein of Makkah was sitting down in his roshan at al-Ghazzah Palace. As he sipped a small glass of tea and looked down at the illustrious souk, he could not help but drift into thinking about the large events that were about to unfold, the British, the Jews, the Wahhabis, his friend the Ottoman Sultan, Jerusalem, and the Revolt! He then spotted a young Hadrami rug merchant. Observing the skilful south Arabian youth, industrious in his efforts to sell one particular rug, the ageing white-bearded man, soon to be proclaimed King of Hijaz and Ruler of Arabia, was struck by the boy’s efforts to sell that one rug. So magnificent in its splendour, glorious in its allure, this rug, a tapestry of colours, radiated awe and grace. Impressed by the rug, but more so by the youthful roaming merchant, the Sharif summoned the lad and inquired about the price of the rug. The young man told him that he could not know for certain. Sharif Hussein, in an attempt to be equitable, ordered him to search for the highest price for that particular article and return to his wazir, at which point he would procure it for double the price. So excited was the merchant that he ran out, only to be startled by the loud call of his newly found patron and the grip of the large bailiff: ‘Ya walad!’ (Young man!) called the soon-to-be-King of Arabia. ‘Labeyk, ya sidi,’ (I am here, my lord) replied the startled young man. The Sharif paused for a moment, adjusted his beautiful white Makkan turban, and gazed with his cold yet fiery eyes at the Hadrami walad, and ordered him, ‘La tibi’ rakhis’ (do not sell cheap). The boy answered with swift wit, ‘La tuwasi haris’ (advise not the assiduous). The melodic exchange enchanted al-Hussein bin ‘Ali: his newly found iambic pentameter, ‘la tibi’ rakhis, la tuwasi haris’, ‘la tibi’ rakhis, la tuwasi haris’, ‘la tibi’ rakhis, la tuwasi haris’, hummed and hummed in his head until two days later. … Until that very first bullet that he shot above the sky of the Holy Mosque announcing the Arab Revolt; defining the modern history of the Arabs forever!

  This memory left him with something empty inside. This emptiness that he described was not merely about the cruelty of a certain relixxii

PREFACE gious tendency or a nationalist plight. It is a nostalgic feeling towards what seemed like the promise of a glorious future. It is at once the irony of witnessing the inception of a powerful dream of self-determination and paying the heavy price of understanding its existential failure. What is more ironic, my grandfather would have been heartened to know that I unearthed archival documents written by and addressed to his father, my great-grandfather, Sayyid Abdullah Dahlan, the last representative of the Institution of the Grand Mosque from Singapore, where he was exiled for his pro-Ottoman position.2   The most powerful aspect of the history written by my grandfather was not necessarily the narrative account of the Revolt itself, but rather the fact that it was a narrative recited by one of Saudi Arabia’s leading legislators. As a lawyer, I sought to study the legal aspects of the Revolt for Arab self-determination in The Hijaz, to utilize resources and information that were unavailable to my grandfather. I am aware both of the political sensitivities and unexamined biases, but, equally, of the importance of academic integrity. I believe that it is important to now begin such a scholarly project situated within the discipline of international law by describing with precision the geopolitical history that defines much of the Middle East today. Over the course of the years that it took me to write and research this book I have come to recognize that, like everything else in life, no one truth is absolute. If our intention behind investigating history, painful and dark as it may be, is to heal the future, we must not look for heroes or villains, or we will remain trapped by the follies of the past.3 * * *

This is a book written as we reflect on the centenary of the 1916 Arab Revolt. It is a new take on the critical untold legal and political history of Arabia after the First World War and the Arab Revolt for self-determination. The Hijaz, the western territory of the Arabian Peninsula (in present-day Saudi Arabia), home to the Two Holy Cities of Makkah and Medina, and host to millions of Muslim pilgrims annually, was the political driver of this movement—and was indeed the first modern Arab state—yet there is no legal history or modern political text on it.   This book was encouraged by Oxford University Press on the occasion of completing the online resource, Oxford Historical Treaties. The xxiii

PREFACE Hijaz was noted on the online resource as a signatory to several treaties, but the editors had minimal information on its character, history, and significance.   The bulk of the book was researched and developed during a sabbatical at the University of Cambridge Lauterpacht Centre for International Law (2014–15), where I would draw upon resources on international law methodologies and Middle East studies, as well as primary sources on doctrinal Islamic legal concepts.   It relied on archival research at the British Foreign Offices in India and Cairo, the UK National Archives (Kew), the al-Azhar Archives in Cairo, and the Ottoman Correspondence Registry in Istanbul. Many documents unearthed led to critical findings regarding The Hijaz and my understanding of the making of the modern Middle East.   During my research, I did not find any modern books on the state of Hijaz. The books written in the last century on the topic have often been influenced by the larger events that dictated Arab politics rather than the state of Hijaz itself. Colonial accounts of the British Arab Bureau in Cairo, the main Arab intelligence at the time, reaffirm the lack of information on The Hijaz itself, including the Arab Bulletin, which was later compiled by its chief, D. G. Hogarth, in Hejaz before World War I: A Handbook, Volume 7 of the Arabia Past and Present series. Equally, the Arab nationalist movements pushed forth their narrative primarily in the 1939 book The Arab Awakening: The Story of the Arab National Movement by George Antonius. The book was later challenged in Western academia based on claims that were supported by Sharif Hussein’s personal papers after the breakdown of The Hijaz liberation movement.   The study will be the first international, legal-historical treatment of The Hijaz, and, as far as we know, of Saudi Arabia as well. It provides a rare Islamic understanding which is crucial for international lawyers in order to analyse current legal and public security challenges— including those presented by Islamic militant groups such as the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS), also known as the Islamic State in Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), or Islamic State (IS), although we refer to the group in this book by the Arabic acronym DA’ISH. It addresses the complicated doctrinal aspects of Islamic statehood and places competing notions of the Caliphate in a historic context while proposing a new  

 

 

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PREFACE theory on integrative internationalization, which is, in and of itself, an innovation in the field of international law. * * *

This study uncovers the legal history of The Hijaz, a history somewhat obscure to most, and certainly to international law readers, though among this group there is considerable interest in the creation, failure, and afterlife of states. This is a book that aims for scholarly rigour but also caters to those interested in Middle East current affairs.   Two important prefatory notes on the state of The Hijaz need to be considered from the outset of this study. Both notes relate to the status of The Hijaz at the time of its invasion by Najd in 1923.   Firstly, both the international law purist and the novice may begin by questioning whether The Hijaz was a state. The responses to the query would tend to be in the affirmative, simply because of the flexibility under international law for states to take different forms, even if in a position of dependency. This proposition is supported by the Commission of Rapporteurs in the Aaland Islands dispute of 1921, which accorded Finland the character of a state despite being part of the Russian Empire. Additionally, John Quigley has argued in his book The Statehood of Palestine that Palestine was a state, despite the British Mandate. The statehood of The Hijaz has therefore been taken as a given throughout this study, for the aforementioned as well as the following two reasons: (i) a universally-agreed precise definition for a state does not exist, and is unlikely to exist under international law; and (ii) strong arguments can be made that The Hijaz exhibited several features of a state as defined by Western scholars today. Such arguments are likely to convince even the most sceptical of jurists despite caveats relating to such questions as permanence, survival, and prior claim.   Secondly, there is the question of whether The Hijaz was a member of the League of Nations, with the legal ramifications of membership making this query the subject of greater contestation. Part I Annex A to the Covenant of the League lists The Hijaz as a ‘founding member’; the Hansard entry HC Deb 17 March 1930 vol. 236 c1714 corroborates this. However, Hansard also records then Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, Mr A. Henderson, suggesting that The Hijaz did not ratify the Treaty of Versailles or indeed any of the requisite treaties.  

 

 

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PREFACE Although it was mentioned that the King of Hijaz intended to ratify the treaties, no formal record of ratification could be found. It is thus more likely that the ratification did not take place; and The Hijaz was, after the invasion, absorbed into Saudi Arabia.   The legal challenge to the statehood of The Hijaz, therefore, becomes a question of inter-temporal law. In other words, the legal effects of the invasion of The Hijaz must be considered in the light of the international law of the time, and not of later law. International law in the form of the UN Charter and the Nuremberg Statute of 1945 unequivocally establish that a state cannot acquire lawful title to the territory of another state by force or threat. What is unclear, however, is whether the same—or a similar—rule of international law existed at the time of the invasion in 1925.   Potential support for the proposition can be sought in Article 10 of the League of Nations Covenant, which creates an individual commitment for its members to respect the territorial integrity of other members. The challenge of course, is that The Hijaz’s membership of the League is not universally accepted. Additionally, unlike the UN Charter, the Covenant is not unequivocal—and, in fact, Articles 12 and 13 of the Covenant, although discouraging the use of force in international relations, do not preclude it entirely. Indeed, a strong case can be made that international law, at the time, did not preclude the invasion of The Hijaz. That being said, Article 11 of the League of Nations Covenant brings additional interest into this discussion by extending responsibilities to all League members when it comes to the use of force or threat of aggression. Specifically, the article declares such instances ‘a matter of concern to the whole League’, irrespective of whether the events unfolding affect the League of Nations membership.4 Overall, there is perhaps more evidence to support the argument that, until the 1928 Kellogg–Briand Pact, states could and did acquire territory by force and by threat. We address these important questions in Chapter 6, with a view to assessing the significance and the implications of the applicable legal context as well as the stance of the League of Nations and the Allies, in the context of the 1920s, which saw the conquest and eventual assimilation of The Hijaz by the forces of Ibn Saud.   Although there is a certain morality and earnestness that could attract a lawyer to take an advocate’s approach to The Hijaz—namely, xxvi

PREFACE to argue that the incorporation of that state into Saudi Arabia was a breach of law—this is not the route that is adopted in this book. We do not presume that international legal scholars would find the argument convincing enough. And, even if such an argument should be accepted, it would have a significant destabilizing effect on modern law, as there are a number of territorial settlements that nobody seriously questions today, which have emerged as a result of force before the crystallization of the modern rule.   Accordingly, this study focuses on the history of The Hijaz and Arab self-determination instead. It traces the causes and international legal origins of statehood, beginning with the Arab Revolt of 1916 and the short life of the Kingdom of Hijaz, in order to: (i) tell a story that has inherent interest; (ii) relate that story to where we are today in the Middle East; (iii) relate it also to the current, topical interest—namely the emergence of modern Syria and Iraq; and of course (iv) analyse and deepen our understanding of Saudi Arabia, including its internal contradictions and tensions. As a precursor for this ‘hidden narrative’, the study traces the origins of Islamic statehood a thousand years back to find the ‘idealized state’ in the venture of Islam: The Hijaz. That history paves ways for the statehood argument; namely, that from the point of view of modern international law, The Hijaz deserves active and special protections. But this is buttressed by pragmatic considerations—hence the proposition for a unique form of self-determination that marries autonomy with international dimensions. The study ultimately concludes with reflections on current ills and the danger of a regional collapse (and possibly the dangers of the status quo), making the case that The Hijaz may be an ‘integrative’ solution for a looming Middle East Westphalian moment.

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INTRODUCTION

The Hijaz (Hejaz, Hedjaz, ‫ احلجاز‬al-HHiggaaz) is an obscure Arabic geographical designation for the western region of the Arabian Peninsula. In Arabic the word means barrier, which denotes the mountain range that separates it from the central Arabian plateau. Today, the word seems to be folded into historical texts, and into its modern mother state, Saudi Arabia.Yet The Hijaz opens our eyes to the world of Islam, and to the not-too-distant international legal history that defined the Middle East and the trends and occurrences we are witnessing in the world today. International law and Islam have a peculiar—if not tense—interdisciplinary relationship, and, more often than not, prefer to avoid close encounters. While this superficial relationship persists, the single most important unit of international law—the state—and in Islam—The Hijaz—remain buried. Islam began in The Hijaz, yet few historians and fewer international lawyers remember that there was a state of Hijaz.   The purpose of this book is to tell the legal history of The Hijaz and Saudi Arabia, to locate them within their Arab and Islamic contexts, and to outline some of their possible futures, desirable and otherwise. It asserts that the crisis in the Middle East can be understood best in the context of Islamic governance and international legal history. The Hijaz is central to such understanding.   The main vector of approach is the corpus of international law: any attempt to clarify or re-imagine the future of The Hijaz has to be placed within the framework of statehood and self-determination norms, principles, precedents, conventions, treaties, generally accepted juris 



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THE HIJAZ prudence, and customs that support that law. In this context, the Islamic thrust of our inquiry is aimed at the sources of legitimate governance of the modern state, both in terms of the concept tout court and with reference to the particular statecraft and political discourse of the Islamic and Arab worlds.   We will also look at two crucial passages in the Islamic history of the Arabian Peninsula that contribute the hermeneutics and factual matrices within which international law must be applied. The first lies at the point of origin of Islam, the idealized form of statehood, in the period beginning in the seventh and eighth centuries, when the first principles of governance and legitimate policy were laid down, largely in isolation from ‘mainstream’ political philosophy as it had been developed by the Greeks.   The Islamic state in The Hijaz only existed for nearly forty years in the seventh century, during and immediately after the Prophet Mohammad’s life. It was the first, and, arguably, the only, Islamic state. Here, the Wathiqa or Constitution of Medina, which the Prophet drafted upon his immigration to Medina, makes an essential frame of reference, as it was a social contract that governed and organized the nexus of relations in the newborn state between the natives living in Medina, including the Quraysh Muhajirun, the Ansar,1 and the Jews. The Constitution addressed essential points, such as defining the nature of the state. The term umma is used in the Constitution several times to refer to the new collective body of citizens in Medina (‘collectivity’) as a single nation territorially defined, Muslims and others.   It is important to decisively submit that what this origin bequeathed the Islamic world was just that: an origin. Unlike the European world, which had seen great innovation in forms of government but had never settled on a consensus as to which was preferable, the mode by which the first Islamic state came into existence left its imprint—clear, smudged, or distorted—on all those that came after. And for the Arab countries, thirteen centuries later, The Hijaz was just that: the first legal person—just as it was the first Islamic state at Islam’s inception.   Despite presiding over this primal statehood, The Hijaz is often overlooked in accounts of the twentieth-century origins of statehood, and this brings us to our second key historical passage, the formation of the ‘modern Middle East’ in the two decades after the end of the 2

INTRODUCTION First World War. This tumultuous period resembled a landscape after a volcanic eruption—molten streams of men and ideas pouring out over a shattered colonial landscape until they cooled into states, fanned on their way by the agenda papers of diplomatic conferences.   The new nation-states that emerged from the chains of empire were a curious collection. Some, such as Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, were born with fabulous ‘undeserved’ wealth; some, like Transjordan, had little; others, like Yemen, had nothing.Yet others, such as Iraq and Syria, were handicapped by the means and conditions of their inception.   The way that the political map of the Middle East was overlain on its physical and human geography meant that the Arab nations started life on a wildly distorted board. Living within borders defined by the colonial powers—the Sykes–Picot system, as some have referred to it— generations of Arabs lived lives largely determined by which sides of imaginary lines they happened to be on. From an Islamic point of view, taking into account that a state is a product of generations (duwal) of polities, reconciling a new state with both a legacy and an ideal of ‘generations of Islamic states’ was a central difficulty. Internally, the new polities had to be reshaped, and consecutive rulers sought to readjust the meaning of governance and constitution to the theories of Islamic leadership and public policy while the bilad al-haramayn (the sanctified places of Makkah and Medina) were the subject of new imperial alliances and relations.   These two periods, more than a millennium apart, have surprising parallels. Both were periods in which new worlds were created out of old ones, and both were marked by foundational tensions that festered into political sectarianism. In the eighth century, the key passage took place forty years after the death of the Prophet Mohammad—a crucial reference period not only for Islamic statehood but also for Islamic political thought, as we shall see. Here the first generation of Islamic leaders was faced with the problem of determining a form of authority that captured a sense of legitimacy, and therefore statehood. The solution was to nominate the Prophet’s successor, or caliph, from his Quraysh companions, although the nomination process required doctrinal innovation. Others chose to focus their enquiry on which relative should be the first caliph or Imam: Abu Bakr, the Prophet’s trusted friend and companion; or ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, his cousin and son-in-law. 3

THE HIJAZ Many argue that this dilemma led to the Shi’ite schism in the first century of Islam, even if it was not itself the main cause.   The home state of the Caliphate government was Medina (in The Hijaz). The first three of the four Rightly Guided Caliphs, or Rashidun, ruled from the city until 656, a year after the assassination of the Third Rightly Guided Caliph, ‘Uthman, when ‘Ali, the Fourth Rightly Guided Caliph, broke with The Hijaz by relocating his government to the new Iraqi garrison city of Kufa. After ‘Ali, the centre of the Caliphate was never again located in The Hijaz. It was Damascus between 660 and 750, afterwards Baghdad, and then elsewhere.   Although most are aware of Baghdad as the capital of the medieval Caliphate, it is Medina that is regarded as the first Islamic state, and the only one that fulfilled the ideals of Islam. It was not simply the fact that the secular and the sacred were co-located; it was also a new sense of collectivity, which was directly referred to in the Constitution of Medina. The Constitution cited the umma as an essential means of conferring legitimacy on a ruler, and it redefined the word to mean the collective body of the Muslims, as distinct from its previous designation of a wider group that included migrant tribes, Jews, and others. A sense of affiliation or formalized affinity was therefore encapsulated by the term, and it conferred upon members of this new group a legal status similar to the spirit of modern popular citizenship (muwatana). This affiliation or affinity was an elemental condition of statehood in Islam. The idea of the umma was later to be applied to the Arab nationalist worldview of the collective Arab peoples.   In the period following the 1916 Arab Revolt, the issue was again whether consanguinity conferred a Weberian form of legitimacy, and the argument was advanced that there was a legal requirement to have leadership over the umma reside in the House of the Prophet, in the form of an Arab Hashemite of the Quraysh tribe. In the second half of the nineteenth century, Britain’s imperial planners had found a dagger with which to undercut the Ottomans with this precondition for legitimacy, and had advocated that the Sharif of Makkah rather than an Ottoman Turk should be sovereign over Muslims—or at least the Arabs.   After the First World War, and the success of the Arab Revolt, the ambitions of the Hashemite sovereign interfered with British policy 4

INTRODUCTION and the plans of the Entente to redesign the Middle East. The only way out of the powerful dream of a single Arab state with its capital in Makkah is to counter the narrative—and indeed the legitimacy— of the bloodline of the Prophet with the authority of militant ideology over the Holy Lands; in effect, to counter a narrative of the homeland of the Arabs with that of an Islamic awakening that would neutralize Arabia.   Although the elimination of The Hijaz caused no immediate visible damage to the fabric of international relations, the unleashing of Wahhabi ideology in the Middle East now looks like one of the graver international consequences of British imperial diplomacy in its sunset years, and deserves far greater attention when considering statehood in the region.

Saudi Arabia and the Holy Land The Hijaz today is, concurrently, a region within the modern Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the former state that made that modern polity possible. But The Hijaz cannot be seen just as a geographical region in Saudi Arabia, or as exclusive to it. The Hijaz is a political–cultural entity. Its history is essential. There are two key narrative reasons for taking this approach: firstly, so that The Hijaz does not mistakenly appear simply as one of a number of short-lived states that came into existence after the First World War; and secondly, as the history of The Hijaz adds depth and weight to Arab claims of self-determination.   The Saudi state was formed after the First World War by Britain’s policies towards Palestine and its support for the House of Saud, a dynasty whose fortunes had waxed and waned over the previous three centuries, and which was fighting to establish its third Saudi Islamic state over the Peninsula. The means to this end was supplied by the Ikhwan, ‘the Brotherhood of God Obedient’ or Ikhwan Man Ta‘a Allah: nomads who became zealots under the ideological influence of an ultra-orthodox sect of Islam known as the Wahhabis, which had formed a strategic alliance with the Sauds in the eighteenth century.   While the fate of Arab self-determination was being debated at the Versailles Conference and in other European capitals after the First World War and the success of the Arab Revolt, Saudi dominion over 5

THE HIJAZ The Hijaz was sealed in the summer of 1924, when Wahhabi forces invaded the mountain city of Taif in The Hijaz, an event henceforth known as the Madhbahat al-Taif (the Taif Massacre).   In the past the Sauds and their allies had been checked by Ottoman power, as manifested by Mohammad ‘Ali, an Ottoman military leader from Albania who had become the Khedive of Egypt at the beginning of the nineteenth century. At the beginning of the twentieth century, after establishing a ‘personal union’ of Hijaz and Najd, the House of Saud was faced with the problem of dealing with the technical specializations required by the modern worlds of finance, trade, and manufacture, as well as—more importantly—separatist tendencies. To meet this challenge it needed a new single, unified state—with the civil servants, merchants, and financiers of Hijaz to make it happen. In fact, it was the accession of this class that gave the British-supported Saudi state the capacity to form institutions of governance. This is covered in greater depth in Chapter 2.   The marriage between the nomadic, rough, direct style of the Najd and the sophisticated, courtly culture of The Hijaz was, at first, an unhappy one. The Wahhabis’ prohibition on the veneration of burial sites and their hostility to all other schools of jurisprudence were two points where the manacle chafed the wrist. More serious still was the strangling in its cradle of Hijazi Arab self-determination, which had put forward an entirely different programme for realizing Islamic notions of modern governance and righteous law in formal political terms. In effect, there was an abrupt shift from an ethnocentric Arab discourse to a nationalist rhetoric that was limited to The Hijaz: in practice bringing the elite’s aspirations into line with what had been agreed five years before at the League of Nations. Later, The Hijaz National Charter, supported by most Arab lands, adopted the tenets of popular democratic norms, rather than the feudal absolutism adopted and adapted by the House of Saud.   In time, while diverse religious émigrés from the Two Holy Mosques fled the Arabian Peninsula to Asia and elsewhere, the cosmopolitan elite of The Hijaz were co-opted into the Saudi state, and were given positions of influence and prestige. However, the tensions that were present at the founding of modern Saudi Arabia were never entirely resolved. Makkah and Medina have retained a separate identity, and the status of the Holy Cities has continued to arouse passions throughout the 6

INTRODUCTION Muslim world. The problem is that the Kingdom’s polity has never been able to adjust itself to accommodate them, even when the influx of oil wealth was able to pacify them.   One important factor is the Kingdom’s role in the regional power structure, where it must play the guardian of reaction, demonstrating an increasing willingness to intervene to prevent neighbouring states from altering their internal order. This role, reminiscent of that played by the Russian and Austrian empires in mid-nineteenth-century Europe, has been expressed in Sunni conflicts in Lebanon as well as the recent interventions in Yemen and Bahrain, and an ever-deeper involvement in the Syrian quagmire. Another factor is that the USA has backed the Kingdom because of its abdundant oil wealth, which has given it a fixed role in the wider political economy of the post-war global order. This was manifested in formal terms by the highly unusual decision to transfer power by agnatic seniority: that is, from the eldest of the thirty-seven sons of the founding king, Abdulaziz Ibn Saud, to his next-eldest brother, rather than to his eldest son. Until very recent constitutional reforms, the system was seen as a way of making the hereditary principle as stable as possible, by handing on power to older rather than younger men, thereby conferring all the benefits that age and experience are thought to entail. It also allows power to be transferred to statesmen whose abilities—or lack of them—can be anticipated, and it prevents the possibility of contested titles, childlessness, and the other ills that monarchies are heir to. Most importantly, and while succession experienced an ‘evolution’ through a cousinhood system, it remains shackled by its religious Wahhabi foundations, depriving the monarchy of the flexibility to take on constitutional and democratic norms of governance that would enable it to face the challenges of the twenty-first century. Indeed, it is a heavy burden for the monarchy, as it is blamed, both directly and indirectly, for the new wave of al-Qaida’s postmodernist programme and DA’ISH’s neo-medievalist global ambitions.

The Hijaz and aWestphalian Moment? The consequences of the two above-mentioned historical passages and the status of The Hijaz—and by extension, Saudi Arabia—will be ana 7

THE HIJAZ lysed in detail later in this work. Inevitably, it will be informed by an awareness that the paths taken have led to a region crippled by conflict. Despite a century-long effort that began with The Hijaz, as the first Arab legal entity, to remedy the ills of the colonial past, to develop modern economies, to adopt new principles of governance, to reach new regional political arrangements, and to reformulate Islamic doctrines to accommodate or resist wider currents of change, the result has been calamitous. The Middle East, together with its neighbours in Afghanistan and the Maghreb, joins the Horn of Africa and the countries around the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC) as regions where states are unable to provide basic services, or enforce their monopoly on legitimate violence, in Max Weber’s well-known test. However, although nations such as Ethiopia and Somalia are on the road to recovery, the fate of much of the Middle East and parts of Africa continues to hang in the balance. This is particularly evident in Nigeria today, where the DA’ISH-aligned terror group Boko Haram has taken hold of parts of the country.   From a political economy perspective, most of these states have failed to use their vast oil wealth to push forward development projects or build popular democratic institutions, or political systems with the usual separation of powers. Arab states have failed precisely to define their self-expression of Islam, leaving a dangerous void, while Western countries, and the USA in particular, have failed to resolve historical injustices, fortifying a cynical and fatalistic view of the future on the Arab street. The ‘undeserved’ wealth, as it is seen by many, only deepens the wound in Arab consciousness.   Equally, the countries in the region have attempted in vain to form effective international organizations and structures, of the kind that have been evolving across the globe, and which take their most elaborate regional institutional form, as contested as it may be today, in the European Union. For example, the countries with the greatest ideological and (Arabian) ethnic homogeneity are the members of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC): Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Kuwait, Qatar, Oman, and Bahrain. Nonetheless, its members have struggled to develop the body into an effective grouping, with Oman taking little part, and the rest apt to fall into a state of frigid non-cooperation if not cold war. The 2017 GCC June–Ramadan Crisis 8

INTRODUCTION with Qatar—whose eruption coincided with the fifty-year anniversary of the Six Day War of 1967—is a case in point.   Moreover, in the aftermath of 9/11, the British–American invasion of Iraq, NATO’s occupation of Afghanistan, the Arab Spring of 2011, the furore over Iran’s nuclear ‘grand bargain’, the rise of DA’ISH, Russia’s campaign in Syria, terrorist attacks in France and elsewhere, and the perpetual conflicts surrounding Palestine and Israel, general opinion in the West has taken a sharp turn against both Islam—especially the Sunni version—and also against people of Arab origin (a category that probably includes other neighbours, as far as the broader public is concerned).2   This familiar picture of worsening external relations is more than matched by the eruption of sectarian hatreds in the wake of the Shi’a– Sunni civil war in Iraq and its spread to Syria, with further outbreaks in Yemen and Bahrain. The worldview in 2011 was very different when the uprisings of the Arab Spring offered so much hope for democratic change.3 It was the peculiar tragedy of this movement that it took place after the structure of the Middle East had been shattered by the Iraq war. This meant that what might have been a genuine social revolution was usurped by religious movements, and stifled by a cascade of petrodollars—enough money, perhaps, to have built a prosperous new Middle East had the uprisings arrived at a more propitious moment. Obstacles to a peaceful path for change are inextricably linked to rivalry between the regional powers of Iran and Saudi Arabia, and, beyond them, to the increasingly overt struggle between long-standing and emerging global powers.   Students of European international legal history may note a certain resemblance to the Thirty Years War fought in Europe (1618–48), in which a war between Christian doctrines became entangled with a dynastic struggle between Bourbons and Habsburgs and the beginnings of a regional rivalry between France and Spain. Those struggles ended with the Treaties of Westphalia, in which the state acquired some of its modern characteristics and the modern state system could be faintly distinguished.   Brendan Simms of Peterhouse College (Cambridge) argues for a Middle Eastern Westphalia, focusing not on its ideological nation-state system revolution, but rather its legal dispute resolution and geopoliti 9

THE HIJAZ cal dimension. A Middle East riven with wars and conflicts for well over thirty years ought to find a politically oriented international legal restart to recreate itself and its international relations.4   What are the chances of another Westphalian moment when the present agony engulfing the Arab lands is extinguished? Could the call for a Caliphate be considered a counter-Westphalian moment? Could The Hijaz offer an opening for such a time and place, for Sunnis and Shi’a? Could it serve as part of an international dispute resolution process? This book discusses the integrative role that The Hijaz may play in such a moment.

Encounters with International Law Although encounters between international law and the Islamic world can be uncomfortable, to say the least, there are aspects of contemporary jurisprudence that suggest a common purpose and common interest. For instance, Lord Bingham’s reflections on the international rule of law in his famous book The Rule of Law includes a chapter on terrorism5 recognizing the dangers of the 2003 Iraq invasion. He argues: ‘If the daunting challenges now facing the world are to be overcome, it must be in important part through the medium of rules, internationally agreed, internationally implemented and, if necessary, internationally enforced. That is what the rule of law requires in the international order.’6   It is difficult to deny that law, whether domestic or international, is an instrument of policy. As such, it would be a grievous miscalculation to read ‘law’ in the absence of memory, and this is particularly true of international law. One must first look at international law’s ‘birth pangs’—the Westphalian Peace of 1648. In addition to the intra-European religious conflicts, there is the auxiliary historical context of the Ottoman Empire, which was at its apex at this particular time. A major ‘policy’ aim of international relations and international law was to keep the (Muslim) Ottomans at bay. The ambitious conquests and expeditions of the Ottoman sultan Suleiman the Magnificent in the previous century were still fresh in the minds of Europeans.   One of the central tenets of the Treaty of Westphalia, the Augsburg Settlement of 1555, established the policy cuius regio, eius religio (he who rules, his religion), although it was never intended to apply out10

INTRODUCTION side Christian Europe. To a certain extent, there was something akin to a cold war in the known world, with the Ottomans being cast as the Soviet Union of its time, a power based on a different and dangerous ideology in a bipolar world, each bloc with designs on global domination. Christian Europe, despite the beginnings of the Enlightenment, cast itself as the shining light of civilization, resisting the incursions of the barbarian Turks. The narrative is an ironic one since many of the technological achievements immediately preceding and subsequent to the Enlightenment were imported to Europe from the Islamic world. The Grotian notion of a secularized, universal jus gentium, while ahead of its time, was ‘unrequited’ by the Islamic world, as it contained a pre-existing worldview that could not accommodate the legal and diplomatic traditions of the Islamic world at that time. What is more ironic is that generations of Arab leaders have adopted the modern Westphalian nation-state indiscriminately since the middle of the twentieth century, without giving due attention to the umma’s worldview.   Going forward through history, we find that while international law evolved significantly from its seventeenth-century roots, it was nonetheless negatively predisposed towards the non-Christian world. Mandates, for instance, were categorized in relation to their possession of ‘civilization’; naturally, Christian lands were to be considered more civilized than their ‘heathen’ counterparts. In the post-war, UN era, an increasing plethora of intellectual movements sprang up to explain international law and its relationship to imperialism. The most notable of these movements are Third World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL), which was founded at Harvard Law School in 1996. The second is Critical Legal Studies (CLS), which emerged in the late 1970s. One of the most prominent non-legal academic fields which has looked at the political, philosophical, literary, and artistic aspects in the characterization of the ‘exotic East’ is the study of Orientalism, coined by Edward Said in 1978. As far as Said was concerned, the Islamic world was always a threat to the Orientalist, for three reasons. Firstly, its historical claim to an empire—expansive, ordered, economically successful, and technologically inventive—made it a necessary adversary from an ideological standpoint.7 Secondly, the Islamic world never fully submitted to European ideas or subjugation.8 The Hindu and Chinese civilizations are a distant memory from the Orientalists’ per 11

THE HIJAZ spective, while the Islamic world still retains its collective memory of past glories. Thirdly, the sheer number of Muslims indicates to the Orientalist that Islam forever poses a latent threat if its constituents ever ‘rise up’.9   The encounters between international law and the Islamic world are largely paradoxical. On the one hand, the interactions between international law, international institutions, the Western world, and Muslim nations revolve around the settlement of conflicts and/or dealing with human rights abuses and, more recently, global terrorism. On the other hand, there seems to be a quiet neglect or lack of interest in the types of regimes that are found (imposed) in the Middle East and other parts of the Islamic world. The idea of changes in regimes in countries such as Saudi Arabia, Jordan, Kuwait, Qatar, and so forth seems inconceivable in the minds of the observer and the expert alike. Balancing the complex geopolitical and economic interests in the region requires Faustian bargains and a commitment to address and manage their immediate and longer-term consequences. International law, to borrow a thought from the eminent Finnish legal scholar Martti Koskenniemi, lives between apology and utopia. International law, its colonial past, and imperial present are best articulated and expressed in the title of his magnum opus: ‘the gentle civilizer of nations’.10   This book traces the origins of modern statehood after the fall of the Ottoman Caliphate. It also explores the power politics in the pre-war era, The Hijaz’s call for an Arab Revolt against the Ottomans, and the aspirations for a unitary Arab state. Arab self-determination, legal and political, enlivened the imagination of nationalist movements across the Arab world while glorifying the ancient rulership institution of the Quraysh, via the Hashemites, and the seat of the Caliphate in The Hijaz. At the same time, the makers of the modern world were coalescing in west London and the seventh arrondissement of Paris.   The existence of The Hijaz and the future of Arab self-determination was threatened by Sharif Hussein’s refusal to acquiesce in the Mandate system, supporting Arab aspirations for Jerusalem. The state lines in the sand created by Sykes–Picot became eternally enshrined in history beyond the intention and imagination of the Arabs. The end result, dictated by realpolitik and in disregard of the embryonic international law system, led to annexation and the creation of a new Wahhabi alternative 12

INTRODUCTION state through jihad. The central Allies did not bother with duties such as non-recognition of a Faith Militant movement, or enforcement of the rules of their new international norms. The resulting fall of the Caliphate in 1924 was a very difficult pill to swallow for the umma, especially as this new Islamic Faith Militant system governed through the Islamic Holy Seat (Makkah) and not the more legitimate Islamic Caliphate.   Hijazis, nevertheless, sought statehood and Arab self-determination with an ethnocentric outlook. The ‘Arab Renaissance’ of 1916 was indeed in line with those movements, and did take on the ethnic spirit of self-determination of the time. But as the idea of a Quraysh Caliphate fell out of favour, and Hijazi nationalists sought to take matters into their own hands and to have a nation-state, underscoring to the entire Islamic world its national, territorial, and constitutional dimensions, and leaving behind the taxing Islamic notion of the Caliphate, and caliph, after diplomatic efforts elsewhere, and taking solace in being the Holy Seat.   But modern trends can be cruel. Self-determination and statehood in international law meant something completely different for The Hijaz. Statehood was born in international law as a construct defined along ethnic lines; but later, after the establishment of the United Nations, it was canonized as territorial. While recent statecraft trends seem to be pushing towards internal economic and popular sentiment, statehood remains a mercurial legal notion, full of traps and always evolving. Take, for example, the cases for recognition of Kosovo, and the opponents of the annexation of Crimea by Russia, who have based their argument on territorial integrity.   As for the Middle East, those very lines of modern statehood also brought about popular uprisings and Islamic extremism. History and jurisprudence seem to indicate that we are witnessing interesting, yet paradoxical, parallels at either end of the twentieth century.   So is it now incumbent upon world powers to carve out ‘another’ worldview? And if so, might it even be fathomable that such a worldview could be an Islamic one? With or without the assistance of international law? Indeed, there are democratic trends in international law that suggest that we are moving slowly towards the light. There are ‘neo-functional’ transnational organizational arrangements, in trade and cooperation, that can satisfy these requirements, and a non-threat 13

THE HIJAZ ening (perceived or real) collective Islamic aspiration. The real hope, however, seems to be squaring internal political arrangements with the jurisprudential derivatives of both international law and Shar’ia objectives (maqasid). Both look to political participation, rule-of-law values, and democratic norms relating to individual rights, as opposed to pushing groups and communities to collective or group rights.

The State and Caliphate To begin with, the discussions in this book on the theory of the Caliphate in Islamic legal literature should be read with certain caveats in mind. The ideal of the Caliphate is linked to an ideal umma or collective global Muslim community.   There is no exact and consistent equivalent of the English word ‘state’ in Arabic, nor is the concept given a full and unambiguous treatment within the Islamic legal tradition. The collective sense of what a state is depends on how people and countries have been affected by the faith and history of Islam: a sense of collective citizenship, or collectivity, that finds expression in the concept of the umma, an Arabic word for which there is no precise and consistent equivalent in English.   We do not plan to belabour the inquiry into how this global Muslim commonwealth or collectivity can be both one and multiple; that it includes Sunnis, Shi’a, and Ibadhis; or that it has, for at least a century, included distinct ‘nations’ and ‘nation-states’, governed by ‘national laws’—which, in turn, interpret the Islamic traditions differently. It is important, however, to note that Islamic countries have always existed under the banner of a global religious community, and that the existence of modern Islamic nations leave much of this in the same theoretical space. Just as The Hijaz is not claimed here as a centre for a global Caliphate, any discussion of the Caliphate does not deny the distinctiveness of the multiple Islamic nations and communities in the world today, and the centrality of The Hijaz to them.   Therefore, this book suggests that, to look for a way out of the trap that the Middle Eastern countries find themselves in, an appreciation of the historical facts should be accompanied by a renewed focus on the basic unit of international law: the state. A legal understanding of the modern origins of statehood and the modern history of The Hijaz is 14

INTRODUCTION vital. In particular, it will be necessary to analyse the notion of selfdetermination as a concept within international law, in an Arab context, and as an Islamic experience since the fall of the Caliphate almost a century ago. It is also important to understand the core elements of the Caliphate system and the Islamic state, and how their aura of legitimacy has been hijacked and manipulated by various actors, particularly seen with DA’ISH, and its belief that capturing territories would somehow equate to the status of statehood.11 It is vital to fully grasp the different layers of governance—symbolic, ideational, religious, ‘convening’—that The Hijaz and the Muslim Holy Lands command, and why there is such an appeal, for extremists or actors wishing to establish a pre-eminent position in the Islamic world, in the idea of ‘capturing’ or ‘seizing’ the Holiest Sites.   Furthermore, it is essential to deconstruct the points of agreement and disagreement between Western and Islamic notions of statehood for a number of reasons—not merely as a means of respectful interfaith and inter-state dialogue, but in order to realistically comprehend the intellectual machinery of Islamophobia that is slowly taking hold in the doctrines of international law as detailed in the eight points presented by the secretary-general of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation to the Fifteenth Session of Human Rights Council in Geneva on 16 September 2010. After having reflected on the encounters with international law, the book both directly and indirectly addresses the means through which this has come to pass.12   The first question that arises is the extent to which statehood within the Islamic tradition is commensurate with the idea as it has emerged from the canonical texts of Western political and legal philosophy. The two main rival theories of statehood are: that it depends on territory, population, government, and capacity to enter into relations with other states; and that it depends on recognition by other states. Quibbles are possible—for example, a government-in-exile may fulfil some functions of a state, such as maintaining military forces, while holding no territory of its own—but this list of necessary conditions is not controversial, and applies equally to all states regardless of their other characteristics. In the Islamic legitimate policy context, however, and as we shall explain later, states are also required to have legitimacy, in the sense that a population freely acknowledges a government’s legitimate authority.  

15

THE HIJAZ   What is controversial is the extent to which these necessary conditions are together sufficient to establish a claim to statehood that other states are bound to recognize by virtue of its intrinsic composition. Here, the abstract picture of an idealized state bleeds into the real world, in which statehood is typically seen as the final step in the attainment of ‘national liberation’, the culmination of a struggle that must be fought against the forces of oppression. If statehood gives a nation the formal mechanisms of self-government, legal personhood, and international agency, then nationhood lends the state the cultural content that gives determination, personhood, and agency their meaning. In other words, a people’s worldview plays a large part in how individuals see themselves and how far their transcendent collective imagination shapes a state; and this is the crux of Islamic exceptionalism. This is also the danger of the collective sense of persecution felt by Muslims today.   While ‘nationalist historiography’ is evident in this Islamic worldview, a unique aspect of the Islamic experience is the existence of an ideal state at the founding of Islam. Although the European tradition and the English term ‘politics’ refer back to the Greek poleis (citystates), the particular styles of statecraft practised there were nothing if not heterogeneous, and were not treated as ideals against which all other forms of state and government now fall short. Perhaps a European version of the idea of the ideal state could be found in an earlier period: in medieval Christian philosophy. Although Jean-Jacques Rousseau regarded the city-state as the ideal size of democratic unit, he did not advocate that all other states adopt it.13   In the early development of the Islamic political order, the founders who shaped the polity did not need to describe what it was, but those who followed afterwards inevitably felt the need to express or reinterpret its existence through legal codes. There is a common misperception that the only valid political form of government or state system in Islamic jurisprudence is the Caliphate; even Islamic scholars are not immune to this assumption.14 In essence, however, the Caliphate is a constitutional framework for appointing a leader of the Islamic polity.15   After the death of ‘Ali, the existing Islamic polity suffered a fall from grace, as we will explore in detail later. The point to make here is that the Medinan state retains a particular power as a lost ideal. And even after 16

INTRODUCTION the locus of political and military power moved north and west, The Hijaz remained central to the caliphs’ legitimacy and concerns, not least for the practical reason that whoever was in charge in Damascus, Baghdad, Cairo, or Istanbul had a paramount duty to ensure that the roads to Makkah were safe for pilgrims. It would be hard to overstate the importance of this requirement in the present day, and, as I will argue, it has far-reaching legal consequences that cannot be overlooked.   Today, just under a quarter of the population of the world follows the Islamic faith. Moreover, there are more than fifty-seven member states in the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC)16 (the ‘Islamic bloc’ in the United Nations). These states also belong to the Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), the African Union (AU), AsiaPacific Economic Cooperation (APEC), the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO), the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), the League of Arab States or Arab League, and the Maghreb Arab Union (MAU), among others.   Ekmeleddin Ihsanoglu, the first Turkish secretary-general of the OIC (by election), in a manner reminiscent of the Ottoman era, declared that the ‘OIC is an expression of a shared will for solidarity and cooperation that draws its binding force from [the umma’s] experiences’.17 The umma, the collectivity or worldwide community of Muslims, is a source of appeal. This is not to be confused with a religious or political appeal. It refers to a worldview.   Even after the Caliphate, many polities gave primacy to Islamic law, the Shari’a, directly or indirectly, in regulating temporal aspects of life. The expression of adherence to Shari’a took on different forms in these countries: in some dynamically, as positive law; in others more figuratively, by way of a reference—for example, in a national constitution. This expression is allied with many shapes of governance structures and political affiliations, but nonetheless, Islam remains the primary legal identity and societal voice. These societies are organized around practices and customs evolving from a 1400-year-old tradition. Social and religious norms are deeply embedded in the way Muslim polities function today, and even though many have changed as a result of colonialism and the fall of the Caliphate, at their core they remain an Islamic expression.   Ultimately, comprehending Islamic doctrine becomes a matter of policing the boundaries between epistemologies. Islamic scholars such 17

THE HIJAZ as Abdalrazzak al-Sanhuri Pasha (d. 1971) and ‘Ali Abdel Raziq (d. 1966) particularly debated the concept of the Caliphate following its fall in 1924. Abdel Raziq rejected the Caliphate altogether, and challenged the conventional understanding of the political aspects of Islam.18 Al-Sanhuri Pasha, on the other hand, argued for alternatives, including an international organization and the codification of Islamic law.19 More recently, Radwan al-Sayyid has argued that the concept of an Islamic state is used differently today from what it was widely believed to be among Muslim scholars in the past.20   Indeed, Islam played a critical role in the polity, from the first state of Medina all the way through to 1924. Since that time there has been some misunderstanding both inside and outside Islamic countries on the role and the political application of Islam. Radical, anachronistic, militant, and—overall—illegitimate movements have further influenced this lack of understanding. The political and religious vacuum that has dominated the period following the breakdown of the Soviet Union and the post-9/11 global War on Terror has been filled by both extremist and reactionary forces. Moreover, many Islamic countries are saddled with poverty and socio-economic disadvantage. Some have been clearly failing institutionally for decades in the areas of the rule of law and democracy, as well as development and economic cooperation.   To understand the situation of contemporary Islamic states one must, therefore, trace the historical factors of Islamic statehood and, more importantly, the birth and afterlife of the first Islamic state in the post-First World War era, The Hijaz, towards which 23 per cent of the world’s population pray and to which they must travel at least once in their lifetime.  

 

The Centrality of The Hijaz Today What was the status of The Hijaz in international law, in the Caliphate, in the League of Nations? We discuss the key stages—the rise, fall, and afterlife of the state of Hijaz—in Chapters 4 through 6. Below, however, are some useful trajectories to help guide the reader of this book.   When Imam Ibn Saud conquered The Hijaz in 1925, he made promises to Hijazis, the Muslim world, and the newly formed international community that The Hijaz would be governed by the Hijazis (as a peo18

INTRODUCTION ple), as an independent entity, with its own Islamic characteristics (differentiated from the Wahhabis). This was not simply a guarantee of self-government but a form of peacekeeping, which limited the need for external policing, especially when local government and courts were in charge of law enforcement. In other words, in the ‘Weberian’ sense, the monopoly of force intra-Hijaz (internally—within the region and at the local level) would remain with The Hijaz authorities.   This organizational feature of the pre-conquest Hijaz continued after the conquest for almost a year, underlying the more superficially radical changes to patterns of Islamic and religious sectarianism. However, the Haram (Grand Mosque) in due time became an important unit of social order and solidity in the Wahhabi state.   Ideologically, the importance of The Hijaz–Najd kingdom was more far-reaching, though less concrete. The later nationalist movement, The Hijaz Liberation Party, relied on Imam Ibn Saud’s records of pre-conquest Hijaz for evidence of a democratic form of government, which, it was said, had been illegitimately swept away when Hijaz came under the ‘Saudi yoke’. This claim came to be embodied in a cultural tradition which first bolstered militant opposition to Saudi rule, and later, in a literary tradition which has echoes in the music, poetry, and prose after the end of the personal union between Ibn Saud and Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab and the creation of the new state, the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. It allowed Hijaz notables, the original members of The Hijaz National Party that gave its pledge of allegiance to Imam Ibn Saud in 1925, to argue that the king had no power to rule over subjects without the consent of The Hijaz Council, and (going a step further) no role for an alternative ideology. Arguments about the powers of the king before the single Saudi kingdom were always, as a matter of historical method, inconclusive, but as a matter of law and political morality, they could have considerable force.   In terms of national identity, the tribal idea of the ‘Saudi-ness’ of Arabia also draws on the pre-conquest era of the first and second Saudi states, but discounts or ignores the international pan-Islamic cosmopolitan character of the Hijazis—as distinct from the Hashemites (namely the Quraysh and other tribes). The Hijazi language, as it is spoken today in cosmopolitan Hijaz, is the result of the development of a hybrid form of Arabic, Turkish, Mandarin, Indonesian, Malay, 19

THE HIJAZ Swahili, Urdu, Hindi, and other languages. Freedom of Islamic affiliation is represented in the Grand Mosque’s inclusiveness—with the five schools of jurisprudence. This quality of being non-sectarian and tolerant of diverging viewpoints is distinctively Hijazi, and a common heritage since Islam’s inception. Perhaps these complexities explain why attempts by politicians to invoke ‘Saudi-ness’ and Saudi culture have had limited success against an Arabian union under Imam Ibn Saud. Even people who regard themselves as Saudi have no clear idea of what that means, beyond a vague attachment to the House of Saud and, more dangerously, the prominence of Najd as a conqueror—excluding others from a deeper attachment to the national union.   Because it is unable to bend, the Saudi state must make itself as rigid as possible in ideological terms. Rigidity, sanctified by religion, implies brittleness. This is exemplified by the fact that absolute executive, legislative, and judicial powers are combined in the person of the king. He, in turn, governs by decree, unchecked, without any oversight or balance mechanisms in place, or any other autonomous regulatory institution. In these circumstances, a succession mechanism that can be relied upon to deliver a sane ruler is clear enough.21 This raises the following question: when the currents of history shift, when contesting forces arise, what Islamic statecraft can be practised by such a ruler? In the contemporary world, Saudi kings must satisfy the aspirations of a population that is doubling every twenty years, and which is now nearing 30 million. Half of these people are under twenty-five, and therefore need concrete education and employment if they are to acquiesce to the present political arrangement.22 The kings must also reckon with the rising ambition of Iran and the perception that it is fighting proxy wars through Shi’ite surrogates. They must also consider that the backing of the United States is no longer to be taken entirely for granted. And they must deal with the currents of Wahhabi thought manifesting beyond its borders, which took political form in al-Qaida and, more dangerously, DA’ISH, who regard the ‘freeing’ of the Land of the Holy Cities as a paramount strategic duty. In the lull that followed the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan, this developed, over several decades, into a long-term plan among radical groups to establish power (tamkin) and dominion over The Hijaz and use it as the centre of an idealized ‘Islamic state’.23   That goal was taken up, twenty years later, by the organization whose name has changed as its ambitions have grown: DA’ISH. This  

20

INTRODUCTION theatrical neo-medievalism, a term that we shall explain later, was the natural child of al-Qaida and the US neoconservatives: the former intent on driving US soldiers and oilmen from the bilad al-haramayn; the latter on distributing them more widely throughout the greater Mesopotamian region. The upshot of the 2003–11 US occupation of Iraq has been a war of all against all, the staging of a Hobbesian thought experiment, in which few political programmes beyond military attrition can be contemplated by most of the protagonists. There is one exception: DA’ISH.   DA’ISH’s neo-medievalism includes sweeping plans for the Caliphate—a vision that has proved to have great appeal for those inclined towards political and religious violence, and perhaps those who feel persecuted. Among those plans is a policy, announced in May 2015, to divide Saudi Arabia into five administrative districts. On 24 May 2015 the Saudi Ministry of Interior felt the need to issue a statement rejecting the proposal. As Saudi Arabia’s territorial integrity comes under scrutiny, so does the status of The Hijaz within it. This is the terrain that much of the fighting is actually and symbolically about.   Given the historical importance of The Hijaz in the formation of the modern Middle East and the ultimate fate of Islamic political institutions, we ponder its afterlife. Does The Hijaz influence Islamic or Middle Eastern discourse even after it has disappeared? What, in particular, are the roles of historical and contemporary Hijazi consciousness and political aspiration in shaping a form of Islamic state in general? Islamic collective action, such as the neo-medievalist agenda to take over The Hijaz? There are two interesting challenges that flow from such thinking: (1) a historical argument for a right to self-determination given the principal role of The Hijaz in forming the ‘Arab state’ and as a founding member of the League of Nations; and (2) an Islamic dimension of viewing the Holy Land, or at least access to it, as the right of all Muslims. We therefore examine the relationship between the idea of Arab ethnicity, ‘a Hijaz people’, and the structures of Islamic government: the Caliphate.   More dynamically, The Hijaz offers a fresh vision of Islamic governance and law as a positive force for political reform, both in the Middle East and for its interactions with the wider world. This allows us to comprehend the disruptive impact of the Westphalian sovereign state 

21

THE HIJAZ hood and the Enlightenment notion of self-determination, which precluded the development of a genuine practice of Islamic statecraft as the source of tenets of collective identity and of statesmanship in the Arab hemisphere. While these concepts were recognized as tools of Western imperial influence and control, they were, in an act of self-imprisonment, embraced by successive generations of Arab leaders as unshakable foundations of the emerging Arab and broader Islamic polity.   The alternative vision re-routes Islamic governance in the history and untapped potential of The Hijaz, the first state of Islam in Makkah and Medina. This vision extends from governance in Saudi Arabia, the Arabian Peninsula, and the Islamic community as a whole, and its interaction with the wider world. It rejects the appropriation of Islamic governance and the concept of an Islamic state and of the Caliphate by the postmodern, non-territorial doctrines of al-Qaida, and, equally, by the neo-medievalist DA’ISH, based on the absolute and abhorrent control over territory and people under the false flag of Islamic doctrine.   The history of The Hijaz as the original form of Islamic governance and statehood offers a more modern critical engagement with the classical doctrines of Westphalian statehood and of self-determination in the Middle Eastern context, and a fuller understanding of the distorted ideology advanced to justify the actions of al-Qaida and DA’ISH. It recaptures key elements and legitimate Islamic policy principles of public good, and applies them to the contemporary world.  

Modern Literature on The Hijaz In deepening its engagement with the contemporary literature on the seminal events that changed the course of history at the heart and symbolic epicentre of the Middle East, this book engaged, discussed, and encompassed views and perspectives from a series of important recent accounts. These will appear in several sections of the book. However, some, which played an instrumental role in deconstructing the modern perspectives on the region and the variations of history, pointed to valuable material, and significantly assisted this research, will be mentioned selectively in this section.   Contemporary Hijaz literature has been cut, divided, formed, and reborn in the same way that Arabia and the wider Middle East itself 22

INTRODUCTION today was formed and influenced—by politics, military, foreign intervention, and faith.   For the integrity of the material and to police the intellectual history of fields in humanities and social studies, it was imperative to look not only at archives but at popular references in Arabic as well as academic outputs of Western scholars and institutions. Some may see such an analysis of The Hijaz as a ‘welcomed revisionism’, while others may see it as bridging the truths of two literary traditions: an essential resource to offset the failings of archival theory in confronting the colonial history with respect to such issues as the Palestinian question or the Taif massacre at the hands of the Wahhabi military, and the role of non-state actors more broadly in the spectrum of historical war crimes, such as the Holocaust against Jews, the genocides in Armenia and Greece, and so on.   One of the most essential sources was the Political Encyclopaedia of The Hijaz, Mawsu’at al-Siyasi al-Hijaz.   The 2016 centennial celebrations of the Arab Revolt provided a good opportunity for academic scholars to take on this important historic moment. This was predominantly due to Jordanian efforts as the final guardians of the Revolt’s legacy. Israel had its share of such literature, in the book by Bruce Maddy-Weitzman, A Century of Arab Politics: From the Arab Revolt to the Arab Spring.   The treatment of The Hijaz through the prism of the Arab Revolt is a nuanced undertaking. The late Jordanian minister and historian Kulaib Al Fawaz wrote his revealing book in Arabic, al-Murasalat al-Mutabadala bayn al-Sharif al-Husayn ibn ‘Ali wa al-‘Uthmaniyyin [Correspondence exchanged between Sharif al-Hussein bin ‘Ali and the Ottomans 1908– 1918], which was published and distributed by the Jordanian Ministry of Culture in 2016.   This centennial work showed how some academics concentrated on the relationship between the Sharifs of Makkah, particularly Sharif Hussein, and the British, while others focused on the Sharifs’ relations with the Ottomans, both dominated by the Arab Revolt. However, they scarcely—if at all—looked at academic records dealing with those relationships via original correspondence. Indeed, Arabic academic endeavours are slow at best—including in Jordan, where the information is abundantly available. 23

THE HIJAZ   The first two decades of the twentieth century marked a watershed, because of the breakdown of the long-standing traditional regional powers and the emergence of new global powers and institutions, which affected nascent nationalist movements and the crystallization of ideology and intellectual political currents in Arab countries. Indeed, it was The Hijaz that had the most impact, via the influential role of Sharif Hussein. It was also an important period for the history of the rulers of Makkah, which has not been studied adequately by either Western or Arab scholars. It was essential to cover this period and attempt to fill this gap in the literature in a balanced and thorough manner. This fast-paced period, with all of its controversies, had a direct impact on the situation in The Hijaz and the Ottoman Empire.   Resources and references that relate to The Hijaz and the Revolt include the accounts of those who lived the period of the Arab Revolt such as Amin Said’s al-Thawra al-Arabiyya al-Kubra [The Great Arab Revolt], Asrar al-Thawra al-Arabiyya al-Kubra wa Ma’sat al-Sharif Husayn [The secrets of the Great Arab Revolt and the agony of Sharif al-Hussein], and Thawrat al-‘Arab fi al-Qarn al-‘Ishrin [Revolution of the Arabs in the twentieth century]; also the work of Suliman al-Musa, al-Haraka al-Arabiyya [The Arab Movement], and al-Murassalat al-Tarikhiyya 1914– 1918 [The historical correspondence 1914–1918];the Revolt historian Zain Nour al-Din Zain, Asbab al-Thawra al-Arabiyya al-Kubra [The causes of the Great Arab Revolt] and al-Sira‘ al-Duwali ‘ala al-Sharq al-Awsat [The international contest over the Middle East]; and Bakr Faiq Sawaf, al-‘Alaqat bayn al-Dawla al-‘Uthmaniyya wa Iqlim al-Hijaz [The relationship between the Ottoman State and The Hijaz Province]. Personal memoirs proved very important sources, as they tended to include details that were not available elsewhere. Among the most notable ones are King Abdullah’s, which include accounts of his father, The Hijaz, and the Ottomans, as well as those of Jamal Pasha al-Safah, General Jafar al-Askari, General Ahmad Kadri, Tahseen al-Askari, and Faiz al-Ghaseen. In addition, of course, there are the famous Orientalist memoirs of T. E. Lawrence, The Seven Pillars ofWisdom, and those of St John Philby.   Arab scholars often relied on a certain number of Western sources such as Sultan Abdulhmaid and the Sharifs of Mecca 1850–1900, by Butrus Abu Manneh, and two additional sources on The Hijaz that loom large: Le Hedjaz dans la Guerre Mondiale by Édouard Bermond, and  

24

 

INTRODUCTION D. G. Hogarth’s Hejaz before World War I. Another source that is usually relied on is Ernest C. Dawn’s From Ottomanism to Arabism.   Periodicals were often used in such discourse, predominantly alQibla, which was the official outlet for the Arab Revolt and the government of The Hijaz. Secondly, it was a verified and documented source. Finally, no account of the Kingdom of Hijaz would be realistic or accurate without a reference to Umm al-Qura. The eight-volume Dar al-Ward was very insightful.   The archival documents on The Hijaz have remained problematic since its dissolution. Those in Iraq, Syria, and Jordan, the Hashemite inheritors of The Hijaz, were scattered. Saudi sources tend to naturally suggest that both the British and Ottoman archives were biased in their accounts. This is an unfortunate situation, but it is a great opportunity for an archival theorist to address the modern Middle East and Islamic contemporary history.   Nevertheless, the Ottoman archives in Istanbul which are kept in the International Institute for Nationalist and Socialist Studies in alMustansiriyya University, were for a long time an essential source for Arab researchers on Ottoman Hijaz.  

 

 

The UK National Archives A pilot research project using The Index to the Correspondence of the Foreign Office for the years 1923–6, held at the British National Archives and preserved by the Public Record Office in London, yielded a rich body of information surrounding The Hijaz. This search was expanded to include events of the controversial Taif Massacre. This research began with a keyword search using the term Taif (referenced as ‘Taif: capture of, by Wahabis. E7709/7624/91.–See further Hedjaz (Wahabi Raid)’). Spelling variations and alternatives included Hedjaz, Saud, and Wahabi, Nejd, etc., as well other significant terms such as Ta’if, al-Taif, and so on. Some of these records cite other archives or terms pertinent to these important events. These resources were used to further expand the research. In this fashion, we have amassed approximately eighty records with potential relevance to this particular research area.   The significance of some of the resources found during initial keyword search was not always apparent from the outset. What we have 25

THE HIJAZ found from a closer inspection of the actual records, however, is that more can be learned about the British coverage of events during the periods building up to the capture of Taif. There are various kinds of records held at the Archives, including correspondence between officers stationed in The Hijaz and British headquarters; correspondence between Ibn Saud and British officials; media coverage of announcements in Britain and British colonies at the time; military telegrams requesting aid during the events of the raid, to list but a few. In some instances, figures directly involved in the events were also identified. Nonetheless, further investigation into the contents of these records is still needed, beyond the scope of this volume. The large body of information available, in addition to the limited access to these records, beyond the National Archives, makes for a useful and rewarding project that could benefit from digitization. Furthermore, considering the crucial information uncovered, and the far-reaching significance of this period for the history of The Hijaz, Saudi Arabia, the Middle East, and Islam, one would only hope that more Ph.D. dissertations and academic investigations on the topic will be inspired and prompted.   To assist future researchers, further archival references can be found in the following indices available at the British National Archives, through targeted research:  

to the Correspondence of the Foreign Office for the Year 1923 (now • Index preserved in the Public Record Office, London). Published by KrausThomson Organization Limited, Nendeln/Liechtenstein, 1969. By arrangement with Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, London. Index to the Correspondence of the Foreign Office for the Year 1924 (now preserved in the Public Record Office, London). Published by KrausThomson Organization Limited, Nendeln/Liechtenstein, 1969. By arrangement with Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, London. Index to the Correspondence of the Foreign Office for the Year 1925 (now preserved in the Public Record Office, London). Published by KrausThomson Organization Limited, Nendeln/Liechtenstein, 1969. By arrangement with Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, London. Index to the Correspondence of the Foreign Office for the Year 1926 (now preserved in the Public Record Office, London). Published by KrausThomson Organization Limited, Nendeln/Liechtenstein, 1969. By arrangement with Her Majesty’s Stationery Office, London.

•  •  •  26

INTRODUCTION

The Role andValue of Modern Secondary Sources Given the volatile history of the region, not much light has been shed on this era in contemporary Arab studies, and the period has not benefited from in-depth study or analysis. Some tried to focus on the Arab Revolt narrative, while others concentrated on diminishing the value of the Revolt. More importantly, the Revolt served, in some ways, as a maze in which historians and scholars became lost, overlooking in the process the state that gave birth to it.   We will not attempt here a full review of the literature; the sources are discussed in context, and referred to comprehensively in the manuscript. However, we will close this section with a quick overview and a selective mapping of some key (sometimes unconventional) resources that helped inform, shape, and guide this work.   To begin with, Clive Leatherdale’s 1983 account of British–Saudi relations and how these unfolded over time—especially after the First World War—was pivotal;24 not least in terms of facilitating a better understanding of how far and how deep the effects and implications of British imperial manoeuvrings were in the seminal years that largely defined the socio-political context of the present-day Middle East, Saudi Arabia, and the status of The Hijaz. In describing, through a dynamic politico-historical lens, the shifting designs of the British, Leatherdale’s analysis is both penetrating and revealing. It highlights that, as much as one needs to understand the micro-local and regional dynamics, one must always study these in tandem with the Great Powers’ respective interests, stances, and signals. Turning to an interesting, more contemporary account, Askar al-Enazy’s 2010 monograph The Creation of Saudi Arabia came as a welcome addition to the literature in this complicated field.25 In particular, it represents a more balanced revisionism, coming from a Najd-born Saudi scholar, on the events that unfolded in the critical 1914–27 period which saw a world war, with The Hijaz playing an important part on the side of the Allies, a fervour of imperial power politics and calculations in the Middle East, and the birth and then abrupt end of the Hijazi Kingdom. The work of William Ochsenwald was also a pivotal mine of information, analysis, and a key perspective. His book Religion, Society and the State in Arabia26 was a core background resource as it provided a thorough Western perspective in terms of The Hijaz’s religious, economic, 27

THE HIJAZ legal, and political history, which facilitated this book’s subsequent analysis of the next century of Islamic and Hijazi evolution across these levels. His 2009 chapter on the annexation of The Hijaz was also particularly relevant, and introduced an interesting perspective.27 The 2008 account by Polly Mohs, Military Intelligence and the Arab Revolt, had dual value.28 Not only did it map the key information exchanges in the 1913–17 context, it also pointed to a series of resources and material first published in Mohs’s account. This cross-testing of resources and archival evidence, especially between Arabic and Western texts, was greatly facilitated by Mohs’s detailed records of all the archival sources and material she had consulted and incorporated in her highly detailed study. One of Mohs’s underlying arguments vis-à-vis the Arab Revolt and its success has been the paramount importance of intelligence-led policy and true regional expertise in achieving asymmetric gains through the targeted use of irregular guerrilla forces—an argument which expanded the traditional scope and shed further light on the role of the diplomatic–intelligence institutions, channels, and, ultimately, key individuals of the period.29   A deep, critical, and insightful account of the role of the Arab Bureau in Cairo in the critical 1916–20 timeframe was provided by Bruce Westrate.30 Westrate’s 1992 monograph with its great detail and penetrating analysis of the imperial calculations, divide-and-rule ‘ploys’, and ‘plays’ of the Great Powers, was a useful Western source for this analysis. Beyond its important immediate value, its extensive archival references and primary sources, including the important diplomatic correspondences of the period, were also of particular value. Timothy Paris, in his 2003 account, Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule 1920–1925, provides a critical analysis of Britain’s role in The Hijaz and the broader region since 1914. Paris provides, overall, an important Western perspective and an insightful account on both King Hussein and Prince Faisal, detailed records on the British–Hijazi exchanges, the different promises, the shortcomings and limitations on all sides.31 What is particularly interesting, and valuable from an academic point of view, is that Paris dynamically covers several levels of analysis, interchanging very aptly between individual portraits and personas (the individual level of analysis) and the different institutions—diplomatic and political—as well as the broader dynamics and the often competing local–regional and imperial interests. 28

INTRODUCTION  Another account complementing this new wave of historical revisionism is Madawi Al-Rasheed’s 2010 re-examination of the seminal events that saw the rise of Ibn Saud and the fall of The Hijaz and Sharif Hussein.32 Al-Rasheed openly criticizes the challenging—if not dangerous—aspects of the Wahhabi component that came to be mainstreamed through the Wahhabbi–Saudi alliance and the joint Ibn Saud–Ikhwan action, operations, and military activity. In her account, Al-Rasheed highlights the bitter warfare, factional and tribal dynamics, and the masterful use of religion by Ibn Saud, along with religious fundamentalism’s negative implications, as well as the role of foreign interventions, imperial dealings and calculations, and regional interference either with military and financial support, or with realpolitik manoeuvres.   Joshua Teitelbaum’s seminal 2001 account The Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia has been an important resource.33 Teitel­ baum provides context and background analyses, as well as an in-depth political portrait and critical study of Sharif Hussein, his aspirations, role, and political stance throughout the period studied in this book. Teitelbaum maps and evaluates several pivotal areas, from history and international politics and relations to tribal and social dynamics, state structures, legal and administrative issues, the role of the elites, and an analysis of different layers of statecraft and diplomacy, as well as a detailed account of the events that shaped the contemporary political and religious Middle East landscape.   Joseph Kostiner, in his 1993 account The Making of Saudi Arabia, 1916–1936,34 provides another contemporary Western analysis of how the creation of present-day Saudi Arabia came about with a focus on the events that unfolded in the post-Arab Revolt context. Kostiner’s account is highly informative on British imperial dealings with Ibn Saud in the period during which the latter expanded his influence and power in the Arabian Peninsula through a combination of threat, force, tribal politics, statecraft, and multi-layered diplomacy. Several elements of his analysis have been discussed and incorporated in this study.   The accounts of Randall Baker35 and David Howarth,36 even if now decades old, provided great insights, data, and analysis which informed this book. They proved of notable diachronic value, and, as the reader may discern, they are discussed in tandem with more contemporary accounts. The same is true for Gary Troeller’s very important 1976 29

THE HIJAZ account, The Birth of Saudi Arabia, which traces Anglo-Wahhabi relations since the nineteenth century, focusing its analysis on the Saudi war and peace manoeuvres and how these were seen, engaged, and accommodated by the British.37 Troeller highlights the nature of the poor desert region that made up modern-day Saudi Arabia, cross-examining the toils, wars, struggles, and conflicts that Saudi statesmen had to overcome to establish the Saudi Arabia of the 1970s. Martin Kramer’s 1986 discussion of the Muslim Congress has proved a valuable resource.38 Ernest Dawn’s detailed and insightful accounts of the historical evolution of Arab nationalism and ideology have proved particularly useful,39 not only for immediate reference purposes, but also in maintaining a comparative angle and perspective when processing Arab, Muslim, and other non-Western accounts detailing the evolution of Arab nationalism, its relationship to Western concepts and principles, and the evolution of Arab religious and political ideology in the period studied.   As a final observation, it is important to state that Western and Arab or Muslim accounts are engaged in dynamic discussions in many sections of this monograph. It is deemed that, if anything, this adds value, shedding light in the different angles, perspectives, analytical prisms, and diverging (or often similar) viewpoints adopted when studying these pivotal events and historical developments. Many of the abovementioned principally Western sources provided important insights and comparative elements to consider while processing Arab and other Muslim perspectives.   Even though the era studied is now over a century old, the events and the motives of different actors are far from uncontested, and certainly are not universally accepted. On the whole, as mentioned above, this study has found that there is a positive historical revisionism unfolding, especially in the later part of the past three decades, with a view to shedding further light onto some of the most pivotal pages of Arab, Islamic, and, ultimately, global history. We welcomed and engaged with this new literature as far as this fell within the scope and remit of this study.

30

PART I

STATEHOOD: PRE-MODERN

1

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD

The history of statehood in West Asia and North Africa—and specifically Islam’s Sacred Territories in western Arabia and the perpetual seat of its government, commonly known as The Hijaz—must be traced back to the wider debate surrounding the construction of polities before the twentieth century. In fact, one has to trace back to the time where the state ideal finds its roots, almost 1400 years ago. We distinguish here between legal and political definitions of statehood. At various points in history, the most salient characteristic shared by various conceptions of the state is the existence of a political community, in a given geography, under one government. This seems to be a necessary condition, although not a sufficient one. We are careful about the historical use of the term nationalism. Much of the literature positions nationalism as a clear political doctrine around the time of the French Revolution, in 1789, which included popular sovereignty.   There are several examples of the pre-modern state. These include the Han Empire, the Greek city-states, the Roman state, the Aztec and Inca Empires, the Byzantine Empire, and the Italian city-states. One of the most enduring definitions of statehood came from Marcus Tullius Cicero, and has been used by many, including Hugo Grotius and Henry Wheaton. Indeed, states might have existed in antiquity, as David Bederman argues, but there may be a difference between the ancient and medieval state and the ‘Westphalian’ state in terms of sovereignty.1

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THE HIJAZ Polities that were militarily or politically formidable but perhaps lacked the central characteristics of statehood would include those civilizations established by the Visigoths, Lombards, Franks, Vandals, and Huns.2 The Frankish Empire (Charlemagne) was surely no less like a state than the Inca Empire or the Greek city-states. Besides, all of these polities were very different from each other. Christopher Morris enumerates five core conditions necessary for a polity to exist as a state; it should be noted that these are structural rather than legal requirements. For Morris, a state should possess: (1) a fixed position in space (territoriality); (2) the politics of a public realm (differentiation between private and public realms); (3) institutionalized political organizations (continuity independent from specific leaders or other individuals); (4) a multiplicity of governmental tasks and activities (multifunctionalism); and (5) be based on legitimizing authority structures.3   One of the most significant and widely used explanations of the modern state comes from Max Weber, who focuses on the process of ‘routinization’ in Politics as aVocation and The Theory of Social and Economic Organization. He defines the state as follows: ‘A state is compulsory political association with continuous organization whose administrative staff successfully upholds a claim to the monopoly of legitimate use of force in the enforcement of its order within a given territorial area.’4   Academically, there is no consensus on defining the term state (statehood) in a political or historical sense, nor in the particular technical sense of international law.5 Clyde Barrow, for instance, argues that ‘the central problem at the analytic level of state theory is to define what range of phenomena are encompassed by a concept of the state’.6 He continues: ‘There are many different, sometimes overlapping and often incompatible concepts of the state prevalent in the theoretical literature.’7 In this instance, while there are both external and internal perspectives on the political organization of society, the question becomes about worldview. There is indeed a tension between the ‘international relations’ of the Westphalian nation-states and the Eastern idea of the Muslim ‘collectivity’.   There are pitfalls in tracing the evolution of the concept of the state and, in particular, the role of Islam in the development thereof. One to watch out for is that the modern notion of ‘state’ that we take for granted as being natural and ideal—partly because of Weber—was 34

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD not in operation at any point during early Prophetic times. However, the later Ottoman state took on the features of a modern state, more so than the early Islamic state had. In other words, it is critical to monitor the nuances of statehood so that we may not mistakenly think teleologically about the trajectory of Islamic ‘state’ development. This means trying to trace the transformation of emic8 notions about the relationship between the concepts of governance, law, religion, justice, patronage, and history. Etic9 conceptualizations of the state, and its association with governance, law, religion, and so forth, will be helpful, especially as we trace the mental constructs Western scholars build to understand how Islamic history works, while making sure not to let scholarly analytic paradigms impose themselves on Muslim worldviews. Probably neither the first caliphs in the seventh century nor even the later pre-modern ones would understand what we mean by the word ‘state’ today. It is doubtful that they would understand the word at all. The same would be true of the Shi’ite scholars or elite. Dawla, a central concept to the propaganda of groups such as neomedievalists, referred to the rising fortune of a household, not the apparatus of government. Ultimately, this is a matter of policing the boundaries between epistemologies. After all, the ideal of the past is but a foreign country, or ‘state’.

The Birth and Evolution of Statehood from The Hijaz The Hijaz held a central place during the formative years of Islam. Its claim to pious centrality is based on its importance as the sacred land, in Makkah, where the Prophet Mohammad was born and began his teaching, and as the seat of government for the first Islamic state in Medina. Even before the birth of Islam, The Hijaz incubated the legacy of the ancient Quraysh tribe of the Prophet Mohammad, and Ishmael before him. Throughout their history, the Quraysh were guided by the concepts of unity, justice, and collective annual trade journeys north of The Hijaz, to the Levant, and the Winter Journey to Yemen in the south of The Hijaz:10 At the dawn of the 6th Century, the Quraysh were the dominant tribe in Arabia. The unprecedented proliferation of trade, science, and arts heralded by the dawn of Islam thrust the Quraysh to a position of inter-

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THE HIJAZ national prominence. To this day, the Quraysh occupy a special place in the Arab and Muslim collective consciousness, revered for their inimitable contribution to the development of codes, alliances and practices that continue to shape our world. However, even before being elevated to such lofty heights, the Quraysh were known throughout pre-Islamic Arabia for their strong legal and business traditions. In the Quraysh experience, the three guiding elements of unity, justice and collective action constituted a comprehensive worldview. Trade, cultural and religious festivals, and the need to co-exist with one’s neighbors in The Hijaz and beyond, all demanded collaboration, efficient communication, and equitable legal conventions. This in turn laid the foundation for interdependence, and unity.11

  Through the Quraysh, the fertile ground for Islam was set in Makkah and The Hijaz. The ‘golden age’ of Islam also evolved in The Hijaz, and it is believed to be the place where the most authentic statecraft can be extracted and recaptured from the Prophet Mohammad’s12 religious– political statesmanship, as well as that of his successors. It was here where the implementation of Shari’a law, statecraft, rulership, governance, and Islamic values and principles made the traditional Islamic state great during its ‘Hijaz era’.   The status of Makkah, moreover, exceeds its given location as the economic centre of Arabia; it is its trade and commercial position that is crucial both before and after Islam.13 The beginning of the Prophet Mohammad’s mission and the revelation he received in Makkah allowed for interaction with the old Bedouin tribal community structures and, simultaneously, triggered the practical and core steps towards the Islamic state enterprise. The ‘Makkan era’ is distinguished mainly as a mission, inviting people to embrace monotheism and reject polytheism, carried out in the spirit of tolerance and forgiveness.14 Nonetheless, during the Makkan period, which lasted for thirteen years, the Prophet and his followers suffered ill treatment and were prevented from practising their beliefs openly; some were forced to migrate to Abyssinia to preserve their beliefs. Although the Prophet Mohammad was descended from the most prestigious Quraysh Makkan tribe, Hashem, his Hashemite roots were not enough to fend off increasing pressure from other leaders of Makkah who considered him an existential threat to their hegemony, leadership, and economic interests. 36

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD   The Prophet attracted those poor and needy who believed in his teaching and holy messages, and so can be considered the first followers of Islam. These disciples would later play an essential role in constructing an independent, strong community. After a long period of harassment, persecution, and lack of freedom in Makkah, the Prophet set out on his migration to Medina, known as the Hijra. Accordingly, he did not assume a position of political leadership in Makkah, and Muslims did not represent an independent political community during that time since there was no safe territory to pursue such authority.15   Certainly, the very core of the Islamic state can be traced to the period before Hijra, in particular to the first bay‘a (pledge of allegiance) where a number of people from Medina came to Makkah and sought out the Prophet Mohammad. Here, they swore to submit to Islam, not to steal, nor commit fornication, nor kill their children,16 not to slander, and not to disobey him in something he forbade.17 Later, this was followed by another oath of allegiance, known as ‘the pledge of war’. This came when ‘Ubada ibn al-Samit18 said: ‘We pledged allegiance to the Messenger of God, “the pledge of war”, on compliance and obedience in our hardship and ease, and in our times of activation and aversion …’.19 Consequently, the first bay‘a indicates that they accepted the Faith and would follow it; while the second gives the Prophet Mohammad, as leader and arbitrator, authority over them, and confers rights, as well as an obligation of compliance and obedience.

—  Medina: ‘Territoriality’ The Prophet Mohammad selected Yathrib (the original name of Medina) as the new centre for the Islamic polity. It was named Medina (civitatis), indicating its civil future with the coming of the age of the Prophetic migration. This choice was based on several factors: its geographical location, living conditions, resources, and the demographic and multi-ethnic composition. However, it is also believed that the absence of political leadership in Medina20 strengthened the Prophet’s decision to choose it for the new community.21 Although Medina at that time was by no means as strong or central as Makkah in terms of geopolitical positioning, the Prophet’s Hijra to Medina came as a starting point for a new era that saw the eventual development of a stronghold in The Hijaz to compete with Makkah. 37

THE HIJAZ   In Medina, Islam functioned in various spheres. It went beyond spirituality, effectively establishing civic functions in all spheres of life. Revelation in Medina became more detailed during that era, and the Prophet Mohammad’s political leadership became more widely recognized by other actors beyond The Hijaz. The state—in the strict sense of political organization—had never been known in Arabia before Islam, save for stories of several kingdoms in the north and far south ‘once upon a time’. Thus, the Islamic state was first established in The Hijaz in 622 CE. It was unique in that this Hijaz state had no precursors or neighbours in Arabia relevant to how it later interacted with other states outside Arabia, or to how its relationship with other political communities was theorized. It is a distinguishing marker and unprecedented model of statehood in Arabia and, arguably, the oldest in its history. Although the Prophet may not have intended at that time to found a multi-faith, multi-ethnic state or empire, he had been keen to establish and implement laws for a collectivity in this unified emerging society, inviting people in the surrounding areas to embrace the faith, and to defend the new umma in every way possible. The numbers within the new community grew as more tribes embraced Islam. During this period, the law known as Shari’a22 was progressively being revealed to efficiently organize public and private affairs, as well as clarifying social and legal relationships between Muslims and non-Muslims alike. In so doing, the Prophet was practising a form of political and religious authority that reinforced a higher standard of statecraft, Shari’a law, and community development within the boundaries of a territory.   From these early beginnings one can see how the Islamic state in Medina possessed all the necessary pillars of statehood: citizenship of a state which included the Ansar (the natives of Medina),23 the Muhajirun (the Quraysh emigrants from Makkah),24 and the Jewish community.25 The territory of the state consisted of Yathrib and its surrounding localities in The Hijaz. The political organization of the state was based on Shari’a law, which the Prophet was entrusted to legislate and implement among the umma, under his general leadership of the entire population of Medina.   This does not mean that there were no internal or external political challenges to the state of Medina in its early stages. However, the Prophet utilized multi-layered statecraft beyond revelation to handle  

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IDEALIZED STATEHOOD these political challenges and integrate the societal actors in an alliance under his command.   Consequently, the Prophet, in addition to his religious mission and statesmanship as an arbiter in Medina, successfully crafted an inclusive social contract for the community; one that was based on legal principles and rights and obligations when he issued the Constitution of Medina.

— The Constitution of Medina The history of Arabia before the establishment of the Islamic state in Medina was dominated by long-standing ethnic and inter-tribal conflicts and feuds. The arrival of the Prophet Mohammad in Medina came in response to an invitation by the tribal chiefs of Yathrib (renamed alMadina al-Munawara upon his arrival), who were involved in a dispute, to arbitrate and function as a chief judge–mediator. They welcomed his migration from Makkah to Medina, along with his message the transformation of Medina into dar al-hijra (the land of migration), which took place in 622 CE. In the first few months, the Prophet creatively initiated two major social contracts or agreements.26 The first of these was al-Mu’akha (the agreement of brotherhood) between the Muhajirun and the Ansar, in order to establish and strengthen relations within a potentially fragmented society. It allowed the emigrants to be considered one of the clans of Medina and the Prophet their head.   The second document was the Wathiqa or Constitution of Medina, which was a social contract that governed and organized the nexus of relations between the natives living in Medina, including the Quraysh Muhajirun, the Ansar,27 and the Jews. The Constitution of Medina addressed essential points, such as defining the nature of the state. For instance, at the very beginning, the Constitution clearly lists those who were parties to it, notably ‘Muslims and believers’, but also ‘their dependent non-Muslims’ who followed them and ‘were attached to them’ and ‘who fought along with them’. In article 2, the Constitution defines this unified community, ‘a single “umma”, distinct from (other) people’.28 The Constitution, by way of crafting the state, recognized the tribal nature of the loyalties, values, and traditions of those parties. It preserved the status quo of each tribe, and thus their internal solidarity  

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THE HIJAZ and relations were legally recognized, as can be observed in articles 3 through 10. The greatest innovation the Prophet Mohammad provided in the Constitution was a reform and modification mechanism of certain aspects of social relations, such as the replacement of tribal bigotry founded on kinship and blood relations with the idea of citizenship and the nation-like umma. In other words, the Prophet was developing a worldview of a collective beyond the tribe, achieved by integrating all tribes into a new community, to which was delegated the resolution of conflicts and enhanced peace and societal integration.   Article 13 is another provision of the Constitution worth noting. It ties in with the idea of the objectives of law in statecraft by introducing the principle of justice in its strictest sense: ‘The pious believers shall act against the unjust or the oppressive among them, including those who encourage injustice, sin, hostility or corruption among believers; their hands, all, are against him; even if he is a son of one of them.’29   According to Mohamad Salim al-Awwa30 the Constitution of Medina provides the basic principles of the state, including citizenship, wherein Islam became the basis for citizenship and replaced the tribal and ethnic ties that were dominant before Islam. Curiously, citizenship was limited to those Muslims who lived in Medina, where the territoriality of the state extended—thereby excluding the Muslims who were residents of Makkah.31 Furthermore, the Constitution of Medina also recognized the citizenship rights of non-Muslims. Article 25 provides: ‘To the Jews their religion and to the Muslims their religion.’ Many other articles also point to rights and duties of Jews.32 Therefore, we would argue, if citizenship was limited to those in Medina, and if nonMuslims had citizenship rights, surely the basis of citizenship was territorial rather than belief in Islam.   Another important element of statecraft that features in the Constitution of Medina is the recognition of the Prophet Mohammad as the head of the state, with political authority and jurisdiction over its inhabitants. Article 23 states: ‘Wherever there is anything about which you may differ, it is to be referred to God and Mohammad for a decision.’ Likewise, Article 42 makes reference to God and Mohammad in cases of calamity affecting the community, meaning that in the case of real danger or existential threats to the state, citizens are required to turn to the Prophet Mohammad for guidance, as the head of the state. One of the most ‘modern’ state laws and principles found in the 40

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD Constitution is the idea of permission to travel, conditioned by what is known today as an ‘exit visa’. Article 36 of the Constitution of Medina prescribes the requirement to seek permission to leave Medina from Mohammad in advance of any trip.33   The political authority of the Prophet was centred on a well-defined territory as well as firm control over its borders, full effective political organization of the state, and a solid constitutional and justice system. Al-Awwa asserts that the Constitution included principles of justice and equity,34 as well as other articles containing legal and criminal regulations. In short, the Constitution of Medina represents a high standard of statecraft in the very early stages of the Islamic state of Medina. Indeed, such language of legal drafting in 622 CE represents one of the oldest traditions of the study of constitutions, along with the Twelve Tables of the Roman Republic and the Code of Hammurabi, followed by the Magna Carta in 1215 CE, much later than the others.

— The Umma: The Population(s) The term umma is used several times in the Constitution of Medina to refer to the new collective body of citizens in Medina (the ‘collectivity’), as part of a single nation, territorially defined, comprising Muslims and others. At the same time, the term also refers to the multiplicity of tribal and faith groups as a nation in and of itself; with member/social groups to the social contract forming parts of the larger collective nation. These ‘sub-nations’ were guaranteed protections, rights, and safety. They were only able to conclude or enter into agreements with others through the collective nation or umma, thereby institutionalizing the collective worldview.   Although populations of modern states are primarily defined by their nationality, the umma, in the Muslim community worldview, transcends normative concepts such as nationalities and ‘temporalities’, as the Muslim umma is seen as universal in its essence.35 Some may infer that the umma cannot be properly reconciled with the idea of the sovereign nation-states, but we do not agree with this, as we shall discuss later.   After institutionalizing the state of Medina internally and ensuring its stability, effectiveness, and acknowledged power in The Hijaz—and by extension in the whole of Arabia—the Prophet turned his attention 41

THE HIJAZ to diplomatic relations and concluding treaties with other actors, instead of defensive military action. The Islamic state possessed military force, as well as increased economic and trade capacity, which came from Makkah and successful businesses in Medina—factors which were essential in changing the balance of power in The Hijaz in favour of Medina and, by extension, the umma’s position. Consequently, Makkah became less powerful in the face of an organized, dominant, and united umma in the Islamic state of Medina.   The quest to reclaim Makkah back into the new Islamic realm was not a military one in the end. The return to Makkah was extremely symbolic, and the Prophet Mohammad preferred to enter it without using force, or committing any act of aggression or vengeance.36 This non-military campaign worked to demilitarize future relations between the Quraysh of Medina and Makkah.37 Despite having secured the support of the chiefs of the Quraysh and the site of God’s Home, the Prophet was committed to the societal security and integrity of the umma and to overcome any tribal tensions with his original supporters, the Ansar of Medina. As the Quraysh of Makkah and the Quraysh Muhajirun overcame their estrangement and rejoiced upon their return to their union and original Makkan status, the Prophet appointed a governor in Makkah, and returned to Medina, the Islamic State capital. He preferred to die there, among his supporters and those committed Quraysh companions who were to continue with the venture of Islam as his successors: the caliphs.   The Prophet Mohammad’s return from Medina to Makkah and unification in The Hijaz led to the essential transition of the Islamic community from the embryonic umma into a united ‘state’ in the strict sense. This established the worldview we hear and read about today. The foundational years of this united state, short as they may have been, are a touchstone for Muslim solidarity, even if the history that followed was sometimes far from consistent with Islamic state or umma statecraft principles.

The Dilemma of Successorship and the State: Birth of the Caliphate The early years following the death of the Prophet Mohammad represent an important period in the evolution of the state in Medina and the Islamic faith. The Prophet did not appoint a successor or prescribe 42

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD a formal system of government or procedure for his succession. We shall later see how the juridical effect of the silence of the law in that regard is a crucial Islamic constitutional doctrine that should be celebrated in terms of the objectives of Shari’a. However, the Prophet did leave a legacy of general principles which operated in tandem with Shari’a law, such as legislation and the duties of leaders, that represent the broad normative and positive requirements for statecraft. The Shari’a objective in the silence of law is directly connected with the concept of maslaha—public good. The idea of what is public good, and what ought to be for public benefit, directly correlates with the operation of policy, recognizing benefit. The public benefit lies in the flexibility accorded by the silence of law. It recognizes a simple reality: that the changing nature of societies—in terms of generational needs and the political, social, and economic developments that follow—do not provide man-made constitutions with perpetual value. Therefore, constitutions, statecraft, and statesmanship in law are to function by considering certain defined interests. These interests offer a guiding model to follow and are conditioned by general principles of the Shari’a, as well as the ethical, legitimate, and policy values provided by the Prophet during his leadership of the Medina state.38   Some interpreted the Prophet’s unusual silence on the question of succession as being in accordance with tribal traditions that were prevalent at that time. Other jurists see it differently. They argue that his objective was to allow the umma to elect whomever they saw as fit, compatible, and worthy.39 In that way, Muslims in this constitutional framework would not be obliged to follow one particular form of constitutional government. Instead, they would have the liberty to accommodate the circumstances of any given constitutional moment in order to craft their state, choose their form of governance, and elect a suitable head to lead them. This could be referred to as the natural evolution of an organic silent constitution. It assumes that capable jurists and statesmen are able to set the requirement at any given historical moment while ensuring justice, public benefit, the rule of law, and, with an eye on future intellectual moments of humanism, equity between generations.   Muslim jurists and scholars (known as the ‘ulama’) find that the justification for the succession of the Prophet Mohammad (the khilafa, or Caliphate) is based on the third source of Islamic legislation in terms of the ‘supremacy of norms’, namely ijma‘ (consensus).40 Ijma‘ occur­ 43

THE HIJAZ red among the Prophet’s companions and the population of Medina after his death, to elect the new leader of the umma who would oversee their religious and worldly affairs. An urgent congregation of the leaders and prominent companions took place at Saqifat Bani Sa‘ida, a historically monumental event and location, after the death of the Prophet. The Ansar first proposed, and argued for, their right to succession in the leadership. The Muhajirun protested, and were able to negotiate and convince the Ansar41 that they had the right to the succession because of the Qurayshi42 requirement and their claim that they were the first to embrace Islam in Makkah. Al-Mawardi (972–1058), one of Islam’s earliest writers on government and author of al-Ahkam al-Sultaniyya on Islamic governance, explains that: When al-Ansar defended the succession of Sa‘d ibn ‘Ubada, to whom they had given allegiance, Abu Bakr al-Siddiq objected to this, and pointed out what the Prophet said: ‘The Imams are from the Quraysh.’ Subsequently, al-Ansar dismissed the declaration of Sa‘d ibn ‘Ubada to be the caliph. Moreover, al-Ansar even renounced their claim to share in the Caliphate in their saying, ‘From among us an Imam and from among you an Imam,’ in which they accepted and affirmed what Abu Bakr pointed out about the Qurayshi condition for the Imamate as well as his statement ‘From us the Emirs, and from among you the Wazirs (Ministers).’ To that we add, the Prophet’s statement ‘Give precedence to the Quraysh and do not put others before them.’ Thus, there should not be any doubt or controversy attached to this impeccable text.43

  Consequently, after careful deliberation, Muslims were able to choose and give the bay‘a (pledge of allegiance) to Abu Bakr44 as the first successor45 of the Prophet Mohammad and the first caliph, through popular consensus.46   The process of consultation, negotiating, and selecting the successor to the Prophet was a crucial element in the future of the Islamic state. It immediately triggered a period of competing tribalism between the Muhajirun and Ansar, in which each campaigned for the succession. Al-Awwa asserts that the nomination of Abu Bakr as the first caliph averted a conflict that, if allowed to linger a little while longer, would have caused the most dangerous outcome for Islam47 and the nascent Muslim nation.48   Some accounts maintain that a disagreement persisted between the Ansar and the Muhajirun after the election of Abu Bakr. However, events 44

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD after Abu Bakr received the bay‘a show that such disagreements had been put to rest by the time of the pledge. In fact, the Muhajirun and Ansar worked together, laying the foundations for the next iteration of the Islamic state, and helped stabilize them under the command of Abu Bakr. Indeed, Muslims cooperated with the new caliph to re-establish the state system, restore order, and take up arms against defectors from central Arabian tribes who were rattled by the death of the Prophet Mohammad. Most notably, Abu Bakr focused his statecraft doctrine on establishing the ‘unity of the Arabian Peninsula’ or the territoriality of Arabia as a state. Abu Bakr’s tenure was defined by what came to be known as the ‘ridda wars’ on defectors following the Prophet’s death (632 CE) and the subsequent futuh (conquest).49   The process of succession, the Prophet’s companions maintained, should not, and would not, violate the original mission of the Prophet and his leadership of the state. The caliph, however, would not receive revelation, nor would he act in the capacity of a prophet.   The Islamic state, as an Islamic constitutional innovation, only survived during the time of the Prophet Mohammad and the Rashidun. The Caliphate, however, continued to evolve dramatically. After Arabia was consolidated territorially, and after the venture of Islam expanded its successive political capitals from Medina to Damascus, and later to Kufa in Iraq and other capitals, the position of The Hijaz and Medina was confined to the spiritual, as the religious seat. It ceased to be the influential centre of decision making that it once had been.   Consequently, throughout history, Islamic political thought references the state of Medina as the starting point of serious political discourse—historical, jurisprudential, theological, moderate, or radical—in an attempt to find guidance or credibility for the Prophet and the Rightly Guided Caliphs or successors. Sucessors developed the rules of statecraft through innovative statesmanship based on their understanding of the Shari’a objectives of statecraft that underlie the Islamic state or Caliphate as a valid Islamic system of governance.

The Jurisprudence of the State: Shari’a and the Objectives of Statecraft The maqasid or objectives of Islamic law (‘intents of divine legislation’) were covered briefly in the definition of a state in the introductory 45

THE HIJAZ section. The moderate and centrist school of thought rests its understanding of Shari’a on the hermeneutics of the objectives of the law. According to this school, freeing the application of law from the strict construction of religious scriptures allows a more innovative legal treatment and an evaluation of the philosophy behind the law, as well as the intent of the lawgiver. In this regard, Imam al-Shatibi50 and other classical maqasid jurists point out that the basis for divine precepts is the preservation of human life, public benefit, and justice. Accordingly, Shari’a objectives are there to facilitate the affairs of individuals for their ‘benefit’. Along these lines, Raysuni notes that the objectives ‘serve not to destroy life but to support and nurture it’.51 At the same time, these objectives should prevent any potential harm. Similarly, Raysuni states: There is unanimous agreement among Muslim scholars—regardless of their varied schools of thought and the various ages in which they lived—that Islamic Law calls for the preservation of the ‘essentials’, ‘exigencies’, and ‘embellishments’, and that the interests most vital are: religion, human life, the faculty of reason, progeny, and material wealth.52

  While existing texts facilitate Muslim scholars’ understanding of Shari’a objectives, reasoning becomes challenging when there is no actual law or legal texts addressing particular issues. In this case, some assert the Islamic jurisprudence rule of permissibility.53 In other words, the absence of law is a declaration of the permissibility of something, and thus the freedom to innovate according to public benefit at any given time or space. Maqasid jurists view this silence as having a legal objective, and it must be seen in a context of juridical wisdom as having legal determinacy, not deficiency. the Prophet Mohammad emphasized that divine legislation has kept silent about certain matters out of mercy for people and not out of forgetfulness.54   Al-Awwa gives several examples of the freedom that is given to the umma, in the silence of the lawgiver, to organize its affairs. The most important of these are statecraft and the system of government.55   The abeyance of constitutional norms regarding statehood and statecraft is arguably the greatest jurisprudential innovation of Shari’a. Constitutional statecraft is able to stand the test of time and space because the law is stated in general terms which dictate overarching 46

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD legal principles without specifying a particular permanent or preferred system of government. This generality is, ultimately, for the public benefit, as it allows the collectivity to develop and adopt the most appropriate system of government, but remains flexible enough to permit a change to that system should circumstances necessitate— whilst remaining Shari’a compliant.

Political–Economic Evolution of the State It is argued that the futuhat (conquests) in the Levant and Mesopotamia during Caliph ‘Umar’s reign (the second successor, who was first to hold the title Commander of the Faithful (amir al-mu’minin) instead of caliph) defined the institutions of the state (dawla), both in general terms and in the inception of the larger territorial expansion of dar al-islam and dar al-harb.56 The second phase of internal statecraft, therefore, after the Constitution of Medina, was ‘Umar’s attempt to create the diwan (or divan: administration system), which was concerned, during the early stages, with the regulation of soldiers (hence the idea of a regularized army, who were all paid a salary). The diwan later received state income from the kharaj (land tax) and jizya (taxes paid by non-Muslims). The diwan also regulated the state’s share of war loot and state confiscations, as well as alms taxes, such as the zakat, land taxes ‘usur al-ard (from within the Peninsula), and trade.  The diwan and idarat al-dawla (the state administration) continued to develop from 635 CE, the beginnings of ‘Umar’s government, until the period of the Abbasid caliph Harun al-Rashid in around 800 CE. A fair assessment must accept that there were several important stations in the historical journey of the development of the state, and its political and economic dynamics. Two of the most important of these, after ‘Umar’s diwan, were the contributions of the Umayyad caliph ‘Abd alMalik ibn Marwan in Damascus. These were (1) the Arabization, centralization, and localization of the diwans; and (2) the establishment of an Arabian currency. It could therefore be concluded that the concept of the state—the inception of its main basic institutions and the regulation of its functions—was completed by the middle of the eighth century (740–50 CE).57   Thus, the developments of the first four centuries (seventh–tenth centuries CE) specified the perspectives, visions, and practices after the  

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THE HIJAZ Rashidun that are to be attributed to the Islamic state and, by extension, the idea of a Caliphate. In the following centuries, three developments, which might be labelled statehood ‘shifts’, are particularly notable. The first was purely constitutional, the second involved political economy. The third was defined by territorial expansion.   The ‘Sultanate’ emerged as a result of the rise to power of ethnic groupings or loyalties on the peripheries of the Islamic state, according to Roy Mottahedeh.58 The Sultanate later moved militarily to seize the Abbasid capital, Baghdad, and to acquire a document from the caliph confirming its ‘legitimacy’. From the eleventh century onwards, a concept not dissimilar to the classical international law principle of uti possidetis, even if seemingly more expansive,59 called sultat al-istila wa’ltaghallub (the power of seizure and domination) emerged, along with, and in some ways under, the formal umbrella of the Caliphate, which sustained its territory through the idea of caliphal legitimacy. This meant that there was continuity in preserving centralized regional unity under the joint auspices of the Caliphate and the Sultanate (the de facto power). In addition, inspired by the Sultanate’s experience, new independent or quasi-independent authorities mushroomed during that time on the peripheries of the Islamic state, formed by virtue of commonalities and loyalties. While these ethnic groupings failed to seize the capital, they attempted to gain legitimacy through the Caliphate, or to establish rival Caliphates independently, such as the Fatimids in Morocco and Egypt, the Umayyads in Spain, and the Muwahhids (Almohads) in the Maghreb.   The second shift is the emergence of the ‘professional’ army, as opposed to the volunteer army, which received its endowments from the diwan. About a hundred years after the first professional armies had been established, a form of feudalism appeared. High-ranking officers received their compensation and that of their soldiers from the lands that were given to them by the state. And with that, the kharaj land-tax system developed into a system of iltizam, a system akin to feudalism. The institution of feudalism was strengthened and systemically continued to consolidate all through the Ottoman era, particularly in the eastern parts of the Islamic realm.   The third development is characterized less by the role of state structure than by transnational relations, and resulted from trade. By 48

IDEALIZED STATEHOOD the thirteenth century, foreign trade had achieved economic prominence equal to that achieved by kharaj. This meant that the Islamic state had to regulate if not control international trade routes, both land and sea. This shift was achieved less by military conquest than by forging treaties and conventions. Feudalism, and later on trade, worked concurrently to expand Islamic statecraft into a more extensive, transnational phenomenon. Ottoman Islamic statehood had real importance beyond the maintenance of Islamic identity (ethnic or nationalistic drivers), and overcame tensions of early globalization to achieve larger economic, scientific, and social civilizational outcomes.

49

2

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE

The purpose of this chapter is to explore the characteristics of the modern nation-state in line with the international legal order. In this context, the discussion will define the notion and development of the Islamic state in terms of the umma and Islamic law.   In this chapter, we describe and re-examine the developments of the nation in the global order that have shaped and influenced the existential nature of the feature of national statehood, as well as how scholars understood such developments and how they dealt with them based on modern notions of statehood.   The modern Westphalian notion of the ‘nation-state’ that we take as a given structure, natural and ideal, is partly because the post-First World War system was not in operation at any point during the Islamic Ottoman experience or Persian–Shi’ite imperial times, including the earlier Safavid project. At best, dawla historically referred to the rising fortune of a household—not a sense of ‘imagined community’, but more the creation of the idea of the Islamic apparatus of government.

The Westphalian Sovereign State In Europe, the modern state system emerged after the Middle Ages when feudalism was breaking down, industry was emerging, and mass migration from rural to urban areas resulted in power shifts from the

51

THE HIJAZ peripheries to the city centres. Political reorientation was occurring in western Europe in the seventeenth century, characterized by religious division between Catholics and Protestants, the development of commerce, and the strengthening of states such as England and France.   Conventional wisdom often holds the genesis of the modern state to be the Treaty of Westphalia of 1648,1 when a state-centric, sovereigntyoriented, territorially bounded order took shape.2 However, such conventional wisdom is ill conceived, as the Treaty of Westphalia, which took the form primarily of two treaties—Osnabruck and Münster—contributes very little to understanding the concept of the state. The Treaty of Westphalia did, however, usher in two important notions: the idea of ‘a constitutional moment’ for nations; and the concept of ‘sovereignty’. Its focus was to assert the unassailable sovereignty of almost every principality in Europe, including the power to determine its own religion.3 If the concept of the state had lacked definitional consensus since the earlier Islamic era, the idea of identifying the origins and definition of the Islamic—or, for that matter, ethnic— ‘nation-state’ is even more problematic. A minimalist definition would suggest that the nation-state is simply an imagining of the state along cultural and ethnic lines, as opposed to, and contrasted with, the multinational state, the city-state, empire, and so forth.   Charting the origins and the development of the nation-state is often an exercise in de-bunking a series of founding myths. A recent theory pioneered by Steven Weber situates the origins of the nationstate as an inadvertent by-product of advancements within the field of topography.4 Weber discussed the emergence of sovereign states, rather than nation-states based on ethnic or cultural groups. He found that new ‘cartographic tools’ shaped how political actors understood those imagined communities in a political space, authority, and organization, which reduced them to the unique territorial form of the sovereign state.5 This argument stands at odds with the prevailing narrative that the nation-state was the product of nineteenth-century European phenomena, made possible by developments such as statedirected education, increasing literacy, and the emergence of the mass media. This theory seems to reinforce the artificiality of the nationstate as a construct; particularly Benedict Anderson’s idea that nations are imagined communities.6 52

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE   To better comprehend the puzzle during and after the First World War—which saw the emergence of numerous ‘modern’ nationstates—it is critical to understand the ethnically driven concept of the nation-state. With the advent of colonialism, administrative penetration by the colonial state had the effect of making ‘created’ or ‘invented’ categories of nationality and ethnicity increasingly real.7 Gerlachlus Duijzings, for example, considered ethnic markers as the fundamental defining criteria for states, asserting that there must be ‘unambiguous delineations of ethnic identity, with clear criteria for inclusion and exclusion.’8 While these simplifications are inadequate representations of reality, they are backed by state power, which in turn transforms the real world in ways that make it more closely resemble the simplified and legible grid of their observation.9 Katherine Verdery’s analysis offers an explanation for the ethnically driven enterprise of statecraft.10 She builds her case around the concept of ‘a single identity’; yet this would seem hardly possible in Khomeini’s Iran, to cite one example, as we will see in the latter part of this book.11   In the Arab and Muslim post-First World War context, perhaps this becomes more discernible when studying the role of religion, as ambiguous as it may have been, and as different as it was from the European experience. The region was a part of various empires— often with multiple power centres—whose borders were blurred; it was experiencing major political, economic, and historical shifts, as discussed earlier; and also, Islam favoured the idea of a transnational Muslim community, an umma, united under the caliph, who possessed both temporal and spiritual authority. In other words, religion also had a unifying dimension, a positive influence on social integration which could be utilized on a genuine journey for state formation and organization.   Ultimately, colonialism has also been crucial in the process of state formation in Arab and Middle Eastern territories. As a result, some countries such as Egypt and Iraq were recognized as nation-states, while others, such as Kurdistan or Palestine, were not. Paradoxically, some of the states that were created were not nations, such as Lebanon, Jordan, and Saudi Arabia.

53

THE HIJAZ

Islamic Public Interest and the Dawla The concept of ‘public interest’ here refers to the interest of the whole umma, which, as previously discussed, comprises ethnic, racial, and religious citizenship. Muslims, arguably, still maintain a citizenship affiliation with the umma, and this leads to collective expression (‘imagined community’) in terms of doctrine, intellectual history, and social psychology. This convergence is known as ‘the Islamic fraternity’.12   The universal dimension of the umma, beyond the historical notion in Medina, is prevalent in the Islamic theological message in many verses of the Qur’an.13 Theoretically, any Muslim is part of the ‘Muslim nation’, wherever they live. The second caliph, ‘Umar, is said to have declared that ‘any Muslim on earth has a right to share in what the Muslim umma gained or collected of booty …’,14 which means that there is no obligation to be under the territorial jurisdiction of the Islamic state to be considered under its personal jurisdiction.   The term nizam al-hukum, rather than umma or dawla, was used to describe some of the concepts associated with government, statecraft, and bureaucracy. Terms such as dawla and concepts such as dudman (royal household), wilayah (authority or governance), and divan (diwan, as mentioned earlier), among others, were tied to concepts of justice in Islamic jurisprudence (fiqh). Persian, Arabic, and Turkish jurisprudence focused on good governance and the role of the ruler, imam, or Commander of the Faithful in that process. ‘Mirrors for Princes’ literature spoke at length about the importance of organized ministries, filled with good bureaucrats, as did the literature of al-Ghazali (1058– 1111), al-Mawardi (972–1058), and al-Juwayni (1028–85) on Islamic governance. The term dawla did not describe this element of governance, but rather the notion that an organized system of governance could keep the realm of the imagined community in order, and thereby the Islamic dawla of the ruler in predominance. It was an old idea, but hardly the same as the concept of the nation.   One of the major questions arising in the contemporary Islamic world in the face of the ‘crises of Islam’ today is whether there is any contradiction between the unity of Arabs as one nation (pan-Arabism) and the unity of all Muslims around the world (pan-Islamism). To answer this question, as we shall attempt in the following chapters, the history of Arabs and The Hijaz should be considered against others. 54

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE Although Arabs share the same language, customs, and traditions, that is not the basis of their unity. The main marker for an expanded territorial venture was Islam. In other words, rather than common ethnicity, it was citizenship through faith that brought their ‘hearts’ together.15 As has been the case historically, Arabs inhabiting the Arabian Peninsula have a strong conviction that it was through Islam that they were able to achieve a unitary polity for the future. Furthermore, Arabs are not merely seen as part of the umma, but rather as its centre, with responsibility for the Islamic state, as they were distinguished by the fact that the Messenger came from among them, and that they received revelation in their own language.16   In due course, as was explained earlier, the collectivity contained sub-nations with different languages, customs, traditions, and ethnicities, all sharing faith and citizenship. The public interest of the Muslim collective is not limited to a certain sub-nation; rather, it is a transnational interest. This does not restrict the private interests of any subnations, as long as it does not contradict the public interest of the umma. From a wider perspective, it has become essential in modern times for Muslim nations to establish international organizations that oversee relations between Islamic states and manage their affairs, taking into consideration the public interest of the umma and Shari’a objectives that prioritize the collective interest of the umma over the interest of the individual.   Outside the Arab context, and as a more recent historical marker, it was not until Ayatollah Khomeini’s seventeen Najaf lectures in 1970, which collectively formed the handbook Islamic Government17 and its derivative Islamic experience of 1979 in Iran, that Islamic scholars distinguished the largely anachronistic discussions of the ideas of sovereignty (Westphalia) from the ideas of nationalism and the nationstate that emerged much later. Sunni Islamic revivalism (sahwa), influenced by such notions, seems to have found a degree of reconciliation with the nation-state through Khomeini’s hybridization of (Shi’ite) Islamic sovereignty, constitutionalism, and the creation of a republican nation-state.   All nation-state-building projects are invariably based on a number of historical and territorial myths and realities, which help define ‘the community’ (the nation) vis-à-vis ‘the other’ (entities beyond the 55

THE HIJAZ nation’s supposed borders), and often the relationship between the two. Although the modern Iranian state emerged in the early twentieth century, it is the 1979 Islamic Revolution that gave birth, paradoxically, to Iran’s current modern constitutional nation-state. It is paradoxical due to a direct clash between the Islamic notion of the umma on the one hand and a state based on the territoriality of ‘the nation’ of Iran on the other. In this regard, the nation-state-building experience of the Islamic Republic of Iran is both unique and common. It is unique because of the modern syncretic relationship between religious doctrine and revolutionary populist Iranian nationalism (and, by proxy, the state). It is common due to the use of dislocative historiography which facilitates our perception of ‘the nation’.18

Islamic Statehood and Nationalism We have already covered the dominance, in Islamic statehood, of the idea of the collectivity and public interest, in explaining the umma. As the roots of empire were growing, the emergence of the Westphalian model of nation-states affected two main viewpoints: (a) some saw that nationalism promoted limited interests and undermined universalism; and (b) others saw the importance of resolving this nationalist tendency within the Islamic framework in order to promote peoples’ interest and preserve foundational Islamic values.   For a period, the concept of the dar al-islam (the ‘homeland of Islam’) was generally seen as analogous to the ‘nation-state’, equating the umma to the nation and the state to a particular territory. The homeland was envisaged as consisting of a specific geographical area or territory, with a significant human presence, and acquired its distinctive features as the result of two ‘tiers’ of interaction. The first is the individual’s interaction with surrounding communities, while the interaction between communities and the territory constitutes the second. Prevailing customs and traditions were constructed as the product of these interactions. As a result, the homeland contained a shared history and language (lingua Arabica), based on common understanding. It is a framework that provided effective integrity for both the individual and the community.   The idea of the nation-state was alien to Muslim scholars, whose interaction with the concept began with its advent in Europe. The 56

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE adoption of the nation-state construct was the result of a desire to counter foreign encroachment and intrusion. Muslim rulers were primarily interested in discovering the source of strength of the European nation-state in addition to the corollary of discovering the reason(s) for the relative ‘backwardness’ of the Islamic world. Interestingly, this question did not arise during the time of either the Crusades or the exodus from Andalusia (Islamic Spain). For instance, in the eleventh century, the foundational scholar al-Ghazali, and others, in their responses to the Crusades, were more driven by establishing an indigenous reform programme which was not in any way based on any exogenous components and products. However, in the modern age this indigenous reform tendency changed completely. It became normal for any ‘reformer’ to adopt and consider sources of developments in other nations, particularly in the West, as an inevitable starting point for any reform programme.   The nation-state was therefore seen as the source of European progress and strength, while simultaneously, the source of ailment in the Islamic world was identified as stemming from its own political system. On the one hand, fragmented discussions focusing on ideas of inferiority and superiority were seen as having a direct effect on the regulation of political authority or statecraft. Muslim reformers, as we will see in Chapter 8, internalized this debate, and, as a result, the impetus for reform centred on political systems—which they believed was the source of a declining Caliphate. On the other hand, Arab Muslims were not blind to the increasing Turkish ‘nationalistic’ tendency to disassociate itself—politically, socially, and ideologically—from Islam. However, the ideal of the umma forced them to show solidarity with the Muslim Turks. Indeed, early ‘Arab nationalism’ too was a reaction against religious identity—by Christians in the Levant, as has been argued by George Antonius in his seminal book The Arab Awakening.19

Orientalism and the Nation-State The arguments for the ‘failure’ of the European nation-state model in the Islamic world were identified by Sami Zubaida as part of the Orientalist discourse. The first is alluded to above—in other words, historically. The political and religious community coincided with the 57

THE HIJAZ umma, whereas Western nation-states are predicated upon the separation of religion and state. He points out the flawed logic in assuming that all previous history will necessarily dictate future trajectory, which merely facilitates the fatuous idea that ‘the “failure” of the nation-state in “Islamic” countries is due to the fact that the notion of a territorial state with individualised citizenship, secular law and principles of sovereignty, is alien to the Muslim mind’.20   Through the work of Bertrand Badie, Zubaida provides a contrast between the ‘Western’ and the ‘Islamic’ state by discussion of ideational differences. He argues that the nation-state model is compatible with the Islamic notion of governance through the example of modern (1979) Iran. While far from perfect, Iran demonstrates that an Islamic model can exist with all the trappings of the nation-state.21   The ideational deals with the issue of legitimacy. In the West, a panoply of philosophical options coexist, and the Western world has availed itself of a combination of these governing philosophies and worldviews. These combinations, according to Badie, exist in a public space, which is removed from the religious sphere ‘governed by systemic considerations of legitimacy and legality and by individualized political actors, all in distinct contrast to Islamic political cultures’.22

The Nation-State in Islamic Reform Scholarship Encounters with the concept of the nation-state via colonialism resulted in the kindling of nationalist sentiment in the Muslim world. The resulting incongruity can be attributed to the differing trajectories experienced by European and Islamic civilizations. The nation-state concept evolved in Europe as a result of the unique social, economic, and political needs of European societies, whereas the nation-state in the Islamic world was not the result of an inevitable, organic evolution. It was, essentially, a colonial imposition, which did not address or consider the social, political, or economic needs of Muslim societies.   Unfortunately, some Sunni reformers (Revivalists) such as Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (1838–97), Muhammad ‘Abduh (1849–1905), and Mohammad Iqbal (1877–1938) gave little attention to the essence of the nation-state.23 Instead of focusing on the substance or content of the nation-state (concepts of constitutionalism, law, liberty, and so 58

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE forth), they concentrated on the formalism of the nation-state. As a result, this inhibited the political thought of Muslim reformers in developing a modern theory of statehood and associated elements of social development, political prosperity, military capacity, and social integrity. The focus on formalism led to a narrow and dichotomous categorization of political authority as being either tyrannical or just. Alternatively, political authority was classified under maqasid, ‘the objectives of the law’, as being based on either legitimate or nonlegitimate policy. While this had some passing resemblance to the taxonomy of Ibn Khaldun (1332–1406), the founder of Arabo-Islamic ‘sociology’, who categorized governance as being one of three types (tyranny, royal authority, or the Caliphate),24 classical Islamic scholarship was seen as being a vestige of the Rashidun Caliphate, and therefore inapplicable in the contemporary world.   The development of political doctrine was different in the case of Shi’ism, as we shall see. Suffice it to say that it was closely connected with the Safavid period in Iran, which lasted from 1501 to 1722. The cornerstone of the Safavid project entailed a state-sanctioned conversion to Twelver Shi’ism to consolidate a Persian polity. Upon adopting Shi’ism, Shah Isma‘il (1501–24) was the first to rely on the Shi’ite doctrine of the messianic rulership of the Hidden Twelfth Imam, and imported émigré ‘ulama’ from south Lebanon to establish his state through Shi’ification.25

The State and the Mandate of the Jurist Khomeini was acutely aware of the ideation of nation-states, its confines within boundaries, and the complication of transcendence to a wider, larger community. This is addressed in his book Mardom, Ummat, Mellat. But Khomeini had indeed an unparalleled ability to form conciliatory narratives. Ervand Abrahamian, for instance, offers a ‘popularist’ narrative of Khomeinism. He suggests that Khomeini embraced the nationalist narrative (of the Fatherland)26 in preference to the class tension and antagonism that could alienate peasants, and Marxist influences on young students. Abrahamian studied Khomeini’s approach and compared it with the Third World–Latin American experience. To him, the popular reaction was not just socio-economic; 59

THE HIJAZ it was also cultural, ideational, (theo-)political, and distinctly national. Ultimately, it was a pragmatic middle-class movement seeking to enter the modern age in its own terms, on its own platform, and with a particular national vision.   In essence, the effect of the institutionalization of Shi’ism in Iran accelerated the ‘Iranization’ of Shi’ite doctrine—in fact, almost to an irreversible extent, as traditional clerical structures have been almost entirely erased.   Despite succumbing to a fatal heart attack two years prior to the Iranian Revolution, Ali Shariati was perhaps the most prominent critic of the ‘statization’ of Shi’ism, arguing that it had isolated Iranian Muslims from the wider global Islamic community, which is overwhelmingly Sunni. In addition, the nationalization of Shi’ite clergy subordinates it to Iranian geopolitical interests, which are independent of religious motives. According to Zubaida, ‘the contradictory duality of sovereignties’ is written into the constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran: in other words, the sovereignty of the popular will, in line with democratic nation-state constitutions; and, a novel principle in politics and government (velayat-e faqih) that places the judiciary under the exclusive control of the clergy with the provision of extensive revision of codes to render them Islamic.27   Revolutionary Shi’ite political Islam, as expressed in the Revolution, has now evolved paradoxically into a type of nationalism that was originally given religious legitimacy ‘at the expense of transnational solidarities’.28 Incidences, however, where local Shi’a communities had been used by Tehran to achieve political goals are not uncommon— such as the Shi’a of Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon.29   On a different point, interestingly, Iran and the Arabs, as well as other non-Iranian Shi’a, seem to be aware that they might need to cooperate to achieve short-term political goals. It appears that Iranian nationalism and national interest continue to be the driving forces behind the country’s foreign policy. This nationalism would not be ‘racialized’, as it would include the ethnic non-Persian Shi’a of Iran, such as the Ahwazi Arabs and Azeris, who make up a significant proportion of the population in their respective provinces. This orientation of Iranian foreign policy is possibly easier to address than a ‘religiously inspired’ ‘messianic’ one, as it allows for pragmatic diplomatic solu60

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE tions to current issues—as exemplified by the recent unsettled US– Iranian rapprochement. Paradoxically, the Islamic Republic would hence be rooted in traditional Iranian foreign policy.

Grotian Moment? The concept of a ‘rational international society’ stems from the work of Hugo Grotius. According to the Grotian tradition, international relations take place within an international society in which a state is bound not only by rules of ‘prudence and expediency’, but also by moral and legal rules.30 Grotius’s unique contribution lies in his assertion that a singular society of states ought not to be governed by force or warfare, but by tangible laws, and a mutual framework to enforce such laws.31 Indeed, Grotius’s conception of international society was not one limited to the Christian or European world. Instead, it was envisaged to be a global enterprise in the truest sense of the word, with natural law as the basis for international relations, as the necessary implication of natural law was that it applied to all men equally (at least from his perspective).32   The Islamic state has enjoyed many manifestations, including a global presence as a major power, as a collective of the Muslim world, and as an entity relating to other powers, nations, and populations. Well before the establishment of an international order, international law, an international justice system, and an undisputed need for an international rule of law, Islamic societies had basic legal principles that guided their activities towards others, beyond their umma and their territory.   The ‘unregulated world’ was dominated by actors and polities, each with its own needs and goals, that necessitated war, peace, and trade with others. In this challenging context, it was essential for the collective to accomplish international cooperation in order to fulfil universal prosperity, attain its needs, and improve relations with others. Similarly, it was essential for Islamic countries, in their relations with other countries, to adopt international treaties for specific purposes as well as to better regulate certain relations among Islamic countries.   While international law has been well established over the last century, and while we examine extensively its application on legal persons, the modern state, and its understanding of the Islamic rules that regu 61

THE HIJAZ late relations in accordance with the objectives and governance of Shari’a, has not advanced equally. These rules were frequently used internally, throughout the modern history of the Middle East and the Islamic world, to justify controversial international relations of Islamic governments, including modern-day oil concessions, peace with Israel, or military basing agreements with the United States.

International Treaties in Islam A feature of a state is its capacity to conduct treaties with others. A treaty is generally defined as ‘an agreement between countries to organize a certain legal relation, and determining the rules of this relation’.33 Consequently, an international treaty is, in this regard, a formal written agreement between two or more countries or groups that have the stature of states.   Jurists such as al-Tabari34 and al-Bayhaqi35 have agreed on the lawfulness of the conclusion of treaties in Islam. For instance, they highlighted the permissibility of truce agreements and other kinds of treaties between Muslims and non-Muslims that are fixed for a certain period—the assumption being that Muslims are all subjects of one greater community. They based such contractual legality on Qur’anic verses and the Sunna. For example, the Qur’an says: ‘But if they incline to peace, incline thou to it as well …’,36 which is explained by al-Tabari as follows: ‘If they—non-Muslims—incline to peace through avoiding waging wars, or whether through entering into Islam or paying jizya or concluding a treaty or any other ways of peace building, then the Prophet should incline to it as well.’37 Interestingly, in another verse, the duty of fulfilling treaty obligations is treated as a religious obligation.38 Jurists rely on exploring the context of the Prophet Mohammad’s history of truce agreements or treaties with non-Muslims, for instance with the Jews through the contractual instrument known as the Constitution of Medina,39 but also others such as alHudaybiyya,40 Sahib Eilah,41 and Bani Damrh.42 Consequently, treaties are generally permissible unless they stipulate violations of Islamic law or permit what is known in Islam to be forbidden. In such a case, the treaty would be null and void. Therefore, Islam encourages concluding treaties for the public benefit, as well as fulfilling the conditions of such 62

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE treaties. That was the basis used by the Egyptians to justify their peace treaty with Israel in 1973.   There are two aspects that distinguish and give value to the conclusion of treaties: the first is the designation of authority to conclude it; the second is the legal process that should be followed to reach a conclusion. Muslim scholars have emphasized the responsibility of concluding international treaties or agreements with other states, which has mainly rested with the caliph/imam, in the sense that he is the one who has the authority of enforcing and implementing state policy in both its internal and international relations. They highlighted that the Prophet Mohammad held this responsibility in his person, which necessities granting a mandate only to the caliph/ruler or whoever is chosen and delegated to do so on his behalf.   There are procedural steps to be followed towards the conclusion of the treaty, and in order to give it effect. These include negotiations, agreements, signing, and enforcement. Thus, any diplomatic negotiations between legates, ambassadors, or state representatives are considered preliminary agreements until they have been approved, signed, and sealed by the head of state. Only then do they become binding. Indeed, the signature of the caliph establishes a legitimate agreement and an executed treaty commitment, and it also implies compliance with the treaty articles and the enforcement of these articles as stipulated in the agreement. Treaty duration and validity are somewhat particular. A treaty is by default temporary, not permanent—the legal precedent being that the Prophet Mohammad restricted the validity of al-Hudaybiyya43 to ten years. This might be, in fact, the major difference between the Islamic law conception of treaties and that of general international law. It is worth noting that there are some treaties that would be considered valid in general international law but invalid in Islamic law.   Like most matters relating to the affairs of Muslims in siyasa shar‘iyya (‘legitimate policy’), international treaties, in the context of the objectives of Shari’a, are intended to facilitate public benefit and prevent any harm, with prevention taking priority over achieving benefit. In that vein, the conclusion of peace and truce treaties, among others, are aimed at preventing potential and existential threats (harm) to Muslims. The preservation of the Faith and the umma are a legal prior 63

THE HIJAZ ity, derived from jurisprudential sources—in particular, sadd al-tharay’ (‘blocking the means’ (to evil)), which involves taking measures to prevent developments or actions which may lead to calamities, including fighting and aggression against Muslims.44 Similarly, the conclusion of trade, economic, and cultural treaties are aimed at bringing benefits to Muslims, thus falling under the category of al-maslaha al-mursala, or public benefit (in other words, both a legitimate policy and an objective of Shari’a). To conclude, international treaties should be based on sound foundations that comply with Shari’a law and fulfil the conditions required in legal contracts, as well as being for the benefit of Muslims.   In the current global context, the emergence of international organization among different states rests primarily on realist, functional, and constructivist international relations considerations, calculations, and principles. In Islam there are no prescribed laws or prohibitions on establishing blocs among Muslim countries. In fact, the Shari’a encourages establishing such arrangements as long as they fall within Shari’a objectives. International organizations such as the United Nations, the African Union, and the European Union play an important role in combating terrorism and its causes.45   Scholars and jurists46 have reasoned that, due to the eroding role of the umma, the state of conflict in Islamic countries, and economic stagnation, the Muslim world is in need of innovative international legal norms and jurisprudential opinions (ijtihad),47 derived from the Qur’an, Sunna, and competent jurists or ‘legitimate policy’, in order to establish a transnational Muslim solidarity, grounded on peaceful coexistence and tolerance. Such solidarity would avoid, prevent, and resolve conflicts, and produce harmony and coordination conducive to equality, justice, economic prosperity, cooperation, and, most importantly, happiness for its population in this life without prejudice to the hereafter.   Furthermore, these scholars and jurists have stated that the responsibility for regulating international Islamic organizations should be confined to the most competent jurists, those who possess the ability to explore the future prospects of Muslims’ interests, and to handle the intellectual and jurisprudential ijtihad regarding the regulation of Islamic organizations. To their credit, those jurists elevate peace as the 64

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE essence of international relations in Islam—where Muslims enhance and contribute to international peace and security. Fearful of imperial history, they refute any foreign colonial claims while highlighting Islamic values that are rooted in humanitarian grounds to promote justice, love, brotherhood, and peace in society. Muslim scholars48 affirm such peace-building values via recourse to religious texts,49 wherein Muslims are commanded to treat and call people in the kindest manner, with wisdom and goodly exhortation. By extension, the regulation of multinational organizations that achieve benefit to mankind, and serve in building better international relations, should be carried out on the basis of Islamic values.   However, in a time when Islam is confronted by Islamophobia and is actively and centrally engaged in the global war on terror, there is a need for a more substantive call on the operation of Islamic law within the international rule of law. Application of the objectives of Shari’a in legitimate policy in international relations provides for positive contributions to international and national rule of law contexts alike.

The Caliphate as International Cooperation The Caliphate enjoyed far-reaching influence in the past; and at the heart of its worldwide success was, and still is, the notion of ‘solidarity’. Arguably, the Caliphate, with its comprehensive governance structure and access to justice, offers a much more developed system of institutions than many Muslims have experienced or witnessed over the last century.   Even after the Caliphate, many polities gave primacy to Islamic law, directly or indirectly, in regulating temporal aspects of life. Adherence to Shari’a took on different forms in these countries: in some dynamically, as positive law; in others, more figuratively—for example, by way of a reference in a national constitution. This expression is allied with many shapes of governance structures and political affiliations, but, nonetheless, Islam remains the primary legal identity and societal voice. These societies—Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Indonesia, Malaysia, and certain central Asian countries, among others—are organized around practices and customs evolving from a 1400-year-old tradition. Social and religious norms are deeply embedded in the way Muslim polities 65

THE HIJAZ function today, and even though many have changed as a result of colonialism and the fall of the Caliphate, they remain an Islamic expression at their core.   The question is whether there is an Islamic alternative to the centrality of the community. Is there a place in the international system for a legitimate Caliphate? Is there a ‘worldview’ of a Caliphate that can be stripped away from an international Islamophobic or (fear of) ‘terrorism’ discourse? Can this be consistent with international law?   It is undoubtedly important that the Caliphate is understood in its historical context. It has a long, well-known history, that began in Medina and witnessed much turbulence in an effort to bring about social change, or the ‘Islamic state’, as Abdulrahman Kurdi dubbed it.50 Wedad al-Qadi attempted to philologically dissect the term khalifa,51 relying on the Qur’an and the prophetic Hadiths.52 The basic and, in essence, the truest meaning of ‘caliph’ is a guardianship over earth in a metaphysical sense, which is found in Islamic theology in the exchange between God and the Angels on the creation of man.53   While some may interpret khalifa or istikhlaf as ‘successive authority’ as it pertains to time and generations, there is a related meaning, which is the more direct source of the meaning today: the successor to the Prophet Mohammad. The concept assumes a complex construction of political norms that evolved over centuries relating to nomination and succession and the contestation of power and resistance, which led to the more established Islamic doctrinal system of hukm (rulership or governance).   Even within Islamic circles there is a common misperception that the only political form of government or state system in Islam is the Caliphate.54 We must not fail to remember that the Caliphate is a constitutional regulatory framework for appointing the leader of the Islamic polity. But could a modern Caliphate, complying with international norms, be a unifying factor?   This depends on three elements: (1) the nature of the political system (remembering that a Caliphate is a simple constitutional norm); (2) the relational scope of the sovereign (caliph and the state); and (3) Islamic perpetuity in time and space, beyond the political system, whether it is the legal personality of the ‘state’.   What most55 Islamic political thinkers and scholars fundamentally agree on is the maintenance of Muslim solidarity; and, as we shall see 66

INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE in Chapter 5, many understand this as the transcendent meaning of the Caliphate.   Perhaps the following powerful observation on the hope of solidarity best encapsulates the sentiment, significance, and deep promise of the concept: ‘For … Muslim subject minorities the spread of nationalism throughout the world means submergence if not extinction, while the Caliphate carries a message of salvation through an international Muslim solidarity.’56

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PART II

SELF-DETERMINATION: MODERN

3

ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION AND THE RISE OF THE MODERN STATE

The first three decades of the twentieth century represented an era of revolutionary change in the world order, with the rise and fall of empires, the inception of new political ideologies, and the re-imagining of identities—especially national identity. All these dynamics had a profound impact in the re-fashioning of the international system. With the end of the First World War, the necessities of peace, and the struggle for self-determination, alongside the national interests of the world’s Great Powers, were the most prominent factors in the shaping of the new world order.   As in any period of transformation, newly minted concepts and doctrines (like any unprecedented idea) were subject to differences of interpretation and imagination. While legal notions of statehood and selfdetermination developed much traction in the period following the First World War, these concepts were, firstly, plagued by the fact that they were considered differently, depending on the national context, and secondly, they were subjected to the sub-texts of the Great Powers, depending on whom they were dealing with at any given moment.   The aim of this section is to discuss the emergence of self-determination and the re-characterization of the state in the aftermath of the First World War. In particular, it sets out to address how these concepts were applied (or not) with respect to the Arabs in general, The Hijaz in par

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THE HIJAZ ticular, and the Islamic world community by extension. A comprehensive discussion of the legal concepts themselves takes place in Chapter 6.   Whatever the formal political status of The Hijaz, it has always been designated as the Holy Territory, the Home of God, and as such, it has been the single most important centre of Islamic civilization. This was manifestly true during the lifetime of the Prophet and the period in which it was the administrative capital of the Arab tribes, in the fortyyear caliphates of the Rashidun era in Medina. Then, when the seat of government moved from Damascus to Baghdad, Cairo, and Istanbul, it continued to function as the centre of Islam. Indeed, a primary purpose of the secular power of the sultan was to ensure that all believers were able to complete the Hajj in safety. Accordingly, the Umayyad, Abbasid, Fatimid, Mamluk, Hashemite, and Ottoman rulers all styled themselves Custodians of the Two Holy Mosques.   Only the dynasty governing The Hijaz could claim the title of caliph. Consequently, dominion over the Holy Cities gave the rulers religious legitimacy among the Muslim population. The dynasties and their leaders thus competed to offer patronage to The Hijaz’s inhabitants and supply the Ka’ba with its annual cloth.   The Hijaz was, therefore, uniquely significant for the religious and secular legitimacy of the Ottoman sultans, who assumed sovereignty over the area in 1517 and adopted the title Servants of the Two Holy Places. Their control over The Hijaz, as caliphs, secured the loyalty of their Muslim subjects, raised their prestige among Muslims living outside the empire, and expanded their influence abroad under the banner of Muslim solidarity.1 As late as the reign of Sultan Abdulhamid II (1842–1918), The Hijaz was regarded as ‘the jewel in the crown of the exalted Caliphate’.2   Even when The Hijaz was firmly in the possession of a single authority, it belonged to the whole of the Islamic world in a wider sense. Every Muslim had a duty to travel there, if they could. Many countries donated money to the province, and it was subjected to only nominal taxation by the central government, which was offset with large subsidies to support local administration and the maintenance of the Holy Sites, and to pay off Bedouin raiders.3 Additional money flowed in from Egypt, the Indian Muslim states, and also from private citizens.4 In his examination of these subsidies paid by the central Ottoman govern72

ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION ment, William Ochsenwald noted that since The Hijaz was located on the remote southern frontier of the empire, the primary concern of the central government was to ensure its security.5 But it was the religious importance of The Hijaz to the empire that gave it its virtual immunity from external religious and political influence.   In other words, as an Ottoman special-status vilayet, The Hijaz enjoyed a sui generis status. Remote from the capital and not densely populated, it had not been fully integrated into the centralized administrative and military system of the empire.6 The Emirate of Makkah had a special autonomous status. Crucially, its citizens were exempted from military conscription. The nineteenth-century Ottoman Law of the Vilayets came to regulate this constitutional arrangement.   The governance of The Hijaz had a structure that was not present in any other Ottoman vilayet. Makkah was a kind of state within a state.7 Although the sultan’s representative, known as the vali, governed it institutionally, in reality he shared his authority with the Sharif of Makkah,8 who was also appointed by the sultan.9 Because of the prestige and respect that the sharifs enjoyed, and the fact that their traditional role in The Hijaz dated back to the time before Ottoman control, the imperial influence in The Hijaz depended on the loyalty of the indigenous power brokers. The Ottomans were officially guardians of the Holy Places, but they were not able to exercise that privilege without the co-operation of the Qurayshi Emir of Makkah.10   The Grand Mosque of Makkah was itself an institution that exerted great influence within The Hijaz and in the wider Islamic world. It was a hub for religious scholars and jurists, and a touchstone for luminaries, legal traditions, and professional disciplines. The Imam of the Two Holy Mosques usually had a connection with the sultan and was customarily a sayyid, a descendant of the Prophet Mohammad.   From 1880 onwards, the idea of an ‘Arab Caliphate’ gathered pace. So, the Ottoman sultans, and their Egyptian agent, Mohammad ‘Ali, began to fear that the loss of The Hijaz might be a blow to imperial unity and a threat to their legitimacy as caliphs.11 Moreover, British attention was becoming more focused on the region, and, especially, the Sudan and the Horn of Africa—a fixation that would reach its climax in the Fashoda incident in 1898.12 In turn, the fear of British intrigue pushed the Ottoman government into propaganda campaigns 73

THE HIJAZ that emphasized the sultan’s status as the ‘Caliph of Islam’; 1908 ushered in an important period for the Ottomans and The Hijaz.

Roots of Arab Nationalism:The Arab Revolt The Arab Revolt was launched in The Hijaz by al-Hussein bin ‘Ali, Sharif of Makkah, just before dawn on 2 June 1916.13 For the Arabs, as a newly imagined nation, it signalled a desire for independent statehood.   The roots of the Revolt stretched back to a similar upheaval in the Ottoman Empire, caused by the rise of the Committee of Union and Progress (the CUP, or Young Turks), who seized power in 1908 and demanded that a reformist policy agenda be implemented and the 1876 constitution be enforced.14 In the summer of 1908 the rulership of the Emirate of Makkah became vacant, and rivalry for the office between two of the leading Hashemite clans, the Dhawi-‘Awn and the Dhawi-Zayd, became closely entangled with the rivalry between the Ottoman ancien régime and the victorious CUP.15 Although the Grand Mosque established the Dhawi-‘Awn as rulers, Sharif ‘Ali Haydar of the rival Dhawi-Zayd attempted to contest the decision through his contacts in the CUP. The sultan, however, favoured Sharif Hussein ibn ‘Ali of the Dhawi-‘Awn for the appointment, and began to campaign for his candidacy.   At that point, Sharif Hussein pledged his loyalty to the sultan and resisted the CUP’s attempts to encroach upon the special position of the Emir of Makkah and The Hijaz.16 Nevertheless, these continued, and in 1911 a telegraph was sent from the Makkan notables to the Ministry of Interior of the Ottoman Empire requesting a cessation in the implementation of new procedures in The Hijaz, and for the protection of the remaining privileges that the Hijazis had enjoyed ever since The Hijaz became a part of the Ottoman Empire. They professed concern that this was necessary for the ‘Great Ottoman Caliphate’s era [to] be preserved’.17 This correspondence indicates that the Hijazis had no desire to secede from the Ottoman state if the privileged status of The Hijaz remained untouched.   The Arab Revolt was the founding act of modern Arab self-determination,18 and it was a direct reaction to the rising tide of Turkish nationalism. At first glance, The Hijaz seems miscast as the locus of nationalist  

 

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ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION sentiment. This loyal and well-rewarded ‘special province’ of the Ottoman Empire did not seem like fertile ground for the rise of a secular nationalist ideology. Religion dominated the political and intellectual life of western Arabia, and a commitment to Islamic solidarity was largely unquestioned. The economic, political, and military prerequisites for the emergence of nationalism among the Hijazi elites were also undeveloped in the period before the First World War.19 Ernest Dawn20 and Joshua Teitelbaum21 refer to reports of Arab nationalists approaching Sharif Hussein as early as 1911 to ask him to assume leadership of the Arab movement. Until early 1914, however, he remained supportive of the Ottoman Caliphate while gradually strengthening the institutional powers of the Emirate of Makkah, similar to Sharif ‘Awn al-Rafiq before him, and using Islamic legitimacy rather than nationalism as a political driver.   The policies of centralization implemented by the CUP government in the aftermath of the Balkan wars of 1912 and 1913, which included efforts to strengthen Istanbul’s control over The Hijaz, were reflected in the appointment of Wahib Bey as vali in 1914, at the head of seven battalions of soldiers.22 He was instructed to tighten control over the province, and duly began to extend The Hijaz Railway from Medina to Makkah. The Hijazi people opposed this, as it would prejudice the interests of the Bedouin. In March 1913 the new Law of the Vilayets was passed, which aimed to preserve the national authority of the central Turkish government through the vali and the Ministry of Interior.23 Because of Sharif Hussein’s opposition, as well as the appointment of a new vizir in Istanbul, the law was never enforced. However, the CUP government was reported to have plotted to remove Sharif Hussein due to the uncompromising positions he had taken on these issues. This reaction, in turn, frustrated the Hashemites and made them seriously consider the possibility of revolt for the first time.24   Sharif Hussein used religious, rather than nationalist, justifications to explain his revolt against the Ottomans. Dawn notes, perhaps with some exaggeration, that it was Sharif Hussein’s consuming ambition to gain the universal Caliphate that drove him into alliance with the British into revolt against the Ottomans.25 Teitelbaum also argues that the Sharif was in revolt not to establish a kingdom or a larger Arab state, but an Islamic polity that would replace Ottoman control over 75

THE HIJAZ the Arab territories, and in which the Hashemite-led Arabs would take their rightful place.26 He did not subscribe to the idea of the caliph as a pope-like figure. The Sharif was interested in the traditional Sunni Caliphate, incorporating temporal as well as spiritual and religious authority, and the right to lead the Islamic umma as a member of the Quraysh and a descendant of the Prophet.27   As discussed earlier, pan-Islamic thinkers of the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries had already advocated the idea of a Qurayshi caliph. Kawakibi28 supported the notion of an Arab caliph of Qurayshi origin, who would establish his seat in Makkah, but whose political power would be limited to The Hijaz, and who would not interfere in the politics of other Islamic countries.29 Rashid Rida30 backed the Arab Revolt and Sharif Hussein in the beginning, but he saw it as a preemptive move to protect The Hijaz from European rule in the event of a collapse of Ottoman power rather than as a military or political effort to emancipate the Arabs from Turkish rule.31 Although Rida stressed his Ottoman loyalty before the war, he attempted to construct an Arab Caliphate in the place of the Turkish one after 1914, when faced with the prospect of Ottoman defeat. His efforts culminated in ‘The General Organic Law of the Arab Empire’, in which he suggested a division between the religious and temporal spheres to the point of establishing two capitals: Makkah, which would remain the religious centre and would become the seat of the Caliphate; and Damascus, which would house the secular government. Administrative policies would be left to a president, who would manage them with the help of an elected council of deputies and a council of ministers, who would be drawn from among the deputies. It was proposed that the caliph should be from the house of the Sharifs of Makkah and should manage all religious affairs, but at the same time abide by the General Organic Law.32 Eventually, Rida would discredit Sharif Hussein in his later work, al-Hijaz wa alWahabiyyun,33 and would ultimately argue for the protection of The Hijaz by the Wahhabi–Saudi forces. Among the reasons Rida put forward to justify Saudi intervention in The Hijaz was the fact that the people of Najd were being prevented from performing the Haj; he also accused Sharif Hussein of facilitating the foreign intervention and influence in the Holy Lands.34 76

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The British Alliance with the Arab Nationalist Movement During this period, immediately before and after the Revolt, it is striking how the question of the Caliphate was tied to the nationalist revolt. This also explains how Sharif Hussein, who had little connection with the Arab nationalists before the war, became their leader. In October 1914 Lord Kitchener, Secretary of State for War, established contact with one of Sharif Hussein’s sons, Emir Abdullah, and expressed the thought that the Arabs should assume the Caliphate in Makkah or Medina.35 In his message of 31 October 2014 to Abdullah he stated:  

If the Arab nation assists England in this war that has been forced upon us by Turkey, England will guarantee that no internal intervention takes place in Arabia and will give the Arabs every assistance against external foreign aggression. It may be that an Arab of the true race will assume the Caliphate at Mecca or Medina and so good may come by the help of God out of all evil which is now occurring.36

  Shortly thereafter, the infamous McMahon–Hussein correspondence would further discuss the idea of single, unitary Arab state.37 In his letter of 30 August 1915 Henry McMahon, the British High Commiss­ ioner in Cairo, wrote: ‘His Majesty’s Government would welcome the re-establishment of the Caliphate by “an Arab of true race”’.38 Apart from recognizing the Caliphate, McMahon also promised the establishment of an independent Arab kingdom, whose borders would reach beyond The Hijaz into the Arabic-speaking lands of Mesopotamia, Palestine, and Greater Syria, with minor exclusions to the west of Damascus, which was desired by the French.39   As the war went on, the Ottomans declared jihad against the Entente. The British felt it necessary to withdraw their support for the ‘Arab Caliphate’, and instead supported nationalist rather than Islamic efforts, largely because the Ottomans had played the ‘pan-Islamic’ card against them.40 Also, the British ruled a large Muslim population in India, which meant that they had to be careful when stirring up Islamic passions. In other words, they recognized the danger inherent in promoting an Arab Islamic authority in Makkah to rival the sultan, as it would divide the Muslims and could threaten future peace negotiations, as well as weakening their position in India. Backing Arab nationalism as a counterweight to the Islamic rhetoric of the Ottomans therefore seemed the  

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THE HIJAZ safer option. As a result of the success of the Allies in Mesopotamia and Syria, as well as the Arab Revolt, the Ottoman pan-Islamic state was shattered. This paved the way for a re-imagining and re-mapping of the Arab territories as envisaged by the Western powers.   As far as the Hashemites were concerned, their support for Arab nationalism was due, in part, to pragmatism; this became valuable when political action was needed in the areas of the Arab world beyond their traditional sphere of influence in The Hijaz and the rest of the contested and lawless parts of the Arabian Peninsula to the east. Emir Faisal, the third son of Sharif Hussein, used nationalism as an ideological justification for his leadership and actions against the Ottomans when he began military activities in Syria.41 Arab nationalist rhetoric also proved useful in the negotiations with foreign powers whose political frame of reference was ethnic nationalism. With the emergence of Britain as a potential patron, the Hashemites welcomed the idea of independence and rule over a large area of Arab lands, as opposed to limited control over Makkah or The Hijaz alone, as offered by the Ottomans. The Hashemites moved forward with their nationalist aspirations, as they believed that they would be more likely to obtain British support.42   The tripartite alliance between the British, the Hashemites, and the Arab nationalists was established when Mohammad Sharif al-Farouqi, a staff officer in the Turkish army, deserted from Gallipoli in October 1915 and travelled to Egypt to try to interest the British in Arab nationalist movements.43 Al-Farouqi assured British officials that the Arab movements were united, and willing to recognize Sharif Hussein as their leader. He also gave information about the Young Arab Party (al-Fatat) in Damascus, which ‘offers active co-operation in return for [a] guarantee that England will support them in their attempt of Arab independence. … Unless they receive a favourable reply from England within a few weeks, they have decided to throw in their lot with Turkey and Germany and to secure best deal they can.’44   The 1915 Damascus Protocol of the Arab nationalists provided the first seeds of the idea of the ethnocentric self-determination of the Arabs. It married an Arab centre and a centre of Islam. The Hijaz was chosen as the driving force for Arab self-determination. The mandate for the new single ‘Arab state’ was formulated and agreed in 78

ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION Damascus. More crucially, the nationalists put forth a programme for an ‘Arab renaissance’ (nahda), a broad vision for a system of governance and progress.   British officials were pushing for an official alliance, faced with the imminent threat that the Arabs might join the enemy.45 Moreover, the British decided to back Hussein for a number of reasons relating both to matters of military strategy and geopolitics and to political and religious considerations.46 They were particularly enthusiastic about the prestige of the ‘Sharif of Mecca’ and the perception that he possessed the ability to claim the loyalty of the Islamic umma.47 Moreover, Sharif Hussein was in a position of temporal power: he possessed a force of armed tribesmen and was able legitimately to call for jihad; the intellectuals in Damascus had a valuable ideology in Arab nationalism to sell to the British, but it was not enough on its own. Only Sharif Hussein was seen as capable of coordinating the Islamic and nationalist forces.48 These unique political, religious, ideological, geopolitical, and geostrategic privileges that Sharif Hussein enjoyed at the time best explain why he was chosen over Ibn Saud. Arab Bureau Commander D. G. Hogarth retrospectively highlighted the underlying rationale behind Britain’s choice to back Hussein as follows: ‘In addition to being the “only possible spokesman for the Arabs from the British point of view”, “Husain could exert throughout the Moslem world a moral influence which would, and did, make a very great difference indeed”’.49  

 

The King of The Hijaz Declares Independence In May 1915 the Arab nationalists al-Arabiyya al-Fatat and al-‘Ahd provided Emir Faisal with a mandate, the Damascus Protocol. This was the basis of the Revolt against the Ottomans, and its demands were the basis of the Hussein–McMahon correspondence. The Protocol defined the territory for a single ‘Arab state’, from Aleppo in Syria to Aden in Yemen, providing that the demands of the British were met. The mandate provided that Sharif Hussein ibn ‘Ali, Emir of Makkah, was to ‘lead’ the Arabs to their independence and put forward a nahda programme to fight against disease, poverty, and ignorance. It was the foundational legal act of modern Arab self-determination. 79

THE HIJAZ   Contemporary sources indicate that Sharif Hussein himself aspired to re-establish the Caliphate as both a temporal and spiritual Islamic institution.50 However, as the office of the Caliphate still belonged to the Ottomans at the time of the Revolt, Sharif Hussein believed that his programme was that of an ‘Arab renaissance’. In fact, he proclaimed himself al-nahidh bi al-bilad al-‘arabiyya, ‘the raiser of the Arab countries’, but was later named malik al-bilad al-‘arabiyya, ‘the king of the Arab territories’ or ‘the king of the Arabs’. He started using this title on his official correspondence on 3 December 1916.51 At that time he was relying on McMahon’s promises of an ‘independent Arab state’. The Colonial Office issued a document on 27 June 1916 entitled ‘The Grand Sherif of Mecca and the Independence of Hedjaz’, and attached a copy of the Proclamation of Independence, in which Sharif Hussein ‘reasserts the independence of the Arabs of The Hijaz … their freedom from Turkish invasion and foreign control of any kind and announcing that the assembled notables, princes, and representatives of the people had unanimously acclaimed him King of Hijaz’. The pamphlet was translated into various languages and sent to colonial offices in Africa and Asia.52   A British telegram issued three months later, however, expressed concern about Sharif Hussein’s adoption of the title King of the Arab Nation. It called the proclamation ‘a sudden, premature and ill-considered action’, and articulated concerns that Imam Ibn Saud, Idrisi, and the tribesmen of Jeddah might oppose this action.53 The British did not want to be seen as supportive of Sharif Hussein’s appointment of himself as King of the Arabs, as it would threaten their relations with other Arab chiefs in the Peninsula, especially with Imam Ibn Saud, with whom they had established an alliance through the Darin Pact during the Arab Revolt.   There was yet another concern for the British: the secret Sykes– Picot Agreement, signed in May 1916 and revealed by the Bolsheviks the next year. It paid ‘lip service’ to the promise of independence made by MacMahon to Hussein, but then used Sykes’s line in the sand to apportion Palestine, Iraq, and Syria between British and French spheres of influence.54 Additionally, the Balfour Declaration, which was issued only a few months later, and was published by the War Cabinet on 9 November, stated that ‘His Majesty’s government views  

 

 

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ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION with favour the establishment in Palestine of a national homeland for the Jewish People, and will use its best endeavours to facilitate the achievement of this object’. Interestingly, Sharif Hussein did not react forcefully or publicly to the Declaration, reportedly ordering his sons ‘to calm the apprehensions of their followers about British intentions’.55 Perhaps the back-channel diplomacy of the British and reassurances relayed to Sharif Hussein from Arab Bureau chief D. G. Hogarth played their part in this. Others were sceptical of the Declaration—notably a young Winston Churchill, perhaps due to his belief that Jews displayed a penchant for revolutionary politics, and the threat that it would pose to the British Empire, large parts of which had Muslim populations. As a last resort, he stated that he stood ‘prepared to continue on this course, if it is the settled will of the Cabinet’, a rather less than explicit endorsement.56   The Declaration was aimed at Jews in the United States and Russia. The British believed that American Jews possessed a disproportionate amount of influence over their government, and, if satisfied with the British overture, they would persuade President Wilson to enter the war against the Central Powers. They also believed that the Russian Revolution was directed primarily by Russian Jews, and that the Declaration could be the spark that might re-ignite Russia’s war effort. The British miscalculated, particularly in the case of the Soviets: the Sykes–Picot Agreement was leaked by Leon Trotsky in 1917 and published in the Manchester Herald. The British then entered damage-limitation mode, and the Declaration to the Seven was issued as an affirmation that Arab territories would be administered in accordance with the ‘consent of the governed’.57   By 1918 signs had begun to emerge that the British were not intent on keeping their promises to the Arabs. General Allenby, British Commander in the Levant and Palestine, informed his government that he had offered Emir Faisal ‘… Official assurance that whatever measures might be taken during the period of military administration, they were purely provisional and could not be allowed to prejudice the final settlement by the Peace Conference, at which no doubt the Arabs would have a representative’.58   It is claimed that Allenby informed Emir Faisal that France was to be the ‘Mandatory power’ in Syria, but Faisal went ahead and assumed the  

 

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THE HIJAZ position of governor of Damascus, with the support of his father. Faisal hoped thereby to create a power base for a future Arab state. McMahon’s promise was to be broken,59 the independent Arab kingdom was to be limited to The Hijaz, and Sharif Hussein was to be recognized only as ‘King of Hijaz’—not the Islamic ruler of an Arab state.   In August 1917 a document was issued by some ‘ulama’ in Makkah, titled ‘Proclamation of the Ulema of Mecca’, to explain the revolt against the Ottoman Empire to the Islamic nations. In it, Islamic references are used to explain and legitimize the secession. The proclamation describes the CUP’s policies as ‘impious aggression’, and Sharif Hussein’s policy of reasserting the independence and freedom of the Holy Cities of Makkah and Medina as being ‘in accordance with the divine ordinances set down in the Holy Qur’an, the Sunna of the Prophet and the honourable law of Islam, and follow[ing] the edicts of justice, civilization and humanity’. The ‘ulama’ thus ‘solemnly declares that today they know no king among the Muslims more devout, more steadfast in the fear of God, more observant of his commands, more zealous to perform his ordinances in word or deed, more competent to guide our affairs in accordance with His commands than this descendant of His Prophet who has now assumed the throne of the Arabian lands’.60 It is not clear if the document represented the ‘ulama’ and institution of the Two Holy Mosques or the ‘ulama’ who were in exile. What is clear is that Sharif Hussein’s constitutional legitimacy as well as the independence of the Holy Lands of Hijaz from non-Arab interference was being asserted. However, the issue of the Caliphate was ‘pending a unanimous declaration of policy by the Muslim world’.61

French and German Outlook on Arab Statehood French policy towards Sharif Hussein is important because of the Sykes–Picot Agreement, which ‘entitled’ it to Syria, a country that Sharif Hussein hoped to include under his rule. The French, in 1914, like their British counterparts, planned to use and manipulate the office of the Caliphate to push their war aims, and considered an Arab descendant of the Prophet Mohammad in a free and independent Hijaz to be an ideal candidate. Nevertheless, rather than a military and religious chief, the caliph was to be a ‘Pope of Islam, independent in the 82

ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION eyes of his believers, but in fact obliged to consider European influences’.62 Towards the end of 1915, discussions moved towards the possibility of establishing a political authority under Sharif Hussein’s rule in Makkah. However, its territory was to be limited to the Arabian Peninsula. Only the spiritual authority of Sharif Hussein, according to the French, could be extended beyond its borders.63 Furthermore, the French saw the British arrangements with Sharif Hussein in terms of supporting their immediate war efforts, not as a step towards the establishment of an Arab national entity.64 The French were willing to recognize Sharif Hussein’s spiritual role among the Arabs, but not a temporal one that would limit their own ambitions.   In August 1916 the French government decided to enter into political relations with The Hijaz, and sent a small diplomatic mission, consisting of Muslim delegates from Algiers, Tunis, and Morocco, to congratulate the Sharif of Makkah. The mission was sent by the President of the Republic to the Sharif as ‘… head of a new Moslem community, which has detached itself from the Ottoman Empire’.65 The French did not wish to interfere with the Caliphate question; rather, its ostensible purpose was ‘… to get in touch with the chief who will in future be responsible for holy places and to settle with him the pilgrimage question which concerns all French Muslim subjects’.66   Even though the British considered direct French–Hijazi relations inevitable in the light of France’s interests in ‘North Arabia’, they wanted to prevent the French from having a say in the affairs of The Hijaz. In November 1916 Raymond Poincaré, the President of the French Republic, sent a letter to the Grand Sharif expressing his support for The Hijaz’s declaration of independence, which he said was vital in the face of ‘the crimes that the leaders of [the] Constantinople government have committed and the evils that they have practised’. In this context, the French president congratulated the Sharif, and highlighted the need to safeguard the pilgrimage to Makkah, which many French Muslims performed.67   However, when Sharif Hussein declared himself the King of the Arabs in October 1916, the French were careful in formulating their response, as they feared it might threaten their plans for Syria. They were ready to recognize him as a king, but the area of his sovereignty remained open ended at the time. An agreement was reached in 83

THE HIJAZ December 1916 when the French approved the British proposal to recognize Sharif Hussein as the King of Hijaz.68 This designation was, undoubtedly, a Western contrivance.   It is useful to briefly mention the German attitude towards The Hijaz, as the Germans were largely responsible for the idea of calling for jihad against the Christian Entente.69 In fact, the Germans, at the beginning of the war, had little interest in the Arabs of the Ottoman Empire, and decided to leave the matter to their Ottoman ally. At the same time, they did not anticipate the scale of the British designs in Arabia, and, before the Revolt, considered Sharif Hussein loyal to the sultan.   As the war went on, the Germans, whose grand designs centred on the Berlin–Baghdad railway, established an Intelligence Bureau for the East in Damascus. This was headed by Max von Oppenheim, a banker, lawyer, and archaeologist, who attempted to bribe Emir Faisal into concluding an agreement with the Central Powers. In March 1915 Oppenheim met Faisal, who promised to convince his father to call for the Arabs to take up arms, in exchange for money, a limousine, and a British rifle that had fallen into Turkish hands in Gallipoli. What the Germans did not know was that by this time negotiations had already been taking place with the British, who were offering the Arabs independence from Constantinople. So, instead of jihad against the British, Sharif Hussein called for an uprising against the Turks, Germany’s ally.70   The Germans also entrusted some propaganda activities to the Turks, who on 6 December 1917 spoke publicly in Beirut about the Sykes–Picot Agreement of May 1916, accusing Sharif Hussein of depending on the ‘enemies of Islam’.71 Donald McKale concludes that the Germans did not acknowledge Arab nationalism or aspirations for independence, as national self-determination did not fit with their war aims. The asymmetric strategy of instigating a jihad had failed, when national, rather than religious, conscientiousness took over the postFirst World War designs in the Arab territories.  

Self-Determination in the Era of the League of Nations72 Although self-determination featured prominently in the Fourteen Points that President Woodrow Wilson presented to the Versailles Peace Conference, the concept had actually been championed several years earlier by Vladimir Ulyanov, also known as Lenin.73 84

ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION   Wilson never provides any precise definition of the term ‘self-determination’.74 This assessment of Wilson’s characterization of the concept is derived from his Fourteen Points and his public statements.75 The crux of the Wilsonian definition is probably best encapsulated in his statement that ‘national aspirations must be respected; people may now be dominated and governed only by their own consent’.76 The concept of ‘national’ self-determination as understood by Wilson’s contemporaries, including William C. Bullit,77 Senator George W. Norris, and Professor E. H. Carr, was alien to the Wilsonian concept of self-determination. As Trygve Throntveit points out, ‘such national self-determination—the principle that groups bound by common language or lines of descent have a right to political and territorial independence—was not one of Wilson’s Fourteen points and was never central to his peace program’.78 This observation is shared by Allen Lynch, who adds that ‘the actual enunciation and application of the principle was deeply affected by considerations of wartime strategy and diplomacy, above all to counter defeatist tendencies following Russia’s withdrawal from the war as well as to induce a separate Austrian peace’.79   It is worth contrasting Wilson’s imagining of self-determination with that of Lenin, who wrote on the right to self-determination for two reasons. Firstly, he was aware of the ambiguity of the concept and so he bluntly defined it as a right that, if honestly exercised, must lead to the formation of a sovereign state (‘external’ self-determination). Secondly, he saw the nationalist movements of his time as consequences of an international class struggle requiring independence from alien and imperial powers:  

 

 

 

If we want to grasp the meaning of self-determination of nations, not by juggling with legal definitions or ‘inventing’ abstract definitions … we must inevitably reach the conclusion that the self-determination of nations means the political separation of these nations from alien national bodies, and the formation of an independent nation state.80

  Lenin saw no distinction between external self-determination— secession from an existing state—and internal self-determination— some form of self-government within an existing state. The right, exclusively and necessarily, requires the formation of an independent state, presumably by some form of secession. This is discussed in greater detail in Chapter 6. 85

THE HIJAZ   Robert Lansing, who served as Wilson’s Secretary of State, was opposed to the use of the term ‘self-determination’ as a principle at Versailles. In his letters to Wilson he questioned what the president had in mind when he declared to the American Senate and the House of Representatives that ‘self-determination is not a mere phrase. It is an imperative principle of action which statesmen will henceforth ignore at their peril.’81 He advised Wilson that in the absence of a practical and definite geographical unit the application of the principle would be dangerous to peace and stability.82   Many of the delegates shared Lansing’s concerns, and, as a result, the term ‘self-determination’ was not included in the Covenant of the League of Nations. Lansing observed that the term was simply the reincarnation of the phrase ‘consent of the governed’, which had had currency with political philosophers for three centuries, but had been completely ignored by statesmen for the same length of time.83   Finally, Lansing confirmed that the concept of self-determination, and Wilson’s championing of it, was a sham. Specifically, he stated: ‘In the negotiations at Paris and in the formation of the foreign policy of the United States … [President Wilson] has by his acts denied the existence of the right other than as the expression of a moral precept, as something to be desired, but generally unattainable in the lives of nations.’84

The Mandate System and its Legal Challenges Article 22 of the Covenant of the League of Nations established the Mandate System on the basis of two suppositions.85 The first paragraph of Article 22 emphasizes the ‘predicament’ of certain territories and colonies which, as a result of the war, found themselves no longer under the sovereignty of the states that formerly governed them. As ‘the well-being and development of of such peoples form a sacred trust of civilization’, it was decided that ‘the securities for the performance of this trust should be embodied in this covenant’.86   The second supposition is entrenched in paragraph 2 of Article 22, which states: The best method of giving practical effect to this principle is that the tutelage of such peoples should be entrusted to advanced nations who by reason of their resources, their experiences or their geographical

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ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION position can best undertake this responsibility, and who are willing to accept it, and that this tutelage should be exercised by them as Mandatories on behalf of the League.

  The Mandate System was ostensibly intended to allow nations to become independent after spending time under the ‘tutelage’ of a Mandatory power. This aim, however, was simply rhetorical cover for the continuation of familiar imperial motifs. The first of these deeper intents was the enforcement of the 1916 Sykes–Picot deal. France became the Mandatory power over Syria and Lebanon, and the British became the Mandatory power over Palestine and Iraq, whose railways, ports, and petroleum it coveted. The second objective was the creation of a legal loophole in relation to German war reparations. If Germany’s former colonies were simply ceded to the Allies, Germany would have been able to offset their value against their war indemnities. The Mandate System allowed Britain and France to seize control of these territories, while framing the issue as some form of altruistic ‘duty’ to tutor these fledglings in the enlightened ways of the community of nations.   Lansing further observed: If the advocates of the system intended to avoid through its operation the appearance of taking enemy territory as the spoils of war, it was a subterfuge that deceived no one. It seemed obvious from the very first that the Powers, which under the old practice would have obtained sovereignty over certain conquered territories, would not be denied mandates over those territories.87

  A third fundamental aim was, unsurprisingly, the exploitation of the natural wealth and resources of the Mandates, while maintaining the guise of ‘civilization’—which was nothing more than a simple ruse. The principal European powers showed an enthusiasm to take up their ‘teaching posts’ in territories possessing natural resources that could be profitably developed.88 They were unwilling to accept Mandates in areas barren of minerals or agricultural wealth. The concept of ‘civilization’ was nothing more than another ambiguous and subjective term to be exploited by the European powers. Or, as Leatherdale summarized: ‘At Versailles, the focus was on the League of Nations, creating new European frontiers, and settling war reparations. At large, Britain was concerned with her global position, and the new threats arisisng out of her post-War weakness.’89 The view of the Arab Bureau, as recorded by 87

THE HIJAZ Westrate, had been traditionally shaped along these lines as well: ‘The bureau’s emphasis, first and last, was on reconciling British diplomatic commitments with strategic requirements. Whenever these two qualifications came into conflict, the Savoy [Arab Bureau] accorded preference to the imperial needs.’90   If ‘civilization’ was a legitimate gauge for independence and sovereignty, the British and French would have had to face some very difficult questions concerning their conduct before and during the war. The Ottoman Empire was considered a full-fledged member of the system of jus gentium, or law of nations,91 and it was British policy before the outbreak of war to preserve its integrity. The Ottoman concept of autonomy, for instance, informed British colonial thinking.   British representations to Sharif Hussein in the Hogarth Message92 further recognized the fact that the ‘Arab race’ had been the locus of a nation, and should once again be given such an opportunity. In particular, the Message started with a ‘reaffirmation of the Entente’s determination that “the Arab race shall be given full opportunity of once again forming a nation in the world”’.93 Sharif Hussein himself was seen as the representative not of The Hijaz qua Hijaz, but rather as the legitimate representative of al-bilad al-‘arabiyya (the Arab countries). This was certainly the understanding he had had since 1915, and Hogarth’s message in relation to the Arab ‘race’ can be read this way, especially given the British view that nations were essentially collectives of ethnicities and races. His claim to a united Arab state was denied due to his refusal to sign or acknowledge the Versailles Treaty, which was a classic ‘no-win situation’. By signing the treaty, he would have been acknowledging the validity of the Mandate System, whereas his refusal would deny him a seat at the table, which would eventually be the prelude to the loss of the Kingdom of Hijaz. Sharif Hussein was trapped in an impossible dilemma constructed by the realpolitik and grandpower bargains of the imperialist powers. He had less and less manoeuvrability as the Great Powers re-drafted and re-shaped the global chessboard in their interests, re-casting their influence and sway in the aftermath of the costly war. The emerging Mandate System was not helping Hussein either.   From a legal point of view, the Mandate System presented an enormous challenge in relation to sovereignty. It was clear where 88

ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION sovereignty resided under the former world order; but with the creation of the System under the League of Nations as an international ‘primate superior’, determining this presented a number of challenges.94 A series of legal questions was raised by Robert Lansing in relation to sovereignty:   1) Do those who have seized sovereignty transfer it, or does Germany transfer it to the League of Nations? If so, how?   2) Does the League assume possession of that sovereignty on its renunciation by Germany? If so, how?   3) Does the League merely direct the disposition of sovereignty without taking possession of it?   4) Assuming that the latter question is answered in the affirmative, then after such disposition of the right to exercise sovereignty, which will presumably be a limited right, where does the actual sovereignty reside?   5) The appointment of a mandatory to exercise sovereign rights over territory is to create an agent for the real sovereign. But who is the real sovereign?   6) Is the League of Nations the sovereign, or is it a common agent of the nations composing the League, to whom is confided solely the duty of naming the mandatory and issuing the mandate?   7) If the League is the sovereign, can it avoid responsibility for the misconduct of the mandatory, its agent?   8) If it is not the League, who is responsible for the mandatory’s conduct?   9) Assuming that the mandatory in faithfully performing the provisions of the mandate unavoidably works an injustice upon another party, can or ought the mandatory be held responsible? If not, how can the injured party obtain redress? Manifestly, the answer is, ‘from the sovereign’, but who is the sovereign? 10) In the treaty of peace Germany will be called upon to renounce sovereignty over her colonial possessions. To whom will the sovereignty pass? 11) If the reply is ‘The League of Nations’ the question is: does the League possess the attributes of an independent state so that it can function as an owner of territory? If so, what is it? A world state? 12) If the League does not constitute a world state, then the sovereignty would have to pass to some national state.What national state? What would be the relation of the national state to the League?95

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Arab Representation at the Paris Peace Conference As an independent kingdom, The Hijaz participated in the negotiations, and Sharif Hussein’s son, Emir Faisal, headed its delegation. Some reports state that the French opposed the idea of receiving Emir Faisal as a representative of the Arabs to Europe. They explained that they had not been consulted, either before sending an invitation to Sharif Hussein or before Emir Faisal was chosen. The French wanted the promises of united Arab territories to be gradually withdrawn while the ground was being prepared for the implementation of the Sykes– Picot Agreement. In Emir Faisal’s trip to Paris, his participation in the conference, and his demands for united Arab lands, the French feared the annulment of Sykes–Picot.96 Upon his arrival, they attempted to deny him entry to the negotiations.97   The Foreign Office report notes: [Faisal] came to Paris to claim for Arab-speaking peoples from Alexandretta–Diarbekr southward to the Indian Ocean recognition as independent sovereign peoples under guarantee of League of Nations. … The confirmation of the states already existing in the area, the adjustments of their boundaries with one another, with The Hijaz and with the British at Aden, and the formation of such new states as are required. Their boundaries are matters for arrangement between us after the wishes of their respective inhabitants have been ascertained.98

  Emir Faisal argued that a single, united Arab state must be created, as all Arabs speak one language. The foreign policy of the kingdom would be conducted through the government of The Hijaz. Initially, he also demanded that all the territories must be independent and united, without any Mandatory power or division.99   Thus, Emir Faisal arrived in Paris to represent not only The Hijaz, but also the Arab territories as a whole.100 He based his claim to the right of self-determination by relying on principles contained in the second point of President Wilson’s address at Mount Vernon of 4 July 1918, which stated:  

The settlement of every question, whether of territory, of sovereignty, of economic arrangement, or of political relationship, upon the basis of free acceptance of that settlement by the people immediately concerned, and not upon the basis of the material interest or advantage of

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ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION any other nation or people that may desire different settlement for the sake of its own exterior influence or mastery.101

  Furthermore, the British report regarding the goals of Emir Faisal at the conference also states that he advocated a federation of Arab states with a real and substantial Arab government, with a common flag and coinage, which would eventually become one unified entity. If the Allies judged that outside assistance was vital, he would accept it coming from only one foreign power—either Great Britain or the United States. He opposed any division of the Arab territories, strongly resisted French interference in Arab affairs, and maintained that Lebanon was an indivisible part of Syria and should be kept as such. Faisal also expressed his criticism of the government of India for its support of Imam Ibn Saud. Emir Faisal compared Imam Ibn Saud’s militant Wahhabi movement with Bolshevism, and saw a war with the Najd as inevitable.102   Faisal used the language of ethnic nationalism in his memorandum dated 1 January 1919, in which he stated:  

The country from a line Alexandretta–Persia southward to [the] Indian Ocean is inhabited by Arabs—by which we mean people of closely related Semitic stocks, all speaking the one language, Arabic. … The aim of the Arab nationalist movements is to unite the Arabs eventually into one nation. … We believe that our ideal of Arab unity in Asia is justified beyond need of argument.103

  In March 1919 a document was sent to Faisal from the Mesopotamian Covenant Society delegating him to defend the rights of the inhabitants of the province. A similar one followed in April from Aleppo, and in June from ‘all denominations of Syria’, giving him full authority to represent the people of the area, protect their interests, voice their opinions to the Great Powers, and fight for their independence.104   Emir Faisal’s arguments for Arab independence show that The Hijaz was at that moment a de facto representative of a single Arab nation that conformed to the predominantly ethnic notion of nationalism as perceived by the international community at the time. At the negotiating table, The Hijaz was not acting for itself alone, but was rather represented a single, indivisible Arab nation.   Despite active participation in the war effort, The Hijaz delegation was not approached during the negotiations for the peace treaty with 91

THE HIJAZ the Turks in relation to the territories to be detached from the Ottoman Empire, which was concluded in Sèvres on 10 August 1920. The British, however, wanted The Hijaz to sign the treaty afterwards, as they thought that an endorsement from Makkah would make the settlement more acceptable to Muslims.105 British officials told Emir Faisal that the Hijazis could not be included in the negotiations regarding the former Ottoman territories unless Sharif Hussein had ratified the Treaty of Versailles.106 Had he signed it, however, it would have meant that he had accepted the Mandate System. The paradox is, therefore, that he was not allowed to participate in discussions regarding the Mandate System unless he first accepted it.   The Hijazi delegations to European cities were trying to present the Arab point of view and make the case for their inclusion in the negotiations. In May 1919 the British received the delegation, who expressed their fear that ‘[the] frontiers of mandatory provinces were being delimitated without any expression of people concerned’.107 They also reasoned that, since Armenia was to be placed under one Mandate, they also wished all the Arabic-speaking countries to be likewise placed under one Mandate and not divided up among two or three. To this end, ‘they argued [at] considerable length as to the similarity of conditions between Syria, Palestine and Mesopotamia’.108 Lord Hardinge, who hosted the delegation, argued that it would be impossible for only one European power to be in charge of such a large piece of territory, and that in any case, none had sufficient funds to govern it.109   As an independent state, The Hijaz was one of the founding signatories of the Covenant of the League of Nations. However, when Habib Loutfallah, the Hijazi ambassador, travelled to Geneva to take part in further discussions within the framework of the League of Nations, he was met with a familiar objection: ‘As the Hedjaz appears in the Covenant of the League of Nations attached to the Treaty of Versailles as an original member, it would be necessary for King Hussein to ratify this treaty before the Hedjaz could become a member of the League.’110 However, the British correspondence also noted that ‘the reason why it had not ratified up to the present lay in its objection to the carrying out of Article 22 of the Covenant’,111 which referred to the Mandate System. The System was to be a compromise between the European powers’ imperial designs and Wilson’s ideal of self-determination  

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ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION included in his fourteen-point programme for world peace.112 Antony Anghie argued that the Mandate System was based on the principle that it was possible to establish a universal system of self-government for nation-states.113 In addition, the status of all the territories was then determined in accordance with European international law; and the European powers were to teach the people within the Mandates how to govern themselves.114   The British also argued that if the Treaty of Versailles had been ratified by The Hijaz, and the state had taken up its function in the family of nations, then it would have had international protection against its ambitious neighbours, including Imam Ibn Saud.115 Sharif Hussein, however, did not wish to ratify either Versailles or the Treaty of Sèvres of August 1920 on the partitioning of the Ottoman Empire, because it required him to legitimize the Mandate System, which he simply could not do: the Syrian nationalists objected and the Palestinians were outraged. Sharif Hussein, despite the large sums of money offered to him by the British, refused to ratify any treaty that spoke of the Mandate System (such as San Remo in 1920), unless the Balfour Declaration was abandoned.116 In a statement made in February 1921 he emphasized that he could not ‘affix his name to a document assigning Palestine to the Zionists and Syria to foreigners’.117 In the long term Sharif Hussein’s erratic decisions and shifting position had a negative effect on his relationship with the British, who realized that their old ally was disruptive to their goal of imperial control in the region.118   The Covenant of the League of Nations further emphasized the concept of ethnocentric nationalism as a prerequisite for statehood. In this context, Sharif Hussein was recognized as the King of Hijaz and not the King of the Arabs, as was initially intended—a crucial step.119   The legacy of the Mandates has had a lasting effect on territoriality across the Arab world.120 Before European control, most Arabs were content to live under a fragmentary rule, and only a small elite carried a belief that they are a part of qawm, an Arab nation. Arabism and nationalist sentiments came as a reaction to Turkification within the Ottoman Empire, and intensified greatly with the opposition of the French- and British-controlled spheres,121 reinforcing the idea that Arab aspirations to statehood and self-determination were a reaction to if not a result of colonial designs. 93

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San Remo Before the Treaty of Sèvres, the San Remo Conference was convened on 25 April 1920 with four objectives in mind. The first was to conclude a peace treaty with Turkey. The second was to further discuss and set out the obligations of Germany under the Treaty of Versailles. Thirdly, it was meant to address the Allies’ position in relation to the newly constituted Bolshevik Russia. Fourthly, and most importantly, the conference would establish and flesh out the League of Nations Mandates in the Middle East.   The discussion surrounding Mandates was mostly concerned with Palestine in the light of the Balfour Declaration. A unique feature of the San Remo Resolution was that it provisionally recognized the Mandates as ‘states’. Clause b of the resolution states:  

The High Contracting Parties agree that Syria and Mesopotamia shall, in accordance with the fourth paragraph of Article 22, Part I (Covenant of the League of Nations), be provisionally recognised as independent States, subject to the rendering of administrative advice and assistance by a mandatory until such time as they are able to stand alone. The boundaries of the said States will be determined, and the selection of the Mandatories made, by the Principal Allied Powers.122

  This would have been considered an aberration under international law. It was a clear and incontrovertible principle of international law that states were prohibited from the premature recognition of states that did not yet meet the criteria of statehood. There was a doctrine that existed in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries known as ‘permissive’ recognition whereby the ‘parent’ state could recognize a nonstate entity as a state, which would permit the rest of the international community to follow suit.123 This would have been the norm during the colonial era, where newly independent states required the acquiescence and recognition of the ‘parent’ state before being recognized by others. The premature recognition of a state would otherwise be deemed an unlawful intervention in the affairs of the parent. Oppenheim made the following observation: The question is precisely when recognition as a new state may be given, as distinguished from the recognition as a belligerent authority. For an untimely and precipitate recognition as a new state is more than a viola-

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ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION tion of the dignity of the parent state. It is an unlawful act, and it is frequently maintained that such untimely recognition amounts to intervention.124

  As discussed earlier, the Mandates differed from colonies in a number of respects. Had the Mandates been newly acquired colonies, the Ottomans and Germans would be entitled to offset any reparations against territory ceded.125 The declaration that the Mandates were independent states had to be reconciled with all of the necessary criteria such as effective government, defined territory, population, and the ability to enter into international relations with other states as a function of sovereignty.126 Otherwise, the San Remo Resolution would have been in violation of the prohibition on the premature recognition of states.   In other words, San Remo represented a legal pretence, echoing many of the challenges expressed by Robert Lansing in Paris. It further demonstrates an early tendency on the part of the major powers to prop up and maintain artificial administrations to the benefit of a metropole—what we would now call imperialism—and which remains, in some way, a contemporary reality.

The Collapse of the Hijazi–British Relationship As far as the system of government in The Hijaz was concerned, upon assuming independence, Sharif Hussein adopted the Ottoman system of administration to deal with the pilgrimage and its revenues. At the same time, while The Hijaz had enjoyed a semi-democratic system since 1908 (majlis al-nuwwab), he sought to return to the Arab rulership structure based on ties with the ‘ulama’ and the tribal chiefs. Thus, in the period between 1916 and 1924, he formalized the first Council of Ministers. Beginning on 4 October 1916, under the leadership of Shaykh Abdullah Siraj and the majlis al-shuyukh (Senate), chaired by Mohammad Saleh al-Shaibi, one of the guardians of the Key to the Ka’aba. He also established several Councils of Deputies and People and also the Consul­tative Council of the Caliphate.127   It is often assumed—and used as counter-propaganda—that Sharif Hussein remained a close British ally after the war. However, the back and forth on the Mandate system was opposed by the Sharif, and  

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THE HIJAZ caused a breakdown in Britain–Hijaz relations. British correspondence proves that serious problems date back to 1920 and the time immediately after San Remo.128 For instance, one report read: The decisions announced after the conference, although they could not have come as a complete surprise to the king, were a deep disappointment to him and led him to give open expression to the mistrust of the good intention of His Majesty’s government. … In spite of those decisions, it would still have been possible to appease him had the French coup de force in Damascus not taken place. That incident, or rather our tacit approval of it, has, I am afraid, rendered the continuance of friendly relations with King Hussein impossible.129

  The document also states that the king was aware that British support was diminishing, but his desire to preserve his sovereignty was more significant than maintaining good relations with an imperial power that, after the war, had no credibility among the Arabs and Muslims.130   One idea discussed in the correspondence was to remove Sharif Hussein and replace him with one of his sons: It can only be concluded from his recent behaviour that he is endeavouring to goad His Majesty’s Government into deposing Him. … The question of succession is, however, still one of difficulty. Should Emir Ali succeed it is certain that the present unsatisfactory conditions of government in The Hijaz would be maintained, in fact they might become worse. … It would be much more desirable from the point of view of HM Government for either Emir Feisal or Emir Abdullah to succeed to the throne, but it is not easy to see how this could be brought about.131

  British–Hijazi negotiations regarding post-war arrangements reached a deadlock as Sharif Hussein refused to sign any document that would legitimize foreign control of Palestine and Syria, as he saw it as a betrayal of the British war promises. In early 1924 the Sharif changed his ‘international community’ policies and began campaigning for widespread Arab and Islamic support for the Caliphate. That January he visited the Arab lands north of The Hijaz. Teitelbaum sees striking evidence that the Sharif wanted to demonstrate to Muslims that his support reached beyond The Hijaz in an article published in al-Qibla on 11 February 1924, describing the mass receptions of Sharif Hussein in Transjordan and the hopes of the masses for the return of the  

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ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION Caliphate.132 With the abolition of the Caliphate, Sharif Hussein formally welcomed bay‘as to become khalifa on 12 March 1924 during his trip to Amman.133   Sharif Hussein was aware of the post-war developments in Turkey: the fast-growing Turkish nationalist movement, and the imminent collapse of the Caliphate. His decision to claim the office of caliph was not hasty or impulsive. Rather, it involved negotiations, consultations, and secret contacts. In November 1922 the Turkish Grand National Assembly voted in favour of separating the Caliphate from the Sultanate and removed all temporal powers from the Ottomans.134 The Caliphate was maintained as an exclusively spiritual office. When Mustafa Kemal Atatürk became president and head of the Turkish state in October 1923, he continued campaigns against the persistence of the Caliphate in Turkey. Atatürk saw the Caliphate as standing in the way of his modernization plans, and abandoned it altogether in March 1924.135 With the British gradually withdrawing their support, Sharif Hussein saw the Caliphate as the last possible strategic direction towards statehood in the new order. He pursued this by focusing on maintaining the integrity of the umma, instead of engaging with the strange new worldview created by the First World War, which held that ethnocentric nationalism (or power) was a prerequisite for statehood.   Because of his seat in the Holy City, and his lineage, it was perhaps natural for Sharif Hussein to assume the Caliphate once the title had been abandoned by Mustafa Kemal’s regime in Turkey.136 Kemal’s abolition of the Sultanate and the Caliphate offered Sharif Hussein a justification for assuming the latter office. His son, Emir Abdullah, in an interview with The Manchester Guardian, explained why. The Caliphate, he said, was an ‘Arab institution’. ‘The prophet was an Arab, the Qur’an is in Arabic, the Holy Places are in Arabia, and the caliph should be an Arab of the tribe of Quraysh.’137 Thus Sharif Hussein devoted his last year in The Hijaz to pursuing the affection of the Islamic world and his deep concern for Islam as a way to overcome his political isolation.138 However, his power was already diminishing, and under attack, ideologically as well as militarily, from the Wahhabi Ikhwan, who began their offensive on The Hijaz with the silent support of the British. Thus, Sharif Hussein’s legitimacy was questioned, and few recognized his Caliphate. With his fall, the office of the Caliphate vanished for decades, as we shall explain in the following chapters.  

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4

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION AND THE NEW INTERNATIONAL SYSTEM

Whereas the previous chapter addressed the impact of ethnic drivers on self-determination at the inception of the post-First World War international system, this chapter discusses the territorial role played by The Hijaz itself. Rather than continuing with the history of the League of Nations period, following on from Chapter 3, this chapter also re-examines the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, as that period provides the essential background needed to explain the formation of Saudi Arabia.

Historical Context: Invasion, Conquest, and the Absorption of the State of Hijaz The Saudi dynasty has gone through three political iterations over the past 400 years or so,1 beginning with the first Saudi Islamic state, the Emirate of Dir‘iyya, which existed between 1745 and 1818. This was based on the Saudi–Wahhabi alliance, sealed in 1157H (approximately 1744–5). The alliance emerged when a puritan revivalist, Shaykh Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, who preached a radical jihadi message that proved popular among nomadic tribesmen, was granted protection by, and was bound by ideology to, Imam Mohammad ibn Saud, a chieftain of al-Dir‘iyya in Najd, a plateau constituting the centre of Arabia.

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THE HIJAZ The Saudi patriarch agreed to support the shaykh’s demand for jihad and guaranteed him control over religious affairs and advocacy. In return, he was given a source of Islamic legitimacy, and was acknowledged as the political leader of the Muslim community.2 To explore the nature of this bargain, the following sections will discuss doctrinal and political aspects of the Wahhabi movement in the context of statehood.   Rule over The Hijaz was chief among the goals of the Salafi Wahhabi movement, and for two centuries it tried to bring the province under Saudi dominion. Despite strong resistance in The Hijaz, Saud ibn Abdulaziz ibn Mohammad ibn Saud, the third ruler of the Emirate of Dir‘iyya, during the reign of Sharif Ghalib, captured Taif and Makkah in 1803, and Medina a year later. After this, the jihad carried Saudi arms throughout Arabia, as far as the Shi’ite holy center of Karbala in Iraq. The Ottomans reacted by sending troops under Mohammad ‘Ali, the Viceroy of Egypt, into The Hijaz in 1811.3 His campaign succeeded in retaking Medina in 1812, and Makkah the following year. Ibrahim Pasha, Mohammad ‘Ali’s son, did not end the campaign there. He carried out a campaign of eradication in Najd, capturing Dir‘iyya in 1818.4 The Hijaz was never a part of the more limited Saudi resurrection, the second Saudi Islamic state, known as the Emirate of Najd (1824–91), which encompassed much less territory than its predecessor, stretching, instead, from central Arabia to the province of al-Hasa in the east.5   Abdulaziz ibn Abdulrahman (1876–1953) was known historically as Ibn Saud, and was originally styled as Imam, and later Sultan, of Najd. He later became king after conquering The Hijaz and establishing the modern state of Saudi Arabia. After spending his childhood in exile in Kuwait, he recaptured Riyadh in 1902 and began his expansion into the Arabian Peninsula, eventually establishing the third Saudi Islamic state.6 His conquest of The Hijaz effectively began in May 1919 with the battle of Turaba, a disputed oasis between Najd and The Hijaz.7 From then on, relations between Imam Ibn Saud and Sharif Hussein became openly hostile.8 By 1922 the prospect of war between the two was clear and imminent. The Wahhabi militia, the Ikhwan Man Ta‘a Allah (Brotherhood of God Obedient), were openly threatening to take over The Hijaz.9 In January 1924 a conference was held in Kuwait, during which Arab leaders met to discuss border arrangements away from the eyes and ears of the British Foreign Office.10 100

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION   Sharif Hussein refused to discuss any border issues with Imam Ibn Saud unless he withdrew from territories belonging to The Hijaz and paid compensation to the affected tribes. By this time the British had cut off their subsidies to Arab chiefs, and Imam Ibn Saud no longer felt inhibited by Whitehall from moving on The Hijaz. Nevertheless, he did not rush and, despite the eagerness of his jihadi troops for further conquest, he took up a policy of co-operation with Islamic nations outside Arabia as a way of securing his diplomatic flanks before resorting to military action. He also made much of Sharif Hussein’s decision to block the way of Najdi pilgrims, a move that was intended to curb Wahabbi transgressions within Makkah and among international pilgrims, as a pretext to legitimize his aggression in the eyes of fellow Muslims.11   Imam Ibn Saud justified his aggression against the neighbouring kingdom in a letter to Sir Reader Bullard, the British Agent and consul in Jeddah. ‘The people of The Hijaz and the people of Najd’, he wrote, ‘are not inclined to conclude peace with the sharifs because of the troubles and oppression which they endured and I cannot do otherwise than give due consideration to their views’.12 He therefore attributed his actions to the furtherance of the will of the people by annexing his neighbouring sovereign state by force.

The Taif Massacre At this stage, the Wahhabis needed no persuasion to invade The Hijaz. Their offensive began with a march on Taif, a mountain town used for summer retreats,13 also the ‘chief oasis of the Hedjaz’,14 as well as a strategic area from a military conquest perspective. With respect to the latter, Taif stood as one of The Hijaz’s natural barriers, and the invading army probably recognized the strategic importance of capturing this high ground at the onset of its offensive. After a short battle, the Ikhwan forces, led by Khalid ibn Luwai and Sultan ibn Bajad, overpowered Taif’s defences and entered the town in early September 1924. Over the course of the next thirty-six hours they systematically massacred the city’s civilians. In the words of al-Enazy, ‘Ibn Saud’s Ikhwan … reportedly committed an appaling massacre against its [Taif’s] civilian inhabitants, sending a wave of fear throughout Mecca and Jeddah, now wide open to a similar fate’.15 Their brutality and acts of pillage 101

THE HIJAZ echoed far outside the Arabian Peninsula.16 Reports of the numbers of those killed vary widely, with the higher estimate putting the toll at 15,000,17 and one of the lowest estimates given by Mark Weston, who highlights the brutality and terror, yet puts the total death toll at 300 ‘men, women and children’.18 The details of the slaughter are horrific. One eyewitness reported: ‘They cut throats like sacrificial livestock and had their bodies thrown in the open wells, while the Qadi and the ‘ulama’ were butchered in the area surrounding the mosque of Ibn Abbas, the tomb of one of the Prophet’s children.’19 Notable religious families were sought out for assassination so as to clear the ground for a new form of religious authority. A wave of people fled Taif, on foot (some bare), down the mountain to Makkah, where their accounts and appearence caused chaos in the Holy City and social unrest among the residents and pilgrims, leading to mass panic.20   Following the invasion, Imam Ibn Saud demanded that Sharif Hussein be deposed, and this was carried out by Hijazi political elites, who replaced him with his eldest son, ‘Ali ibn al-Hussein. The new king ordered the evacuation of all women and children from Makkah to prevent another massacre on an even larger scale.21 Imam Ibn Saud himself was not present during the slaughter at Taif,22 and it was reported that he ‘wept with dismay and disgust when he heard what had happened at Taif’.23 In fact, even Hans Kohn, who in 1934 praised the statesmanship of Ibn Saud, recognized the awfulness of the massacre and suggested that Ibn Saud intervened to put an end to the atrocities: ‘In Taif the traditional massacre and looting followed. Ibn Saud was not present, but as soon as he arrived a sharp stop was put to all excesses of that kind.’24 Similarly, Kohn recognized the motives of Ibn Saud’s followers which led to the horrors in Taif: His followers were chiefly driven by two traditional motives: the desire for booty and the religious fanaticism of the Wahhabi puritans against the Holy Cities with their relative luxury, corruption and deviation from the original faith. In that way their attitude resembled that of Protestant zealots of the seventeenth century against the Pope and Rome.25

  On 8 September British Agents in Jeddah requested the Foreign Office to send them a warship, fearing that if Makkah fell, the administration of Jeddah would probably break down, in which case the tribes might possibly attack the town for foodstuffs that they would so  

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HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION gravely need. The only way of escape for the British and other foreign subjects fleeing from Makkah would then be closed. HMS Clematis, a corvette, arrived in Jeddah from Sudan two days later, together with the French armed yacht Diana.26 Port records in the Hashemite Jordanian Archives, however, suggest that the warships actually blockaded the port of Jeddah, resulting in a famine.   British diplomats played down the situation in their initial reports. One commented that ‘the Wahhabis acted well at Taif’, and the British Agent in Jeddah wrote in his dispatches that he was ‘not convinced that the story of murders was not based on work of robbers during interregnum, skilfully embroided by the king, who directly and indirectly was spreading fantastic stories of atrocities’.27 As more refugees arrived from Taif and it became clear that a number of British subjects had been killed or robbed during the attack, the evidence of Wahhabi brutality became clear.Yasin Khan, the Indian Pilgrimage Officer, wrote: ‘After the occupation of the town the Wahhabis behaved most brutally, killing the peaceful inhabitants treacherously and indiscriminately. About five to eight hundred men are said to have been killed. … Seven men were taken out to ransom of 7,000 pounds.’28  Dr Munir-ud-Din submitted another account of events as described by his patients who had fled Taif:  

On 2 September they heard firing of bullet outside the walls of Taif. … Ibn Saud’s men entered the town in the afternoon of 5 September with the words:  

 

‘Heaven for you! Slaughter these mushrikeen [idolators], these kuffar [unbelievers], these enemies of Allah!’ They then made their way towards the tomb of Abdullah bin Abbas, demolished the cupola, levelled the grave to the ground and set fire there with the words: ‘Demolish the cupola of the mushrikeen that they worship.’ From that time onwards the bullets were shot all over indiscriminately into the houses of the town until 8am on the Saturday. … When they entered a house they levelled their guns and pointed swords and knives towards the inmates and demanded that they surrender all gold and other coins. … As soon as gold was collected the adults were often shot dead. … On Saturday, some people were made to carry the dead bodies towards the tomb of Abdullah bin Abbas. The dead bodies were thrown there with the words that these kaffirs need not be buried but should be left there for dogs to devour. … Dead bodies were also tied

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THE HIJAZ with rope and dragged by mules. … Some soldiers of the Hashemite government who were left in the town threw off their uniforms and joined the common people as Arabs so as to be saved from being slaughtered.29

  The document also points out that Hasan Salama and his family were not supporters of Sharif Hussein. This disproves the cynical view of the British that reports of the massacres were engineered by Hussein.   The testimony of another eyewitness, Runsi Ihsanullah, a British subject, described how the inhabitants of Taif were taken outside the town into Shubrah with no personal belongings or clothing except what they were wearing, while the Wahhabis collected all the valuables found in their homes. In the next three days no food was given to the captured, and when they were allowed to return to Taif, most decided to flee to other villages, as nothing was left in their homes. During that exodus many died on the way with no access to water. That event brought the estimated number of dead into the thousands.30 Another account states that the survivors were made to walk to Makkah barefoot in their underclothes with instructions to deliver a message that the Wahhabis were on their way, and those who supported Sharif Hussein would ‘meet the fate of Taif, otherwise they would be spared’.31 The atrocities reflect the extreme poverty of the Bedouin from the famished desert tribes, but also the political extremism inherent in the Wahhabi doctrine. In order to justify the killing of fellow Muslims they first proclaimed them kuffar and mushrikin. They also reportedly called the conventional Sunni admiration of the the Prophet Mohammad a form of idolatry.32   All these atrocities and dreadful events are noted here to highlight the brutality and unchecked calamities that fanaticism brought on a peaceful people at the beginning of the conquest of The Hijaz by Wahhabi Ikhwan fighters. At the same time, given the applicable international legal framework and imperial calculations of the Great Powers at the time, these events produced no international response. In fact, al-Enazy best captures the effect the British had on Ibn Saud and his forces: On 13 September the British government sent a letter addressed to the Ikhwan commanders … declaring Britain’s ‘neutrality’ in the conflict and requesting that the safety of the British subjects … be assured. …  

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HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION Ibn Saud and his Ikhwan took the British message as ‘a good omen’, a signal of Britain’s effective sanction of Saudi annexation of Hijaz.33

  All in all, this very dark page of Middle Eastern and Saudi Arabian history highlights the absence of protective frameworks, even for pivotal First World War allies and League of Nations signatories such as The Hijaz, in the face of a brutal and determined regional aggressor. In fact, since the aggressor’s actions and prospects for regional control seemed to be more compatible with the then structure of the global powers’ chessboards, the former British ally was left alone in the face of brute force, to be invaded, overtaken, and, eventually, assimilated.

The Birth of Hijazi Nationalism:The Hijaz National Party In the period before Sharif Hussein stepped down as king, Hijazi urban and tribal elites took up the struggle of maintaining their integrity in the event of a breakdown of the Hashemite rule and the imposition of Saudi power.34 The notable houses of Makkah and Jeddah began to organize just as they had before Sharif Hussein. They formed a joint association, mobilized the support of the Hijazi diaspora (many of whom were in political exile),35 and began to speak openly about the abdication of Hussein as a way of stopping the atrocities and saving the state of The Hijaz.36 At this point Emir ‘Ali would become the constitutional head of state and the government would be renamed ‘Hijazi’ rather than ‘Arab’. As it was believed that Hussein’s claim to suzerainty over all Arabs was the casus belli with Imam Ibn Saud, a relinquishing of the claim would open the way for the continuing independence of the territory.37 In this way, the Caliphate and the claims over the rest of the ‘Arab territories’ were abandoned without diminishing the danger in the slightest: Imam Ibn Saud had declared that there could be no peace in The Hijaz as long as any Hashemite remained in power.38   On 4 October 1924 several of the Makkan and Jeddan notables from the joint association, including ‘Abd al-Rauf al-Sabban, Tahir al-Dabbagh, Mohammed al-Taweel, and Fuad al-Khatib, reconstituted themselves as al-Hizb al-Watani al-Hijazi—The Hijaz National Party (HNP)—and declared that ‘the nation has recognised His Highness Emir Ali as the only constitutional King of The Hijaz’.39 The party immediately set out its programme, which was to establish a constitu 

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THE HIJAZ tional state to govern the Hijazi nation. This constituted an abrupt shift to a nationalist rhetoric that was limited to The Hijaz, in effect bringing the elite’s aspirations into line with what had been agreed five years before at the League of Nations.   As a first course of action, the leaders of the newly formed party urgently corresponded with countries throughout the Islamic world to plead their case for protection and immediate intervention against Wahhabi transgressions, in addition to calling for the negotiation of an agreement with Imam Ibn Saud and, potentially, Great Britain.40 They also stressed that the people of The Hijaz must stir themselves to save their country and its people.41   The party issued a widely circulated statement, which read: Since the whole of the Hijazi nation has fallen under a situation of general chaos as a result of the defeat of the defending army and the inability of the government to preserve our souls and our property, and since the Holy Mosques and the whole of Hijazi territory are targeted by a catastrophic and destructive danger, and since The Hijaz is a Holy Land, its affairs are the concern of the multitude of Muslims. For that reason, the nation has conclusively decided to force Sharif Hussein to abdicate from the throne and he shall withdraw to dwell in any such country he chooses. As for what we fear from internal volatility and agitation in popular opinion, the nation undertook to pledge baiy’a to His Majesty Ali The First, as constitutional monarch over The Hijaz only, provided that he abide by the opinion of the Muslim nations as pertaining to the well-being of this sacred country.42 And the nation has sent letters to Imam Ibn Al-Saud asking him to send emissaries to negotiate and that the population of The Hijaz, after this notification and action, places full responsibility on all Muslims to hurry to save the country by stopping the armies of Imam Ibn Al-Saud at the last point they reached, and to send ambassadors as fast as they can possibly conceive to conclude the negotiation and to implement effective measures to protect the territory. The Hijaz National Party in Jeddah, on its behalf, Mohammad Taher Al-Dabbagh, 4 October 1924.43  

  The Hijaz National Party thereby assumed a realistic strategy: it did not call for a widespread Arab revolt, but adopted the policy of Hijazi nationalism as an ideological platform against Wahhabi ideology, and to ensure the territorial and political integrity of The Hijaz.44 The party 106

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION also sought to make the country free from ‘impure intrigues’ and ‘foreign influence’.45 The British Agent in Jeddah reported that the HNP was ‘very strong’ and willing to set up a government with no connection to the family of the king as a first step to making peace with Ibn Saud.46 Influential Hijazi expatriates were in close contact with the party, focusing on Islamic diplomatic efforts to protect The Hijaz and its people and the status of the Holy Places. Sayyid Abdullah Dahlan, a shaykh of the Grand Mosque in ‘political exile’ as Mufti of Singapore and South East Asia, wrote to the shaykhdom of al-Azhar in Cairo: I bring your attention to The Hijaz and shedding of blood that was committed in her and the enveloping chaos over her. A telegraph from the Association of Hijaz was reported to my attention in Jeddah; you will find its content attached. Upon its arrival I transmitted to you a telegraph so as to inquire about what action the Authority [of the Caliphate Congress] took to protect The Hijaz and her people. Duty dictates that the Authority work towards the independence of The Hijaz and the formation of a constitutional government under the watchful eyes of all Muslims, so that this may be a resurrection from the atrocities she faces. I had communicated to several destinations the establishment of commissions to fulfil these duties. I still await a telegraphic answer from you so that I may bring good tidings to the hearts of more than 50 million Muslims and through which I can encourage them to do good, God willing.47

  As shown in this passage, the bloodshed and the impact of the Wahhabi aggression ignited serious concerns throughout the Islamic world, which felt a responsibility to act in order to protect The Hijaz and its Holiest Sites in these turbulent times. The attack was seen not only as an act of aggression against The Hijaz, but also as a threat to the collective interests of all Muslims whose common heritage was under imminent threat as chaos, fear, and insecurity was gradually engulfing the Holy Lands.   As for the British, King ‘Ali’s new government gave priority to the treaty with Great Britain.48 It was long in the making, and was never ratified because of Sharif Hussein’s persistence over the Palestinian issue. In any case, the British Foreign Office refused to sign it as it did not want to undertake any legal obligation towards ‘Ali, who, as they said, ‘may not be in a position to give effect to his side of the treaty’.49 This action indicates that the British officials did not believe that King 107

THE HIJAZ ‘Ali’s reign would last. It was also clear that Whitehall would shed no tears over the end of Hashemite rule in The Hijaz, since Imam Ibn Saud by this time was seen as a more tractable ally, and one who seemed to understand British interest in the Arab territories.

‘Hijaz is for Hijazis’: Saving Statehood and the Promise of Self-Governance In October 1924 Emir Abdullah of Transjordan sent a letter to the chief British representative to ask for help in mediating The Hijaz–Najd conflict. Abdullah argued his case by calling the Wahhabis an ‘uncivilised sect’ and recalling British–Hijazi friendship dating back to the Arab Revolt and the British guarantees of Arab self-determination.50 However, the British government had decided on a policy of ‘strict neutrality with respect to Hijaz and Najd hostilities’.51 This was partly the result, once again, of the sensitivities of Britain’s Muslim subjects in India, including the Caliphate Committee of India, whose representatives expressed their opinion in a telegram: The committee is emphatically of the opinion that in no case can British or other non-Muslim intervention in the sanctuary of Islam be tolerated by Muslims of India and the world. No interest of British Indian Muslims in Hijaz, nor safety of pilgrim routes, can equal supreme importance of keeping the Holy Land of Islam free from non-Muslim interference in any shape or under any pretext.52

  Great Britain, as the colonial power in Muslim India, could not therefore risk popular unrest by its subjects on such a sensitive issue as sending military support to the Holy Land given the imperative of keeping it free from foreign, or at least non-Muslim, interference.   In the face of the desperate situation in The Hijaz, and given the lack of military support from elsewhere, King ‘Ali asked Great Britain for a loan. The Acting Agent and Consul in Jeddah advised his superiors in London that the state of hostilities between The Hijaz and Najd, and the storm of Muslim disapproval in India that would be sure to be aroused by any sort of British intervention, official or private, in The Hijaz, meant that ‘His Majesty’s government would be well advised to give no official sanction or approval to any financial venture in this country at present’.53 108

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION   King ‘Ali left Makkah for Jeddah on 14 October 1925, as he was aware that he could not defend it against Wahhabi aggression. At the same time, The Hijaz National Party was carefully observing the Wahhabi approach to Makkah, and was left with no illusions about their objectives. In order to save Hijazi statehood, they took up negotiations, pressing for an official declaration that The Hijaz would retain its separate identity.54 The Wahhabi general Khalid ibn Luwai al-Abdali laid down only one condition to the Hijazis: King ‘Ali must leave the country. If they secured his abdication, all the officials would be maintained in their posts, no Wahhabi troops would be sent to Jeddah, and the town would be left to govern itself. If the Hijazis decided otherwise, Jeddah would be taken by force and would share the fate of Taif.55   With Hijazi forces losing more territory to Imam Ibn Saud’s forces, and Britain’s tepid support dwindled to strict neutrality, King ‘Ali suggested in the summer of 1925 that Egypt could intervene, and he even ‘promised King Fuad the post of caliph if he [would] intervene and bring about favourable settlement of present Arabian dispute’.56 In his correspondence, as reported by the British, ‘King Ali reiterates with many fulsome phrases the admiration felt for King Fuad by the people of the Hedjaz, who will he states, recognise none else as caliph’.57 In such a desperate situation, even this supreme title became a bargaining chip.   It has been reported that in August 1925, during the Wahhabi incursion into Medina, the tomb of Hamza, the Prophet’s uncle, had been destroyed, and that several bullets had hit the dome of the Great Mosque, which also contains the Prophet’s tomb. These acts of vandalism caused a stir among the Muslims of India and Persia, and Emir Abdullah of Transjordan expressed much concern and informed the British that he wanted to raise bedouins against the Sultan of Najd.58 This the British vetoed: ‘While His Majesty’s Government would deeply regret any damage to the Holy Places arising from hostilities, it must insist on a continued observance by Transjordan of complete neutrality.’59   In December 1925, having served less than a year on the throne, King ‘Ali bowed to the inevitable and surrendered The Hijaz to Saudi forces, which concluded the nine-year lifespan of the first modern Arab state. The monarch withdrew from Jeddah on 22 December and sought refuge in the British Mandated territory of Iraq.60  

 

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THE HIJAZ   An agreement was negotiated between King ‘Ali and Imam Ibn Saud in which the latter promised to retain in their posts all civil government employees whom ‘he finds capable of performing their duties honestly’ and guaranteed the ‘personal safety of the civilian and military employees, the sharifs, all the natives of Jeddah, the Arabs, the citizens and tribes and their families and the safety of all properties’.61 Imam Saud entered Jeddah on 23 December. He did indeed maintain all civil employees in their posts, but planned certain changes in customs and quarantine administration, which were to be mediated.62 He also agreed in part that they would be left to rule their territory.   Notables of The Hijaz gathered on 22 Jumada II 1344 (7 January 1926) and pledged their allegiance (bay‘a) to the new King of The Hijaz. They agreed the conditions of the pledge and its text, which was then presented to the king for his review. After the Friday prayer people gathered in a pre-designated place at the Grand Mosque in Makkah to pledge their allegiance. Ibn Saud came to the ceremony and took his place among them. A cannon salute followed the text of the pledge:  

 

In the name of God the most gracious and the most merciful, praise be to God, may peace and blessings be upon the Seal of the Prophets. We pledge allegiance to you Sultan Abdulaziz bin Abdul Rahman Al-Faisal Al-Saud so you may become king of The Hijaz in accordance with the book of God and Sunna of the Prophet and the example of the companions and As-Salaf As-Salih,[63] and the Four Rightly Guided Caliphs, God bless them all. The Hijaz is for the Hijazis and it is for its people to manage Hijazi affairs. Makkah is the capital of The Hijaz and all The Hijaz remains first under God’s protection and then under your Majesty’s protection.64

  At the same time, in Medina, the nobles met in the Prophet’s Mosque, saluted Prince Mohammed ibn Abdulaziz, and pledged allegiance to the new King of Hijaz. Bay‘a pledges followed in other parts of The Hijaz.65   Imam Ibn Saud, time and again, emphasized that his goal in coming into The Hijaz was to purify the Ka’ba and to place the government in the hands of people in co-operation with the Islamic world. British archives note his letter of November 1926 to the King of Egypt, the Emir of Afghanistan, and the Persian and Iraqi governments, as well as to the Caliphate Committee of India, in which he again declared: 110

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION I, in the name of God, do not intend to spread my rule over The Hijaz nor to annex it; but The Hijaz is a trust in my hands until the time comes when the people of The Hijaz can choose their ruler from among themselves dependent on the Islamic world under the superintendence of Muslim nations who demonstrate considerable zeal in that affair such as the Indians and some others.66

  The two messages that came in Ibn Saud’s letters and declarations were: 1.  The Hijaz is for the Hijazis from a self-government standpoint and for the entire Muslim world in respect of their rights in the country [emphasis added]. 2. Polling for the election of the governor of The Hijaz would be carried out under the superintendence of the Muslim world at a time that would be decided later.67

Imam Ibn Saud’s Correspondence with The Hijaz and the Islamic World For the new king, rule over The Hijaz was not solely a matter of military conquest, nor just a question of political control. In the period 1924–6 he drafted a series of correspondence with the Hijazi people, diplomatic missions, the Islamic world, and the international community in order to present himself as eager to free the territory from the rule of ‘corrupted polytheistic doctrine’ and hand it over to the Hijazis. His speeches and correspondence were published in the newspaper Umm al-Qura, whose first issue was published on 12 December 1924. Thus, at an early stage of his occupation of The Hijaz, Imam Ibn Saud suggested that he would hand over The Hijaz to its people and allow them to choose the form of government they wanted, with consent of the Islamic umma.   The first of these messages was addressed to Muslims all over the world, and discussed Imam Ibn Saud’s negotiations with representatives of the Indian Khilafat Movement, who stood by Imam Ibn Saud and supported his position as ‘defender of the right’.68 He thanked all the Indian Muslims for remembering their duties towards Islam while Arabs were involved in fights and quarrels. He also promised to convene a conference to consider the future of The Hijaz, which would remain independent of non-Muslim influence. In the message, Imam  

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THE HIJAZ Ibn Saud attempts to demonstrate that he is not a conqueror, but a liberator with widespread support from other Muslims, especially those in India.   The second is a speech directed to the people of Makkah, entitled ‘Proclamation of the Sultan Regarding General Amnesty’.69 In the message, Saud offers amnesty to all those political leaders in the service of Sharif Hussein. The third is a letter from Imam Ibn Saud to rulers of the Islamic countries,70 in which he emphasizes his commitment to peace in the Holy Lands and the right of the people of The Hijaz to self-governance—which was thought to mean a Hijazi leader chosen under the supervision of representatives of the Islamic world.   The fourth document published in Umm al-Qura is a text addressed to the people of The Hijaz, which aims to reassure them of Imam Ibn Saud’s commitment to the stability, security, and prosperity of The Hijaz.71 The fifth message is a general communiqué from Imam Ibn Saud72 framing his invasion of The Hijaz in religious terms and making promises of self-determination for the people. There is no dispute, however, about the military nature of his venture. Notably, his invitations to hold an Islamic world conference in Makkah were declined or fiercely protested by many Muslims, who considered him a conqueror and were concerned about the future of The Hijaz and the fate of the Holiest Sites, as well as questions of security and access regarding the pilgrimage.73 The sixth document was the first statement of Imam Ibn Saud74—or King Abdulaziz, as he was now styled—published just after the people of The Hijaz swore their allegiance to him. In this document he takes the title of ‘King of The Hijaz and Sultan of Najd and its Dependencies’ and assures the consolidation and prosperity of The Hijaz and the security of all the pilgrims. The seventh document is another official communiqué from King Abdulaziz, in which he announces the establishment of consultative councils in Makkah, Medina, Jeddah, Yanbu, and Taif, which will consider local issues of public interest, along with ‘the General Consultative Council’.75 In reality, King Abdulaziz sought, through the establishment of the councils, to legitimize and extend his authority, after which he would be able to consolidate his power over the entire realm.   The Islamic World Conference in Makkah did take place, and King Abdulaziz’s opening address to it is the eighth document. In this he 112

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION explains his conquest of The Hijaz, using the fact that the Najdis were deprived of the duty to perform the Hajj, and the necessity of saving the ‘Cradle of Islam’ from Sharifian rule.76 He also calls for widespread reforms in The Hijaz with the guidance of the Islamic world, to which he appeals for engagement in the affairs of The Hijaz. In fact, Imam Ibn Saud’s conquest, as some of the delegates argued, was an obvious fait accompli, and, rather than seeking advice on how to govern The Hijaz, he simply sought affirmation, or rather a lack of dissent, from leaders of Islamic nations.   The final document is a statement from King Abdulaziz to the delegates of the conference and their subjects in their respective countries.77 He calls for a return to the ‘pure’ practices of Islam during its first few centuries and opposes any non-Muslim intervention in Hijazi affairs. The tone of this declaratory message appears to be more decisive, as it sets out two doctrinal statecraft policies: (a) a ‘puritanical’ Salafist system of government in which the Wahhabi–Saudi alliance is the only one capable of governing the country; and (b) that King Abdulaziz would be the only judge able to determine the future of the Holy Land.

The Kingdom of Hijaz and Najd Imam Ibn Saud proclaimed himself King of The Hijaz and Sultan of Najd and its Dependencies in 1926, and, a year later, the personal legal union under him became known as the Kingdom of Hijaz and Najd.78 Arguments suggest that it was Imam Ibn Saud’s intention to assimilate the Kingdom of Hijaz over time, initially preserving most of the advanced administrative structures that were in place.79 Summer Scott Huyette similarly argues that upon taking over The Hijaz, Imam Ibn Saud aimed to maintain the status quo, and, that in assuming the title of King of The Hijaz and Najd and its Dependencies, he indicated that the two entities were separate, although at the same time not equal and not a single administrative union.80   In a speech after taking over Makkah in October 1924, Ibn Saud spoke of the role of the Hijazi ‘ulama’, and said that the merchants would be left in charge of their own affairs. The expression he used was ‘your homelands, your country’, which was a legal recognition of the 113

THE HIJAZ rights of The Hijaz to territorial self-governance and self-determination, free of interference from neighbouring Najd.81 The Hijazis were then asked to form a council that would be responsible for the internal affairs of The Hijaz. Its members were to be elected from the ‘ulama’, merchants, and prominent elites. Initially, thirteen members were elected to form al-majlis al-ahli,82 but a year later King Abdulaziz selected all its members.83 A few months later, in August 1926, the king’s son Prince Faisal ibn Abdulaziz (later King Faisal of Saudi Arabia) was appointed the Viceroy of The Hijaz and headed a twelve-member Consultative Council (majlis al-shura). Churchill was known to have approved of the role of Faisal, and wished to maintain dialogue with him, yet was blinded by opinions being thrown at him by the newly created Middle East Department.84 The local notables, including those of The Hijaz National Party, were given limited representation, but were placed in hierarchical order, under Saudi control.85   Prince Faisal was to govern with the help of six local advisers chosen annually by the king on the basis of their abilities and efficiency.86 Al-Ta‘limat al-Asasiyya, the so-called Foundational Instructions, was announced a month later. The document was originally published in Umm al-Qura, dated 25 Safar 1345;87 it declared Hijazi territorial integrity and announced its status as a monarchical, consultative Islamic state that was internally and externally independent.88   There is no agreement among historians, scholars, or lawyers as to whether these Foundational Instructions had sufficient determinancy to be considered a constitution for The Hijaz. Another Arabic term, al-dustur, is more conventionally used to refer to a constitution.   The document was applied jurisdictionally in The Hijaz, and was the official method of absorbing already existing institutions into Hijazi governance.89 The official establishment of an elected consultative council for The Hijaz, as well as a number of city and village councils, followed.90 The system was reviewed in 1927, and a reformed system set out rules for a consultative council composed of eight members as well as a council of deputies, which was to advise the ruler on executive matters.91 By agreeing to such a document, King Abdulaziz consolidated his power in The Hijaz even further, and broke away from the traditional form of tribal rule in Arabia by accommodating the existing institutions in The Hijaz, even though they were purely advisory, with a limited mandate and restricted influence. 114

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION   According to contemporary sources, The Hijaz was governed according to separate institutions until as late as 1953, when the kingdom-wide Council replaced that of The Hijaz. In terms of internal governance, The Hijaz and Najd could no longer be considered as separate parts of the kingdom.92 In addition, the Hijazi Nationality Law was promulgated in October 1926 in The Hijaz only, superseding the Arab Hashemite nationality that had replaced Ottoman citizenship after the Arab Revolt in 1916. Najd did not have one until February 1931, suggesting that King Abdulaziz was aware of the fundamental differences between the cosmopolitan Hijaz and the tribal structure of Najd, necessitating a two-state, one-crown solution. The law recognized The Hijaz as a state, in the personal union of King Abdulaziz, separate from Najd. The legislation states that ‘persons of Hijaz origin or residence, who were Ottoman subjects before the Great War, are deemed Hijazis’.93 The law also recites the conditions under which one could adopt or lose Hijazi nationality.   Internationally, the king needed to review not only the new circumstances surrounding the statehood of The Hijaz, but also his international position. He thus began efforts to revisit the treaty with Great Britain, as well as approaching the tricky issue of the League of Nations in order to formalize his domain’s status in the international arena. Leatherdale discusses extensively Ibn Saud’s interest in and willingness to join the League of Nations.94 In the process, the legal status of The Hijaz was discussed in depth, and so was the issue of whether the Saudi Hijaz was a successor state of the Kingdom of Hijaz—which, as we discussed earlier, was one of the signatories to the Covenant of the League of Nations, and an original member, as listed in the Appendix to the Covenant.95   If that had been the case, ratifying of the Treaty of Versailles would have been enough to make The Hijaz a full member of the League. However, some legal advisers at the British Foreign Office argued that since Imam Ibn Saud rejected all acts of the Hashemites, he had practically created a new state. Additionally, what complicated the matters even further was the fact that he was the ruler of The Hijaz and Najd— two distinct entities, with two different administration systems, joined by what the British regarded as a personal union. That is, two separate states under one king, much as the English and Scottish thrones had 115

THE HIJAZ been under the rule of James I of England/VI of Scotland. On the other hand, the Foreign Office also noticed that in some cases Ibn Saud’s entity was a ‘real union’, especially when it came to the conduct of foreign affairs. Specifically, there was only one foreign office and one foreign minister, and none of the international treaties with Imam Ibn Saud had been concluded twice. Under this dominant view, the king could not ratify the Versailles Treaty, because The Hijaz no longer existed as a state separate from Najd, and this argument was also used against the king’s realm joining the League of Nations.96   On another front, Imam Ibn Saud’s authority grew considerably. He had first signed a treaty with Britain in 1915,97 and now he wanted to negotiate a more favourable one. With the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire, the annexation of The Hijaz, and the exile of the Hashemites, he was arguably the most powerful independent ruler in the region. He therefore wanted the West to acknowledge this fact. The British had established a relationship with Imam Ibn Saud in 1915 when they had signed the Darin Pact,98 which guaranteed the safety of British Protectorates in the Gulf—namely Kuwait, Qatar, and the Trucial States, in exchange for British Protectorate status for those lands under Imam Ibn Saud’s control at the time. From the perspective of imperial strategy, the Darin Pact was an alternative to the promises made to Sharif Hussein in the McMahon–Hussein correspondence.99 The Darin Pact was considered a part of the diplomatic calculations that accompanied the Sykes–Picot Agreement. The British felt it worthwhile to keep Imam Ibn Saud for contingency-planning purposes, should matters go awry with the French.100 The Darin Pact had the effect of transforming the Najd into a British Protectorate in a manner identical to every other British Protectorate in the Gulf.101 It also brought the Kingdom of Najd together with the Emirate of Hasa into the First World War on the side of the British on 26 December 1915.102 Interestingly, the Najd and Hasa were brought into the war independently from the Arab Revolt.  

Challenges to Ibn Saud’s Rule over The Hijaz Governing the Hijazi population turned out to be a challenging task, especially during the global economic depression of the 1930s. British 116

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION correspondence from the early years of the decade articulates in detail the internal situation in the country, and discusses Ibn Saud’s performance as the ruler of The Hijaz and his challenged legitimacy among the people. George William Rendell, the head of the Eastern Department of the Foreign Office, wrote in the winter of 1931: ‘If I were betting, I should back Ibn Saud to muddle through but if I were an insurance company, I should charge a high premium for insuring his regime in the Hejaz for two years.’103 ‘The Future of Arabia’ report also suggested the possibility that Ibn Saud might lose The Hijaz, as ‘it was acquired by the sword by the Wahhabis who have no roots in the country’,104 and who were imposing their religious laws on The Hijaz. The government also failed to hold a consultative council for two years, bringing dissatisfaction to the Hijazis, who had been promised a forum to participate in the governing of their country.   A report from Jeddah that reached the Foreign Office in January 1932 described the situation in the following terms: The country seems to be gradually drifting towards the verge of ruin and degradation. The main cause of these financial difficulties and troubles is attributed to Ibn Saud’s policy of exploitation of Hejaz money for the Nejd. The king has concentrated all his attention on the collection and storage of gold at Riyadh. The policy of Ibn Saud has greatly affected the Hejaz where people have been confronted with a menacing economic crisis. The question of unemployment has become so keen that the motor drivers … are practically starving in their hundreds. The non-payment of salaries to government officials has given a deathblow to the local trade. … In the busy centre of Makkah half of the shops have been closed down. … The situation in The Hijaz is gloomier than it has ever been in living memory.105

  Further to the detailed description of the adverse economic conditions in The Hijaz, the report, crucially, makes reference to Ibn Saud’s policy of of channelling wealth and resources from The Hijaz to Najd. In addition, it highlights the negative impact of the new king’s policies on the administrative and trading capacities of The Hijaz—historically key for the region’s prosperity.   Another report, by Sir Andrew Ryan, a British diplomat in The Hijaz, produced in February of the same year, stated that Ibn Saud’s political position was constantly deteriorating, and that there was a 117

THE HIJAZ common feeling that his legacy would not last after his death. Although his position in Najd seemed well established, in The Hijaz he had made a complete mess of its administration … and the discontent with his regime is widespread. … He isolates himself from the Arab world by his individualism, his hostility to the Hashemites and his dislike of any manifestations of Arab nationalism. … The Hijaz has to carry a great part of the burden of Nejd and the government as such is unquestionably bankrupt.106

The Hijaz Liberation Movement The reports show that within just a few years it had become clear that Ibn Saud was not willing to keep his promises regarding popular participation in the self-governance of The Hijaz, a commitment which he had reiterated a number of times between 1924 and 1926. Also, the worsening economic situation and religious disagreements with the Wahhabi form of Islam had pushed a group of prominent Hijazi oppositionists, with help of the Hashemite Emir Abdullah of Transjordan, to establish the Hizb al-Ahrar al-Hijazi (Party of the Free Hijazis), or The Hijaz Liberation Party (HLP). Its aim was to end Wahhabi rule over the territory and recreate the independent state of The Hijaz. The party functioned in the period between 1928 and 1935, and its members were active not only in The Hijaz, but also in Transjordan, Egypt, Palestine, Yemen, Eritrea, India, Iraq, and the Asir region of Saudi Arabia, south of The Hijaz.107   Among the party’s leaders were civic leaders and notables, including Tahir al-Dabbagh, Hussein al-Dabbagh, and Shaykh ‘Abd al-Rauf alSabban.108 All these prominent individuals were dynamically involved in The Hijaz National Party. The movement’s pre-eminent aim was to demonstrate that the end of Hashemite rule over the territory had not put a stop to the striving for self-determination.   In early 1928 the HLP published and distributed a document titled ‘The Hijaz National Charter’, listing the specific goals of the organization, which were, broadly speaking, the establishment of a liberal, constitutional, democratic monarchy. The ultimate aim of the party was an independent state, modelled on the 1916–25 Hashemite kingdom. The Charter was printed in Makkah and included the stamp of 118

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION the Executive Committee of The Hijaz Liberation Party, which issued the document. The Charter was written in the language of international law, and called for self-determination and self-governance in The Hijaz. The form of the government was to be decided by the National Assembly and the individual rule of Ibn Saud was to end.   Article 1 of the Charter was a rejection of the primary production model of any colonial exploitation—in which the metropolitan powers appropriated the raw materials supplied by the colony, along with its secondary processing industries. Rather than allowing the country’s natural resources to be exported, with little national gain, the party wanted to develop the Hijazi economy for its own inhabitants.   Article 3 caused confusion among British officials. One 1928 Whitehall document translated its reference to ‘popular, representative and constitutional rule’ into ‘republican’. At first glance, this may indeed sound republican. However, it does not rule out the possibility of constitutional monarchy with a parliamentary body, as the British ought to have realized from their own national arrangements. The return of Hashemite rule under a constitutional directive was a possibility, if not a probability, given Emir Abdullah and the National Party’s shared goal of liberating The Hijaz.   Article 6 appealed to the notion of ethnic nationalism and called for the national unity of all Arab territories, as well as a common foreign, defence, and cultural policy. There was an appeal for an Islamic Congress, but it was secondary to a call for a national congress, which indicates that national rather than Islamic rhetoric took precedence. The group was not seeking to recreate the Caliphate. However, it aimed to address the issue of the pilgrimage and to ensure that the global interests of pilgrims were protected, but not in conflict with the sovereignty of the country.   Most importantly, the HLP appealed to the wider Islamic world for support, rather than to the Western powers, which had stood idly by while the Hijazi state was being extinguished. British records reveal numerous letters from The Hijaz Liberation Party sent to Islamic territories as far afield as India and Eritrea, containing the Charter and calling on all the people of the Islamic world to help the party in its efforts to liberate The Hijaz.109 The party’s leaders toured Islamic countries and met with prominent individuals in order to gain support for 119

THE HIJAZ their cause and to establish branches outside The Hijaz. One of their centres was Cairo, where a group of prominent Hijazis established the Hijazi Defence Association, which was considered a branch of The Hijaz Liberation Party in Egypt.110 The party raised finance from Emir Abdullah, societies and individuals in India, and even the Khedive of Egypt, Abbas Hilmi. Party members, or Free Hijazis as they were also known, also paid monthly instalments to the party’s account.111 The variety and range of the party’s financial backing indicates wide support in the Arab and Islamic worlds.   The party planned a military campaign, beginning with an operation in the north, supported by an uprising in Asir to the south, and combined with a general strike inside The Hijaz.112 However, it appears that the plan changed after Ibn Rifada’s campaign was announced. In the summer of 1932 the Iraq Command Intelligence reported that ‘Hijazis drawn from various tribes had crossed from Sinai into The Hijaz via Aqaba with the announced intention of raising a revolt in the name of the Sharifian family against the Government of Ibn Saud. This Party, which consisted of the Hijazis who had emigrated into Egypt and Lower Palestine since 1927, was under the leadership of Hamid Ibn Rifada of the Billi tribe.’113 Although unsuccessful, and defeated only two months later, Ibn Rifada’s uprising reflected Ibn Saud’s legitimacy problems within The Hijaz and proved that the popular dissatisfaction in the country could break out into a major revolt. As a result of the uprising, the government confiscated the estates of many leading Hijazis, including the great estates of Sharif ‘Ali, the dethroned king of The Hijaz.114 The Hijaz Liberation Party played a major role in generating support for Ibn Rifada’s revolt, and its branch in Egypt is thought to have assisted the revolt both financially and in facilitating contacts between the tribes.   Under these circumstances, and in order to stir up an anti-Saudi revolt in The Hijaz and Najd, the party focused on co-operation with Sayyid al-Hassan al-Idrisi, who had lost his traditional sphere of influence in Asir to Ibn Saud, and whose rule over the territory was by this time only nominal.115 In 1930 a meeting between Hussein al-Dabbagh and al-Hassan al-Idrisi was held in al-Luhayyah, at which they agreed on common action against Ibn Saud. On that occasion, the Executive Committee of the party issued a ‘Statement of the Hijazi and Idrisi 120

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION Revolutionary Authority’, which included an appeal to the ‘Hijazi nation’ to resist the Wahhabis, who had violated the sanctity of the Holy Places. The statement called for global Muslim support, but especially by Hijazi nationals, noting that the members of the movement were united under the leadership of Hashemites and that the revolution was both religious and national in character.116   A number of primarily archival sources indicate that Ibn Saud was aware of the activities of the Free Hijazis. The Agent of Foreign Affairs in Ibn Saud’s government, Fuad Hamza, wrote a message to the British expressing his dissatisfaction with them and demanding that they monitor the activities of party members and sympathizers closely. He was particularly concerned with the undertakings of Emir Shakir ibn Zayid.117 Emir Shakir was related to Emir Abdullah and was a highranking official in Transjordan, presiding over the Council of Tribes.118 In late 1932 Emir Shakir travelled from Amman to Jerusalem to meet with Tahir al-Dabbagh, Abdullah ibn Umayr, and ‘Abd al-Rauf al-Sabban, to discuss ways of supporting the revolt in Asir.119 This infuriated Saudi officials to the extent that they deported his relatives from The Hijaz to Transjordan and demanded his dismissal in Transjordan for ‘his open hostility towards [a] friendly country’.120 The intended meeting between the three and Emir Abdullah of Transjordan never occurred, as he was under pressure from the British, who forbade him from meeting the activists.121

British–Saudi Repression of The Hijaz Liberation Party British correspondence details the movements and actions of ‘Abd alRauf al-Sabban. Like al-Dabbagh, he was banned from entering Palestine, Transjordan, and Egypt in the latter months of 1932. The British disapproved of his participation in anti-Saudi conspiracy activities and attacking Ibn Saud in the pages of the Egyptian newspaper alUmmah.122 Like Emir Shakir, he was a government official in Transjordan—in fact, the director of Emir Abdullah’s estates— between 1922 and 1932.123   A letter from the Foreign Office in London asked the British Lieutenant-General in Baghdad to intensify his surveillance and apprehend him immediately if he tried to enter Iraq.124 Britain’s actions and 121

THE HIJAZ decisions show the extent to which Whitehall supported the interests of the government of Ibn Saud. Anyone in service of Emir Abdullah who was found to have any connections to the Free Hijazis was to be dismissed, and ‘outside conspirators’ were to be ‘excluded from Palestine, Transjordan and Egypt’, as only decisive measures would ‘disarm Ibn Saud’s suspicions’.125   Thus, in response to Saudi pressures and dissatisfaction, Britain guaranteed to combat any anti-Saudi activity that took place in territories under its control or influence. As a neighbouring territory with strong links to the formerly independent Kingdom of The Hijaz, the Emirate of Transjordan suffered the strongest accusations from the government of Ibn Saud, which suspected that Emir Abdullah was behind the movement of Ibn Rifada and al-Idrisi.126 In order to show their control of the situation, and to stop the weapons and supplies from being smuggled into The Hijaz, the British closed the borders between Transjordan and Ibn Saud’s Hijaz territories during Ibn Rifada’s revolt. A British warship was also despatched to Aqaba to blockade movement (of supplies and reinforcements) by sea.127 Britain justified these actions as permissible involvement in its capacity as the Mandatory power in Transjordan. Any hostile activity against British allies taking place in territory under British control could be interpreted by Ibn Saud as support or leniency towards the members of The Hijaz Liberation Party, and, consequently, Britain’s close relationship with Saudi Arabia was at stake.128   By 1933 British officials wanted to apply a policy of ‘rapprochement’ between Saudi Arabia and Transjordan as ‘the best way of disposing of intrigues’.129 But in effect, ‘rapprochement’ meant repressing any anti-Saudi activity and ensuring the continuance of Britain’s colonial influence in Egypt, Transjordan, Palestine, and Iraq. A report of March 1933 addressed to Fuad Hamza sums up the actions that the British undertook in response to the activities of the Free Hijazis: Immediate action was taken to prevent a number of persons, mostly of Hijazi origin engaged in a conspiracy against the present regime in the country, from using Aden as their base. When it was discovered that the persons concerned were active elsewhere, further measures were taken to counteract their efforts. These measures culminated in the decision taken in the latter part of last year to exclude from Transjordan and

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HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION Palestine those who were regarded as especially dangerous. In addition, the Egyptian government ordered their deportation from their territory and they have warned other residents of the importance of refraining from undesirable activities.130

  In his reply, Fuad Hamza assured the British of his country’s appreciation of the support it was receiving. He stated that ‘His Majesty [Ibn Saud], despite changes of circumstances and condition and difference of outward appearance and form has never for a day doubted the friendship of the British Government’. He went on to say that Sir Andrew Ryan’s statements ‘are a fresh proof of the existence of this mutual desire for cooperation and collaboration between the two Governments’.131 This correspondence indicates close cooperation between the Saudi and British governments on the issue of the Free Hijazis, and a combined effort to ensure the consolidation of Ibn Saud’s rule over The Hijaz. After Ibn Saud took over The Hijaz, they were the last opposition holdout that Ibn Saud—with the help of the British— had to overcome. Once he had done so, he was able to consolidate his rule over The Hijaz.

Unification: Arabian Kingdom vs.The Hijaz It is not clear when Ibn Saud decided to unify The Hijaz and Najd, and whether his motive was to try to solve the economic and political problems that were, according to British observers, causing widespread discontent among the population. There is no clear indication in the archival documents as to what his political calculations were, although there is some conflicting information to consider. As late as February 1932 the British consulate in Jeddah reported that Ibn Saud was aware of the possibility of civil war in The Hijaz in the event of his death. Therefore, ‘with a view of avoiding this crisis, he is going to separate The Hijaz from Nejd and take steps to obtain a baya’a from the Hijazi people in favour of Prince Faisal and a similar undertaking from the Najdi population in favour of his son Prince Saud’.132 That move was also aimed at ensuring that ‘Hijazi money is spent in The Hijaz’.133 No move, however, was taken to implement this policy, and seven months later the British reported that the king ‘made a secret arrangement to the effect that all sects of Hijazi nationals send telegrams to him praying 123

THE HIJAZ to change the style of his government from Najd/Hijaz to the Kingdom of Arabiah el Saudiah’.134 Further research must be encouraged with regard to this issue, as it is possible that the British Consul in Jeddah was ill informed in February 1932; or that Ibn Saud truly did not have a clear policy with regard to his dependencies and was considering multiple options. Also, it is plausible that the fear of further HLP activities pushed Ibn Saud to centralize his power further, and declare a one-state solution for the territories that he ruled.   On 22 September 1932 the British Chargé d’Affaires in Jeddah communicated that a Royal Decree had been signed in Riyadh on 18 September and that Ibn Saud had decided as follows:  

 

1) The name of Kingdom of Hejaz Nejd shall be changed to the Kingdom of Saudian Arabia and our title will be King of Saudian Arabia. 2) Change to take effect from day of announcement. 3) It will not affect existing treaties, agreements, obligations or contracts. 4) All existing regulations and provisions remain in force. 5) Existing government organization to continue until new organization is built on basis of this unification. 6) Council of Ministers to prepare forthwith and submit to us a constitution for king’s rule, succession to throne and organization of government. 7) Council may co-opt suitable members for this purpose. 8) 22 September, first day of equinox, chosen as date of announcement of unification.135  

  The Royal Decree was promulgated in the first page of the Makkan newspaper Umm al-Qura on 23 September. What preceded this publication was, however, a series of propaganda-like publications of a number of telegraphed petitions to Ibn Saud from Najdi and Hijazi sources asking him to proclaim the unity of the ‘Saudian Kingdom’ and establishing the succession to the throne, as ‘recent events so clearly demonstrated intrinsic solidarity of the two’.136 Ibn Saud thus sought to legitimize his move and make the unification decree appear to be with accordance to the wishes of the public.   The British Chargé d’Affaires in Jeddah in his telegram to the Foreign Office in London interpreted Ibn Saud’s move towards unifica 

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HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION tion as having dynastic, financial, and imperial objectives. The King wanted to consolidate Saudi rule in The Hijaz, cloak the use of Hijazi revenues, and complete the assimilation of Asir into his realm.137 In the telegram of 26 September, the Foreign Office stated that personal congratulations to the king were sufficient, as no formal recognition was needed since it was a ‘mere change of the name’.138 This implies that Britain had accepted that Najd and Hijaz were not in a mere personal union, but were already united into a single state, even before the change of name.   Ibn Saud’s move can also be seen as a reaction to the ever-worsening situation in The Hijaz and fears of his dynasty losing the territory in the future. Ibn Rifada’s rebellion had only given an indication of what problems Ibn Saud might face in the future had the policy in The Hijaz been maintained. Unification also meant that there would be one central government, so he could no longer be accused of investing Hijazi money in the Najd.   As far as the stance of Ibn Saud’s entity in the international arena is concerned, with the transformation of The Hijaz–Najd into Saudi Arabia in 1932, the discussions regarding the legal status of the territory ended, as it had become clear that the Najd and Hijaz state(s) had ceased to exist as two separate entities and had been replaced with one unified state, to whose existence no one could have raised any legalistic objections.139  

The Status of The Hijaz as a Sovereign State and as a Signatory to the Covenant of the League of Nations The exact position and status of The Hijaz in the post-First World War order has been the subject of much confusion. Answering the question as to whether The Hijaz was considered a state, and whether it was considered a member of the League of Nations, gives rise to the question(s) as to the obligations of the international community in response to the subsequent annexation of The Hijaz by Ibn Saud.   In relation to its status as a state, the British position as of November 1920 seems to have been that The Hijaz ‘has been recognized as a Sovereign State’.140 The status of The Hijaz was also the subject of a lengthy debate in the American Senate. There, The Hijaz’s status was 125

THE HIJAZ discussed particularly in relation to the commitment that the United States would face in protecting its territorial integrity.141   As far as The Hijaz’s membership in the League of Nations was concerned, British Prime Minister David Lloyd George stated in Parliament that ‘the Hedjaz, not having ratified the treaty of Versailles, is not yet a member of the League of Nations and cannot be represented at the Assembly until she has ratified’.142 The prime minister’s view was far from incontrovertible; and an contrary view was expressed by Earl Winterton, who critically underscored: Is it a fact that the Allied nations such as Hedjaz are refused admittance to the League of Nations unless they ratify the Peace of Versailles, and was it not agreed at the time of the Peace Conference that every Allied nation would be admitted into the League, whether they ratified the Treaty or not?143

  Senator Henry Cabot Lodge was seemingly under the impression that the Kingdom of Hijaz had been admitted as a member of the League of Nations, which was a cause of some reticence in the American decision not to join the League of Nations as a member. As Jeremy Rabkin observes: Senator Lodge protested that, by joining the League, the United States would give the King of Hedjaz the right ‘to demand the sending of American troops to Arabia in order to preserve his independence against the assaults of the Wahhabis’ even though ‘most people have not the slightest idea where or what a Kingdom of Hedjaz is’.144

  Lodge astutely pointed out the collective security obligations that flowed from League membership while indicating that the Saudi annexation would commit League members to provide assistance to fellow members. Despite the fact that a jus contra bellum did not begin to ossify until the Kellogg–Briand Pact in 1928, Lodge’s comments capture and reflect a fairly conventional understanding of the League’s collective security obligations. While a number of sources regard The Hijaz as one of three allied powers never to have joined the League of Nations (the other two being the United States and Ecuador), the discussion has remained subject to debate. What follows is a discussion of the main theories of statehood, the doctrine of non-recognition under international law, and the collective security provisions of the Covenant of the 126

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION League of Nations. These elements have been included with a view to understanding how The Hijaz was caught in shifting tectonic plates of international legal doctrines which had yet to be crystallized.

— The Constitutive and Declaratory Theories of Statehood The constitutive theory of statehood effectively affirmed that states did not come into existence until other states recognized them (especially the Great Powers of the day). Kalevi Jaakko Holsti observed that while Great Powers were accepted as sovereigns owing to their long-standing existence, new states, even if de facto sovereign, had to be diplomatically recognized before they could enjoy the rights associated with sovereignty.145 Recognition was the path through which states could come to existence under international law. The theory was problematic, not least due to the implication that ‘sovereign’ states had effectively no legal constraints when engaging an ‘unrecognized’ (and hence ‘not yet sovereign’) entity (aspiring state).146 Also, there were issues when only some of the Great Powers chose to recognize an aspiring state. Efforts to rectify this were also proven insufficient, as we will discuss in Chapter 6.   The constitutive approach to statehood under international law was later superseded by the declaratory theory, which gained prominence in 1924, with the decision in the Tinoco Claims Arbitration.147 Ironically, the decision was the result of ‘forum shopping’ on the part of the British government, which would have certainly lost the case in a British courtroom. The declaratory theory suggests that the question of statehood is a question of fact; subsequent recognition is merely ‘declaratory’ of this fact, and it does not revoke or confer statehood in and of itself. This would later be codified in the Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States in 1933.148   In short, for supporters of the declaratory theory, the creation of a state is considered a matter of fact, with states coming into existence when the minimum criteria—defined territory, permanent population, government, and capacity to enter into relations with other states—are met. For constitutive theorists, a state only comes into being when it is recognized as sovereign by other states. 127

THE HIJAZ

Non-Recognition and its Application to The Hijaz After the conquest of The Hijaz by Imam Ibn Saud, the question arose as to whether the British could transfer their recognition from the state of The Hijaz to the new entity. Here London seem to have applied the the rules established by the Tinoco Claims Arbitration of 1923 to the dual Kingdom of Hijaz and Najd, and this represented a clean break with the constitutive theory that had dominated international law up to that point.149   In 1917 Tinoco Granados grabbed power in Costa Rica, until forced to resign in 1919. His successor, Bautista Quiros, rapidly moved to undo a series of laws passed by his predecessor’s regime. The British government objected to this decision as it rendered null a deal between the Aguilar Amory Corporation (then owned by Tinoco’s government) and the Royal Bank of Canada (in which Britain had an interest). Quiros’s government argued that, as Britain had not recognized Tinoco, it was estopped from relying on that non-recognition to the detriment of Costa Rica. The Tinoco judgment did not simply mean that the debate was over. It merely marked the arrival of the declaratory theory. The arbitrator of the case, Taft CJ, issued the following judgment and, in so doing, elucidates what James Crawford has described as the locus classicus of the declaratory theory of statehood: The non-recognition by other nations of a government claiming to be a national personality is usually appropriate evidence that it has not attained the independence and control entitling it by international law to be classed as such. But when recognition of a government is by such nations determined by enquiry, not into its de facto sovereignty and complete governmental control, but into its illegitimacy or irregularity of origin, their non-recognition loses something of evidential weight on the issue with which those applying the rules of international law are alone concerned. … Such non-recognition for any reason … cannot outweigh the evidence disclosed … as to the de facto character of Tinoco’s government, according to the standard set by international law.150

  Hypothetically, had the case been referred to a British court to apply the principles of international law, the British would have lost, as the recognition of a foreign head of state is a prerogative power, and the Costa Rican estoppel claim would have carried weight. 128

HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION   The British negotiated the Treaty of Jeddah in 1927 with Imam Ibn Saud. The treaty recognized ‘the complete and absolute independence of the dominions of the King of Hijaz and of Najd [Ibn Saud] and its dependencies’.151 In return, the British secured protection for their Protectorates—namely, Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, and Oman.   Sharif Hussein once again found himself the victim of changing British interests. The Tinoco Claims Arbitration would not permit the British to withhold the recognition of Imam Ibn Saud as the sovereign simply due to the irregularity or illegitimacy of his accession.152 The Hijaz, it follows, was simply the victim of a changing international order.   It is worth contrasting the Tinoco Claims argument with the established norms of international law in this era. It was accepted that there was a duty of non-recognition for states that had constituted themselves illegally. This was related to the principle ex injuria jus non oritur, that is to say, acts contrary to international law cannot become a source of legal rights for a wrongdoer.153 The legal obligation of non-recognition is to prevent a ‘fruit from the poisonous tree’ situation.154 As David Raic observes: ‘The fundamental norm upon which the illegality is based might be seriously undermined as a result of the validation of the consequences of the illegal conduct through recognition. This in turn may—if the legal rule involved is substantial—threaten the international legal order as a whole.’155   Unfortunately for The Hijaz, it took another year before the Kellogg–Briand Pact (1928) and the Stimson Doctrine came into effect, which would have rendered the Saudi annexation illegal.   For instance, when the Japanese invaded Chinese Manchuria in 1931 and recast it as the new state of Manchukuo, the US Secretary of State, Henry Stimson, issued the following statement: ‘[The United States] cannot admit the legality of any situation de facto … and that it does not intend to recognise any situation, treaty or agreement which may be brought about by means contrary to the covenants and obligations of the Treaty of Paris of 27 August, 1928.’156   This declaration would formally become known as the Stimson Doctrine. The League of Nations required that its members refuse to recognize Manchukuo, which it deemed to be a product of illegal Japanese aggression against Chinese sovereignty.157  

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THE HIJAZ   The collective security requirements to which all member states of the League were bound are clearly articulated in the League’s Covenant. Article 10, for instance, states: The Members of the League undertake to respect and preserve as against external aggression the territorial integrity and existing political independence of all Members of the League. In case of any such aggression or in case of any threat or danger of such aggression the Council shall advise upon the means by which this obligation shall be fulfilled.158

  Moreover, League members were required, when faced with any dispute ‘likely to lead to rupture’, to submit the matter ‘either to arbitration or judicial settlement or to enquiry by the council’.159   Furthermore, crucially, Article 11 further stated: ‘Any war or threat of war, whether immediately affecting any of the Members of the League or not, is hereby declared a matter of concern to the whole League, and the League shall take any action that may be deemed wise and effectual to safeguard the peace of nations.’160   As we have shown, there is a series of legal arguments to be made on the question of The Hijaz’s status within the rapidly changing international legal context of the time. The field is definitely complicated, and the legal and political landscape dynamic and fluid. What is clear, however, is that the actions against The Hijaz and the Taif Massacre were matters that should have been addressed by international jurists and lawyers since, just as they should have at the highest level in the League of Nations and the leading international fora of the time—not least because they were an act of expansionary foreign aggression against a League of Nations signatory, but also because they involved warfare, the changing of borders through force, and directly affected the interests, as well as the commitments and obligations, of the Great Powers. The Hijaz played its part effectively on the side of the Allies in the First World War, undermining a powerful ally of Germany, the Ottomans, in a region of considerable importance. When in the 1920s this former ally was in a time of need, not only did it not find assistance from the Great Powers, but it found itself, once again, caught up in imperial calculations that led to its undermining and facilitated its eventual assimilation by Ibn Saud. This action would have a lasting effect upon the Islamic world that persists until this day. 130

5

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION AND THE INTERNATIONAL LEGAL SYSTEM

This chapter will discuss the Islamic dimension of Hijazi self-determination, territorially, as the Islamic sacred state. Here we consider the religious driver of Muslim self-determination, in contradistinction to the ethnic driver that was the norm in the First World War period.   As discussed earlier, the right to self-determination emerged, inter alia, as a tool to prise colonies from the grip of their owners. Beyond the intrigues and plots of Sykes–Picot, the right to self-determination has itself worked to divide the polity of the umma. In other words, instead of being united under one polity representing the Islamic community, like the Ottoman Empire, or being governed under a single system of rules, as in the Caliphate, nationalistic claims for independent nation-states were seen to have been instigated by colonial powers only to weaken and break down the umma—another form of imperial divide and rule.   It should be noted that the concept of self-determination, from an Islamic perspective, is primarily concerned with solidarity of the collectivity. The Caliphate was required to preserve the unity of a singular Muslim polity. The concept of solidarity, however, goes beyond this, as we have discussed already, and has its roots in core religious texts. Muslims who adopt and defend the notion of unity and the umma relied on scriptural justifications such as ‘And hold fast, all together, unto the

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THE HIJAZ bond with God, and do not draw apart from one another.’1 The religious point of view emphasized a trans-ethnic and linguistic world existence and a collective life under the Caliphate.   The 1920s represented a turning point vis-á-vis the concept of Muslim collectivity, namely, the perception of that long-standing Islamic institution representing the collective: the Caliphate. While the new international legal system was being established by the Great Powers, and nationalist projects were being promoted in the old Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires, there were proponents of the Caliphate and evolutionary projects stemming from it by way of Islamic union and pan-Islamic movements. For instance, with regard to rulers, there were the Hashemites, the Egyptian monarchy, and Imam Ibn Saud. With regard to the ‘ulama’ and religious institutions, there was the Grand Mosque and al-Azhar in Cairo, Qom and Najaf in Iran and Iraq, and others who sought to convene Islamic diplomatic conferences. With reference to social movements, there were the Muslim Brotherhood and its offshoots. These actors and institutions were all aimed at finding (or inventing) a solution to the issue of Islamic selfdetermination after the abolition of the Caliphate. Who rules and how? And what happens to the idea of an Islamic state, and, in particular, The Hijaz?   From the point of view of international relations, the point that should be underlined is how to situate an evolved Islamic collectivity given the nature of interaction between states in the new international system. What level of homogeneity or heterogeneity in the construction of a ‘state’ is required to interact in such system? How does a nation operate in the Arab world where citizens share religion, language, culture, and history? As Ali Karaosmanoglu points out: Islam stands as a symbol of legitimacy. It embodies the system of values upon which the legitimacy of the political regimes rests. In this context Islam, as transnational cultural ensemble, links domestic legitimacy with international politics, blurring the fundamental distinctions between the temporal and the spiritual, the domestic and the international.2

  Therefore, in attempting to compensate for the abolition of the Caliphate in 1924, one can argue that what we have seen was, and still is, in a way, part of a continuing effort towards Islamic self-determina132

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION tion. These efforts may vary in several ways, but they are, collectively, an important underpinning when it comes to understanding the dimensions and expectations of Islamic movements on domestic and international political levels. At the same time, arguably, we have also seen the pursuit of the idea of Muslim solidarity, on its own terms, determined independently, and not imposed or shaped by Great Power politics, imperial calculations, and opportune attempts to fill the vacuum left by the abolition of the Caliphate. It is a goal which, in spite of its powerful appeal and symbolism, has often seemed very close, only to prove out of reach in the absence of true change by the key actors and within the states involved.   The Hijaz in particular, has always been seen as the religious, symbolic, and geopolitical nucleus of the Islamic world. One can therefore easily understand why many Muslim rulers and empires competed for control over it. The following sections will explore Islamic reaction to the annexation of The Hijaz, as well as the Islamic world’s efforts to determine its future and that of the derelict Caliphate.

The Fall of the Caliphate and the Triumph of Wahhabism While the tragedy of The Hijaz was being played out in the Arabian Peninsula, a current of events in the Bosporus was shaping the political future of the Islamic world. Turkish nationalists were taking steps towards ridding themselves of the baggage of the past. This move was instigated by a legitimacy crisis brought about by the Western powers’ invitation in October 1922 for both the sultan/caliph from the Istanbul government and the nationalist head of government from Ankara to attend the Lausanne Conference.3   This confusion over who was Turkey’s legal representative pushed the nationalists to resolve upon the abolition of the office of sultan, thereby establishing themselves as the only sovereign representative. On 1 November 1922 the Turkish Grand National Assembly voted to separate the Caliphate from the Sultanate. It then abolished the latter, and removed all temporal powers from the Ottomans.4 The Caliphate was then symbolically vested in the House of Osman. It was not until two years later, when Atatürk abolished it completely, that the last Islamic polity disappeared. This represented a victory for the Father of  

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THE HIJAZ the Turks, who was hostile to the sultan for his signing the Treaty of Sèvres in 1922. He spent January to March 1923 campaigning against the ‘retrograde institution’ of the Caliphate, over the protests of some among his general staff, who wished to retain Turkey’s centrality in the Islamic world.5   In The Hijaz, Sharif Hussein was carefully monitoring the situation in Istanbul. Although he criticized the actions taken against the caliph’s authorities, according to some observers he had already established contact with the Turkish nationalists regarding the transfer of the Caliphate to its rightful place.6 Hussein and the nationalists were aiming to exchange interests based on comparative advantage and their shared enmity towards the British. As Teitelbaum observes, ‘this is a story of a coalescing of interests of two former enemies, as they faced a common adversary, the British’.7 But there were also several internal factors that moved Hashemites and Kemalists to seek common cause.   Al-Katib argued that such actions contradicted the main conditions of faith as put forward by Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, which forbade loyalty to ‘infidels’—those who did not subscribe to their puritan formulation of faith, Muslims and non-Muslims alike.8 Such relations between Imam Ibn Saud and other non-Muslims led to tension, uprising, and conflict between the Imam and his Ikhwan warriors.9   From 1916, the third Saudi Islamic state pragmatically mobilized its Ikhwan to play an essential role in extending its power throughout Arabia, and in capturing The Hijaz and other territories under the guise of jihad. This was done using a discourse stressing the concept of takfir (the excommunication of other Muslims). As we will explain later in greater detail, Imam Ibn Saud masterfully utilized this concept to expand his authority. However, some observers assert that although the first Saudi Islamic state had been established through an internal transtribal Islamic alliance and through the doctrinal incubation of Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, the third Saudi Islamic state relied more on external powers such as Britain (and, later on, the United States). It did so for two reasons: firstly, for financial and military backing; and secondly, to establish international legitimacy and recognition.   With The Hijaz as its foundation, the third Saudi state was aware of the dangers inherent in the Wahhabi doctrine and some of its most fanatical exponents—especially certain groups within the Ikhwan. Therefore, in order to protect his new realm and shore up the support of his new 134

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION foreign partners, Ibn Saud, with decisive British airpower support and assistance, destroyed the rebellious Ikhwan—mostly Mutayr and Utayba—in the infamous Sabala campaign.10 Imam Ibn Saud then cemented his legitimacy with the Islamic state, and buttressed it with international support beyond his ancestral alliance with Wahhabism.   With Ibn Saud’s seizure of The Hijaz a fait accompli, Britain soon enough acknowledged his authority, and by 1922 Britain decided to raise his subsidy to £100,000 a year. This decision was advanced by the then Colonial Secretary, Winston Churchill, despite the fact that he had strongly denounced the Wahhabi takeover in the House of Commons in July 1921, by describing them as ‘austere, intolerant, well-armed and bloodthirsty’. Churchill later wrote that ‘my admiration for him [Ibn Saud] was deep, because of his unfailing loyalty to us’, and the British government set about strengthening its ties with the Wahhabi regime, perhaps planting the seeds of a disaster that are still flourishing today.11

Bartering the Caliphate:The Kemalists and Sharif Hussein There were contacts between Kemal’s nationalists and Sharif Hussein dating back to 1919, and interests were established between them based on aspiration and regional cooperation—particularly in Syria. In this respect, Teitelbaum states: Both Husein and his son Faisal had contact with Kemal’s nationalists. Faisal’s contacts came out of his desire for an ally against the French; Husein, who was at odds with Faisal after the war, was interested in securing the Caliphate. Father and son were not on good terms, and often operated at cross purposes.12

  Among the evidence that suggests the existence of contact was the claim that Sharif Hussein’s son, Emir Abdullah, sent a message suggesting that ‘he was in contact with the Kemalists, and that contacts were under way for the Caliphate to be offered to Husein in exchange for declaring open hostilities against the Allies’.13 Although there were other incidents reported in 1922 that suggest continuing contacts, it is ‘unlikely that any real agreement was reached between Kemal and Husein. The British Agent assessed that communications had passed between the two, as Husein considered himself aggrieved by the British, and may have wanted to keep his options open.’14 135

THE HIJAZ   Furthermore, Sharif Hussein hosted the ex-caliph Sultan Muhammed VI in The Hijaz after he was deposed by the Turkish National Assembly. Indeed, such action on the part of Sharif Hussein was inconsistent with his rebellion against the Ottomans, but not uncommon in relations between Ottoman and Arab nobility. However, this could be interpreted in two ways. The first is that the ex-caliph’s representatives did indeed recognize The Hijaz as an independent state under the Treaty of Sèvres. The second interpretation is, according to some, that Sharif Hussein received the ex-caliph with great hospitality in The Hijaz, angling at the possibility of acquiring the Caliphate on a voluntary basis—thereby, in a way, ‘returning’ it to the Arab Hashemites after it had been taken by Sultan Selim in 1517.15 It is quite clear that Sharif Hussein failed to convince the ex-caliph to hand the office over to him, resulting in the latter’s departure from The Hijaz.   Furthermore, in early February 1923, during the Lausanne Conference, an important secret meeting was held,16 at which Nadji al-Asil, Sharif Hussein’s representative, said he was authorized to propose that if Turkey were prepared to recognize Hussein ‘as king of all the Arabian Peninsula’, he would, in turn, ‘undertake to use all his influence in Arabia to befriend Turkey against England, and would in fact be quite prepared to enter into an offensive and defensive alliance with her’.17 This suggestion was later discussed with General Ismat Bacha, who replied that ‘Turkey would recognize the independence of “Arabia”, but could only recognize Hussein as king of such an entity if the Arabs themselves did so’.18   Almost all of these communications were reported by British agents, who concluded that there were no clear indications that the Kemalists had offered Hussein the Caliphate. At best, they may have offered to recognize him as king of Arabia. Later on, Hussein visited Syria, Palestine, and Jordan in order to show that his popularity was not limited to Hijaz, nor was his status limited to that of a ‘king’; rather, he was to be presented as the caliph.19 However, Imam Ibn Saud’s threatening posture towards The Hijaz had undermined all of Sharif Hussein’s plans.   It was hardly a surprise to Sharif Hussein when the Caliphate was abolished in 1924 by Atatürk,20 who had become the president of the Turkish Republic a year earlier. Hussein took the opportunity to cultivate debates about restoring an Arab Caliphate with a Qurayshi descen136

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION dant at its helm—and he, of course, was the only qualified person for the office. At the same time he believed that, by being named caliph, he could save The Hijaz and strengthen his Islamic legitimacy against Imam Ibn Saud. Accordingly, the Caliphate was the last attempt by the Sharif to secure some semblance of self-determination. This difficult struggle had started, for him, with leading the Arab Revolt, as the symbolic leader of the Arab people. Indeed, his son, Emir Faisal, declined the title ‘King of The Hijaz’ given to his father at the League of Nations, arguing for the indeterminate title of ‘King of Arabia’.   Atatürk’s motivation for the transfer of the Caliphate directly (or indirectly) to the Hashemites was ultimately defined by Turkish domestic crises. He had no doubts as to the centrality of his nationalist project, and the Caliphate was simply a distraction. However, in the absence of a formal transfer, the self-proclamation of the Caliphate by Hussein in 1924 was not taken seriously. Instead of strengthening him, it left him even more exposed to his existing enemies, and vulnerable to new ones. Many believed that the Ottoman crisis was transient, and that they would take up the office of the caliph again. And Sharif Hussein’s proclamation did not receive the approval of Muslims, either by way of a bay‘a, or diplomatically. All that was achieved was to undermine the potential of sustaining or re-establishing a real Caliphate, and, ultimately, to seal the Wahhabi conquest of the Holy Lands.

The Fall of the Caliphate and the Islamic Diplomatic Conferences (1924–1932) With the prospect of the Ottoman Caliphate’s extinction, the Muslim community attempted to organize conferences to determine the future of the title and status of the Holy Lands. Moreover, the expansion of Western European states into the Islamic lands freed by the dissolution of the Ottoman Empire was a matter of shared concern.21   The idea of an Islamic congress dated a few decades back, and was actively discussed by a number of Muslim revivalists and reformers. Muhammad ‘Abduh (1849–1905) and his disciple Rashid Rida (1865– 1935) considered an Islamic conference to be one of the elements needed for religious reformation. They propagated the idea from Cairo, in al-Manar, a journal which dealt with political and religious affairs. Also, ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi (1855–1902), in his seminal 137

THE HIJAZ work Umm al-Qura, argued for the replacement of the Ottoman Caliphate with an Arab–Quraysh model, and called for a great Islamic congress to be held in Makkah during the Hajj pilgrimage season. Crucially, the works of all three excluded the possibility of continued Ottoman claims to the title of caliph.22   As described in the previous section, with the independence of The Hijaz and the Turkish abolition of the Caliphate, Sharif Hussein was in a position to assert his claim to the title in his capacity as custodian of the two Holiest Sites of Islam. In July 1924 the Pilgrimage Congress was convened in Makkah, during which Hussein campaigned among prominent pilgrims from the Muslim world. The congress was to assemble annually, and was committed to promoting Arabic as the official language of the body; it also emphasized Arab unity as the basis of Muslim unity.23 With the advent of Wahhabi aggression against The Hijaz, however, the congress was never convened again.   In May 1926 the General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate took place in Cairo, organized by the jurists and ‘ulama’ at al-Azhar. Initially, the conference intended to host representatives from all Islamic territories and appoint a new caliph. King Fouad I of Egypt was said to be preparing the ground to take up the title, which worked to the organizers’ disadvantage, as the Muslim community felt that the results of the congress were predetermined.24 Nevertheless, the organizers, among them Rashid Rida, sought to make the Congress an inclusive event, and invitations were sent to Wahhabi, Zaydi, and Twelver Shi’a representatives.25 The question of the future of the Muslim Holy Lands, The Hijaz, was thus to be decided by the whole umma.   The debate surrounding the fate of the Caliphate at Cairo can be divided into four strands: 1) The Arabist view: this emphasized an Arab Caliphate in lieu of a Turkish one. 2) The Unionist view: this view suggested that, in the interests of unity, the Caliphate should remain with the Ottomans. Prominent supporters of this view included al-Afghani, ‘Abduh, Shakib Arslan, and Mohammad Akif. 3) The Nationalist view: this was propounded and supported mainly by Christian Arabs, who advocated Arab independence over ‘the supremacy of Islamic affiliations’. 138

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION 4)  The Confederate view: this view advocated decentralization from Istanbul in a confederation of Arab states within the Caliphate. The lead proponent of this position was the Ottoman Administrative Decentralization Party, which was established in Cairo.26   There were a number of significant developments in the lead-up to the Conference. The first was the position of Turkish nationalists, who argued that inclusivity towards non-Turkish lands in the Ottoman Empire would make Turkish blood ‘impure’. Atatürk took a comparatively moderate view. He argued in favour of the history and essence of the Caliphate, whilst advocating for separating the Islamic function of hakimiyya from the Caliphate in support of popular sovereignty.27   Second, and partly in response, al-Azhar distilled five critical questions that required resolution: 1) Can the Islamic world continue without a khilafa (Caliphate)? 2) Is there a reason to maintain a Caliphate or its primacy? 3) Can a resolution to dissolve the Caliphate by the Turkish Grand National Assembly strip away the legal status of Sultan Abdulmajid once the requirement of bay‘a has been met? 4) If the continuity of his legal status is assumed, where would he be based? 5) Is there a concern that if certain claimants to the Caliphate (that is, the heads of state of Islamic nations) pursue their claims, might the Muslim world be left in a state of division and disarray?28   Al-Azhar issued an official declaration on 10 March 1924 entitled Declaration to the People on the Matter of the Caliphate.29 It expressed dismay with the Turkish nationalists while simultaneously emphasizing the mandatory nature of the Caliphate. The declaration formally called for the convening of a congress to resolve these issues.30 In the meantime, forty-one ‘ulama’ of al-Azhar had declared that the Caliphate of Sultan Abdulmajid was still in effect, and this declaration was repeated worldwide.31   Shaykh Mohammad Mustafa al-Maraghi (1881–1945), Grand Imam of al-Azhar (1927–9, 1935–45), was close to the King of Egypt, and was lobbying for a law that would grant him the power to appoint future shaykhs. When Maraghi had served as the Chief Mufti of the Sudan, he wrote an essay that supported the position of Governor 

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THE HIJAZ General of the Sudan, Sir Reginald Wingate, on the requirement that the Caliphate be held by a descendant of the Quraysh.32 Maraghi argued that, whether or not the Ottomans were de jure caliphs in the light of the Qurayshi requirement, as well as the requirement for the caliph to be the custodian of the Holy Cities of Makkah and Medina, the de facto claim of the Ottomans to the Caliphate had to be accepted.33   The Indian Khilafat Movement34 was the first to support the Cairo Caliphate Congress. Among other things, it proposed that votes should be represented based on population, and, more importantly, it also suggested that the Congress should be held in Makkah to resolve the question of The Hijaz in tandem with the Caliphate question.35 Despite this, in March 1926, the Khilafat Central Committee apologized to the Shaykh of al-Azhar, and, in an open letter to the Egyptian people, proclaimed that, given the state of the world, choosing a caliph was not feasible. The letter added that the Committee was preoccupied with working with Imam Ibn Saud to hold a ‘conference in Mecca’ to decide on a constitution and a system of rulership for the Hijazi Kingdom.36 Notably, the Khilafat Movement was aware of (and was wary of) Imam Ibn Saud’s machinations in relation to The Hijaz.   A significant number of Chinese, Malay, and Indonesian Muslims were represented by the jurists and ‘ulama’ of the Two Holy Mosques who were in exile. Among the most prominent of these was Sayyid Abdullah Dahlan of Makkah, who represented Singapore and South East Asia. In a letter dated 11 October 1924, Sayyid Dahlan proposed an interesting agenda for the Congress, with some self-determination ideas beyond nationalism. Specifically, he underscored a number of points for the consideration of the delegates. First, he emphasized that if the Caliphate were to have popular currency, a thorough and proper explanation of the office, its benefits, and its conditions must be delineated. He pointed out that 400 million Muslims were ignorant of the issue, and that the people must be informed in order to elect a caliph. Secondly, he requested that invitations be sent out in those languages that were widely spoken across the Muslim community, such as Persian, Urdu, Javanese, Malay, Mandarin, and Turkish, so that the ‘true meaning of the invitation’ would be clear to these diverse groups. Thirdly, he proposed that the duties, jurisdiction, function, and competencies of the Congress should be made clear. In particular, he rec 

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ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION ommended that the Congress should specify the geographical seat of the Caliphate as well as the conditions for the accession of a caliph. He further advised that the Congress should determine the form that a Caliphate government should take, and, in particular, how relations should be conducted between the Caliphate and other Islamic governments, irrespective of how these other Islamic governments constituted themselves. Shalabi reports that these recommendations constituted the methodology followed vis-à-vis the invitations and the agenda of the Congress.37   Concomitantly, Imam Ibn Saud sent his adviser, Hafiz Wahba, to meet the Egyptian monarch and seek his support against the Hashemites, in return for Ibn Saud’s acceptance of the invitation to the Caliphate Congress in Cairo. Ibn Saud sent a letter on 9 December 1925 supporting the Cairo Congress, and explaining that he had no ambition for the khilafa and would give his bay‘a to whomever the Muslim world supported.38 Moreover, he articulated his support for the king by declaring him ‘the most suitable Muslim ruler for the office’.39 However, the situation dramatically shifted when Ibn Saud secured control over The Hijaz in 1926, and prior arrangements were disregarded when he officially became the ruler of The Hijaz and Najd. It is believed that this triggered the anger of the Egyptian king, leading to unstable relations between Egypt and the new Saudi state for the next decade. King Fouad realized the potential impact of Ibn Saud’s move on the Caliphate question, and so he helped accelerate the organization of the Cairo gathering. However, the Saudi monarch did not attend the Congress, implicitly rejecting any support for Fouad’s caliphal aspirations.   In the face of the news of the rival diplomatic conference convened by Imam Ibn Saud in Makkah, the Cairo organizers failed to secure widespread participation.40 Instead of electing a caliph, the agenda of the Congress was limited to discussions on the necessity of a Caliphate, its nature, and the possibility of reinstituting the office in the future.41 The situation in the Islamic territories discouraged participation in Cairo. Turkey and Iran had staunchly secular regimes that were hostile to the idea, while Great Britain and France did not encourage the participation of their subjects for political reasons. Populous Muslim countries, such as India or Indonesia, and centrally located ones, such as  

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THE HIJAZ Palestine and Syria, felt that the Congress had been convened for the benefit of the Egyptian dynasty.42 There were forty formal participants, but none officially represented any of the fourteen countries they came from.43 It was agreed that branches of the Congress should be established in different countries to prepare further congresses and to decide the issue of the Caliphate.44   The rival Congress of the Islamic World was convened in June 1926 in Makkah, in response to a number of invitations from Imam Ibn Saud to ‘the world’s Muslims’, issued over a period of two years. As the Caliphate Congress was taking place in Cairo, Ibn Saud feared that any elected caliph, and especially an Egyptian one, might be a threat to his recent occupation of the Holy Lands of The Hijaz.45 Initially, the Saudi conference was to determine the future government for The Hijaz, and Ibn Saud wanted to present his legal ‘person’ as a ‘trustee’, rather than conqueror. But with the fall of The Hijaz to the Imam, and his political ambitions, the agenda of the conference was limited to vague discussions as to how to improve the conditions of the Pilgrimage. Now that he had been proclaimed King of The Hijaz, Ibn Saud sought Islamic recognition of his rule over the Holy Cities despite former pledges that the fate of The Hijaz would be decided by the entire Muslim world.   The goal was limited to demonstrating ‘formal’ Muslim acceptance of the new regime, and to push away the debate regarding the Caliphate.46 By means of artful statesmanship, Imam Ibn Saud effectively separated the territoriality of The Hijaz (as the ‘Islamic state’) from the rulership of a caliph, and, ultimately, undermined the idea of a Caliphate altogether. Although many Islamic states did not attend the conference in Makkah, Egypt sent a delegation of al-Azhar scholars led by Shaykh al-Zawahiri.47 Al-Zawahiri criticized the Wahhabis, highlighted the ‘bigotry of Wahhabism’, and concluded that the Wahhabis should not be in a position of supervision over the Holy Lands in Makkah and Medina because of their intolerance of other Islamic schools of thought. Moreover, al-Zawahiri protested about Imam Ibn Saud’s address, and noted that he should not claim any authority over the Muslim world merely as a result of his conquest over The Hijaz. Likewise, he highlighted the Egyptian rejection of Imam Ibn Saud as a legitimate ruler over The Hijaz.48   Another pan-Islamic diplomatic effort was convened in Jerusalem in December 1931, the General Islamic Congress. It was a joint Indian– 142

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION Palestinian effort, organized in response to the growing Zionist challenge, and was held under the leadership of Haj Amin al-Huseyni, the Grand Mufti of Jerusalem. This conference aimed to generate and commit wider Muslim support for the cause of Muslim Palestine, and challenge the League of Nations Mandate and the plans to create a Jewish national home in the area.   The Indian Khilafat Committee was heavily involved in organizing the Congress in Jerusalem.49 Initially, the British, as the Mandatory power, were concerned about the events, as Britain’s Indian subjects were becoming involved in the Mandate territory and challenging colonial designs. The Indian Khilafat Movement was yet another entity to which the British had promised ‘Arab and Islamic unity in the cradle of Islam’ (that is, The Hijaz), in exchange for their participation in the war effort, and the Khilafat Movement delegation to Switzerland in 1920 was quick to point out this fact.50 The Khilafat Movement was a staunch supporter of the Ottomans, viewing anti-Ottoman efforts as part of the same colonial struggle that India was embroiled in.51 Gandhi added the force of India’s Hindus, and incorporated the movement into India’s experiment with civil disobedience.52 The Movement remained an influential force, and it was courted by virtually every significant party in the region, including Hussein al-Dabbagh,53 Chaim Weizmann,54 and Imam Ibn Saud.55 Historically, India was among The Hijaz’s most significant benefactors, together with Egypt. They saw to the replenishment of the Hijazi treasury and supported the Two Holy Cities and the pilgrims. Furthermore, India’s status in the Islamic world could hardly be overstated; it represented some 400 million non-Arab Muslims. Parenthetically, the Indian Khalifat Movement remained one of the most important catalysts in relation to the diplomatic efforts concerning the Caliphate.   However, the Congress was then considered as quasi-religious, and the British adopted the traditional rule of non-intervention in religious matters.56 The Congress was considered a success. A resolution against colonial rule was adopted, and the participants condemned colonialism of Muslim lands categorically and on numerous occasions.57   A number of Muslim political activists were also defending the Islamic cause in several European capitals, and promoted cosmopolitan ideas of Muslim solidarity. The European Muslim Congress of 1935 143

THE HIJAZ took place in Geneva, and attempted to gather these activists in one place. Although the Congress was not to be of a political nature, discussions on colonial policies were inevitable. The participants communicated their opposition to the creation of a Jewish national home to the League of Nations and the British government, stressing that for Muslims this was a matter of religion, not politics.58 The Conference also considered the Caliphate as a form of government, and federalism as an alternative. It was criticized in Islamic territories as being unable to suggest any meaningful reform from its distant European setting.

Islamic Jurisprudence and the Caliphate The Caliphate’s abolition led to the emergence of certain key disputes relating to religion–state relations that have shaped political and religious discourse since the beginning of the nineteenth century, particularly in the Arab world. Specifically, some argued that Islam was only a religion, whereas others maintained that it was both a religion and a political philosophy, and therefore had much to say about governance and statecraft. This section explores the arguments of ‘Ali Abdel Raziq (1888–1966), one of the most important intellectuals who rejected the notion of a Caliphate and challenged the conventional understanding of the political aspects of Islam.59 This is contrasted with arguments from al-Sanhuri and others, who held that Islam was not limited to spirituality. By doing so, one can gain important insights into the nature of the intellectual, jurisprudential, and political debates regarding the Caliphate and political authority in Islam.   The existence of the Ottoman caliph as a symbol of global Muslim collectivity and the rise of pan-Islamism were seen by some as a hegemonic unit that went against the new international legal system, which was being constructed around the concept of the nation-state. Politically, it made the British particularly uneasy, while Muslim scholars and Ottoman statesmen invoked the Islamic Caliphate to legitimize their actions and mobilize Muslims in reaction to European colonization. In the last years of the Caliphate, it had been observed by some that the absolutism and ‘despotism’ of Ottoman rulers, and particularly the reign of Sultan Abduhamid II,60 had raised the critical question of leadership.61 According to Willis, European Orientalists joined the 144

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION debate on the validity of the Ottomans’ claim to the Caliphate and leadership of Muslims by emphasizing the ‘Arab race’ requirement. From 1877 the British began to argue that the Ottomans had no right to the Caliphate.62 George Birdwood suggested it should move to ‘the Amir of Mecca’ in 12 June 1877. Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, who served in the Foreign Office in the 1870s, made a career on the Arab entitlement issue, the right to Arab possession of the Holy Cities, and promotion of a Dhawi-‘Awn Hashemite Caliphate.63   Arab discontent with the Caliphate was also rising, with secret societies forming as early as 1879.64 Many Muslim reformists, including ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi and Rashid Rida, criticized what they saw as the ‘dictatorship’ of Sultan Abduhamid II, along with the increased role of the Turks. The two scholars were fervent in highlighting the importance of the Arabs’ role in achieving real progress in all fields: political, intellectual, and social (namely, the Islamic renaissance), as well as working to achieve an ‘authentic Caliphate’. Thus, al-Kawakibi adopted a more oppositionist stance to the Ottomans, especially in his book Tabai al-Istibdad (The Nature of Tyranny), which he directed against Sultan Abdulhamid II.65 Al-Kawakibi emphasized his commitment to Islamic revival in his book Umm al-Qura (The Mother of Villages), in which he proposed Makkah as the most suitable capital of the Islamic world.66   The fall of the Caliphate after the First World War resulted in serious intellectual dilemmas regarding government, leadership, and statehood, including the natural demise of the intelligentsia’s appetite for redefining authority and the Caliphate. This was coupled with the introduction of ‘Ali Abdel Raziq’s book on Islam and the fundamentals of government in 1925 (al-Islam wa Usul al-Hukm). The book caused an intellectual storm that until this day has not been put to rest.   Abdel Raziq denies that Islam has a discourse of political authority. His idea builds on Imam al-Juwayni’s (1028–85) Ghyiath al-Umam fi Iltiyath al-Zulam. Abdel Raziq insists that the Prophet’s authority is spiritual; and that according to Shari’a, the classical system of the Caliphate is not mandatory. He argued that the classical idea lacks textual support, and, especially, legal standing. Shari’a, he argued, does not contain political confrontations, because it leaves Muslims free to determine what they see fit for themselves—from rules, values, and the political aspect of life in particular.  

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THE HIJAZ   It is interesting to recall the violent criticisms and attacks that were directed towards Abdel Raziq, which deprived Islamic thought of a potentially rich and beneficial debate that would have re-examined the subject of Islamic statehood as a whole. Since that date, Islamic thought has remained captive to the classical traditions, without confronting this fundamental issue (or itself). That is the case with Muslim Brotherhood thinking, starting with Hassan al-Banna and Sayyid Qutb, and continuing all the way to this day.67 This tradition needs to allow its captive thought to take form in practice, through the functional Islamic tool of legitimate policy.   However, ‘Ali Abdel Raziq’s book did not just trigger controversial debates; it critically questioned the essence of the debates on state– religion intersectionality.68 He focused on the early time of the Prophet with a special emphasis on the religious mission, which he believed would make clear the real essence of Islamic ‘political authority claims’, and, by extension, the sources of the Caliphate as an ‘Islamic system of governance’. He argued that at the time of the Prophet: a) Arabs lived in different political entities; b) they were ruled by different political systems and methods of governance; and c) that the Prophet did not change these existing structures and political systems after they converted to Islam. He moreover stated that the Prophet emphasized in his final speech before his death that his ‘mission had been completed’. Accordingly, if he was prescribing any particular form of government, how could he not have clarified the forms, rules, or norms that govern this state? He goes even further, and argues that the Prophet did not appoint a successor: ‘If Islam requires a certain form of governance then it would have been clarified by the Prophet.’69 Abdel Raziq’s conclusion, in this respect, excludes the state from the Prophet’s mission, as he asserts that ‘all these functions are purely political; they have nothing to do with religion’.70   Consequently, in contrast to the dominant classical beliefs in Islamic political thought, Abdel Raziq rejected the existence of any specific Islamic system of government, including the Prophetic era and the Rightly Guided Caliphate.71 He founded his argument on the absence of any basis in the Qur’an, Sunna, or ijma‘ that could support the establishment of such a specific form of political authority. He advanced four propositions in support of his position: 146

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION 1) The chief purpose of the Prophet was purely spiritual, not political; and that people’s submission was to faith, and not to government or power. By extension, the leadership of the Prophet was purely religious. 2) The Prophet during his life never hinted to any form of Islamic or Arab state; therefore, it was not his intention to establish an empire. 3) The Prophet did not bring political changes to the established authority structures among the Arabs; rather, he brought about a moral revolution. 4) The Caliphate was not part of the religious functions; rather, it ‘hindered the progress of the Muslims’, as he saw it as the source of corruption and decline of Muslims.72   For Abdel Raziq, all other forms of governance that came after the Rashidun were monarchies based on force and power. He therefore concluded that there is no consensus that the Caliphate is a religious obligation found in the tenets of Islam.   Abdalrazzak al-Sanhuri Pasha (1895–1971) attempted to counter this conclusion.73 He argued that Abdel Raziq had confused the existence of the Caliphate and the selection of the caliphs. As for the first, it has acquired the rank of ‘consensus’ in the Muslim umma ever since the time of Abu Bakr, who declared the necessity of establishing the Caliphate to guarantee the implementation of the Shari’a. Concerning the subsequent use of power and force, this related to competing claims for the position of caliph—an endemic tendency on the part of all nations in history. Consequently, it would be wrong to claim that there was no consensus on the Caliphate system.74 Furthermore, alSanhuri elucidated that what Abdel Raziq did was to base his argument on the exploitation of religion by some caliphs in their extensive despotism, using this to ‘prove’ the assertion that the Caliphate was based on power and force. This, al-Sanhuri argued, has nothing to do with the Caliphate, and Islam is not responsible for the attitude of any particular caliph. Rather, it is the responsibility of the people who were silent in the face of these dictatorial governments that led to the distortion of Islamic good-governance practices, and contradicted the Shari’a.75 Al-Sanhuri therefore considered Abdel Raziq’s argument regarding the Caliphate as an ‘odd opinion’.76 For al-Sanhuri, it was essential to distinguish between the sanctioned Rightly Guided Caliphates that had 147

THE HIJAZ been implemented by the Rashidun and the incomplete or inauthentic Caliphate(s) that followed.77   Moreover, most Muslim scholars consider the consensus of the Prophet’s companions as a legitimate source of religious sanction in support of the religious legitimacy of the Caliphate. They strongly deny any theocratic or secular claims to the system of governance. Rather, they assert that the Caliphate did not only consist of a caliph, but also included governmental institutions and other bodies that worked together to achieve certain interests and goals for the umma. The Caliphate, in this sense, is a civil institution that is mainly formed by the nation (people). Invariably, it was affected by religion, but it was not ‘theocratic’. At the same time, it was not a ‘secular’ form of governance that ignored religion, nor one based on force, as in a tyranny or dictatorship. Islamic scholar Muhammad Imarah quoted Taha Hussein’s assertion that no caliph would impose himself as a ruler without gaining the consent of the people and concluding a ‘contract’ with them.78 The legitimacy of the Caliphate is therefore entirely conditional on the consent of the people. Its covenantal form indicates that the caliph has a duty to govern and consider the affairs of citizens with justice, and to follow the Prophet Mohammad’s path as far as possible. In turn, Muslims declare obedience, while committing themselves to advising and assisting the caliph.   Al-Sanhuri pointed out that: The Rightly Guided Caliphate is distinguished from other governments by three main characteristics, namely: (1) the authorities of the government (caliph) in general, which covers the integration between religious and worldly affairs. (2) The government of the Caliphate has a commitment to implementing the rules of Shari’a (Islamic law). (3) The Caliphate is primarily established for the unity of the Muslim world. Thus, whenever these characteristics exist in the Islamic government, it becomes legitimate and thereby deserves to be called a rightly guided Caliphate, whatever the form of this government looks like.79

  Framing the debate along the same lines as al-Sanhuri, Imarah80 explains that the legal objectives of the Caliphate are, inter alia: (1) to achieve the unity of the Muslim umma (as a religious obligation); (2) maintaining the integrity of the Islamic territories—prescribed by the concept of dar al-islam; (3) to preserve the sovereignty of the Islamic 148

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION Shari’a (al-hakimiyya). These three conditions are required to preserve both the religion and the political leadership of society. Imarah also argues that the nature of political authority in Islam was established by the Prophet, and had its foundations in the Constitutional Assembly of 621 CE. The Constitutional Assembly coincided with the first ‘pledge of allegiance’ in Aqaba the same year, by which political power was distributed tricamerally as follows: (1) the princes (the Muhajirun); (2) the ministers (the twelve naqib from the Ansar) and; (3) the consultative council (ahl al-hall wa al-‘aqd).81   Overall, Abdel Raziq’s work should be seen in the context of internal and international political crises such as the decline of the Ottomans and the unprecedented era of chaos following the First World War and the fall of the Caliphate in 1924. These factors influenced both the content of the monograph and the significant debate it generated.   The responses to Abdel Raziq’s work were numerous. He was dismissed from his position at al-Azhar under pressure from the Egyptian king.82 His work also generated a good deal of scholastic response, much of it critical. The most significant of these responses was from Muhammad Imarah.83 Although many scholars interpreted Abdel Raziq’s views as a negation of temporal doctrines within Islam, Imarah notes the scholar’s denial of these claims; Abdel Raziq replied to his critics regarding the Caliphate by arguing that Islam does not impose any particular type or form of government upon Muslims, but allows them to determine one in reponse to the contingencies of time and space. In this respect, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Fahmi, Egypt’s Minister of Justice,84 stated that when he read Abdel Raziq’s book, he did not find anything objectionable. Instead, Fahmi considered Abdel Raziq’s work to be emphasizing that prophethood is based on revelation, and there is no khilafa (succession) in matters of revelation (that is, prophethood).85   Abdel Raziq’s scholarship cannot be divorced from geopolitical developments of the time, especially those in Turkey and Egypt. According to Imarah, Abdel Raziq’s book was written primarily to counter King Fouad’s claims to the Caliphate. Imarah observes that Abdel Raziq’s introduction included strong criticism of the king and the nature of the political authority of kingdoms.86 A further motive for Abdel Raziq’s work was the rise of Wahhabism and the proposition that all Muslims should be considered ‘sinners’ unless they restore the Caliphate. He countered this view, along with the political ambitions  

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THE HIJAZ of the king, by arguing that the position of the Caliphate in Islam was not a religious obligation, and, accordingly, it is not essential.87

Caliphate and Muslim Unity The fall of the Caliphate in 1924 led to the emergence of more Islamic reformists and movements that sought the preservation of the ultimate objectives of the Caliphate.88 The reformist trend is distinguished by being a realist perspective, in the sense that it acknowledges that traditional views may have to be reassessed in the light of modern circumstances and changing political realities. One major example of the contemporary reform efforts vis-à-vis the future of the Caliphate came from none other than the jurist al-Sanhuri. His scholarship has earned him the appellation ‘the Father of Arab Constitutions’.89 His second doctoral thesis argued in favour of an evolution of the Caliphate towards a ‘League of Oriental Nations’ (fiqh al-khilafa wa-tatawwururha li tusbih ‘usbat umam islamiyya).90   Al-Sanhuri’s main critique of traditional scholars was in their desire to return the Caliphate to its earliest form, without taking into consideration the increased tendency towards nationalist claims. At the same time, he criticized those who called for extreme nationalism as it existed in Europe.   Al-Sanhuri offered an innovative view based on a function-overform assessment of the Caliphate, a view that considers the new dimensions in the Muslim world—specifically, nationalist tendencies— while also attempting to achieve the objectives of the Caliphate discussed above. This teleogical approach is known maqasid al-shari‘a in the lexicon of Islamic jurisprudence.   Al-Sanhuri states: As the impossibility of having [the] Caliphate in its full form is now obvious to all, there is no other option but to establish incomplete Islamic government, as necessary, depending on the current circumstances of the Muslim world. Such an incomplete system should be considered temporary, as the ultimate goal should always be seeking a return to the full Caliphate in the future, should events allow it. The Shari’a does not impose a particular form of governance; rather, any system of governance that provides the three main characteristics of the Caliphate is authentic and legitimate. … We have to consider the

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ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION increased tendency towards nationalism in which there is a need to find a way for a unity between Muslim communities, at the same time giving each country a kind of full internal self-determination. … The idea of Muslim unity under the form of [a] Muslim League would provide a settlement and compromise between the nationalist tendency and the unity of Muslim countries.91

  Al-Sanhuri’s perspective on a new Caliphate and its executive authority in the Islamic system of governance is given in the following statement: The Caliphate government is distinguished by the following elements: 1. The caliph is not just the civil ruler; he is also the religious leader of Muslims. (This does not mean [that the caliph would have] any religious authority that supersedes the Shari’a; his duties would mainly consist of leading prayers and other religious functions that require the existence of an imam). Thus, he could be called the Imam in the performance of religious tasks, and Commander of the Faithful when acting or dealing with civil issues. 2. The caliph should implement the rules of Shari’a (this does not mean that he should follow a certain school of thought; rather, he should encourage ijtihad in considering the people’s interests, even if this goes against what is known in the books of other schools of thought. 3. The scope of the caliph’s authority should include the whole Muslim world, as the unity of Islam requires a single caliph, and this applies in the full Caliphate system. However, under the current circumstances it could be permissible to have more than one caliph, though in this case it would make an incomplete Caliphate. The full Caliphate may be achieved if the governments of Muslim states agreed on a process of mutual convergence and understanding to establish one organization similar to a ‘Muslim League’ that would sit atop these governments in a sort of ‘Caliphate Consortium’. It would be much appreciated if there was attached to this organization an independent council whose primary task was to consider and investigate the religious affairs of Muslims.92

  Furthermore, al-Sanhuri spells out a functionalist social, economic, educational, and national agenda in his revival programme: The revival of [the] Caliphate should be preceded by several economic, linguistic, and legal renascences which [would] link the Muslim nation

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THE HIJAZ and introduce a new ‘Muslim League’ as a political system. These renascences are categorised as follows: (i) Shari’a reform that would make the Caliphate suitable for the current era. (ii) Linguistic reform that includes introducing some amendments and unifying different dialects as much as possible. (iii) Economic reform that would link these countries in trade and economic treaties and unions. (iv) Reform and renewal of Islamic and Oriental knowledge.93  

 

 

 

  In this regard, Imarah argued that the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) could play a vital role in being the ‘Muslim League of Nations’. If it was run with good intentions and efficient administration, it could represent the Caliphate in its new form.94   Islamic jurisprudential views on the Caliphate from Makkah took on a practical dimension, focusing on the state as it was developing in tandem with the first political party in The Hijaz. The relations between nations and the Caliphate would vary, depending on their actual governments. They would generally take on seven variations in their international organization. These categories are: Category A)      Nations directly governed by the Caliphate. Category B)      Nations under independent Islamic states that have representative parliaments. Category C)   Nations under independent Islamic states that have no representative parliaments. Category D)  Nations under non-independent Islamic states that have representative parliaments. Category E)      Nations under non-independent Islamic states that have no representative parliaments. Category F)       Nations under non-Islamic states that have representative parliaments. Category G) Nations under non-Islamic states and have no representative parliaments.   They rationalize this by giving priority to the operational level of involvement of each of the seven categories of nations with the Caliphate and the imam (or caliph), their obligations and his obligations and function on their behalf, while considering the need to abide by the ‘laws of the modern era’. The categories seem to focus on several practical constitutional norms: ethno-centic nationalism, Islamic conceptions of gov152

ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION ernment, territoriality, populations and minorities, independence and colonial rule, and, most interestingly, democratic self-government.   This Grand Mosque perspective seems to have taken a completely realist approach to international law and the idea of the Caliphate. This view, shared with the Cairo Congress, most probably was a result of the mutual experience of the Hijazi religious establishment and the political elite with the state of chaos in The Hijaz. It is worth noting that with the abdication of Sharif Hussein, The Hijaz National Party was in coordination with the Makkan Islamic establishment, as they sought to establish a modern Islamic constitutional system in The Hijaz.95

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INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ

The Saudi invasion of the sovereign state of The Hijaz in 1924 has clear parallels with Iraq’s invasion of the sovereign state of Kuwait in August 1990. As states, they were the victims of an aggressive Islamic Arab neighbour, and both maintained a close and controversial relationship with a major power. However, each of these actions was treated completely differently under international law. This chapter looks at why that was the case.   The context of Iraq’s attack on Kuwait was several years of rising tensions between the two states. Kuwait had loaned money to Iraq, especially in the early 1980s, to help finance Iraq’s war with Iran (1980–8). Iraq later on claimed that it perceived these loans as ‘free aid’ for the cause of the war and the issue of the debt became another area of friction. There was further escalation when, in 1989–90, Iraq— economically pressured by debt and the extraordinarily low price of oil—accused Kuwait of ‘slant drilling’ into its Rumaila oil fields and of intentionally over-producing crude oil. In reaction to what Iraq claimed to be a form of ‘economic warfare’, and perhaps in hope of erasing some of its excessive debt, Saddam Hussein’s army invaded Kuwait on 2 August 1990.1   However, although there may have been grounds for international arbitration, or perhaps a referral to the International Court of Justice,  



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THE HIJAZ it was certainly not the legal justification for an invasion. According to the United Nations Charter, a state may defend itself from aggression by force of arms, but only as a matter of temporary expediency. This action or force can be reversed by a later ruling of the UN Security Council. After the invasion of Kuwait, Saddam Hussein tried to make a post-facto case for his military action.   Iraq declared that the invasion was in reality an Iraqi internal affair, and therefore screened from the international community by Iraq’s status as a sovereign state. Iraq argued that Kuwait was originally part of the Iraqi ‘Fatherland’, having been set up as an independent shaykhdom by the British government in 1913 by means of the AngloOttoman Convention.2 Although Kuwait had ceded responsibility for its foreign relations to Britain in 1899, it was officially part of the Ottoman vilayet of Basra,3 and that status had never changed, nor had its frontiers been clearly redrawn so as to separate it from the vilayet. Iraq therefore claimed that it was simply re-establishing Kuwait’s true status as an official province of Iraq.4   In the aftermath of the 2 August invasion, the Security Council passed eleven resolutions demanding immediate Iraqi withdrawal, leading to the well-known Resolution 678, which conditionally authorized the use of force. Although many political justifications were offered both publicly and privately for the 1991 Gulf War (among which were the abuses of the Hussein regime and the necessity of safeguarding the oil resources of Saudi Arabia), the most prominent legal factor was the violation of the territorial integrity of a member state of the UN. In other words, Kuwait’s sovereignty (irrespective of the authoritarian nature of the regime) served as the most validly accepted casus belli. Similar to Japan’s annexation of Manchukuo in the inter-war period, Iraq’s aggression galvanized the international community in support of the sacrosanct principle of sovereignty, and the role of sovereignty as the guarantor of self-determination.   The position of Kuwait seemed relatively straightforward. Although some commentators were willing to concede Iraq’s point that national boundaries had been drawn up in a less than an ideal way, and for perhaps questionable motives, nobody seriously believed that Iraq had successfully established in international law that Kuwait was part of Iraq, and that therefore Saddam’s army was supressing a twenty-nine 

 

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INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ year-old revolt. As discussed in Chapter 4, the 1923 Tinoco Claims arbitration case gave great weight to the de facto existence of a government. Notably, the government of Iraq, including that administered by Saddam’s Ba’ath regime, had conducted dealings with the government of Kuwait in such a way that it showed it to be a legitimate government operating within a legally constituted state.

The Legal Background In order to understand why The Hijaz was not treated in the same way as Kuwait, it is necessary to consider the legal foundations of state law in the twentieth century, and, in particular, the development of the right to self-determination during and after the First World War.   As discussed earlier, the dominant and most influential legal theory regarding how states came into being was the constitutive theory of statehood: in short, that (new or aspiring) states do not come into existence until other established states recognize them. This theory crystallized during the Congress of Vienna in 1815 when the postNapoleonic map of Europe was settled. Among the outcomes of the Final Act of the Congress was that polities would not enjoy the rights of sovereignty until recognized by other powers, namely the Great Powers of the day. Holsti observes the following: While France, Prussia, Sweden, Venice, Spain and others may have been sovereigns by historical longevity, new claimants to this status had to be recognised to gain entrance into the club. A state could exist in fact, but until it had received diplomatic recognition, it had none of the rights associated with sovereignty. Recognition then, is crucial to the creation of states.5

  Recognition was, accordingly, the decisive yardstick by which a state could be deemed to exist in law.   In practice, the constitutive theory led to a number of problems.   Firstly, in the absence of recognition, a ‘civilized’ member of the community of nations was not bound by the dictates of international law in dealing with the ‘non-state’ entity. As Oppenheim observed, ‘the formation of a new state is … a matter of fact and not law. It is through [international] recognition, which is a matter of law, that such a new state becomes subject to international law.’6 157

THE HIJAZ   Secondly, it led to manifest confusion when a new state was recognized by some existing states but not others. Hersch Lauterpacht7 attempted to resolve this problem by suggesting that international law created a duty to recognize a new state when certain criteria were met.8 However, there is no evidence that states were beholden to a legal duty of recognition when a new state meets these criteria.9   The third problem, which stems from the second, is that, in the absence of a duty to recognize, the act of recognition became subject to political expediency on the part of the recognizing state. The prism through which the constitutive theory should be viewed is that of empire. Imperial maps were constantly in a state of flux as the result of diplomatic concession. The question of whether Alsace–Lorraine belonged to Prussia/Germany or France, for instance, was resolved by the Great Powers that ‘recognized’ a new state of affairs resulting from armed conflict. As legal norms are readily descriptive as often as they are prescriptive, recognition giving rise to legal personality was logical in an imperial age.   The constitutive approach to statehood under international law was later superseded by the declaratory theory, which gained prominence in 1924 with the decision in the Tinoco Claims Arbitration. The declaratory theory suggests that the question of statehood is a question of fact, which subsequent recognition merely confirms. This view would later be codified in the Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States in 1933.

The 1933 Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States Article 1 of the Montevideo Convention prescribes four criteria that a state must possess to be considered a state under international law. It must possess a permanent population, a defined territory, a government, and a capacity to enter into relations with other states.10 These points may sound like a statement of the obvious, and indeed they are close to the earlier formulations, such as Georg Jellinek’s ‘doctrine of three elements’ (Drei Elementen Lehre) in the late nineteenth century.11 James Lorimer presented a nearly identical formula in 1883.12 Nevertheless, it did constitute a move away from the constitutive theory, and this was completed by several cases in the interwar period, 158

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ notably the Aaland Islands (1920) and the Deutsche Continental Gas Gesellschaft Arbitration (1929).13 In the latter case, the Montevideo requirements were seen as so incontrovertible that an arbitrator could simply pronounce that ‘a state does not exist unless it fulfills the condition of possessing a territory, a people inhabiting that territory and a public power that is exercised over the people and the territory’ without further explanation.14   By 1933 there was enough state practice for the Montevideo Convention to be declaratory of customary international law. Grant claims that the reason why the framing of the Montevideo Convention has gone largely unexamined is because its content was a restatement of ideas prevalent at the time of its framing.15 He further states that ‘so apparent were the Montevideo criteria to contemporary observers that few thought to inquire as to their basis of origin’.16   Nevertheless, Montevideo was a landmark agreement, because it took the granting of statehood out of the prerogative of the Great Powers. For example, the Convention was seen as an achievement for Latin American states, as they could recognize one another in accordance with the principles set out in the Convention, even though they were not recognized by their former colonial masters.17   The Convention’s principles on statehood now represent customary international law; this has arguably been inspired by the European Union via the Badinter Commission, which also emphasized that recognition by other states is purely declaratory.18

The Territorial Principle The issue of statehood in international law, which is mostly a phenomenon developed in connection with its geographical aspect,19 provides a normative framework which supports the classic conception of the international legal order. Within that framework, the principles of selfdetermination and of territorial integrity are the most important. Those two principles, and especially the principle of self-determination, will be discussed here, also in connection with the problem of the use of force.   The principle of territorial integrity of states is one of the most fundamental principles of international law.20 That principle, enshrined 159

THE HIJAZ already in the Covenant of the League of Nations,21 within the UN system, is protected by the following rules: (a) Article 2 (4) of the UN Charter—the prohibition of the threat or use of force against the political integrity and political independence of states; and (b) Article 2 (7) of the UN Charter—the prohibition of interference in the domestic jurisdiction of states.   The continuing significance of territorial integrity was confirmed by the preamble and by the principles enshrined in the Friendly Relations Declaration of the UN General Assembly.22 In the preamble, the UN General Assembly inter alia expressed its conviction that any attempt aimed at a partial or total disruption of the national unity and territorial integrity of a state or country, or at its political independence, is incompatible with the purposes and principles of the Charter, which recalls the duty of states to refrain in their international relations from military, political, economic, or any other form of coercion aimed against the political independence or territorial integrity of any state.   Of course, the principle is recognized not only within the UN system, but worldwide. The principle of territorial integrity was addressed and reaffirmed, for instance, in the Helsinki Final Act (1975), sections I, II, and IV, stating that ‘the participating states will respect the territorial integrity of each of the participating states’.23 Such commitments have also been reaffirmed in the context of numerous other regional arrangements, such as, for example, the Organisation of the Islamic Conference or Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC) whereby the member states commit ‘to respect, safeguard and defend the national sovereignty, independence and territorial integrity of all Member States’.24   Therefore, it is not contested that the principle is well established. However, such a conclusion does not mean that it is absolute. To cite one example, and one that is crucial for the question of Hijazi rights, there may be a limitation imposed on territorial integrity by other principles of international law—such as the principle of self-determination.   The clash between values, principles, or norms under international law is nothing new. An example of that kind of situation, the clash between the principle of territorial integrity and other principles— namely the principle of the self-determination of peoples—is commonly invoked.25 The International Court of Justice observed that tension between the two principles in the case Burkina Faso/Mali.26 160

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Could The Hijaz Secede from the Saudi State? We now turn to the question of whether a state such as The Hijaz, if it established through some form of popular mandate a wish to become a devolved entity, including an independent state, could do so under international law.   The clash is between self-determination and territorial integrity. Its origin can be traced back to the American Declaration of Independence and the French Revolution. In the case of France, self-determination was used to annex the territories of Avignon, Belgium, and the Palatinate, in accordance with the will of the population, as expressed in plebiscites.27 But as we discussed previously, the principle was developed and shaped into a legal doctrine by Vladimir Lenin and Woodrow Wilson.28   Lenin was not the only one among left-wing activists,29 although he was the first, to stress so strongly at the international level that the right of self-determination be established as a general criterion for the liberation of peoples. Lenin’s understanding of the self-determination principle, as explained by Antonio Cassese,30 consists of three components. The first requires that the ethnic or national group should decide their own destiny freely to secede from the state to which they were attached or to demand autonomy. That principle was included in the Constitution of the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic (RSFSR), especially in chapter III.31 The second component means that the principle of self-determination should play a major role in deciding on the allocation of territories following military conflicts between sovereign states. In such a case, the will of the people concerned should be taken into account. The third component refers to the people under colonial domination, stressing that they should be able to gain independence. This component of the self-determination principle can be labelled an ‘anti-colonial postulate’. However, the freedom to secede and ‘the complete emancipation of all oppressed nations’ are seen not as the ultimate aim, but as a mean to achieve the goal—namely, the ‘inevitable integration of nations’.32 The implementation of the principle of self-determination, as explained by Lenin, was to be primarily realized either through forcible secession or via free expression of a popular vote—plebiscite or referendum. The principle of self-determination presented and elaborated by Lenin was very generous and 161

THE HIJAZ promising. However, as it was stated in 1916 in the ‘Theses on the Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-Determination’,33 and was also proved by the actions of the Soviet Union toward the nations of Poland, Lithuania, Estonia, and others in 1918, the principle was only a tool for a class struggle and its related ideology, and played a subordinate role. But it should be properly acknowledged that, because of the Soviet focus on that principle, especially regarding its anti-colonial component, it resulted in the proliferation of the principle on the international plane.34   US President Woodrow Wilson also advocated for self-determination.35 However, his understanding of the concept was different from the socialists’ view. For Wilson, the most important feature of that principle, different from Lenin’s three components, was self-governance: the right of peoples to freely choose their governments. Wilson’s understanding of that principle crystallized in the context and immediate aftermath of the First World War.36 Peoples were to be free to choose their own sovereigns, and self-determination should be the guiding principle in relation to the post-war settlements—including the division of the Ottoman and Austro-Hungarian Empires, as well as the fate of certain European nations, such as the Poles.37   In addition, President Wilson was well disposed towards the Arab cause. As McNamara notes: ‘[Wilson] was far more impressed by the Arab case and Feisal in particular. Bonsal heard him say at the end of February 1919: “Listening to the Emir I think to hear the voice of liberty, a strange, and, I fear, a stray voice coming from Asia”’.38 What is particularly interesting in Wilson’s understanding of the self-determination principle is that he perceived, as early as at the beginning of the twentieth century, its two dimensions. Apart from the external dimension—understood as the freedom of the people to choose their sovereign—Wilson crucially highlighted, and strongly advocated, self-governance: the domestic dimension of self-determination. By ‘sovereign’, Wilson implied that the people of the territory in question were free to choose under which power they would be—for example, whether they would be, or remain, a colony and attached to a Great Power, either as an independent entity or a dependence—such as a Protecto­ rate or a Mandate. Self-government, on the other hand, implied that the peoples in question were free to determine their internal, national 162

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ system of governance—namely, their type of government. In other words, for Wilson, self-determination, as a principle, had the potential of paving the way, post-war, for greater freedom, peace, and prosperity, both among and within nations.39   However, the principle of self-determination had to fit within the existing rules and be implemented in a non-violent way in accordance with international law. That is why the self-determination principle regarding colonial claims, as expressed in point 5 of Wilson’s Fourteen Points,40 had to be interpreted within the framework of international law, taking into account the interests of colonial powers. Wilson’s great achievement was to introduce the concept of self-determination to the international plane during the conferences after the First World War. But, as some of the scholars present noted, ‘Wilson was not aware of all the implications of his theory when he so forcefully and eloquently proposed it in the international arena; in other words, he naively underestimated the consequences that his ideas would produce on the international scene’.41   The self-determination principle was not incorporated into legal documents because the colonial powers would not have allowed it. During the period of the League of Nations, self-determination, the sole statehood operative principle, was highly politicized42 and proved to be a norm with little substantive content. Its legal value can be found in Article 22 of the Covenant of the League of Nations, which covered the Mandate System and the creation of the ‘A’ Mandates, which were conferred on countries where independence was contemplated in the relatively near future. Therefore, the Mandate System can be seen some kind of concession to the self-determination concept.   As mentioned previously, many suspected that the Mandates were an excuse to continue colonial relationships under cover of the League of Nations, and without reducing the Central Powers’ liabilities for war reparations. This interpretation was borne out by Sykes–Picot, which gave them access to a strategic network of ports, railways, and fossil fuels, while satisfying the British obsession with safeguarding the route to India. The United States was asked to act as the Mandatory power over Armenia, as the British and the French did not want to assume responsibility for a state that had little material or strategic relevance to their imperial designs. ‘Self-determination’ was therefore seen as a 163

THE HIJAZ phrase without substantive meaning, save in those circumstances where political brownie points could be scored with domestic electorates and colonial subjects who would be placated by the promise that they would eventually win their freedom from their colonizers.   Unfortunately, the concept was deemed irrelevant in cases where it went against the will of the victorious states. The Allies decided arbitrarily which populations were entitled to express their will by plebiscite, and whereas the successor states of the Austro-Hungarian and Ottoman Empires were forced to guarantee minority rights, the same obligation was not applied to the Great Powers. Such selective application of the principle of self-determination showed that, where it mattered, realpolitik trumped Wilsonian idealism.   The international system would undergo a further paradigmatic shift with the signing of the San Francisco Treaty establishing the United Nations in 1945. This would have significant implications in relation to statehood. The inter-war period paid much lip-service to the importance of ‘self-determination’ for obvious reasons. The First World War context was one in which nationalist passions simmered to a boil against imperial powers. As a result, the aspiration of the League of Nations was to incorporate into itself the notions that all peoples had a right to self-determination and that war would be unequivocally illegal, irrespective of its justifications.43 Both of these founding pillars proved to be catastrophic.   As for the unconditional prohibition on the recourse to force, it simply failed, as there were no meaningful ways of sanctioning violators.44 It also failed to prevent the rise of fascist ideologies in Germany, Italy, and Spain, which were backed by heightened militarization. With limited tools at its disposal, negotiation, concession, and expulsion were the only means available to the international community. The British conceded Germany’s invasion of Czechoslovakia in the Munich Agreement of 1938, after, together with France, falling into the trap of ‘appeasement’ towards Adolf Hitler’s Germany. Japan voluntarily withdrew from the League in 1933 following its invasion of Manchuria. And, as discussed in detail in Chapter 4, the Kingdom of Najd, under the leadership of Ibn Saud, invaded and absorbed the state of The Hijaz into the unitary Kingdom of Hijaz and Najd in 1925. The Saudi– Wahhabi aggression, which started with the Taif massacre and culmi164

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ nated with the eventual assimilation of The Hijaz into Ibn Saud’s kingdom, was recognized by the British in the Treaty of Jeddah in 1927.   Once a member left (if not generally), there were no substantive measures that the League could take in order to maintain international peace and security, or indeed to reverse a state of affairs, owing to the aforementioned general commitment to avoid the use of force.   After San Francisco, Chapter VII of the UN Charter set out the ‘ways and means’ by which force could be authorized by the Security Council and deployed by the UN itself (peacekeeping forces, stabilization forces, or peace-enforcement operations by coalitions of member states acting under UN Security Council resolution). The inclusion of France as a permanent member of the Security Council was the result of British lobbying. France was the only other major colonial power, and its vote and veto could be counted on by the British in the defence of colonial interests. Article 51 allowed for the use of force in individual or collective self-defence, and the UN Charter prohibited the use of force against other member states outside that provision.   It is noteworthy that the issues of previous invasions and annexations were not addressed by the incoming United Nations. Although annexed or occupied nations such as France, the Netherlands, and Czechoslovakia were permitted to enter into the UN system as sovereign states, two cases that were never fully or even partially resolved by the UN were The Hijaz and Palestine. The bloody conquest and absorption of the Kingdom of Hijaz by the Sultanate of Najd in 1925, and the role of the British in it, was never investigated. Indeed, the status of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia was fixed under Article 2(7) of the United Nations Charter, which stated: Nothing contained in the present Charter shall authorize the United Nations to intervene in matters which are essentially within the domestic jurisdiction of any state or shall require the Members to submit such matters to settlement under the present Charter; but this principle shall not prejudice the application of enforcement measures under Chapter VII.45

  Article 2(7) was most famously tested when India attempted to challenge the policy of apartheid in 1952 by alleging that South Africans of Indian origin had been victimized under it.46 South Africa responded by claiming that South African nationals of Indian 165

THE HIJAZ descent were not Indian nationals, and that India was not claiming that they were.   The major change in the legal status of the principle of self-determination occurred during and after the Second World War. On 14 August 1941 Winston Churchill and Franklin Roosevelt proclaimed the Atlantic Charter. In that document the two leaders expressed their desire ‘to see no territorial changes that do not accord with the freely expressed wishes of the peoples concerned’ and that ‘they respect the right of all peoples to choose the form of government under which they will live; and they wish to see sovereign rights and self-government restored to those who have been forcibly deprived of them’.47 Finally, the self-determination principle was incorporated into a legally binding document, and forged into international law by the Charter of the United Nations. The legal bases for the principle within the Charter are Article 1 (2)48 and Article 55.49 However, the content of that principle was disputable and ambiguous. Neither the precise content of the principle nor the meaning of the term ‘people’ was clarified.   In the new legal situation after the Second World War the United States had proposed that the Mandate of Palestine be placed under the Trusteeship Council. With the creation of the state of Israel, this point became moot, at least for the United States. President Truman’s unilateral recognition of Israel came as something of a shock to both the US ambassador to the UN, Warren Austin, and Secretary of State George Marshall, who advanced the idea as a matter of policy that ‘the proposal for a … UN trusteeship for Palestine is the only idea presently being considered that will allow the United Nations to presently address the difficult situation in Palestine’.50   The Mandate System, which had operated under the League of Nations, was now replaced by the Trusteeship Council of the United Nations. The goal was to oversee the decolonization of those dependent territories that were now to be placed under international Trusteeship.51 Ultimately, eleven territories were placed under Trusteeship: seven in Africa and four in Oceania. Ten of the trust territories had previously been League of Nations Mandates; the eleventh was Italian Somaliland. Under the Charter, the Trusteeship Council was to consist of an equal number of United Nations Member States administering Trust Territories and non-administering states. Thus, the Council was to  

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INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ consist of: (1) all UN members administering Trust Territories; (2) the five permanent members of the Security Council; and (3) as many other non-administering members as needed to equalize the number of administering and non-administering members, elected by the United Nations General Assembly for renewable three-year terms. Over time, as Trust Territories attained independence, the size and workload of the Trusteeship Council was reduced, and ultimately came to include only the five permanent Security Council members (China, France, the Soviet Union/Russian Federation, the United Kingdom, and the United States: the P5).   In 1960 the UN drastically shifted its stance regarding colonial and non-self-governing territories with the passage of UN General Assembly Resolution 1514, which stated: 1. The subjection of peoples to alien subjugation, domination and exploitation constitutes a denial of fundamental human rights, is contrary to the [UN] Charter … and is an impediment to the promotion of world peace and co-operation. 2. All peoples have the right to self-determination; … [to] freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development. 3. Inadequacy of political, economic, social or educational preparedness should never serve as a pretext for delaying independence. 4. All armed action or repressive measures of all kinds directed against dependent peoples shall cease … to enable them to exercise peacefully and freely their right to complete independence, and the integrity of their national territory shall be respected. 5. Immediate steps shall be taken, in Trust and Non-Self-Governing Territories or all other territories which have not yet attained independence, to transfer all powers to the peoples of those territories, without any conditions or reservations, in accordance with their freely expressed will and desire, without any distinction as to race, creed or colour, in order to enable them to enjoy complete independence and freedom. 6. Any attempt aimed at the partial or total disruption of the national unity and the territorial integrity of a country is incompatible with … the [UN] Charter. … 7. All States shall observe faithfully and strictly the provisions of the [UN] Charter …, the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and the present Declaration on the basis of equality, non-interference in

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THE HIJAZ the internal affairs of all States, and respect for the sovereign rights of all peoples and their territorial integrity.52

  Operative clause 3 of the resolution made clear that references to a lack of ‘development’, whether political, economic, social, or educational, could not be employed to justify continued colonialism. As a result, a great number of newly independent states began to join the United Nations. Prominent international lawyers such as Thomas Franck became increasingly optimistic that these new states would bring with them their own unique traditions and systems, and that this would diversify international law and international relations as was understood at that time.53 Balakrishnan Rajagopal, who firmly believed in the importance of the newly independent states sharing their own traditions in the international legal community, echoes this same sentiment.54 Unfortunately, this new and interesting foray, exploring international law from different perspectives, never transpired. Such an exploration would certainly be interesting from the perspective of Islamic jurisprudence, tracing and analysing the encounters between the Islamic worldview and international law alongside their evolution, and including the dynamic assessment and re-examination of the notion of the Caliphate, which has been used and invoked numerous times in the twentieth century (and the twenty-first).   General Assembly Resolutions 1514 and 154155 were viewed by many as applying only to the colonial context.56 This point is emphasized heavily in the decision by the Supreme Court of Canada in the Quebec Secession reference where the option of secession was seen as applying only against a colonial power or in a situation known as remedial secession, where a territory of an existing state finds itself the victim of egregious violations of human rights or oppression.57 As discussed, the notion of secession or external self-determination (as opposed to internal selfdetermination, as we shall explain) inevitably clashes with another fundamental principle of the international system, namely the protection of the territorial integrity of existing states. UN GA Resolution 2625,58 which extols the importance of the right to self-determination at length, introduces the following caveat towards the end: Nothing in the foregoing paragraphs shall be construed as authorising or encouraging any action which would dismember or impair, totally

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INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ or in part, the territorial integrity or political unity of sovereign and independent states conducting themselves in compliance with the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples … and thus possessed of a government representing the whole people belonging to the territory without distinction as to race, creed or colour.’

  This has been used by Canada and many other states to advance the idea that the space and scope for self-determination, especially in cases of secession, is a very narrow one.   It is worth noticing that there is a new development regarding selfdetermination.59 This can be observed only in relation to the indigenous people, who enjoy significant entitlements of self-governance in relation to matters connected with their lands, beliefs, and economic and cultural development. What is more, their right to autonomy or self-governance was confirmed by the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples.60 Even if restricted now only to indigenous people, such an understanding of self-determination is very promising for further development and application of the principle of self-determination. Effectively, this argument could perhaps be extended to The Hijaz’s right to the economic and financial gains flowing from the economic activity of pilgrims.   Overall, to conclude this point, solving The Hijaz Question requires arguing, discussing and reinterpreting the application of inter-temporal law. So can The Hijaz secede under international law? The core argument of this thesis is that it is not important. Through good Islamic governance, genuine cooperation, creative integration, and consolidation of mutually beneficial spheres, Saudi Arabia, The Hijaz, their immediate neighbours in the Arabian Peninsula and the greater Middle East, as well as the broader international community, would benefit. What the legal treatment above has shown is that a very different legal framework existed in the 1920s, one which had many limitations, grave difficulties when it came to international community action, and, especially, enforcement. The nascent international law of the 1920s was more of an instrument in the hands of the powerful than a shield for the protection of states, peoples, and communities. This stark contrast facilitated by the discussion on the evolution of some pivotal areas of international law bridges the nearly half a century of evolution in international law since the seminal events that changed the structure of the 169

THE HIJAZ Arabian Peninsula and largely shaped the present-day Middle East. It can help us understand how ‘misinterpreting’ international law and key legal concepts can lead to dangerous traps.

The ‘Self-Determination Trap’ In discussing the classical right to self-determination, Weller quotes Judge Dillard in the Western Sahara case: ‘It is for the people to determine the destiny of the territory and not the territory the destiny of the people.’ Weller observes that ‘there has rarely been a judicial pronouncement more dangerously mistaken than this one’.61   The right to self-determination is often seen as a move away from a state-centred view of international law, although ironically it has also determined the manner in which a greater number of states have come into existence. Weller observes that ‘the legitimacy of its [the international order’s] most basic building block, the “sovereign” state, is derived from the assumption that this state is nothing more than a machine to form and implement the aggregated common will of its people’.62 This assumption is advanced in order to justify the proposition that an ostensibly state-oriented system in actuality introduces a democratic impulse in international law. Weller is remonstrative of this sort of conventional wisdom, which contains far more convention than it does wisdom. In Weller’s assessment, self-determination serves to disenfranchise the very people it purports to enfranchise.63 He states that this process of disenfranchisement has five elements that together make up the ‘self-determination’ trap: 1) How are we to resolve the inevitable opposition between selfdetermination and a state’s interest in maintaining its territorial integrity? 2) How are we to define the types of ‘peoples’ who are entitled to exercise this right? 3) If a ‘people’ is designated a right holder, does their right trump previously existing territorial definitions, or is it exercised within their confines? 4) Is the implementation of the right to self-determination a continuous process or a singular event? 170

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ 5) What modalities should be used to achieving self-determination (for example, a referendum)?64   Weller’s elucidations of the tensions within the doctrine of selfdetermination are, for the most part, well founded. The case of East Timor may have provided a precedent for how to escape Weller’s fifth trap. The New York Accords, which were conceived as the solution to the question of East Timor in 1999, comprised three separate agreements: (1) a ‘general agreement’ between Portugal and Indonesia whereby the UN Secretary General would conduct a popular consultation in East Timor to determine whether the East Timorese demanded secession; (2) a ‘security agreement’ that dictated the demilitarization of East Timor by the Indonesian security forces, thereby allowing the East Timorese to exercise the terms of the popular consultation without intimidation; and finally (3) a ‘modalities agreement’ that regulated operational issues such as the date of the ballot, the question to be put to the voters, and so on.65 The New York Accords do provide at least a rough and potentially amenable solution to Weller’s fifth ‘trap’. They also provide an outline as to how new states may come into existence both procedurally and substantively, although each case, ultimately, has its own features. The content of the right of self-determination, therefore, becomes less ad hoc and indeterminate.   Thus it can be observed that a narrow application of self-determination to the cases connected with the colonial context is questioned not only by scholars, but also by the practice of the international community.66 As Weller highlights, such a narrow understanding has led to situations in which [self-determination] appears to offer a promise of independence to populations. However, governments have ensured that this promise is a hollow one. Naturally, the system has been rigged to ensure that central governments will prevail in self-determination conflicts. Over 60 years after the establishment of the post-Second World War international system, self-determination conflicts have remained endemic. It has become clear that this system is not likely to generate the peace and stability it is meant to achieve. By privileging stability over ‘justice’ (at least as seen by those struggling for ‘liberation’), peace has been sacrificed.67

  Such a trap should be avoided under international law, and a reasonable solution offered. It may be that there is a possibility to escape that 171

THE HIJAZ trap by means of a broader understanding and application of the selfdetermination principle. As argued by the doctrine, two ends to the spectrum could be considered: (a) internally, within states, where new forms of co-governance should be promoted; and (b) externally, where, in cases where all other options and solutions have been exhausted or cast off, the right to secede should not be ruled out.68

The Involuntary Extinction of States vs. their Creation The question has arisen as to whether the duty exists to recognize a state once it meets the Montevideo requirements, which as we have noted have become an accepted part of international law. Can there be a duty to recognize states that possess territory, have defined borders (whether contiguous or not), have a population, and are able to enter into relations with other states? Hersch Lauterpacht argued the point in his book Recognition in International Law and generally rejected it. Crawford calls this ‘the empirical question’.69 A corollary question is whether or not states have a legal ‘right to exist’, especially in the postwar, UN order. While many states have formed from larger federations, which either were previously incorporated into existing states or else have split and re-unified, there exist three circumstances in which states have involuntarily been extinguished in the post-war era. The three cases are those of the Democratic Republic of Vietnam (DRVN), the Republic of Rhodesia, and Yugoslavia.70   The case of the DRVN bears some similarity to the case of The Hijaz. The DRVN’s communist ideology meant that the Truman Doctrine committed the United States to assist the Republic of Vietnam (RVN) against it.71 The RVN had additionally requested assistance from the United Nations under Article 51 of the UN Charter. The RVN was then forcibly integrated into the DRVN in 1975 (resulting in the new Socialist Republic of Vietnam), which would indicate a prima facie violation of the principles of the equal sovereignty of nations. In the case of The Hijaz, it was the Kingdom of Najd that was the aggressor state. Both the Kingdom of Hijaz and the RVN were seen as the state equivalents of persona non grata and were involuntarily extinguished as a result.72   The case of Rhodesia was one where a unilateral declaration of independence (UDI) from the UK was declared, but not recognized owing 172

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ to the principle of non-recognition without majority rule in former colonial states. The UDI was viewed as illegal and as a result was not recognized by the UN member states, and sanctions were imposed. This is interesting when compared to the UDI of Kosovo, which was the subject of an Advisory Opinion of the International Court of Justice in 2008. The ICJ ruled that UDIs in and of themselves are not illegal.73 The Kosovo UDI and the subsequent ICJ Advisory Opinion had the effect of emboldening Russia to declare that it would assist Abkhazia and Southern Ossetia in securing their independence from Georgia. As a result, the contemporary status of international law in relation to the role of recognition viz-à-viz the declaratory and constitutive theories is hazy and amorphous; it would appear that states oscillate between the two theories, depending on national and regional interests.

The Right to Secession by Agreement: Czechoslovakia and Quebec Weller and Crawford’s assessments are made in relation to the ‘problematic’ cases of self-determination.74 Christian Tomuschat claims that structural tensions in relation to effectiveness most often manifest themselves in those cases where pressure stems from outside actors as opposed to the people within the state, or some subset thereof.75 Tomuschat uses the example of the disintegration of Czechoslovakia as an illustration of this point.76 He insists that a distinction must be made between the peaceful dissolution of a state where the relevant groups intend on pursuing separate paths and the more problematic cases where disputing and competing factions of loyalists and separatists emerge. It is the latter cases that present the bigger challenge to international law.77   The dissolution of the Czechoslovak state followed a trajectory of decentralization and federation that culminated in the dissolution of the state after the Slovak government adopted a resolution declaring its independence. While the Slovakian declaration invoked the right to selfdetermination after a ‘thousand year struggle of the Slovak nation’,78 matters were resolved by a series of political concessions that determined legal questions surrounding frontiers, succession, currency, and so on. The case of Czechoslovakia illustrates the declaratory theory of statehood, where international law is merely a legal imprimatur to a fait 173

THE HIJAZ accompli rather than what sets out the conditions for the emergence of new states in the international order. It does not illustrate the disenfranchising effect described by Weller, nor does it illustrate the problem surrounding the empirical question posed by Crawford.   In this regard, the question of the secession of Quebec was referred to the Supreme Court of Canada in 1998. It was a landmark case, inasmuch as it sought to answer the question of secession under both domestic and international law—potentially creating a maelstrom of legal conflicts in the process. In its discussion of the right to self-determination under international law, the court highlighted the arguments raised by Weller’s self-determination trap, namely that the ‘right’ of self-determination is virtually unenforceable when juxtaposed with the ‘right’ of states to territorial integrity. In its judgment, the court determined that ‘International law contains neither a right of unilateral secession nor the explicit denial of such right’.79 The court availed itself of a ‘values’ loophole in the sense that international law articulates both a right to self-determination and a right to territorial integrity without providing any formula as to how these rights are weighted in relation to one another. Unsurprisingly, the Court placed much of its emphasis on the right to territorial integrity. So, considering the fundamental importance of the right to territorial integrity, ‘external self-determination arises in only the most extreme of cases and even then, under carefully defined circumstances’.80 The extreme cases envisaged by the court would include ‘colonial peoples breaking away from an imperial power’81 or ‘where a people are subjected to alien subjugation’.82   The court glossed over the issue of determining whether the population of Quebec constitutes a ‘people’ in the context of the right to self-determination, which is rendered moot by the aforementioned points. The judgment demonstrates how one of the few rights of peoples under international law will be interpreted, constructed, and adjudicated in a domestic legal system. In other words, a state organ’s exegesis of international law will more often than not favour state interests—which brings us a step closer to answering Crawford’s empirical question. This also has an important political strategy implication; it is probably to the state’s advantage to take initiative in this realm and drive the process, rather than allow for the problems to escalate. If the state is ahead of the events, it can advantageously shape 174

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ the context and better position from an international law perspective: an important aspect to consider in the case of The Hijaz.

Lessons from Scotland The case of Scotland creates an interesting precedent. The UK government concluded the Edinburgh Agreement with the government of Scotland, whereby authority to pass legislation for a Scottish referendum on independence was passed to the Scottish parliament under section 30 of the Scotland Act 1998. In particular, paragraph 30 of the Memorandum of Agreement stated that both governments look forward to a referendum that is legal and fair producing a decisive and respected outcome. The two governments are committed to continue to work together constructively in the light of the outcome, whatever it is, in the best interests of the people of Scotland and of the rest of the United Kingdom.

  The Edinburgh Agreement is significant for two specific reasons. Firstly, it gave political recognition to the possibility that Scotland might become an independent state. Secondly, it recognized that the question of Scottish secession could be validly entertained by the people of Scotland, and that the UK and Scottish governments would abide by the outcome.   The Edinburgh Agreement recognized self-determination as a matter of both process and substance. Both procedural and substantive elements must be present if the right is to have any meaning at all. At its core, the right of self-determination is essentially the right to a specific process; it can be framed as the right of a people ‘to determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development’.83 The freer the choice, the greater the chances that self-determination as a process will be vindicated in a given case. Although the term ‘free choice’ is not precisely defined, Drew claims that in order for the term to be meaningful, ‘the designation “free” must relate to both the range of choices offered and the conditions under which the choice was to be exercised’.84 In terms of range, the 1960 UN General Assembly Resolution 1541 provided three options: independent statehood, free association, or integration with an independent state.85 General Assembly Resolution 2625 reiterated these and 175

THE HIJAZ added a fourth, open-ended possibility: ‘the emergence into any other political status freely determined by the people’. The process set out in the Edinburgh Agreement was a single-question referendum on secession. This was a significant departure from the 2009 White Paper on the proposed referendum bill, which contained four options.86   In addition to the right of self-determination as a process, the right must also guarantee some substantive benefit. A non-exhaustive list of what that benefit might be could contain the following substantive entitlements: (i)            the right to exist demographically and territorially as a people; (ii)       the right to territorial integrity; (iii) the right to permanent sovereignty over natural resources; (iv)  the right to cultural integrity and development; (v)  the right to economic and social development.87   In the case of Scotland, the substantive right in question was secession from the United Kingdom. However, despite the many polls and surveys, it is impossible to ascertain, retrospectively, whether the Scottish people would have preferred some other option short of secession, such as one of the alternatives contained in the 2009 White Paper. In the political argumentation before the ballot, the UK government promised to grant ‘devolution max’ to the Scottish government, which was interpreted as wide-ranging fiscal powers. Nevertheless, the definition of the process necessarily dictated the substantive content of the right, which inextricably linked process and substance. Further­ more, the Edinburgh Agreement reproduced the structural bias within international law that privileges procedural requirements over substantive principles.88 The case of Scotland potentially sets a precedent as to how states should deal with secessionary self-determination.89 If states follow the lead of the United Kingdom, it is possible that a valuable custom will emerge at some point in the future.   The right to secession as a possible solution to the self-determination trap comes with a caveat—that there is an acceptance by the central government, or at least good will to reach such an agreement. Aforementioned cases, especially that of Czechoslovakia, should serve as good examples and of how compromise can be reached by peaceful means.90 176

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Escaping the Self-Determination Trap in the Case of Hijaz What kind of solution can be offered under international law for communities and states faced with intractable disputes over self-determination? And what response does international law offer for those who are denied their rights simply because they do not fit within the narrow and obsolete understanding of self-determination? Do they have any reasonable recourse, or do they find themselves within the self-determination trap? Can a state still claim a monopoly on legitimate violence if it denies its own people any political means of settling disputes?91   Unfortunately, self-determination, if applied in its traditional sense, offers a contested solution at best. The fine words about the rights of the people and great expectations of communities for self-determination butter no parsnips because most examples do not sensu stricto fulfil the requirement of the United Nations’ ‘post-colonial’ test. These communities are inspired by the self-determination promise, only to find that they cannot rely upon it in their particular case. As their hunger for self-determination has not been satisfied, they may turn to drastic solutions. In such such scenarios, they are faced with a long and bitter struggle against the odds, as a state will have on its side the powerful principle of territorial integrity under international law, together with the predominance of force.   International scholars, however, advocate finding other solutions to that problem. Two approaches have been recognized; the first is termed external self-determination, and the second internal selfdetermination.   The narrow application of self-determination, arising out of colonial contexts, leaves it inapplicable to most contemporary problems. It is widely observed that the principle extends well beyond the former European colonies. Weller has further added that self-determination has different layers of meaning, and that the principle appears variously as an individual human right, a right of members of groups and groups themselves, and a right of indigenous peoples. He concludes that, as a consequence, the principle of self-determination takes on different meanings and legal consequences in different contexts.92 However, it is generally accepted that the principle has external and internal dimensions.93 Cassese noted the two aspects and discussed their legal relevance under international law.94 Firstly, granting internal self 177

THE HIJAZ determination to racial groups persecuted by their central government has become customary international law (supported by state practice in the UN from the 1970s).95 Secondly, however, he also observed that in the case of the right and the possibility for racial groups to secede, it is too early to firmly state that a customary rule of international law has emerged.   In general terms, the right to external self-determination can be understood as the freedom to decide the external character of the state. UNESCO experts have applied the definition of external selfdetermination, also referred to as full self-determination, which is ‘the right to decide on the political status of people and their place in the international community in relation to other states, including the right to separate from the existing state of which the group concerned is a part, and to set up a new independent state’.96   One of the ‘remedies’ offered by international law for The Hijaz would be so-called remedial secession or supervised independence— such as the Quebec secession.97 This is not an ultimate kind of solution but rather a set of conditions in which a people may have a right to secede. It is unlikely however that such conditions would be acceptable to either the Saudi government or the Islamic community. In such a scenario, it is assumed that the central government of Saudi Arabia would be uncompromising towards any court or political proposal to change, even slightly, the status quo if groups in The Hijaz, or internationally, began to advocate for a change in status. Furthermore, it is a fair assumption that the two sides would find very little room for negotiating a compromise in their respective positions.   As history demonstrates, even if a Hijazi group began calling for nothing more than greater political participation, such a call could escalate quickly towards demands for a national liberation.98 Conventional wisdom dictated that the Saudi government would not offer any acceptable compromises, but instead take measures to bring the situation under control, with any further Hijazi drive for greater autonomy leading only to civil unrest. In times of unrest, the voices embraced by the masses tend to be the loudest and most extreme ones. More oppression and force would be used to control the situation, which would only fuel more opposition and ever more radical demands. International law would look to intervene in the following two circumstances: firstly, if 178

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ the two sides become deadlocked; or, secondly, in the case of brutal suppression and human rights violations by government agencies. In such scenarios, the possibility of invoking a right to external self-determination would come about. At present, the conditions for remedial self-determination in The Hijaz are not met.   The right to remedial secession is based on the so-called reversed reading of the ‘safeguard clause’.99 However, the roots of that idea can be traced back even further. The Commission of Rapporteurs in the Aaland Islands case stated the following: What reasons would there be for allowing a minority to separate itself from the state to which it is united, if this state gives it the guarantees which it is within its rights in demanding, for the preservation of its social, ethnical or religious character? Such indulgence, apart from every political consideration, would be supremely unjust to the state prepared to make these concessions. The separation of a minority from the state of which it forms a part and its incorporation in another state can only be considered as an altogether exceptional solution, a last resort when the state lacks either the will or the power to enact and apply just and effective guarantees.100

  The ‘safeguard clause’ was first articulated in principle 5, paragraph 7 of the Declaration on Principles of International Law, adopted by the UN General Assembly on 24 October 1970, where it was stated that:  

Nothing in the foregoing paragraphs shall be construed as authorising or encouraging any action which would dismember or impair, totally or in part, the territorial integrity or political unity of sovereign and independent states conducting themselves in compliance with the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples as described above and thus possessed of a government representing the whole people belonging to the territory without distinction as to race, creed or colour.101

  It should be noted that this stipulation was reaffirmed, with only minor changes, in 1993 in The Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action.102 As Jure Vidmar stated: A reversed reading of the ‘safeguard clause’ might also imply an external dimension of this right. Indeed, it could be interpreted that a state which does not have a government that represents ‘the whole people belonging to the territory without distinction as to race, creed or colour’ may, possibly, not have a right to avail itself of the principle of

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THE HIJAZ territorial integrity. In other words, in such circumstances, external self-determination may be legitimised.103

  Does this mean that a government whose authority is not validated by an electoral process per se could breach the right to self-determination?104 And following such an assumption, does it mean that such a government cannot avail itself of the principle of territorial integrity? The answer is in the negative, as was explained earlier. It should be noted, however, that such questions are in fact raised and such a problem exists; Vidmar stating105 that the contemporary practice of states (with this view being shared by the UN organs) affirms that the absence of a democratic political system does not lead to a breach of the right of self-determination. As an example, the case of Kuwait can be invoked, when the Security Council in Resolution 661106 referred to the government of Kuwait as ‘the legitimate government of Kuwait’, despite its human rights violations and lack of democratic practices.107 Therefore, the absence of a democratic political system is not an automatic qualifier for remedial secession.   However, the situation is different when other factors are also at play. As was stated by the court in the Quebec case,108 ‘a right to external self-determination [which in this case potentially takes the form of the assertion of a right to unilateral secession] arises in only the most extreme of cases and, even then, under carefully defined circumstances’.109 The court specified that ‘the other clear case where a right to external self-determination accrues is where a people are subject to alien subjugation, domination or exploitation outside a colonial context. This recognition finds its roots in the Declaration on Friendly Relations.’110   Remedial secession is not fully and firmly accepted in the academic literature, due in part to the fact that it creates a breach in the principle of territorial integrity. It has to be treated as an exception, and, as already stated, applied only in extreme situations. Then again, more academics support its legal existence,111 and at least acknowledge its influence over the actions of states.112   The other alternative form of remedial secession would be something connected to remedial succession called ‘supervised independence’.113 As explained by Weller, the new state would trade international recognition of statehood for commitments and guarantees, such 180

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ as the protection of human and minority rights, abandonment of further territorial claims, or accepted international supervisory mechanisms. That possibility was treated as a hypothetical one, until the recent case of Kosovo’s independence.114   Both of these hypothetical situations—remedial secession and supervised independence—depend heavily on two factors: firstly, the internal dimension, namely the attitude of the central government and its reaction to claims for independence; secondly, the concern and the legal actions of the international community regarding the ensuing crisis. There is a co-dependence between the first and the second factors. The more violent and oppressive the reaction of the central government, the more international attention it would attract. And undoubtedly, the international community nowadays is more eager to get involved to stop human rights violations, both under the UN system and beyond it through civil society, when UN efforts are impeded. It is difficult to predict the exact reaction(s) of the international community or the UN in the case of The Hijaz, because it is always dependent on non-legal factors, such as public sympathy, Islamic global reactions, and the particular interests of each state in the region.   Unfortunately, the conclusion is that only human suffering and atrocities might provoke the attention of the international community and elevate claims of political participation to the international level, but this is not something that can be depended upon, as the recent example of Darfur makes clear.

Internal Self-Determination The principle of self-determination has a ‘core of reasonable certainty’ that consists of ‘the right of a community that has a distinct character to have this character reflected in the institutions of government under which it lives’.115 The right to ‘internal self-determination’ can be interpreted as the freedom of peoples to reach a popular consensus, or a right to political participation and choice of political system within the state.116 Effectively, internal self-determination, which is understood as participatory democracy, is implemented inside the boundaries of an existing state. Therefore, it does not affect the territorial integrity of the state. UNESCO experts applied the following definition of internal self-determination: 181

THE HIJAZ By internal self-determination is meant participatory democracy: the right to decide the form of government and the identity of rulers by the whole population of a state and the right of a population group within the state to participate in decision making at the state level. Internal self-determination can also mean the right to exercise cultural, linguistic, religious or (territorial) political autonomy within the boundaries of the existing state.117

  Cassese considered the right to ‘internal self-determination’ as the ‘right to authentic self-government, which is the right of a people really and freely to choose its own political and economic regime’.118 Therefore, internal self-determination can be viewed as an expression of the demand for greater political autonomy within the state.   Lack of internal self-determination may raise the question of a government’s legitimacy. The right of peoples to self-determination is accompanied by a right to enjoy some form or degree of democratic governance: a ‘democratic entitlement’; and its absence gives rise to a ‘democratic deficit’.119 However, Franck’s ‘entitlement’ to democracy does not automatically mean that its fulfilment can be only achieved by regime change. Every country has a right to choose its own form of government. The ‘deliberative democracy’ idea presented by Feldman can be pursued within a wide variety of political and constitutional structures.120 One can consider limitations or a deliberative process relating to decision making in areas such as those relating to the Holy Places or their defence through the support of the international community. In other words, one might argue that The Hijaz, and by extension Islam, could be more secure (on many levels), and more prosperous, if it had greater capacity to determine its governance within an ‘increased autonomy sphere’, to manage affairs such as inclusive and financially optimal administration of the pilgrimage, protection of the Holy Sites, and so forth. Moreover, the case could be made that there is space to attain greater security through a more autonomous international status for the Holy Sites, which could imply a greater commitment of the broader international community to protect and respect them. In a way, such an arrangement and framework would be reminiscent of the Vatican and the Lateran treaties, with The Hijaz coming to fill the ‘seat of Islam’ in multilateral fora.   External self-determination and the hypothetical undesirable scenarios described above assume that the position of the government of 182

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ Saudi Arabia would be uncompromising towards any proposal to increase political participation. In the case of internal self-determination, the other possibility recognized by scholars as a possible solution to escape the self-determination trap, the presumption is different. Such futuristic ideas provide various possibilities for finding acceptable solutions, not merely in The Hijaz, but also for the wider Saudi Arabian state. Those possibilities would require, as a minimum, an acceptance by the central government that the people of The Hijaz would have some form of regional self-government, of the type that is part of most countries’ normal political make-up. It has to be noted once again that any possible solution depends heavily on Riyadh’s willingness to acknowledge the fact that The Hijaz has legitimate aspirations, based partly on its history, and partly on its supranational role in the wider Islamic world. It also presupposes that the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia will appreciate the extensive potential opportunities in the Arabian Peninsula that this would open up. The Hijaz has a de facto unique position in the global movement of pilgrims, its paramount position within Islam, and the potential to initiate a much-needed regional and global dialogue with Islam’s founding values. For the region it would be a move towards intergration, not politics, and international peace and prosperity. For the world, it would provide a unique opportunity to better understand the second-largest and the fastest-growing religion, with its unique history, tradition, and universal values. Riyadh is presented with the opportunity to emerge as the driving force of Islamic integration as well as inter-religious and inter-cultural dialogue.

Autonomy The extent of territorial autonomy granted can vary considerably. There can be a delegation of most of the powers from the central government to the autonomous entity—a form of ‘devolution max’—or it can be limited to a few restricted competencies. There is therefore a wide range of possible outcomes in a negotiation between a state and a sub-state entity. To return to the case of The Hijaz, a grant of autonomy could be an obvious gain for the region, but also for the central government. As Heintze duly notes, autonomy can be perceived as an instrument of conflict resolution between the demands of a group for more independence and the rights of the state to territorial integrity. 183

THE HIJAZ Autonomy has the capability to satisfy the aspirations of different groups within the state to a degree of political power, while preserving the territorial integrity and sovereignty of the state.121 The Saudi state, by delegating some of its powers, would not only make it harder for extreme jihadi movements to argue that they are fighting to liberate the Holy Lands, but it would also strengthen the trends for closer cooperation between The Hijaz and the central government. Autonomy does not necessarily mean the delegation of sensitive powers by the central government; it may be the case that aspirations would be met by a measure of self-governance on the economic level. This is, in any case, one of the most important dimensions of the right of self-determination, as was highlighted in Resolution 1514. And central governments are more prone to delegate economic governance, especially if it is beneficial for both parties.   In the case of The Hijaz, one justification for the delegation of powers and greater autonomy is the right to make a pilgrimage to The Hijaz, which is one of the five pillars of Islam. This right, the Hajj, continues to strengthen international attention towards The Hijaz for Muslims around the world. Reports show that over 2 million people attended Hajj in 2015. Such large numbers of annual pilgrims inevitably have a significant impact on the international legal and security aspects of that that territory. Although it is difficult to access full and uncontested official records detailing the number and names of victims, press organizations report that the pilgrimage has been the scene of many tragedies over the past few decades. This has included a riot in July 1987; a bombing in July 1989; a major stampede in July 1990, killing approximately 1,500 people; other stampedes in the stoning of the devil area in 1994, 1998, 2003, 2004, and 2006, reportedly killing hundreds of people; a fire in 1997, which reportedly burned thousands of tents and killed over 300 people; and, most recently, a reported crane crash and stampede in 2015 that killed an unconfirmed number of pilgrims.122   Given the rising ambitions of radical militant Islam, when looking at examples of violent secessionisms around the world, some argue that autonomy seems to be a desirable and peaceful solution.123 Within Europe, there are indeed several positive examples: the Aaland Islands, the Faroe Islands, Greenland, Madeira and the Azores, the German 184

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ community in Belgium, or Italy’s regions with special autonomy statutes such as South Tyrol, the Spanish regions, and Scotland. In some of these examples, such as Catalonia or Scotland, autonomy is not enough, and a struggle for greater or full independence continues. Be that as it may, this is not the case for all autonomous regions. Even in such extreme examples, it has to be highlighted that the idea of independence is promoted through some sort of democratic means and through civilized discourse with central governments, without necessarily resorting to violence.   Thomas Benedikter, in his survey of European self-government, highlighted the fact that: the denial of autonomy has provoked some critical escalation of minority conflicts throughout the history of the last century, leading frequently to claims for independence and sometimes to violent resistance (the Basque Country, Northern Ireland, South Tyrol, Albanians in Macedonia, Corsica) and factual secession (Albanians in Kosovo, Russians in Transnistria, Abkhazians and South Ossetians in Georgia, Turks in Cyprus, Chechnyans in Russia). On the other hand, establishing territorial autonomy has enabled conflicting parties, central states, and national minorities or smaller peoples to find a compromise by power sharing on their territory. Autonomy could bring about both— maintain territorial integrity and grant the minorities a high degree of ‘internal self-determination’.124

  In the same hypothetical spirit, the acceptance of autonomy for The Hijaz does not mean that Saudi Arabia would have to offer similar rights to its other regions. Autonomy may be offered only to one part of its territory. This situation is known in international law as ‘asymmetrical autonomy’.125 The special status of an autonomous community does not change the centralist state structure.126   A precisely shaped and carefully deliberated autonomy may even strengthen the position of the central government. External aspirations and internal passions may function within a legal system, strengthening its legitimacy and claim, and simultaneously closing the space for antisystem and extremist solutions. On the other hand, and more importantly, the autonomous status of the region is not in opposition to, but may even strengthen, the right of territorial integrity of the state.127 It is not uncommon for the granting of autonomy to be accompanied by 185

THE HIJAZ a solemn and legally entrenched commitment to territorial unity. The state is therefore assured of its rights by stressing its indivisibility.   The next point regarding territorial autonomy is that central governments are often very reluctant to grant it, due to their concern that it may pave the way for secession in the future. This appears to be borne out by the case of Scotland, but in many ways this is an anomalous instance. For most of its history, Scotland was independent, and fought many wars to maintain that status. As mentioned above, in 1603 it was joined in a personal union with England (like The Hijaz and Najd in 1925), and this political structure was followed by a formal union in 1707, which led to the the United Kingdom of Great Britain (like Saudi Arabia in 1932). The question of independence became a live political issue in the 1970s, and has gained support since, most notoriously through the imposition of the poll tax in 1989; a marked difference in political voting patterns that recently resulted in the elimination of almost all Westminster parties from Scottish constituencies; and, even more recently, Brexit, where the stark contrast of the vote in Scotland—62 per cent remain (as opposed to 48 percent remain overall)—has reignited calls for independence.   The case of Catalonia also serves as an interesting example. The autonomy of the province, among other autonomous regions, was confirmed in the Spanish constitution in 1978. However, the constitution also stressed in its second article that ‘the Constitution is based on the indissoluble unity of the Spanish Nation, the common and indivisible country of all Spaniards; it recognises and guarantees the right to autonomy of the nationalities and regions of which it is composed, and solidarity amongst them all’.128 Spanish regions were given relatively broad autonomy as Autonomous Communities.129 The recent problems of Catalonia began with the province’s reforms of its autonomous status, which, in the view of the Constitutional Court of Spain, were not compatible with the constitution.130 This was perceived by the Catalan community as a political judgment undermining their autonomy, and it led to demands for full independence.131   A new plan has emerged, known as the National Transition of Catalonia. The idea is to conduct a referendum to ask the Catalans if they want to create an independent state; should that be accepted, Barcelona will negotiate a possible solution with Madrid. The expec 

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INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ tation of the Catalan people after a prolonged, yet democratic, struggle with the central government is to gain independence, as shown by the Catalan Sovereignty Declaration132 issued by the Catalan parliament. That instrument was first suspended and then declared void by the Constitutional Court.133 Further, the ‘independence’ referendum134 that the Catalan parliament was planning for 9 November 2014 was suspended by the court.135 As this book goes to print, the Catalonian situation has evolved into an open crisis. The regional government proclaimed and held an independence referendum on 1 October 2017. The Spanish Constitutional Court and the national government had tried to stop it on the grounds of illegality.136 Turbulence and violence ensued as the regional government went ahead with the referendum, and the courts and civil enforcement were operating under instructions to block and prevent these processes. In spite of the efforts to supress the referendum, over 2 million people voted, resulting in a 92 per cent vote in favour of independence. On 27 October 2017 the Catalan regional parliament voted in favour of independence, with the pro-independence regional government speaking of the founding of an independent Catalan republic as a self-governing, sovereign state. Within hours, the Spanish government moved towards the dissolution of the Catalan parliament, triggering Article 155 of the Spanish constitution. In other words, the Spanish government imposed direct rule over the region, until the new regional government elections in Catalonia, which were set for 23 December 2017. As discussed, the ‘will of the people’, ‘self-determination’, the expression of a stated desire for a different path for a people, is a turning point. The case of Catalonia seems to be yet another powerful reminder of the ‘self-determination trap’ and the challenges in managing such circumstances.137   This brief description of the situation in Spain, as with the Supreme Court of Canada, suggests the power of the state’s legally entrenched commitment to territorial unity. Even in the case of a very broad autonomy, with established democratic institutions and discourse, and with wide popular support (such as that of the Catalans), it remains very difficult from a legal point of view to gain independence without an agreement with the central government.138   Granting autonomy shields the parent state through proper provisions regarding its territorial unity. That possibility is widely recog 

 

 

 

 

 

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THE HIJAZ nized and used by the states granting autonomy. There are a number of such cases to consider, including: (a) the autonomy of South Tyrol (‘within the political unity of the Italian Republic; one and indivisible…’); (b) the autonomy of Gaugazia (‘an autonomous territorial unit with a special status as a form of self-determination of the Gaugazes, which constitutes an integral part of the Republic of Moldova …’); (c) the autonomy of Hong Kong (‘the Hong Kong Special Admin­ istrative Region is an inalienable part of the People’s Republic of China’); (d) the autonomy of West Papua (‘the integration of the nation must be maintained within the Unitary State of the Republic of Indonesia …’); and (e) the autonomy of Mindanao (‘within the framework of the Constitution and national sovereignty and the territorial integrity of the Republic of the Philippines …’).139   In addition, as noted by scholars, the settlement with the central government may be regarded as an exercise of the right to self-determination; so that, after its conclusion, the people are no longer entitled to invoke it, unless it is agreed to otherwise. Put differently, it is a tactical abandonment of the claim for full independence, in the name of achieving less autonomy, but with the full cooperation of the central government.140   To recapitulate, the gain for Saudi Arabia, with regard to The Hijaz’s autonomy, would be threefold. Firstly, by granting autonomy, Saudi Arabia would protect itself from external interference, problems with the international status of the Holy Places, and possible civil and external disturbance within its territory. Furthermore, it would secure itself from territorial secessionism. Secondly, on the international plane, the Saudi Arabian position would be strengthened by confirming its role as protector of the Holy Cities, legitimizing its standing not as an Islamic movement, but as Holy Territory. Manifesting openness for dialogue would also improve the perception of Saudi Arabia not only among other Islamic and Arab states, but also by democratic countries all over the world. Thirdly, this would finally resolve the historical disputes and claims over the Holy Cities.141 It would alleviate the deep internal fears regarding intrusion and the possibility that the claims of neo-medievalist movements might lead to internal unrest, and, at some point, even an external threat to its borders. Some responsibility would be granted to the Hijazi special administration, but Saudi Arabia would be obvi 

 

 

 

 

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INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ ously responsible for the region on the international level. Now, more than ever, the custodian of the Two Holy Mosques needs to exercise twenty-first-century statecraft.

Self-Determination Spectrum Disorder Marc Weller argues that the principle of self-determination has become a potent, yet broad, concept which takes effect not only in the colonial context but also the historical Islamic one. Its dichotomy for external and internal self-determination is rather uncontested. That dichotomy is helpful when it comes to evading the self-determination trap, and in promoting and offering real solutions to resolve conflicts within the ‘Weller spectrum’.142 Its main advantage is highlighting not only the traditional external manifestation of self-determination, but bringing the state’s attention to its internal dimension. The latter can be very useful in promoting and articulating the demand for democratic governance within states.   The Hijaz, however, is intrinsically external, international, integrative and intertwined with the Holy Cities of Islam—Makkah and Medina. For international law, a whole new question is created, beyond self-determination. It creates ‘The Hijaz Question’. Although there are significant dangers to making comparisons across religious doctrine, the legal status of The Hijaz has some similarities to the Holy See in Rome and how the Roman Question was ultimately answered. As was discussed earlier,143 the understanding of the Islamic state was always connected with The Hijaz and its Holy Cities, not dissimilar to the understanding of the Holy See as connected with the territorial entities (apart from 1870–1929)—the Papal States and Vatican City—based in Rome. The Bishop of Rome—the Pope—and the Holy See, with spiritual jurisdiction and administrative authority over the Catholic Church, can be compared, historically, to the Caliphate as a central authority of Islam. The international personality of the Holy See is firmly established under international law and accepted as being sui generis, due to its historical development.144 The last time the term ‘Islamic state’ was connected with the Holy Cities was during the life of the Kingdom of Hijaz, when Sharif Hussein assumed the title of caliph. Although the kingdom was conquered, these claims were not abandoned.  

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THE HIJAZ Historically, the claim to Islamic statehood was always, and arguably will always be, intrinsically connected territorially with the Holy Cities of Islam.   The arguments presented regarding the question of autonomy of The Hijaz, within the meaning of internal self-determination, can be further enriched by adding one innovative, yet highly controversial, aspect: internationalization.   Internationalization of autonomy generally evolves where a regime that is domestic is partly or fully provided for in an international instrument.145 As a consequence of that instrument, the state must act in compliance with its international undertakings.146 Additionally, where other states are parties to the international instrument that creates an autonomous regime, those states can be considered a guarantor, in that they may be ‘entitled—and may even be obligated—to take legal action in case the instrument serving as the fons et origo of the autonomy regime is breached’.147   The internationalization of territories in international law has its roots in the nineteenth century, when victorious groups of states, after wars, shared administering authority over territories.148 During the twentieth century, territories were internationalized under the auspices of the League of Nations (Mandate System) or the United Nations (Trusteeship System). Also, there is a trend for the internationalization of territories in post-conflict zones, such as the UN Operation in the Congo (ONUC); or in states in transition, such as the UN Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC), the UN Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK), and the UN Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET). Recent practice shows that via the internationalization of territories—through, for example, the UN system— the international community wishes to end conflict or to prevent the resurgence of armed combat through security management and state building. Because of that, some authors may perceive the post-conflict administration as a corollary of intervention.149 Having in mind also the previous application of internationalization in Mandate and Trusteeship Systems, it does not come as a surprise that, for some, internationalization means the possibility of third states interfering in matters falling within the domestic realm of the state.   However, granting autonomy via international instruments should be distinguished from the above-mentioned examples. International 190

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ territorial administration has the purpose of responding to a ‘sovereign problem’ or ‘governance problem’150—when internationalized autonomy has nothing in common with post-conflict management, transitional territorial administration, or with decisions imposed by any international organization or a third state. Here, internationalization has its source not in the decision of international organizations or other states, but in the sovereign will of the state, which wishes to grant sui generis autonomy to one of its regions.   It goes without saying that the status of The Hijaz—as the site of the Holy Cities—is unique, and therefore requires a precisely tailored solution. It is generally accepted that autonomies created by treaties are regarded to be of sui generis character151—much like The Hijaz. The special historical and religious status of The Hijaz among other Islamic states alone—the idea of Islamic self-determination that was discussed earlier—seems to justify its sui generis character. International law presents examples of sui generis entities or organizations.152 Although it might be tempting to try to fit the internationalization of The Hijaz within the existing categories and precedents, this would be unrealistic, not least because an internationalized status for this particular sui generis non-state actor would need to take into account its tradition, religion, heritage, and the will of a quarter of the world’s population.   The main challenge with the internationalization of a territory is that it may be perceived as an interference by other states in purely domestic state matters. However, it should instead be seen as complementary to the autonomy theory. Nevertheless, there is an argument to be made that, through the Hajj, The Hijaz is de facto internationalized, as the Holy Cities host millions of citizens from different states annually. It is, therefore, in the interest not only of Saudi Arabia but also of other predominantly Islamic states to protect the Holy Cities and secure the safety and free movement of their pilgrims. This argument must of course be balanced against political interests. There is always the danger that internationalization of The Hijaz could be used to fuel the various political tensions between Islamic majority states in the region. But instead of fearing the reaction of other important Islamic actors, such as Iran, the opportunity for greater cooperation, understanding, and confidence-building—and even dispute resolution—should be highlighted instead, as, on the other hand, arguably, the proposed special 191

THE HIJAZ internationalization can equally be ‘integrative’, if used constructively to remedy the looming sectarian ‘Islamic cold war’.   It is worth noting that the question of the safety of pilgrims has been raised on an international level. It was indeed the key criterion for Imam Ibn Saud when discussed during the Conference of the Islamic World in June 1926 in Makkah,153 and it was raised as the seventh point of the National Charter promulgated by Hijazis themselves.154 As it will be presented in Chapter 8, such internationalization may be achieved via an effective international regional organization.   There are several points that can be taken away from the preceding section. As Weller notes, self-determination appears to be a legal norm which is engineered to disenfranchise despite its emancipatory character. As an erga omnes norm,155 which is simultaneously regarded as jus cogens, the concept is inevitably bound to clash with the competing norm of territorial integrity.   A brief analysis of the cases described in this section demonstrates that internal self-determination is exercised in an easy and perfunctory manner. Scotland has undertaken one referendum, with the possibility of further referenda in the future, while Quebec has already had two referenda. This can be seen as discharging the right of peoples to exercise a free choice or ‘self-determination as process’. ‘External selfdetermination’ (or the right to secede) is exercised with less frequency, and is available only in exceptional circumstances—as the Quebec Secession Reference accurately demonstrates—such as in the case of flagrant human rights abuses (remedial secession). However, the case of Czechoslovakia does demonstrate that external self-determination is indeed possible. It should be noted that those seeking self-determination in Asia and Africa have been far less successful than their counterparts in the Western world in the post-colonial era. The desire on the part of the world’s Great Powers in their own national interests will often dictate how self-determination struggles will play out.   For several decades self-determination was considered normatively amorphous and ambiguous. It was not until the New York Accords in relation to East Timor that international law was presented with a process that could be deployed in other cases. Unfortunately, it is an option that has not been exercised in the world’s remaining self-determination hotspots—including Western Sahara, Biafra, Somaliland, and so forth—a fact which only serves to vindicate Weller’s argument. 192

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ   Theoretically, self-determination is significant enough that it may vindicate the use of force in its defence. This is true in theory—as demonstrated by Article 1(4) of the Additional Protocols to the Four Geneva Conventions—as well as in practice, as the case of Kuwait demonstrates. At the same time, it can be argued that the invocation of self-determination to justify the use of force is no more than a cover for other ambitions. After all, it was a return to the status quo that was in achieved in Kuwait. The authoritarian regime remained in place, and there was no mandate to allow the people of Kuwait to determine their post-conflict future. Kuwait may be better described as a conflict in defence of territorial integrity, rather than a defence of the right of the people of Kuwait to self-determination. The conflict merely served to entrench national interests, by ensuring that compliant regimes were not threatened. In this respect, it is similar to the situation in The Hijaz before the Saudi annexation. Equally, the Gulf War stood as a monument to the importance placed on the Saudi–Western alliance, which has been vital to Western interests for almost a century. Additionally, the Gulf War is merely a part of a long list of conflicts where a legal norm serves as a casus belli due to its putative importance, only to be abandoned elsewhere.156   The antecedent of James Crawford’s empirical question demonstrates that states will often recognize entities that fall short of the Montevideo requirements if this is in line with certain national interests—no matter how ephemeral or ambiguous those interests might be. In contradistinction to the prohibition on the premature recognition of states, there have been a number of states that have been recognized recently that lack at least one of the Montevideo requirements. Bosnia (2008) and Palestine (2012) are two such examples. In the case of the former, it was a symbolic gesture recognizing inter alia the horrors of the genocide in the Balkans. In the latter case, it is in the hope of jump-starting a languid peace process that will lead to a Palestinian state.   Crawford’s empirical question is potentially more relevant now than ever before. It suggested that there is some precedent for the proposition that states may refuse to recognize other states that otherwise fulfil the required elements of statehood. Rhodesia is a modern example of this. However, the requirement that states are able to enter into inter 193

THE HIJAZ national relations seems to allow states to cloak political non-recognition as legal doctrine. In other words, if a state can be sufficiently ostracized from the international community, members of the international community will have the requisite legal imprimatur to deny its existence as a state. Such issues of ostracization and complete rejection by the international community are pivotal when dealing with entities such as DA’ISH, a terrorist non-state actor whose core aspiration was to become a state and establish a Caliphate, through terror, fear, oppression, dogmatism, absolutism, and an effort to use holy Islamic symbols to legitimize all this. In such cases, the rejection must be immediate and unequivocal, and the response immediate and coordinated, between all the responsible members of the international community—first and foremost, by all the Islamic nations whose sacred symbols, history, and identity the terrorist group seeks to usurp; and the Muslim people, who are the first to suffer. It is encouraging that with the post-2016 diminution of DA’ISH’s territorial influence, it became clear that any power centres or groups previously aiding the terrorists, directly or indirectly, distanced themselves further.   To recapitulate, the classical approach to self-determination—to restrict its application to the colonial context—failed catastrophically. Even though inspiring, it is, in most of the cases, inapplicable. The majority of the conflicts in the world are on an ethno-nationalist basis. However, the principle of self-determination in the classical understanding may be applied to few of them, if any. So, unfortunately, the great suffering, civilian casualties, and refugees—always the effects of the ethno-nationalist struggles or wars—may not be addressed, because in these situations international law supports the state’s territorial integrity and stability.157   A new jurisprudential understanding and application of self-determination is emerging. These rules are still far from being recognized as customary rules of international law, but there is growing support for them. The first, the ‘remedial secession’ rule discussed above, should be treated only as a last resort. However, growing expectations of the internal dimension of self-determination are relevant. On the one hand, it is still true that it is very difficult to change the territorial status quo where the parent state does not give its consent. On the other hand, ‘specific consideration to the interdependence between the 194

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ right of self-determination and the right to political participation’ should be given.158 There are still no international obligations on the state to grant autonomy. Nonetheless, it looks as if there is also a growing acceptance that internal self-determination may play an important role in escaping the self-determination trap. Jurists and courts are progressively recognizing the link between the right of self-determination and political participation. As stated by the Supreme Court of Canada, the democratically expressed will of the people in favour of independence puts an obligation on both sides to negotiate a future arrangement, but does not predetermine an outcome.159 It is simply because the solution of internal self-determination is the most reasonable and desirable one, especially when compared to the horror of civil strife and war. The international community should advocate for such peaceful solutions more keenly, understanding that it is indeed a spectrum. Even without legal obligations, states faced with pressure from the international community would be more willing to accept and agree on such a compromise.

— A Special Status Solution: Mount Athos and Hong Kong There are two special models to consider when reviewing a future arrangement and status of The Hijaz, especially with regards to international protection. These are Mount Athos, a ‘self-governed’ region in northern Greece that is home to twenty Christian Orthodox monasteries and has an uninterrupted history of over a millennium; and the Special Administrative Region (SAR) system, especially that of Hong Kong, in the case of China. Given the religious dimension of The Hijaz, we will discuss separately in the next section, in greater detail, a number of important parallels that may be drawn with the case of the Vatican.   Performing a similar comparative exercise with Mount Athos could be particularly enlightening. In short, this ‘self-governed’ dimension of Mount Athos, which however falls within the national sphere, and keeps the ‘Holy Mountain’ under the umbrella of the Greek state, may present several answers to The Hijaz Question.160 It has fully democratic internal processes, efficient management arrangements, and a strategic management of the pilgrimage and of international visitors, openness towards inter-faith dialogue, as well as international recogni 195

THE HIJAZ tion and respect for its history, status, and role. Wielding religious authority and politico-economic responsibilities, it also has gravitas and influence, but no autonomy or independence. It has increased flexibility, responsibilities, great self-government, and a relationship with the central government—the Greek state—based on constitutional provisions, clear responsibilities on both sides, and, an understanding of their mutual boundaries. Internal religious discussions are managed by the twenty monasteries, through democratic deliberation.161 We will not expand here further on the Mount Athos system, its monastic life or its possible emulation, though it could be the topic of subsequent research and targeted study. The greatest obstacle for the adoption and adaptation of the Athos system in The Hijaz is the ‘re-institutionalization’ of the Two Holy Mosques, the pilgrimage, the re-establishment of schools of jurisprudence and theology, and the introduction of legal amendments that allow for a similar form of internal self-determination. Of course, in the case of The Hijaz, unlike Athos, the region would be open to women too.   Another example that can be studied is that of Hong Kong and the SAR system, which was developed in the run-up to the handover of Hong Kong to China. Its constitutional foundations are known as the Basic Law of the Hong Kong SAR, which entered into force in 1997.162 Although the Chinese central government has been steadily tightening its grip over Hong Kong in the course of the past decade, the model still has considerable legal relevance, as it seems to have an interesting formula—a ‘one country, two systems’ approach. If one wanted to draw a parallel with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and The Hijaz, the former would of course remain united, with the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia maintaining its sovereignty and indivisibility, yet granting The Hijaz and the Two Holy Mosques greater responsibilities and self-administration capacities, in order to upgrade their Islamic standing, affirm their religious authority, and advance their international protection. To be clear, there is currently no ‘de-colonization’ dimension in the case of The Hijaz. In contrast to the People’s Republic of China–Hong Kong case, however, the granting of Hong Kong (or Athos) -style special administrative status to The Hijaz is in the interest of the central government. In fact, as we have shown throughout, it is essential for the security and the prosperity of the Kingdom, and in the state’s best interest, to 196

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ advance a new, positive, and sustainable system in the region. The Hijaz, therefore, should be elevated to a special status, within the Kingdom, the region, and the new emerging international system. As with Hong Kong, in the case of The Hijaz the Kingdom would remain responsible for The Hijaz’s foreign affairs and defence, even though the territory would have a distinct status within leading global international organizations and fora—starting with the UN. The Hijaz would also need a hybrid model for its economic management in order to have greater flexibility and independence, but to be self-sufficient without external dependencies and other challenges. This is particularly key in the case of The Hijaz, as the special administration bears the majority of the burden during the annual pilgrimages. The Roman Question and the Lateran accords offer deep insight in this regard.  

— The ‘Christian’ Experience: A Reflection While it is not possible for The Hijaz to perfectly emulate—historically, politically, or legally—the experience of the Vatican (the Holy See), there are a number of interesting comparative historical, religious, and political points to be considered, potentially leading to unintended answers vis-àvis how a possible solution could look, and what added value it could bring at the international, regional, and local levels.   It is important to deconstruct the role of the Vatican163 as an international actor, briefly tracing its historical evolution and rise as an independent actor in the international system and within the leading international organizations. Through this analysis we shed light on an example, stemming from the ‘Christian experience’, beginning with an excerpt from Jodok Troy, which aptly frames and situates the diachronic role and relevance of the Catholic Church in the international scene through an international relations lens: The Catholic Church is the oldest and largest transgovernmental organization in the world … [it has] always has been engaged in politics, in various forms of political and social organizations and divisions, fragmentation, and defragmentation. Out of this long-term political experience, the Church perceived the rise of the modern state and the Westphalian settlement as what it remains to this day: a particular solution (a state) to a particular problem (a political organization in a fragmented society) in a particular period of history. The Church itself, via

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THE HIJAZ one of its secessionists, Protestantism, extensively contributed to the evolution of the modern state (Philpott 2000, 2001). Because of its own experience and institutional memory, the Church displays a relaxed outlook on the future of international politics in an era of globalization and a changing political landscape.164

  This seems to capture the trans-historical importance of the Catholic Church in a series of key processes, the historical events and complexities that are implied here and the differences with The Hijaz’s historical role. For instance, The Hijaz and the Holy Mosques, as a religious entity, did not fulfil such a wide-ranging independent function over time—in other words, they were not involved directly in ‘domestic’ and international politics and conflicts. Nor were they engaged in ‘divisions and fragmentations’; on the contrary, they were the institution tasked with conflict prevention and with maintaining Muslim unity.   It is hard to carry out a direct comparison between The Hijaz and the Vatican—especially from a legal angle.165 Nor does it seem possible for The Hijaz to emulate the Vatican’s modern experience. The Vatican, as the paramount reference point within the Christian—and especially Catholic—faith, has been active in international politics with variable, yet overall considerable, degrees of autonomy for nearly seventeen centuries—ever since the Bishop of Rome emerged as a powerful figure in the resolution of theological matters within the Roman Empire. Over the course of time, in a journey that was both complex and deeply religious, but also at times political, strategic, and contentious, the Vatican established an independent status and entrenched it through the management of power: spiritual and legal– religious, but also economic and political influence. If we start with the acceptance that statehood in modern Europe is deeply associated with—if not largely a product of—the Treaty of Westphalia, then we must also recognize that religion (and the Vatican in particular) has had a powerful role in the evolution of European statehood: for instance, the role of religion and the Pope in the Holy Roman Empire; the involvement of the Vatican in relations between different Great Powers and their sovereigns; and also, ultimately, the complicated stance of the Vatican in an era of European politico-religious power struggles, competitions, and wars.   The struggles were both internal—with the Church often splitting, the popes multiplying, along with different politico-religious agendas 198

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ and world-views—and external—with support for various competing monarchs, alliances, financial and political assistance, loans and ‘war loans’, but also diplomatic and at times even military participation— either through direct papal forces or mercenary armies. We will not include here extensive references to the long list of the wars and conflicts that involved the popes, the Papal States, and the related institutions.166 A case in point are the Crusades or the so-called (Christian) ‘holy wars’.167 Several of these started directly with the agency of the Pope himself (such as Innocent III and Urban II). The Crusades emerged as a central reference point in the history of European politics and religion. They worked to maximize papal powers and empower the ‘institution’ itself on many levels. The following excerpt from Dana Munro is telling, and best summarizes the points we have raised in the last few paragraphs regarding the breadth and complexity that characterized the activity of the popes and papal power, as well as the dynamic path through which the emergence of the Vatican and the Institution of the Pope as international actors came to be rooted: The Pope preached a crusade against his Sicilian kingdom; and this illustrates another means by which the power of the popes was enhanced. They repeatedly preached crusades against their temporal foes and offered to the participants in these wars the same privileges, spiritual and temporal, which were given to those who went on expeditions against the Moslems. These holy wars were sometimes directed against monarchs and other rulers, sometimes against cities, at other times against heretics … or against the heathen [pagans] … of Europe. These armies played an important part in the history of the thirteenth century. This century also saw the temporary union of almost all Christian lands under the authority of the Pope and this was directly due to the crusades. … The crusades also brought to the Church and to the Popes an enormous increase in wealth. Crusaders gave freely to the Church before starting for the East; they also mortgaged or sold their property to ecclesiastical foundations under conditions very advantageous to the latter. … Men who had taken the Cross and were unable to go, purchased exemption from their vow. Taxes for the crusades were frequently collected and handled by the Church. … The total amount which the Church received through the crusades … was enormous. Consequently the Popes became much more powerful, especially through their control over the appointment of the officials who profited by this wealth.168

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THE HIJAZ   If one adds to this the role and importance of the pilgrimage, its implications for symbolic power, and financial revenues, the exponential growth of the power of the Vatican becomes easier to relate to. The same is true for the role of loans as well as trade—especially through the Papal States until the late nineteenth century.169 Overall, in its historical evolution, the Vatican has at different times met the full spectrum of activities of a full-fledged international actor: in politics, diplomacy, trade, and economics; in soft and hard power; exercising symbolic and real or pragmatic authority; exercising from intra-Church, to local, to regional, to national and international and, ultimately, global influence; the role of loans and foreign economic ties and dependencies; a long-term involvement in Italian and European politics and intrigues, Great Power competition, and interests; as well as a global worldview.170 It is not possible to compare this experience directly to any other international actor; it is, in many ways, a unique experience, with its important contributions to global dialogue and peace, especially after the 1929 Lateran Treaty, and, in particular, after the Second World War, but also its complex, near two-millennia-long history.   There are some immediately noticeable similarities with The Hijaz, in the sense that, for instance, both had a need for autonomous financial management, as well as some form of autonomous security and administrative capacities—for the optimal management of the pilgrimage.171 Also, both regions and entities, in their ‘golden eras’, had a key role as pan-Islamic and pan-Christian reference points for the resolution of intra-faith matters, debates, and disputes. Moreover, in certain periods of global history, the Papal States and the Caliphate were very important in the spheres of trade, and were reference points for their regional economies. If, indeed, the Vatican has at times provided an inclusive umbrella for the Christian faith—and especially for the (today) 1.2 billion people who identify as Catholics172—The Hijaz is similarly the key reference point for Islam, and also fulfilled the role of the core of Caliphates (both literally and with the meaning of panIslamic solidarity). In the past, scholars such as Abdel Raziq and Sanhuri suggested that if one established common Islamic laws there would be no need for a Caliphate; today, however, this idea is very much gone. Islam needs a representative in the international system. It will help address the crisis within Islam and the greater Middle East; 200

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ it will help advance greater inter-religious dialogue and understanding; and it will also help accommodate the differences in global statehood. If we want to take control of the current ‘crisis of Islam’,173 it is crucial to accommodate the level of diversity in the UN—which remains very much a reflection of the European nation-state. A new arrangement, within the existing framework,174 which would upgrade the representation of Islam in the leading international fora and the UN, would be a pivotal step in the direction of a more inclusive and, ultimately, more stable international order.   A short examination of the long-term ‘institutionalization’ of the Vatican helps elucidate the present context and the comparative overrepresentation of the ‘Christian’ (and Catholic in particular) faith in the international system and in a series of international bodies, from the UN and the European Union to the Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE).175 If one adds to this picture the over 185 permanent foreign missions (in total) of the Vatican abroad, we are indeed talking of a form of ‘diplomatic superpower’.176 One cannot but note the comparative lack of an analogous representative of Islam, of equal standing, in the international context, and the potentially negative implications this has for global understanding, dialogue, and interfaith cooperation.   In January 2017 Pope Francis gathered the diplomatic corps accredited to the Vatican to give a speech on the value of—and ways to pursue—security and peace, ‘expressing his heartfelt conviction that every form of religious expression is called to promote peace, and lamenting that at times, especially nowadays, the religious experience may be exploited in the interests of fundamentalism and terrorism’.177 He specifically framed the contribution of religion and religious leaders in the following universal terms: We are dealing with a homicidal madness which misuses God’s name in order to disseminate death, in a play for domination and power. Hence I appeal to all religious authorities to join in reaffirming unequivocally that one can never kill in God’s name. Fundamentalist terrorism is the fruit of a profound spiritual poverty, and often is linked to significant social poverty. It can only be fully defeated with the joint contribution of religious and political leaders. The former are charged with transmitting those religious values which do not separate fear of God from love

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THE HIJAZ of neighbour. The latter are charged with guaranteeing in the public forum the right to religious freedom, while acknowledging religion’s positive and constructive contribution to the building of a civil society that sees no opposition between social belonging, sanctioned by the principle of citizenship, and the spiritual dimension of life. Government leaders are also responsible for ensuring that conditions do not exist that can serve as fertile terrain for the spread of forms of fundamentalism. This calls for suitable social policies aimed at combating poverty … and … a major investment in the areas of education and culture.178

  The Pope’s calls for a pan-religious effort were well grounded, and very aptly capture the need for greater inter-religious and intercultural dialogue—culminating in unified efforts. Therefore, arguably, the key question that again comes to mind is why it remains the case today that a series of other religions representing great parts of the global population do not have an equally loud voice today—at a time when it is so very sorely needed. In many ways, this is ever so true for Islam, a religion that, due to the horrific acts of extremists and complex securitization processes in Western societies which we referred to earlier, has come to be in part misunderstood and in part a misplaced source of fear (with Islamophobia being a twenty-first-century reality in many countries today).   The key point to raise here is that it will be both sufficient and critical for The Hijaz to emerge as the representative of all Islam to defuse the tensions and offer a positive, integrative if not unifying alternate vision for the wider region and globally. It is also important to provide the sense, the security of having a reference point, both within Islam and internationally, for the most optimal navigation of the complex religious–ideological landscape; in other words, the proverbial ‘dealing with one telephone number’—the opportunity of having a powerful symbolic actor able to mediate, prevent, and pre-empt crises and tensions.   It is crucial to avoid the trap of attributing too much to the amorphous (and often ill-defined) enemy of ‘terrorism’. We have to act proactively and preventatively to diminish the ‘negative space’, to advance moderate views, to restrict intolerant voices, and to strip radicals and extremists of any claims to ‘Islamic’ legitimacy with which they try to cloak their horrific acts and dark agendas. For instance, we have seen how groups and actors have manipulated the idea and the ‘institution of the Caliphate’. A permanent legitimate body with inter202

INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ national Muslim representation, and some form of true and legitimate semi-autonomous Islamic state, recognized by and participating in the international system, will be enough to discredit any attempts to exploit Islam and its holiest symbols. It will be a powerful integrative agent for Islamic nations and societies globally. And, since a form of official representation of Islam in the UN is important, the participation of The Hijaz is paramount—to fill the empty, ‘invisible’ seat between that of the Vatican and of Palestine as a Permanent Observer non-member state. The Hijaz is uniquely positioned, in every respect, to fulfil this role—within Islam, within the region, and within the international system.   Historically, every system of international collective governance has—in one way or another—emerged out of a war situation or in its aftermath. Establishing such a functional, more inclusive, international arrangement will equip the international community with a better tool for conflict prevention. Furthermore, the solution for The Hijaz, the Muslim Holy Lands—Makkah and Medina—will inevitably affect Jerusalem. In other words, this crucial and much-needed effort could conceivably catalyse a Jewish, Christian and Muslim solution—an international set of modalities and regime to manage Jerusalem. Through a ‘new model’, The Hijaz would emerge as an additional force for good, a powerful ambassador for peace, tolerance, solidarity, cooperation, and moderation.

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PART III

PRESENT AND FUTURE

7

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES IDEOLOGY AND STATEHOOD

This chapter covers the post-Hijaz evolution of statehood in the Middle East and Islamic governance after the Second World War. It takes into account the Cold War context, regional geopolitics, attempts at regional integration, and challenges to the main states in the region. In the context of post-war Islamic statehood, the birth and evolution of the Islamic Republic of Iran is also discussed. The Sunni perspective is also discussed in relation to the Shi’a, as they evolved over time. The chapter also discusses the Soviet–Afghan war, the responsibility of the USA in the internationalization of jihad, and the implications of power vacuums. The chapter closes with an analysis of the Taliban experience and statehood ambitions, the rise of al-Qaida—the non-territorial champion of jihadi terrorism, and DA’ISH, the neo-medieval horror that shook the world in the 2010s. The chapter’s concluding sections make reference to the untapped reconciliatory value of The Hijaz, and pave the way for the discussion of the ideological drivers of militant Islam that follows in Chapter 8.

A Region at the Crossroads Turning to the broader picture in the greater Middle East today, the region seems to be in heightened turmoil. Sectarian tensions have been

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THE HIJAZ reignited in the aftermath of the withdrawal of the US forces from the region and the shortcomings of the Arab Uprisings. The so-called Arab Spring backfired, and this wave of popular uprisings was either crushed by the re-assertion of authoritarianism or the countries affected fell into instability, conflict, and chaos. In parallel, a new geopolitical competition has emerged between Iran and Saudi Arabia, the most powerful actors in the region. The tensions and antagonisms have often gravely hampered regional and international attempts to defeat DA’ISH and other extremist groups operating in Syria, Iraq,Yemen, Libya, and other countries undergoing major crises in the region. The Shi’a–Sunni schism seems to have re-emerged with a vengeance, as armed militias clash in proxy wars or local power struggles in the epicentres of violence in the region (especially Yemen and Syria).   In the Syrian battlefield, broader geostrategic and geopolitical antagonisms have been unfolding. On the one hand, the crisis has drawn in the United States and several key European states, who want to see the removal of Bashar al-Assad, the sitting Syrian president, and who rushed to recognize the ‘Syrian opposition’, which included a series of dangerous jihadi militias. On the other hand, one finds Hezbollah and Iran, who are backing, with strategic Russian military aid and tactical support, the forces of Bashar al-Assad, and seek to keep him and his regime in power. Interestingly, post-2016, both sides’ main claim has been that they are fighting, overall, for the same ‘greater cause’: the eradication of DA’ISH. What has been complicating the matters further, however, is the role of the Kurdish forces (which are largely Sunni and principally backed by the Americans). Some of the fiercest clashes in the Iraq–Syria war theatres have been between predominantly Kurdish (Peshmerga and YPG/YPJ) forces and DA’ISH. The Kurds have made decisive gains against DA’ISH, liberating extensive territories in Iraq, but also in Syria, fighting under the Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF) banner. Given the diachronic wish for an autonomous Kurdish state in the region, there can be potentially significant geopolitical implications in the absence of a just and inclusive peace in Syria. Also, for countries with a high percentage of citizens of Kurdish origin—such as Turkey, where they make up 15–20 per cent of the population—the potential ramifications of an ‘autonomous’ or ‘independent’ Kurdish state would be tremendous.1  

 

 

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES   Moreover, another very worrying issue is the rise in sectarianism, and, in particular the Sunni–Shi’a dichotomy that underlines the conflict in Iraq. The process of ‘de-Baathification’ paved the way for the resurgence of sectarian tensions in Iraq, as well as, generally, the issue associated with the removal of governing strongmen (as in Egypt or Libya), who were keeping sectarian pressures in check. Furthermore, as discussed above, it is also an issue of geopolitics. The ‘new sectarianism’ can also be viewed from an international relations angle, as representing the tension between the two major regional powers—Saudi Arabia and Iran—the Kingdom being the most powerful Sunni Arab state in the broader Middle East and the Islamic Republic being the most powerful Shi’ite state and aspiring regional leader. Also, to further underline the complexity on the ground, over a hundred armed militias and groups are warring in Syria alone.2 Extensive spillovers can also be observed between the warring groups, and especially the jihadi militias in the region. The solution to this problem has, in effect, three components. The first requirement is a decisive initiative, spearheaded by the countries of the region and the international community, to defeat DA’ISH and eradicate the armed terrorist groups with whom no negotiated solution can or should be attempted. The second component is political: the need for groups willing to hold discussions in order to reach negotiated ceasefire agreements to come to the table. The third component is ideo-religious: the need to extinguish the sectarian, religious, ideological, interpretational, and tribal flames which are turning Syria, Iraq, and Yemen into ashes.   The prospects for peaceful, diplomatic settlement of these conflicts seem to be fading as the death toll, the strife, and the collective emotions of anger and fear climax. In this grim context, old and new terrorist groups find fertile ground to recruit, regroup, and re-cast their bids for statehood or global jihad and terror. Extremists and radicals form cells in several countries of the region, ready to serve under the banner of the next expression of the ‘negative space’ and the Faith Militant. Over 1,200 lives have been claimed by DA’ISH outside Iraq and Syria,3 with numerous deadly attacks in neighbouring states, including Egypt, Libya, Saudi Arabia, and Yemen.4 Crucially, the attacks are not confined to ISIS. There are many DA’ISH-inspired attacks and groups operating in the region and internationally, whilst there is a  

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THE HIJAZ particular spread in Africa (and Asia), with groups such as Boko Haram in Nigeria, which claimed over 11,800 lives in 778 attacks between 2011 and 2016 alone. Boko Haram declared its support for ISIS in 2015, and has had a record of horrific brutality.5 In Somalia, Harakat al-Shabaab al-Mujahideen, known as al-Shabaab (The Youth), has also been claiming lives in a domestic jihadi militant insurgency, whilst also carrying out terrorist attacks—such as a string of hits in Kenya (in 2013, 2015, and 2016).6 Al-Shabaab has known links to al-Qaida and has been a destabilizing force in the region, targeting among others Christians and Kenyan soldiers. The penetration of jihadi terrorism is strong in parts of Asia too, with Jemaah Islamiyah, an al-Qaida-linked terrorist organization, and its splinter groups causing major loss of life in a series of hits in the 2000s as well as DA’ISH-inspired groups in the 2010s, with deadly attacks in Indonesia and the Philippines.7 Overall, since 9/11 international terrorism—and especially jihadi extremism—has been at the top of the global security agenda. In 2015 alone, 11,774 terrorist attacks were carried out in 92 countries, resulting in a total of 28,300 deaths:8 a truly global phenomenon and a deeply ‘common’ challenge to overcome.   Further to the terrorist attacks—which, as discussed, know no boundaries—there is also the major issue of the foreign fighters, leaving from Europe, the USA, or Asia to join the war effort in Syria and Iraq—‘to fight in a holy war, and also to live in a pristine “Islamic State”’.9 The ‘push factors’ behind these flows are particularly complex, and vary according to the background and profile of each individual. Robert Verkaik’s observation that Western ‘foreign fighters’ are often torn between the horrific violence of DA’ISH (which they are appalled by) and a deep desire to live a in a ‘Caliphate where they are free to live real Islamic lives unfettered by Western culture’ is also particularly telling.10 It provides an interesting insight into the contradictions of the Western Muslim’s Islamic psyche. According to the UN, over 30,000 people have flocked to Syria and Iraq since 2011 to fight with the Islamist groups and DA’ISH, posing a great threat to their countries of origin once they return. According to Politico, the ‘EU countries with the highest numbers of foreign fighters per head of population were Belgium, France, Germany, and the UK’.11 The estimated number of fighters from other countries is also very worrying, with Tunisia com210

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES ing first (over 6,000), Saudi Arabia second (over 2,000), and Russia, Jordan, and Turkey following closely. Furthermore, between 500 and 1,200 people left Morocco, Lebanon, and Egypt to join DA’ISH in Iraq and Syria.12 In terms of continents, Asia, Africa, and Europe have seen ‘the most citizens travel to Syria and Iraq, with over 14,000 people estimated to be in the conflict zone’ from Asia alone.13 This analysis highlights the truly global challenges posed by the jihadi extremist threat, and how broad and inclusive the response needs to be. This phenomenon is drawing in the neighbouring states, the region, and the Great Powers, but also—through the attacks, the foreign fighters, online radicalization, and the various DA’ISH or al-Qaida-inspired global cells—the whole world.   Equally complex and pressing remains the question of terrorist financing. In spite of a series of national, regional, and international efforts, the issue remains a major challenge with intricate dimensions. In 2016 the US Department of State released a list according to which Iran was the ‘Top State Sponsor of Terror’.14 For a number of years, in the late 1990s and until the early 2000s especially, Saudi Arabia steadily featured high on (if not at the top of) such lists.15 State-sponsored terrorism has been put under greater international scrutiny and pressure in the post-9/11 context. A series of US-led initiatives, most often in cooperation with the UK, France, and the EU, have tried to check terrorist financing and closely monitor suspicious flows. These pressures have inspired regional initiatives—with a series of GCC summit conclusions adopting measures in this direction. There have also been efforts led by the USA, the UK, and France to monitor radical ideology and its impact (including Wahhabism), both in their communities and in the digital sphere.   A major issue with terrorist financing specifically, however, is that many of these flows are concealed—at times disguised as humanitarian assistance and aid, and in other cases as private donations for charitable or educational purposes. They are hard to keep track of, and the channels employed make it difficult to monitor or trace back to an individual, a firm, or a state.16 Even though major international initiatives, such as the UN Convention on Financing Terrorism, have been signed by over 150 states, the challenge remains pressing. In June 2017, exactly fifty years after the eruption of the 1967 Six-Day War, the 211

THE HIJAZ June–Ramadan Crisis broke out in the Peninsula, with Saudi Arabia leading a GCC blockade against Qatar, on the accusation that it finances terrorism (especially al-Qaida affiliates) and maintains destabilizing ties with Islamist groups (including the Muslim Brotherhood, Hamas, and Hezbollah), along with Iran. This is a very serious crisis, which raises questions about the viability of the GCC as well as broader geopolitical issues. For instance, there is the risk that this blockade may indeed push Qatar closer to Iran. Turkey’s support for Qatar, and growing diplomatic ties with Iran, are also important trends to watch closely. The role of the new US president, Donald Trump, seems to be emerging as an additional complicating factor in the Gulf and the broader Middle East; the USA is taking an aggressive stance and generally showing a readiness to choose sides in the regional antagonisms rather than work towards much-needed, lasting, and sustainable peace resolutions.   As we will demonstrate in the following chapter, The Hijaz is a key part of the solution to several of the above-discussed regional and international challenges. It can play a decisive part in the efforts against terrorism and radicalization; it can also fulfil a key role in the diffusion and mediation of regional tensions, antagonisms, and conflicts, as well as help put an end to the renewed sectarianism. Its theological, geographical, and political location gives it a legitimate claim to be the forum for bringing these groups, actors, and contending ideologies together. We discussed earlier the issue of foreign fighters flocking from around the world to join the ranks of DA’ISH, hoping, among other things, to experience life in a ‘true’ Islamic state.   Some non-lawyers may even argue that it would be more constructive to elevate the significance of The Hijaz to its ‘original stateliness’— in other words, above statehood, with its sacred centres as epicentres of knowledge and influence, in such a manner that entities would be persuaded by its spiritual and educational jurisdiction, and thus tackle internal questions and concerns that they may battle with, on an individual level. It would be far preferable if The Hijaz was once again the living example of the pristine Islamic state.   The Hijaz perhaps also holds the key to a looser international organization which could include all the GCC countries, as well as other important regional actors (from Iran to Israel), working constructively together to advance regional cooperation, conflict prevention and resolu212

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES tion, as well as deepen ties in the economic sphere, step up trade, and work towards their common prosperity. The Hijaz has historically been an answer to sectarianism: the place to resolve ideo-religious disputes, and the forum to engage in deep dialogue through which parties can come to a better understanding and greater harmony with one another and their worldviews. The Hijaz could thus emerge, both symbolically and practically, as the natural epicentre of such an initiative, perhaps enjoying some form of internationalized status to empower its conflictresolution capacities and aptitude and also to further enhance its security. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia is, in the current political climate, ideally positioned to ‘revert’17 to its early essence of openness to the world and all religions—and has the most to benefit—by leading this process.   At the same time, there is heightened internal fragility in a number of Arab and greater Middle East countries. Several countries in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region are strongly challenged by their internal population dynamics, and particularly exponential population growth, spearheaded by a ‘youth bulge’, which has decisively shifted the region’s demographic landscape. The youth in question are overwhelmingly male and unemployed, in search of productive work opportunities and participation in a sustainable economy with inclusive growth, mobility, and prospects. At the same time, a number of countries in the region are suffering from an inability to deliver on these domestic needs, challenged from their political economy models and their asymmetries. These include an over-reliance on oil-generated wealth and systems of governance that fail to provide a much-needed sense of inclusion and common purpose to increasingly uneasy societies—societies which are characterized by delicate imbalances and income unevenness, and are generally in need of urgent attention and new options. If one adds to this already ‘explosive’ mix all the abovediscussed theo-ideological pressures, associated with particularly restrictive religious dogmas, intolerance, and narrow worldviews, the need for change is highlighted even further—especially at a time when the new era of globalization, digital transformation, ‘borderless trade’, and unprecedented global mobility compels openness and greater regional and global cooperation. Countries such as Saudi Arabia are experiencing these dynamics, and have already set out the beginnings of major economic initiatives in the right direction. 213

THE HIJAZ   In Chapter 9, we sketch out the framework of an inclusive regional initiative, which could help tackle all these pressing challenges through a positive integrative vision. A series of multi-layered cooperation steps need to be taken to assist the countries of the greater Middle East to overcome these crises in a constructive and harmonious manner on their way to reform, and inclusive and sustainable growth. The Hijaz, under Saudi Arabia’s stewardship, we will argue, can provide the ideoreligious backbone of such a positive platform. It can provide the symbolic integrative core which will assist and guide the Islamic nations in overcoming ideo-religious obstacles. In many ways this would mean that the countries of the region would work together to diminish the ‘negative space’, in order to advance and maximize the ‘positive space’—whose natural embodiment would be—as it was 1400 years ago—The Hijaz. This would grant the process a higher, reliable Islamic morality and a coherent integration with the international order. It would also allow Arab nations, under Saudi Arabian leadership, to come together, benefit from The Hijaz’s constructive and integrative influence, and, as they did centuries ago, use this guidance to settle local disputes which have been holding back regional development and joint progress for too long. Lastly, this decisive advent of the positive space will enhance the region’s ability to isolate extremists, advance de-radicalization, and jointly combat the incipient threats of ‘Islamic’ terrorism. It is crucial to permanently disarm this violent brand of jihadi ideology and eliminate both the ideological and the socio-economic factors that help fuel it. We will argue that a wide-ranging and far-reaching inclusive regional initiative can catalytically help achieve all the above-discussed and much-needed targets.   Through these multi-level efforts, it will be possible for Islamic nations to jointly claim Islam’s rightful seat at the high table of key international organizations—starting with the UN, next to the Vatican. This will allow for a safer navigation of the uncharted and seemingly challenging waters of the twenty-first century. A new era for Islam and the region can be inaugurated with the positive agency of all the states of the greater Middle East. It is in their vital interest. They need it, and so does the increasingly dynamic, rapidly changing, and progressively volatile world.

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES

Arab Statehood after the SecondWorldWar: Decolonization, Mandates, and Arab Disorganization This section focuses on the development of Middle East statehood, taking into account the impact of decolonization and the forces shaping the new Arab states from the Second World War onwards. As emphasized earlier, the emergence of the Westphalian model of nation-states gave rise to two main viewpoints: some felt that nationalism promoted limited interests and undermined universalism, while others saw the importance of resolving this nationalist tendency within the Islamic framework in order to promote the interest of peoples and preserve foundational Islamic values. We trace these dynamics through the statehood experience of several countries in the greater Middle East, highlighting similarities and differences, as well as common themes which emerged over time. Even in the most secular experiences of statehood, with very few exceptions, Islam was present, in different expressions and different levels. In some cases, where secularization, Western­ ization, and modernization were imposed top-down, too fast, and too abruptly, ‘Islam’ came back with a vengeance: in the various waves of Islamic revivalism, both Sunni and Shi’ite, which culminated in the late 1970s.   In short, we trace here the different ideas of post-war statehood in the Islamic world. We discuss how states came to evolve after the epoch-defining events that unfolded in the aftermath of the Second World War and decisively shifted the map of the Middle East for the next century. We begin with a discussion of the evolution of statehood in the post-Second World War context, considering the implications of decolonization, with reference to the stances of important actors in the international system—namely the Great Powers, the superpowers, and key international organizations such as the United Nations. In tandem, our analysis examines the impact of the Cold War context, its geoeconomics and geopolitics. Then, it briefly traces the birth of a series of regional organizations, including the Arab League, the Gulf Cooperation Council, and the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation. This section ends with a discussion of the tensions associated with the evolution of statehood in the post-Second World War context in the Middle East—such as the rise of Islamist extremist groups, starting with the Soviet–Afghan war and the rise of the Mujahideen, the 215

THE HIJAZ Taliban, al-Qaida, and DA’ISH. Overall, this chapter will deconstruct the complex quest for Arab and Islamic statehood in the sunset years of colonialism, the rise of the American era, and the Cold War. In the process, it will trace and analyse key dynamics which had a pivotal role in co-shaping the statehood experience in the greater Middle East region. Key among them are modernization and Westernization; regionalism, cooperation, and integration; ideology and religion; and also the international context—decolonization, the Cold War, and the new international relations setting. All in all, the countries of the region, in an ironic act of self-entrapment, even after attaining full independence, took on the Westphalian nation-state model and associated tools of statecraft. They tried to adopt it, then to adapt it, retaining it in spite of a series of stumbles and shortcomings suggesting that perhaps this was not the most appropriate vehicle for the optimal development of Islamic statehood. The forces pressurizing these nascent and particularly fragile statehood models were both internal and external, and were exacerbated by both top-down and bottom-up drivers. In the following sections we attempt an overview of this complex journey, mapping the different examples and the distinct experiences—as these evolved, over time, throughout the wider region.  

The SecondWorldWar and its Aftermath: Paving the way for Decolonization and the Evolution of Statehood Following the aggression against, conquest, and subsequent annexation of The Hijaz by Ibn Saud in 1925, the idea of the ‘Arab state’ seemed to have lost both its key advocate and its direction and momentum. The Mandate System and colonial rule did not favour great experimentation in governance and political evolution. Arguably, the Mandates were an uncomfortable way for states to enter the international system, and unfavourable for the development of new concepts of statehood. This was compounded by the Great Depression of the 1930s, which hindered international economic and political progress. Interestingly, as discussed, the 1930s witnessed considerable political activity in The Hijaz, with the founding of The Hijaz National Party and The Hijaz National Charter—forces that sought to guide events in a more positive, reformist direction, and gained significant momentum. 216

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES   The end of the Second World War saw the former Great Powers of Europe shattered from the war effort and its dreadful toll across the continent. The same was true with respect to several of the colonies and Mandate countries, especially in the MENA region, which had evolved into an important theatre for Second World War warfare and strategy. Battles and tactics unfolded between mainly British, Vichy French, Italian, and German forces, with the conflict affecting several nations and former colonies in the broader region—from Somalia, to Iraq, to Syria, to Lebanon, to Ethiopia, to the Anglo-Soviet invasion of Iran. Effectively, all of the wider MENA region was seriously affected by the conflicts, not least due to the German desire to reach the oilrich countries, starting with the Caucasus fields, and then moving south, enveloping Iran and Iraq, to be joined from the other side, through Rommel’s planned conquest of Egypt, and then into Saudi Arabia. The German plans were eventually thwarted both by their failure to advance through Russia and the Caucasus to Azerbaijan and then further down towards the Middle East and by the major British mobilization to reverse the German strategic advance in Egypt. At the same time, it was pivotal for the Allies to defend their access to and special relationship with the oil-producing countries. Very similar to the postFirst World War experience, however, allies were once again forgotten after the war, the costs of war inflicted upon the MENA and its people were overlooked, and a new effort to consolidate control over key resources and pivotal geostrategic infracture and locations unfolded.

The Failure of a System and the Birth of a Better: From the League of Nations to the UN The shortcomings of the League of Nations were clearly visible even before the Second World War, and, especially in the run-up to the war, with the League’s utter failure to prevent, mediate, or decisively intervene to end conflicts and acts of aggression—even against its own signatories. From Corfu, to The Hijaz, to Abyssinia/Ethiopia, to Manchuria, to disarmament, to appeasement, to Sudetenland/ Czechoslovakia, to Anschluss, to the Second World War itself, the League did not manage to alter the course of events, or to preserve or advance peace. The Second World War, with its devastating toll and 217

THE HIJAZ unprecedented devastation, left the world traumatized and the international system broken. A new initiative was clearly needed to set the foundations for lasting peace, and ensure that there would never again be a new total or global war. This drive and collective need was embodied into the Charter of the United Nations.18 In parallel, given the contribution of a series of former colonies in the war effort, and given a shift in the power dynamics with the weakening of the Great Powers, a wave of calls for decolonization immediately followed the end of the war, with a clear drive towards self-determination and independence. Under the UN, the Mandate System was replaced with the Trusteeship Council, through which a clearer path towards independence was set out. Until 1994 the stated aims of the Trusteeship Council were summarized as follows: ‘The main goals of the System were to promote the advancement of the inhabitants of Trust Territories and their progressive development towards self-government or independence.’19

From Mandates, Colonies, and Protectorates to Decolonization Decolonization came in two main waves. The first was in the immediate aftermath of the war, and lasted for ten years (1945–55). In a way it was a reaction to the problematic and unsustainable Mandate System, which was in effect a repackaged version of colonialism, rebranded to pay lip-service to respect for the borders, sovereignty, and self-determination of nations, under the ‘supervision’ of the Great Powers. A striking example was that of British imperial—and then Mandate— rule over India. It meant that Britain, a country a fraction the size of India,20 situated in a different continent, managed through multi-layered and multi-faceted divide-and-rule, power, and tribal politics, as well as the fuelling of sectarianism and local or regional antagonisms, to control a country of 390 million people.21   The second wave of decolonization started in 1957, with Ghana. This former British colony was the first sub-Saharan African state to proclaim independence. Nearby colonies, mainly under French rule, followed soon, with fifteen new independent states emerging within the next years, from Chad and Cameroon, to Guinea, Mali, Niger, and Congo—to cite but a few. In other words, by 1960, fifteen years after the end of the Second World War, a fully fledged ‘third world’, or a series of ‘developing nations’, had entered the global arena, the pre218

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES dominant regional and international organizations, and were expanding the dimensions of global politics as it had been known until that date.22   Effectively, after the Second World War the world system moved from multi-polarity—which included competition between the Great Powers, the powerful (European) imperial nations, the League of Nations, colonialism, and the Mandate System—to a new system. The new order had the UN at its core—as a new global effort at better managing world governance, security, and prosperity—coupled with a drive for self-determination and decolonization, the Trusteeship Council, and the rediscovery of statehood. The rise of the USSR and the coexistence of two superpowers in the international system underpinned the transition to a bipolar world order. This new era, with its numerous challenges, started with new great global divisions, with many regions finding themselves affected by the so-called Iron Curtain that separated the USSR-led, predominantly communist bloc from the US-led, Western bloc, which was mostly liberal-democratic, freemarket, and capitalist. The two collective security treaty organizations that underpinned this global dichotomy were the USSR-led Warsaw Pact and the US-led North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO). A third pole also emerged: the Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), which mainly consisted of countries with colonial pasts in Oceania, Africa, Latin America, and Asia. The movement originated in the mid-1950s with the pivotal agency of Yugoslavia’s ‘iron’ president, Josip Broz Tito, India’s first prime minister, Jawaharlal Nehru, and, Egypt’s second president, Colonel Gamal Abdel Nasser.23

The 1950s and 1960s: From Anti-Colonialism and Anti-Imperialism to Ba’athism and Nasserism From the Korean War to the first war in Vietnam, and the division of the country, the world saw a series of nationalist efforts to remove foreign influences, both formally colonial and those of a more informal, but also dependent, nature. The same anti-imperialist push was seen earlier in India, with the Gandhi-led expulsion of the British. In this effort, US policy was working towards a level playing field, an end to empire, and a recalibration of the balance of power. The clearest manifestation of the US stance was its 1956 condemnation of the 1956 219

THE HIJAZ Franco-British–Israeli capture of Suez and attack on the forces of Egypt (formerly a British Protectorate). The invasion and capture took place in response to Nasser’s nationalization of the Suez Canal in July 1956.24 In spite of the pan-Arab leader’s military defeat, a great symbolic, politico-diplomatic victory was achieved through the US-led international backlash against the actions of the imperialists. This was a crucial moment in the de-legitimization of the former imperial Great Powers and their geopolitical, geostrategic, and geo-economic tactics that had defined events in certain regions over extended periods in modern history. It forced the British and French to come to terms with the realpolitik of the post-war world: that neither held ‘superpower’ influence or power. It possibly marked the end of empire. In a way, Nasser’s stance and perceived politico-diplomatic win, following the ensuing Franco-British withdrawal and UN intervention, became a reference point for global anti-imperialist efforts, and gave renewed dynamism to what came to be known as Nasserism, a very interesting blend of single-party nationalism, attempts at advancing a socialist model, and efforts to promote pan-Arabism.25   Gamal Abdel Nasser (1918–70), was a highly educated Egyptian colonel, who opposed the Egyptian monarchy, King Faruq specifically, whom he replaced in a (near-) bloodless coup in 1952. In fact, ironically, Nasser had researched extensively, at the Military University, the role of General Allenby, who was among the key figures who misled Sharif Hussein of The Hijaz in the period immediately after the end of the First World War. Conceivably, this academic study might have played a role in Nasser’s scepticism and critical stance towards Britain and European colonialism. He was highly aware of the risks and predicaments of imperial designs, and of falling on the wrong end of their calculations. He thus, perhaps unsurprisingly, chose to pull Egypt out of the equation and outside that sphere, steering it to independence from foreign influences. In fact, Nasser in 1952 was the first since Sharif Hussein of The Hijaz to lead such a revolt. Other rebellions followed in the region, and in general the threatened monarchies became violent and brutal in their attempts to suppress dissent and popular mobilization. Interestingly, the military abandoned them in several cases—taking power itself and paving the way for new forms of Arab authoritarian rule. Nasser, who was in many ways a catalyst for this 220

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES trend, was a fierce critic of the monarchies, which he saw as betraying the interests of the people, more loyal to foreign power centres and European imperialists than to their people, and exploiting their privileged access over their territories and subjects.26   The best political label for Nasser is perhaps that he was an Egyptian nationalist, who later adopted a non-aligned or neutral position with his own brand of Arab socialism and a state-led approach to modernization and several aspects of government.27 In what Cleveland calls ‘military enters politics’, a team of junior military officers, known as the Free Officers, led by Nasser, deposed the then Egyptian king and called for the destruction of British colonialism and its collaborators.28 The coup leaders were later established as the Revolutionary Command Council (RCC), and formed the executive body of government. Their immediate core aims were to remove their opponents from positions of power or influence and to win popular support through reforms. The themes that ‘framed’ this bid for power were a ‘patriotic desire to end the British occupation’ and ‘vague notions of reform and social justice’.29 Overall, Nasser and the RCC’s calls for socialism and a strategy of nationalizing everything must also be (partially) viewed through this prism of ‘ending foreign influences’ and ‘dependencies’ on external or unaccountable (non-RCC-controlled) domestic sources of power and influence.   Nasser rose to power in Egypt soon after the creation of the Ba’ath Party in Iraq and Syria by Michel Aflaq (1910–89), who was Christian Orthodox, and a Sunni Muslim, Salah al-Din al-Bitar (1912–80).30 Aflaq and al-Bitar founded this mixture of nationalism and socialism in the 1930s, while studying in Paris. The word Ba’ath could be construed to mean ‘resurrection’, ‘rebirth’, or ‘renaissance’.31 The Ba’ath Party showcased its strength and rising influence in the 1954 elections in Syria, and ‘was to develop as the most significant ideological Arab party of the postwar era’.32 Some of the core guiding principles of the Ba’ath included a commitment to advance freedom and social justice; deliver ‘a national resurrection’; independence from imperial influence and control; ‘a belief in the existence of a single Arab nation and a commitment to achievement of Arab unity’; and a socialist vision from progressive socialist reform, to cite a few.33 Also, crucially, it was, according to some accounts, Aflaq who, despite his Christian Orthodox 221

THE HIJAZ beliefs, ‘made Islam an integral part of Baathist ideology’, ‘equat[ing] Islam and Arabism’—which he regarded ‘as expressions of the Arab spirit’.34 These themes left a powerful impression on Nasser, influencing the Nasserist agenda in Egypt as well as Nasser’s vision for the region. And, as we shall see, Islam did not disappear following the collapse of the monarchies in Egypt, Iraq, Syria, and other countries in the Greater MENA. It followed divergent paths, but remained central to social cohesion and scholarly reflection as well as a reference point for the region (and regional initiatives).   Interestingly, no communist regime—per se—rose to power in the Arab world (nor in any predominantly Islamic nation). There was the nationalist model, with socialist dimensions, such as Nasser’s, but not a USSR-type communist party. For instance, when the Ba’ath Party came to power in Iraq, it banned the Communist Party and its exponents and supporters, many of whom were executed or imprisoned. In short, these revolutions proved bereft of communist stimulus or outcome. At the same time, in predominantly Muslim Indonesia, which was prominent in the Non-Aligned Movement in the early 1960s, the nationalist Suharto regime carried out an extremely violent purge of communists and their supporters between 1965 and 1968, in which up to a million people were killed.35   Both Ba’athism and Nasserism were fuelled by nationalism rather than religion. In fact, they had more socialist and nationalist than Islamic characteristics. However, despite their socialist inclinations, neither went completely communist, nor did they immerse themselves in the Soviet milieu. Instead, Nasser systematically played the non-aligned card, and was among the most prominent members of the movement. Nasser’s bid for socialism, and desire to nationalize the country’s critical assets, resources, and infrastructure, must also be seen through an anti-imperial lens—a reaction to the long-term exploitation of the country’s wealth by foreigners, especially Britain. Part of this paradoxical ideological blend emanating from Egypt was a desire to push back and if possible eliminate external influences, dependencies, and rooted interests. Nasserism became the Arab embodiment of anti-colonial sentiment; the rightful inheritor of the—formerly foreign-exploited—national affluence. Pan-Arabism effectively emerged as the new ‘great idea’, the broader narrative in which to frame domestic efforts and achieve independent influence  

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES and renown in the regional and global arenas. This Egypt-led effort eventually gathered regional support, with several Arab countries coming under the control of single-party regimes advancing a Nasserite form of Arab socialism, dedicated to state-led development and the restoration of national control. Such phenomena unfolded in Algeria, Tunisia, Iraq, and Syria, with the latter two having the particular Ba’athist dimension discussed above. Roger Owen crucially comments on the statecraft used by the leaders of the above-mentioned five countries, which emphasized ‘fine-sounding technological’ language; appeals to expertise and scientific planning; the underlining of the need for state-led growth, rapid development and more equitable income distribution; and ‘the more idealistic language of Arab socialism’ as an additional framing tool.36 What is particularly important is the cautious insistence of all five leaderships on clearly distinguishing this path of Arab nationalism and socialism within the Middle Eastern context from the ‘dangerous notion of social division and class struggle’—in other words, they drew a clear dividing line with communism (applied socialism).37   In Iraq38 and Syria39 Ba’athism was very much the driver of or fuel for nationalism. By Ba’athism, we mean ‘the principles and policies of the Baath political party of Iraq and Syria characterized especially by promotion of pan-Arab socialism’.40 In his excellent discussion of the birth, rise, evolution, and eventual ‘metamorphosis’ of the Ba’ath Party,41 John Devlin captures its origins, and the key paradox that even though Syria and Iraq both embraced the Ba’athist ideology, their governments maintained antagonistic mutual relations, which persisted diachronically and were often heated.42 According to Devlin The Arab Socialist Baath (Resurrection) Party began its half-century of existence as a movement standing for Arab nationalism, freedom from foreign rule, and the establishment of a single Arab state. For the past quarter-century, it has been represented by two mutually hostile authoritarian regimes, those in Iraq and Syria. Each claims to be the sole legitimate inheritor of the original Baath legacy.43

  Interestingly, therefore, in spite of their geographical proximity and like-minded ideology, Iraq and Syria, the two Ba’athist single-party states, did not pursue a union, in keeping with the core aim stated in the Ba’ath Party’s vision—the establishment of a single Arab state.44 223

THE HIJAZ Instead, efforts towards such a union between two regional states were actually advanced between Egypt and Syria, under a mixed umbrella of pan-Arabism and Ba’athism. The result was al-Jumhuriyya al-‘Arabiyya al-Muttahida, the United Arab Republic (UAR), a political union between Egypt and Syria that lasted for three years (February 1958– September 1961). In 1961 a coup in Syria brought in new leadership, which immediately declared independence from Egypt. On the other hand, Egypt, the most prominent supporter of pan-Arabism, kept the name United Arab Republic until September 1971. Another effort to advance a union—a Hashemite push for union between Iraq and Jordan—was undermined by a military coup. The ephemeral Arab Federation of Iraq and Jordan was founded by King Faisal II of Iraq and his cousin, King Hussein of Jordan. This development coincided with the Egypt–Syria union, and was launched as a form of ‘counterweight’, in February 1958.45 The attempt collapsed six months later, however, as a military coup removed King Faisal.46   President Nasser tried to advance several other unions between Egypt and countries of the region, including with North Yemen and Iraq—all unsuccessful. At the very heart of Nasser’s conception of the Arab state was the need to keep it free of foreign influence—especially British or European. It was very much this anti-colonial and anti-imperial drive that further enhanced his pan-Arabism, along with a conviction that the Arab states can best navigate the challenging international environment if they enhance their unity. Undoubtedly, the leaders advancing such unions—and Nasser particularly—also sought personal recognition as statesmen in attempting this. Overall, Arab popular opinion has been positive towards Nasser’s efforts to advance Arab unity, state-led modernization, and social justice, as well as freedom from imperialist schemes and exploitation. Even though not a statesman in the traditional sense, Nasser was in several ways inspirational—primarily for the Egyptians, but also for Arabs, Muslims, and in general nations and people seeking to rid themselves of foreign interference in the post-1950 context. Cleveland captures this diverse blend of sentiments and influence that Nasser inspired for many years in the Arab world: During the period from 1952 to 1967, Gamal Abd al-Nasser was the embodiment of what the Arab world wanted to be: assertive, inde-

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES pendent, and engaged in the construction of a new society freed of the imperial past and oriented toward a bright Arab future. His initiatives were copied in other Arab states, and so dominant was his stature that such terms as Nasserism and Nasserites became common political currency. … For a time he presented the Arab world with the image of a dynamic leader who defied the imperial powers and swept away the old ruling elite. He seemed to represent progressive reformism … and a spirit of hope that made many believe in the possibility of a re-birth of a new and powerful Arab order and independence in the face of external pressures. … It is appropriate to identify his years in power as the age of Nasser.47

  In the years that followed, more ‘single-party regimes’48 sprang up in the region, and some strong leaders eventually consolidated power in the form of authoritarian governments. Examples are Libya, with Muammar Gaddafi; Syria, with Hafez al-Assad; Iraq, with Saddam Hussein; Sudan, with Gaafar Nimeiry; and Nasser’s successor in Egypt, Anwar Sadat.49 Colonel Gaddafi, for instance, rose to power in Libya in 1969, to become one of the region’s longest-standing leaders.50 Gaddafi’s Libya was a complex mix; in 1977 he added socialist colours to the country’s profile, rebranding the state as the Great Socialist Popular Libyan Arab Jamahiriya. In spite of the symbolism, however, the predominant classification used for Libya was strong authoritarian rule, backed with military force and governance with an iron fist. Similarly, ten years later, in 1979, the Ba’athist Saddam Hussein worked to take the place of his cousin as president of Iraq, to establish a comparable blend of authoritarianism.   Common elements across these single-party states include: (a) the need for a strong leader, usually with some form of military capacity or commanding the absolute, full support of the armed forces and the police (monopoly of force); (b) state-led political–economic models often with leftist–socialist overtones; (c) the pursuit of independent standing—minimizing external influences; and (d) strong authoritarian rule, but not totalitarian in the absolute sense (such as Stalinism).51 In sum, there were single-party states, born from decolonization and anti-imperialism, challenging ‘liberal monarchies’ and kings, who were always susceptible to the criticism of ‘listening to’ or being ‘played’ or ‘manipulated’ by European imperialists. 225

THE HIJAZ   Another important common theme across these Arab single-party regimes was their stance in the Cold War. In spite of their socialist–leftist overtones, as discussed earlier, these countries were neither totalitarian nor communist. They never formally entered the Communist Bloc. The USSR’s support of Egypt in the Suez Crisis of 1956 won it some favour, and in general, Nasser and the pan-Arab states of the region were more positively predisposed towards the Soviets. That being said, the powerful anti-imperialist sentiments across these Arab societies meant that the people did not wish the substitution of the European–Western imperialists with Soviet–Communist influence and interference in the region. Pragmatic considerations, concerning military technology, know-how, and hardware ensured, however, that from 1955 to 1975 a loose yet steady alliance between Egypt, other countries of the region, and the USSR persisted.   Notably, Owen points out that these authoritarian, single-party states did not find religion an obstacle to their control or power. Specifically, he highlights that ‘no regime felt able to abandon Islam entirely, for this would have been to cut the most important single ideological and cultural link between it and the bulk of the population’.52 In other words, Islam served as the invisible ‘glue’ facilitating social cohesion, but was also an intangible bridge between the broader populace striving for economic progress and development and the small ruling elite steering the state-led domestic political economy. Nasser even managed to have his programme partially endorsed by Egypt’s religious establishment, obtaining fatwas for some of his central policies.53 In these authoritarian contexts, as seen also in Libya for example with the rise of Gaddafi, the leadership often tried to maintain a strong grip over the educational and religious establishments. Nasser’s tactics also included a reform of al-Azhar University, a move that helped strengthen his control over Egypt’s religious institutions, and had a multi-faceted diachronic impact and significance: Nasser’s modernization of al-Azhar was a way for the [president] to control closely the religious institution and to appropriate religion, without making it disappear from the public sphere. Crecelius himself later qualified his description of the 1961 reform by underlining the strong links between the Nasserist regime and religion. In the long term, al-Azhar’s

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES modernization helped the ulema re-emerge on the political and social scene. As a key moment, this ‘modernizing’ reform can help understand the current relationship between religion and politics in Egypt.54

  Zeghal goes on to discuss critically the successful ‘framing’ tactics employed by Nasser in advancing these policies and ‘reforms’, while at the same time analysing their impact on the ‘ulama’ and debating their bureaucratization. An idea put forth by Zeghal is that Nasser managed to establish a form of religious monopoly, stripping the shaykhs and the ‘ulama’ of their influence and powers, as well as doing away with the waqfs (pious foundations) and the religious judicial system.55 Interestingly, the unique and highly symbolic institution of al-Azhar had already been used as a symbol for national independence by Nasser’s regime.56 Through Nasser’s strategy, reforms in the religious, religious–judicial, and religious–scholarly spheres helped to legitimize his ideology of Arab socialism and the co-optation to that agenda of the ‘ulama’.37

What Became of the ‘Arab East’ Lebanon, like Syria, was a French Mandate. They both attained their independence during the Second World War, a year after the fall of France, in 1941. By 1946, after some heightened moments of violence and conflict, the last French soldiers had left the two countries. Lebanon in the period studied here was an interesting outlier. It enjoyed a different statehood experience; it was as if Lebanon basically remained relatively stable and ideologically isolated in the period between the late 1940s and the 1960s, despite regional instability, uncertainty, and turmoil. The small state emerged as a magnet for Arab funds and personal wealth, presenting a safe banking system and a predictable environment for deposits and security of capital at a time when a wave of socialist and leftist authoritarian ideologues were advancing eccentric, untested, and often communist-infused, statist economic agendas which included forceful nationalization (for example, Egypt, Syria, and Iraq). While not without crises, until the mid1970s Lebanon was used as a reference point, an example of the advantages of ‘sectarian pluralism’, with the small state’s prosperous yet diverse population ‘thriv[ing] as a multi-religious, multi-ethnic urban 227

THE HIJAZ mosaic’.58 In 1975–6 there was a decisive ‘wake-up call’ regarding the fragility of even prosperous states in times of powerful ideological winds, which expose the limits of cohesion built on artificial foundations and extensive dependency.59 Family and religious ties proved stronger than national ones given the inability of the ruling elites and the political system to advance a truly inclusive bottom-up political development.60 A bloody ten-year civil war followed, with a multitude of designs by regional actors (such as Iran, Syria and Libya) for interference in the small Middle Eastern country.61 Crucially, like Saudi Arabia and Jordan, which we discuss below, Lebanon maintained close ties with the West, especially the USA. The superpower intervened in 1958 when the country faced the prospect of civil war, deploying 15,000 troops on the country’s beaches.62 Arguably, this highlighted the duality of Cold War and Western priorities: namely, to maintain stability and the status quo when this was in line with their interests, and to prevent at all costs instability which could lead to the ideological immersion of actors in the Communist Bloc.63   The experience in the Arabian Peninsula has been different. The smaller members of what is known today as the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) were effectively British-controlled ports and garrisons—‘sub-states’, in a way—the Trucial States.64 Pivotal in the history of the Persian Gulf Protectorates was the 1915 Darin Pact, signed between the British and Ibn Saud.65 This central agreement was effectively the first step towards international recognition of the nascent Saudi state (then the Sultanate of Najd). In exchange for recognition of Saudi statehood and its first borders, the British secured Ibn Saud’s commitment to respect the current arrangement over the Trucial States. In the process however, not only did they recognize Saudi control in the wider area, they also legitimized Saudi influence in the contiguous territories, paving the way for the eventual aggression against and subsequent annexation of The Hijaz. The agreement was sealed with the 1927 Anglo-Saudi Treaty of Jeddah, which came to swiftly recognize the new arrangement (the Kingdom of The Hijaz and Najd), and re-confirmed British influence over the Trucial coast. The Trucial States found themselves trapped in a very long period of ‘sub-statehood’,66 as ‘Trucial shaykhdoms’ under British control, there for the advancement of British imperial interests. The British managed to retain this arrangement until  

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES the independence of the seven principal shaykhdoms, in 1971. In one of the most notable case studies of Arab statehood, these shaykhdoms rapidly moved on to form the United Arab Emirates (UAE)—in fear of both the Gulf’s hegemon, Saudi Arabia, after their liberation, and of Iran (especially after the revolution).67

— Saudi Arabia As discussed and documented earlier in this book, the Saudi statehood experience has been unique. Ever since Ibn Saud’s forces conquered Makkah, ending the Kingdom of The Hijaz in the process, a new ruler had headed Arabia and sat at the ‘high seat of Islam’: the House of Saud, leader of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, and head of the Wahhabi religious order, whose political revival had started in 1902 with the conquest of Riyadh.68 While oil was discovered in the late 1930s in Saudi Arabia (1938 specifically), the decisive growth of the industry did not start immediately. It had to wait till after the end of the war.69 Ibn Saud officially adopted a neutral stance during the Second World War, until March 1945, when the kingdom declared war on Germany. However, it had cooperated closely with the Allies since 1940, and Ibn Saud openly supported Britain—a policy that also had to do with Saudi Arabia’s dire need for economic assistance given the free-fall in the pilgrimage revenues.70 Indirect US subsidies—investments in Saudi Arabia’s oil-related capacities—were also key for the kingdom’s survival and subsequent development.71   With the union between Egypt and Syria, the formation of the United Arab Republic and the seeming momentum of pan-Arabism was seen as a threat by Saudi Arabia. In the kingdom, thoughts of intervention immediately surfaced, and several attempts to undermine and sabotage the UAR were launched immediately. Furthermore, King Faisal of Saudi Arabia sought to advance a competing vision, in an attempt to counterbalance the challenge of Nasser-led pan-Arabism. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia therefore initiated a coordinated campaign to advance pan-Islamism. This ideological alternative to pan-Arabism made an impression in countries such as Pakistan. Pan-Arabism’s edge was mainly the popularity and respect inspired by its key exponent, President Nasser of Egypt.72 In advancing pan-Islamism, however, the Kingdom of 229

THE HIJAZ Saudi Arabia appeared to have two major advantages. First and foremost was The Hijaz region, home to Makkah and Medina, Islam’s Holiest Sites—gate-keepers and key-holders to the highest source of symbolic legitimacy and power within Islam. Secondly, from the 1950s onwards, Saudi Arabia’s excessive oil wealth was also used to buttress the spread of ideo-political and ideo-religious influence.73   The attempts by the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to counterbalance the ideo-political manoeuvres and external relations of Nasser’s Egypt and other pan-Arabian states also evolved in Cold War terms, with some ironic aspects. For instance, it maintained a close political, economic, energy, and military alliance with the USA, which placed it firmly among the supporters of the Western Bloc. To justify this position, Saudi Arabia also sought to connect it with religious considerations. In a nutshell, the argument went that Nasser and the pan-Arabist leaders supporting or cooperating with the USSR were betraying Islam, as they had decided to support and work with communists, who were atheists and unbelievers. Instead, Saudi support, alignment, and alliance with the US–West was framed in the context that they are, at least, People of the Book, believing in and maintaining respect for religion. Saudi Arabia’s path had several components, ranging from statesmanship and continuity in leadership—inspired by its iron leader, Ibn Saud—to the very particular internal ideo-religious realities that it embraced— namely, Wahhabism in its politics, education, religion, justice system, and society, coupled with Shari’a law—and the very unbalanced political economy based on the unthinkable riches associated with the largest proven and most easily extractable oil reserves in the world. The following passage aptly captures the complex and diverse parallel track on which Saudi Arabia embarked in the post-war period discussed: In the years that followed World War II, Ibn Sa’ud’s status differed from that of other Arab rulers, and conferred [on] him a legitimacy they did not possess. He had won his Kingdom through his own efforts and was not tainted, as were his Hashimite rivals, by association with European support. Nor could he be accused of allowing an imported secular constitution to be imposed on his domains. His rule was founded on the indigenous traditions of Wahhabi Islam and tribal politics. … The Saudi legal system was based on the shari’ah. Saudi Arabia’s reputation as an exemplary Islamic state was enhanced by … the holy cities. … That state remained tribal conservative, and inward-looking, but its

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES very existence was an achievement, and its durability is a tribute to the foundations laid by Ibn Saud.74

Decolonized Liberal Monarchies — Jordan From the colonies and the Mandate countries, the region transitioned primarily to what Roger Owen calls the ‘liberal’ monarchies, which came under pressure from single-party rule—their vehicle being decolonization. These decolonized ‘liberal’ monarchies, such as Jordan and Morocco, had previously been ‘sub-states’, largely secular. Hashemite Jordan is a prominent example of this model. Jordan effectively surfaced through imperial ‘restructurings in the region’, which created a Britishcontrolled zone following the partition of Greater Syria. Humphreys describes Jordan’s post-Second World War role as a regional ‘broker between conflicting agendas and ideologies within the Arab world, or between the Arab countries and the West’.75 He suggests that this has remained the case, owing to a diverse set of reasons, including the country’s origins and internal composition, history, and size.76 When King Abdullah of Jordan was assassinated in Jerusalem in 1951, most analysts predicted the collapse of the kingdom.77 However, King Hussein, Abdullah’s grandson, who took over two years after the assassination, proved a heavy-duty, all-weather and skilful leader.78 He steered the Kingdom of Jordan to safety even in the most difficult moments and most complex crises presented in its post-1953 history.79 In a way, King Hussein had the political skill of a survivalist: the talent of reading shifting landscapes and adapting early and swiftly, as required, to advance national security in contexts of extreme fluidity and grave uncertainty. He was also clearly dexterous in managing internal dynamics in a country with stark internal divisions.80 As Humphreys observes, King Hussein ‘variously played the ardent Arab Nationalist, the staunch ally of the West, the thoughtful moderate—whatever the situation at any given moment in time seemed to demand’.81   One must also consider the significance and the realities of regional and international politics, which highlighted the importance of having a solid ‘buffer’, and a balancer, in a way, between, Syria, Iraq, Israel, and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. The West has repeatedly sought to 231

THE HIJAZ maintain such ‘anchors of stability’ globally, fortifying them, as required, to maintain favourable regional balances and advance what it perceives as its vital interests.82 Notably, perhaps the greatest challenge to the kingdom’s—and Hussein’s—stability came from ideology: panArabism, in 1957. Cleveland observes that a ‘wave of opposition [mounted] inspired by a convergence of all of the reformist currents of the era—Nasserism, Ba’athism and communism’.83 Faced with these challenges, the regime understood that martial law and deepening its ties with the West might be a safer path for survival and stability, combined with a distancing from the region’s ideological adventures as far as possible. The alignment with the West came with military and financial assistance—crucial for the attainment of security on all levels: external, internal, and economic. Given the size of the kingdom, sustained financial support, principally from the USA, allowed for periods of steady growth.84 Jordan, overall, in the period studied in this chapter, was a steady player, active in the Arab League, with geopolitical significance, which, in the context of the Cold War, found itself on the same side of globe as Saudi Arabia.

— Libya Libya also emerged after the Second World War as a decolonized liberal monarchy. An enemy of Italy and the Axis in the war, it naturally sided with the Allies. Under US–British leadership, it played an important role in the 1942–3 North Africa theatre against German and Italian forces.85 Different zones were under French and British control, but, through international deliberations and UN initiatives, a united, independent Libya emerged as a liberal monarchy under King Mohammed Idris.86 Britain and the USA wasted no time in advancing their interests in the newly independent kingdom, bringing it within the Western sphere of influence through establishing bases and economic dependency. Oil discovery in the late 1950s allowed Libya to diminish dependence and reverse foreign influence. As discussed earlier, the turn of the 1960s brought a shift to authoritarianism, following the bloodless military coup that brought Gaddafi to power. The coup initiated the long and unpredictable rule of Gaddafi with the mixed Arab nationalist, Islamic, and socialist ideological extensions associated with the Brother Leader’s own personal philosophy and programme.87 The change in 232

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES government and stark turnaround in the Libyan statehood experience also shifted the international loyalties of the country.

— Morocco Morocco, the MENA state most proximate to the European continent, and a French Protectorate for nearly half a century, also eventually emerged as a decolonized liberal monarchy. French imperial diplomacy and manoeuvring kept it within France’s sphere of control for a whole decade after the Second World War—sustaining, of course, the illusion of the Moroccan sultan’s sovereignty. Efforts towards independence climaxed after the end of the war, with the kingdom’s leadership emphasizing the state’s Arab links.88 By 1954 conditions in the region favoured the Moroccan king’s agenda, as the Algerian War for Independence certainly worked to divert French attention. In 1956 the French, having re-ordered their priorities and weighed up their options, agreed to the advancement of constitutional government in Morocco, sealed with the restoration of Sidi Mohammed (Mohammed V). The shift in the French position and the momentum that had been developed in Morocco left little room for Spanish imperial strategy, so they struck a similar agreement, also ending their Protectorate.89 From 1957 onwards the evolution of statehood in Morocco took a rather linear course, with parliamentary elections six years later in 1963. The state resembled a more functional constitutional monarchy by 1970. The 1970s, however, saw several failed coup attempts and an election widely perceived as fraudulent, and Morocco entered the 1980s in a worsening economic slowdown and with popular unrest in sight.90 Nonetheless, its post-independence political evolution was not, overall, among the most tumultuous. If anything, there was, especially in the Cold War context, considerable predictability,91 with Morocco largely aligning with the Western Bloc, building stronger ties with its Western neighbours, and a close alliance with the USA—a diplomatic link that remains very strong to date.92

Statehood and the Pursuit of Secularism At the time of this drive for pan-Arabism and pan-Islamism and the different sub-state and regional efforts to re-insert or emphasize the 233

THE HIJAZ Islamic component in the context of statehood and governance, in Turkey and Iran the driving forces were pushing in a different direction: ‘Kemalism’ in Turkey,93 and the secular rule of the Shah in Iran. The push was towards the establishment of a Western lifestyle and code, and was largely forced upon these societies. The leaders of these two nations wanted to lead secular states, in the Western style, and societies reflecting this—from dress code to professions and the domestic political economy.

— Turkey To understand the post-war evolution of statehood in Turkey, one must start with the collapse of empire, the country’s poor positioning in relation to the First World War, and subsequent total defeat. One must then identify the parallels between the paradigmatically punitive, humiliating terms imposed on Germany and Turkey, as highlighted by the Treaty of Versailles and the Treaty of Sèvres respectively. The signing of the Sèvres Treaty by the Turkish sultan was a moment of national embarrassment and a source of embitterment. The Ottoman map— and Turkey itself—was effectively being opened up, partitioned, and carved up, reducing a mighty empire to the spoils of war for imperialists, neighbours, and former subjects. The defeat, total surrender, and crushing terms signed by the state’s leaders also decisively sealed the fate of the Ottoman Caliphate. And, as discussed in earlier chapters, with the subsequent fall of Sharif Hussein and the annexation of The Hijaz, in a way the very institution of the Caliphate itself ended.   It was against this gloomy backdrop that the nationalist, anti-imperialist independence struggle—the Turkish National Movement, led by Mustafa Kemal Atatürk94—developed its sweeping momentum. The fuel came from the Turkish collective consciousness, memory, and sentiment. The leadership was personified by a strong figure, who had achieved heroic feats in the war, and had the capacity to inspire a people in search for pride, strength, and the rebirth of a strong, independent, and influential country.95 Atatürk spearheaded this effort, with a democratic–reformist modernization vision and a pragmatic military strategy which focused on expunging foreign influence and reinstating Turkish sovereignty. Domestically, Atatürk advanced an unprecedented 234

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES top-down campaign of ‘forced secularization’. He stripped all power from the religious establishment, and other nodes of power. At the same time, the second component of the Kemalist vision was the removal of all foreign imperial powers and their meddling: the Italian, French, British, and Greek military forces were all expelled from the country. The campaign climaxed with the reclaiming of Izmir and the ending of foreign presence in the zones that they had formerly controlled.96 He then founded a new, secular Turkish democracy, with his party at its core. The reasons behind Kemal’s popularity were similar to other cases we have studied earlier in this chapter—including, crucially, the popular image and deep-rooted perception that it was he who had defeated and expelled the imperialists. Kemal was seen as the one paramount actor who stood up to the imperialists, ending their malevolent plans to further dissect the Ottoman Empire, and Turkey itself. He embodied the national self-determination–independence effort in the aftermath of the First World War and its humiliating terms.   It was Kemal’s unique personal appeal and the restoration of powerful collective emotions—such as pride, national identity, and honour—that enabled the enforcement of this far-reaching modernization, secularization, and Westernization exercise.97 Striking examples of this drastic socio-political transformation include the forced introduction of the Latin alphabet,98 the stripping of religious elements from the national symbols, the constitution,99 and local, regional, and national governance. While Kemal never fought or affronted Islam, he drew a clear line between the secular government, the rapidly secularizing society, and the religious sphere. Religious symbols, teaching, power, and influence were thereby restricted to the religious domain: universities, schools, and institutions of faith, not politics or society at large. Kemal stayed in power until his death in 1938, and Turkish statehood from the 1920s to the 2010s in many ways reflected his legacy and definitive influence.   The new Turkish democracy, with its rising power, reinstated influence and relevance, and steadily re-established ties with the European powers and the West. This was due not just to recognition for the new Turkish stability and secular Western-style progress domestically, but also to pragmatic considerations, including: (a) economic and geoeconomic interests; (b) political and geopolitical interests and calcula 

 

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THE HIJAZ tions; (c) Turkey’s paramount geostrategic importance. Turkey did not repeat its mistakes in the Second World War; it remained neutral for most of the war, declaring war on Germany and Japan in time to ensure that it was on the winning side. From the 1950s onwards, a new characteristic that entered Turkish political life was the role of the military as a gatekeeper of secularism, with numerous interventions in Turkish statehood and political development through systematic military coups—several of which were successful. In the Cold War, Turkey found itself in the Western Bloc early on, becoming a member of NATO in 1952, which kick-started the country’s Euro-Atlantic integration.100 This paved the way for deeper Turkish–European ties, with the country eventually signing an association agreement with the European Economic Community (EEC) and later on becoming a full member of the European Customs Union. Turkey had its share of political turmoil and violence, but overall this was minimal compared to other countries of the Greater Middle East discussed earlier. The rise of political Islam in Turkey effectively unfolded in the 1990s, after the Cold War. As with Saudi Arabia, a strong link with the USA emerged. In the case of Turkey, the catalyst of this strategic link was NATO. Under the NATO umbrella and a series of multi-layered ties which ranged from economic assistance, to trade, armaments, and technology transfer, a sweeping US military basing strategy unfolded in Turkey.101  

 

— Iran The Iranian experience consisted of an interesting interchange between times of relative political continuity and significant twists, crises, and turnarounds—culminating in the 1979 Iranian Islamic Revolution. To begin to deconstruct the Iranian experience without going too far back into Persian history, one must first acknowledge the role of the First World War; even though Iran remained neutral, it became a scene of extensive and heavy fighting. Following the war, a military commander, Reza Khan, rose to power. The institution of the Shah was formally installed in 1926, with Khan crowned as Reza Shah Pahlavi. As withTurkey’s poor positioning in the First World War, Iran found itself on the losing side in the Second World War, having sided with the German-led Axis. This led to its crushing by a joint Russo236

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES British intervention and subsequent occupation, followed by the deposition of the Shah. He was succeeded (in fact replaced) by his son, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi (1919–80).102 His rule was continually challenged by domestic pressures, civil tension, and unrest, as well as foreign influences. This phase of Iranian post-war statehood would have been violently interrupted by domestic unrest in the early 1950s, if not for a decisive Anglo-American intervention that allowed the institution of the Shah to be maintained despite popular pressure. Key internal dynamics to highlight included Reza Shah’s oppression, which had led to the periodic silencing of other domestic power-centres such as the ‘ulama’, parts of the elite,103 and tribal leaders. Like the majority of the cases discussed here, the military was the Shah’s closest ally and most significant support group.104 The most dynamic advocates of reform included, most prominently, the Tudeh (Masses) Party, with its Marxist foundations; but there was also a diverse set of groups, representing different new socio-economic realities and emerging ideologies, from constitutional liberals to the labour movement and the new incipient middle class.105 Crucially, similar to the single-party regimes discussed earlier, the Tudeh leadership, even though closer to the Eastern Bloc and with Marxist leanings, avoided being labelled communists label in the hope of avoiding the wrath of the religious establishment and the risk of alienating the wider popular religious sentiment.106 Tudeh was extremely well organized, and became deeply rooted within society, reaching an unprecedented momentum in the mid-1940s, with both insiders and outsiders feeling that its rise to power was imminent and inevitable.   With respect to the international context and competing interests, foreign meddling in Iran often seemed like a three-way tug of war, with the USA deepening ties with the government and the military to check Soviet influence and thwart their designs; the Soviets supporting Tudeh; and the British testing their divide-and-rule manoeuvres in the Iranian context, at all levels—oil, geo-economics,s and politics. As with monarchs who were deposed by coups—such as in Egypt and Iraq—the Shah’s position was challenged repeatedly for allowing for too much foreign interference and influence. The key difference was the loyalty of the military, which was ruthless when it came to the violent suppression of opposition, and the strong external support 237

THE HIJAZ that came at times of need. From the early 1950s to his toppling by the Iranian Islamic Revolution in 1979, Reza Shah’s Achilles’ heel was the perception that he was heavily influenced—if not manipulated— by the West.107   The Shah’s agenda was similar to that of Kemal: top-down modernization and secularization. These reform efforts culminated in the Shah’s so-called White Revolution.108 This was a strategy of transforming Iran and its society along Western lines. Key issues were the lack of inspirational leadership and popular support. Unlike Kemal, the Shah was not perceived as the national liberator or a hero of independence. Instead, he was widely seen as a semi-puppet leader, heavily dependent on foreign powers and the military. The forceful secularization in Iran often seemed externally imposed. Another major obstacle to the Shah’s efforts at secularization were the nation’s deep-rooted collective religious emotions. In many ways Islam remained perhaps the central social reference point within Iranian society throughout this period. The more the Shah targeted religion in his efforts to push through his modernization–secularization agenda and reforms, the more defensive many diverse social groups became—with Islam being a key reference point for their common purpose. In parallel to the Shah’s Western-style reforms, Islamic reformist currents prevailed within society.109 In other words, the Shah came to lack religious legitimacy in the eyes of the broader public, something which, together with his susceptibility to foreign agendas and influence, further weakened his position.   The 1950–3 crisis was spearheaded by just such a collective sentiment of resentment against all the ills associated with the Shah and foreign meddling, personified in the career and leadership of Mohammad Mosaddeq (1882–1967) and his broad coalition, the National Front. Mosaddeq realized that the most effective Trojan Horse and ideal target in Iran was the British-controlled Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC), which had effectively emerged as ‘a state within a state’.110 With the issue of the AIOC as the pinnacle of their national campaign, Mosaddeq and the National Front won decisive popular support, which brought Mosaddeq into the prime ministerial office. From there, he advanced major political efforts to alter the course of Iran’s political evolution.111 Following a series of politico-military adventures, foreign politico-diplomatic interference (including by the 238

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES CIA), military turmoil (including two coups), the Shah fell, and fled, before returning three days later to ‘consolidate the monarchy’.112   The reinstatement of royal dictatorship under the institution of the Shah was accompanied by a deeper US role in Iranian political life. The Shah managed to rule for another twenty-six years.113 Restoration of foreign relations came, as in other cases discussed above, with a series of economic incentives, from better trade agreements, to a ‘fairer’ oil arrangement with Britain, to US military assistance and aid. Unprecedented oppression characterized Iranian socio-political life for the next decade, with the Shah (with US–Israeli assistance) founding SAVAK, an internal security organization, whose operations ranged from intrusive and all-encompassing surveillance to systematic violence and brutal torture of all opposition. Effectively, the people were stripped of their political freedom and rights for two-and-a-half decades (1953–79).114 The parties that participated in the ‘elections’ had nominal independence, and the cloak with which the Shah tried to cover his coercive, repressive, and highly manipulative tactics was rather transparent. Another crucial parameter was the 1963 preaching of Ayatollah Ruhollah Khomeini, which was highly critical of the Shah and his paramount ally, the USA. Khomeini targeted the Shah on his vulnerabilities: foreign influences, ignoring Islamic beliefs, corruption, and oppression.115 Khomeini’s 1963 political activism ended with his arrest by the SAVAK, followed by an explosion of popular pan-Iranian opposition, which ended in a bloodbath at the hands of the Shah’s military. Crucially, Khomeini’s powerful penetrative reach underlined Iranian society’s deep-rooted Islamic sentiments—a latent force for any reformist-inspired, anti-imperialist challenger to the Shah and foreign politico-economic meddling in Iran.   Another key dimension of the Shah’s agenda was the constant expansion and modernization of his military power, both for domestic control and in line with his ambition to establish Iran as a key regional military actor.116 Iran’s growing oil revenues, and a hyper-privileged military arrangement with the USA, allowed the Shah to spend inconceivable amounts on defence in the 1970s, with the country emerging as the fifth most powerful state—militarily—in the world. Needless to say, after the early post-war Soviet attempts to influence Iranian statehood and political evolution, the country was firmly in the Western  

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THE HIJAZ Bloc, underlined through this special US–Iranian political—and, in particular, military—relationship.   On a different topic, as in Turkey, Iranian population growth in these years was rapid, and was accompanied by mass urbanization. It is also worth noting yet another interesting parallel between Turkey and Iran: the fact that they both shared borders with the Soviet Union, which, in combination with their ties—military, economic, and therefore political—to the USA, brought their governments closer to the Western Bloc. That being said, extensive US bases in Turkey, and political interference in Iran—such as the US–CIA role in the early 1950s with the overthrow of Mosaddeq, also accounted for the notable anti-Americanism in these two countries.117 Overall, as mentioned in the previous paragraphs, very few of the Shah’s socio-political reforms found social support. Exceptions partially included health-care and literacy reforms, as well as infrastructure developments such as ports, roads, and railways. But, in most cases, the forced Westernization, modernization, industrialization, and secularization that the Shah pursued until the end of his rule produced negative reactions, on anti-imperialist, religious, and political grounds. The forces ripe for reform, revival, and, ultimately, revolution were there constantly, with Islam often providing the crucial link.   Arguably, there are notable similarities in the Turkish and the Iranian experiences, including: (a) the forced top-down secularization; (b) comparable demographic trends; (c) periodic patterns of social change; (d) notable income inequality; (e) shared anti-imperial and, later on, anti-American sentiment; and (f) complex geostrategic positions in the midst of the West–East tug of war for geo-ideological influence and power. Unlike Turkey, however, where the forced secularization unravelled through the parallel development of a multi-party democracy and a parliamentary system coupled with Euro-Atlantic integration,118 in Iran the Shah’s royal dictatorship never quite made a persistent and decisive effort to create channels for greater social participation in the political sphere, nor towards the transition to a more open and inclusive system of governance. Whilst in Turkey the military intervened as a balancer, with the occasional coups coming at short-term intervals aimed at safeguarding the efficient functioning of the system, in Iran the military and security forces were the tool sustaining the Shah’s dictatorship and keeping society and opposition in check.119 240

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The Re-emergence of Islam — The 1979 Iranian Revolution The Islamic Revolution in Iran, which led to the removal of the Shah and paved the way for the establishment of an Islamic republic in this formerly pivotal Western Middle Eastern ally, is a crucial landmark in modern regional and global history. The Iranian Revolution and its immediate aftermath illuminates the picture of Iran’s distinct social, political, and religious evolution. In the late 1970s the absolutist– monarchical military dictatorship and Western–secular agenda of the Shah were ousted through a combination of a wide social backlash against the top-down and foreign-influenced change advanced by the regime and a Shi’ite Islamic revival, with the dynamic return of Islam with tremendous social and political power—generating global political shock waves at the end of the 1970s. The Revolution had a powerful impact on Iranian and Islamic statehood, and continues to offer significant insights into present-day Iran. Analysts have suggested that the socio-political factors discussed in the previous section, coupled with Islam’s continual and deep-rooted social influence throughout this secular phase of Iranian statehood, made the 1979 Revolution inevitable.120 Others, however, were taken by greater surprise.121 A series of comprehensive accounts have analysed the 1979 events and their significance in great depth.122 We will not attempt the same here. We will trace the core dynamics to complete the puzzle of the return of Islam and its Shi’ite revival in Iran during the last decade of the Cold War. Seminal events, which took the world by surprise, had a powerful impact on the Middle East and were reminders of the political power and ramifications of socio-religious dynamics. It was out of these dramatic events that the Shi’ite version of an Islamic state emerged.   The rapid collapse of the post-war Iranian status quo began in the early to mid-1970s. Firstly, the oil crisis exposed the dramatic weaknesses of the Shah’s political economy model, with its external dependence and stark failure to manage the economy effectively, sustainably, and inclusively.123 Secondly, there was a reaction to a series of reforms advanced by the Shah’s regime aimed at tightening the royal dictatorship’s grip over society—namely, the abandonment of the two-party system for the Resurgence Party.124 Thirdly, the image of the regime 241

THE HIJAZ relying on over sixty thousand foreign professionals,125 advisers, military advisers, foreign information services, and security ‘experts’ was a problem. This multi-layered external dependence came to further fuel anti-Western and anti-American sentiment. As a fourth factor, Skocpol adds the ‘pace of change’, urbanization, and the reaction of students.126 The dominoes begun to fall rapidly in 1977 when a number of human rights organizations, spearheaded by Amnesty International, criticized the violent oppression by the regime. Ironically, it was the Shah’s decision to take a step back and scale back the oppression that ‘emboldened the opposition to speak out’.127, 128 The momentum was built up rapidly, with strong religious elements and class dimensions, but also the common denominators of the need to do away with oppression and repression, and demands for openness and a series of fundamental freedoms.   The Freedom Movement, which had been founded in 1961 by Mehdi Bazargan (1906–95), rose to a prominent position at the beginning of the Revolution. Crucially, its agenda was a secular government with a distinctly Iranian Islamic social component—since this was a central element of the national culture, a constituent of cohesion, and, in Bazargan’s view, a powerful medium for positive social reform and progress. In mapping the ideational influences here the role of Ali Shariati (1933–77) could not be overstated.129 Inspired by other independence struggles and popular revolts, Shariati advanced a vision of bottom-up change infused with elements of Iranian patriotism, Shi’ism, and Marxist–socialist components.130 Shariati’s Islamicoriented vision for (counter-)change and revolution was dynamically taken up by both the Freedom Movement and the wider public. The third key component in the escalating popular pressure was the militant wing of the ‘ulama’, spearheaded by the most vocal dissidents among the clergy. The influence of Khomeini (1902–89) was instrumental. He emerged as the paramount figure of the Revolution with his ‘inspirational force … uncompromising stance and skilful blending of ideologies’ which ‘drew all the opposition to his side’.131 Even from exile, the Ayatollah was the most influential critic of the regime, with tremendous social reach. A series of Khomeini’s lectures were concentrated in his highly influential book the Government of the Islamic Jurist.132 In this account, Khomeini effectively proposed an alternate vision, to 242

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES move away from the shortcomings and the dependence of the Shah’s rule and move, through revolution, towards a (Shi’ite) Islamic state. Under this vision, with guidance from the Qur’an and Islamic law, and drawing heavily from the model community of the Prophet, a different kind of state—one in line with the fundamental socio-religious and identity characteristics of Iranian society—could be advanced.   The game-changing dynamics climaxed in 1978–9, when protests escalated into full-scale revolution. As demonstrations multiplied, the regime reacted with a counter-offensive against the instigators and their main supporting groups. The brutal repression had a high toll, however—fuelling further reactions and mobilizing further sections of society. The regime’s efforts to advance political and economic reforms at the peak of these crises was both ill-conceived and ill-fated. Recession followed, and the Shah resorted to martial law. The Black Friday events—in which students, workers, and hundreds of civilians lost their lives in a horrific bloodbath—were perhaps the point of no return. The population now flocking to the ranks of Khomeini and the Freedom Movement. The killings continued, infamously with the December 1978 Muharram events, which provided the tipping point for segments of the military, mainly conscripts, who begun to shift ranks to join the revolution. By that stage the regime was finished; it had lost the core pillar of its strength, and the gap between it and society had never been wider. The Shah’s last effort was to appoint a ‘concessionary’ prime minister—a step which was also short-lived, collapsing under powerful calls by both clergy and people for the complete ousting of the Shah and the regime. By 1 February 1979 the Shah had left Iran for an ‘extended vacation’ and Ayatollah Khomeini had returned to Iran, triumphant.133   A sea of socio-political reform, with Islamic revival at its core, rapidly unfolded. The Ayatollah named Bazargan his prime minister, but with nominal power. It was the Council of the Islamic Republic that held the real power, operating as the paramount administrative and legislative institution. It had the power to veto the policies of the government, and its interventionism led to Bazargan’s resignation. Steadily, the Ayatollah maximized the reach of the Council, worked to diminish the influence of secularists, and established a parallel structure to the military, the Revolutionary Guard. An era of tribunals and judi 

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THE HIJAZ cial processes came to seal Khomeini’s rise to power and consolidate this path to Islamic statehood through the removal of opposition, former power brokers, and prominent figures who had served the regime from positions of influence. A great number of SAVAK agents and military officers also met their fate following such tribunals, which sentenced them to death. It was a time of both revival and vengeance.134   The next steps towards the establishment of the Iranian Islamic Republic included the Khomeini-founded Islamic Republic Party (IRP) and the referendum confirming the replacement of monarchy with Islamic Republic. Constitutional reform, with Islam at its core, came to seal the ‘government by the jurist’ (vilayat-i faqih), giving Khomeini the most powerful position in the state: the Islamic jurist in the absence of the Hidden Imam. It was Khomeini, the ruling jurist, who was to appoint six out of the twelve members of the Council of Guardians, and he was to remain in command of the Revolutionary Guard as well as all the other commanders of the armed forces—army, navy, and air force respectively. On top of all these extraordinary powers, the Ayatollah had the task of screening and approving presidential candidates.135 Within a year the secular pro-Western royal dictatorship had been replaced by an Islamic republic, ruled directly by the religious establishment. Constitutional revisions followed, in an attempt to improve the intragovernmental balances.136 Far-reaching socio-judicial change was advanced through the implementation of the Ayatollah’s vision, which underlined the role of ‘divine inspiration’, Islamic laws and values, and the elevation of men of religion from ‘interpreters of the law’ to ‘administerers of the law’ and law makers—since ‘only those who had mastered Islamic jurisprudence were qualified to administer the law’.137 An external catalyst for the consolidation of the new distribution of power and the Iranian Islamic Republic was found in Iraqi aggression and the near-decade-long Iraq–Iran war (1980–8) that raged for most of the 1980s, rallying support for Khomeini’s government.138   Step by step, law by law, through reform, counter-reform, and Shi’ite Islamic revival, a different version of an Islamic state was born. The problems were immense: economic, political, social, diplomatic, internal, and external. But the Ayatollah’s vision, and his statesmanship in using the problems and challenges to consolidate power, proved stronger. The social landscape was also an advantageous foundation for the change Khomeini was promoting. People wanted the return of 244

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES Islam—Khomenei personified it; people wanted independence from the USA and foreign influence—he gave it, both practically and symbolically, with diplomatic crises and the US embassy hostage situation; people wanted greater justice and inclusion—he attempted to achieve it through Islamic revival and a series of Islamic reforms; people wanted strength, pride, and freedom—he fought fiercely to push back Iraqi aggression. Overall, Iran’s post-war politico-religious journey is a unique and extraordinarily complex experience. The Islamization of the Iranian society that unfolded in the 1980s was de facto very particular. It was a distinct current, that led to a unique governmental structure. We will discuss the Shi’ite revival experience in greater depth later in following chapter, to trace it within the broader currents of Islamic revival.139

— The 1979 Siege of Makkah: The Wahhabi Revivalist Response The late 1970s were a heightened moment of Islamic revivalism, not restricted to the Shi’ite experience and the Iranian Islamic Revolution. In particular, 1979 was a pivotal year; it gave new ideas for (cross-sectarian) Islamic statehood—Iran being the epicentre of the wave of revivalism.140 There was, however, another seminal highlight that year, from within the Wahhabi revivalist current, best encapsulated in the Siege of Makkah by Wahhabi militants—an event that takes us back to Hijaz.141 On 20 November 1979 the global focus was on Tehran, where the US embassy hostage crisis was entering its third week. That day, however, armed men took Saudi Arabia and the world by surprise, at the very heart of The Hijaz, seizing Islam’s holiest site, the Grand Mosque in Makkah—in the process trapping 100,000 people for two weeks and causing hundreds of deaths. The team of armed Wahhabi extremists who entered Islam’s holiest site called for the overthrow of the House of Saud, the country’s ruling dynasty. A deep, austere Wahhabi–revivalist current was threatening stability at the heart of Saudi Arabia and the Muslim Holy Lands. In many ways, this was the Wahhabi response to the predominantly Shi’ite Islamic revivalism that was unfolding in the broader neighbourhood, as well as a series of other revivalist currents, which were pressing for change across an array of Islamic nations.   The issue of seizing control of Islam’s holiest sites, this idea of ‘capturing the Islamic Holy Lands’, cuts deeper. It carries a distinct signifi 

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THE HIJAZ cance and symbolism. As we shall discuss later, it is not by chance that this objective has been at the very core of the dark ambitions of jihadi terrorist actors such as DA’ISH. It was no happenstance that the Wahhabi extremists framed their actions and bid for regime change in deeply symbolic religious terms—namely, the idea that one of the leaders, Mohammed Abdullah al-Qahtani, was the ‘redeemer of Islam’, the Mahdi, who had come to rid the country of corrupt practices, dependencies, and alliances that are against core Islamic values. The mastermind of the siege, Juhayman al-Otaybi, was a member of one of the leading Najdi families that were part of the Ikhwan. The extremists had timed their operations to coincide with the first day of the year 1400, to tie it with the tradition of the mujaddid (one who brings renewal or revival), suggesting that the leader was to lead an austere, Wahhabi Sunni revival to purify Islam. As with other jihadi currents, according to Trofimov, the Mahdi’s key pursuit was to ‘cleanse the Muslim world from its impurities brought in by the Westerners’.142 By violating the sacred site with violence, hostage situations, and killings, the extremists managed to catch the Saudi security forces off guard. It took weeks before the Saudi military with French, Jordanian and Pakistani Special Forces assistance managed to regain control and end the crisis. Overall, the Saudi government had to mobilize heavy military resources, and the overall death toll possibly exceeded the one thousand mark.143 Moreover, in parallel to the events unfolding at the heart of The Hijaz, a Shi’ite minority was launching a revolt in the Hasa province of the Kingdom, later known as the Qatif Uprising.144 Throughout Saudi Arabia, 1979 was a year of Islamic revolution and tension, with competing efforts at Islamic revival. It is important to note that, following the successful termination of the Siege of Makkah, the government of Saudi Arabia responded by tightening Islamic law and increasing the powers of the Wahhabi religious establishment and the ‘ulama’.145 On the whole, 1979 was culmination; a watershed year for the sweeping return of (political) Islam, both regionally and globally.  

Above Statehood:The First Efforts at Regionalism Further to the different national post-Second World War experiences of statehood, the countries of the wider Middle East made variable 246

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES attempts at regional cooperation and integration. We briefly discuss the main ones here, in the chronological order in which they emerged. We keep the analysis very short here, as we will be revisiting several of these points in Chapter 9, where we propose a way forward for greater regional cooperation on the basis of a positive integrative vision, linked to an empowered, more autonomous, and internationalized Hijaz.   Before initiating this short tour de force of the first efforts at regional cooperation and integration in the post-war MENA context, however, it is worth highlighting some crucial examples of state building through voluntary unions. We have discussed earlier the short-lived pan-Arab attempts to build a single, unified state entity: principally, the 1958–61 United Arab Republic—the brief Egyptian–Syrian union; and, the even more short-lived Arab Federation of Iraq and Jordan, which collapsed within six months. In the Persian Gulf however, the Trucial shaykhdoms, in an impressive example of pooled sovereignty for the attainment of greater common security and prosperity, replaced their former sub-statehood with a dynamic union. There was a union between six emirates at first: Dubai, Abu Dhabi, Sharjah, Ajman, alQuwain, and Fujairah; and then seven, with the joining of Ras alKhaimah.146 The United Arab Emirates (UAE) represents by far the most successful and resilient example of Arab experimentation with federalism. The drivers for this union were principally security considerations and economic interests. In other words, the catalyst was the fear of external threats and the drive for survival.147 The 1968 decision by Britain to absolve of all of its responsibilities east of Suez by 1971 was the external catalyst.148 Following their independence, these shaykhdoms, unequal in size, power, population, and wealth, realized that they could only maintain their independence by joining forces. While initially Saudi Arabia presented the biggest external challenge, following the 1979 Iranian Revolution Iran also came to top the security calculus of the Emirates.149 All in all, in what is one of the most interesting experiences of Arab and MENA statehood, the UAE was born out of the pursuit of post-independence security, and a common effort to attain a better regional and global standing. This distinct statebuilding journey clearly demonstrated that Middle East statehood goes beyond force and coercion. 247

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— The League of Arab States (LAS) One of the most notable efforts at regional cooperation started in 1945, with the official founding of the League of Arab States (LAS) or Arab League, headquartered in Cairo. It started with a small core of Arab states, six plus one in a way: Egypt, Iraq, Lebanon, North Yemen, Saudi Arabia, Transjordan, and Palestine.150 A number of key treaties were signed in the following years, including: the Cultural Treaty; the Joint Defence and Economic Cooperation Treaty; and the establishment of the Economic and Social Council. By 1958 the League had been joined by Libya, Morocco, Tunisia, and Sudan. Crucially, the UN recognized the League the same year, giving it responsibility for education, science, and culture in the Arab region. In the next two decades the League kept expanding its competencies and its membership; it held its first summit in 1964, and by 1977 it consisted of fifteen members.151 Earlier in this chapter we discussed the politicoideological differences and variable statehood experiences of the League’s member states, as well as the different Cold War standpoints each adopted. While these differences were at times reflected in the context of the League, its major crisis concerned Egypt’s relations with Israel, rather than Cold War politics.152 The next major crisis came with the US-led first Gulf War and divisions within the League regarding the acceptability of this intervention.153 In spite of the crises, divisions, and political stalemates that the League has had to grapple with in its seven decades of existence, it has shown considerable resilience. In cases where unity was reached among its members, it proved a reliable regional actor, with a notable say in the spheres of economics, culture, and security. The role of the League in the intervention in Libya is a case in point, facilitating a decision at the UN level, and also actively supporting the peace-enforcement operation.145 Overall, the Arab League, with its influential Secretariat and Secretary General, its bi-annual high-level meetings, and array of instruments and targeted forums for multi-layered dialogue, has proved a notable platform for regional cooperation. By 2016 the League had twenty-two members.155

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— The Maghreb Arab Union (MAU) The first efforts to build deeper ties and cooperation between the Maghreb states effectively started before their independence, with the setting up of the Committee for the Liberation of the Maghreb in 1948. Following their independence, in 1964 Tunisia, Libya, Morocco, and Algeria held the first Conference of Maghreb Economic Ministers, which led to the creation of the Maghreb Permanent Consultative Council, whose chief objective was ‘to coordinate and harmonise the development plans of the four countries as well as interregional trade to form a block vis-à-vis the EU’.156 These notable first attempts at enhancing regional cooperation, however, had not helped achieve real success at political and economic deepening in the Maghreb until the late 1980s and early 1990s, when the countries of the region faced serious external pressure posed by the imminent completion of the European Single Market. A major ‘thorn’ complicating regional integration had been the decades-long competition between Morocco and Algeria over the Western Sahara dispute. UN-led diplomatic initiatives and mediation by some key Arab nations facilitated the creation of a more formal cooperation initiative in the 1980s. Ultimately, in February 1989, the heads of state of Algeria, Libya, Mauritania, Morocco, and Tunisia founded the Maghreb Arab Union (MAU).157 The MAU gave its member states greater weight in negotiating their trade arrangements with the EU. It also helped advance the freer movement of people, goods, and services; it helped revise customs provisions; and it offered the possibility of ‘a single currency for inter-Maghreb trade’.158 The Union also assisted its member states to trade more with one another, with intra-MAU trade doubling. Overall, however, the MAU proved a rather fragile organization and a fairly limited vehicle for regional integration.159  

— The Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC)   Following the discovery of oil in several Middle Eastern countries in the 1940s and 1950s, the difficult global political economy of the oil market soon became a pressing matter for several oil-producing 249

THE HIJAZ nations. In 1960, in an attempt to better ‘coordinate and unify the petroleum policies of its Member Countries and ensure the stabilization of oil markets in order to secure an efficient, economic and regular supply of petroleum to consumers, a steady income to producers and a fair return on capital for those investing in the petroleum industry’,160 Iraq, Kuwait, Iran, Saudi Arabia, and Venezuela proceeded with the founding of the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), a permanent intergovernmental organization whose Secretariat is headquartered in Vienna.161 As discussed earlier, several of the key ‘national’ oil-producing companies of the MENA states were largely controlled by foreign private firms. In response to skewed arrangements which prevented the oil-producing nations from maximizing their profits, in 1968 the organization, in a powerful joint statement, underlined the ‘inalienable right of all countries to exercise permanent sovereignty over their natural resources in the interest of their national development’.162 OPEC countries pressed individually and collectively for the independent management of their oil wealth.163   The 1970s was the decade when OPEC showed its power, and the world realized the critical importance of stability in the market for core commodities—and especially oil. Specifically, the OPEC member states gained fuller control of their domestic petroleum industries in this period, establishing a powerful say in the global pricing of crude oil. The first, and perhaps highest-impact, intervention by OPEC came in 1973, during the Arab–Israeli war. OPEC’s Arab members imposed an embargo against the USA, in retaliation for latter’s decision to resupply the Israeli military forces. Simultaneously, the move, which sharply increased the price of crude oil and led to a major energy crisis, also served to maximize Arab leverage in the post-war peace negotiations. A similar, but not orchestrated, episode of oil-market turbulence occurred in 1979, with the culmination of the Iranian Revolution, where OPEC tried to take measures to stabilize the markets and reduce volatility. By 1968 OPEC counted ten members, thirteen by 1975, and reached its peak of fifteen in the late 2010s. While the 1980s and 1990s were years of exponential growth in the West, the oil market generally fluctuated on the lower end, with a major crash hitting the OPEC countries hard in 1986. As exemplified in the 2000s and the 2010s, the OPEC member states developed better mechanisms, poli250

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES cies, and know-how in the navigation of the global oil markets together, advancing collective efforts to safeguard overall stability and ensure an optimal price level. Even though critical observers have dismissed OPEC as just a cartel of the oil producers, its record has been more mixed, including efforts at advancing international development, international policy making and agenda setting, efforts to maintain market stability, and, of course, the advancement of the interests of the oilproducing countries.164

— The Organisation of the Islamic Conference or Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC)   The OIC was founded in 1969 by twenty-four predominantly Muslim states. The Islamic Conference of Foreign Ministers (ICFM) established the organization’s permanent Secretariat in Jeddah. In a way, the most powerful states of the region had become home to the two Secretariats: LAS in Egypt and OIC in Saudi Arabia. The core objective of the OIC has been to advance the brotherly relations, cooperation, and solidarity between its member states. By 1974 the OIC had experienced a notable institutional expansion with the inclusion of an Islamic Solidarity Fund, as well as the core of elements that was to become the OIC’s Islamic Commission for Economic, Cultural and Social Affairs. If the LAS is, in a way, ‘distinctly Arab’, the OIC is ‘distinctly Islamic’, with the whole narrative surrounding its activities delineated in Islamic terms. Crucially, the OIC holds itself to be the collective voice of the umma and the promoter of the collective global interests of Muslims. The following passages from its official presentation are indicative: The Organization has the singular honor to galvanize the Ummah into a unified body and have actively represented the Muslims by espousing all causes close to the hearts of over 1.5 billion Muslims of the world. The Organization has consultative and cooperative relations with the UN and other inter-governmental organizations to protect the vital interests of the Muslims and to work for the settlement of conflicts and disputes involving Member States. In safeguarding the true values of Islam and the Muslims, the organization has taken various steps to remove misperceptions and have strongly advocated elimination of

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THE HIJAZ discrimination against the Muslims in all forms and manifestations. … [To achieve this, it advances the] promotion of tolerance and moderation, modernization, extensive reforms in all spheres of activities including science and technology, education, trade enhancement, and emphasizes good governance and promotion of human rights in the Muslim world, especially with regard to rights of children, women and elderly and the family values enshrined by Islam.165

  There are a number of important highlights in the course of the OIC’s history. In the early 1980s it spearheaded a series of efforts to pressure Israel to liberate Palestine (and Jerusalem) through boycotts and multi-faceted support for the Palestinians.166 In the late 1980s and the 1990s, the organization made a series of interventions on the international stage to (among others): (a) avert the sale of arms to Iran and Iraq; (b) re-define terrorism (drawing a distinction with legitimate freedom-fighters); (c) condemn Iraqi aggression against Kuwait; and (d) protect the lives of (especially Bosnian) Muslims in the context of the Yugoslav wars. Overall, the OIC has held a series of generally steady positions: staunch and vocal supporter of Muslim interests globally; strong support for Palestine and fierce criticism of Israel; and caution when it comes to generalizations regarding terrorism and extremism, yet highly critical of aggression and horrific acts of terrorism (such as Iraqi aggression and 9/11). In 2008 the OIC had fifty-seven members, from four continents, fifty-six of which were also UN members.167 In 2009 it upgraded its framework of cooperation with the LAS. While principally promoting the interest of Islamic states, the OIC’s worldview has been considerably inclusive and open, encouraging wider dialogue and understanding between different cultures and traditions.168  

— The Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) The last major regional cooperation initiative we briefly discuss here is the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC). Founded in 1981, two years after the Iranian Revolution, the GCC originally consisted of the Persian Gulf states of Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), Qatar, Kuwait, Bahrain, and Oman. At the very core of the initiative lay a pursuit of deeper economic—and also military—cooperation between these neighbouring Gulf states. Beyond the efforts to remove 252

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES economic barriers and advance greater harmony across a series of areas and spheres—from trade and finance to tourism and investments—the GCC also adopted a powerful political agenda, especially with respect to the Middle East question and broader regional peace and stability, underlining the fact that conflicts in the region are a threat to the member states in the Gulf, and tying their security to the establishment of peace between Palestine and Israel. Iran’s ambitions to establish a foothold in the Gulf,169 and its military performance in the war with Iraq, were a major catalyst for bolstering defence capabilities among the GCC countries.170 It was against this backdrop that the GCC states advanced the crucial Peninsula Shield Force, a collective security platform to maximize Gulf security against external threats (principally Iran).171   The main decision-making body of the organization is the Annual Summit, which is held at head-of-state level.172 In the course of the past thirty-seven years each summit has attempted to deepen regional integration through small steps in the areas where convergence seems easier, facilitated by common interests and prospects. The areas of joint investments and major infrastructure projects, as well as consolidation in the economic sphere—including a customs union, greater labour mobility, and a common market (advanced decisively in the 2010s)—have strengthened considerably over time. In the politicomilitary sphere, cooperation has varied historically, with collective security commitments and common strategies coming to the fore when external challenges seem more pressing. In the era of counterterrorism, and under international pressures, the GCC countries have adopted policies and far-reaching joint statements, committing to a more coordinated response to tackle the phenomenon. In recent times, the epicentre of external security has shifted from the Arab– Israeli conflict to the question of Iran’s ambitions and role in fuelling sectarian tensions in places such as Yemen, as well as the rise and farreaching agenda of DA’ISH, whose eradication has featured in recent GCC Summit Conclusions.   Arguably, the GCC, by reason of its smaller membership and the similarities among its member states—the structure of their economies, their asymmetries, their challenges, and their threat perception—has managed to make considerable progress over the course of the past three-and-a-half decades.173 In other words, the GCC arguably provides 253

THE HIJAZ perhaps the most promising starting point for either a completely new or a ‘revamped and expanded’ positive integrative vision for the region. In a move which may surprise some, we will argue that the beginnings of this new and greater regional integration effort might be best served through a loose platform, with the GCC and The Hijaz at its core: an APEC-like structure, which would start by enhancing cooperation in less contentious areas and steadily expand into more complicated spheres. Such a loose structure would not be constrained by geography or politics, and would have the potential of encompassing other actors outside the immediate region but of great importance to it.174

The Superpowers and the Cold War In the Middle East context the superpowers attempted to pursue their interests by forming blocs against each other or by establishing patron– client relationships with the chosen instruments of their regional influence. … Neither succeeded in fulfilling its aim completely. … Partly because both Washington and Moscow ignored, or failed to understand, the dynamics of regional politics; and partly because the respective clients were able to extract more from their patrons than vice versa, and to play them off against each other.175

  As discussed earlier, the impact of the Cold War was keenly felt in the Middle East. With the exception of Turkey, however, no country of the MENA region ever entered formally one of the two collective security umbrellas: the Warsaw Pact or NATO. The USSR generally supported single-party authoritarian regimes with leftist–socialist characteristics. The USA generally supported liberal or illiberal monarchies and regimes which were, or became, dependent on US military and economic assistance. The USA, driven by the strategy of containment, actively sought candidate states which could be considered buffers to prevent any further expansion of the Soviet sphere and provide an additional layer of defence, both geostrategically and in the ideational sphere. Broadly speaking, the USSR and the USA had conflicting agendas in the Middle East. The USSR wanted to penetrate the region and keep tensions and antagonisms running (but not escalate them); and it generally perceived controlled instability and uncertainty as the most advantageous context through which it could perpetuate its regional  

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES influence.176 The USA, on the other hand, was determined to keep the Soviets outside the greater Middle East,177 deny them strategic access and alliances, prevent conditions favouring Soviet ambitions, and protect the interests of its paramount allies in the region.178   There are interesting broad parallels to observe. In the same way as the USA sought strategic bases in the Middle East—such as those in Turkey, the UAE, and Saudi Arabia—the USSR also sought to entrench its global power-projection capacity through privileged access to a series of strategic Middle Eastern ports, principally in Egypt (UAR), and later on, with this first option off the table, Tartus and Latakia in Syria. Crucially, this point has implications for the Syrian crisis (2010s), and adds context to the Russian position. It helps explain Russia’s support for President Bashar al-Assad of Syria, which is principally driven by geopolitical and geostrategic considerations. It has been argued that the USSR had sought to establish its naval superpower status in the Mediterranean through this network of naval bases that extended from the Black Sea and the Caucasus to the Eastern Mediterranean, Syria, Egypt,Yemen, Libya, Ethiopia, and Tunisia. Arguably, however, the US– NATO strategic positioning in the wider region remained deeper throughout the greater part of the Cold War. A crucial moment when the Middle East became an epicentre of global attention and heightened Cold War tensions was the 1967 Six-Day War between Israel and the UAR (Egypt and Syria) and Jordan. The USSR, however, which had been supporting (arming) Syria and Egypt, initially took a step back, since it did not wish to prolong the war. That being said, the Soviets did threaten direct military engagement if Israel did not to halt its counterattack into Syria, issuing multiple warnings (both via the UN and through bilateral and other channels). Although it was true (especially in the Gulf) that ‘both nationalism and Islam militated against Communism’, the Soviet Union did not always appear to all Arab countries as primarily a communist power but increasingly as the provider of arms, aid and diplomatic support, and above all as their only reinsurance against Israel. Even some of those who were worried about Soviet imperialism were no less concerned about the western variety, and took refuge in ‘neutralism’.179

  Nationalist, anti-imperialist, anti-‘foreign influence’, and anti-Israel, as well as socialist–leftist ideologies and sentiments provided an advan 255

THE HIJAZ tageous landscape for Soviet efforts to extend a hand of friendship and a bridge of assistance, principally through the sale of military hardware and other forms of security and economic assistance. Egypt, Iraq, and Syria were prime candidates for the establishment of such ties in the context of pan-Arabism and authoritarian single-party statehood. Postindependence Yemen and Gaddafi’s Libya also came to see ties with the USSR as advantageous. Crucially, however, despite Soviet influence and assistance, none of these countries established an Eastern Bloc-style communist state.180 Notably, the USSR had found ways to gain access to US allies too, with its economic ties to the US-backed Iranian Shah being a case in point.181 Therefore, 1979 was a landmark year for Soviet–US Cold War policy. The crucial US ally, Iran, had its pro-Western, secular royal dictator replaced with a theocratic Islamic Republic—one riding an anti-Western and anti-American wave of popular support. The ally was now a thorn in the side. Seen through the Cold War lens, America’s inability to protect a strategic ally, and his replacement by an anti-American regime, was certainly a setback for US Cold War policy; it gave the wrong signals to other Western-aligned regimes across the globe. The Soviet Nemesis, and, ultimately, Tisis, was also associated with events that originated in 1979: the invasion of Afghanistan. Lucas provides context vis-à-vis the Soviet calculations and frames their dilemma comparatively: ‘Moscow was faced with the dilemma of supporting a proxy regime at the risk of unwelcome involvement, or abandoning it and signalling to the Soviets’ friends in the area precisely what the Americans were then signalling to theirs by abandoning the Shah.’182   The USSR waged war on neighbouring Afghanistan to help a newly established friendly regime consolidate power, in the USSR’s first direct involvement in the wider MENA region, which lasted nine years and claimed the lives of over a million civilians, 90,000 Mujahideen fighters, 18,000 Afghan troops and over 14,000 Soviet soldiers. As Taylor aptly observed: ‘Civil war raged after the [Soviet] withdrawal, setting the stage for the Taliban’s takeover of the country in 1996.’183 While there is no linear ‘trail’, there are powerful connections and links between the Mujahideen, the Taliban, al-Qaida, and, arguably, DA’ISH. Starting with a more in-depth discussion of the Soviet invasion and occupation of Afghanistan in the sunset years of the Cold War  

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES and its aftermath, we will begin our attempt to deconstruct the connections and conditions that enabled the rise of the above-mentioned terrorist groups. Overall, the Cold War era was often reminiscent of the colonial and imperial experience. In the case of the Middle East, it often seemed as if the two blocs engaged in a form of ‘imperialism through other means’. However, arguably, the countries of the wider MENA, despite of their often difficult internal statehood experiences, managed to navigate the Cold War era with greater deftness than in the first half of the twentieth century. The Cold War pressures on statehood, however, were notable, given the incessant external calculations, schemes, and gambles of the competing blocs, and their attempts to advantageously shape the Middle East geopolitical milieu.

The SovietWar in Afghanistan:The Mujahideen [The invasion of Afghanistan is] the gravest threat to world peace since World War II.184 US President Jimmy Carter, 1979

  Close to four decades have passed since the 1979 invasion of Afghanistan, and the series of pivotal questions raised by Galster in 1990 and then in 2001 are still awaiting full answers: How is it that this underdeveloped, tribal-based country, tucked deep inside the rugged crossroads of Asia and deemed strategically insignificant by the United States for decades, became a battleground for the bloodiest superpower proxy war of the 1980s? What stimulated the United States to develop a sophisticated insurgency support operation for a rebellion led by Islamic religious leaders and fought by mountain tribesmen? What was the nature of the debate among U.S. officials and congressmen as to what the rebels, beset with ethnic, tribal and personal rivalries, could accomplish against the armed forces of the Soviet Union? What effect did this war have on Pakistan, the most important U.S. ally in South Asia, which played a crucial role in the war by providing sanctuary for the rebels …? And what lessons have the U.S. intelligence and defense communities drawn from the Afghan conflict and applied to the emerging U.S. strategic doctrine of ‘Low-Intensity Warfare’? Why did the Soviet Union spend ten years, billions of dollars and 15–20,000 lives trying to prop up a government that seemed constantly on the verge of collapse? Was Moscow’s intervention, as some  

 

 

 

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THE HIJAZ have claimed, originally part of a grand design to seize oil fields and warm water ports in the Persian Gulf region, or merely a move to protect a new socialist government in a country contiguous to its sensitive southern border?185

  We will not attempt to answer these crucial questions here. Some, Galster himself answers in between the lines above; some, we briefly address below from our perspective and through our particular lens of analysis. Others will be discussed in greater depth in the ‘ideological trail’ discussion in the following chapter. We will, however, quickly discuss here the developments of the late 1970s and the 1980s to set the background for the subsequent deeper discussions on ideology, ‘negative space’, and ‘Islamic’ terrorism. The latter’s latest phase of internationalization can indeed be traced to the seminal events that unfolded in the period of the Afghan–Soviet war and the simultaneous US–Soviet ‘proxy war’. The events that unfolded in Afghanistan in the late 1970s and 1980s are rooted in the nearly four-decade-long Soviet economic and military support for the country, which was formalized in a ‘friendship’ treaty between the USSR and Afghanistan in 1978, once the Marxist People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan (PDPA) rose to power in Kabul through a coup. Concurrently, in the rural areas and the provinces, an Islamic–conservative insurgency—also split along ethnic lines—was rapidly building up.186 Chaos, instability, and numerous domestic and diplomatic crises and infighting ensued, with the USSR maximizing its aid and many-sided assistance to its new ally, and the rest of the world dazed by the rapid changes unfolding in Iran and Afghanistan. Further to the targeting of Western diplomats in Iran, the kidnapping and subsequent killing of the US ambassador in Afghanistan led to the swift scaling down of the US presence, and a tactical withdrawal from the country.   The insurgents did not hesitate to kill Soviet citizens and personnel on the ground. PDP calls for Soviet assistance on the ground through direct involvement soon climaxed. Faced with the dilemma of losing their important ally to an Islamist militant movement and facing a ‘strategic loss’ similar to that the USA was experiencing in Iran, the Soviets chose differently. They invaded on 24 December 1979, using the Soviet– Afghan Friendship Treaty as a pretext. Through a massive military airlift they swiftly secured Kabul, installing Babrak Karmal, head of the PDPA,  

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES as head of government. The full range of Soviet forces187 invaded Afghanistan’s rebellious provinces from the north of the country. It was the only time the USSR invaded territories outside the Eastern Bloc, and was a highlight in the course of the Cold War, which largely left the USSR isolated in the long war that ensued.188 The move alienated several Soviet allies in the Middle East, with Iraq condemning the invasion. The image of Soviet tanks rolling into a predominantly Muslim nation, to help impose PDPA rule against the popular will, was met with severe condemnation in the Islamic world and internationally.   While in Cold War terms the Soviet effort was mainly symbolic,189 in the wider Middle Eastern context the Soviet invasion had a cataclysmic effect, perhaps only comparable to the tragic British imperial miscalculation in the inter-war period which allowed the sweeping expansion of the ‘negative space’—with the advent of absolutist Wahhabi ideo-political influence and the silencing of moderate reformist voices in the heart of Islam, The Hijaz.190 The presence of Soviet forces (communists and unbelievers) on Afghan soil, fighting the Islamic militant resistance, unleashed a tremendous counter-wave of jihad, Muslim ‘Holy War’, embodied dynamically by the Mujahideen fighters. It soon gained wider Islamic support. Pandora’s Box had opened, and the internationalization of jihad has never been checked since.191 The wide, deep-rooted popular resistance was proving impossible to quell over the course of the protracted fighting. US assistance found channels, primarily through Pakistan,192 to reach the Mujahideen fighters. Soon the CIA was helping the jihadi rebels adapt their effective guerrilla warfare to incorporate modern weaponry and tactics to their arsenal, while feeding them intelligence and hardware.193 Cogan summed up the multi-layered and escalating US strategic involvement in the following terms: The United States supplied funds, weapons and general supervision. Saudi Arabia194 matched United States financial contributions, and China’s government sold and donated weapons. But the dominant operational role on the front lines belonged to Pakistan’s ISI (the Interservices Intelligence Directorate), which insisted on control.195

  The US involvement in Afghanistan was diachronically complex.196 America had a clear understanding of the paramount importance of maintaining privileged access to the Middle East, and especially its oil 259

THE HIJAZ reserves, the largest in the world, which provided fuel for the world economy and a core resource for the booming of US private enterprise. While Afghanistan itself was not geo-economically or geopolitically the most significant regional actor, other states in the wider region, including neighbouring Pakistan,197 were. And they too were closely watching the developments in this new epicentre of geostrategic competition between the superpowers. Crucially, the USA had extensive first-hand experience of protracted military engagements, their economic implications, and the difficulty of defining and achieving victory—predominantly in Vietnam. The USA also knew that conflicts of this kind tend to become situations where everyone is the enemy, with large segments of society prepared to take up arms, and where no endgame can be clearly identified. The Western superpower wasted no time therefore in finding groups happy to benefit from US resources, weaponry, technology, or information and intelligence.198 From 1985 onwards, when their arsenal was enriched with top-quality US stinger surface-to-air missile launchers on top of the RPG-7 antitank grenade launchers, the Afghan Mujahideen fighters were able to deal decisive damage to the Soviet forces. The downing of Soviet helicopters and aircrafts became systematic.199 Coll summarized this tactical and operational US support for the Mujahideen and its escalation in the 1985–6 period: Beginning in 1985, the CIA supplied mujaheddin rebels with extensive satellite reconnaissance data of Soviet targets on the Afghan battlefield, plans for military operations based on the satellite intelligence, intercepts of Soviet communications, secret communications networks for the rebels, delayed timing devices for tons of C-4 plastic explosives for urban sabotage and sophisticated guerrilla attacks, long-range sniper rifles, a targeting device for mortars that was linked to a U.S. Navy satellite, wire-guided anti-tank missiles, and other equipment. The move to upgrade aid to the mujaheddin roughly coincided with the well-known decision in 1986 to provide the mujaheddin with sophisticated, U.S.-made Stinger antiaircraft missiles…. In all, the United States funnelled more than $2 billion200 in guns and money to the mujaheddin during the 1980s, according to U.S. officials. It was the largest covert action program since World War II.201  

 

  The issue, however, was that this strategy drastically accelerated the growth in power and influence of the jihadi rebels. Not only were the 260

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES Islamic insurgents gaining ground, dealing serious damage to the Soviet forces and draining the Eastern superpower’s resources, they were also emerging as anti-imperialist heroes. They were gaining power, visibility, and wider legitimacy; it was felt that their nationalist independence struggle was just, and that they were effectively heroic freedom-fighters pitted against an occupying army with a neo-imperialist agenda. Coll captures this powerfully in discussing CIA director William Casey (1981–7), whose visit to Islamabad was a strategic turning point, as he spent time overseeing CIA-led training of Mujahideen rebels.202 He oversaw the training camps, and encouraged the use of propaganda and selected Islamic texts to fuel militant Islamist sentiment. The USA was actively pursuing the escalation of jihad and its diffusion, seeking to strengthen the link between the nationalist liberation struggle and Islamic extremist jihad symbolisms.203 Crucially, after Casey’s visit Pakistani officials were greatly emboldened, and, benefiting from US military intelligence, they escalated the anti-Soviet strategy further, funnelling ‘CIA supplies for scattered strikes against military installations, factories and storage depots within Soviet territory’ as well as more targeted strikes aimed at ‘killing Russian military officers’.204 Whether it was pure miscalculation, short-sightedness, inability to comprehend the dynamics unleashed, or simple dogmatic ‘entrapment’ within the US Cold War ‘ABC’ strategy,205 US policy towards Afghan jihadi fighters paved the way for the rise of the Taliban and a new era of global jihadi terrorism that would come to harm the USA, its citizens, and its interests in the Middle East and beyond in the decades that followed. Andrew Hartman summarized this aptly in 2002: America’s response [to the Soviet invasion]—to finance and arm the most fundamental and dangerous Muslims that could be rounded up— is a decision that continues to shake the world. The possibilities of the resulting ‘blowback’—in the form of well-documented terror and the not so well-known heroin trade—were ignored in the drive to support those who would struggle against Soviet-dominated communism. … The cold calculus of US decision-makers and the negative effects on the people of Afghanistan and beyond [merit detailed analysis]. The rise of the Taliban can be directly attributed to this process.206

  Crucially, the war in Afghanistan and the Soviet occupation had a profound impact on neighbouring countries, such as pivotal US ally 261

THE HIJAZ Pakistan, which suffered from the resulting instability and the refugee burden, but was also called upon to assist the rebels.207 As we shall see in the following chapter, the radical ideas that fuelled the anti-Soviet jihad did not stop there; nor did the jihadis embrace more moderate views after the end of the war. A complex set of ideo-religious interpretations and worldviews were born out of the Afghanistan conflict. They were later on reinterpreted and adapted by the likes of the Taliban, al-Qaida, and DA’ISH, in different forms—but with comparable points of origin, namely, the ‘negative space’, ideo-religious absolutism, and a demonization of tolerant and moderate approaches towards other Islamic schools of thought, different theo-ideological currents, diverse cultures, and openness. In terms of the Cold War itself, despite some earlier predictions that this would be the beginning of a new era where the USSR would be gaining ground, exactly the opposite happened. The Afghan war was a catalyst for the USSR’s collapse.208 Arguably, the end-result of the Soviet-Afghan war was a predominantly US-guided victory. The role of the CIA and of Pakistan cannot be discounted. Cogan tried to simplify and summarize the implications of a wave of Islamic revivalism and fundamentalism that climaxed in the 1970s: The Soviets had the misfortune to run up against a tide of Islamic revivalism that began to sweep the Muslim world in the 1970s. (The United States was also a victim of Islamic fundamentalism. … The Shiites of Iran. The Soviet Union’s antagonists were Sunnis. These are very different expressions of Islam. … Fundamentalism … is a slightly misleading term for a movement that is less concerned about the observance of religious law for its own sake than as the basis for an alternative to a system based on Western values. A better term is Islamism.) It was, therefore, a particularly propitious moment for contesting the presence of a foreign power in a Muslim country. The Afghan resistance to the Soviet presence was propelled by Islamism, as well as by nationalism. … The partnership, if you will, between the United States and the Afghan resistance was of limited duration. … The long-range aims of a country in which Islamists … have a say … could not be, wholly compatible with the aims of a Western nation. The primary goal of Islamism is to get rid of, or at least lessen, Western influence.209

  Further to the limited ‘read’ of the ideo-religious landscape of Afghanistan and the region, the USA and the USSR both demonstrated 262

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES a rather incomplete understanding of the complex social landscape of Afghan society: the segmentation, fragmentation, factionalism, tribal elements, the artificiality of the state itself,210 the numerous ethnic groups and deep-cutting complexities and divisions.211 Nor did they demonstrate an understanding of the prevailing socio-transformative forces within Afghanistan, which revolved around competing visions of modernization (principally ‘communization’ and ‘Islamization’).212

The Rise of the Taliban As mentioned earlier, in the aftermath of the Mujahideen victory, chaos and instability ensued in Afghanistan. American and Soviet assistance varied after the withdrawal of the Soviet forces. Extensive fighting continued between different Mujahideen groups and factions for years,213 as different actors competed for the control of the Afghan republic. The Taliban (Pashto: ‘students’) were formed in the early 1990s by an Afghan, predominantly Pashtun, faction of the Mujahideen. The movement most likely emerged in northern Pakistan,214 ‘from Islamic madrasahs (seminaries) who were living as refugees in Pakistan’.215 By some accounts, the assistance provided to the Taliban by the Pakistani Inter-Service Intelligence agency (ISI) was instrumental.216 The radical conservative Islamic movement gained wide support by committing to end the factional conflicts among the warring Mujahideen groups and establish peace, stability, and the rule of Islamic law. This largely explains their initial popularity.217 Much like the advent of DA’ISH in the early 2010s, the ‘Taliban imposed its brand of justice as it consolidated territorial control’.218 Laub summarized the absolutist ideo-religious dogma advanced by the Taliban: Taliban jurisprudence was drawn from the Pashtuns’ pre-Islamic tribal code and interpretations of sharia colored by the austere Wahhabi doctrines of the madrassas’ Saudi benefactors. … Its Ministry for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice enforced prohibitions on behavior the Taliban deemed un-Islamic, requiring women to wear the head-to-toe burqa, or chadri; banning music and television; and jailing men whose beards it deemed too short.219

  Laub’s observations are further complemented by Qureshi, who aptly links the Soviet–Afghan war and its far-reaching implications with 263

THE HIJAZ the ideology of the Taliban: ‘The genealogy of the movement can be traced to the anti-Soviet jihaad in Afghanistan and to Afghan refugee camps in neighbouring Pakistan.’220 We will not expand further here in terms of deconstructing the ‘ideological trail’, which is both deepcutting and complex, as we cover it in the following chapter. In short, it involves a complex blend that ranges from Afghan village codes, to Wahhabism, to Salafi jihadi elements, to the impact of the internationalization of jihad in the context of the Soviet–Afghan war, to tribal and religious codes which inform the Taliban’s patriarchal interpretation of Islamic ideology.221   Even though the regime was largely isolated from its inception, assistance kept flowing in multiple forms. The advent of the Taliban was territorially decisive, with the militants seizing Kabul in 1996, and rapidly acquiring statehood-like characteristics. The Taliban established the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan, with Mullah Omar as the head of state. At the turn of the millennium the Taliban controlled over 90 per cent of the country.222 Crucially for the scope of this study, all three countries recognizing the Taliban government had a strong connection to Wahhabism: Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, and Pakistan. All three, especially Pakistan and Saudi Arabia, had been the key US allies assisting the jihadi rebels that defeated the Soviet forces. Now, a faction of these was leading the Taliban regime.223 These influences co-shaped the hardline form of Sunni Islam, with the severe Wahhabi elements, that the Taliban leaders came to preach, advance, and enforce.224 According to several analyses, the influence of Pakistani and Saudi Arabian religious teachings and schools was central in the shaping of the Taliban ideology and Islamic militant ideo-political dogma.225 Rashid’s observations regarding the socio-political impact of the rise of the Taliban in the Afghan society are telling, and add further context to this discussion:  

 

 

Historically, Afghanistan was a deeply conservative Muslim country where sharia, as interpreted by Afghan tribal custom, prevailed for centuries. But the Islam traditionally practiced in Afghanistan was also immensely tolerant of other Muslim sects, other religions, and different lifestyles. Until 1992, Hindus, Sikhs, and Jews all played a significant role in the country’s bazaar economy and sectarianism was not an issue. Since 1992, however, the bloody civil war has destroyed this

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES tolerance, setting sects and ethnic groups against one another in a way formerly unimaginable. The once unifying factor of Islam has become a lethal weapon in the hands of extremists and a force for division and fragmentation.226

  In many ways, therefore, there had previously been a similar transformation to these, which we have discussed before, with the advent of Wahhabism in the inter-war period, which led to a rise in intolerance, as advanced by militant and austere sects and groups, who closed down the space for openness and respect for religious diversity. The militarization of Islam, which was started by the Mujahideen, climaxed under the Taliban, who made it a way of life, a form of ‘a society at war’— both domestically, and, as we shall see, internationally as well.227 A deeply conservative Afghan village clergyman, Mullah Omar, who was a veteran of the anti-Soviet Mujahideen effort,228 was in command of Taliban-controlled Afghanistan from the capture of Kabul in 1996 until the regime’s overthrow in 2001 following the US-led invasion of Afghanistan. Omar’s title had a militant Islamic symbolism as Commander of the Faithful (amir al-mu’minin).229 Ideo-politically and territorially, the Taliban provided a safe haven for Islamic militants, terrorists, and extremists—including Osama Bin Laden’s al-Qaida, which Mullah Omar had allowed to operate from within Afghanistan since his rise to power. It was from Afghanistan that a great part of alQaida’s strategizing, planning, and organization took place as it prepared its international high-profile terrorist attacks. According to Laub, Omar had asked Bin Laden and al-Qaida to refrain from antagonizing the USA; a request that al-Qaida’s leadership did not honour.230 Al-Qaida’s agenda and worldview, as we shall discuss in the next section in greater depth, sought to ignite a global jihad which would drastically disrupt and decisively alter the global status quo through highprofile terrorist attacks. This would in turn further fuel world-wide ‘Islamic militantism’, maximizing al-Qaida’s international reach and influence, and paving the way for the establishment of a new form of Islamic Caliphate.231 Crucially, however, even after the 9/11 terrorist attacks, the leader of the Taliban rejected US-led demands to apprehend and extradite al-Qaida’s leader.   Also, further to the sponsoring of terrorism, and the absolutist, militant enforcement of their own version of Islamic law domestically, 265

THE HIJAZ they were, like DA’ISH, infamous for their human rights and cultural abuses, including the destruction of the very important Bamiyan Buddha statues,232 provoking international outrage.233 Another interesting parallel with DA’ISH were the caliphal aspirations, encapsulated for the Taliban in the ‘caliphal title of Amıir al-Muʿminıin’ assumed by its founding leader, Mullah Omar, and his efforts to link himself to the Prophet Mohammad.234 Furthermore, again similar to the deeds and tactics of the Islamic State group, the Taliban carried out targeted mass killings of ethnic groups, minorities, and in general groups and local societies unwilling to submit to the absolutist Taliban doctrines and way of life.235 According to Rashid, it was difficult, even for the people of Afghanistan, to deconstruct the nature of the Taliban, not least because of the secrecy of their leadership—and especially for foreigners, since Mullah Omar never met with anyone who was not Muslim.236   Even though the Taliban administration collapsed within weeks of the US-led attack on the country in 2001, the group showed a tremendous resilience. While its control over the country shrank drastically, the Taliban managed to retreat tactically and return to gravely destabilizing guerrilla tactics which claimed thousands of lives—pre-eminently American and British—throughout the course of the 2001–16 period. In the early 2010s, in parallel to the turbulence in the greater MENA which led to the rise of DA’ISH, the Taliban were making a comeback in Afghanistan and Pakistan. Notably, they managed to gain ground in Pakistan and establish control over several areas in the northwest of the country. The fundamental significance of the Taliban example is the fact that a non-state Islamic militant group was allowed to acquire state-like characteristics—effectively, to run a state (1996– 2001)—and that, at different stages, external actors were prepared to hold discussions with the group, engaging it diplomatically. The Taliban’s territorial bid for statehood had tangible elements of success and variable levels of recognition. Its survival following the US-led invasion of Afghanistan and ongoing resilience must surely have served to encourage other such Islamic militant actors, particularly DA’ISH, which adopted the idea of a territorial bid for Islamic statehood under an even more austere militant Islamic worldview, violently advancing it in the power vacuum left in Syria and Iraq.  

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— From the Taliban to ‘Talibanization’ and the Rise of al-Qaida As demonstrated, the rise of the Taliban is inextricably linked to the Soviet–Afghan conflict and US–Soviet ‘proxy war’ in Afghanistan, with the resulting scattering of heavily armed Mujahideen groups with their different agendas, as well as the influence of external ideologies, predominantly from Pakistan, as well as Saudi Arabia (with the two being connected). Power vacuums, in the absence of virtuous leadership, provide fertile ground for the expansion of the ‘Faith Militant’ and the growth of the ‘negative space’. They have also allowed the ‘negative space’ to acquire—and, in several instances, consolidate— territorial characteristics, functions, and variable degrees of authority. Undoubtedly, the absolutism, severity, narrow worldview, and ideoreligious dogma of the Taliban falls within these categories. The same can be argued for their statehood ambitions. Their track record in Afghanistan and the broader region supports such analyses with bitter examples and very dark events and instances. Rashid, in a timely 1999 article analysed the rise of ‘Talibanization’, forewarning the West and the international community of the risks associated with the exporting and subsequent radical adaptation of the Taliban’s militant and austere ideo-political norms: ‘Talibanization,’ the destabilizing export of Afghan-style radical Islam, may be a new term in the American political lexicon. But in Central and South Asia, where the repercussions of the superstrict Taliban rule of Afghanistan have been widely felt, the word has become all too familiar. As political fragmentation, economic meltdown, ethnic and sectarian warfare, and Islamic fundamentalism tighten their grip on Pakistan and much of the … region, the dangerous behavior of Afghanistan’s new leaders is no longer a local affair. More and more, chaos in Afghanistan is seeping through its porous borders. The ongoing civil war has polarized the region, with Pakistan and Saudi Arabia backing the Taliban regime. … The confrontation is producing enormous economic disruption throughout the area, as the Afghan warlords’ dependence on smuggling and drug trafficking grows insatiable. Into the political vacuum left by 20 years of war and the collapse of stable government has marched a new generation of violent fundamentalists, nurtured and inspired by the Taliban’s unique Islamist model. Thousands of foreign radicals now fighting alongside the Taliban in Afghanistan are determined to someday overthrow their own

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THE HIJAZ regimes and carry out Taliban-style Islamist revolutions in their homelands. … The state breakdown in Afghanistan offers militants … a tempting package deal: sanctuary and financial support through smuggling. Meanwhile, Washington … hardly [has] a comprehensive policy for dealing with this increasingly volatile part of the world. For Western nations to presume that they can safely exploit the vast oil and gas riches of Central Asia without first helping bring peace to Afghanistan is unrealistic. … A new Great Game is being played in the region. At stake, however, are no longer questions of mere political influence or who gets to build oil and gas pipelines where. These issues will be irrelevant unless the West figures out how to stop the spreading conflagration in Afghanistan—and fast.

  In short, Rashid, with foresight and an insightful analysis, had forewarned, two years before the tragic events of 9/11, of the very dangerous spillovers between different expressions of the ‘negative space’, and how variations of the Islamic Faith Militant were fanning each other’s flames in a spiral of violence and instability. The warning also encompassed the ‘safe haven for terrorists’ dimension,237 which the new Taliban government was fulfilling and, as was later proven, sponsoring. The Saudi-born al-Qaida terrorists who carried out the 9/11 attacks owed much to Mullah Omar’s Afghanistan, which hosted the operational centre of al-Qaida, and its leader, former Mujahideen sponsor and supporter Osama Bin Laden. Both Afghanistan and its mountainous and sparsely populated border region with Pakistan have been steadily featuring in the US ‘physical safe havens for terrorists’ lists. In the aftermath of the Arab Uprisings a number of MENA countries (Libya, Lebanon, Iraq, Egypt, Yemen), as well as Pakistan and Afghanistan, featured in these lists, as chaos ensued and different branches and mutations of al-Qaida and DA’ISH grew and expanded in the various power vacuums. The Taliban, in their forceful and disruptive statehood experience, never fought terrorism and extremism, in spite of their promises—to the domestic audience, above all. If anything, they nurtured and sponsored it; they emerged as key exporters of Islamism. They gave to the terrorists the space to operate unhindered, expand their international networks and build new global cells. The deadliest terrorist hit in history, 9/11, partly owes its deadly success to the Taliban—this militant Islamist movement that was allowed to acquire statehood characteristics in the aftermath of the Afghan war; 268

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES the Faith Militant which rose to power in the ashes of international and civil war. In these sections, we have identified and discussed the chain of events that link the rise of a new wave of internationalized jihad in the late 1970s and 1980s, the rise of the Mujahideen fighters, the role of the USA, the rise of the Taliban, a wave of conservative Islamic revivalism, the role of terrorist ‘safe havens’, and the growth of al-Qaida with the most cataclysmic terrorist incident in recent history, 9/11. Before moving on to the following chapter, to deconstruct the ideological drivers of the ‘negative space’, we quickly discuss al-Qaida and DA’ISH independently.

Al-Qaida: Postmodernism This section traces the rise and growth of al-Qaida, from a small group in Afghanistan to the most wanted terrorist organization in the world. We briefly refer to the key doctrinal drivers guiding the terrorists, and assess al-Qaida as a postmodern, non-territorial entity: an entity with no—initial, at least—ambitions towards developing traditional statehood characteristics, and a powerful and disruptive, yet amorphous, enemy; a non-state actor, whose main objectives were not necessarily immediate, pragmatic or tangible—not seeking territories, resources, or the enslavement and subjugation of people in the neo-medieval sense that DA’ISH attempted in the 2010s. Nor did they launch a territorial statehood bid comparable to that of the Taliban.238 That being said, the ultimate aim, the ‘final state’ which was to be brought about through the terrorist entity’s activities, did, in fact, involve the establishment of a violent Caliphate.239   The core difference from DA’ISH, however, was the angle of approach. In the case of DA’ISH, the underlying idea has revolved around a pragmatic territorial bid for a single Islamic state at the heart of the Middle East, which would eventually encompass the lands of the former Ottoman Empire (and Caliphate), and much more. DAI’SH’s Caliphate, however, was to be built step by step, through the advance of the terrorist group’s fighters and armies—a territorial conquest. Al-Qaida, on the other hand, relied more on the ideo-political conquest, which would be inspired through highly visible acts of international terrorism. Their core aim as seen from a Euro-Atlantic angle has 269

THE HIJAZ been to deliver successfully high-impact terrorist attacks on the USA and its allies.240 Through this strategy, they hoped to ignite new jihads in different nations and regions, to mobilize and recruit internationally new militant Islamists—new loyalists ready to take up arms and undertake acts of terrorism to disrupt the status quo and devote their lives to the Faith Militant. Anti-imperialist, anti-American, and nationalist urges were framed with Islamic narratives and symbolisms, such as those discussed with regard to Iran from the late 1970s onwards. The idea, however, and the vision, had ‘gone borderless’—beyond statehood. It was no longer a question of ‘driving the Soviets out’, or ending US meddling. It had become a question of believing in the ability of igniting global jihadi cells prepared to ‘take the fight to them’, giving to a disoriented audience the means to ‘exact revenge’, to enable Islamic nations to get rid of Western influence, remove corrupt regimes which are ‘collaborating with the West’ (infidels), and failing core Islamic values.241 Eventually, through this effort, the way would be paved for the establishment of a pan-Islamic Caliphate.242   This world-wide recruiting and mobilization were to take place through the targeted manipulation and exploitation of collective and individual emotions—with the use of terror and propaganda. Prospective Islamist jihadi ‘fighters’ were invited by al-Qaida to welcome the group’s strategy as their new high-impact vehicle to express their rejection of the West and its allies. Al-Qaida’s approach was both asymmetric and unrestricted (not territorially bound), as opposed to the more symmetrical and systematic advancement of the neo-medieval vision of DA’ISH and its very pragmatic territorial pursuit of the establishment of an Islamic state and a Caliphate.243 Another important distinction between al-Qaida and DA’ISH is that the former was more dependent than the latter. DA’ISH, thanks to its territorial ambitions and gains, became ‘the richest terror organization the world has known’, with numerous sources of funding, including ‘oil trade, kidnapping and ransom, collection of protection and taxes, bank robberies and looting’.244 Al-Qaida relied much more heavily on international sources of external funding, with an estimated annual turnover of $150 million.245 Furthermore, DA’ISH has arguably not been as reliant on finding safe havens for its activities; its headquarters and centres of operations were carved out through its own actions, territorially, within its sphere 270

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES of immediate control. Al-Qaida, on the other hand, has relied more heavily on such safe zones—such as Sudan and Afghanistan.246

— The Rise Against the backdrop of the Soviet withdrawal from Afghanistan, a group of Arab fighters who had come to join and sponsor the (US-backed) Mujahideen cause, under the leadership of Saudi-born Osama Bin Laden, formed al-Qaida (the base). Bin Laden was not a poor, uneducated village ‘clergyman’ like the leader of the Taliban, Mullah Omar. His distinct journey is vital to understanding the influence and impact of his career, as well as his appeal in several regions and communities around the world.247 It has been summarized succinctly in a dedicated CNN study: Osama … bin Laden [was] born in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia [in 1957]. He [was] the [son of] a Yemeni immigrant who built a billion-dollar construction company in Saudi Arabia. … [In] 1979, Bin Laden graduate[d] from King Abdul Aziz University in Jeddah with a degree in public administration and economics. He [then went] to Afghanistan to join the ‘jihad’, or ‘holy war’, against the Soviet Union. He remain[ed] there for a decade, using construction equipment from his family’s business to help the Muslim guerrilla forces build shelters, tunnels and roads through the rugged Afghan mountains, and at times taking part in battle. [Between] 1980–1989, Bin Laden raise[d] money for the mujahedeen fighting in Afghanistan and also provide[d] them with logistical and humanitarian aid. During these years, he also personally [fought] in battles against the Soviet Union.248

  After 1989, having won the ‘holy war’ in Afghanistan, Bin Laden’s newly founded terrorist network, al-Qaida, was in pursuit of new jihads, new battlefields.249 From Afghanistan, the group and its leader moved to Sudan.250 They stayed there for five years, from where they advanced their international networks; sought to expand their sources of funding, deepen their ties with other Islamic radical groups, and set up training camps; advanced their radicalization agenda; and, according to a number of analysts, organized and supported a number of attacks against Western targets—including the 1993 attacks in Somalia (against US servicemen) and the World Trade Centre in New York.251 Following this series of high-profile terrorist attacks, Bin Laden came to interna 271

THE HIJAZ tional attention (Western and American especially). Pressure on Sudan to expel Bin Laden climaxed in the mid-1990s. In 1996 the founder and leader of al-Qaida returned to Afghanistan, the country where he had acquired his training and ‘distinctions’ in combat and guerrilla warfare. Crucially, the year coincided with the official establishment of Taliban rule. In 1998, from within Afghanistan, Bin Laden issued a fatwa calling for the killing of US citizens, framing it as the ‘individual duty for every Muslim who can do it in any country in which it is possible to do it’.252 Over 220 people were killed that year in Al-Qaidaorchestrated attacks against the US embassies in Tanzania and Kenya. This bears semblance to the DA’ISH calls for the killing of Western citizens—and ‘infidels’—globally, through asymmetric means from bombs and suicide attacks to shootings and targeted vehicle attacks.   Several al-Qaida-led attacks followed. The high point of the organizion’s lethal record came in 2001 with the four-plane attack carried out by al-Qaida jihadis which claimed around three thousand lives in the deadliest ever attack on US soil.253 Notwithstanding a US-led global effort, labelled by the Bush administration the global ‘War on Terror’,254 Al-Qaida, through its global networks and affiliated organizations, carried out a series of subsequent international attacks. Two events that shook the West were the 11 March 2004 attacks in Madrid, and, the 7 July 2005 London bombings. Despite a series of arrests, and counter-terrorist operations, the terrorist activities of al-Qaida were effectively uninterrupted in the years that followed. On 2 May 2011 Bin Laden was killed in a raid by US Special Forces, who stormed his compound in Pakistan. President Obama framed this development as ‘the most significant achievement to date in our nation’s effort to defeat al Qaeda’.255 However, the activities of al-Qaida did not end with the death of the organization’s founding and paramount leader. Militant Islamists and jihadi extremist leaders were keen to climb the ranks of al-Qaida’s power structure, in different regions and countries, to continue the work of the terrorist group, under the guiding vision set out by its founder.   Al-Qaida lost its dominant position in the global terrorism headlines due to the rise of DA’ISH and the group’s extremely effective use of digital propaganda and the new technologies, but, in 2016, according to leading analysts, al-Qaida’s resilience had proved deep-rooted and  

 

 

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES the group had possibly been working to consolidate its position further ‘out of the spotlight’.256 In 2011 John Brennan provided a comprehensive summary of al-Qaida’s goals, suggesting four underlying distinct aims: ‘terrorize the US into retreating from the world stage; utilise long wars to financially bleed the US while inflaming anti-American sentiment; to defend the rights of Muslims; and finally “a feckless delusion” and “grandiose vision” for global domination through a “violent Islamic Caliphate”’.257 ‘[Al-Qaida] leaders like Zawahiri258 have consistently presented a series of objectives that al Qaeda is actively pursuing: liberating all “Muslim lands” from occupation by both non-Muslims and “apostate” rulers; imposing their version of sharia (Islamic law) on Muslims and non-Muslims alike in these lands; erecting then a state that they call the “Caliphate”; and eventually making God’s word the highest. This phrase, which means many things to Muslims, signifies just one thing for the extremists: that the entire world is ruled by their version of sharia.’259   Importantly, the rise—or, rather, elevation—of al-Qaida into the arrow-head of the global amorphous enemy of ‘international terrorism’—the world’s greatest threat in the aftermath of 9/11—had major political implications on the global stage. In this elevation or ‘securitization’ of the threat posed by al-Qaida and jihadi extremist leaders such as Osama Bin Laden, the role of certain US figures such as Dick Cheney in George W. Bush’s administration was paramount. It was as if these two opposing high-profile actors worked to deliberately securitize the global discourse: Bin Laden obviously, because terror was his vehicle; and Cheney because he wanted to underline the paramount importance of the USA and its global military predominance.260 Of course, in so doing, Cheney was further fuelling Bin Laden and his cause—global fear (by elevating the threat)—as well as emboldening Bin Laden’s followers and aspiring jihadi extremists, therefore, paving, in a way, the road for an aspiring ‘Caliphate of terror’, such as ISIS, to emerge. And, in the ashes of Iraq and Syria,261 and in the aftermath of US interventionism,262 ISIS found the space to grab territories and falsely proclaim a Caliphate—which it tried to establish upon fear, oppression, restriction, ideo-religious absolutism, and raw terror. This is what we shall discuss in the coming section.  

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Neo-Medievalism: DA’ISH and theViolent Bid for a (Terrorist) ‘Islamic State’ From the non-territorial al-Qaida and its intangible conception of the Caliphate, we discuss here the rise of the self-proclaimed Islamic State in Iraq and Syria/Levant (ISIS/ISIL). We discuss its origins, its ideological drivers, and its forceful attempts to establish a ‘Caliphate’ through aggressive military expansion and an absolutist religious doctrine of submission and fear. In consistency with the usage throughout this manuscript, we will continue referring to this terrorist organization with the Arabic acronym DA’ISH.263 DA’ISH was a by-product of yet another power vacuum, as many abominations in history have been—a vacuum not just of hard power, namely political, military, and economic might, but also a product of the unending governance failures in the region; a protracted lack of inclusion; a prolonged absence of prospects; and a failure to achieve all-encompassing progress.264 Moreover, DA’ISH tried to exploit a gap or weakness in the normative sphere too: a crisis in Islam, associated with the modern distancing from the era and the teachings of the Prophet, and the role of certain precarious doctrines such as strands of Wahhabism in twisting Islamic teachings and advancing intolerance. Through a careful study, the ideological ‘trail’ can be traced from the violent Wahhabi bids for statehood and the role of paramilitaries and radical fanatic factions such as the Ikhwan, to the forceful statehood bid of the Taliban in Afghanistan, to the ideology that fuelled al-Qaida’s ‘Islamic’ militancy.   The hard-power power vacuum that DA’ISH came to exploit can be largely associated with: (a) the US-led interventions in Afghanistan and Iraq (especially) and their shortcomings; (b) the uncertainty that followed the Arab Uprisings and the tensions and instability that were unleashed; and (c) the failure of the international community to act preventatively to extinguish the flames in Syria and broker a timely peace when first faced with the prospect of chaos. Such chaos was not unknown to the international community: Libya has served as a stark reminder of how engineering regime change without ensuring that there is a solid power core and acceptable central government to step in may do more harm than good. The same can be argued by experts who were warning of the shortcomings associated with regime change 274

GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES in Iraq. A prominent example is the warning of realist international relations scholars Walt and Mearsheimer, who in 2003 convincingly questioned the merits of a full-scale war effort to remove Saddam Hussein, since, they argued, ‘scrutiny of his past dealings with the world shows that Saddam, though cruel and calculating, is eminently deterrable’.265 These prominent experts had also warned, with foresight, that even if the war went well operationally, it would have still been ‘unnecessary’; and, more crucially, ‘if it goes badly—whether in the form of high U.S. casualties, significant civilian deaths, a heightened risk of terrorism, or increased hatred of the United States in the Arab and the Islamic world—then its architects will have even more to answer for’.266   From these far-sighted comments in 2003 we came to the weakness of contemporary Iraq and the ashes of Syria, where the ravaging civil war saw the weakening of both Bashar al-Assad and the complex mixture of the opposition. The global milieu was tense, and the international community in a deadlock following the aftermath of Libya, where the UN mandate for a no-fly zone had been extended one-sidedly into a UK–French–US-led campaign to oust the country’s longstanding military ruler and his regime. In 2013 US foreign policy became more conservative, with the superpower having taken a step back and allowing events to unfold. Red line after red line was forgotten in Syria, and the humanitarian crisis reached unprecedented levels, with a dramatic refugee crisis that first hit (predominantly) Turkey, Lebanon, and Jordan and, later on, the EU. At the very centre of this gloomy chessboard, a terrifying new actor emerged: DA’ISH. The selfproclaimed Islamic State, usurping sanctified Islamic symbols, ideals, and values, under the guise of an obfuscated jihad, began destroying lives, waged a war on history,267 and attacked Muslims and non-Muslims indiscriminately, since its absolutist religious cloak permitted it to do so. The overarching proclaimed symbolic aim was ‘true’ Muslim ‘solidarity’ under a new ‘Caliphate’. The ways of advancing this included: terrorism and fear; oppression and subjugation; summary trials, executions, and excruciating punishments.268 The means and the tools involved the use of resources such as oil money to finance radical jihadi fighters, the weapons amassed from the retreating Iraqi forces, the constant supplies of new recruits from numerous sources within  

 

 

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THE HIJAZ and outside the region, and state-of-the-art theatrics centred around public executions.269   A key issue was that several countries had rushed to ‘recognize’ the opposition forces in Syria, in high hopes of a swift transition, overlooking the complexity and the potentially dangerous composition of the numerous groups forming the opposition in Syria. For instance, Jabhat al-Nusra (later Jabhat Fatah al-Sham) is a group whose intolerance was not unknown; it had a negative and hostile view of other strands of Islam, such as the Alawites, and also of the USA and Israel.270 The suspected links between al-Nusra and al-Qaida became public in 2013, with al-Nusra pledging allegiance to the terrorist group and subscribing to the push for a Caliphate.271 Conceivably, such radical groups from within the Syrian opposition have been a source of fighters and assistance to both al-Qaida and DA’ISH. A core link between these different extremist groups is their intolerance: an absolutist perception and extremely narrow—if not twisted—interpretation of Islam.272 The issue dates back to the advance of certain strands of Salafism and Wahhabism, which, ever so often, seem to be doing more harm than good.273 The more intolerant and restrictive the ideology, the less space there is for peace and the greater the likelihood of violence and extremism. It is in these contexts and circumstances that the advent of the ‘negative space’ gains greater momentum. We will not expand too much on the ideological parallels and interconnections here—we devote following chapter to this. We will, however, in the following lines, provide a short background on the rise of DA’ISH, its efforts at state building, its ambitions and their implications.   DA’ISH emerged from the remnants of al-Qaida in Iraq (AQI), the al-Qaida offshoot founded by jihadi ideologue Abu Musab al-Zarqawi in 2004 in reaction to the US-led invasion of Iraq. DA’ISH was marginalized after the escalation of US-led operations in Iraq, before reemerging in the early 2010s. In 2009, following the withdrawal of US forces, Iraq’s prime minister targeted Sunni leaders, in a move that fuelled sectarian tensions. DA’ISH cells wasted no time in taking advantage of this renewed sectarian turbulence to bolster their recruiting. Furthermore, DA’ISH took advantage of chaos and disorder in Iraq and Syria, with the raging conflicts, tensions, and the absence of strong central governments, to expand its base and fill its ranks with radical  

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GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES CHALLENGES Islamists from the region and beyond.274 With the conquest of pivotal strongholds and historic cities in Iraq and Syria, growing wealth, and ever-larger military capabilities, DA’ISH’s leader, Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, proclaimed the establishment of an ‘Islamic state’, and announced the formation of a Caliphate, stretching from Aleppo in Syria to Diyala in Iraq.275 At its peak, the terrorist group commanded territories the size of the UK and was acquiring notable state-like characteristics, facilitated by its wealth and command of vital infrastructure. It fulfilled functions such as local administration, the management of energy, water, electricity, and the dispensing of justice through Islamic courts operating under its own austere version of Shari’a.276   The notion of capturing the Islamic Holy Lands has featured repeatedly in DA’ISH’s ambitions, driven by the legitimizing power and appeal such an idea mobilizes. We have discussed in depth the historical significance of The Hijaz and its paramount importance within Islam. The need to safeguard and reinstate The Hijaz as a powerful pan-Islamic entity and invaluable common heritage is urgent, and Muslim nations must work together to ensure its security. In parallel to its immediate statehood ambitions in Iraq, Syria, and the Levant, DA’ISH proclaimed an Islamic Caliphate that sought to encompass the lands of the Ottoman Empire and more.277 Importantly, this chilling vision to massively redraw borders through force was regularly framed in anti-colonial language, as an act of revenge against the artificial dividing lines of the colonialists (especially Sykes–Picot), and the long years of Great Power divide-andrule policies in the Middle East. The US-led air campaign against DA’ISH climaxed in the mid-2010s. In response, the terrorist group expanded its networks and offshoots in the region, and stepped up its efforts at igniting global jihadi sentiment. It began orchestrating and instigating attacks against the countries supporting the operations against its territorial bases in Iraq and Syria. According to the NewYork Times, by July 2016 over 1,200 people had been killed by DA’ISH and its supporters outside Iraq and Syria.278 By mid-2017, following a more coordinated international community response and more targeted engagement with local and regional actors, DA’ISH’s territorial gains had been decisively reversed. From a growing entity with expanding state-like characteristics and structures, commanding vast territories and notable wealth, DA’ISH was being pushed back. However, the core ideas, the ideological drivers, the potent symbolisms that DA’ISH mobi 277

THE HIJAZ lized in its pragmatic bid for statehood, the pursuit of a ‘true’ Islamic state and the reconstitution of a Caliphate, are far from defeated.   To end the perverse doctrinal catalysts of Islamic extremism, jihadi terrorism, and notions of establishing such an Islamic state or Caliphate, a decisive empowerment of the ‘positive space’ needs to be advanced, in a coordinated manner, by all Islamic nations. Naturally, The Hijaz, home to Islam’s holiest sites, to which 1.6 billion Muslims pray daily, must be at the centre of such an effort. Of course, Saudi Arabia’s guidance and leadership in the pan-Islamic effort to close down the room for old and new expressions of the ‘negative space’ and the Faith Militant will be paramount. In the following chapters we will suggest that The Hijaz has powerful integrative potential, and that, under Saudi Arabia’s umbrella of protection and stewardship, a positive vision for the region could be delineated and advanced. This could be achieved through a simultaneous effort, comprising (a) targeted reforms, which would tackle the root causes of extremism and radicalization domestically—from a more inclusive and equitable political economy model to more inclusive growth and prospects for the growing youth; and (b) a pan-Islamic effort, which could start from a GCC (plus) initiative, for greater integration, cooperation, and coordination—not just in the fight against terrorism, but also in a joint effort to diminish the ‘negative space’, address the ideological root causes of extremism, prevent radicalization and advance a positive vision of tolerance, religious dialogue, and cross-doctrinal understanding. In this second component, the role of The Hijaz, as the pre-eminent forum to address and resolve theo-ideological and religious differences productively and harmoniously, will be paramount, just as it was centuries back, during Islam’s greatest epochs.

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THE IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD IN THE AFTERLIFE OF THE HIJAZ

Negative and Positive Islamic Space After the First World War, the state of Hijaz and its positive space of Islamic governance in the region was replaced by the negative space: the Sykes–Picot Middle East order, accompanied by nationalist, anticolonial, and religious movements. As we have seen, two types of governments emerged. On the one hand, the Middle East saw the proliferation of dynastic monarchies, which were often imposed in the interests of the British, the French, or the Americans. These included Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Pahlavi Iran. On the other hand, a number of pan-Arabist military regimes swept into power after the colonial powers left their territory. These states included Egypt, Syria, and Iraq.1 A seismic shift in the international order occurred yet again in the early 1990s with the collapse of the Soviet Union. Coincidentally, the end of the Cold War was the final nail in the coffin of pan-Arabist movements worldwide; it was replaced with a wave of ‘political Islam’.2 We have established that there are several reasons for this. Firstly, with the collapse of the Soviet Union, socialist regimes in Syria and Egypt lost their most significant financial and political patron.3 Secondly, the Afghan Mujahideen’s successful campaign against the Soviet Union—supported by the United States—served as a catalyst

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THE HIJAZ for jihad against oppressive regimes in the rest of the Islamic world. Their newly created networks, financial resources, and arms served only to embolden their efforts.4 Thirdly, the 1991 Gulf War and the subsequent stationing of American troops on the Arabian Peninsula provided the necessary rhetorical justification for continued anti-Western rhetoric, coupled with religious symbolism:5 namely, the image of a foreign army in the ‘cradle of Islam’.   The modern trend in interpreting this phenomenon ends with ‘terrorism’, which became the hallmark of the narrative in security and intelligence circles after 9/11. While al-Qaida was a creature of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan as well as the post-1991 Gulf War era, DA’ISH emerged primarily in response to the US invasion of Iraq in 2003.6 It publicly proclaimed a Caliphate and the end of Sykes–Picot on 29 June 2014, after seizing parts of Iraq and Syria.7 This declaration came approximately a century after the fall of the Ottoman Caliphate and the subsequent efforts to revive it, as well as the eventual dissection of its territories by the British and the French.   Along with the 2003 Iraq invasion and many other issues, the Arab Spring popular uprisings in late 2010 would significantly shape the future of the Middle East. It has been generally characterized as the culmination of widespread, if not universal, outrage against despotism and corruption. However, the rise of Islamists (revivalists and others) as a result of the failure to institutionalize democratic, participatory regimes in many of these countries highlights the difficulties faced by attempts at political, social, and economic reformation of the Islamic sphere. The appearance of DA’ISH may be analysed from different political angles, and, while it seemingly revives traditional, outdated, and archaic concepts, it raises the issue of statehood from the perspective of institutions and governance, leaving international recognition as a final stepping stone vis-à-vis the legitimization process. This can be referred to as the ‘negative space’ of Islamic governance: in essence, a lack of a positive integrative discourse that can circumvent such crises. Such a positive integrative institutional agent is desperately needed to stabilize the region on several levels. In this chapter, we build argue that there is no other actor so well placed to naturally assume this role as The Hijaz. Ideally, this should be advanced with the positive and pro-active support of Saudi Arabia throughout this crucial process. In  

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IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD a way, that would be the ‘positive space’ or the ‘Hijaz factor’ which would fill the void that it left a hundred years ago, just as it did 1400 years before, thereby allowing and facilitating a coherent reintegration into the Islamic and broader international order.   This necessitates a deeper non-Orientalist understanding of faith militancy as the ‘negative space’ of Islamic governance, and highights the importance of analysing the roots of foundational principles and ideological departures.

— ‘New’ Islam: The Western ‘Read’ and Response In their attempts to understand the social and political dynamics in the Islamic world, the failure of states, and the conditions that give rise to extremism, Western views tend to ignore fundamental and historical grievances that go back to the last century relating to Islam and the region itself. They begin the discussion by asking ‘What do Muslims want from Western democracies?’ ‘What do they employ in terms of tactics and strategies since they are a Western “existential threat”?’ The Western security narrative almost always begins with ideological foundations. However, it is full of generalizations and essentialisms. In cases where deeper investigation is conducted, general references are made the thirteenth-century Islamic thinker Ibn Taymiyya’s notions of resistance and the use of force, while others follow with a discussion about Sayyid Qutb, a contemporary reformist and Muslim Brotherhood founding father, being ‘repulsed by America’, before moving on to 1996, and Osama Bin Laden, underscoring his earliest demands such as ‘the Zionist crusaders need to get out of the Land of the Holy Places’.   The tendency to view the region in this way began in 1972 with the terrorist attack at the Munich Olympics by the Palestinian group Black September, which garnered widespread publicity. This was followed by the 1979 US embassy hostage crisis in Tehran. President Carter became involved, and in April 1980 Operation Eagle Claw, which was launched to liberate the hostages, failed. Subsequently, the focus moved to Lebanon to discuss Hezbollah (as a Shi’ite jihadist organization) which had bombed US marine barracks in Lebanon in 1983. The anti-Soviet Mujahideen experience in Afghanistan between 1979 and 1989 was 281

THE HIJAZ often described with the aphorism ‘the Kalashnikov and the Qur’an brought down the superpower’ (of course, ignoring CIA training). This narrative then fast-forwards to the 9/11 attacks and the world that was created (or devastated) by the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan.   Harvard law professor and American constitutional lawyer Noah Feldman, in his book The Fall and Rise of the Islamic State, attempts to explain to the Western public that Islamists or Shari’a-oriented political parties ‘embrace democratic elections and basic rights. They promise economic reform, an end of corruption, and above all, the adoption of Shari’a.’ He sees such moves as marking a fresh conception of a new ‘Islamic state’ that ‘want to capture the core of what made the traditional Islamic state great’.8 Indeed, he argues that this tendency towards returning to or re-founding an Islamic state came as a response to the secularization and Westernization processes, which we discussed in the previous chapter, and the incomplete reforms of the modern era that also destroyed the ‘ulama’ class who interpreted and administered Shari’a, in which a continuous struggle took place between advocates of reform and of Islamization of the society through democratic state institutions that would provide a balance of power. The case in point here is the Muslim Brotherhood of Egypt before and after 2011 in Egypt. This, we believe, is true but perhaps simplistic.   Outside the state discourse, the historical example that looms large is the long-lived Wahhabi experiment, which was an extreme militant movement with a puritanical salafiyya jihadiyya (Salafi jihadi) thrust that traces its roots to Ibn Taymiyya. As the movement succeeded most notably with the seizure of The Hijaz, the Saudi founder saw the necessity to more actively participate, as a state rather than via an ideology, in the new international order. As a result, he began to eliminate his more militant Wahhabi Ikhwan9 partners, who sought further expansion of their newly formed Arabian Islamic state, well into the Iraqi side of the Sykes–Picot line. He gave up ideology and focused on territoriality and governance.   What are the origins and fundamentals of the Wahhabism project? The Sunni salafiyya jihadiyya ideological drivers compared to the nation-state of Shi’a Iran? And how can they withstand the test of time? What are their links to the extra-territorial postmodernism and commonalities with the emergence of neo-medievalism today? And why do they ostensibly seem to have such wide appeal? 282

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD   Today, the most salient difference between postmodernist terrorism and neo-medievalism is the aspirations on the part of the latter towards governance and expansion. They control territory, attempt statecraft, and have limited economic independence. Moreover, DA’ISH has developed an elaborate system for governance based on an asymmetric form of federalism, where they envisage direct rule over Iraq and the Levant, an indirect connection over the Wilayah of Arabia (including The Hijaz), and an eventual US withdrawal from Afghanistan, and despite successful counter-efforts in Iran and Syria, neo-medievalism may rise again to consolidate an Islamic emirate in Afghanistan and a possible emirate in Libya. Resultantly, Stephen Walt poses the dark question of the need to consider possibilities in the event of a DA’ISH victory.10

Wahhabism: Ideological Prototypes and Influences A number of experts have compared and analysed DA’ISH and Wahhabism, tracing parallels between them and assessing the extent to which DA’ISH’s ideology and worldview originates from Wahhabism. Some have put forth arguments concerning the political dimensions of their relationship, others have connected it to the Saudi ‘ulama’, while a third group have identified and analysed a degree of conceptual ‘sympathy’, arguing for the ‘integrity of the programme’ and the idea of tamkin or ‘capacity building’.11 Hassan Farahan al-Maliki,12 a prominent Saudi Islamic intellectual and educational critic, has argued that the ties between DA’ISH and its Wahhabi and Salafi predecessors are not merely historical or ideological. They are, in fact, intimately connected to contemporary thinkers in Saudi Arabia. He traces Wahhabi ideology to extreme Salafi thinking, and in particular to Ibn Taymiyya (1262– 1328), who through his teachings and writings effectively legitimized armed resistance and deadly violence against others—especially Muslims who through their practices and deviance became ‘apostates’. Maliki says that ‘by ignoring them, we left ourselves faced with DA’ISHs of the past and present massacring the near and far’. Maliki, who was educated in the Wahhabi tradition, points to the ideological wellspring found in the original fatwas of the first official mufti of the modern Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Muhammad ibn Ibrahim Al al 283

THE HIJAZ Shaykh, a great-grandson of Muhammad Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab (1703– 92), the founder of the movement. This trajectory continued in the works of Saudi scholars such as the late mufti of Saudi Arabia, Abdulaziz Bin Baz, who argues for ‘disavowal’ as well as calling for a jihad against what he describes as ‘non-conforming’ Muslims and Western nations.13   An equally powerful analysis is offered by Cole Bunzel, who sheds light on the ideational influences, ideo-religious and political, tracing the links between the evolution of Salafi thought and the Wahhabi (re-)interpretations, with references to specific historical examples of Wahhabi violence stemming from (or inspired by) these interpretations: The second stream of Islamic thought contributing to the Islamic State’s ideology is known as Salafism, a primarily theological movement in Sunni Islam concerned with purifying the faith. Salafism focuses on eliminating idolatry (shirk) and affirming God’s Oneness (tawhid). Salafis view themselves as the only true Muslims, considering those who practise so-called ‘major idolatry’ to be outside the bounds of the Islamic faith. Those worshiping—or perceived to be worshiping— stones, saints, tombs, etc., are considered apostates, deserters of the religion. These include the Shi‘a and, for many Salafis, democrats, or those participating in a democratic system. The Shi‘a are guilty of shirk on account of their excessive reverence of the Prophet Muhammad’s family, among other things, while democrats err in assigning ‘partners’ to God in legislation, deemed the prerogative of the Divine Legislator. A distinctive Salafi intellectual genealogy extends to medieval times.

  He continues: The writings of the Syrian Hanbali scholar Ibn Taymiyya (d. 1328) and his students provide the core Salafi theological corpus. Later significant Salafi thinkers came from the Wahhabi movement, or Wahhabism. … The Saudis helped the Wahhabis to impose their version of the faith across Arabia by waging jihad against perceived heretics for the sake of eliminating shirk and affirming tawhid. Wahhabi jihad involved the destruction of tombs and shrines and the enforcement of proper ritual practices, as well as cleansing Islam of Shi’ism. The anti-Shi’ite element in jihadism derives from Salafism’s historical animus toward the Shi‘a. In 1792, for example, Saudi Wahhabi forces launched an attack on the Shi’ite centre of al-Ahsa’ in eastern Arabia in order to stamp out Shi’ite practices there. Later, in 1801, they besieged the two holiest Shi’ite shrine cities of Najaf and Karbala in Iraq, pillaging Karbala and killing several thousand. As late as 1927, the leading Wahhabi scholars of the

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IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD Saudi kingdom sought forcibly to ‘convert’ the Shi‘a of the country’s eastern province or else expel them. The … anti-Shi’ite sentiment, however, still runs deep in Salafism.14

  Western scholars and experts have also picked up this link between violent Islamic extremism and jihadi terrorism and the thought and writings of Ibn Taymiyya, with their profound influence on Wahhabism. For instance, in analysing the theo-ideological drivers behind al-Qaida’s doctrine and the worldview of its leader, al-Zawahiri,Youssef H. AboulEnein highlights:  

Among the works that influenced Al-Zawahiri and justified his theories for the violent overthrow of Arab regimes is the work of … Ibn Taymiyya who wrote the book aS-Siyasa aSh-Shariyya (on The Islamic Legitimate Polity). It is a staple of every Islamic militant and it proposes such concepts as a social compact between the governor and the governed, based upon piety. The people owe their allegiance to a ruler in return for the ruler governing according to Islamic law. In addition, he took the extraordinary step of re-awakening the seventh century doctrines of the Kharijites (The Outsiders). The Kharijites felt that anyone who cheated God of His divine plan is an apostate and their killing is sanctioned. The Kharijites also elevated Jihad to being a sixth pillar of Islam, contrary to the fact that there are only five pillars in Islam and Jihad is not one of them. Ibn Taymiyya applied this doctrine on the Mongols, who, although converted to Islam, still retained their tribal laws. He argued that since the Mongols did not practice Islamic law, they are apostates and their killing is an obligation and duty until they accepted Islamic law. His writings became a political tool for rulers to declare their political rivals to be apostates.15

  Fouad Ibrahim, a Saudi Shi’ite political activist, in his book Da’ish from Najdi to Baghdadi, links geopolitical depictions of the Wahhabi political project with DA’ISH. He explains the critical Islamic space created in the years leading up to the 2003 invasion of Iraq in Sunni society in Baghdad. He describes the use of religious rhetoric on the part of Saddam Hussein in an effort to take advantage the fear in Iraq before the anticipated invasion and subsequent war. The mosque, Qur’an, and reintroduction of Sunni Salafi books from Saudi Arabia and others to the Iraqi society created a shift. This escalated with Paul Bremer’s sectarian programme as part of the US provisional government in Iraq. The Shi’ites and Kurds found refuge in the new system, 285

THE HIJAZ while the Sunni ruling and military elite were cut off, along with the ‘de-Ba’thification’ vetting process. Ibrahim further argues that the crises of Saudi spending against Shi’ites via Kuwait, and the billions that followed from Syria in the post-2012 period, created an environment of empowerment for these Wahhabi factions. Jonathan Powell’s book Talking to Terrorists argues that one way to target DA’ISH is to focus on the transactional separation between DA’ISH and former Ba’ath party officials.16   The most novel idea is advocating for the attainment of a strategic ecosystem that does not originate in religion, but rather via the creation of a political environment aimed at the end goal of a state. This idea of political empowerment is known as the tamkin principle. It was essentially born from what is described as the Saudi clergy’s failures, and the tendency to appease the rulers coupled with a conscious choice not to educate the ignorant public. In order to step up the resistance— in response to the difficult times the umma is going through—a ‘new wave’ must aim towards change and establishing ‘capacity’ (i.e. administrative control or governance) over territories.   The Sunni shaykh Ahmed el-Tayeb, currently the Grand Imam of al-Azhar, after acknowledging the historically imperial roots of the current crises in the Middle East, offered a sharply critical opinion on the neo-medievalist claim for an Islamic Caliphate, by associating the practice of takfir by DA’ISH with ‘groups cast aside by history’, and hinting at the Wahhabis and their mistaken understanding of Islam. El-Tayeb refers to them as the ‘Neo-Radicals’ for their adoption of takfir. By explaining and clarifying the use of the concept of jihad, he states that killing may not be permissible in a context outside defence, adding that jihad itself may not be declared in the absence of a legitimate authority. As for the Caliphate, he explains that it is not one of the ‘fundamentals’ of faith but merely an ‘extension’ of the articles of faith, further stating this is ‘a fact known to the youngest student at Al-Azhar’, underscoring the lack of understanding of the articles of faith by such neo-radicals or medievalists.17   The tragedy, in so many ways, lies in the backwardness of this abhorrent territorialism; in its neo-medieval dimension: the radical (mis-) interpretation of the Holiest texts, the complete absence of context, and the identification with the narrowest, puritanical, most extreme 286

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD and absolutist versions of Wahhabi–Salafi thought.18 This return to the darkest pages of history is underpinned by the advance of this neomedieval expression of the Faith Militant, stemming from the most ‘poisoned wells’ of Islamic thought and imposed through the most horrific version al-salafiyya al-jihadiyya. It is as if the worst nightmares and ghosts of the past have taken the stage in a theatre of absolute brutality in the twenty-first century; as if the sins of the past have come back to exact a terrible vengeance, prompting in turn the question of whether it is in part our fault for not confronting them and setting them at rest—within Arabia and Greater Middle East, and within Islam: neo-medievalist terror, the enslaving, the rapes, the violence, the killings, the usurpation of religion to arm and unleash deadly paramilitaries and fanatics. These tragic events, as we shall discuss, are not new. They are part of a very sad, unfortunate, dangerous, violent, twisted, and perverse return of the moments of the region’s turbulent past. Revisiting core Islamic values, studying Islam’s ‘golden age’ and the path shown by the Rightly Guided Caliphs are central in pre-empting and delegitimizing, collectively and categorically, the new expressions of extremism.   After all, as Esposito highlighted in 2015, the word jihad, for the vast majority of Muslim people globally, means something very different than what it means to the extremists: The multiple meanings of jihad across the Muslim world today are reflected in Muslim responses to a worldwide Gallup Poll’s open-ended question, ‘Please tell me in one word (or a very few words) what “jihad” means to you.’ Personal definitions of jihad included (in decreasing order of frequency) references to: ‘a commitment to hard work’ and ‘achieving one’s goals in life’; ‘struggling to achieve a noble cause’; ‘promoting peace, harmony or cooperation, and assisting others’; and ‘living the principles of Islam’. In four Arab nations (Lebanon, Kuwait, Jordan, and Morocco), the most frequent response was: ‘duty toward God’, a ‘divine duty’, or a ‘worship of God’—with no explicit militaristic connotation at all.19

— Wahhabism and its State: Ideology in Action According to the Egyptian theologian Yusuf al-Qaradawi, who is, paradoxically, a figure strongly linked to the Muslim Brotherhood, the 287

THE HIJAZ Islamic state enjoys certain features that distinguish it from other types of state; one major feature is that it is a legitimate constitutional state that relies on the main principles and rules mentioned in the Qur’an and explained in the Sunna. A second feature is the existence of a consultative council (shura). Al-Qaradawi thus asserts that the Islamic state is not based on dynastic governance, nor is it a rule by force without the consent of the people. He states that the ruler ‘holds the responsibility before the nation’s representatives from the people of shura and ahl al-hall wa al-‘aqd [the elite qualified to elect or depose a caliph or ruler],20 who may isolate him from office if he became unjust or “maladministers” the people’s affairs or does not listen to those who provided him with advice’.21 Likewise, al-Qaradawi stresses the individual’s right to provide advice to the ruler as an extension of the Islamic principle of al-amr bi ’l-ma‘ruf wa ’l-nahy ‘an al-munkar (enjoining righteousness and forbidding evil).22   A closer look at the development of the first Wahhabi–Saudi state reveals that the second feature—shura—does not exist in Wahhabi political thought or practice. Justification for whoever holds power, regardless of the process, is accepted and legitimized in Wahhabi political thinking, in order to avoid fitna (strife).   Unlike the majority of Sunni Muslim scholars’ views regarding the Islamic system of governance, political authority, and the criteria for selecting a caliph, Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab derives his principles from the jurisprudential doctrine of Ibn Taymiyya, which accepts—and thus legitimizes—the strong ruler who assumes his position by force, rather than being chosen by the umma.23 The alliance between Ibn ‘Abd alWahhab and Mohammad Ibn Saud, forged in 1744, was founded on that very idea. However, in this case, the religious current would permit—and partake in—the use of force, instead of simply declaring its legitimacy post factum. Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab had a vision of ‘legitimate force’ that would extend throughout Arabia, whose significance would depend on its application. The movement was Bedouin, and, in essence, trans-tribal. Arabia was poor and destitute, and, therefore giving these tribes a means of sustenance through raids with a religious justification made the equation perfect. Al-Katib argues that absolutism and despotism were obvious in the establishment of the Wahhabi first Saudi Islamic state, along with an absence of shura and popular participation 288

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD in governance affairs.24 Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab did not establish or provide a complete political theory of governance. As a result, with no political tradition, the first Saudi Islamic state primarily relied on traditional nomadic Bedouin norms and did not require the consent of the people (umma) or the appointment of the commander via ahl al-hall wa al-‘aqd, or even the principle of consultation (shura). Instead, the Wahhabi– Saudi state was based on power, coercion, force, and fear, as well as an expansionist territorial agenda.25   Certainly, the puritanical religious position of Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab and his firmness in crystallizing his ideas rested on citing Qur’anic verses to support his cause, and were essential in convincing political actors such as Imam Mohammad Ibn Saud and his clan. His Salafist rhetoric—relying on the historical founding cohort and extensive references to the Qur’an in his writings, speeches, and arguments as a religious reformer—also influenced the people in general, and successfully produced strongly dogmatic adherents. Consequently, Imam Mohammad Ibn Saud’s assertion that it was a religious duty to obey the imam unreservedly led to the legitimization of the political institutions of the first Saudis. That said, Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab did not address the other legal conditions of the Caliphate, such as the Quraysh requirement. In essence, the Wahhabi move legitimized Imam Ibn Saud’s invasion and first occupation of The Hijaz in 1802, claiming jihad. The main arguments stemmed from the Wahhabi theo-ideology, which required, necessitated, and catalysed forceful action in order to ‘correct’ the Muslim people’s heretical creed and reintroduce true Islamic values (as understood and advanced by the Wahhabis).26   Although many joined Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab’s Faith Militant movement and accepted his very narrow interpretation of the faith, other tribes rejected Wahhabism, declaring a rebellion and founding a renegade movement. This movement lasted for a few years, before it was put down in 1755.   The following passage succinctly discusses the initial success of the theo-political marriage of Wahhabi thinking and Ibn Saud’s strategic resolve: From their power-base at Dar’iyya in Central Arabia Muhammad b. ‘Abdal-Wahhab and the amir Muhammad b. Saud launched their campaign to reform Islam in Arabia. The alliance of spiritual and temporal

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THE HIJAZ authorities proved remarkably successful, and the impetus for the jihad against all whom they regarded as unbelievers did not fade with the death of Ibn Abd al-Wahhab in 1792. It actually continued with the energy born of the conviction that it was the duty of the only true Muslim community, that of the Wahhabis, to call the entire Islamic world to repentance for having lapsed from the pure Unitarianism of the early Muslims and for having espoused corrupt and decadent beliefs and practices incompatible with Islam. In 1802 the Shi’ites of Iraq had reason to be dismayed by violent Wahhabi attacks, the sacking of Karbala and destruction of the tomb of Husayn. By 1805 the holy cities of Mecca and Medina were in Wahhabi hands, and the Saud amir had the temerity to denounce the Ottoman sultan and call in question the validity of his claim to be caliph and guardian of the sanctuaries of the Hejaz. Effectively, the Wahhabis were to prevent him for a decade from affording protection to the great caravans of pilgrims making their way to Mecca for the annual hajj.Yet, while the Wahhabi challenge became an understandable concern for the Ottomans, it also became obvious that such inflexible and exclusivist policies presented real dangers to their advocates. They led directly to the Ottoman reaction which resulted in the crushing of the first Wahhabi-Saudi state [by 1818].27

  The Wahhabi–Saudi alliance was pivotal for the initial success of the first Saudi state. However, the same absolutism, intolerance, and expansionist and forceful dogmatic worldview that helped advance tribal coherence and fuelled the Saudi–Wahhabi warriors was also the cause of the demise of that state: the dogma, and the policies that it encouraged, alienating Muslims and instigating fear, led to the eventual Ottoman intervention.

— Faith Militancy and Expiation: Tawhid and Takfir The emergence of Wahhabism in Arabia is a crucial element in understanding the structure of the Wahhabi–Saudi states as well its reimagining and endorsement of certain Islamic concepts such as al-wala’ wa al-bara’ (loyalty and disavowal). The major task that Wahhabism arrogated to itself was to is promote tawhid (monotheism) in addition to emphasizing a return to an ‘authentic’ Islam. However, their understanding and interpretation of tawhid is different from the generally established notion in the Islamic tradition. Monotheism in Islamic thinking refers to the belief that God is the one creator. According to 290

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD Wahhabism, God is not simply the Creator, he is al-ma‘bud, ‘the One who should be worshipped’.28 As such, ‘it is not enough to acknowledge that there is no partner with God to be a muwahid (monotheist), but, performing and practising the worship exclusively to God alone. Thus, Wahhabis consider any form of practice or worship that are performed other than to God means polytheism.’29   In practical terms, polytheism (shirk)30 is the justification for declaring someone an infidel (takfir) and effecting jihad against such a person; in most cases, the people in question are Muslims (but this is irrelevant since they deviate from the above-mentioned core value).31 It follows that the term shirk is one of the dominant themes in Wahhabism. It is generally understood as the worship of any entity or deity other than God.32 However, in Wahhabi thought the concept is constructed more broadly, to include any dissenting opinions in relation to the very distinct Wahhabi understanding of monotheism.33   The Wahhabi perception of tawhid has been highly contested by wider Muslim scholarship over the centuries. According to al-Katib, the Wahhabis used takfir—the practice of designating someone an infidel—not just against individuals, but against entire nations. As such, they presume the ill-will or ignorance of Muslims to understand the faith and therefore see it as their duty to have them ‘cleansed’, ‘purified’, and ‘re-introduced’ to Islam based on the Wahhabi understanding (through deadly force, where necessary).34 Thus, al-Katib asserts that Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab unsurprisingly classified only his followers as ‘monotheists’ and ‘Muslims’. The uproar and strong opposition by many scholars to Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab’s use of takfir should not come as a surprise. Al-Katib states that ‘Soliman Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, the brother of Mohammad Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, wrote a book35 refuting the use of takfir against Muslims in general.’36 However, al-Nadawi argues that Soliman changed his mind, and in 1776 conformed to his brother’s wishes and viewpoint.37 However, Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, and later on, his followers, claim to have repudiated all such claims of takfir against all Muslims. Specifically, they asserted in their compiled gospel al-Durrar al-Saniyya fi al-Ajwiba al-Najdiyya—the very austere Wahhabi compilation establishing the sect—that to attribute this position to them is a ‘false accusation’.38 Overall, however, since its very inception, Wahhabism has advocated for, and systematically advanced, through its 291

THE HIJAZ teachings, practice, and application, a far more narrow, restrictive, and intolerant interpretation and version of Islam which has become dominant in certain Wahhabi-influenced Islamic societies and groups.39

— Loyalty and Disavowal: al-Wala’ wa al-Bara’ Wahhabism strongly stresses the notion of loyalty and disavowal in religious, social, and political relations, but the concept has taken on different forms. It is believed that the term wala’ means loyalty within the circle of the believers. However, in Wahhabi writings it denotes the loyalty that all Muslims should show to God, the religion (Islam), and their fellow Muslims in every sphere of life; while bara’ is the notion that all Muslims should disavow all people or things considered unIslamic. Wahhabis use the concept to make a distinction between Islam and everything else—and in particular, the relations between Muslims and ‘infidels’. However, al-Katib argues that Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab had made loyalty to his views a condition for defeating shirk, as he did not merely accept that people refrain from what he considered to be shirk.40 Sulayman ibn ‘Abdallah Al al-Shaykh (1785–1818), a grandson of Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, is considered by many to be the first major contributor to the revival of the doctrine of loyalty and disavowal in the nineteenth century. He expanded on his grandfather’s work, and stressed that God clearly commanded Muslims to avoid any loyalty to his enemies. Moreover, some argue that he contributed in extending the excommunication beyond non-Muslims to include non-Wahhabi Sunnis.41   By shedding light on the context and challenges that the Wahhabi– Saudi states faced, one can understand the factors that contributed to radicalism and extremism in Wahhabi political thought. In the eighteenth century, after Ottoman control of Hijaz and the Holy Lands had been challenged for the first time by the Saudi–Wahhabi alliance, also under the pretext of shirk, the Ottoman Empire directly authorized an Egyptian intervention in Arabia against the alliance. The intervention successfully ended the first Saudi Islamic state.42 Some Arab tribes who were not satisfied with the movement but were nevertheless forced to follow Wahhabism as a doctrine had also called for, and supported, the Egyptian intervention against the alliance.43 This was interpreted by Wahhabi scholars as a threat to their mission as well as an act of disloyalty, and it was from there that the political aspect of the concept 292

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD evolved, resulting in the Ottomans being classified as polytheists by Wahhabi scholars.   The doctrine of al-wala’ wa al-bara’ was further refined during the period of the second Saudi Islamic state, after the emergence of Imam Faisal in 1843. Wahhabi scholars developed a specific sub-concept within the category, which equated ‘loyalty’ to polytheists with a form of polytheism. This understanding of the concept was deployed in the 1870s during the conflict between two brothers, Abdullah and Saud, over the throne, as Abdullah sought the Ottomans’ help against his brother. Wahhabi scholars declared this as an act of shirk based on their earlier declaration of the Ottomans as polytheists. One of the more prominent Wahhabi scholars, Hamad Bin Atiq (d. 1883 or 1884),44 defined bara’ in a way that required Muslims to actively disavow others—polytheists, ‘non-true’ Muslims, ‘infidels’ (as defined earlier) and their associates, or those tolerating them—in order to be recognized as ‘true’ Muslims. Likewise, another prominent Saudi Wahhabi scholar, ‘Abd al-Latif ibn ‘Abd al-Rahman Al al-Shaykh (1848–1921), supported the same view, but also recommended waging jihad against those he believed to be polytheists. Thus, the civil war that erupted in 1865, and the inherent threat to the Wahhabi doctrine and its endurance, led ‘Abd al-Latif to take an extreme position which led to the killing of those deemed polytheists, based on his own interpretation of texts.45 In this respect, Hegghammer states that ‘critics may object that the Wahhabi concern for purity was historically directed more at sinful Muslims than at outsiders. From the eighteenth to the early twentieth century, Wahhabi zealots fought other nominal Muslims, not infidels.’46   Some experts also point to Imam Faisal for the ideo-religious ­convergence, proximity, and/or conflation between Wahhabism and Salafism: Although Salafism and Wahhabism began as two distinct movements, Faisal’s embrace of Salafi pan-Islamism resulted in cross-pollination between ibn Abd al-Wahhab’s teachings on tawhid, shirk and bid’a and Salafi interpretations of hadith. … Some Salafis nominated ibn Abd alWahhab as one of the Salaf (retrospectively bringing Wahhabism into the fold of Salafism), and the Muwahidin began calling themselves Salafis. Today, a profusion of self-proclaimed Salafi groups exist, each accusing the others of deviating from ‘true’ Salafism. … The pro-Saudis correctly trace al-Qaeda’s ideological roots to Qutb and al-Banna. Less

293

THE HIJAZ accurately, they accuse these groups of insidiously ‘entering’ Salafism. In fact, Salafism was imported into Saudi Arabia in its Ikhwani and Qutbist forms. This does not mean that the pro-Saudi Salafis are necessarily benign—for example, Abu Mu’aadh as-Salafee’s main criticism of Qutb and Muslim Brotherhood founder Hassan al-Banna is that they claim Islam teaches tolerance of Jews. … Faisal’s embrace of panIslamism achieved its main objective in that it helped Saudi Arabia to overcome pan-Arabism. However, it created a radicalized Salafi constituency, elements of which the regime continues to fund.47

  Wahhabi scholars of the twentieth century, while still studying its history and historiography, became less focused on the political use of the concept. Instead, they shifted their focus to the social dimension of the concept, with some legitimization of state practice in certain issues such as trading with non-Muslims.48 This attempt by contemporary Wahhabis to depoliticize the concept of al-wala’ wa al-bara’ overlooks the fact that the entire concept developed during the conflict between the Ottoman-supported Egyptian army and the Saudi–Wahhabi alliance during which Wahhabi ‘ulama’ legitimized certain actions to support rulers in the name of religion. However, the emergence of the recent writings of Abu Muhammad al-Maqdisi,49 who is considered one of the shaykhs of salafiyya jihadiyya (jihadi Salafist thinking), emphasized the political sphere of the concept, and specifically utilizing the help of infidels as an act of shirk, which requires jihad (in its military sense) against polytheists. For al-Maqdisi this may include the rulers of the Muslim world. Al-Maqdisi drew comparisons between Abdullah’s request for assistance from the Ottomans in the nineteenth century and the twentieth-century US-led Gulf War.50   A further invocation of the doctrine of al-wala’ wa al-Bara’ appeared in the aftermath of the US-led invasions of Afghanistan and Iraq, in 2001 and 2003 respectively, in the context of which Saudi Arabia and various other Arab and predominantly Islamic states maintained relations with the United States. Some Wahhabi scholars criticized such close relations with a country ‘fighting against Muslims’. They therefore considered Saudi Arabia to be actively supporting infidels.51 Nevertheless, the political interpretation of the concept has widely spread beyond Saudi scholars. Notably, al-Qaida leaders adopted it in their efforts to legitimize their actions, resulting in some observers concluding that al-wala’ wa al-bara’ is ‘one of the most important doc294

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD trinal elements of Jihadism’.52 Wagemakers concludes that al-wala’ wa al-bara’, in its political version, eventually became a mainstream concept among jihadi extremists and for at least one radical thinker, lost its social relevance—which was the only dimension acknowledged by quietist scholars—altogether’.53 The following passage by Lynch, discussing al-Qaida’s absolutist views in this context, is particularly telling: Participation in elections or in such parliaments, which elevates the rule of man over that of God, represents a form of polytheism and a rejection of the doctrine of Hakimiyya (rule of God on earth). Coexistence with non-Islamist groups, to say nothing of actual alliances, violates the principle of al-wala wa al-bara, which jihadi-Salafists believe forbids cooperation or interaction with non-Muslims.54

  As a means of suppressing disagreement, some groups have increasingly attempted to link kufr (unbelief) or takfir and jihad.55 Many Muslim scholars have attempted to counter this linkage. For instance, the late Grand Imam of al-Azhar, Shaykh Mahmoud Shaltut,56 wrote a book in 1948 entitled al-Qur’an wa al-Qital (The Qur’an and fighting), where he warned against the danger of the increased rhetoric of takfir, and by extension jihad, and the confused aggression as a result of including Muslims in the concept of al-wala’ wa al-bara’. Moreover, Shaykh Shaltut called upon those who fight in the name of jihad against non-Muslims to re-read the Qur’an and the history of the Rightly Guided Caliphs and the way in which they treated non-Muslims. By doing so, he asserts, they will discover how Islam promotes peace and human solidarity.57 Other scholars similarly criticized the misuse of the concept, and tried to narrow its meaning and usage to times of war.58 In this regard, al-Mas’ari, a Saudi scholar, ultimately defines ‘loyalty’ as ‘helping the infidel soldiers, allying with them … supporting them, aiding them against the Muslims, revealing the security and military secrets of the Muslims to the infidels, inciting the infidels to fight the Muslims or helping them in preparing for war on the Muslims’.59

— Sovereignty: al-Hakimiyya Al-Hakimiyya (‘divine sovereignty’ or ‘divine governance’) is one of the pillars of the state that indicate its supreme authority over its subjects. 295

THE HIJAZ In its most simple form, it is the rule of God. However, most of the debate tends to focus on who possesses (or interprets) this sovereignty. Some support the unity and ‘defragmentation’ (centralization) of sovereignty, thereby, in a way, rendering it exclusively as a theocratic type of sovereignty (a more absolutist view).60 Others argue that sovereignty is democratic in that it is spread among members of the nation, thereby casting it as a form of popular sovereignty.61 Nevertheless, the concept of hakimiyya in Islamic political thought contains the rights of obedience, commands, prohibitions, and other consequences. The Islamic state or Caliphate therefore habitually indicates the sovereignty of Shari’a as one of its main pillars. Notably, all Muslim scholars agree on the fact that God, based on a number of Qur’anic verses, primarily possesses hakimiyya.62 Moreover, those scholars agree that the Prophet Mohammad was vested with hakimiyya during his life, based on certain texts.63 However, Mustafawi argues that Muslim scholars disagree on how hakimiyya and governance should be practised after the death of the Prophet.64 Contemporary Muslim scholars have adopted different interpretations of hakimiyyia; some place it with the umma and people, while others assert that it is a theocratic tendency.65   Such disagreement has led to the current practical challenges in understanding the concept of hakimiyya. The differing interpretations between Islamists and others emerged after the fall of the Caliphate. Consequently, it has become one of the more controversial concepts to have been employed by militant groups in recent times. Some strongly argue that the concept, as an exclusively theocentric one, has historical roots that go back to the Khawarij66 in the time of the fourth Rightly Guided Caliph, Imam ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, as evinced by their maxim ‘no governance except that of Allah’. For instance, al-Qaida’s worldview is based upon a similar absolutist reading of the concept; the following excerpt from Lynch’s analysis is particularly relevant: Al Qaeda’s conception of the Islamic state envisions absolute Hakimiyya; an extremely strict reading of Islamic behaviour and practice; the rigorous enforcement of Islamic morality; no place for civil law independent of Sharia; no tolerance of diversity or interpretation; and no place whatsoever for the institution of the nation state.67

  The Pakistani Salafi scholar Abul-‘Ala al-Mawdudi (1903–79) is seen as one of the main theorists of hakimiyya, having written extensively on 296

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD the concept in his struggle for Islamic identity in India after the fall of the Khilafat Movement, which we discussed earlier, and whose work was a powerful influence on the thought and work of the influential Islamic revivalist scholar Sayyid Qutb (1906–66), among others.68 By extension he became a reference in contemporary Islamic discourse for those seeking the implementation of Shari’a law. While al-Mawdudi was trying to distinguish the Islamic system of governance from European theocracy, he used certain terminology that was misunderstood, such as ‘Islamic theocracy’, ‘the divine-democratic government’, and ‘democratic theocracy’. Al-Qaradawi observes that, although al-Mawdudi may have misused the term ‘theocracy’ in his arguments, he explained that his views concerning Islamic theocracy meant that it is to be in the hands of Muslims in general, and they should handle it in accordance with the Qur’an and Sunna, in which God granted Muslims a limited popular sovereignty.69   Al-Mawdudi’s thought influenced other thinkers in the twentieth century. The most important was Sayyid Qutb,70 who joined the Muslim Brotherhood in the early 1950s and became a prominent member. He repeatedly asserted the inclusiveness and sovereignty of Shari’a. Sovereignty, according to Qutb, is intended to mean the sovereignty of the Shari’a as a constitution.71   Nonetheless, the increased political discussion about democracy and its compatibility with Islam made some Islamic groups examine the concept of democratic sovereignty. Some claimed that democracy is against the sovereignty of God based on Qur’anic verses concerning governance (hukm). Consequently, the concept of hakimiyya has been increasingly used by militant groups based on their own interpretation of these Qur’anic verses, and referencing Qutb’s ideas. However, Khatab asserts that ‘Qutb’s concept of Hakimiyya is not against democracy, as such, but is compatible with it’.72 Al-Qaradawi reasoned that it is true that sovereignty should be only for God, in what he refers to as ‘supreme’ and ‘absolute’ sovereignty. However, this does not negate the possibility of people’s right in legislating for the issues that God has already given permission, as evinced by the absence of scriptural prescriptions. This includes all issues except that which deals with worship and the rules of halal and haram.73 This point of view is shared by alNadi and al-Ghannouchi.74 Therefore, most contemporary Muslim 297

THE HIJAZ scholars take it that the real meaning of hakimiyya is that supreme legislative sovereignty is for God, with a space for Muslims to legislate in all other issues that are not covered by explicit texts.75 In the modern Shi’ite context, Imam Khomeini also relied on the doctrine in his rhetoric and the legal underpinnings of the 1979 Iranian Revolution, and included it in the constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran.   Indeed, the Wahhabi interpretation of the concept of sovereignty is much more radical. However, the Qur’anic verses that discuss the concept of hakimiyya did not categorize all those who do not enforce the religious law as kuffar (apostates); rather, they included three descriptions. The first was kuffar, or ‘deniers of the truth’.76 The second was zalimun, or ‘the evildoers’.77 The third was ‘truly iniquitous’.78 The Qur’an therefore makes different gradations and distinctions, in sharp contradistinction to the Wahhabi viewpoint.   In these sections we have traced and analysed how a series of key Wahhabi concepts evolved over time and through a series of interpretations and reinterpretation by Islamic—pre-eminently Wahhabi—religious leaders and scholars, who came to find themselves using different expressions of the negative space, historically. Before turning to how these concepts have resurfaced in modern times, we will now reflect and look back at the historical evolution of different currents of Islamic Sahwa revivalism.We will also examine the ‘Shi’a statehood experience’, of bringing about Shi’afication and Persianization in the structure of the modern Iranian constitutional nation-state, and how this alternative model of Islamic statehood has been received by Sunni scholars.

Islamic Revivalism: Sunna and Government Revivalism in Islam is not exclusively a contemporary movement, nor is it exclusive to the Shi’a experience. Rather, in the history of Islam and Muslims there have been many groups and movements emerging with specific interpretations of what an Islamic society and polity should be. All these movements were inspired by internal factors, and mostly in reaction to other traditional schools of thought within Islam, as well as in response to changing political and economic conditions.79 One might even argue that revivalist currents began immediately after the passing of the Prophet, and have, historically, varied in intensity, influence, and success. 298

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD   In the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries there was a wave of revivalism, in the sense of reform and renewal, in different contexts and locations in the Muslim world: in Arabia, with the role and radical teachings of Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab himself; in North Africa, through the work of Muhammad ibn ‘Ali al-Sanusi; and elsewhere, where other religious figures were able to adopt revivalist views in Sunni Islam. Essentially, these currents shared a common theme of rejuvenating the Islamic community they were living in. However, the context of Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab’s revivalism was particularly complicated, as he considered some Muslims who were not following his interpretation of the law of the Prophet Mohammad to be more despicable than ‘infidels’. Thereby his reform was, in general, underpinned by a forcible claim for a revival of the Islamic tradition through a return to the early period of Islam and the classical Salafi interpretation of texts.80   In contrast to orthodox Salafism, some moderate Muslim figures sought to adopt a renewal and reformation (tajdid) approach as a solution for Muslim societies. These include Rifa‘a al-Tahtawi (d. 1873) and Shaykh Muhammad ‘Abduh (d. 1905), who focused on the role of Islamic philosophical principles, and established the coexistence of revealed knowledge and individually sought rational knowledge.81   In the modern era, however, the decline of the Ottoman Empire and the progress of Europe, and the West in general, gave rise to two related phenomena, colonialism in the Islamic lands and the rise of contemporary Islamic revivalism. Revivalists ultimately wanted ‘to introduce more Islamic influences into the lives of Muslims who have been subject to Western currents of thought and practice, particularly in the wake of the Napoleonic invasion of Egypt’.82 In actual fact, they found themselves at odds with the new nation-state regimes, which, as discussed above, promoted de-Islamization, nationalism, and secularization of Muslim societies in Sunni countries. The obvious examples include Atatürk’s Turkey, Tunisia, or even the Shah’s Iran; the rapid Westernization process and the replacement of the ‘ulama’ class intensified the wave of new revivalism.   On the socio-political level, one can track the Sunni Islamic modern renewal and political revivalism to Jamal al-Din al-Afghani (d. 1897), ‘Abduh’s teacher and compatriot. Al-Afghani examined and reflected on the roots of European–Western supremacy. He argued that the 299

THE HIJAZ tools of modern science would bring about significant progress for Muslims, and would curb the hegemony of the West. His efforts were anchored in reviving the concept of ijtihad (innovation through independent interpretation, reasoning, and jurisprudence), as a primary stream in Islamic philosophy. Al-Afghani was driven by a political orientation against European colonialism and the expansionism of the West in the Islamic lands. He sought to reconcile religion with the modernism that had brought about Western development. Nevertheless, al-Afghani and ‘Abduh saw themselves as intellectually ‘anti-traditionalists’, and opposed a ‘blind’ imitation of the Other. They were selective in incorporating those elements that brought about Muslim socio-political statecraft. They would borrow modern Western knowledge and immerse it in an Islamic framework.83 Politically, alAfghani was interested in maintaining the religious orientation of government. He therefore advocated for the revival of the institution of the Caliphate, as a symbolic force that would unite Muslims from ‘India and East Asia’ all the way with those in ‘the Arab world and elsewhere’. In adopting such a doctrine, he believed the Ottoman Caliphate would be strengthened on the international relations level.   Despite the existence of the Caliphate at the time—at least symbolically—there was a strong surge of revivalist movements in some Islamic countries, mostly because of anti-colonialism and the fight for self-determination. Crucially, revivalists constructed a convenient opposition political ideology to drive religious discourse and popular sentiment as a means of mobilization against the colonizers. Following the failure of the Islamic political project crafted by al-Afghani and other reformists, the subsequent empowerment of Islamic traditional thought came about with two main trends: (a) ‘reformists’, who prioritized the need to solve internal threats over external threats to Islam emanating from foreign powers or colonialism; and (b) the ‘traditionalists’, who prioritized the battle against external threats, especially colonization. The increased wave of colonization effectively led to the failure of the first trend in achieving significant internal reformation. The classical view of what constitutes dar al-islam, the territory of Islam, and dar al-harb, the territory of war, was crucial in forming their understanding of statehood and society. Many went as far as rejuvenating doctrines of Islamic governance on the removal of a Muslim ruler 300

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD and governance by non-Muslims as a fundamental legal departure in the form and nature of statehood and of people’s identity—thereby justifying religious fatwas to either fight under the banner of jihad against the colonizers or emigrate from those territories that had lost their ‘Islamic’ identity.84   Although some revivalists, such as ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi (1855–1902), pioneered another view of political governance by proposing the revival of an Arab Caliphate, the radical transformation of the political map in the wake of the First World War—followed by the fall of the Ottoman Caliphate—impacted revivalist tendencies among many Muslims, who struggled to reconcile Muslim unity and political existence on both the national and global levels. They reasoned that these shifts were caused by both internal decay and external pressures. As a result, for many revivalists the main driver for revivalism was, ultimately, the protection of the threatened umma, Muslim unity, and culture, against the invader.

— The Essence of Revivalism? According to Radwan al-Sayyid the outcome of the revivalism movement in the region has branched in two ideological directions. The first one is the major militant Islamic revivalists, such as the Salafist revivalism of Wahhabism in Najd, primarily in response to internal decay rather than external threats.85 Politically, there was no effective strong central government, which allowed the militant Wahhabi revivalists to entrench their political alliance with Imam Saud, leading to their rapid spread in Arabia. Crucially, the Wahhabi school was not concerned with the idea of the re-establishment of the Caliphate system. This is in part because of the movement’s reliance on the firm anti-Mongol political doctrinal origins of Ibn Taymiyya and his new model of the postcaliphal age, in which he ‘emphasised the duty of all Muslims to live’, and the duty of the sovereign to ‘command’,86 in accordance with the Shari’a. In this case Islamic law was derived only from the authoritative sources of the Qur’an and Hadith.87 Accordingly, Wahhabism relied on Ibn Taymiyya’s jurisprudential model, ‘obedience to the commander’ (wali al-amr) in which the Shari’a and al-siyasa al-shar‘iyya (government by religious law)88 replaces the Caliphate as the covenant between God 301

THE HIJAZ and his umma and therefore as the cornerstone of the Islamic state. Ibn Taymiyya framed his theory of government on ‘authority of command’, relying on two verses of the Qur’an: ‘God commands that you render back the trusts to those to whom they are due; and that when you rule among people, you rule with justice’; and ‘O Believers! Obey God, and Obey the Messenger and those of you who are in Authority’.89   The second movement, on the other hand, was Revivalist Fundamentalism (al-usuliyya al-ihya’iyya), which took place outside Saudi Arabia and sought to attain legitimacy by establishing alternative forms of socio-political associations, societies, and organizations, wherein loyalty is to the murshid (guide or teacher), as with the Muslim Brotherhood. This second category is mostly influenced by different ideas of renewal and revivalism, such as those of al-Afghani, as well as Salafi figures such as Rashid Rida; and, socially by the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt—and later on their offshoots around the Islamic world. While strongly against the secular model of the nation-state and Western values, the most important concern for Revivalist Fundamentalism was the ideological foundations of the new nationstate model in the region, and, specifically, how to benefit from its shortcomings and failures—in addition to the systematic countering of the ‘imposed’ Western culture and way of life through Islamization.   The establishment of Islamist organizations, such as the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt in 1928 by Hassan al-Banna (1906–49),90 and Jama‘at-i Islami in Pakistan91 by Abul-‘Ala al-Mawdudi, discussed earlier, were core elements of an organized response to continued Islamic decline, foreign influences, and imperialism; but they also a threat to nationalist regimes. The core shared principles between these revivalist organizations and movements are: (a) that Islam constitutes a comprehensive ideology for individuals, the state, and society; (b) the restoration of Islamic rule, or, as it is framed by some idealistic observers, ‘the golden age of Islam’, which requires a ‘return to Islam’ and its empowerment in both state and society; (c) implementation of Islamic law (Shari’a) and hakimiyya (the sovereignty of God’s law) in the Muslim polity.92 In just a few years, the two revivalist movements were able to achieve transnational expansion, inspiring other groups in Syria, Jordan, Sudan, Bangladesh, and Afghanistan. The influential writings of al-Banna and Mawdudi as well as Qutb represented an alternative 302

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD Islamist view of state and society, in which they were able to link the realities of modern life with the values and norms of Islam—as they interpreted it.

— Revival in the Sunni World Today In the post-Second World War era, Western interests continued to influence the political affairs of Islamic countries after colonization, and nationalist and secularist programmes increased the divisions within Islamic states—in favour of the revivalists. In this context, they managed to strengthen their presence in these countries through the discourses of legitimacy, and expanded in the vacuum created by a lack of legitimate religious policies and social welfare conditions. Eventually, through these pressures, and in response to societal demands, many governments had to reconsider the question of religion in their policies and national legislation; in some cases going as far as amending their constitutions—as in Egypt in 1980.   It becomes clear that, among Sunni revivalists, there is an ultimate commitment to Islamic governance and the creation of an Islamic state. Crucially, they share a common view over the social and conservative issues relating to Islamic law and the implementation of Shari’a within a state. That being said, however, one should not overlook the fact that there are actually differing views between Sunni revivalists regarding the exact model of statehood, based on a variety of interpretations and methods. Accordingly, Islamists or revivalists are not all the same politically: there are, among others, moderates, conservatives, and radicals. The moderate majority would argue for a peaceful religious and social revolution, or, to be precise, a ‘reformation’—through the legitimate channels that would be allowed by the regime and within the established system of government.93 Conversely, the minority radical jurists—who often make their views known very loudly nowadays— tend to choose more drastic approaches, including armed struggle, which they justify as ‘obligatory’ on theological, ideological, and political grounds. Given the nature of the state systems they are opposing, radicals would argue that there are no effective channels for peaceful reform under autocratic regimes that repress all forms of opposition— and especially the Islamists. Thus, they regard those regimes as illegiti 303

THE HIJAZ mate; which in turn allows (if not compels) armed opposition or ‘defence’ against these governments.94 For radicals, jihad, in these contexts and circumstances, is a religious duty upon all ‘true believers’, whereas Muslims who are not following this view are not just sinners, but are disavowed as ‘apostates’ or ‘enemies of God’.95 As such, this type of radicalism takes the same approach that we discussed above with relation to early Wahhabism, when the ultra-orthodox Wahhabis considered that even other Muslims who are not strictly loyal (al-wala’) and followers of the teaching of Wahhabism are not just sinners but worse than infidels (kuffar) and must be disavowed (al-bara’).   On a transnational level, it should be noted, radical jihadi movements such as al-Qaida are considered by many as anti-imperialist movements that adopt violent methods primarily against Western and (neo-)colonial influence. Al-Qaida members are concerned with fighting the influence of non-Muslims in Islamic lands, or what they call the ‘far enemy’ who support the ‘near enemy’ (the national authoritarian rulers), and seek to liberate Islamic lands from non-Muslim rule.96   In fact, while the Iranian Islamic Revolution has encouraged the Sunni revivalists to ever more strongly advance their agenda, and find inspiration in the Iranian model of an Islamic state, it also alarmed Sunni leaders into compromise, and a willingness to adopt religion as a tool of politicization and negotiation with the revivalists.97 That being said, the most important point that all Sunni rulers, including those in Saudi Arabia, find threatening, is the ‘exportation’ of the Iranian Revolution to other neighbouring countries.98 Analytically, this explains why Arab regimes, specifically those in the Arabian Peninsula, are deeply suspicious, not only of the rise to power of Sunni revivalists in Egypt and Tunisia in the post-2011 uprisings, but also the success of Iran’s revolutionary Shi’ite Islam, which would bring about changes in the structure of the state system in the Arab world in the name of Islamic governance.   Finally, as pointed out by many political scientists, contemporary revivalists, both moderate and radical, are not necessarily backward, uneducated, or anti-modern. Nor are they all terrorists. In fact, overall, the opposite tends to be the case: most of them are enlightened, wellrounded graduates of prestigious national and international universities. Moreover, the vast majority of them did not study religious studies or 304

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD jurisprudence, but rather engineering, medicine, and science; their backgrounds mostly lower middle class and middle class.99   In his interpretation of the rise of Revivalist Fundamentalism in the region before the 2011 Arab Spring, al-Sayyid points out that it could be for three reasons. Firstly, the middle class did not like the violence adopted by the radical and jihadi groups, but thought that the Muslim Brotherhood’s methods would be a better option for well-educated bourgeois youths. The second reason he identifies is that many intellectuals and scholars endorsed the legal and legitimate qualifications of the Muslim Brotherhood to participate in the political (democratic) process in question—not necessarily because they believed in the Islamists’ ideology, but because they opposed the dictators and authoritarian regimes.100 The third reason, he argues, is the decline of the religious institutions and their dependence on the patronage of political authorities, a state of affairs that has shifted popular support to the Islamists—and, specifically the Muslim Brotherhood, who are actively participating in social and political discourse, and above all were critical of the political establishment.101   At the same time, it is important to note that between 1930 and 1960 revivalists were able to develop the conceptual framework of what they call the ‘comprehensive Islamic system’, with its emphasis on concepts of Islamic hakimiyya through slogans such as ‘Islam is religion and state’. Furthermore, in addition to providing social services such as building hospitals and education centres that effectively catered to large populations in the absence of state institutions, their electoral slogan was ‘Islam is the solution’. From an external dimension, the 1967 military defeat in the Arab–Israeli Six-Day War was a crucial point in the course of Islamic revivalism in the region. In fact, it was a major catalyst for new directions in Islamic revival; many of these emerged from a reaction to this defeat. According to Ayubi it decisively increased the militant neo-fundamentalist Islamic groups.102 Overall, the political popularity of some Arab revivalist movements and leaders stems from Arab public awareness of the depth of social, economic, and political problems that afflict the Arab world.103   The doctrinal evolution of Revivalist Fundamentalism has been crucial over the last thirty-five years, as its development helped shape the way these currents and trends have expanded in the region. 305

THE HIJAZ Structurally, it has influenced the internal transformation of revivalist groups from charities, social groups, and associations into political actors, who became concerned with the political discourses in their states, and embarked on a quest to gain legitimacy within both their societies and their states, as well as changing the structure of both, based on their own worldview and interpretations. Moreover, they have taken on self-improvement in the application of conceptual jurisprudence and ideology—particularly hakimiyya and the ‘comprehensive Islamic system’. Consequently, in parallel they were the benefactors of the failure of the Arab nation-state experiment and the political elites. Their relative successes at a time of dictatorial government and elite failures led, in turn, to the increased popularity of ‘doctrinal revivalism’. Revivalists were able to develop a narrative to counter both internal and external injustices; this was central to the dynamics that fuelled the appeal of the Muslim Brotherhood. Lastly, it should be noted that the re-emergence of the Salafi movement—and, more dangerously, the division into jihadi currents—in turn directed more popular support for the Muslim Brotherhood and similar groups as a viable model of wasatiyya (Islamic moderation).104 Thus, as Abu Khalil and Haddad aptly observed: The late-twentieth-century revivalist movements had a ssahhwah [revival] feature rather than renewal or reformist features. They underlined their Islamic identity, especially in countries where Muslims constitute a minority and emphasized Islamic ethos and practices. Although they usually speak of the universality of the Islamic message, each of these movements is molded by local and/or national frameworks.105  

 

  The 2011 Arab Spring uprisings opened the gates for all political and religious groups, providing space for the intellectual reclassification of Islamic political thought. Some observers have examined the situation of Islamists in the wake of these important events and provided a very interesting classification of contemporary Islamist movements and evaluation where they stand in relation to (liberal) democracy. Bokhari and Senzai categorized them in three groups: (a) ‘participatory’ Islamists, such as the Muslim Brotherhood, who are actively part of the political system, participate in electoral procedures, and reject and condemn violent means of change; (b) ‘conditionalist’ Islamists, such as the Salafis, who see a fundamental conflict between divine sover306

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD eignty and the human sovereignty offered by democracy; and (c) ‘rejector’ Islamists, such as al-Qaida and transnational jihadists, who do not believe in democratic procedures, and advance a violent ideology that aims to bring change and the desired politico-ideological outcomes through the use of force and acts of terrorism.106   In Egypt and Turkey moderate revivalists believed in a peaceful means of changing society and politics. They distanced themselves from the radical militant groups that emerged in the post-1970 period. They supported political participation, thereby accepting the rules of the political game set by the secular nation-states. Gradually, the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt and the Justice and Development Party (AKP) in Turkey were able to secure significant electoral success over the years, and showed both radical militant and secular elites that they have popular support that could push them forward to governance. The Arab Spring opened the public sphere for many Arab revivalists to openly and freely present themselves to public notice; not to mention the rise of the Salafi movement in Egypt, which was significantly inspired by the Wahhabi ideology.107 Nonetheless, the lack of political heritage, democratic experience, or governance of some of those Islamists was crippling. It was also detrimental in affecting the outcomes of the Arab Spring.   Overall, Sunni Islam’s experiment with the ballot box was a failure. The first democratically elected president of Egypt, Mohamed Morsi, who won the elections with the decisive popular support of the Muslim Brotherhood in 2012, was overthrown in a military coup a few days after his first year in office. This was followed by a targeted campaign of violent repression against the Muslim Brotherhood and other revivalist groups by the new military regime, which sealed the country’s return to authoritarianism. Alarmingly, religious repression could very well reproduce a new wave of radicalization of Faith Militant or radical revivalists in the future, as it did during the 1950s and 1960s. On the other hand, in Tunisia, under the leadership of the intellectual figure Rashid Ghannouchi, the Islamist revivalist Nahda Party has managed to avoid the fate of Egypt. Interestingly, it showed a political maturity that legitimized its negotiations with other political forces, facilitating an agreement on an inclusive governance model which involves all political actors.   In Turkey, however, Islamic governance and revivalism have taken quite a different route in recent times. The long-standing Turkish politi 307

THE HIJAZ cal leader, Recep Tayyip Erdoggan, who has effectively been in power since 2003 (as prime minister and president), has been gradually steering the country in a ‘neo-Ottomanist’ direction. Turkey was diachronically perceived as perhaps the most successful example of a secular democracy in any predominantly Sunni Muslim society. It has been also deeply immersed in the Euro-Atlantic structures, and is a candidate country for European Union accession. In the context of the Arab Spring, Turkey was often put forward as a model Islamist example. However, over the course of the past decade, several policies advanced by the ruling AKP—and spearheaded personally by Erdoggan and his closest political allies—have rolled back several secular aspects of the Turkish socio-political framework, and, gradually, the more secular (‘Westernized’) way of life too, from the use of Islamic (and neoOttoman) symbols at the top political level to a shift in the political rhetoric and a general return to greater religious conservatism, as well as a broader reintroduction of Islam in several aspects of both public and private life. It is indeed a case where revivalism is being advanced through a mixture of top-down and bottom-up processes. Given the secular experience of the country in the past century, this new course has naturally brought Turkish society to a major crossroad, with a 2017 referendum on expanding the powers of the Turkish president (Erdoggan) finding the country divided (51–49 per cent). Overall, it appears that some indications of authoritarianism are emerging, while a particular ‘return to Islam’ has been steadily unfolding in Turkey, especially since the early 2010s, with important socio-political and geopolitical implications.  

 

 

 

 

Revolutionary Shi’ism: Iran — Origins of State Shi’afication We have so far discussed different phases of the Wahhabi statehood experience, looking at its evolution through time, since Ibn ‘Abd alWahhab’s pact with Muhammad ibn Saud and the first Saudi state. In this section we trace the historical origins of a different statehood experience, that of the Shi’a Muslims, tracing the history of Shi’ism in the fifteenth, sixteenth, and seventeenth centuries. 308

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD   While the Timurid era and its Turco-Mongol roots is often seen as the historiographical launch point in the development of Persianate statehood in the pre-modern period, the imperium of Twelver (or Imamate) Shi’ism in the Safavid project108 is arguably more central in the statehood debate. Shi’afication and statehood for the large part were often seen by scholars as an evolutionary process in the ebb and flow of social and political forces in a larger context. To unravel this historiographical discourse one needs to examine the scholarly approach to three Shi’afication aspects of the Safavid project: (a) charismatic negotiations with Shi’ism; (b) the jurists and the Shi’afication programme; and (c) patronage and projection of Shi’ism.   The migration of Levantine émigrés of Jabal ‘Amil109 to spread the Shi’ite system of jurisprudence and statecraft is curious, as the ‘majority of Arab Shi’i clerics held firm to the traditional Shi’i refusal to serve any government, even one that claimed to be Shi’i, in the absence of the Hidden Imam’.110 Additionally, many were put off by the extremist manifestations of Safavid Shi’ism.111 The result was a religious imperium that empowered the Safavid house throughout periods of interdependence, alliance, and animosity with the Qizilbash and the urban elite. It started with Shah Isma‘il I (1488–1524),112 followed by Shah Tahmasp (1524–76),113 who institutionalized the ‘Amili émigré in the state, starting with Shaykh ‘Ali ‘Abd al-‘Ali al-Karaki (al-Muhaqqiq alThani, d. 1534) and culminated with Shah ‘Abbas I (1587–1629),114 all of whom were driven by various political, social, and economic forces, among others. How much of it was due to the conscientiousness of the Safavid shahs or courts is speculative, and remains unresolved among scholars such as Kathryn Babayan, Said Amir Arjomand, Andrew Newman, and Rula Abisaab, who saw differing levels of Shi’afication at work in this period.115   Shah ‘Abbas I tends to be the most celebrated in the propagation of a Shi’ite state.116 Beyond his Husayni genealogy, Shah Isma‘il I had relied on his personal charisma and the notion of sacred kingship, and was completely comfortable with informal decentralized government, through religious authority, and the revolutionary relations between his original military and religious supporters as they transitioned into a new political order: ‘shared sovereignty.’ His Shi’afication entailed ‘Sufi-mindedness’, as Babayan called it.117 Shah ‘Abbas, a hundred 309

THE HIJAZ years later, built the institutions of the state, centralized government, and proclaimed his commitment to Shi’ism in his capital, Isfahan, and all of its shrines and landmarks. Power was in the hands of constituencies: sayyids, urban Tajik notables, ‘ulama’, Ghulams, and Qizilbash with formal offices were all functioning with legal authority. Shi’ism entailed ‘Shari’a-mindedness’ by legal scholars. It had become a centralized state religion with a centralized understanding of sovereignty; unification, akin to the idea of the ‘nation’, was more important than all other notions.   In the sixteenth century, at the beginning of the Safavid project, the Safavid reliance on the Qizilbash, and its steppe culture, was important to consolidate authority and legitimacy. Shah Isma‘il’s utilization of Imamate faith, as Babayan argues, ‘points to an awareness that to unify and centralize his domains it would be imperative to alter the nature of Safavid legitimacy and to forge a uniform religion: heterodoxies like his own had to be contained’.118 In return, this meant that they had to observe extreme devotional rituals, such as the cursing of the first three caliphs, and show devotion to the new faith and the charisma of Isma‘il as Shah of Iran.119 By 1508, even though Shah Isma‘il had linked himself with the ‘orthodox’ lineage of the Twelve Imams and had toured the Shi’ite shrine cities with the prominent ‘alim Shaykh ‘Ali al-Karaki, he still relied on Qizilbash Islam.120 In Bashir’s words, ‘the Safavids represent a rare case in Islamic history in which a religious movement successfully transformed itself into a ruling house. As the main agents who enacted this transformation, Shah Ismail and his Qizilbash followers stood at a historical moment marked by the overlapping of religious and political paradigms.’121 Just as negotiations with Shi’ism were beginning, Newman asserts that Shah Isma‘il’s heterodox spiritual discourse was especially appealing to both Turk and Tajik. This was matched by practical recognition of the emergence of the Safavid project, facilitating the transition from the Aqquyunlu to Shah Isma‘il I and the Safavid house and intertwining their fortunes with, and thus furthering their acceptance of and loyalty to, each other, Shah Isma‘il, and the Safavid enterprise itself.122 In the end Shah Isma‘il had to rely on the support of the ‘ulama’ to curb the Qizilbash.123   Importantly, Shi’afication is conventionally attributed to external factors.124 The Ottoman Sunni drive resulting in the defensive Shi’afication of Iran could be an oversimplification, as the Safavids 310

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD looked to establish their state through successive rulers. Shi’afication came about as a result of tensions as well as a reactionary form of political consolidation, as al-Jaf describes: The appearance of the Safavid State was the clear incarnation of a nationalistic, religious Persia. This incarnation was a catalyst for the creation of a unified Persia, after having been mere parts of the former Islamic state. The Shi’i faith became a primary agent leading Persians to aggressive action to counter the hegemony of the Ottoman state, the self-proclaimed inheritor of the Islamic Caliphate, by declaring Shi’ism as the official state religion in the face of the invading Ottoman forces.125

  There seem to be four essential themes relating to Shi’afication and the Safavid project. Firstly, the catalysts of the programme were largely scholars; the ‘ulama’ from Jabal ‘Amil were central in that transition. Secondly, the discussion of the prophetic lineage played a key role starting throughout the two centuries of Safavid rule, starting with Safavid genealogy,126 ghulat devotion, and the contested role of the sayyids (or sadat), which was debated heatedly between Arjomand and Newman and expanded on by Babayan.127 Thirdly, Sufism is also an important theme in the project, from its formation—looking at the mystical and ‘Alid aspects that it shares with Imamate Shi’ism—to the disavowal thereof, all the way to its second century, where Sufi philosophical and political notions re-emerged. Finally, there is the clerical court itself, and the role that the agents of religion—the ‘ulama’—ultimately played.   It was Shah Isma‘il I and his son Shah Tahmasp who invited a number of Arab scholars from Jabal ‘Amil ‘who expressed willingness to support temporal authority and Shi’ite statehood’.128 The shahs, on the other hand, were interested in ‘reconciling not Sunnism with Shi’ism but rather Qizilbash heterodoxy, animism and sufism with legally based Twelver Shi’ism’.129 The ‘Amilis were quick to utilize ahl al-bayt devotionalism,130 and were able to translate their doctrine into Persian, thereby reconciling and abridging internal class conflicts and popularizing the orthodoxy that was also a process of Persianization.131 Babayan explains that ‘by the age of Shah ‘Abbas I (1587–1629) … the ‘ulama were being recruited in large numbers for a variety of clerical posts, perhaps due to the marriage that had taken place between intellectual styles from Jabal ‘Amil and Iran’.132 Shah ‘Abbas I benefited from the 311

THE HIJAZ legacy and reformation of the Qizilbash and a centralized state, promoted the ‘Amili clerics, and used their legal orderly rigour to govern the state and confront the Ottomans.

➢ Promoting the Programme: Sayyids and Local Elites Shah Tahmasp trusted the sayyids profoundly, and he continued to support and solidify their interests through the sadrs (religious functionaries). However, on several occasions al-Karaki did challenge the ‘clerical notables’.133 Arjomand was the first to identify a role for this distinct class as sadat, while Newman argues that none of the individuals singled out as hostiles were designated as sadat.134 Sayyids and non-sayyids intermarried, and contributed to the Shi’ite juridical tradition. With the occultation of the Twelfth Imam, it became necessary to regulate the khums tax, which was designated for the sayyids, and was especially important to those with modest funds. The sayyids held a distinguished position at court.135 Sayyid families were decentralized, and managed the shrines with independent funds during the reign of Shah ‘Abbas.136 A sadr was the highest-ranking religious functionary in Shi’ism.137 They were the bureaucratic elite,138 and the wazirs (senior ministers) were drawn from among them.139 During the reign of Shah ‘Abbas I Tajiks, including many sayyids, also continued to be prominent in both central and provincial administration. All those holding the post of sadr were Tajik sayyids; most were also related by marriage to the Safavid house itself.140 Tajiks were comptrollers of the realm’s finances,141 which was relevant in the sphere of regulating taxes. The appropriation of land by the Crown by means of a policy of depopulation led to a rise in the fortunes of state bureaucrats. The grand vizirs were diverse groups of people, largely drawn from competing constituencies of ghulams (Persian clerical administrators), including the sayyids.142 All in all, the sayyids and elements of the local elite together promoted the programme, while a new dynamic of social transformation (and redistribution of power) was unfolding in parallel.

➢ Ideology in Operation: From Scholarship to Doctrine The local elites had their own history and relationship with Sufism, but the sayyids soon clashed with the ghulat.143 The Safavid project’s nego312

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD tiation with Sufism consisted of a number of phases, and resulted in a move to mainstream Shi’ism. Sufism also regained popularity, as its doctrine was translated into Persian. Finally, the court itself was affected by the relations between Usulis and Akhbaris.144   During the time of Shah ‘Abbas all scholars became experts in doctrine and law. As his legitimacy and authority were questioned he became more overtly observant; for example, he encouraged Muharram ceremonies. Furthermore, there was an attempt to popularize Twelver discourse by utilizing vernacular Persian for benefit of the masses. The attempt was led by Shaykh Bahai, Mir Damad (a sayyid), and in particular, Sayyid Sultan al-Ulama Mohamad Taqi Majlisi (d. 1659), who was able to employ both language and spiritual discourse in a philosophical enquiry into Twelver Shi’ism.145 Building on al-Karaki’s thinking, they expanded the idea of the general role of the mujtahid, and re-examined the issue of Friday prayers.146 Newman argues that the Isfahan School benefited from the integration of sayyid and non-sayyid elements.147 They served as qadis in provinces such as Hamadan and continued to function as jurisconsults for Twelver Shi’ism.148

➢ Patronage and Public Display of the Programme of Shi’ism A) The Safavids and the imperative of Shi’ism Isfahan became the centre around which Shi’ism was consolidated. Said Amir Arjomand argued that the reasons behind the adoption of Twelver Shi’ism included the eradication of millennialism, the persecution of popular Sufism, the eradication of Sunnism, and the propagation of Shi’ism. Ideology was not codified in law. In this period of Shi’ite statehood, the ‘ulama’ were ultimately administrators and regulators: The sharia-minded (purist) ‘ulama’s version of Imamism had finally been enthroned at court. An edict (1106/1695) prohibiting all nonsharia activities, sealed by the Shah and signed by the Shaikh al-Islam of Isfahan (Majlisi II) and six other prominent ‘ulama, was to be read in all mosques.149

B) Patronage of the Shi’ite Programme and the Use of Symbolism During Shah ‘Abbas I’s time, the number of religious monuments equalled if not exceeded the political ones, which points to a particular 313

THE HIJAZ effort to reassert Safavid spiritual legitimacy as a result of the domestic political challenges. Newman suggests that the ‘promotion of the association with Twelver Shi’ism in particular was all the more important in light of the Safavids’ continued loss of control over the Shi’i shrine cities to the West’.150 Symbols include descriptions of Shah ‘Abbas as ‘… the propagator of the faith of the infallible Imams … Abbas, the Husaynid, the Musavid’.151 Other inscriptions include the Prophet’s Hadith ‘I am the City of Knowledge and ‘Ali is its Gate’. His Shi’ite commitment extended to his personal patronage of Mashhad, the site of the eighth Imam’s tomb. He also visited all the holy shrines in Kazimiyyah, Samira, Karbala, and Najaf, spending money and resources including offering his army to help in constructions. Sunnis would describe him as a ‘hurtful monster’ while Shi’ites called him ‘the saint of justice, civilization and pursuit of righteousness’.152

C) Public Displays of Shi’ism In 1601 Shah ‘Abbas I embarked on the ‘symbolic act’153 that marked the growth of the newly reconfigured Shi’afied Safavid household.154 Shah ‘Abbas ‘centralized state symbols and the associational dimensions of the monumental arches, royal mosque, the bazaars and schools around the area of Meydan-i Shah in Isfahan after the transfer of the capital’.155 According to Babayan, Shah ‘Abbas’s pilgrimage from Isfahan to Mashhad was a ‘public performance of pious devotion’ to the Imams of the Safavid house, which was supported by his public declaration of a nazr, a vow marking his commitment to the Imami faith.156 Several more acts of high symbolism followed, initiating further displays of Shi’ism throughout the empire. A prominent example included an association between the central square of Isfahan and the Ka’ba in Makkah.157 Babayan asserts that ‘the Maydan was the second Ka’ba as is inscribed on the walls of the new Friday prayer mosque’.158 The symbolism in these associations were also suggestive of the parallel reverence owed to the Shah, which, as the analogy of the Maydan and Makkah suggests, is the same as the respect and reverence owed to God.159   Shah ‘Abbas looked to develop Shi’ism in the provinces beyond urban development and doctrine. He employed poets to celebrate the Imams and their infallibility. Al-Jaf describes an incident concerning 314

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD Shah ‘Abbas I and the poet Muhtashim al-Kashani. The latter wrote a poem flattering his patron, and in response ‘Abbas said, ‘Aren’t I but a dog amongst the guard dogs of the gateway of the shrine of Ali and his House. Surely, they deserve the praise and glory because I am nothing next to them.’ This perhaps best summarizes the institutionalized form of Shi’afication that consumed and later defined Iran’s revolution.160   The development of political doctrine was different in the case of Shi’ism, as we can see. It was closely connected with the Safavid period in Iran, which lasted from 1501 to 1722. The key milestone in the Safavid project entailed a state-sanctioned conversion to Twelver Shi’ism to consolidate a Persian polity. Upon adopting Shi’ism, Shah Isma‘il was the first to rely on the Shi’a doctrine of the messianic rulership of the Hidden Twelfth Imam, and imported émigré ‘ulama’ from south Lebanon to promote it.161 In essence, the effect of the institutionalization of Shi’ism in Iran accelerated the ‘Iranization’ of the Shi’ite doctrine to an almost irreversible extent, as traditional clerical structures had practically been erased.

— The Rise of the Jurist: Velayat-e Faqih It was not until Khomeini’s seventeen Najaf lectures in 1970 that collectively formed the handbook on the ‘mandate of the jurist’, Velayat-e Faqih: Hokmat-e Islami,162 and its derivative Iranian experience of 1979, that Islamic scholars distinguished the largely anachronistic discussions of the ideas of sovereignty (Westphalia), with the ideas of nationalism and the nation-state that emerged much later. Islamic Revivalism (sahwa), influenced by such notions, seems to have found a degree of reconciliation with the nation-state through Khomeini’s hybridization of (Shi’ite) Islamic sovereignty, constitutionalism, and the creation of the republican nation-state.   Revivalist discourse minimizes sectarianism between Sunni and Shi’ite Islam. Al-Qaradawi163 considered the Iranian Revolution to be a fruit of Islamic Revivalism and Khomeini’s creation of a ‘state for Islam’ as revitalizing Islamic hope worldwide.164   Ali Shariati was a key ideologue of the Iranian Revolution, who discussed the need for an ‘intellectual revolution and Islamic renaissance, a cultural and ideological movement based on the deepest foundations 315

THE HIJAZ of our beliefs, equipped with the richest that we possess’.165 Shariati expanded the reconciliatory Shi’ite philosophy, and argued that the Safavid project was a defining moment in the history of Shi’ism, as it created what he refers to as Safavid Shi’ism, as opposed to ‘Alid Shi’ism, the latter being what he deems as authentic.166   The Islamic link between Safavid Iran and the 1979 Iranian regime is indeed evident in the role of Shi’ite ‘ulama’ in Iranian society since the Safavid-era jurist Majlisi and others.167 By 1722 the Shi’ite clergy were so influential in Iran that they could openly voice discontent with the rulers, and exercised influence within the Qajar Shah’s court. The compounded popular and clergy discontent with Shah Reza Pahlavi eventually ignited the Islamic Revolution in which the clergy were undoubtedly a decisive element.168   Ayatollah Murtada Mutahhari, a disciple of Khomeini, advanced the political role of Sayyid Jamal al-Afghani in Iran.169 He describes alAfghani’s solicitations to Shi’ite clergy as universal Islamic evidence that he ‘expected them to initiate the revolution’.170 He attributes this to Shi’ism’s significant ‘autonomy’ from the ruling authority, which is an argument also embraced by Said Arjomand.171   In a similar manner to Vanessa Martin, Mohamad Sayyid Rassas enlarges on the historical relationship between Sunnis and Shi’ites despite centuries of tensions.172 He argues that the Muslim Brother­ hood founder was the direct successor to the Revivalist movement of al-Afghani, Shaykh Muhammad ‘Abduh, and Shaykh Rashid Rida. He claims that al-Afghani was a Shi’ite aware of the complications of Anglo-Russian imperialism and areas of unity under a Caliphate, and ‘Abduh himself was a narrator of Imam ‘Ali’s Nahj al-Balagha.173 Abbas Khamah Yar produced a study on relations between Iran and the Muslim Brotherhood before the Iranian Revolution took place.174   But it was Sayyid Qutb who really inspired revolutionary Islamic ideology, specifically his 1964 book Milestones. More interestingly, Ayatollah Ali Khamenei, the Supreme Leader of the Islamic Republic, translated several of Sayyid Qutb’s books in the 1966 volumes The Future is for this Religion and Islam and the Problem ofWestern Civilization, and parts of Qutb’s seminal In the Shadows of the Qur’an, calling him the ‘intellectual mujahid’ and describing the message as belonging to all. During his term in office, Khamenei introduced Sayyid Qutb’s literature to the preparatory curricula of the Revolutionary Guard.175 316

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD   Politically, anti-Western narrative fortified the adoption of the Sunni doctrine of hakimiyya, according to which ‘God’s divine law’ rather than man-made law prevails. Hukumat-i was not simply the political term for government, which Khomeini employs in his foundational handbook Houkumat-i Islami, but also an actualization of former Islamic political narratives. Rassas asserts that it is impossible to isolate the velayat-e faqih trend and Khomeini’s concept of Islamic government in the 1960s from the concept of hakimiyya, which was first introduced as an epistemological book by al-Mawdudi in Four Key Concepts of the Quran and later influenced the writing of Sayyid Qutb. That narrative is closely connected within the Najaf Lectures.176 Khomeini adopted Qutb’s concept of hakimiyya in his implementation of velayat-e faqih.177   Khomeini advocated that religion and law were now integrated, as ‘God’s rule’. Khomeini encapsulated political Islam, populism, and the revolutionary tendency as a single doctrine by asserting that the power to legislate depends on hakimiyya. Yet he was adamant that Islamic government is a government of law, and the ruler (hakim) is God alone. God is the sole legislator, and his law applies to both people and the state itself; therefore, he reasons, it is a government of sacred law, complete and perfect.178 In short, a central aim of Khomeini when he delivered the pivotal 1970s speeches that led to his seminal book Islamic Government: Governance of the Jurist was to deconstruct the ‘misgivings’ that suggested that Islamic values, laws, and principles are neither appropriate nor fitting foundations for good, fair, and inclusive governance.179

— Islamic Exceptionalism of 1979: Revolution and the Constitution Arjomand offers a Weberian view of Khomeini’s charismatic leadership, and the rise and fall of legitimate authorities of the state.180 He expands on the exceptionalism of Shi’ite ‘autonomy’ in the process of establishing traditional legitimacy as a republican model based on sacred law.181 Vanessa Martin finds that Khomeini was comprehensive in creating and recreating visions of the state inspired by mysticism all the way back to Plato’s republicanism.182 While these debates are at the heart of the revolution itself, they don’t focus on the legalism and constitutionalism of statecraft. 317

THE HIJAZ   The preamble to the 1979 constitution, adopted after intense debate in the Iranian majlis (parliament), embodies the sources of inspiration of the constitution, which are both religious and revolutionary. This broadly represents the dual legitimacy upon which the revolution rests. The first is political, in the form of an elected body, and the other clerical. One could argue that the 1979 constitution is a triumph of Shi’ism, and Islam in general, over nationalism; perhaps it would be more accurate to say that this specific formulation of Shi’ism paved the way for a new Iranian nationalism. For example, Article 5 states: During the Occultation of the Wali al-Asr (may God hasten his reappearance), the wilayah and leadership of the Umma devolve upon the just [‘adil] and pious [muttaqi] faqih, who is fully aware of the circumstances of his age; courageous, resourceful, and possessed of administrative ability, will assume the responsibilities of this office in accordance with Article 107.

  By using the term umma, the article makes clear that it is a matter for all Muslims worldwide, although the office in question is an Iranian national institution. In other words, Iran establishes jurisdiction over what it sees as transnational Muslim affairs under its own national institutions. Similar instances throughout the constitution demonstrate that within its worldview, Iran positions itself as the leader of Shi’a worldwide, if not all Muslims. An exceptional characteristic of the 1979 constitution and the 1989 amendment following Khomeini’s death is that it is flexible with regard to the dual political and clerical authority: it does not require the faqih to be of a strict clerical pedigree. This is contrasted with generally acceptable Shi’ite jurisprudence, which maintains that the marja‘ (leader) is chosen by and from amongst his peers. The interesting factor to note here is that the Council of Guardians, which elects the faqih, can only be made up of Iranian citizens, thereby excluding non-Iranian clerics or prominent figures from electing the nominal head of all Shi’a. Once again, this showcases the subtle intertwining between Iranian national exceptionalism and Shi’ite doctrine embodied in the Iranian post-revolutionary state.   Moreover, another noteworthy peculiarity of the velayat-e faqih system as defined constitutionally is that it endows the faqih with supreme power over men, and responsibility only to God. He, the faqih, is the ‘ultimate authority to interpret the sacred Islamic texts and to inter318

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD vene and directly pass legislation on any matter of public policy to which he determines his authority and expertise to be relevant, and to arbitrate in any conflict’.183 This is where the contradiction within the duality of the constitution is most clearly seen. It is arguably the root of the tensions between the nation-state model and any religiously inspired polity in its crude form. Nevertheless, the growing discrepancy between the political and clerical legitimacies grew further when Khamenei was appointed Supreme Leader in 1989, as he did not qualify for an established juridical title. The subsequent opposition to his appointment, despite being kept under control, certainly aggravated this crisis of legitimacies. In essence, the effect of the institutionalization of Shi’ism in Iran accelerated the ‘Iranization’ of the Shi’ite doctrine almost to an irreversible extent as traditional clerical structures have practically been erased.   Despite succumbing to a fatal heart attack two years prior to the Iranian Revolution, Shariati was perhaps the most prominent critic of the ‘statization’ of Shi’ism, arguing that it had isolated Iranian Muslims from the wider global Islamic community, which is overwhelmingly Sunni. In addition, the nationalization of Shi’ite clergy subordinates it to Iranian geopolitical interests, which are separate from religious motives. According to Zubaida, ‘the contradictory duality of sovereignties’ is written into the constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran: the sovereignty of the popular will, in line with democratic nation-state constitutions, and a novel principle in politics and government (velayat-e faqih) that places the judiciary under the exclusive control of the clergy with the provision of extensive revision of codes to render them Islamic.184   The concept of constitutional duality contains the notion of two sovereigns, one being velayat-e faqih, and the other the sovereignty of popular will (Article 6), which is seen as commensurate with the constitutions of many Western democratic states. The title of the state itself, the Islamic Republic (jamhouri), invokes the French Revolution and every subsequent movement in which a nation toppled a monarchy and replaced it with a republic.   The most central Islamic element in the state is the principle of velayet-e faqih, which gives the ruling faqih or the collective equivalent (the Council of Fuqaha) the supreme authority. The concept is a novel 319

THE HIJAZ one in the history of Islamic law and government, directly conflicting with the historical Sunni doctrine (Ibn Taymiyya) of obedience to the commander (wali al-amr) and further hybridizing the aspirational revivalist ideas of Qutb and others. It is essential, however, to note that Khomeini, when faced with legal challenges later on, did not shy away from employing the fundamental Sunni catch-all doctrine of public good (maslaha).185   Paradoxically, revolutionary Shi’ite political Islam as expressed in the revolution has now evolved into a type of nationalism, which was originally given religious legitimacy ‘at the expense of transnational solidarities’.186 Incidences of foreign Shi’a communities being used by Tehran to achieve political goals are, however, not uncommon, such as the Shi’a of Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon. Notably, in Afghanistan, the Taliban killed many Shi’a in the city of Mazar-e Sharif.187

— A Sunni Perspective on the Iranian Constitutional State Mohamad Salim al-Awwa, a recognized expert on Islamic government, explored the main articles and legal principles of the Iranian constitution from both an Islamic and a legal perspective. He sees in the Iranian constitution a non-traditional effort that marks a departure from conventional Shi’ite thought.188 Al-Awwa deconstructed the political undertones of Imam Khomeini’s institutional thinking and traced his mobilization of velayat-e-faqih as a legal tool. Through this tactic, alAwwa argues, Khomeini effectively turned the classical theory of velayat-e-faqih into a policy that employed the Shi’ite doctrine of the occultation of the Twelfth Imam as a tool to overcome the obstacles presented by the stagnant state of Shi’ite jurisprudence. Thus, according to al-Awwa, velayat-e-faqih meant that jurists and scholars (the joint holders of command) should establish a state that is governed by Islam, with Shari’a being implemented and policy made by those scholars and jurists, who need not wait for the return of the Twelfth Imam in order to establish such an Islamic state.189   Although al-Awwa underscores a similarity between Imam Khomeini’s velayat-e-faqih and the thought of the pre-modern alJuwayni in their extensive attention to the role of scholars and jurists in the political landscape, he reasons that a theocratic government was 320

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD intended, and that such a focus indicates the inherent principle of constitutionalism in the Islamic state and its implementation of the Islamic law.190 Overall, al-Awwa not only commends the Iranian constitutional effort as a distinguished precedent for Arab and Islamic statesmanship, he also suggests that Iranians should be celebrated for having reconsidered their legal, constitutional, and statecraft systems in order to effectively implement Islamic law.191   However, it is worth making three observations. Firstly, while the concept of the Islamic nation-state may present itself in the Iranian model of a republic, it may not necessarily encompass or create a parallel that would fit with the collective worldview of the Sunni Caliphate and its transnational institutions, for an Islamic republic is not ‘an’ or ‘the’ Islamic state. Secondly, the development of the Shi’ite policymaking notion of velayat-e-faqih through the idea of sovereignty is derived from Twelver Shi’ite jurisprudence of the legitimacy of the imam himself. Finally, it is argued by some Sunni scholars that the Iranian experience, as the only successful Islamic modern constitutional experiment thus far, is mainly due to the inherent ethnically Persian national make-up of Iran, which is in part unique, and the possibility of emulating this model has been subsequently questioned, as Shi’ite governments with Arab ethnicity have not replicated this experience.

— Iran Today: Influences of the Islamic Nation-State Weberian, Marxist, and political revivalist notions among others have shaped Islamic political thought within Shi’ism, which was used both as a precedent and as a basis for the formulation of the nation-state in the aftermath of the 1979 Islamic Revolution. This argument is strengthened by direct parallels between the Iranian experience and other post-revolutionary republics.   This section has analysed the dual legitimacy of the Iranian constitution and the implications this has on the nature of Iranian statehood. We concluded that despite the special status of Shi’ism within the constitution, political legitimacy nonetheless dominates its religious counterpart for several reasons, the chief of which is geopolitics.   Although there is a presumed clash between Islam and nationalism, Iranian state-sanctioned nationalism became intertwined if not inter 321

THE HIJAZ changeable with Shi’ite sympathy as Iran actively pursued a policy of leadership of the global Shi’ite community. To conclude, Iran has been at the forefront of reconciliation between Islam and modern Islamic government by paving the way for its own constitutional political system, including a nation-state. As a result, this has profoundly shaped the theology of Shi’ism, Iran’s state religion, as well as Iranian nationalism and statehood.Whether or not it has fulfilled the role of an Islamic state—an inclusive community, worldwide jurisdiction, transnational umma under God, His Law and His Shadow—is yet to be determined.

Neo-Medievalism:Terror and the Forceful State — The Path from Extraterritorial Postmodernism Neo-medievalist ideology, based on DA’ISH’s self-proclaimed Islamic religious discourse, appears to be, in a way, an extreme extension of the Salafi movement. The Salafi trend is too wide, however, and any classification attempts may be seen as crude generalizations.192 Clearly, DA’ISH belongs to the salafiyya jihadiyya stream, which often shares the intellectual vision of al-Qaida. The group’s leadership explicitly identifies with this worldview, with the leadership appealing ‘to all Sunnis, and to the young men of Jihadi-Salafism (al-Salafiyya al-Jihadiyya) in particular, across the entire world’.193 In many ways, DA’ISH acts as the stream’s operational rebirth, based on the necessity of al-mufasala al-jihadi; or in other words, the adoption of jihad as a ‘separator’ or ‘differentiator’, with jihad being the instrument for the distinction between themselves and all the ‘others’—including ‘Muslim world regimes’ and their ‘Western allies’ or ‘collaborators’. DA’ISH and other salafiyya jihadiyya movements and entities take this separation process (al-mufasala) as a method or lever towards the establishment of ‘the Universal Caliphate’. This absolutism facilitates recruiting, draws clear divisive lines, and in effect demands absolute loyalty in an al-wala’ wa al-bara’ ‘you are either with us or against us’ fashion whereby all those against the group, its worldview, and goals will be ‘cleansed’ through force. This explains, to a considerable extent, the abhorrent killings, the horrific violence, and the brutality of this neo-medieval terrorist entity. Although the implementation of Shari’a and the adoption of Salafi ideology is the most 322

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD common theme between both DA’ISH and al-Qaida, DA’ISH is distinguished in terms of being statist and sectarian, with its militancy fuelled by anti-Sunni discrimination in Iraq.194   Furthermore, a key distinction is the ‘territorial’ dimension. DA’ISH did not opt for a global agenda via high-profile terror attacks like alQaida.195 The terrorist group tied its influence to territory, natural resources196 and arms,197 continually renewed and often well-financed armies, and a brutal and pragmatic bid for statehood via force and terror. This is not entirely unprecedented. It was unthinkable in the twenty-first century perhaps, but in the early twentieth century and before, it was not uncommon. Arguably, one can attempt to trace historical parallels in the course of Arab and global history. In the vacuum of weak central governments in Iraq and Syria, DA’ISH sought to capitalize on this unique window of opportunity for the expansion of negative space through force and militant puritanism. It attempted to do so by seizing the opportunity presented by the withdrawal of the US troops from Iraq and the change in US policy towards the region, advancing an unprecedented land grab. DA’ISH acquired territories as large as the size of the United Kingdom in a short time span (2012– 14).198 This rapid growth of the most violent expression of the ‘Islamic Faith Militant’ of the 2010s has been linked or likened by numerous experts to some of the most fierce historical parallels: the militant Ikhwan groups, the militant Wahhabis of the first Saudi state, and, overall, to the most absolutist, puritanical, and dogmatic Wahhabis who are to some extent seen as having ‘paved the way’ for the horrors of ISIS and jihadi extremism.199 Perhaps another parallel can be drawn with respect to the expansion of negative space in power vacuums: the rise of the Taliban in Afghanistan and Pakistan. The primarily Pashtun movement and armed group seized the moment of opportunity created by the withdrawal of Soviet troops from the region and the declining Great Power interest in the early 1990s to expand its influence and recruitment, establish control over wealth-generating resources (e.g. opium fields)200 and enforce its austere version of Shari’a law. The sectarian Salafists believe that the Sunni nation is not on the right path of Islamic governance, and that therefore jihad and resistance against Sunni national leaders and schools of thought, whether they are Arab or non-Arab, is required.201 This absolutist view is traced by several 323

THE HIJAZ analysts to the influence of ‘Zarqawism’. This intense hatred of the ‘other’, which is addressed through the establishment and cultivation of a ‘fighting society’, fuelled by a combination of puritanical ideoreligious drivers and a collective desire to exact revenge against all those with false privileges, ‘guilty associations’ and/or alliances with infidels, and so forth.202   While al-Qaida was a transnational non-state actor that carried out attacks against non-Muslims in many countries, DA’ISH has been far more organized and increasingly masterful in the function of ‘governing’.203 DA’ISH progressively underwent a transformation from a nonstate actor to a geographical entity with administrative structures. It started resembling a state by occupying territory and exercising political authority over its population, and, mostly importantly, providing services ranging from education to commercial transactions to meet civilian needs. Another distinguishing characteristic of neo-medievalism is that its potential pool of fighters is, effectively, global; many of those radical jihadists who have participated in battles in Iraq, Afghanistan, and Chechnya—to cite only a few—are of varying nationalities, and continue to flock to its ranks.204 According to Wood, the most powerful catalyst for DA’ISH’s global recruitment was seeing the group’s leader and head of the DA’ISH-controlled territories preach as the new ‘caliph’ in 2014.205 This perhaps helps to provide a perspective on how dangerous it is to allow the usurping of pivotal historical–religious ‘symbols’ by radicals and extremists. This in itself reinforces those arguments in favour of bestowing special status and protection for powerful Islamic symbols and common heritage—such as The Hijaz. Apart from greater security, this would help erect a powerful, united Islamic barrier or front against extremism and minimize opportunities for the expansion of negative space in all realms—territorial and ideational. It would have a powerful de-legitimizing effect on all those seeking to twist and usurp sacred Islamic teachings and symbols.

— On Neo-Medievalism’s Surprising Growth and Appeal There are varying suggestions as to why the group grew so rapidly and dynamically. Many are discussed above: they relate to ideology; capitalization on collective negative emotions; financial and tangible personal motives; the physical or territorial dimension of DA’ISH, with its 324

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD seemingly pragmatic bid for ‘statehood’ and the establishment of a Caliphate; the failure of central governments; a power vacuum—both in the realm of hard power and in the ideational sphere. This goes back to the negative space argument raised in this thesis: the forceful capacity of intolerant, absolutist, exclusive, and divisive doctrines to occupy space rapidly and catalyse violence effectively and unrestrictedly until checked. See, for instance, the horrors of the Taif massacre in the 1920s, which we discussed earlier. What is further clear is that political and social factors in the region have also contributed to the establishment and increased mobilization of DA’ISH. These factors include the low quality of education in the Arab world that glorifies and sometimes sanctifies authoritarian leaders; the high levels of poverty and corruption; and the use of marginalization and oppressive policies by Arab regimes to crush reform movements.206 One can further add the lack of inclusion, and of opportunities for a rapidly growing (predominantly male) youth, as well as social inequality; others highlight the lack of representation and authoritarianism.207 It is probably a combination of all the above-mentioned, exacerbated by the misinterpretations of core religious values and the lack of true resolve when it comes to ‘wrestling Islam from the extremists’—whomever these may be.208 Esposito is extremely critical and absolute in his assessment that ‘the policies of authoritarian Muslim regimes proved to be catalysts for radicalization, violence and terrorism not only nationally but also transnationally.’209   In a way, the following excerpts from Khouri aptly summarize some of the core points we have raised in this section so far, including: DA’ISH’s territorial, brutally pragmatic, and tangible dimension (which is not without historical analogies); the non-linear yet worrying ‘trail’ of militant jihadi thinking which may be traced back to earlier expressions of the Faith Militant and the impact of extremist clerical– religious (mis-)interpretations of Islamic texts and readings; the manifold power vacuums and the shortcomings of foreign interventions; the lack of good, representative, and inclusive governance—with the associated issues of legitimacy; and the problems associated with the challenging quest for inclusive statehood in the broader Middle East:  

I use the term ‘ISIS’ rather than the ‘Islamic State’ because ISIS more accurately captures its crucial Iraqi, Syrian, and Islamic lineage. I also do not feel it is appropriate to call it the ‘Islamic State’ because I do not

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THE HIJAZ believe it enjoys the legitimacy among all the people it rules for it to be a credible state. In this lack of legitimacy, ironically, ISIS captures the main theme of my comments: ISIS, in all its dangerous dimensions, is the logical but terrifying consequence of the modern legacy of troubled and often violent Arab statehood. … [People] seeking solace in a violent movement like ISIS is a reflection of three critical issues: the depth of their desperation for life in a reconfigured state or society; the intensity and longevity of the factors in their lives that demeaned them for decades, bringing them to this point; and the complex combination of societal factors—economics, politics, religion, culture, history, foreign affairs, basic needs, among others—that merge to make ISIS an attractive proposition.210

  Of course, as developed extensively in earlier sections, there are a series of external factors to consider too, including: (a) the shortcomings of external intervention—such as military operations and bases by Great Powers in the region; (b) foreign interests—meaning efforts to penetrate the region economically or politically by international actors which are seen as neo-colonial by some; (c) a rejection of ‘imported’ or ‘imposed’ norms and models of social, economic, and political life (export of Western values, democracy and so forth); and (d) a sense of violation that many Muslims feel at the atrocities and killing of brother and sister Muslims in the region, which helps to generate sympathy for several local–regional militant groups and can work as an additional radicalizing factor.

— The Wahhabi Gospel and al-Salafiyya al-Jihadiyya According to al-Wayyil, DA’ISH should be framed in relation to the transformation phases of al-salafiyya al-jihadiyya. These phases are as follows: the first one started in the 1960s with jihadist groups established to fight against ‘the near enemy’—certain regimes in the Arab Muslim world—in order to replace them with Islamic regimes.211 The second phase is classified as the fight or jihad against ‘the far enemy’: the West. This phase began during the jihad in Afghanistan and, by extension, the establishment of al-Qaida as a way to compel the Western powers to stop interfering in the affairs of Muslims.212 Esposito provides additional context and insight with respect to this second phase or transformation. The essence of his argument is that the prolonged Soviet war in Afghanistan had a major unintended conse326

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD quence: the unprecedented globalization of jihad. The following passage is particularly telling: The 1979–1989 Soviet–Afghan war marked a turning point; jihad went global to a degree never seen in the past. The war was waged during the Cold War at the very time that Western and many Muslim nations feared not only Communism but also Ayatollah Khomeini and Iran’s export of its Islamic revolution. An unforeseen consequence and outgrowth of the Afghan war was the development of a global jihad ideology and movement(s) that came to see Afghanistan as but one step in a global war against what were seen as un-Islamic Muslim governments and the West.213

  Lastly, the third phase was underpinned by a stated aim or ambition to ‘liberate’ Iraq from the foreign occupiers (primarily US troops) in order to establish a Sunni state in Iraq. This was initially spearheaded by the split within al-Qaida, which led to the rise of al-Qaida in Iraq (AQI), under the leadership of Abu Musab al-Zarqawi. This took place in the period between early 2002 and the summer of 2006, with AQI formally emerging in 2004. The pre-eminent catalyst for AQI’s rise, the dynamics of its ideology, and the success of its recruiting was foreign occupation. As Kirdar observes: ‘The U.S.-led invasion and subsequent occupation [of Iraq] provided the raison d’être for AQI, fuelled the influx of foreign fighters, enabled a lawless environment for profitable criminal activities, and facilitated the execution of its strategic goals.’214 Notably, a key component of AQI’s strategy for the maximum instigation of fear, and for the enhancement of its appeal to foreign fighters for recruiting, was information and communication technology (ICT)—‘showing the way’, to some extent, for the adoption of such tactics by DA’ISH in the early 2010s. Kirdar expanded on this use of or capitalization on ICT by Zarqawi and AQI: Two media campaigns raised Zarqawi’s profile, allowing his group to attract more recruits, gather more resources, and play a more central role within the insurgency. First, the alleged U.S. military psychological operations during the occupation raised Zarqawi’s profile to a level of prominence he was unlikely to have achieved on his own. Second, AQI’s strategy of disseminating videos of murders and attacks through the Internet further raised Zarqawi’s—and by extension, the group’s—profile.215  

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THE HIJAZ   During this phase, following the loss of AQI’s leader to a drone strike, and declining support by local power centres, tribal groups, and other national actors, an internal conflict within al-Qaida led to the split which produced the Islamic State in Iraq (ISI). ISI’s Iraqi jihadists further expanded the scope and ambitions of their operations, and began advancing their own agenda—defeating the US-led occupiers, al-mufasala (separation from other Shi’ite and Sunni groups who refused to be followers of DA’ISH), and the establishment of a militant Salafi state.216, 217   DA’ISH’s religious discourse reveals some important aspects of its core ideology that are mostly derived from traditional Wahhabi arguments. For instance, DA’ISH’s political takfir, similar to that of early Wahhabism, is mainly targeted at Muslims who refuse to adhere to its ideology, or rather, what has been designated by DA’ISH as ‘true belief’.218 Paradoxically, DA’ISH may use and approve religious teachings or books of certain individuals, but at the same time categorize these individuals as infidels in the political sense so that they might be killed or oppressed.   While many tried to link the jihadi ideology of DA’ISH to the Muslim Brotherhood’s political ideology—and, specifically, Sayyid Qutb’s ideology—others have pointed out that DA’ISH’s ideology is mostly driven by a specific type of jihadist Salafism that has nothing to do with mainstream Salafism.219 The Saudi Salafi shaykh Hatim al-Awni220 suggests that those who deny the relation between the increased use of takfir and the compiled Wahhabi literature, discussed earlier, in al-Durar al-Saniyya fi al-Ajwiba al-Najdiyya, are ‘committing a betrayal of the nation and the homeland’. He argues that the denial and defence of the many mistakes in al-Durar al-Saniyya is the reason behind the existence of extreme notions, not to mention continued publications, academic activities, and graduate research qualifications being approved under the re-production and promotion of these ideas in Saudi Arabia. He argues that this is dragging the younger generation into adopting the ideology and sliding into radicalism and extremism.221   Interestingly, al-Awni considered those who are silent or who defend al-Durar al-Saniyya to fall under three types: (1) the ignorant, who do not really understand what al-Durar al-Saniyya contains; (2) hypocrites, who are waiting for the chance to join DA’ISH; and (3) beneficiaries, 328

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD who by refusing to recognize clear mistakes aim to preserve religious leadership at the expense of the umma, whose interests are threatened by bloodshed and political chaos. According to al-Awni these extreme ideas derived from al-Durar al-Saniyya still appear in much scholarly output without any refutation, condemnation, or even explanation of its clear contradiction of the true religion and the true Salafi school. He observes that, most dangerously, these intellectual and scientific papers assert that adoption of positive legislation is an act of kufr that excludes the legislators and their society from Islam.222   The argument highlighted by al-Awni reveals the ongoing debate within the Saudi Arabian religious sphere, and the alarming challenges to a comprehensive corrective process and efforts to delegitimize the religious arguments of DA’ISH and other groups who depend heavily on the writings of the Salafism of al-Durar al-Saniyya. Al-Awni, in his speeches and writing, distinguishes between mainstream Salafi thinking, which he identifies as belonging to the first generation of Islam, and al-Durar al-Saniyya, which belongs to Salafi Wahhabi thought.   In a syndicated television interview,223 al-Awni explained that radicalism and extremism are not exclusively Islamic products. Islamic history has seen some groups categorized by all Muslims as ‘extreme’. The Khawarij and their history are a notable example. He further explained that there is an abundance of evidence clearly linking Islamic extremism to al-Durar al-Saniyya. For instance, he pointed to Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab’s literature, and particularly his view on nawaqid al-islam al-‘ashra (the ten nullifiers of Islam, seen on DA’ISH’s automobiles) and al-da‘wa al-najdiyya (the Najidi missionary call). He raised several critical questions with respect to the so-called defenders of al-Durar alSaniyya. In particular, he critically assessed their jurisprudential views regarding: (a) the issues of hakimiyya; (b) the adoption of positive legislation; (c) al-wala’ wa al-bara’ and supporting others (non-Muslims); (d) the non-recognition of ignorance as an excuse; (e) their definition of worship, which can be used as a basis for takfir on other Muslims even though they bear witness that there is ‘no God but Allah and Mohammad is His Messenger’; and, likewise, (f) their understanding of the concept of kufr and the legal status of one who may have doubts or disagree with them regarding takfir and its scope. The rationale behind al-Awni posing these questions is that neo-medievalism is 329

THE HIJAZ increasingly using these concepts in its strategic communications and rhetoric, and it is therefore difficult to see how the connection between these issues and the same extreme ideas in al-Durar al-Saniyya can be denied. According to al-Awni, Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab’s thinking contained some positive aspects as well as others that are utterly wrong—he notes that the issue of takfir was wrongly established in his thinking. Consequently, expansion of the brutality of takfir included Muslim scholars, Sufi imams, and, most importantly, the generalization that allowed takfir to embrace the entire populations of certain territories such as Egypt and The Hijaz.224 What becomes clear through this analysis is the need to decouple certain extremist, exclusivist, absolutist, intolerant, ill-defined, and misinterpreted dimensions of thought associated with the Wahhabi and Salafi trends. These aggressive (and often violent) puritanical ‘reads’ and teachings seem to be doing more harm than good, paving the way for their effective use by jihadi militants, providing the springboard for their ideology, and facilitating their recruiting and radicalization activities. Such a much-needed decoupling would enable a rapid expansion of the positive space, both within Islam and globally.   Apart from the historical parallels that can be drawn with the violent manifestations of certain absolutist Ikhwan paramilitary groups and the DA’ISH-like use of horrific terror and unrestrained violence, there have been some attempts to link the ideology of the two groups. While there are some connections, they are neither linear nor everpresent. Attempts to link these with hakimiyya arguments and Qutb’s contributions in reviving the concept also have shortcomings, as alAwni and others assert,225 because the Salafi Wahhabi understanding derived from al-Durar al-Saniyya ultimately derails even Qutb’s hakimiyya. Moreover, DA’ISH is in an ideological conflict with the Muslim Brotherhood, as they consider the Brotherhood lax in its Islamic programme given its belief in the democratic process, which means alignment with secular actors.   Furthermore, a DA’ISH branch has referred to its Arabian Peninsula Centre, one of its five self-proclaimed Islamic wilayat in Arabia, as the ‘Islamic State in Najd’,226 a name that has obvious historical significance as the birthplace of the Salafi movement and the Wahhabi jihadi centre. This action seems to demonstrate that (1) neo-medievalism will con330

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD tinue to challenge existing nation-state borders; (2) it clearly aims to reinforce its connections to Wahhabism; and (3) it is using historically significant Najd territories to anchor its religious political mandate.

Islamic Centrism: A New Pan-Islamic Counter-Effort — Al-Azhar Centrist Islam In 1926 prominent Islamic scholars gathered at the renowned al-Azhar in Cairo for the Islamic Caliphate Congress. The main subject of discussion was the decision of the Turkish Grand National Assembly, in March 1924, to abolish the Caliphate. In 2014, almost a century later, a reported 600 Islamic and Christian theologians from 120 countries gathered at al-Azhar for the International Conference on Confronting Extremism and Terrorism. This time, the main subjects of discussion were extremist ideologies and the actions of Islamic militant groups such as DA’ISH, and its declaration of an Islamic ‘ Caliphate’.   In his opening speech at the conference the Grand Imam, Shaykh Ahmad al-Tayyib, expressed deep concern regarding the situation in the Middle East, stating that it is ‘extremely sad, one cannot find any single logical reason that might justify this deliberate destruction of properties, and killing of people’.227   While acknowledging that the reasons behind the emergence of such militant groups are complex, the Grand Imam highlighted that ‘the use of religion in such criminal actions make[s] it more complicated. The attempt to associate the titles that have Islamic connotation such as “The Islamic State” or “The Caliphate” is mismanaged in this regard, as this will help in portraying false images about Islam with [a] violent message. Consequently, this may be exploited by the enemies of Islam in justifying their false bloodthirsty arguments against Islam.’228   The Grand Imam suggested that political, economic, cultural, religious, and social factors might have influenced the emergence of groups such as DA’ISH. Interestingly, however, he also added that there is an additional factor worthy of consideration. He stated:  

That factor relates to the perspective that relates all the sufferings in the Middle East to a conspiracy in favour of Israel and its survival as the richest and most powerful state in the region. We do not rule out this

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THE HIJAZ perspective. The State of Iraq was invaded in 2003 under false pretexts. The justifications and lies of that invasion were exposed by the international press, and admitted by major global political regimes. The first thing invaders did in Iraq was the demobilization of the Iraqi army, which was one of the most powerful Arab armies at the time. Officers were disbanded, and soldiers then left their weapons for the interest of conflicting militias; the invaders knew very well that such militias were at conflict in doctrine, dogma and loyalty. What was the result after eleven years of the invasion of Iraq? Iraq has entered into a spiral of fighting, remained floating in oceans of blood that have no shores until today. The same thing draws on Syria,Yemen and Libya. The conspiracy plays the same tune over sectarian and ethnic tensions. At the same time, they feed militants with arms supply in order to break out more fires, letting death reap thousands of the Ummah’s youthful lives. In all of these afflicted countries, only God knows when this war machine will finally fall into silence or when these countries will be guided by their own lights, and only God knows when these countries will be able to take their own decisions without foreign pressures or regional and international interventions. We are quite certain that those who perpetrated such plots are now reaping great benefits from the inter-fighting of Muslims, for this fighting will keep the Arabs and the Muslims in a state of depletion and despair that knows no respite; they can never now muster any strength, achieve any development or make any progress. It is a war by proxy, in which the real fomenters of the fighting will lose nothing of value, whether in lives or in resources. Moreover, the inter-Arab fighting opens big markets for the arms industry and for the dealers in war, death and destruction. It is enough proof—over the years—that the Syrian threats has now become an open field of war, where the western and eastern arms industry may vie and compete. How much I wish—and wishing is the resort of the helpless—that the arms industry will find some remote desert or wasteland, to try its weaponry and to test its strength, away from the chests of Arabs, their habitats and their built environment. The conspiracy theory—gentlemen—is not everything. For there is yet another deeper reason, one that goes back to our own Arab Islamic history and it is now almost a constant of our internal dealings. This reason has almost become a constant method that governs our internal and external relationships. This factor relates to the dispute division and differentiation approach.229

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IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD   The Grand Imam’s speech also touched on the need to address the issue of the youth who have embraced extremist interpretations of Islam such as those propagated by al-Qaida and other armed movements, including the more recent DA’ISH, who have called themselves an ‘Islamic Caliphate’. The actions of these armed movements have had the effect of ‘destabilizing the region’ and ‘have brought the worst consequences on Islam and Muslims in the whole world’.230   Delegates at al-Azhar pointed out the increase in modern sectarian conflicts, noting that DA’ISH is not the only armed faction on the scene, and that other sectarian militias are slaughtering and displacing people in Iraq, Syria, and Yemen. Likewise, al-Azhar expressed its concern about sectarian groups that attempt to drag nations into foreign regional issues in the name of democracy and human rights, as is the case in Bahrain.   Al-Azhar asserted that what is common to these extreme groups is the tendency to excommunicate and kill Muslims for reasons related to sinning. This tendency brings to mind the historical doctrines that permitted the killing of Muslims after labelling them infidels. These were based on erroneous and deviant understandings of faith. The new extremists are using the same beliefs.   The final statement from the conference noted: It was necessary for Al-Azhar, given its religious significance to all Muslims, to take the initiative to speak out loudly in the name of Islam against extremism and terrorism of all forms and to point out the concepts and rhetoric that extremists have manipulated to justify their terrorist acts.231

  Al-Azhar’s comments on the revisited concepts of takfir, kufr, jihad, and the Caliphate are discussed below.

— Moderate Interpretations of Takfir The new extremists groups have misinterpreted the concept of Takfir ‘Blasphemy’ and Iman ‘faith’ and moved both away from its correct meaning as set by the Prophet (MPUH). Muslims have long recognized the fact that no one can be accused of Kufr even when they commit a capital sin unless they make this sin as permissible. Blasphemy has always been recognized as denial by the heart regarding the belief of God, His

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THE HIJAZ angels, His Scriptures, His Messengers and the Last Day, as well as the destiny, good and bad, being controlled by God. Thus, whoever believes in God and all that must be a believer who has nothing to do with blasphemy.232

  There is a danger surrounding the concept of takfir.233 This danger lies in the different interpretations of the relationship between two elements: iman (faith in God) and a person’s actions or deeds. Depending on which school of thought is adopted, the two elements of takfir may be considered jointly or separately, with one being a fundamental issue—faith—and the other secondary—deeds.   The Sunni school of thought agrees that faith means belief in God, and his messengers, and so on, while actions or deeds include prayers, zakat (the alms tax), fasting, pilgrimage, and a commitment to other duties and prohibitions. These actions or deeds, although crucial to increasing or decreasing faith, are not part of its deepest component. It therefore follows that the disappearance of deeds does not necessitate the disappearance of faith. Thus, a believer should still be considered as such even if he/she does not fully comply with religious obligations. Such persons should not be deemed infidels.   The Sunni position becomes a crucial point of distinction when compared to other Islamic schools of thought, which consider actions and deeds as part of faith. Given this nexus, they would conclude that a person who commits a capital sin becomes, because of that sin, a non-believer or infidel, and therefore out of Islam.   According to the Mu’tazila school of thought, those who commit capital sins are neither believers nor infidels, but rather something in between, which they refer to as fasiq (grave sinners).   For extremist groups, faith is amalgamated with deeds and actions, and therefore belief itself is not enough to be recognized as Muslim. Most important is the claim that this understanding of the concept of faith is recognized by extremists as the ultimate truth. For example, they accused the Ash’ariyya school of being not on the right path of Islam.   The Sunni jurisprudential tendency is to narrow the scope of takfir so that it only applies to those who explicitly deny a pillar of Islam, or deny what is already known to be necessarily part of Islam. The principle is that nothing shall justify taking a person out of Islam except a denial of the very thing that makes a person join the faith. Several 334

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD Qur’anic verses support the notion of separation between faith and deeds. Abu Hassan al-Ash’ari noted that ‘indeed, after the death of the Prophet Muslims disagreed on many issues, but always there is one thing that gathered them all; it is Islam’.234   Moreover, the Ash’ariyya school of thought believes that takfir is a matter that no one has the authority to use against another except through the judiciary and authorized rulers who can identify it, consider its conditions, and adhere to the correct procedures. Therefore, no single organization or group can claim this authority.   Muhammad ‘Abduh235 made it clear that keeping away from takfir is considered to be among the fundamental principles of Islam, stating: If either a verbal or physical act done by any Muslim can be construed from 100 points of view and aspects as an act of kufr, while construed from just one point of view/aspect as an act of belief, then this act is to be deemed and construed as an act of belief and the Muslim to be deemed as a believer.236

  Al-Azhar offers a course of instruction in all schools of thought. This is meant to benefit the umma by opposing extremism and takfir, and at the same time countering the (Western) attempts to undermine Islamic ethics, morals, and established traditions. Setting out the official position of al-Azhar, the Grand Imam conclusively states that the unity of the umma is one of the major objectives of Shari’a.

— Modern Views on the Concept of Jihad The Grand Imam made the following observations: The concept of jihad has further been distorted by these extremist and sectarian armed groups. They would kill anyone they wish, by pretending they were doing jihad, while claiming that whoever is killed from their own ranks is in Paradise. This is indeed a most repugnant understanding of Shari’. First: jihad is legitimate in Islam only if it is waged in self-defence, in the defence of one’s religion or in the defence of one’s country. We have learnt from our Sheikhs in Al-Azhar, that the legitimate cause for fighting is aggression, not disbelief. Second: the declaration of jihad can only be made by the ruler. No individual person can declare that on his own, no matter what the con-

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THE HIJAZ ditions were. The declaration of such war today by individuals, based on mistaken erroneous understanding of legal rulings, has resulted in turbulent chaos and bloodshed in the community.237

  The Grand Imam highlighted that Islam strictly prohibits any assault on a human life irrespective of religion or belief. He quoted the Qur’an: Because of this did we ordain unto the children of Israel that if anyone slays a human being—unless it be [in punishment] for murder or for spreading corruption on earth—it shall be as though he had slain all mankind; whereas, if anyone saves a life, it shall be as though he had saved the lives of all mankind.238

  God’s reference is clearly to all mankind and not just Muslims, therefore explicitly expressing openness to others. The Grand Imam further noted, with great significance, that Islam in fact opened up to followers of other religions, to the extent of allowing marriage and living together in one house, and under one roof. This represents an acknowledgment of Islam of co-existence, and inter-family relationships. We acknowledge the principle of full citizenship and living in a common homeland. Hence, aggression, forced displacement, and discrimination are incompatible with the true religion, and the consensus of the Muslims.239

— (Re-)Centring the Future of Islam: The Two Holy Mosques In the previous two sections we have highlighted the ideological space for openness and tolerance, and therefore the possibility also to reject on ideo-religious grounds the advent of negative space and the different expressions of radicalism, extremism, and the Faith Militant movements. We move to a discussion of positive space and its tremendous potential to reshape advantageously the region’s ideo-political framework, promoting greater harmony, tolerance, cross-sectarian dialogue, and, ultimately the protection of Islam and its core values against aspiring militant usurpers who try to exploit the power of faith and religion for the maximization of their own power, influence, and skewed worldviews.   It is in the hands of the Islamic states and their governments—and especially, for many reasons, both symbolic and political, including of course the custodianship of The Hijaz and Islam’s Holy Sites, Saudi 336

IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD Arabia—to undertake bold and far-reaching centrist institutional reforms to prevent the usurpation of Islamic values, symbols, and teachings by jihadists and extremists. It requires first intra-Islamic, and then global, dialogue and understanding. And, naturally, Makkah and Medina must be at the very centre, if not at the forefront, of this institutionalization, preparing for the new era. Makkah, home to the Hajj and the spiritual home of Muslims globally, has exclusive, compelling symbolic power within the Muslim world. The Hijaz has also a distinct historical significance, as the ‘true Islamic state’, the home of the Prophet and the heart of the Rashidun Caliphate (and Empire)—this very important era of Islamic progress and early form of democracy. Beyond the sphere of symbolism and its immense soft power within Islam, but also globally, The Hijaz also has a crucial positive track record, a proven ability to fulfil the role of Islam’s ideo-religious conflict-prevention centre. It would help check governance, sectarianism, ideo-religious antagonisms, and could facilitate harmony and peaceful coexistence between different doctrinal understandings, worldviews, and interpretations. It is the pre-eminent environment for the promotion of the umma’s Islamic cohesion and solidarity. The Grand Mosque, historically, in its ‘golden periods’, constituted the leading forum to debate, soothe, and resolve jurisprudential and sectarian issues. It was a source of guidance, for all Muslims, in the path towards greater understanding, dialogue, peace, and common prosperity. In many ways The Hijaz was the embodiment of positive space. With the agency of Saudi Arabia, and in lieu of Wahhabi ideology, the Institution of the Two Holy Mosques—not just al-Azhar, Najaf, Qum, or Jabal ‘Amil among others—can once again fulfil these governance roles, encouraging centrism, human progress, cooperation, and working towards de-radicalization and the eradication of fanaticism and extremism.

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9

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ A MOMENT FOR PAUSE, REFLECTION, AND LEGITIMATE POLICY RESET

In this chapter, we sketch out some reflections on a framework of legitimate policy for an inclusive regional initiative, which could help tackle some of the pressing challenges through a positive integrative vision for Islamic governance to address the current complex global crises of Islam. Because of its deep philosophical and jurisprudential heritage, one mustn’t ignore the sacred—even if inconvenient—space of theory in Islam. A series of theoretical, multi-layered, variable–geometric governance steps must be taken to assist states of the greater Middle East escape their defeatist past and angry present, and to overcome their crises in a constructive and harmonious way on the path to inclusive reflection, a fresh start, and sustainable progress. The Hijaz, under Saudi Arabia’s stewardship, can provide the ideo-religious backbone of such a positive ‘restart’ space. The heart of Islam, the Muslim Holy Lands, can provide the institutional integrative fountainhead that could guide Islamic nation-states in overcoming ideo-religious obstacles to the much-needed cooperation and governance that will usher in a prosperous era for the region.   Such multi-level efforts will make it possible for Arab and Muslim states to jointly claim Islam’s rightful seat at the high table in interna

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THE HIJAZ tional organizations—starting with the UN, next to that of the Vatican. This will allow for a safer navigation of the uncharted and seemingly challenging waters of the twenty-first century. A new era for Islam and the region can be inaugurated with the positive agency of all the states of the greater Middle East. It is in their vital interest. They need it, and so does the increasingly dynamic, rapidly changing, and progressively volatile world.

Positive Space: Integrating the Rebirth of Islamic Governance The Grand Imam of al-Azhar addressed the issues of succession of the Caliphate and Imamate. He noted that although there are varying scholarly opinions on the concept, it is peculiar that Islamic militant groups have made the Caliphate and Imamate fundamental issues that separate belief from disbelief, and that has ‘become a reason for bloodshed and destruction of civilization, and tarnished the image of the true religion!’1 He explained that: The issue of succession of the ‘Caliphate’ and ‘Imamate’, were erroneously dealt with as a major issue, while scholars of the tenets of faith hold that succession is not one of the fundamental issues of Islam rather it belongs to the category of secondary issues.2

  One excerpt from the final statement produced at al-Azhar notes the following appeal for unity: ‘We call on Arab countries to organize their cooperation and to develop mechanisms for this cooperation in order to achieve stability, security and prosperity.’3 In this regard, The Grand Imam has asserted the importance of al-Azhar as the only body qualified to introduce Islamic doctrine and Shari’a to all as a reliable Islamic reference and source of guidance.   Indeed, throughout history, as explained above, the Islamic state has played a major role in global politics—between the seventh and thirteenth centuries CE helping to shape the balance of power in the world—as well as in the history of international relations in general. From a strategic point of view, it has been observed that the Caliphate occupied a prominent global position during the Umayyad period, the first Abbasid era, and the beginnings of the Fatimid, Mamluk, and Ottoman eras. The Caliphate suffered periods of decline during the 340

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ second and third Abbasid eras, and in the later stages of the Fatimid, Mamluk, and Ottoman periods.   Regardless of its progress and setbacks in certain periods, the caliphal state was sustained until the end of the First World War. It faced internal setbacks and external pressures that saw its capital move from one country to another—from Medina to Damascus, then Baghdad and Cairo and Istanbul—besides the uncertain role of other capitals in Spain and Morocco that affected international Islamic relations. At times it was as if the epicentre of the Caliphate was shifting to reflect changes in the balance of power in the Islamic world. The emergence of the Ottomans in the beginning of the sixteenth century, distinguished as a global central power during the time of Sultan Suleiman Qanuni (the Lawgiver), saw it extend its power for four centuries. However, during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries the Ottomans suffered internal weakness besides their conflict with the Safavid state that had extended its influence over Asian territories at the borders of the Ottoman Empire.   The weakness of the Ottoman Empire was exploited by the European empires that strengthened their power between the seventeenth and twentieth centuries—France, Germany, Italy, Britain, Austria, and Russia (representing the most notable powers on the international stage at that time). Although the USA was also emerging as an important player, it did not appear so until the end of the First World War, and only came to dominate international affairs after the Second World War. In other words, at the age of multi-polarity, when the international system was populated by a series of Great Powers competing for power and influence, the issue of the Caliphate was affected by shifts in both the regional and global balance of power. All sorts of seemingly unlikely alliances would emerge to try to alter the balance of power and advance their own interests. The competition of the European imperial powers, as we have discussed extensively in earlier chapters, was also a major source of friction in the Greater Middle East and intra-Islamic context. So the question of the Caliphate, the issue of who holds the highest religious authority within Islam, was greatly affected by the international relations and global geopolitics of the time. Issues such as the rise or decline of empires, colonial divide and rule, and the emergence of regional powers and 341

THE HIJAZ aspiring regional hegemons greatly affected influential concepts and powerful symbols—such as that of the Caliphate in the Islamic context.   To put it in perspective, the Islamic competition between the Ottoman Empire and the Safavid state in Persia was taking place in parallel with competition between two European imperial powers, France and Spain. The Safavids chose to ally with the European powers that were opposing France; at the same time, France was sealing an alliance with the Ottoman state. These alliances negatively affected the Islamic world in general, as the European states obtained privileges over many Islamic territories, leading to the establishment of a new process of colonization over Muslims in general, and Arabs in particular. The European states took effective steps to dominate Islamic territories, firstly with the excuse of wanting to ‘protect’ non-Muslim minorities in the Middle East—the pretext the European states used to influence the region. Consequently, Europeans justified colonization by claiming a ‘civilizing mission’, transferring European civilization to the Arabs and Muslims after the decline of the Ottoman Empire. In other words, the colonialists took advantage of the power vacuum that followed the decline of the Ottoman Empire to strategically penetrate and carve up a great part of the wider Middle East. They framed this forcible bid for control and influence over Arabia in a form of ‘neocolonial’ language which implied a need for oversight and patronage during the region’s ‘Westernization’ and path to independent statehood. Overall, these external factors kindled the resurgence of the study of Islamic political thought by scholars and the reconsideration of possible political alternatives for the Islamic world.   With the establishment of the League of Nations after the end of the First World War, the notion of international groupings emerged as it had historically in Muslim political thought. The notion was developed philosophically by al-Farabi (872–950), known in the West as Alpharabius, one of the most celebrated Muslim scholars who was also influenced by the Greek tradition. In his book Ara’ Ahl al-Madina alFadila (The opinions of the people of the virtuous city), he pointed out the importance of cooperation and unity as a necessity for developing and regulating the world. Al-Farabi also theorized a ‘global state’ as he stressed the human instinct for mutual cooperation. In other words, he 342

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ delineated a vision for greater global cooperation, integration, and harmony, stemming from one of the most basic human needs and values: the need to cooperate, work together, produce together, and, in doing so, promote the well-being and security of all. In many ways, it was as if he was discussing some of the founding principles that guide, normatively, the present international system, in which decisive authority and influence lies with the United Nations. Al-Farabi went further by classifying human communities in three ranks: (1) the ‘great rank’ or perfection, wherein the whole world gathered under one state that was subject to one authority; (2) the ‘middle rank’, wherein a country was subject to one authority; and (3) the ‘small rank’, wherein the people of a city or village were subject to one authority.   In this regard, al-Farabi asserted that a virtuous gathering is the one that is achieved through a ‘virtuous leader’, the imam or caliph. He further states that: The city, which is meant to be the gathering of people for cooperation on things that undermine their happiness, is, in fact, the perfect utopia; also, a gathering that is for cooperation on the noble happiness is a virtuous gathering, and a nation whose cities all cooperate on what impairs their happiness is a virtuous nation. Likewise, the globe becomes perfect and virtuous if its nations cooperate to achieve happiness. The head of this would be the president of the perfect city (utopia), or the virtuous nation, or the whole globe.4

  Consequently, al-Farabi was able to aspire to and imagine an ‘international bloc’, which would be established through the cooperation of all the states in the world. Although al-Farabi did not determine the legal and Shari’a-compliant bases for the government of these organizations, he provided major intellectual ideas that indicate the possibility of establishing them. It is notable that most contemporary Muslim thinkers did not give the Islamic blocs5 enough attention in their writings, and the few such writings that actually exist are mainly concerned with military cooperation—which can be understood as mutual defence treaties rather than any real regional or international organization.   The pan-Islamism that rose from the ashes of the Ottomans called for the establishment of an international Muslim union; this was championed by al-Afghani, and his student ‘Abduh, the rationalist scholar of Egypt, as well as the Arab nationalist al-Kawakibi in Syria. Although 343

THE HIJAZ pan-Islamic actors initially aimed to resist colonial occupation of Muslim territories, they were also keen to promote an internal reformist agenda. Al-Afghani’s view of the international Islamic bloc could be summarized as: prioritizing religious ties instead of those of descent and blood6 so that all Muslims (Turkish, Arab, Persian, Indian, Egyptian, Moroccan) could gather under one banner. He also accepted the authority of the Ottomans conditional on their adoption of reformation and introduction of all the means of modern civilization. Notably, al-Afghani called on the Turks to adopt the Arabic language because of its value as the language of the Qur’an, asking them to implement it at all levels of the state, including the arts, science, and literature.   Interestingly, among his efforts to promote pan-Islam, in the 1890s al-Afghani attempted to revive the Caliphate through a project of decentralization of authority and assertion of Muslim solidarity. He put to Sultan Abdulhamid the idea of establishing a ‘confederation’7 of semi-autonomous8 Islamic nations wherein ‘Pan-Islam and Nationalism could be mutually complementary’.9 His idea was intended to strengthen the Ottoman Empire through decentralization of the Caliphate by adopting a confederation composed of ten states that would guarantee stability and enhance reformation within the Ottoman Empire. In this regard, al-Afghani proposed The Hijaz as one of these independent states, and suggested that its ruler should be one of the most capable of the Hashemites (Qurayshi), well known and of good repute. Consequently, this confederation would attract other Islamic nations (Afghanistan, Iran, Egypt, and India) that were not under the full control of the Ottomans to join and achieve Muslim solidarity and pan-Islamic unity in the face of any foreign aggression.10 In other words, at the turn of the nineteenth century al-Afghani was proposing the establishment of a multi-layered ideo-political alliance, one which would have a strong normative base, provided by Islam; deep ties and solidarity entrenched in these common religious values; and the overall characteristics of a powerful intergovernmental (in a way) collective security organization founded on these principles. The driving force, beyond Islam, of this integrative vision, was the clear realization that only through unity, through the pooling of the political, diplomatic, and military power of these nations, could the external security of each of the actors participating in this collective system be guaranteed against the challenging global context. 344

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ   On the other hand, ‘Abduh called for the reformation of the Caliphate, as well as of the Arab Muslim community, imploring them to leave heresies and divisions behind them. He called for a rejection of the merger between the religious and political authorities. ‘Abduh’s view of Islamic union was primarily focused on the solidarity of Muslims in order to achieve religious reformation. He pointed out that there could not be political unity without ethics and religious reform. As such, ethical revival must be the core of any reform, since without it no reform or unity among Muslims can emerge. He argued that ‘administrative reform does not require a long time if there are sound ethics; however, if these ethics suffered corruption then the reform is not easy, but it may take tens of years’.11   The third of these trans-Islamists was al-Kawakibi. In Tabai‘ al-Istibdad (The nature of despotism) he spoke about the phenomenon of tyranny and how it should be countered. Al-Kawakibi advocated that the responsibility for the Islamic renaissance was on the shoulders of the Arabs. He pointed out the territorial significance of the Jazira, the Arabian Peninsula, as the most appropriate centre for Islamic governance since it was the starting point and seat of Islam from The Hijaz. He therefore believed that the Arabs are most qualified to undertake the leadership of the Muslim world; for instance, they are one of the oldest nations in terms of social relations and structures, in addition to their undisputed heritage concerning shura in public affairs. Moreover, he claimed that Arabs were extremely keen to respect covenants, which put them in a prestigious position among nations.   Curiously, al-Kawakibi suggests the establishment of a non-state Islamic congregation to be convened during the Hajj in Makkah to debate the future of the Muslim umma;12 through this forum, Muslim unity could be guaranteed, separate from governmental dependency.13   In truth, the trans-Islamist movement actively enriched Islamic revivalism in general by attempting to fill the political and cultural solidarity vacuum in the Muslim world. In the same way, it influenced and shaped many modern reformists who later effectively initiated the wave of colonial resistance in Arab Muslim territories. One example is Algeria, for instance, where Shaykh Abdelhamid Ben Badis14 founded the Association of Algerian Muslim ‘Ulama’, which was a successful force against the French imperial project in Algeria. 345

THE HIJAZ   Theirs was a discourse working for both comprehension of and reaction to international political and social changes relating to crises, in society, religion, and geopolitics. The discourse had previously made attempts to manage transformations, and to provide alternative solutions for the Islamic world in the new international legal order, even if they were ultimately more theoretical than practical. The international system after the First World War, and the new internal challenges to the Islamic world, as discussed in earlier chapters, played a central role in shaping the debate on the future of the Caliphate.   We should also not ignore the rigorous intellectual efforts of Rashid Rida15 to mobilize and strengthen Muslims’ awareness of the importance of the institution of the Caliphate, through his seminal 1922 book, al-Khilafa, along with other writings. As we saw earlier, in the discussion on Islamic self-determination, Rida had called for a strong Islamic state that could counter European intrusions in the Muslim world. His writings spoke of the dangers of the imminent collapse of the Caliphate and the imperial agenda of European states in the region, and challenged secular attempts to abolish the Caliphate. Curiously, he initially supported the Young Turks movement, and warned against accepting a conditional Caliphate in its spiritual form only, arguing that this gave no authority to the caliph. Consequently, he concluded with ‘the restoration of the imamate through the restoration of the authority of the umma that is represented in ahl al-hall wa al-‘aqd [those qualified to elect or depose a caliph on behalf of the Muslim community]; in this way, an authentic Islamic government can be established’.16 He is famous for his call to Muslims to uphold and restore the real Caliphate according to the principles of Islam. He was among the first scholars to call for the General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate to determine the future of the Caliphate after the Turkish National Assembly deposed the sitting Ottoman sultan, Abdulmajid.17 As this book discusses in detail, several diplomatic conferences were held to discuss the Caliphate and The Hijaz.   Rida strongly believed in his programme for the re-establishment of the Caliphate with its rightful seat in The Hijaz. He argued that just as Islam originated in The Hijaz, it is from The Hijaz that the future of the Arab and Islamic world could begin anew. In these calls, he placed much responsibility on Arabs, ethnically, to unify the whole umma. What is 346

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ clearly established in Rida’s work is his commitment to the restoration of the Qurayshi Caliphate as an integral part of a religious reform project. However, such a precondition and commitment to the Arab–Qurayshi bloodline was criticized by many non-Arab Muslim scholars; for instance, Abul Kalam Azad,18 who ‘rejected ethnicity as the basis for religious leadership and the drawing of communal boundaries’.19 Paradoxically, at the time, the Hashemites showed no intention to implement Rida’s programme in The Hijaz, forcing him to call for the revival of the Caliphate in other cities, such as Istanbul or Mosul.20 Discouraged by Muslim leaders and their failures to restore the Caliphate, he revised his programme ‘to protect the moral boundaries of the community of Muslims and the political independence of the holy cities in the face of the power of empire—both of which could be achieved, they determined, within the framework of national liberation’.21   This new direction raised questions about the authenticity of Rida’s notion of the ‘essentialism of the Caliphate’. It was clear that his political thought tended to highlight political power and ways of ensuring that it is not unchecked, by vesting it in the hands of the umma. He spoke of the rule of law, and that the caliph is not above the law, in which ‘he only executes the Shari’a law and the will of the Umma … the Umma has the right to depose the imam-caliph, if it finds a reason for doing so’.22 Conventional wisdom notes Rashid Rida for his panArab ideas and his proposal for an Arab empire; however, this is merely a portion of his original thesis, which, idealistically, called for the revival of the Islamic world and the Caliphate as an Arab mission and a priority, just as it was in the beginning of Islam. Rida, like the jurist al-Sunhuri who we discussed earlier, did not die with his ideals; both died rationalizing the realism of Islamic world they inherited.

— In Lieu of the Essential Caliphate The debate over the Caliphate as an Islamic system of governance, and its sources and validity, has taken different forms. Some, such as the Hizb al-Tahrir movement, still strongly argue for it to be re-established in its traditional place within religion. Others believe that it is no longer acceptable to restore the Caliphate in a developing world composed of nation-states with an increased tendency to nationalism. On 347

THE HIJAZ the other hand, a group of contemporary jurists and scholars have developed a theoretical and practical framework that is based on the essence and Islamic objectives of the Caliphate as a system and its contemporary applications, including the issue of Islamic unity.   Radwan al-Sayyid23 has investigated the contemporary concept of the Islamic state, asserting that it is now used differently from the way it was widely interpreted among Muslim scholars in the past. The concept used to mean the collective body of Muslims (dar al-islam). In this territory, all are equally treated, and the Islamic rituals are fully performed. However, the concept of an Islamic state now is a contemporary ideology that was spread widely in the early twentieth century, and came to mean the representative of the legitimate authority.   It is worth mentioning that the root of the modern concept comes from certain ideas based on the fear of colonization and Westernization which have come to affect Muslim identity.24 Indeed, this ideology enhanced the tendency towards connecting the legitimacy of a system of governance and religion. Such an inclination embraces the assertion that a system of governance is an integral part of religion, and that the Caliphate is the only legitimate method to guarantee the implementation of Shari’a. Al-Sayyid argues that such an understanding is very poor, and unknown in the history of Muslim scholarship; rather, it leads to separation within communities, and to corruption of the religion as well. He asserts that the political system of governance in Islam is determined by the people, and that it is an agreement on the preservation of interests that is not related to worship and belief, just as alJuwayni had asserted before him, in the eleventh century.25 Consequently, according to this understanding, an Islamic state is a state that is based on the agreement of the vast majority of Muslims, and it derives its legitimacy from this majority, as it is widely known and recognized in all other systems around the world. Al-Sayyid points out that there is a need for two main reform programmes; the first is a religious reform that reconsiders the political system as a management of public affairs, rather than as part of religion. The second is a political reform that supports the peaceful transfer of authority and the establishment of fair and just governance.26 In a way, his proposition delineates important aspects of a potential new model of governance in a world of multi-layered authority. 348

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ   We have therefore traced, in these latter two subsections, the scholarly, ideational, and, in a way, ideological foundations for a transIslamic positive integrative vision, which could take the form of a robust Islamic initiative for the region. At its heart was the legitimizing core, the key point of origin, and the normative centre of any such initiative. In a way, the same needs are true today, as they were then. This time, however, the notion of defence, and the need to attain collective security, is not principally external. The priority should be to protect Islam from the most radical and violent expressions of the negative space within it, which, as we demonstrated earlier, fuel, embolden, and sustain the Faith Militant. In a way, Islamic states, and Islam itself, need to be safeguarded from extremism and intolerance, and their militant expressions. A positive return to the deeper Islamic values, the powerful unifying ideas and symbols, is vital.

— Islamic Statehood in Light of Modern Trends After the extensive discussion on Islamic statehood of the last century, is it strategic thinking or indeed legitimate policy (siyasa shar‘iyya) to look at neo-medievalism as a temporary historical occurrence confined to a small group of non-state actors, even if similar to and inspired by the Wahhabi Faith Militant movement of the eighteenth, nineteenth, and twentieth centuries? Or should our critical reflection instead be more pragmatic, beyond immediate security concerns, and indeed inclusive of an understanding of the objectives of Shari’a? To wit, should we also consider access to abundant sources of wealth and financing, the asymmetric breadth and reach of its undertakings, and its access to continually renewed foreign recruits, as well as looking at its agency and standing through the legitimacy of the eleventh-century jurisprudential concept of sultat al-istila wa’l-taghalub (authority of seizure and domination)?   With its territorial claims, rapid and vast expansion, and, at times, increased governance outlook, it appeared as if there was for DA’ISH— as for the Taliban—a possibility of heading towards some form of regional or international recognition. In other words, at times it appeared as if there was a chance—or ‘dark prospect’ rather—of potential partial recognition of DA’ISH, as a form of ‘actor’, a state or 349

THE HIJAZ quasi-state entity (pariah and/or terrorist perhaps, but state-like nonetheless). Such a prospect would have seemed even more plausible if DA’ISH had appeared to be dropping or scaling down its violence, and on a path to rid itself of its militant–expansionist elements. In other words, some actors in the region might have been perhaps prepared to ‘discuss’ or negotiate with DA’ISH, partially recognize its existence— as a form of ‘appeasement’—in the process encouraging the terrorists to halt their advance and any further territorial push.27   From a legal perspective, we consider recognition in the established principle under international law which suggests that illegal actions cannot lead to legal results.28 This principle of international law corresponds with a developed principle of Islamic law: that what is constructed on a fallacy is deemed false. The argument was invoked by US Secretary of State Stimson after the Japanese invasion of Manchuria.29 Since then, it has been invoked on various occasions by the Security Council30 and the ICJ.31   According to Article 41 point 2 of the Articles on State Responsibility: ‘No State shall recognize as lawful a situation created by a serious breach within the meaning of article 40, nor render aid or assistance in maintaining that situation.’32 What is more, the duty is not only to refrain from recognizing the situation, but also, according to the Article 41 point 1: ‘States shall cooperate to bring to an end through lawful means any serious breach within the meaning of article 40.’ One could ponder in a different situation the application of the norm enshrined in Article 41 point 2,33 and whether the situation regarding DA’ISH can be qualified as ‘a serious breach of obligations under peremptory norms of general international law’.34 For the current debate, it is worth noting that the rule of non-recognition of illegal situations may, inter alia, refer to the creation of a state under international law. It is uncontested by the doctrine of international law that the creation of an entity in breach of jus cogens cannot produce legal rights to the wrongdoer.35 Some believe that this requirement can be treated as an additional statehood criterion.36   The discussion on The Hijaz in the context of international law has taken on a new dimension because of the challenges posed by neomedievalism. Contemporary armed groups and sectarian militias such as DA’ISH have to some extent usurped Islamic concepts, most dis350

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ tinctly by claiming to be an ‘Islamic state’ or ‘Caliphate’. Their actions not only pose a threat to security and peace on the international level, but also endanger Middle Eastern regional peace, the security of Saudi Arabia, and, even more directly, pilgrims and the Two Holy Mosques. Hijazi people, citizens of Makkah and Medina, are especially concerned with claims to Islamic rights that are historically and inextricably connected with the Holy Places. DA’ISH’s followers and ideologies have manifested direct effects on the instability and conflicts in Syria and Iraq and are having a growing influence in Arabia, with some expansion in Saudi Arabia and Egypt—see for instance, attacks against Medina and Makkah; and note the activity of the so-called DA’ISH Najd wilayah.37   In light of this imminent threat to security and the fundamental understanding of Islam, and chilling attempts to redraw the map of The Hijaz—be it by American think tanks or DA’ISH itself—proposals for increased and internationalized autonomy for The Hijaz38 to actively defend itself against any external threat alongside the central government of Saudi Arabia are finding increased favour.39 Although there is a legal possibility that autonomy may be perceived as a first step towards external self-determination, rather than international politicization, there is also a strong argument to be made for the ability of The Hijaz to further advance its own safety from interference or threats by more actively ‘deliberating democratically’ on the fate and protection of the Holy Lands; especially when some are suggesting international status, or indeed international administration, for the Holy Cities. Again, this is not to say that Saudi Arabia cannot defend the Holiest Sites alone. What can be argued, however, is that an internationalized status for The Hijaz could help foster a positive momentum and pan-Islamic commitment to protect their common heritage, with all actors clamping down more forcefully on groups and individuals suspected to be aiding or fostering, directly or indirectly, DA’ISH fighters (regional and global) and/or leaders.

— ‘Islamic State’ Exclusivity President Barack Obama addressed the legal status of DA’ISH, in an official statement made in September 2014, warning against the use of 351

THE HIJAZ the term ‘Islamic State’. The sentiments expressed in his statement are of course to be considered against the political backdrop of the US president speaking as ‘Leader of the Free World’. The political statement arguably grasps the very core of the problem regarding the promotion of neo-medievalism and why such an entity should not be called the ‘Islamic State’.40   The many challenges of defining the concept of the state have been addressed in Part I of this book. Nevertheless, the co-related features of the Caliphate can be drawn today from the history and scholarly theories available in this field—namely, recognition and legitimacy. These two features are arguably intersecting today. For DA’ISH, neither of them is present at the moment, given the widely publicized, and equally widely condemned, violence, killings, and assault of persons and property. Without recognition on an international level— which conflicts with declaratory theory—such claims to statehood would inevitably fail. And without legitimacy—by force or consensus—the prospect of recognition is almost non-existent. However, a widely publicized political—as distinct from legal or jurisprudential— importance of moral recognition could potentially be threatening.   Neo-medievalist claims regarding ‘statehood’ are effectively dismissed in international law under both declaratory and constitutive theories of statehood. For supporters of the declaratory theory, the creation of a state is considered a matter of fact, with states coming into existence when the minimum criteria—defined territory, permanent population, government, and capacity to enter into relations with other states—are met. For constitutive theorists, a state only comes into being when it is recognized as a sovereign entity by other states.   Given that DA’ISH fails on both international law theories, as well as under Islamic law, what remains to be considered is practical— whether, in spite of not being a ‘state’, neo-medievalism has any justification for continuing to use the title ‘Islamic State’ in reference to itself. We can resolutely challenge such claims. Instead, what becomes clear is that neo-medievalism has been trying to usurp the pivotal symbolism of the term to advance its reach and recruiting capacity, as well as to cloak its perverse doctrinal agenda, which is in fact very remote from Islam and its core values. And, of course, it has no relation whatsoever to the first true Islamic state and its unique ongoing value as a 352

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ paradigm and source of direction for the Islamic world, societies, and nations alike.   On an international level, every state ‘has the right freely to choose and develop its political, social, economic and cultural systems’.41 But if one state attempts to influence another’s national symbols or name, would that not be in breach of established principles protecting sovereignty, such as the principle of non-intervention and non-interference in the domestic affairs of the another state?42 This scenario, however, assumes the existence of two pre-existing states—one being the influencing and the other the influenced state. It may therefore have limited applicability to the situation with DA’ISH, given that the group is clearly not a state. Nevertheless, it is an argument worth pausing over, and some rationale may perhaps be found in the ongoing dispute between the Republic of Macedonia and Greece.43   This dispute is centred on the right to monopolize use of the name Macedonia, which is commonly used in two contexts.The first is as informal reference to the state—the Republic of Macedonia, also referred to as the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM)—and the second, broader context is as a reference to the larger, ancient, historical region of Macedonia, parts of which are now territorially divided between different states, including the Republic of Macedonia, Greece, Bulgaria, Serbia, and Albania. Greece has consistently opposed the unqualified use of the term Macedonia in reference to the Republic of Macedonia, arguing that large portions of its own population still identify themselves as Macedonians from both a cultural and historical perspective.44   Greece has seen some success in its protests and its political efforts to claim a monopoly. For instance, the UN agreed to admit the Republic of Macedonia to its membership under the name Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia until a solution is found to the dispute.45 Additionally, Greece has been successful in forcing the Republic of Macedonia to change its national symbol. The parliament of Macedonia had adopted the yellow sixteen-ray star symbol (the Sun of Vergina) as the state symbol, until Greece was able to convince the UN not to display that symbol (on the flag outside the UN Headquarters), and, in the 1995 Interim Accord between Greece and Macedonia, the disputed symbol was replaced by an eight-rayed sun.   Sir Michael Wood’s conclusions on the dispute are as follows: 353

THE HIJAZ The case of Macedonia has led some to ask whether states have absolute freedom in the choice of their names. This is not a matter that will arise often. The difference is somewhat reminiscent of that between Ireland and the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland (Northern Ireland) over their respective names, a matter only resolved at the time of the Agreement between the Government of Ireland and the Government of the United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland of 10 April 1998. Subject to any specific treaty obligation, or one imposed by custom or the UN Security Council, there would seem to be nothing to limit a State’s choice of name; but equally there is nothing to stop others declining to use the name it has chosen.46  

  Sir Michael Wood suggests that ‘there would seem to be nothing to limit a State’s choice of name’. While we do not assume that DA’ISH has at some level a legitimate claim to statehood, we do believe that the call for an Islamic state or a Caliphate is a powerful, unpredictable, and continuous challenge to international law. Therefore, it is difficult to ignore the parallels that can be drawn here with the claim over the term ‘Islamic State’. The Hijaz, as the central seat of Islam, could assert historical and cultural rights to both the term and its substance. In the absence of Hijaz’s authority to do so, the claim would have to be asserted on an international level by a UN-recognized state, Saudi Arabia, on its behalf.   Greece has raised two main issues in the Macedonia dispute: firstly, the appropriation of Greek heritage; and secondly, the violation of Greek territorial sovereignty signified by a claim to the territory of the historical Macedonian region.47 It is difficult for such arguments to be used by Saudi Arabia on behalf of The Hijaz. Firstly, the use of the term ‘Islamic State’ and the claims by neo-medievalist leaders to be caliphs are an unauthorized appropriation of The Hijaz’s heritage. Secondly, the name Islamic State has the implication of conquest and annexation of The Hijaz’s territory to the putative Islamic state. Given that The Hijaz is recognized as falling within Saudi territory, the argument can be made that DA’ISH is violating the territorial sovereignty of the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia. Supplemental arguments to the above could include the minority rights of The Hijaz in relation to its cultural heritage, its special status under Islamic law, and also the special heritage status of Makkah and Medina under international law. 354

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ   However sound the above parallel may seem, it is unlikely to receive a UN audience in the same way as the Greece–Macedonia dispute did. DA’ISH has so far made no efforts to engage in international discourse or to seek international state recognition. The only interaction that it has maintained has been through the display of blunt force and public executions via social media and web-based channels. Saudi Arabia therefore has limited forums in which to legally challenge the use of the name ‘Islamic State’.

The Hijaz: An Integrative Political Solution? We have already argued that Islamic governance did, and still can, play a role in the wider Islamic world, both Sunni and Shi’ite, in addition to the Middle East. This would be a possibility if the idea of The Hijaz were to be decoupled from the statehood geopolitics—in a way that allowed The Hijaz to enjoy a distinct, autonomous, internationalized status that reflected both the long-standing wish of its people for some form of autonomy and its unique international status as, in a sense, the commonwealth of the Islamic world.   Seen from a purely pragmatic point of view, such a move would not only allow The Hijaz to escape the self-determination trap, it would also allow the Saudi state a wider geographical unity in the Arabian Peninsula with the duty of ruling over the Holy Cities, a task that has been a continual source of instability following sieges and armed attacks in 1979 and 1989,48 a confrontation with Iranian pilgrims in 1987 in which, officially, 400 people died,49 and several Hajj stampedes, the most recent in 2015.50 In September 2015 Iran’s president called, in the UN General Assembly, for international protection and joint custody over the Holy Sites.51 It would also allow the Saudi state the possibility of reducing its 300-year-old dependence on Wahhabism, which was once a source of ideological unity to Arabian tribes—in the absence of any shared economic or social theory—but is now looking increasingly like a source of instability, both internal and external.   Such a move could be vital in allowing the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia to deal with an increasingly threatening world. Russia’s experience with Crimea and the Ukraine52 gives a clear example how proxy wars could lead to external threats of separatist territorial ambitions. For it is not only neo-medievalism that is eyeing The Hijaz,53 but revolution 355

THE HIJAZ ary Iran, Russia’s ally, which has recently demonstrated renewed proprietary interest in the Holiest Sites in Medina.

— Reclaiming the Space In the aftermath of the post-First World War Sykes–Picot order, nationalist and anti-colonial movements took over the region. By the late 1930s, with the release of Sir Henry McMahon’s correspondence with Sharif Hussein of Makkah,54 the narrative of Arab nationalism was retrospectively canonized as an ‘Arab Awakening’.55 Furthermore, two types of governments emerged. On the one hand, the Middle East saw a proliferation of dynastic monarchies, which were often imposed in the interests of the British, the French, or the Americans. These included Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, and Pahlavi Iran. On the other hand, a number of pan-Arabist military regimes rose to power.56 It was followed by a wave of ‘political Islam’.57   The post-Soviet modern jihad narrative, in interpreting this phenomenon, begins with ‘terrorism’, which became an obsession in security and intelligence circles after the events of 11 September 2001.58 While al-Qaida was a product of the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan as well as the post-1991 Gulf War era, DA’ISH primarily emerged in response to the US invasion of Iraq in 2003.59 It publicly declared a Caliphate and the ‘end’ of Sykes–Picot on 29 June 2014, after seizing parts of Iraq and Syria.60 This declaration came approximately a century after the fall of the Ottoman Caliphate, the subsequent efforts to revive it, and the eventual dissection of these territories by the British and the French.   Along with the 2003 Iraq invasion and many other important developments, the Arab Spring popular uprisings that took place in late 2010 helped to significantly shape the future of the Middle East, a region that still carries the imprint of the Entente a century earlier. The 2010 wave of uprisings has been generally characterized as the culmination of widespread, if not universal, outrage against despotism and corruption. However, the rise of Islamists and the failure of institutionalizing democratic participatory regimes in many of these countries highlights the struggle to deal with the more political, social, and economic reformation of the Islamic sphere. DA’ISH’s appearance may be  

 

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THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ analysed from several different angles. And, while it resurrects seemingly traditional, outdated, and archaic concepts, it also raises the issue of statehood from the perspective of institutions and sequence, leaving aspects of international recognition as a final stepping stone vis-à-vis the Islamic legitimacy process.   This is what we have described as the negative space: in essence, the exploitation of the constant regional failures through a negative and absolutist common integrative moral discourse, which is destabilizing for the region and the international order on several levels. A positive space would mean circumventing such negative moral appeal—and, indeed, crises. The Hijaz factor would fill the void that it left a hundred years ago, just as it did 1400 years before, allowing a superior Islamic morality and a coherent reunion with the international order.   The Caliphate worldview must not be ignored. It must be explained and presented as a new model of governance in a world of multi-layered authority. The experiment of unifying Shari’a codes was an inspired idea. But now, almost a century later, we can safely say that the experiment has failed. What Sanhuri Pasha tried to achieve in the last century failed against what DA’ISH offered by way of a Caliphate programme. Therefore, the Islamic world must accept, and the West must allow for, two essential steps: (a) the symbolic fortification of Islam through its Holy Places, as opposed to the incubation of radical ideologies without a central authority; (b) building on norms of governance taken from Islamic Legitimate Policy, in a way that will allow, facilitate, and enhance transnational Islamic cooperation in the realms of trade, economy, development, and industry. Governance, therefore, should take real meaning and clear forms, easily comprehensible and implemented, even if through soft-law institutionalization and norms. If the Muslim peoples crave and yearn for such symbolism, then it is natural to view The Hijaz with such centrality, and accord it a very special legal status.

— Saudi Arabia Geopolitical Challenges The population of Saudi Arabia increased from 10 million in 1980 to 20 million in 2000, and is just short of 30 million today, if we omit the 2 million or so illegal immigrants.61 This demographic, a third of whom are under the age of fourteen, are a rather volatile mass, with 357

THE HIJAZ which the country’s rulers have never had to deal with before.62 Now they are going to have to attempt the feat with a rigid political system, which has major difficulties when it comes to reaching down to the whole spectrum of the society, given that all branches of government—executive, legislative, and judicial—are in the possession of a small kinship group which has been, by and large, of an advanced age.63 As a result, they have found it rather challenging to deliver any form of meaningful popular participation, much less allow for a peaceful turnover of elites and dynamic social development, with the corresponding redistribution of power and wealth. The possibility of another major and complex crisis with violent consequences (very similar to that of Syria) a little further down the line must be clear enough to anyone who cares to look at the similarities and study them. This challenge encompasses questions of participation, inclusion, inequality, access, and so forth. But, in the case of Saudi Arabia, Karen House argues, it is epitomized by the need for good and flexible governance which accommodates the changing domestic social context and, ultimately, the question of succession: Saudis watch the diminishing line of Al Saud brothers and the impending generational succession as if it were an old-fashioned time-bomb with a lit fuse. The wick burns ever shorter, advancing a moment of explosion that could destroy life as they know it. But they are powerless to remove the bomb or snuff out the flame. All they can do is watch, wait, and worry.64

  Alongside the likely difficulties with internal management, the Saudi state will have to face a wider region that is becoming ever more unstable. The story of the rise of a violent and militarily capable brand of jihadi ideology has been told many times. But now it has arrived at the north-eastern border of the kingdom. DA’ISH soldiers are now within a day’s drive of Riyadh; and that has prompted the Saudi authorities to build a kind of high-tech Maginot Line across 600 kilometres of its border with Iraq.   Further to the threat posed by this mutation of its own creed, whose ‘warriors’ are explicitly motivated by the goal of ‘freeing’ the Holy Cities and establishing a modern version of the classical Caliphate, the Saudis are also faced by a resurgent Iran, with which, rightly or wrongly, it feels itself to be locked in a geopolitical struggle. The politi358

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ cal map of the Middle East, seen from Riyadh, gives the impression of gradual encirclement.   Set against that list of woes, there are few regional allies beyond the UAE and Bahrain—which is, effectively, a military dependency of Saudi Arabia in all but name. The Sultanate of Oman is indifferent, and Kuwait friendly but ineffectual. The Egyptian regime is fighting a lowlevel insurgency and, at present at least, is more of a liability that must be propped up at all costs than a means of buttressing its neighbour across the Red Sea.   Then, finally, there is the issue of US foreign policy and the changing geopolitical importance of Saudi oil and the restructuring of the industry. Oil production and supply and demand in the global energy market are essential for reading the future.   If one distanced oneself from the long-standing strategic US–Saudi relations, one could make the argument that the focus of the American reaction to the 9/11 attacks should have been—at least politically and diplomatically—Saudi Arabia. In the sense that, the US response should not have been focused upon Iraq (which had nothing to do with the attacks), or Afghanistan (which was nothing more than a training ground that the Americans had themselves been partly responsible for), but upon the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, given that the attackers were its citizens, and also because the Kingdom espoused a closely related (even though antagonistic) doctrine which provided the wellspring for the jihadi impulse. The key argument, in this case, would not have been that Saudi Arabia supported the attacks; it would be that it did nothing to prevent them, or target the root causes driving them—namely, radical strands of Wahhabi thinking with dangerous if not openly hostile and intolerant worldviews.   Finally, there is the further consequence of the decline in oil prices, suggesting that Saudi Arabia’s apparently limitless wealth may run out surprisingly quickly. For instance, the International Monetary Fund (IMF) expects the country to run a $108 billion deficit with shortfalls of some 10 per cent of economic output over the next four years. If the country ever loses the ability to continue its welfare programmes and ‘social economic contract’ with its own population, it may find that the only other tools available, should reforms fail, are in the hands of police and soldiers.  

 

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THE HIJAZ   All in all, taking stock of internal social, political, and ideological dynamics, aspects of governance, regional (geo-)politics, and a series of projections and analyses, House presents the following three scenarios: Much of the Middle East remains in turmoil. … Meanwhile, Saudi Arabia—far and away the most important country in the region … still seems stable and largely peaceful. But, on its current flight path, Saudi Arabia is in serious trouble, so how may the journey end? Unfortunately, the most likely path, given the risk aversion of the elderly rulers, is continuation of the status quo. That option would mean continued and deepening economic and social stagnation, with the ensuing risk of social explosion. A second option would be to open up the society and economy to relieve stagnation and begin the process of the revitalization. A third course would be a reversion to the rigid religiosity and repression of the 1980s. A final outcome would be chaos and collapse. The aged, infirm, and politically paralyzed Saudi leadership for now is sticking with the status quo.65

  We argue for the necessity of the second scenario (which has indeed taken place with the ascendance of Prince Mohammad ibn Salman as crown prince), coupled with the need for an opening up to the world, a bridge for cooperation and understanding, both regional and global, centred upon the cradle of Islam, The Hijaz. Such a move would further empower Saudi Arabia in both the regional and global arenas, upping its legitimacy and dispelling claims, driving the much-needed internal and external multi-layered integration, shaping the narrative and leading the process, on all levels. Such a proactive and pre-emptive domestic and foreign policy would establish Saudi Arabia as one of the pivotal global actors in the pragmatic, but also the normative, religious, and soft-power spheres of the twenty-first century, attaining greater stability, a stronger voice, and winning more allies.

— What Kind of Hijaz? The decoupling of The Hijaz from the Saudi state would also mean, in so many ways, a decoupling of Islam from Wahhabism. It would allow the kingdom, as we have said, to deal with some of the ideological drivers of its growing instability. And although it may also lose some of the absolute control that ruling over the Holy Places might be thought 360

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ to confer, a freer trusteeship as King Abdulaziz imagined, ‘The Hijaz for the Hijazis’, would still allow it great international legal scope to protect, but also facilitate, pilgrim affairs.66   What political programme might be put in place in The Hijaz? As we are discussing the role of self-determination, this is naturally a question that can be answered only by understanding the dual nature of The Hijaz: the autonomous Hijaz situated in the Arabian Peninsula; and, no doubt, the internationalized representations from the rest of the Muslim world—much as the Mufti of Singapore wished in the 1920s.67   We query whether the starting point for a political programme might be the seven points of the National Charter promulgated by Hijazis themselves from Makkah: 1. To liberate The Hijaz from all non-Hijazi authority and preserve its independence within the boundaries obtained by the Arab revolution. This would involve the non-recognition of any industrial or commercial privilege given to any foreign person, body, or government. 2. To convene a national assembly which will hold a general and free consultation to decide the destiny of the country and its form of government. An aspiration of all Arab states is to achieve popular democratic rule. 3. To eliminate despotic absolute rule and to set up a popular, representative, and constitutional regime founded on teachings of Islam. 4. To allow freedom of thought and faith. 5. To promote national economic development and to adopt every modern means in the fields of communication, education, health, military matters, agriculture, and industry; setting up a wider economic programme that allows for international trade and economic integration based on comparative advantage. 6. To convene an Arab congress at Makkah representing the Arab countries who are neighbours of The Hijaz, with the goal of removing causes of difference and setting up one united national purpose in policy covering foreign, economic, cultural, and defence matters. 7. To call a general Islamic congress in Makkah to execute the desires of Islamic nations and to decide upon means that guarantee the comfort of the pilgrims, and the protection of their interest in The 361

THE HIJAZ Hijaz so long as they are not incompatible with the sovereignty of the country.68   This programme, if enacted tomorrow—with only very few adaptations—would have the effect of giving the moral and physical centre of Islam the kind of democratic government that the Arab world is, at present, conspicuously lacking. Such a development would then go a long way towards creating the political stability the Arab world is equally in want of. Advocating for the rule of law and democracy, inspired by the greater teaching of Islam—but not puritanically applying one form or another—and establishing constitutional representative rule is, indeed, that golden-age ideal.   Allowing for wider interaction with other schools and kinds of faith within Islam and the rest of the world, and according The Hijaz a special international law status, would guarantee it as a trust for mankind. The territorial centrality of pilgrimage for all Muslims, as a common heritage, clearly deserves international protection and administration. Not only might it enjoy its traditional place in history, but it would create a common place for other nations and different faiths to interact with Islam—to understand it.

Integration in Lieu of Broken Arab Statehood The push for enhanced Gulf integration has been in gestation for decades; in fact, since the anti-Ottoman Arab revolt that The Hijaz experienced a century ago.69

  According to Roger Owen, the Middle East has, remarkably, contained few economic resources beyond agriculture since the nineteenth century. And, even though most of the region was united under the Ottoman Empire administratively and politically, no regional market existed.70 In 2013 a World Bank report for the Deauville Partnership71 of the Group of 8 (G8), fittingly titled From Political to Economic Awakening in the Arab World:The Path of Economic Integration, assertively stated that a key symptom of the Arab world’s failure is that, with the exception of oil, it remains the least trade-integrated region in the world.72 The United Nations Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia (ESCWA), produced a report in 2013 using the same nationalist appeal for an ‘awakening’ to call for integration as a ‘development imperative’ 362

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ for ‘Arab revival’. It described regional failure as vexing because of the common heritage, language, history, and culture.73   Reflecting on the European experiment, not merely one based on the Peace of Westphalia, but also the Jean Monnet-inspired peace of the European Coal and Steel Community, one might aptly ask why there has not been a peace through an Arab ‘Oil and Water Community’. Since the Second World War, and with the explosion of literature about regionalism, the Middle East has witnessed several attempts at regionalism which include the 1953 treaty to organize transit trade among the states of the Arab League. Following the footsteps of the European Economic Community (EEC), there was a short-lived attempt to create a closer form of Arab common market in 1957, followed by the 1964 agreement establishing an Arab common market consisting of Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, and Syria.74   Kuwait devised a rather interesting model for economic integration, through the creation of the Kuwait Fund for Arab Economic Development in 1961. This scheme called for integration by means of the spread of oil wealth. It possessed many advantages, yet never really developed, since the Kuwait Fund’s oil-driven economic plans did not prevail until the early 1970s. Regardless of how intriguing the idea seemed—and, arguably, still seems theoretically—oil distribution never assumed a significant role in international trade law.   The Middle East also witnessed a wave of sub-regional integration attempts, starting with the Maghreb Arab Union (MAU), established in 1964 by Algeria, Libya, Mauritania, Morocco, and Tunisia. As with several other similar initiatives, member states were more concerned with their individual industrial development programmes and structural problems, due to government organizations’ monopolies over imports. The most important factor, however, is that individual member states negotiated agreements independently, thinking they would obtain a better result.75   The second sub-regional organization, which we will discuss in detail in the next section, is the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), established in 1981 by Bahrain, Kuwait, Oman, Qatar, Saudi Arabia, and the UAE. Seen as an ambitious attempt to create a dynamic form of political union, the difficulty in this case was that integration had limited options since the Gulf economies are nearly identical and there was not enough trade to speak of.  

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THE HIJAZ   There also was the short-lived Arab Cooperation Council, consisting of Egypt, Iraq, Jordan, and Yemen, and the 1981 Agreement for Facilitation and Promotion of Intra-Arab Trade, signed by eighteen member states of the Arab League.76   The League of the Arab States (LAS) or Arab League,77 established in March 1945, is considered the dominant intra-Middle East forum for regional cooperation—including collaboration on economic matters—through its arrangements of the Greater Arab Free Trade Area (GAFTA).78 GAFTA was launched by the member states of the Arab League on 1 January 1998. It aims to revive the above-mentioned 1981 Agreement for the Facilitation and Promotion of Trade among Arab League members. GAFTA embodies specific commitments, such as the elimination of tariffs, import duties, and other barriers to trade in goods of Arab origin, which were all to be eliminated over ten-year period ending in 2008. As it is limited to goods and not services, GAFTA is a traditional preferential trade agreement.   There were also three major external regional initiatives: one American, one European, and one international. The US government’s Greater Middle East initiative was proposed at the June 2004 G8 Summit by the US president, George W. Bush. Democracy was identified as the all-encompassing cure for the region’s afflictions. By 2006 it was already clear that the Bush plan, at least when judged by its own objectives, had failed. On top of that failure, it also jeopardized any serious collective internal effort in the Middle East for serious and credible democratic efforts.   The European effort, in the form of the Union for the Mediterranean (UfM), was established in 2008, at the instigation of the French president, Nicolas Sarkozy. The organization comprises all twenty-eight EU member states, eight Arab states of the Mediterranean, Turkey, and four non-EU European states of the Mediterranean. Sarkozy’s original conception, in which the organization would have a structure based on that of the EU, with common institutions, was far more ambitious, and was opposed by many of France’s EU partners—particularly Germany. Perhaps as a partial consequence of this, the establishment of the UfM has had no substantive impact in either the Mediterranean or the Middle East.   Finally, the Deauville Partnership, launched by the G8 Heads of State in May 2011 to support the ‘historic’ political and economic  

 

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THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ transformation under way in the Arab Spring countries (Egypt, Jordan, Libya, Morocco, and Tunisia), was seen as ‘strategic and timely’.79 The members included Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, Kuwait, Qatar, Russia, Saudi Arabia, Turkey, the UAE, the UK, the USA, and nine other international and regional financial institutions. The benefactor partnership countries did not include Yemen and Syria.   In March 2010, at the Arab League summit in Sirte in Libya, the Secretary General of the League, Amr Moussa, outlined an initiative for a forum for regional cooperation and conflict resolution, to consist of the Arab states, Iran, and Turkey.80 In addition to recommending that the League should engage directly with Iran on issues of contention, and particularly vis-à-vis Iran’s nuclear energy programme, he called for a mechanism through which Iran and Turkey could be brought within the scope of the Arab League. He expanded upon this later in the year, terming it the Arab Neighbouring States Policy, which would encompass the Arab League states, Iran, Turkey, Cyprus, Malta, and some non-Arab African states, to promote regional cooperation and understanding. Greater specificity on this initiative was difficult to achieve, especially regarding Iran, between the Egyptian president Hosni Mubarak, the late Saudi foreign minister Prince Saud ibn Faisal and Secretary General Amr Moussa.   In June 2010, before the breakdown in Syria during the Arab Spring, Turkey spearheaded an initiative to bring together Syria, Lebanon, and Jordan to sign an—in many respects unprecedented—agreement. This was the Quadripartite High-Level Strategic Cooperation Council (HLCC), which aspired to create a zone of free movement of goods and people.81 This was unprecedented, particularly because of the persistence of deeply held grievances on the part of Lebanon and Syria towards their former imperial ruler, Turkey. Furthermore, it demonstrated the potential for inter-state economic priorities to transcend issues of territorial contestation, such as the ongoing dispute between Syria and Turkey over the Iskenderun (or Hatay) region that was a part of Syria until 1938, and has a significant Syrian population.82 In a way, multi-layered cooperation and partnership was to pave the way for integration ‘with a view to strengthening their cooperation further within a multinational and institutionalized framework and to develop a long-term strategic partnership and with a view to enhancing solidarity among us and moving towards economic integration’.83 365

THE HIJAZ   An obvious candidate for regional political leadership has always been the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), which we discussed earlier. Beyond the symbolism of solidarity, however, it has been difficult for the OIC to achieve wider integrative goals, despite the strides it has made in the last few years. The OIC, the second-largest international organization after the UN, remains captive to the will and wealth of its more powerful member states.   Therefore, against this complex background and the web of broader challenges outlined and analysed in this section, softer and more economically focused alternatives must be considered, in the spirit of the looser charter envisioned by the Hijazis.84

— Neo-Regionalism between Theory and Practice Generally, the late 2010s is an interesting time to be discussing regionalism, global and regional integration, the deepening of ties, and so forth. We have witnessed the return of populism and ethno-centric—if not ethno-isolationist—politics in Europe and the USA. We have seen the first ‘EU-exit’, Brexit, the departure of the UK from the most successful regional integration initiative to date. The EU at the time of the UK’s departure remains a prosperous collection of twenty-eight (soon minus one) advanced liberal democracies, enjoying freedom and the rule of law, a considerable degree of stability and prosperity, and an abundance of peace. This peace has largely been seen as a by-product of the multi-layered cooperation, socialization, and integration facilitated by the EU umbrella and the incessant confidence-building exercises that have transformed the core of Europe. As the UK leaves, the USA has elected an American president who is part of the economic establishment, yet ‘anti-systemic’, who wants trade but prefers bilateral trade agreements as opposed to regional initiatives, and would not mind seeing the EU losing more members.   The election of Donald Trump also comes with a shift away from the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP), advanced by the previous White House, ending the concept of a big ‘Western Bridge’ to unite the world’s two largest economies, those of the EU and the USA, and ensure transatlantic leadership in global trade.85 The new American president is sceptical about free trade, especially when  

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THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ it comes to agreements negotiated multilaterally. In this context, America also stepped away from the Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP). Against this background, however, the emerging economic superpower, China, rather welcomed these developments. In fact, China has been advancing—gradually, steadily, resolutely, and strategically—a new ‘Silk Road’ policy, best captured by President Xi Jinping’s 2013 One Belt One Road initiative, now the ‘Built Road Initiative’, which has one underlying aim: to multiply trade routes, links and connections, logistics networks and business opportunities for and with China. It will pass through more than sixty countries—from Europe and Asia to Africa and the Middle East. To achieve this, the policy advances two key platforms: (a) a far-reaching land-route infrastructure development and investment programme, the so-called Eurasian land bridge linking China’s east coast with a supply and logistics chain to Western Europe (and especially critical ports such as Piraeus and Rotterdam); and (b) the so-called maritime Silk Road, a sea route or nautical chain which again starts from China’s east coast, and crosses the South China Sea, the Indian Ocean, and passes from European ports and the pivotal maritime trade routes into the immediate neighbouring seas.86   This re-casting of Chinese trading influence, power, and reach will probably bring to mind historical parallels and connections associated with the rise of China and the Islamic world. Peter Frankopan makes this case forcefully, by reminding us of the influence and centrality of the Persian Silk Roads, the Islamic world’s trade and ties to China, and the 2,000-year or so history among these nations and peoples.87 Frankopan goes further, highlighting the re-emergence of the East, a trend that comes through a developing politico-economic ‘renaissance’, made possible, among others, through China’s above-discussed strategy and policies. It is not just business, trade, development, and economics that can receive a boost from China’s OBOR; there are also some who see opportunities in the security sphere too88—and in multilateral contexts.89   But how will the Arab and Islamic world fare with these major global shifts? Will it struggle, as it did with the international order in the last century? Will it contribute a positive story? In reality, what is needed in the Middle East is a radical approach to regionalism, which 367

THE HIJAZ has been witnessed in the past. There must be a clear identification of the common challenges, followed by a common commitment to address and overcome them through a tailored APEC-like regional initiative. It would involve: (a) the removal of barriers and widespread liberalization of trade and investment laws; (b) the enabling of greater mobility of firms and individual investors across the region; and (c) regional cooperation and consolidation that will expand the economic potential and capacities of the member states. We will not elaborate further here; this has been discussed extensively in previous publications,90 and we will also revisit this proposal later in this chapter through a comprehensive lens.   There are many theoretical approaches to international reorientation. From a liberal point of view, regionalism is the outcome of transnational interactions between individual actors that are represented by governmental institutions in a predictable, transparent, and—normatively—legitimate fashion. Liberalism does not necessarily require formal structures, but can also accommodate ‘soft law’ approaches that reflect the preferences of those international actors.91 The transgovernmentalism approach extends the basic idea of liberalism but emphasizes ‘regulatory networks’, among governmental actors specifically. It is also closely related to functionalism as it emphasizes government functions as the ongoing gist of these networks.92 Constructivism is focused on the idea of an international system resulting from continuous process based on norms that translate the state’s ‘interests and preferences’ and ‘identities’.93 The postmodernist theoretical outlook has been developed to stand for ‘indeterminacy’. From the Far East, Sungjoon Cho has argued for the postmodern features of the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC).94 Cho does state that the use of postmodernism is a very narrow one, in that it is a modern international institution with certain attributes that form a fusion of bilateralism, regionalism, and multilateralism.95 Regardless of the unreliability of the term ‘postmodern’, these attributes, which are discussed in the following section, still make up for the neo-functional modernist theory behind regionalism.96 Other theories might also be employed, if one considers process failures in international organization.97   We argue for the virtues of an APEC-like structure, firstly because of its adaptation of ‘open regionalism’, which is a concept that elimi368

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ nates preferentiality and exclusivity problems. This is an important advantage, as it effectively extends the scope of the liberalization agendas of the various members and promotes cross-cultural dialogue.   Secondly, we argue for soft institutionalization because this allows for an organizational cooperative scheme, which is an inherently more efficient system for regional integration, and circumvents the shortcomings of the rigid EU system. These are represented by its informality, soft institutionalization, soft laws, and a non-binding character. Collectively, they constitute its flexible nature, making it an ideal vessel for developing legal norms that ensure economic integration and peace, suitable for both domestic and international agendas.   Finally, incrementalism, which assumes that any international agreement is motivated by a few initiating countries which participate in formulating declarative principles and future guidelines. Then, in turn, by virtue of continued deliberations and negotiations, these initiatives evolve with a level of sophistication, to ultimately become very plausible objectives capable of achievement.98   The conceptualization of this ‘APEC-like structure’ as a nexus of arrangements can ultimately work as a vehicle for deeper regional integration, cohesion, openness, and peace. Intra-Middle East integration can foster regional cooperation in the regulatory arena. Further to shape or structure, the gist of regionalism lies in its format. We are not obliged to assume that there is only one (proto-)type or archetype of regionalism, such as regional trading agreements. Regionalism does not necessarily mean forming a tangible, rigid ‘bloc’ among neighbouring countries. This might not work in the Middle East milieu. It could instead be a looser, more ‘tailored’ alliance, which might well be a better format for the region. Arguably, the areas that present greater immediate prospects include: military issues; security; economics; common interests (for example, in energy, trade, investments, finance, or research and development); and culture. With such a structure and broader focus, this body could also be open to other non-regional members such as China, the USA, and even Israel, with space for observer status or targeted partnerships with other international organizations such as the EU or the AU and their member states.   The requirements of regional re-design in the Middle East necessitate a broader mandate that encompasses other factors of crucial 369

THE HIJAZ importance to the region, beyond economics. It is envisaged that the explicit goals of the Arab regional body would be divided into three categories, based on the prioritization attached to each respectively.   Firstly, enhancing economic cooperation between member states would form the core of the body’s mission, with the broadly defined methods for so doing being derived from APEC’s Three Pillars. For the reasons noted above, basing interaction between member states on development and economic factors first would be the default entry level formula. In addition to helping foster confidence between adversaries, the development of stable, sustainable, and mutually gainful economic relations would create even greater incentives for resolving other, more complex, issues of dispute.   Beyond the focus on economic matters, the regional body would also, secondly, serve as a forum for addressing political concerns, particularly those likely to impair cooperation, whether directly or indirectly, or increase the likelihood of political instability.   Framing the discussion of problems pertaining to such matters in an economic, diplomatic, and dispute-resolution sense would counter much of the entrenched political positioning thereon, and permit an alternative to what might be seen as the ‘conventional wisdom’. For example, rather than being treated as foreign policy matters, disputes over water or mineral resources would be addressed from the perspective of economic benefits and detriments, thereby stripping away questions of nationalism and ideology.   With particular regard to conflict, transnational disputes, and weapons of mass destruction, attention could be focused on managing existing circumstances with a view to containment, as opposed to more ambitious attempts to resolve long-standing disputes.   Lastly, in truth, the toxicity of some challenges in the region is such that their political resolution is effectively a prerequisite for progress towards complete, region-wide prosperity. However, for political issues beyond security and defence, and cooperation in a sphere of a less immediately incendiary nature, the regional body could provide an apt forum for discussion, and possible collaborative remedial measures.   A common defence and security system(s) could then converge in a supra-national alternative dispute crisis resolution (ADR) centre, overlapping with the political goals of activating diplomacy within and on 370

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ behalf of the region.99 A common defence platform and force might also be deployed for peacekeeping missions within the region, when members of the greater regional community are undergoing civil or non-state combatant conflicts. Of course, positive externalities are not limited to geographical borders, and would soon be felt by all—a key tenet of the open regionalism inherent in such a community.   It should be noted that, in any region, securing consensus on political issues presents significantly greater challenges than cooperation on economic matters. This is particularly true in the Middle East. It is for this reason that the Arab regional body’s capacity to address political issues authoritatively requires a different level of legitimization, beyond force and wealth. This level of legitimization, we argue, centres around The Hijaz; as the pillar upon which this regional cooperation initiative can be founded. The Hijaz can catalyse regional harmony and understanding on the basis of the aforementioned common heritage, as well as a global dialogue which will help other regional and global actors to better understand the region, as well as Islam, and engage with it more constructively and more beneficially, for all. This can be seen as a multi-layered confidence-building process, concurrently increasing cooperation, understanding, and harmony, both within the region and globally.

— Towards an Arab Union The gradual independence of the Gulf states of the Arabian Peninsula brought them into recognition of a common destiny, determined by the territorial integrity of the Peninsula and their common political and cultural features. In the context of various internal and external security challenges facing the region, the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) was established in 1981. Since its inception the GCC has aimed to enhance economic and political collaboration between Saudi Arabia, Oman, Qatar, Kuwait, the UAE, and Bahrain. The idea of union has been under consideration from the early days of the GCC, but for three decades it seemed to be out of reach. In December 2011, during the Supreme Council Summit in Riyadh, King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia made the most explicit calls for unification, which were later adopted: the Riyadh Declaration.100 371

THE HIJAZ   In truth, it is not the oil wealth, deserved or undeserved, that solidified the rule of the Gulf shaykhdoms. It is the presence of the holy territory of Hijaz that primarily legitimized the Saudi regime, as theirs by extension. The Hijaz is the anchor of the security and legitimacy of Arabia. Granting autonomy to The Hijaz as an outcome of such discussions could only strengthen the position of Saudi Arabia, and the Arabian Peninsula, within the region. Apart from earlier-mentioned arguments, Saudi Arabia would gain the basis for establishing an Arab Union. It is in the common interest of all Islamic countries, but particularly GCC member states in the Arabian Peninsula, to provide security for the pilgrims of the Holy Cities of Makkah and Medina.   As one of the goals of the union is to build a common security system to confront any danger, as demonstrated by the Peninsula Shield,101 the GCC’s combined military force, and the GCC+4 cooperation agenda of September 2014102 to counter external threats in addition to extremism in other places, the participation of The Hijaz as an autonomous state would be significant. The states taking part in the GCC, with due respect to sovereignty, and by no means interfering in the internal affairs of Saudi Arabia, should positively welcome any kind of political participation of The Hijaz. Firstly, because it will demonstrate an openness to dialogue, and consensus—not only among the member states of a possible union, but even within their domestic realms. Secondly, because such a decision would strengthen the future union. Recent diplomatic challenges to the GCC, internally among its members and across the Gulf with Iran, as well as, more importantly, the threat posed to all states outside the Peninsula, may be overcome by the positive political statesmanship of Saudi Arabia and accepting increased political participation of The Hijaz—within the union itself at least. The thirty-seventh GCC Summit in Bahrain highlighted several points tending in the right direction, including: (a) further deepening, cooperation, and integration; (b) ‘… full equal treatment among Gulf citizens in view of the joint market’; (c) greater cooperation, integration, and openness in the credit and finance sphere; (d) further deepening and joint initiatives in economics, development, and regional infrastructure (a ‘Gulf railway’); (e) a common stance and action in security—‘support to all regional and international efforts to fight DA’ISH and all other terrorist networks and organizations in Syria, Iraq and other regions’; and (f) a series 372

THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ of common positions regarding pivotal regional and international issues in the sphere of politics, international relations, and law.103 Moreover, the UK’s participation in and contribution to the Summit was historic, and ties in with this book’s suggestion of an inclusive approach to regionalism, open to other important global actors as well as other key multilateral organizations.104   A greater focus on the Peninsula rather than the shores of the Gulf will go far. This must include a serious socio-economic effort towards Yemen, which has suffered major setbacks over the decades, as well as Jordan, the natural fault line of the Arabian Peninsula and its territorial integrity. Such efforts could have a unifying effect for Arab states towards an even larger ‘open regional’ economic effort.105 With a solid Arab union at its core, fortified by wider Islamic internationalization, including with Shi’a Muslims, in the face of the imminent and real threat posed by DA’ISH, the present-day Faith Militant,106 which challenges both the Islamic legitimacy and territorial integrity of other Arab and Islamic nations, a new Middle Eastern regional organization founded on soft institutionalization, open regionalism, and incrementalism could indeed be welcomed. It is, certainly, very sorely needed. Finally, as the centre of gravity of the region, the Islamic world, and the Arabian Peninsula, Saudi Arabia must welcome The Hijaz, its core, as an integrative factor to protect its territorial integrity and exercise a programme for the patronage of Islam (not Wahhabism) through its soft power with the rest of the world, as well as a common heritage for all mankind.   The point should be made that The Hijaz would constructively enter this debate as unionists rather than separatists, which is in the spirit of Islamic unity. The context of this effort to form an Arabian (and Gulf) union, as well as foster and embed Islamic solidarity, would be a timely occasion and an ideal opportunity to give to the Holy Cities a role in regional discourse—namely, a new version of a shared identity in the Arabian Peninsula, and a potent source of soft power for the Islamic world and its central institutions. Through treaties and an open regionalism frameworks such as APEC, this solution might satisfy both international law and the ideal of the umma. This does not conflict with the territorial integrity of Saudi Arabia or the national geographical depth of the Arabian Peninsula. 373

CONCLUSION

This book has aimed to demonstrate the critical consequences that flowed from the extinguishing of the Kingdom of The Hijaz in 1924 under international law. No means of legal reversal were obvious at the time, short of intervention by a Mandatory power, which in western Arabia meant the British. The interested regional bureaus of the British government viewed the takeover as a means to further their aims for regional management in the post-First World War period. The house of Saud was ultimately viewed by London as an outlier in terms of Britain’s long-term imperial interests.   Furthermore, the British regarded Islamic affairs as a source of danger rather than opportunity, and the imposition of the regime of Ibn Saud seemed to be a reasonable outcome, whatever misgivings there may have been about his capacity to bring prosperity to The Hijaz. The local brand of Wahhabism may have been distinguished by its intolerance to other forms of Islam, a proselytizing fervour, and was guilty, by association, with events such as the Taif Massacre. But Wahhabism was preferable in British eyes to the kind of greater statehood ambitions that the Hashemites had shown, which were difficult to predict, and entirely incompatible with Western plans to divide the Middle East into spheres of influence and control.   Although the elimination of The Hijaz caused no immediate visible damage to the fabric of international relations, the unleashing of Wahhabi ideology in the Middle East now looks like one of the graver international law consequences of British policy (including that of Churchill himself) in its sunset years, and deserves far more attention when considering statehood in the region.

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THE HIJAZ   Nonetheless, even today, more than a century after the events that shaped the Middle East, there is still time to right the wrongs of the past and pre-empt the catastrophe that is unfolding in the region; even save Arab nation-state.   The disruptive impact of the construct of Westphalian statehood, and the Enlightenment notion of self-determination, precluded the development of a genuine practice of Islamic statecraft as the source of tenets of collective identity and statesmanship in the Arab hemisphere. Despite the fact that these concepts were recognized as tools of Western imperial influence and control, they were nevertheless, in an act of self-entrapment, adopted by consecutive generations of Arab leaders, as steadfast rudiments of the emerging Arab and broader Islamic polity.   What is now possible is a re-examination of Islamic governance in the history and untapped potential of The Hijaz, the first state of Islam in Makkah and Medina. This vision of The Hijaz extends from governance in Saudi Arabia, the Arabian Peninsula, and the Islamic community as a whole, to its interaction with the wider world. It rejects the appropriation of Islamic governance and the concept of an Islamic state and the Caliphate by the postmodern non-territorial doctrines of alQaida, and, conversely, by the neo-medievalist DA’ISH, based on the absolute and abhorrent control over territory and people, under the false flag of Islamic doctrine.   The case for the reinstatement of The Hijaz as a ‘special status’, (semi-)autonomous entity is threefold. Firstly, from the point of view of modern international law, The Hijaz deserves active and special international status and protection. The grounds for this claim are the area’s historical, cultural, and religious significance: a unique area requires an exceptional form of legal accommodation. This argument is buttressed by pragmatic considerations such as the regional and worldwide benefits of a reinstated Hijaz, secure from intervention and scandal: a century of strife in the Middle East has fuelled instability throughout the world.   The risk of a rapid collapse in the present international law regime, or a long-term rearrangement of international positions and commitments in the Middle East, threatens the vital interests of the modern Saudi state—and the Arabian Peninsula, for that matter. It faces an 376

CONCLUSION amalgamation of external threats and the risk of entanglement in regional conflicts, as well as a mixture of internal challenges: ideological, but also social and economic—and particularly its heavy reliance on hydrocarbon natural resources as the sole balancing point for its political economy.   Finally, this study has highlighted the value of The Hijaz as a soft power ‘integrative agent’ that transcends its own sacred territory for: (a) its own benefit and that of the Saudi state, as well as the territorial integrity of the Arabian Peninsula; (b) the Arab world, given that the Islamic venture was and continues to be Arab at its core; (c) the Islamic world as the sacred territory that holds spiritual and legal value for each Muslim, in its simplest form as the fifth pillar of the Islamic creed, which is to make the physical pilgrimage to The Hijaz; (d) its cultural heritage as a focal point of 23 per cent of the world’s population, creating not only an international duty to preserve The Hijaz, but also a central point with which the West and the world in general can shape their encounters with Islam and the Middle East; and therefore (e) serving as the natural epicentre of an Arab regional initiative which will help usher the region into a new era of cooperation, security, and prosperity.  

 

The Afterlife of The Hijaz and the Right to Self-Determination The Hijaz has, at different times, offered both a domestic and a more general Arab nationalistic view, despite the more recent curtailment of its historical status as the beacon of Islam, a role in which it still challenges the status quo. So the case for change is more than simply problematic. A further Islamic role for The Hijaz would invigorate the myriad of Islamic factions, whether Faith Militant groups or political parties with Islamic attributes, who dream of a Caliphate.   It was Hizb al-Tahrir that kept the dream alive in the modern era between the fall of the Caliphate and neo-medievalism. Taqi al-Din alNabhani took a very aggressive approach to ensure the spread of the message around the world.1 One of its contemporary academic supporters, Reza Pankhurst,2 until very recently maintained a balanced message as a voice of struggle for global Islamic union. Until the turn of the last century the Tahrirists were almost alone in keeping the Caliphate dream alive. Osama Bin Laden and Vice President Cheney 377

THE HIJAZ introduced themselves to the discourse in 2004, stating and acknowledging the existence of a grand aim for a ‘universal Caliphate’. They engaged each other and the rest of the world, resulting in a grand existential threat for Western democracies. In so doing, they raised both the military profile of the USA and jihadi consciousness. Bin Laden wanted to split the world into two.   The jurist-turned-nationalist political thinker, Rashid Rida, advocating the dream, prescribing the ideal, and then recognizing the mirage, emerged with a more Kafkaesque view. He accepted the idea as unrealistic, yet still hung on to it, as a symbol, until he died. Sanhuri Pasha came as a constitutional breath of fresh air, advocating an Eastern international order with an Islamic league. But even beyond Sanhuri’s renaissance, what the Caliphate idea suggests to us today is an international relations whisper, a world order that is inspired, even if fundamentally different, from the prevailing Westphalian model of the nation-state. Carool Kersten summarizes the modern position, stating that ‘instead of using only Eurocentric concepts, notions such as the Caliphate could point to alternative ways of thinking about world order, without the need to translate this into the establishment of a global “Islamic state” or “Islamic world government”’.3   The love affair between the Caliphate and jurists is as historically far-reaching as the institution itself. Right until its fall, al-Afghani worked relentlessly to redeem Sultan Abdulhamid II’s Caliphate. In its afterlife it channelled strong nationalist currents, such as the Indian Khilafat Movement. Even the al-Azhar Islamic Caliphate Congress of 1926 forewent two important legal preconditions for appointing a caliph: Quraysh descent and possession of the Haramayn. The Congress appeared willing to accept any capable caliph. From the fall and the subsequent aspirations of Abul-‘Ala al-Mawdudi, to contrarian liberal imperialist British views such as those of Wilfrid Scawen Blunt,4 a series of diplomatic attempts failed to reincarnate the Caliphate.   On 9 June 2015, before Army Day, the ninety-ninth anniversary of the Arab Revolt, a newly designed ‘Hashemite’ crimson standard was presented by the Jordanian king. The flag was inspired by an original 500-year-old banner and decorated in Islamically styled calligraphy. It aimed to recast a new Jordanian narrative, in terms of a world-wide Muslim community.5  

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CONCLUSION   The Hashemites, since 1514 and Sharif Abu Numay in Makkah,6 however, will find no support to re-establish grander designs or a wider narrative. The Hashemites may seemingly project a powerful story—an elemental convergence between the Quraysh doctrine and a Hashemite proclamation. The Sunni doctrinal requirement that the office of caliph can only be filled by a member of the Quraysh and the (Twelver) Shi’ite requirement that the Imam should be from the ahl al-bayt (the family of the Prophet) may somehow converge. But, like the banner, it will only flutter, and be an open target for political scepticism even without neo-medievalism.   There are considerable challenges confronting a re-imagination of narratives for the collectivity, be it unification à la Sanhuri through transnational Shari’a application, a civilizational renaissance, or an international organization such as the OIC. The first suffers from the pitfalls of nationalism, authoritarian rule, and a lack of appreciation for the rule of law in general. The latter is challenged by the organization of fiftyseven member states and the reality of belonging to the faltering socioeconomically ‘developing’ South. Furthermore, Islamic solidarity is left confronting a massive backlash of Islamophobia. The regional experiences of other organizations, starting with the 1943 Arab Union through the League of Arab States to the GCC June–Ramadan crises in 2017, has encountered failure after failure. Foreign meddling, political bigotry, egotism, and intrigue dominated such attempts, ignoring the seminal necessity for peace and economic prosperity. In fact, foreign interfering, political prejudice, self-centredness, and intrigue have worked to undermine attempts to bring about true working unions in the region—at the expense of peace and economic prosperity.   In contrast to differing opinions regarding the Caliphate, maqasid centrists, jurists and Islamic thinkers, revivalists and Shi’a, have come to realize the importance of a new regional reality, capturing ‘God’s Gift’ or the ‘undeserved wealth’. The Grand Imam opted to focus on the unity of Muslims as the ultimate goal of al-Azhar al-Sharif, since its inception, and expansion, more than a thousand years ago. With much conviction, he stated:  

I would like to point out, that despite the ingredients of unity that God has bestowed on our nation, including language, kind, race, religion, history and geography, and in spite of our Arab League and the

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THE HIJAZ Organization of Islamic Cooperation, established more than half a century ago, we still lack a union, like that of the European Union. This is not impossible; it requires only the sincerity of intentions and a vision, in addition to excluding internal differences. Arabs no doubt are qualified to make such a union if they want to.7

  There is a ‘generational inequity’ legal question at the heart of the Arab collective narrative. The Saudi call for an Arab Gulf union is close to the unification achieved by King Abdulaziz in the Arabian Peninsula, which is the only enduring union today. King Faisal ibn Abdulaziz was the first effective ruler of The Hijaz since the 1925 annexation. As his father’s deputy, he understood its value and Islamic potency. King Faisal developed and recast Islamic diplomacy until his death in 1975. He instigated the OIC, set it up in Jeddah, and, despite his maternal Wahhabi lineage, knew how to curb extremism. He utilized oil wealth to his advantage, and surrounded himself with technocrats. His sons, two born in Makkah, and one—like his father before him—governor of Makkah, are committed to that viewpoint, and deeply aware of the limitations of foreign intervention and a centralized government system in Riyadh lacking state-connectedness.   The challenges to the Saudi state from both internal and neighbouring militant ideologies are chilling, to say the least. Also, the state still lacks the full operation of the rule of law. Despite Western scrutiny over Shari’a, there is no apology needed in adopting the rule of law. In a series of positive attempts to counter the pressing challenges, King Salman ibn Abdulaziz advanced wide reform, underpinned by a transition to the third generation of Saudi princes, a firm, offensive foreign policy, and a series of steps towards ground-breaking socio-economic and security policies. The constitutional revolution of June 2017 brought the appointment of a charismatic and youthful crown prince, Mohammad ibn Salman, and indeed marked the birth of the ‘fourth Saudi state’. Like his grandfather, he will no doubt continue to wrestle with the very idea of a social contract with Islam—a Vision 2030 for Islam.   Nonetheless, there is a serious role for the fourth Saudi state, to move forward as a state, and to carry the Middle East along with it. The Saudi government has made bold new efforts towards regional cooperation in the fight against Faith Militant groups. On 15 December 2015 Mohammad ibn Salman, as the Saudi minister of defence,  

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CONCLUSION announced a regional alliance of thirty-four mainly Islamic states, coordinating to fight terrorism.8 Nevertheless, the alliance was welcomed by US defence secretary Ash Carter,9 and generated international interest, as it is the first such regional anti-terrorism effort led by a Sunni Muslim state in a fight against Sunni militant groups such as DA’ISH.10 It is interesting to note the convening (soft) power of The Hijaz which was utilized in 2017, as it brought together the leaders of fifty-five countries to meet with the new and rather Islamophobic US president, Donald Trump, in Saudi Arabia. It was not under the OIC, the Arab League, or the GCC that these powerful actors came; it was the summoning power of Islam’s Holiest Sites. This unique power was recognized by the US president in his keynote address: ‘I chose to make my first foreign visit a trip to the heart of the Muslim world, to the nation that serves as custodian of the two holiest sites in the Islamic Faith.’11

Finding the Lost Space We have explored, throughout several sections of this book, the concept of the auspicious positive space within the religious–ideational and, in a way, political, spheres; and, its dark alternative, the negative space, with its dim, austere, intolerant, and, all too often, violent and destabilizing extensions. We delved particularly deep in this notion in Chapter 8, to highlight how, historically, the negative space, as underpinned by the various expressions of the Faith Militant over time in the Middle East (and beyond), has caused great pain, suffering, and grief. Through this analysis, it became clear that intolerant ideo-religious visions, dogmas, and worldviews make up or directly fuel the negative space and regress civilizational merits, providing the wellspring for extremists and violent exponents of the Faith Militant doctrine. We deconstructed and traced the ideological trail behind these expressions of the negative space, highlighting the impact of austere theo-ideological interpretations, from early Wahhabism and the role of militant Wahhabi-affiliated groups, to the variations of the jihadi Salafi strands, and the postmodern and neo-medieval expressions—as embodied by al-Qaida and DA’ISH respectively.   We also showed how the manifestations of the negative space and the Faith Militant surface, evolve, appear to wane, and often re-surface 381

THE HIJAZ forcefully in different versions and styles. We made reference to the 1979 siege of Makkah by militant Wahhabis, their use of symbols, religious metaphors, and attempts to benefit from The Hijaz’s unique power. We then delved deeper into this very dangerous, diachronic appeal of the idea of ‘capturing the Holy Lands’ for fanatics and extremists—including DA’ISH in the 2010s, with its forcible bid for statehood and the re-establishment of a sweeping Caliphate. At the end of June 2017 another very sad incident unfolded in the Holy Lands, hours before the end of Ramadan and the start of Eid, with a suicide attacker causing serious destruction and injuries outside Makkah’s Grand Mosque.   We also discussed, however, the vital importance and potential of the positive space: how its much-needed rejuvenation passes through The Hijaz, highlighting its integrative power, its peace-promotion potential, and its capacity to facilitate conflict prevention and resolution. Also, through the mapping of the various antagonisms, sectarian tensions, conflicts, and the complex web of the combatants in the region’s ongoing wars, we highlighted the distinct soft power of The Hijaz as the most legitimate forum to bring these groups and actors together, to heal, to overcome their differences, reach new understandings, encourage radicals to embrace more moderate views, ‘disarm’ the extremists, and assist in the peace efforts. For instance, we discussed how with the help of The Hijaz, proactive steps could facilitate the separation of former Ba’ath Party officials from DA’ISH. With the help of the ‘guiding power’ of the Holy Lands, other actors could also be encouraged to exit from the negative spiral of radicalism and extremism. It is a role that The Hijaz has fulfilled historically.Yet, as we discussed, the fall of The Hijaz was followed by the advent of Wahhabism, with the negative space effectively shifting the balance in Arabia and in other areas of the region. It is quintessential that, in these critical times for the greater Middle East, and for Islam, the (im)balance of the past decades is reversed. There is a dire need for greater dialogue, starting with the ‘institution’ of the Grand Mosque, tolerance, openness, moderation, harmony, new understandings, and lasting peace. As argued throughout the later sections of this book, only The Hijaz, with the crucial cogency of Saudi Arabia, can help restore the balance, re-establishing the nucleus of the positive space in Makkah, at the very heart of Islam.  

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CONCLUSION   If one takes a broad look at the Middle East—its geography, its resources, its potential, the space for cooperation and synergies, the natural alliances that should occur in this relatively small part of the world—one might ponder at this image of fragility and perpetual turmoil. Moreover, crucially, on a closer examination, one finds that the ‘golden moments’ of the region seem to be associated with a prosperous Hijaz and a strong constructive Islam—times when The Hijaz and Islam are enjoying auspicious peaks—rapidly fuelling and expanding the positive space and simultaneously closing down the room for the negative space. In other words, no civilization should destroy itself by its own hands; the positive and negative space appear to have an ‘inverse correlation’. The more the positive space advances, expands, progresses, and advantageously evolves, the more it eliminates the space for the growth—if not very existence—of the negative space. To further attempt to ‘bring it home’, the more absolutist Wahhabi thinking expands in the region and roots itself deeply within societies, the less space it leaves for the positive progress and evolution of moderate, open, tolerant, and inclusive Islam. Reversely, the more moderate forces prevail, the greater the marginalization of the extremists, the radicals—all the agents and advocates of the negative space. Initial steps are already being paved into the evolving fourth Saudi state, with rapid and aggressive reforms not previously seen in its history taking place instantly; from the rights of women to drive within the kingdom,12 to challenges made to the religious establishment, especially in the form of tackling extremism by vetting religious teachings, particularly misconstrued sayings of the Prophet Mohammad (Hadiths), the jurisprudential pillar of the Hanbali school, through the creation of an international Repository of Hadith in Medina.13 This signals the start of a self-transformation from Wahhabi or Salafi doctrine to a more jurisprudential and international approach to the state’s official Islam, a step that comes with great risk to the ruling establishment. Its seemingly genuine concern over terrorism has led the state to challenge interpretations traditionally closed off for scrutiny by Wahhabi scholars, and is coming to the realization that extremism is not only a domestic threat, but one that threatens the fabric of the Islamic world and its relations with the West, and that it will indeed be ‘wasted time’ if they do not work to ‘eradicate extremism’, as the crown prince remarked.14 383

THE HIJAZ   The Hijaz can therefore not only be a cultural or economic hub; rather, it must be a protected gatekeeper, the fountainhead of the positive space, paving the way, steadily shifting the balance and the momentum in favour of the positive space. This will allow it to fulfil once again its key functions as the intra-Islam crisis-prevention, tension-defusion, and conflict-prevention centre. The Hijaz will (re-)emerge as the ‘number to call’, the ‘address to go to’, the epicentre of ideo-religious dialogue and exchange. In a way, The Hijaz should be given agency as the supreme forum for dialogue within Islam, facilitating ideational exchange and convergence; but also as a fundamental source of guidance, knowledge, jurisprudence, and harmony—internal and external.

Inclusive Statehood Chris Thornhill has argued that ‘in differentiated societies political power tends, over longer periods of time, to be constructed and applied in increasingly conventionalised fashion, and the wider abstracted specialisation of power on a select number of exchanges means that power evolves as a facility that is only rarely applied as coercion’.15 In other words, modern societies generate power in ways that tend towards social inclusion rather than exclusion: They are defined—in the first instance—by the fact that they require and produce, not autonomous political institutions, but rather autonomous reserves of political power: that is, the evolution of modern societies has depended on the capacities of these societies for generating quantities of political power that could be applied across complexly differentiated social terrains in reasonably positive, independent and easily inclusive and reproducible fashion, and whose utilization was not subject to endless local coercion or personalized controversy.16

  Modern history has demonstrated that Hijazis, Arabs, and Muslims have, more often than not, been victims of international law. But there is an opportunity, and compelling arguments, to harness the same laws to assert their new-found worldview. Saudi Arabia remains the custodian of the Two Holy Mosques. Its centralized non-popular system of government imposes serious challenges for further progress on many fronts. The Hijaz is important to Hijazis and Muslims, but other communities may also benefit from its reform, including the Shi’a in the 384

CONCLUSION eastern region of Saudi Arabia, and all communities in search of balance and peace.   Scotland, like The Hijaz, was once a self-governing state that lost its statehood—among many other such global examples. But Scotland gave up its statehood more or less voluntarily, surrendering statehood on terms that were contained in the Treaty of Union. This has, accordingly, been regarded as a foundational, constitutional document in Scotland—a view not held, or at least not strongly held, in the rest of the UK. Moreover, the Treaty of Union has been since renegotiated. Finally, Scotland always formed a distinct legal unit within the UK, which has not been the case with The Hijaz in Saudi Arabia. When the Scottish National Party campaigned for Scottish independence, it could rely on there being functioning Scottish institutions which would provide the basis of an independent state, despite running into some difficulties over such matters as currency and military protection. The 2014 independence referendum was a remarkably polite, democratic affair. By contrast, the lost statehood of The Hijaz is historically intertwined with military force and oppression. The idea, in the Scottish case, was to move towards independence through, rather than outside, normal constitutional and political processes of the state from which Scotland was to secede.   Constitutional processes, including referenda, are a characteristic component of Quebec’s campaign to separate from Canada. Like Scotland, Quebec has its own (civilian) legal system and, as a province in a federal state, a significant degree of self-government already. Unlike Scotland, however, there is considerable doubt as to whether Quebec can be considered a ‘nation’, as, historically, it was a French colony rather than a location where a people forged a distinct identity. This perhaps relates more strongly with the Hijazi case.   Will statehood mean what it means today twenty years from now? After all, is Westphalia still the model to aspire to? A repeat of 1648 is not conceivable today; but a Middle East intensely ridden with conflict is in dire need of novel dispute-resolution mechanisms of Westphalian inspiration. Muslims seem to be drawn to a moral collectivity rather than the nation-state, whereas Europeans find the EU more uncomfortable than the nation. The reality is that there will probably be ‘variable geometry’ dimensions to these central international relations ques 

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THE HIJAZ tions. The idea that the nation-state, the idea of statehood, as it has been defined and experienced, is crushed both by the governing dynamics of international order and by the forces of ‘self-determination’.   In response to these challenges, and their particular manifestations in the Middle Eastern context, we sketched out the outline of a new regional integration policy. Assessing the successes and shortcomings of earlier initiatives, from the LAS to the GCC, we highlighted that, potentially, regional integration might be best served through a ‘looser platform’, with The Hijaz, Saudi Arabia, and the GCC at its core. We analysed the potential of an APEC-like structure, which would allow the states to consolidate dynamically and asymmetrically—through their converging interests in economics and finance, energy, and trade, but also defence and security. In this process, we highlighted the integrating and convening power of The Hijaz and the significant room for Saudi Arabian agency and leadership, as well as the contribution such a body could make to Islamic security, stability, and prosperity. We reached the conclusion that such an arrangement could steadily expand, to build bridges with other international organizations, as well as important states outside the strict regional confines, from the USA and the UK to Iran and, even possibly, Israel.   In tracing the different experiences of statehood—in The Hijaz, the Arabian Peninsula, and the greater Middle East—we found that, even in the most secular experiences of statehood, with very few exceptions, Islam was present, in different expressions and on different levels. We also studied how, in some cases, where the forces of secularization, Westernization, and modernization were imposed top-down, too fast and too abruptly, Islam came back with a vengeance—in the different waves of Islamic revivalism and revolution, both Sunni and Shi’ite, which culminated in the 1970s. Moreover, through this journey through statehood and socio-political and ideo-religious evolution, we also discussed how the imagined community of family and religious ties generally proved stronger than national ones, given the consecutive failures of the reigning elites to advance inclusive bottom-up social, political, and economic progress. This issue has had key implications in several of the countries we analysed. For instance, it helped sow the seeds of tribal and family allegiance in Iraq and Libya, which in turn has helped to shape the current militias and jihadi groupings. If stronger 386

CONCLUSION national governments with a wider support base had prevailed in these Middle East states, perhaps violent internecine conflict could have been avoided. By extension, as discussed in Chapter 9, steps towards more inclusive models of governance, with more democratic, equitable, and just representation for the citizens will greatly contribute to progress, peace, and prosperity. The Hijaz, in a more autonomous, transnational form, enjoying greater self-government in the domestic realm, electing its own local–regional administrative representatives, could be a source of inspiration and guidance in this sphere too: as the ‘re-constituted’ pristine ‘Islamic state’, at the heart of a rapidly growing, economically advanced, and progressing Saudi Arabia, and a beacon for inspiration on the path to more inclusive statehood, Islamic governance, and equitable and sustainable socio-economic progress.   The presentation of The Hijaz as a common heritage must not be regarded by the Saudi government as something controversial or dangerous, but rather as something empowering—enhancing. We must not forget that lasting monarchies have all had to engage in difficult constitutional conversations. It should rather be viewed as an opportunity to better define The Hijaz, taking into account internal reforms in Saudi Arabia and the evolution of international law, to support variations in organizations and institutions, and to guarantee the rights of individuals while accepting different worldviews.   At a time when Saudi Arabia is seeing one man wielding more power than any king since the time of the country’s founder, there is a chance to achieve ground-breaking transformation. The boldness and determination that King Salman offers, and the Weberian charismatic leadership of his son, Crown Prince Mohammad, might just be what the fourth Saudi state needs for the opening up of The Hijaz to flourish. Some go as far as suggesting that the latter will bring peace in the Middle East. In a move not unlike the Safavid Shah ‘Abbas I’s creation of his capital, Isfahan, it is no surprise that the crown prince chose the northern Hijaz to establish his new mega-city. Furthermore, the policies of the crown prince towards neighbouring states are attracting global scrutiny; this may be a drawback to investing so much authority in a young man over the heads of several ageing relatives—arguably even to the extent of staging a coup in all but name—in one of the last remaining absolute monarchies. The difference between rule of law and rule by law is small to the mighty. 387

THE HIJAZ   This opportunity to conclusively establish The Hijaz within the context of a contemporary framework of self-determination must be accompanied by a right to enjoy some form of democratic governance; a democratic entitlement, which is realized in ‘Free Expression and Electoral Rights’, as argued by Franck.17 However, that is not to say that Franck’s notions of democratic entitlement automatically mean that it can be only achieved by regime change. Every country, every people, of every faith have a right to choose their own form of government and representation. Deliberative democracy, an advanced form of political deliberation on certain bases, conditions, institutions, or rights of veto, can be pursued within a wide variety of political structures.18   One way of achieving an Islamic state, rightfully embodied by The Hijaz, is via a transitional progression toward a constitutional monarchy not dissimilar to the one that The Hijaz National Party contemplated over ninety years ago, one that was embraced by King Abdulaziz ibn Saud himself. Such a Saudi social contract, if enacted tomorrow, would give the moral and physical centre of Islam the kind of democratic government that the Arab world is lacking today, and would create the political stability needed: advocating for the rule of law and democracy, inspired by the greater teaching of Islamic governance, but not puritanically applying one form or another, and establishing constitutional representative rule is indeed that golden-age ideal. Allowing for wider interaction with other schools and types of faith within Islam and the rest of the world and according The Hijaz a special agency in international law will guarantee it as a trust for mankind. The territorial centrality of Hijazi pilgrimage for all Muslims, as a common heritage, clearly deserves international protection and cooperation. Not only would it enjoy its traditional place in history, but it will create a common place for other nations and faith to interact with Islam—to understand it.   This book has sought to advance a comprehensive study of the fundamental need to fully restore the authority of the Two Holy Mosques to better advance and fulfil a number of key functions: from education and knowledge, to peace promotion, the expansion of positive space, assistance with the diffusion of ideo-religious tensions, anti-radicalization, counter-terrorism, and the expansion of religious dialogue globally through—among others—the upgrading of the international 388

CONCLUSION representation of Islam within the leading international organizations and fora. During the Prophet Mohammad’s early days of persecution by tribal leaders for spreading the peaceful message of Islam, many were encouraged to leave The Hijaz and travel as far as Africa to seek refuge. The Prophet found his sanctuary within Makkah and finally within Medina, where he was urged to settle. The spirit in which he made his life within The Hijaz, and cultivated the socio-political climate of the region, is perhaps the quintessential spirit of The Hijaz, and certainly one that can be revived, with the international community recognizing its everlasting significance.   Ultimately, be it an international, constitutional, or Islamic legal (maqasid) norm, all signs regarding the difficult question of self-determination appear to be firmly set on a popular trajectory. The famed international jurist of Syrian origin, Ghassan al-Jundi, poetically observed that ‘the right of self-determination is open and continuous as an Arabian caravan heading diligently and with rigour towards Sana’a however long the journey may be.’19 * * *

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EPILOGUE

God, right after creation, said to the angels, ‘Indeed, I will make upon earth a khalifa.’1 They said, ‘Will You place upon it one who causes corruption therein and sheds blood, while we exalt You with praise and declare Your perfection?’ He said, ‘I know what you do not know.’2   In shame and out of fear, the angels assembled and began their repentance for questioning the Creator, around his Throne they held and pleaded until mercy was bestowed upon them; a Sanctuary in the Heavens was created beneath the Throne so they may continue their circumambulations. They then descended to earth, to build the parallel Sanctuary, the first of its kind for humans, in Baca (Makkah).   After Adam was created, and after he descended to earth, he too performed tawaf (circumambulation) in the Ancient Sanctuary. It is said that Hava (Eve) is buried in Jeddah (grandmother), the port city west of the barrier mountain range of The Hijaz of Arabia. The Ancient Sanctuary was flooded after Noah. And as Genesis tells us,3 Abraham left Hagar and Ishmael in the wilderness of Paron, in the valley of Baca4 next to the Sanctified House. Abraham returned to his adult son Ishmael to fulfil God’s command to erect the Sanctuary again, the Ka’ba, so that humans (the caliphs) can continue to glorify God through the anti-clockwise tawaf, pilgrims continue to flock in from every direction, and the prayers may perpetually be directed toward that one single location, at 21° 25′ 21′′ N, 39° 49′ 34.25′′ E, in the western part of the Arabian Peninsula. Ishmael’s descendants, the Quraysh tribe, maintained the sanctity of the House and provided an enterprise of trade relations across empires and the Prophet

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THE HIJAZ Mohammad of Quraysh’s Bani Hashem (Hashemite), Emir of Makkah or Prince of Hijaz,5 began the venture of Islam in The Hijaz and after his death it spread out from it.   But the angels would continue to repent, having questioned the existence of God’s Caliph, who continues to shed blood and corrupts his guardianship.   The Hijaz will remain as it always was, a House of God, as the angels continue their counter-clockwise movement, as though to hold time back, so will many souls head and pivot towards a single point. However we define society, government, and territory, this motion will continue. In this context, moving in circles is necessary. In the realm of war and peace, however, moving ahead is the only way—that is, until He reclaims guardianship over the earth and whatever is on it.

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pp. [xxi–9]

NOTES

PREFACE 1. Sharif is a traditional Arab title, usually reserved for descendants of Hasan ibn ‘Ali, the first grandson of the Prophet Mohammad. It is appropriately translated as ‘noble’ or ‘highborn’. In the Hijazi context, the title was given to the Sharif of Makkah (and Medina, collectively referred to as the haramayn: the Two Holy Cities). 2. There are documents on this in al-Azhar, along with Muhammad Husayn Nasif’s well-known Tarikh al-Hijaz [The history of The Hijaz], Jeddah: Dar al-Hikma, 1928, p. 145. 3. Disclaimer: This book is an academic effort, and does not represent or promote the political views of any state, government, or political, religious, or sectarian movement or party. 4. Covenant of the League of Nations, Article 11, available at http://avalon.law.yale.edu/20th_century/leagcov.asp#art11, last accessed 31 March 2017.  

INTRODUCTION 1. See the full text at Muhammed Hamid-Allah, Majmu‘at al-Watha’iq alSiyasya li’l-‘Ahd al-Nabawi wa al-Khilafa al-Rashida [Collection of political documents of the Prophetic and Rightly Guided Caliphate era], 4th edn, Beirut: Dar al-Nfa’is, 1983, pp. 59–62. 2. A poll of American opinion carried out by the Zogby organization in 2014 found that 27 per cent of those questioned had a favourable opinion of Muslims and 32 per cent had a favourable attitude towards Arabs. See http://www.reuters.com/article/2014/07/29/us-usa-muslimspoll-idUSKBN0FY1ZR20140729 3.  The Arab Human Development Report, produced by the United  

 

 



 

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pp. [10–16]

 Nations as long ago as 2002, clearly documented the socio-economic forces that would produce them. 4. Brendan Simms, Europe: The Struggle for Supremacy, 1453 to the Present Day, London: Allen Lane/Penguin, 2013; a Westphalia for the Middle East project, Forum on Geopolitics, Department of Politics and International Studies, University of Cambridge. 5. Tom Bingham, The Rule of Law, London: Penguin, 2011, pp. 131–59. 6. Ibid., p.  129. 7. Edward Said, Covering Islam: How the Media and the Experts Determine How we See the Rest of the World, London: Random House, 1997, pp. 45–6. 8. Ibid., pp.  46–7. 9. Ibid., p.  47. 10. Martti Koskenniemi, The Gentle Civilizer of Nations: The Rise and Fall of International Law 1870–1960, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. 11. See Shiraz Maher, Salafi Jihadism: The History of an Idea, London: Hurst, 2016. 12. See also Ekmeleddin Ihsanoglu, Islamophobia: From Confrontation to Cooperation, the Task Ahead, Jeddah: IRCICA/Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 2013. 13. ‘Liberty isn’t a fruit of every climate, so it isn’t within the reach of every people. The more you think about this principle that Montesquieu laid down, the more you feel its truth; and the more you fight it, the more evidence you find in its favour’: Jean-Jacques Rousseau, The Social Contract, available at http://www.earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/rousseau1762book3.pdf, last accessed 3 April 2017. 14. Mohamed S. al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya [On the political system of the Islamic state], 10th edn, Cairo: Dar alShuruq, 2012, p. 118. 15. Legally, the Caliphate is two constitutional democratic principles: (1) the nomination of an eligible candidate through the process of shura (consultation) among Muslims; and (2) the appointment of this candidate, executed through the bay‘a (pledge) by Muslims. The reason for the misapprehension is the aura that surrounds the first four Caliphates. These were the Rashidun, the Rightly Guided Caliphs: Abu Bakr, ‘Umar ibn al-Khattab, ‘Uthman ibn Affan, and ‘Ali. All of these men are celebrated in the tradition for their ability to govern well, for which the master virtue was a sense of justice, coupled with the administrative and military ability to maintain the Arab empire’s rate of expansion. The four were retrospectively called the al-khilafa al 

 

 

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pp. [17–27]

rashida, underlining their ethical ‘goodness’. Today, in keeping with fashionable reform policy jargon, the term ‘good governance’ is often used and is translated as al-hukm al-rashid. The term was well deserved: the early Caliphate system had a comprehensive, constitutional governance structure, an elected parliament, equal access to justice, and codified laws: majallat al-ahkam al-sultaniyya. Arguably this was a more highly developed system of institutions than many Muslims enjoy in the twenty-first century. See ibid., p. 24, and al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam alSiyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, p. 21. 16. Formerly, the Organization of the Islamic Conference. 17. Ekmeleddin Ihsanoglu, The Islamic World in the New Century: The Organisation of the Islamic Conference 1969–2009, London: Hurst, 2009. 18. See James Brucek, ‘The Controversy of Shaykh ‘Ali ‘Abd Al-Raziq’, Ph.D. thesis, Florida State University, Florida State University Libraries, 2010, available at http://diginole.lib.fsu.edu/islandora/ object/fsu:183227/datastream/PDF/view, last accessed 19 March 2017. 19. He argued that Abdel Raziq had confused two things: (1) the existence of the Caliphate; and (2) the selection of the caliphs. Abdalrazzak al-Sanhuri, Fiqh al-Khilafa wa-Tatawwuruha li Tusbih ‘Usbat Umam Sharqiyya [The jurisprudence of the Caliphate and its evolution into an Oriental league of nations], Beirut: Manshurat al-Halabi al-Huquqiyya, 2008. 20. Contribution at al-Azhar conference on Confronting Extremism and Terrorism held on 4 December 2014. See Ahmad al-Tayyib, al-Azhar fi Muwajahat al-Fikr al-Irhabi: Min A‘mal Mu’tamar al-Azhar al-‘Alami liMuwajahat al-Tatarruf wa-al-Irhab [Selected papers from the al-Azhar Conference on Confronting Terrorism and Extremism: Cairo (11–12) Safar, 1436, AH (3–4) December 2014], Cairo: Mashyakat al-Azhar alSharif wa Dar al-Quds al-‘Arabi, 2015. 21. For context and a dynamic discussion on succession in the KSA see Karen Elliot House, On Saudi Arabia: Its People, Past, Religion, Fault Lines—and Future, New York: Vintage Books, 2013, pp. 209–18. 22. Ibid., p.  219. 23. Abu Bakr Naji, Idarat al-Tawahus [Management of savagery], n.p.: Dar al-Tamrud, 2004 (a compilation of strategic letters since 9/11/2001). 24. Clive Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939, London: Frank Cass, 1983. 25. Askar H. al-Enazy, The Creation of Saudi Arabia: Ibn Saud and British Imperial Policy, 1914–1927, London: Routledge, 2010. 26. William Ochsenwald, Religion, Society and the State in Arabia: The Hijaz under Ottoman Control, 1840–1908, Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1984.  

 

 

 

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pp. [28–34]

27. William Ochsenwald, ‘The Annexation of The Hijaz’, in Mohammed Ayoob and Hasan Kosebalaban (eds.), Religion and Politics in Saudi Arabia: Wahhabism and the State, Boulder: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2009, pp. 75–90. 28. Polly A. Mohs, Military Intelligence and the Arab Revolt: The First Modern Intelligence War, Studies in Intelligence, London: Routledge, 2008. 29. See ibid., pp. 159–61, for example. 30. Bruce Westrate, The Arab Bureau: British Policy in the Middle East 1916– 1920, University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992. 31. Timothy J. Paris, Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule 1920–1925: The Sherifian Solution, Abingdon: Routledge, 2003. 32. Madawi Al-Rasheed, A History of Saudi Arabia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. 33. Joshua Teitelbaum, The Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia, New York: New York University Press, 2001. The book is based on his Ph.D. thesis, ‘The Hashemite Kingdom of The Hijaz, 1916–1925: A Failure of State Formation in Modern Arabia’, Tel Aviv University, 1996. 34. Joseph Kostiner, The Making of Saudi Arabia, 1916–1936: From Chieftaincy to Monarchical State, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. 35. Randall Baker, King Hussein and the Kingdom of Hejaz, Cambridge: Oleander Press, 1979. 36. David Howarth, The Desert King: A Life of Ibn Saud, London: Collins, 1964. 37. Gary Troeller, The Birth of Saudi Arabia: Britain and the Rise of the House of Sa’ud, London: Routledge, 2015. 38. Martin Kramer, Islam Assembled: The Advent of the Muslim Congress, New York: Columbia University Press, 1986. 39. Ernest Dawn, From Ottomanism to Arabism: Essays on the Origins of Arab Nationalism Urbana: University of Illinois Press, 1973; Ernest Dawn, ‘The Amir of Mecca al-Husayn Ibn Ali and the Origin of the Arab Revolt’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society, 104, 1 (1960), pp. 11–34; Ernest Dawn, ‘The Formation of Pan-Arab Ideology in the Interwar Years’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 20, 1 (1988), pp. 67–91.  

 

 

1. IDEALIZED STATEHOOD 1. David J. Bederman, International Law in Antiquity, Cambridge Studies in International and Comparative Law 16, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. 2. Ibid.  

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notes

pp. [34–37]

3. Christopher Morris, An Essay on the Modern State, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. 4. Max Weber, Theory of Social and Economic Organization, New York: Free Press, 1997, p. 54. 5.  Erika Cudworth et al., The Modern State: Theories and Ideologies, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2007, p. 1. 6. Clyde Barrow, Critical Theories of the State: Marxist, Neomarxist, Postmarxist, Madison: University of Wisconsin Press, 1993, p. 10. 7. Ibid. 8. The analysis of a cultural phenomenon from the perspective of the participant in the culture being studied. 9. The analysis of a cultural phenomenon from the perspective of one who is not a participant in the culture being studied. 10. Qur’an 106: Quraysh. 11. Ahmad Ahmad, The Living Quraysh, Santa Barbara: University of California Press, 2008. 12.  References to ‘the Prophet’ in this text refer to the Prophet Mohammad. 13. Ibrahim Beydoun, al-Hijaz wa’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya [The Hijaz and the Islamic state], Beirut: Dar al-Nahda al-Arabiyya, 1995, pp. 89–90. 14. Muhammed Salim al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, 2nd edn, Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 2006, p. 43. 15. Ibid., p.  46. 16. In the pre-Islamic period, some Arab tribes used to kill their own children, particularly females. Islam came to prohibit such killing; God having commanded: ‘Hence, do not kill your children for fear of poverty: it is we who shall provide sustenance for them as well as for you. Verily, killing them is a great sin’ (Qur’an 17:31). 17. See the full text at Ibn Hisham, Tahdhib Sirat Ibn Hisham, ed. ‘Abd alSalam Harwn and Mossat al-Ressalh, 4th edn, Beirut: Mu’assasa alRisala, 1983, p. 103. 18.  ‘Ubada ibn al-Samit was one of the first twelve Medinans who embraced Islam after meeting the Prophet in the valley of ‘Uqbah; he died in the year 34 AH (654 CE) in Palestine (at Jerusalem) when he was seventy-two. 19. Ibn Hisham, Tahdhib Sirat Ibn Hisham, p. 108. 20. There were internal disputes among tribes, which meant that a political vacuum and lack of unity, along with the prominent role of Jews in the city, swung the balance of power in favour of the Prophet and his followers rather than the Arab natives. See Beydoun, al-Hijaz wa’lDawla al-Islamiyya, p. 115. 21. Ibid.

397

pp. [38–43]

Notes

22. The religious law based on the Qur’an and the Sunna that came to describe and illustrate these Qur’anic verses, explaining what is not clear, and detailing what is outlined in the Qur’an. 23. The Ansar were the citizens of Medina who helped and supported the Prophet and the Muhajirun after the latter migrated to Medina. 24. The Muhajirun were the first people who embraced Islam in its early stage and subsequently migrated with the Prophet from Makkah to Medina. 25. A group of Jews who lived in Medina. 26. Radwan al-Sayyid, al-Umma wa’l-Jama‘a wa’l-Sulta: Dirasat fi al-Fikr alSiyasi al-‘Arabi al-Islami [Nation, group, and authority: studies in ArabIslamic political thought], 2nd edn, Beirut: Dar Iqra’, 1986, p. 53. 27. See the full text in Hamid-Allah, Majmu‘at al-Watha’iq al-Siyasa li’l ‘ahd al-Nabawi wa al-Khilafa al-Rashida, 4th edn, pp. 59–62. 28. See the full Arabic text in ibid., 6th edn, pp. 59–64. See the full English text of the Constitution in William M. Watt, Islamic Political Thought, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998 [1968], pp. 130–4. 29. Hamid-Allah, Majmu‘at al-Watha’iq al-Siyasa li’l ‘ahd al-Nabawi wa alKhilafa al-Rashida, 6th edn, p. 60. 30. Mohamad Salim al-Awwa is an Egyptian lawyer and Islamic thinker, considered a representative of the moderate Islamic political trend. He is the former secretary-general of the International Union for Muslim Scholars. 31. Al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, p. 55. 32. Ibid. 33. Article 36 states that ‘none of the state members goes out without the permission of Mohammad’. 34. Articles 15, 17, 19, 45 and 13, 16, 15, 36, 47. See al-Awwa, Fi alNizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, pp. 49–54. 35. M. Mustafawi, Nazariyyat al-Hukm wa al-Dawla: Dirasa Muqarana bayn al-Fiqh al-Islami wa al-Qanun al-Dusturi al-Wad‘i [Theories of governance and state: comparative studies between Islamic jurisprudence and international constitutional law], 2nd edn, Beirut: Markaz alHadara li Tanmiyyat al-Fikr al-Islami, 2002, pp. 64–5. 36. Beydoun, al-Hijaz wa’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, p. 129. 37. In fact, the Prophet’s return to Makkah was an entirely Quraysh diplomatic and political effort to unify The Hijaz, quickly accepted by the chiefs of Makkah. 38. Al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, 2nd edn, pp. 64–5. 39. Ibid., p.  66.  

 

398



notes

pp. [43–46]

40. The definition of ijma‘ is the agreement of the Muslim community, basically on religious issues, or whatever concerns it. This could be via jurists and scholars, and there are various opinions on when this could be recognized as a valid source of legislation. 41. The Ansar stressed their efforts in protecting and supporting the Prophet in the very early stage of Islam as well as their invitation to him to immigrate to Medina as confirmation of their right to the succession. 42. Quraysh, as discussed, were a noble tribe that controlled Makkah. The Prophet was born into the Banu Hashim clan of the Quraysh tribe. A person who belongs to the Quraysh tribe is called a ‘Qurayshi’, and qualifies for the condition that was set by the Prophet. 43. Abu al-Hasan al-Mawardi, al-Ahkam al-Sultaniyya wa’l-Wilayat al-Diniyya [The ordinances of government], Beirut: Dar al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyya, 1978, p. 6. 44. Abu Bakr was born in 573 in Mecca and passed away in 634 in Medina. He was a close companion of the Prophet and the first of the Rightly Guided Caliphs following the Prophet’s passing in 632. 45. Sunni scholars are in favour of a system of appointment, unlike the Shi’ite Ithna ‘Asharis, who believe that the Prophet did not name a direct successor, but that he mentioned twelve possible successors to follow him: see ‘Abd al-Rahman Ibn Khaldun, al-Muqaddima [The introduction], Beirut: Dar al-Kitab al-‘Arabi, n.d., pp. 196–7. 46. The use of this term here may seem anachronistic when applied to this period. ‘Popular’ seems to imply that ordinary people had a say in choosing the caliph, which is the case since the delegations representing the population were chosen to do so. Ahl al-hall wa al-‘aqd were not just tribal leaders. 47. Al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, 2nd edn, p. 69. 48. In Europe, the concept of ‘nations’ that emerged in the early modern period is usually treated as a departure from the idea of Christendom as a universal religious community. In the introduction I suggested that there is not really a good English translation of the word umma. However, the use of the word nation in Arabic during that historical period was carried over to be the same word we understand today as ‘nation’. 49. For more information about ‘apostasy wars’ at the time of Abu Bakr see, for instance, Tarikh al-Tabari, Tarikh Ibn al-Athir, Tarikh Ibn Kathir, and other Islamic history books. 50. Ibrahim ibn Musa ibn Muhammad al-Shatibi al-Gharnati, well known as Imam al-Shatibi (d. 1388), was an Andalusian Sunni Islamic legal scholar. He is widely recognized as the father of the objectives of

399

Notes

pp. [46–52]

Islamic law. He belonged to the Maliki school of thought. His most important work is the Muwafawat fi Usul al-Shari‘a, a treatise that contributed immensely to the conception of Islamic law, particularly the concept of maslaha (benefit or public interest). 51. Ahmad al-Raysuni, Imam al-Shatibi’s Theory of the Higher Objectives and Intents of Islamic Law, London: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2005, p. 255. 52. Ibid., p. 231. This view has been asserted by Imam al-Ghazali: AbuHamid al-Ghazali, al-Mustasfa min ‘Ilm al-Usul [On the legal theory of Muslim jurisprudence], Beirut: Dar al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyya, 1993, p. 287. 53. This is mubah, one of the five categories of behaviour (ahkam) in Islamic jurisprudence, denoting an action as neither forbidden nor recommended, and therefore religiously neutral. 54. The Messenger of God said, ‘Allah, the Exalted, has laid down certain duties which you should not neglect, and has put certain limits which you should not transgress, and has kept silent about other matters out of mercy for you and not out of forgetfulness, so do not seek to investigate them.’ See al-Daraqutni et al., Riyad as-Salihin [The book of miscellaneous ahadith of significant value], Book 19, Hadith 25, available online from: http://sunnah.com/riyadussaliheen/19/25, last accessed 25 March 2016. 55. This was before the Rightly Guided Caliphs were succeeded by royal authority and monarchies, whose scholars were prepared to legitimize the authority of those who were in power. 56. During the ninth century some Muslim jurists—and particularly Imam al-Shafi‘i—regarded the world as being divided into three categories: (1) the abode of Islam (dar al-islam); (2) the abode of war (dar alharb); (3) the abode of truce and treaty (dar al-‘ahd). 57. This was even more so after ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, the seventh Umayyad caliph, had institutionally differentiated between jizya and kharaj, which effectively became the main state income, whether it was paid by Muslims or non-Muslims. 58. Roy Mottahedeh, Loyalty and Leadership in an Early Islamic Society, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980. 59. In classical international law, uti possidetis meant that territory belonged to the victor after a conflict; but nowadays it tends to mean that precolonial borders are preserved after independence of the colony.  

2. INTERNATIONAL ORDER AND THE NATION-STATE 1. A series of European peace settlements signed in 1648 in Osnabruck and Münster ending the Thirty Years War (1618–48) in the Holy Roman

400

notes



pp. [52–53]

 Empire and the Eighty Years War between Spain and the Dutch Republic. Under the terms of the peace treaties a number of countries received territories or were confirmed in their sovereignty over territories. 2. Richard Falk, ‘Revisiting Westphalia, Discovering Post-Westphalia’, Journal of Ethics 6, 4 (2012), pp. 311–52, at p. 312. 3. It guaranteed a modicum of religious freedom (within the bounds of certain Christian denominations) and adjusted clearly defined, centrally controlled, and independent entities. See Howard Richards, Understanding the Global Economy, Thousand Oaks, CA: PEB Publishing, 2004, p. 45. 4. Jordan Branch, ‘Mapping the Sovereign State: Cartographic Technology, Political Authority and Systemic Change’, International Organization 65, 1 (2011), pp. 1–36. 5. Ibid. 6. Anderson stresses the impossibility of all members knowing one another. The main causes of nationalism (none of which are nineteenth century as such; all date from the sixteenth or seventeenth century) and the creation of an ‘imagined community’ according to Anderson are as follows: (1) the reduction of privileged access to script languages (namely Latin); (2) the movement to abolish ideas of divine rule and monarchy; and (3) the emergence of the printing press under the system of capitalism and pre-capitalism. See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism, London: Verso, 2006. 7. Gerlachlus Duijzings, Religion and the Politics of Identity in Kosovo, New York: Columbia University Press, 2000, p. 23. 8. Ibid. 9. Ibid. 10. Generally, statecraft can be defined as ‘the skilful management of state affairs; statesmanship’ (see the Oxford English Dictionary, 2010, p. 1741). According to Charles W. Freeman, ‘Statecraft seeks through strategy to magnify the mass, relevance, impact, and irresistibility of power. It guides the ways the state deploys and applies its power abroad. These ways embrace the arts of war, espionage, and diplomacy’: Charles W. Freeman, Arts of Power: Statecraft and Diplomacy, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace Press, 1997. See also Gabriel Marcella, ‘National Security and the Interagency Process’, in J. Boone Bartholomees, Jr. (ed.), US Army War College Guide to National Security Policy and Strategy, 1st edn, n.p.: United States Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute, 2004, pp. 39–60. 11. She argues: ‘It is one of the most essential requirements of the state  

 

 

401

pp. [54–59]

Notes

that a person has only one identity; one cannot keep track of people who are one thing at one point [and] another thing at another [point]’: Katherine Verdery, National Identity under Socialism: Identity and Cultural Politics in Ceausescu’s Romania, Berkeley and Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1994, p. 37. 12. ‘All believers are but brethren’ (Qur’an 49:10). 13. ‘Verily, [O you who believe in Me,] this community of yours is one single community, since I am the Sustainer of you all: worship, then, Me [alone]’ (Qur’an 21:92); see also ‘And, verily, this community of yours is one single community, since I am the Sustainer of you all: remain, then, conscious of Me’ (Qur’an 23:52). Furthermore, regarding the universality of the Islamic message God says, ‘And [thus, O Prophet,] We have sent thee as [an evidence of Our] grace towards all the worlds’ (Qur’an 21:107). 14. Abdel Raziq ibn Hmam al-Sann’ani, Musannaf Abdel Raziq [Abdel Raziq’s Musannaf], ed. Abdel Rahman al-‘Azamy, 1st edn, Beirut: alMajlis al-‘Ilmi, 1970, 11/ p. 101 (Hadith 20039). 15. God says, ‘If thou hadst expended all that is on earth, thou could not have brought their hearts together [by thyself]: but God did bring them together. Verily, He is almighty, wise’ (Qur’an 8:63). 16. God says, ‘And, verily, this [revelation] shall indeed become [a source of] eminence for thee and thy people: but in time you all will be called to account [for what you have done with it]’ (Qur’an 43:44). 17. Imam Khomeini, Islamic Government: Governance of the Jurist, London: Alhoda UK, 2002, also available at http://ijtihad.ir/images/ FileUploaded/5796.pdf, last accessed 18 April 2017. 18. Professor Zia-Ebrahimi delves deeper into the concept of ‘dislocative nationalism’ using the Iranian politico-historical experience as a case study. See Reza Zia-Ebrahimi, The Emergence of Iranian Nationalism: Race and the Politics of Dislocation, New York: Columbia University Press, 2016. 19. See George Antonius, The Arab Awakening: The Story of the Arab National Movement, London: Hamish Hamilton, 1938. 20. Sami Zubaida, Islam, the People and the State: Political Ideas and Movements in the Middle East, 2nd edn, London: I. B. Tauris, 2001, p. 130. 21. For a detailed discussion of Zubaida’s analysis of Iran, see below. 22. Zubaida, Islam, the People and the State, p. 131. 23. Ahmad Aftab Khan, ‘Islamic Thought: Revivalists and Reformers’, Defence Journal 16, 6 (2013), pp. 25–47, available at https://search. proquest.com/docview/1328923108?accountid=9851, last accessed 3 April 2017. 24. Ibn Khaldun, al-Muqaddima, pp. 190–1.  

 

 

402

 

notes



pp. [59–62]

25. Saber Taima, al-Usul al-‘Aqadiyya li-al-Imamiyya [The origins of the imami [Shi’ite] doctrine,] Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, n.d., p. 31. 26. Ervand Abrahamian, Khomeinism: Essays on the Islamic Republic, Berkeley: University of California Press, 1993, p. 15. 27. Sami Zubaida, ‘An Islamic State? The Case of Iran’, Middle East Report No. 153: Islam and the State (July–August 1988), pp. 3–7. 28. Olivier Roy, The Failure of Political Islam, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998, p. 78. 29. See, for context, Christoph Marcinkowski, Between Iran and Persia: Islam and Nationalism in Iran’s Resurgence as a Regional Power, RSIS / Commentaries / Middle East and North Africa / Religion in Contemporary Society, 28 September 2006, available at https://www. rsis.edu.sg/rsis-publication/rsis/861-between-iran-and-persia-islam/#. WOKNVW_yvb0, last accessed 2 April 2017. 30. R. J. Vincent, ‘Grotius, Human Rights and Intervention’, in Hedley Bull, Benedict Kingsbury, and Adam Roberts (eds.), Hugo Grotius and International Relations, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990, p. 241. 31. Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society: A Study of Order in World Politics, New York: Columbia University Press, 1977, ch. 2. 32. Hedley Bull, ‘The Importance of Grotius’, in Hedley Bull, Benedict Kingsbury, and Adam Roberts (eds.), Hugo Grotius and International Relations, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990, p. 78. 33. Ali Sadiq Abu Haif, al-Qanun al-Dawli al-‘Am, Alexandria: Dar Mansha‘t al-Ma‘arif, 1972, p. 525. 34. Abu Ja‘far Muhammad ibn Jarir al-Tabari (838–923), one of the most famous Muslim scholars, a renowned historian, and a prolific writer. 35.  Al-Bayhaqi (944–1066) mentions several treaties, specifically the Prophet’s treaty with the Christians of Najran: see Abu Bakr al-Bayhaqi, Dala’il al-Nubuwwa [The signs of prophethood], vol. 5, section on Najran’s Christians, p. 485. 36. Qur’an 8:61. 37. M. J. al-Tabari, Jami‘a al-Bayyan fi Tafsir al-Qur’an [Collection of statements on interpretation of verses of the Qur’an], vol. 5, 4th edn, Beirut: Dar al-Ma’arifa[0], 1980. 38. ‘Unless it be those [of them] with whom you [O believers] have made a covenant in the vicinity of the Inviolable House of Worship? [As for the latter,] so long as they remain true to you, be true to them’ (Qur’an 9:7). 39. Qur’an 9:7. 40. See the full text at Hamid-Allah, Majmu‘at al-Watha’iq al-Siyasa li’l ‘ahd al-Nabawi wa al-Khilafa al-Rashida, 4th edn, document no. 11, p. 77. 41. Ibid., document no. 30, p. 116.  

 

 

 

 

 

403

Notes

pp. [62–72]

42. Ibid., pp. 159–60 and 266–7. 43. The al-Hudaybiyya treaty was concluded at a critical time, during the first years of Islam; it was therefore an important event. It was a pivotal treaty between the Prophet Muhammad, representing the state of Medina, and the non-Muslim Quraysh tribe of Makkah in March 628. The treaty helped diffuse the tension between the two cities, affirmed a ten-year peace, and allowed the Prophet’s followers to return the following year in a peaceful pilgrimage. 44. Ibrahim S. Alharbi, Democracy in Islamic and International Law, Bloomington: Author House, 2011, p. 193. 45. Lately, international Arab organizations such as the Arab League have also been involved in such operations. 46. For more information consult, M. R. Dahlan, The Application of the Objectives of Islamic Law on Public Policy, Beirut: Samo Press, 2017. 47. Abd Razzaq al-Sanhuri, Fiqh al-Khilafa wa Tatawwuruha li-Tusbih ‘Usbat ‘Umam Sharqiyya [The jurisprudence of the Caliphate and its evolution into an eastern League of Nations], Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risala, 2008. 48. Dahlan, The Application of the Objectives of Islamic Law on Public Policy. 49. ‘Call thou [all mankind] unto thy sustainer’s path with wisdom and goodly exhortation, and argue with them in the most kindly manner’ (Qur’an 16:125). 50. Abdulrahaman A. Kurdi, The Islamic State: A Study Based on the Islamic Holy Consitution, London: Mansell, 1984. 51. Al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, p. 6. 52.  Traditions, mainly oral, of the Prophet Mohammad, used in jurisprudence. 53. The reference to the verse and further context can be found in the epilogue of this book. 54. Al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, p. 118. 55. Notable examples include Muhammad Imara and al-Sanhuri—to cite a few. 56. ‘The Abolition of the Caliphate’, The Economist, 1924, available at http://www.economist.com/node/11829711, last accessed 29 March 2017.  

 

 

 

 

3. ARAB SELF-DETERMINATION AND THE RISE OF THE MODERN STATE 1. S. Tufan Buzpinar, ‘The Hijaz, Abdulhamid II and Amir Hussein’s Secret Dealings with the British, 1877–80’, Middle Eastern Studies 33 (1955), pp. 99–123, at p. 99. 2. Selim Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains: Ideology and the Legitimation of  

404



notes

pp. [72–75]

  Power in the Ottoman Empire 1876–1909, London: I. B. Tauris, 2004, p. 54. 3. Buzpinar, ‘The Hijaz, Abdulhamid II and Amir Hussein’s Secret Dealings with the British, 1877–80’, pp. 101–2. 4. William Ochsenwald, ‘Ottoman Subsidies to The Hijaz’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 6, 3 (1975), pp. 300–7, at p. 301. 5. Ibid., pp.  302–3. 6. A vilayet was a top-level administrative division or province. It was introduced by the Law of the Vilayets in 1864, and was gradually implemented in all areas of the Ottoman Empire. 7. Teitelbaum, The Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia, p. 12. 8. The title of the leader of the Sharifate of Makkah, traditional guardian of the Holy Cities, Makkah and Medina, and descendant of the Prophet Mohammad’s grandson Hasan ibn ‘Ali. 9. The duties of the sharifs were not officially defined. They focused mainly on tribal and provincial matters, so no formal separation existed between the authorities of the sharif and the vali. Consequently, it was personal connections and charisma that determined who would actually exercise power. See, for context, Buzpinar, ‘The Hijaz, Abdulhamid II and Amir Hussein’s Secret Dealings with the British, 1877–80’, pp. 102–4. 10. Al-Rasheed, A History of Saudi Arabia, p. 33. 11. Deringil, The Well-Protected Domains, p. 64. 12. Edmund Wright (ed.), A Dictionary of World History, 2nd edn, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. 13. The Arab Revolt (1916–18) was an uprising led by Sharif Hussein of Makkah against the Ottoman Turks with the aim of securing independence of Arab territories and the creation of a unified Arab state. 14. Feroz Ahmad, ‘The Young Turk Revolution’, Journal of Contemporary History 3, 3 (1968), pp. 19–36, at p. 20. 15. Dawn, ‘The Amir of Mecca al-Husayn Ibn Ali and the Origin of the Arab Revolt’, p. 13. 16. Ibid. 17. Sinan Ma‘ruf Aghlaq, Najd wa’l-Hijaz fi’l-Watha’iq al-‘Uthmaniyya: alAhwal al-Siyasiyya wa’l-Ijtima’iyya fi Najd wa’l-Hijaz Khilal al-Ahd al‘Uthmaniyya [Najd and The Hijaz in Ottoman documents: the political and social conditions in Najd and The Hijaz during the Ottoman era], London and Beirut: Dar al-Saqi, 2002, pp. 116–18. 18. A principle that defined statehood in modern international law. 19. William Ochsenwald, ‘Ironic Origins: Arab Nationalism in The Hijaz 1882–1914’, in Rashid Khalidi (ed.), The Origins of Arab Nationalism, New York: Columbia University Press, 1991, p. 190.  

 

405

Notes

pp. [75–77]

20. Dawn, ‘The Amir of Mecca al-Husayn Ibn Ali and the Origin of the Arab Revolt’, p. 17. 21. Joshua Teitelbaum, ‘Sharif Husayn ibn Ali and the Hashemite Vision of the Post-Ottoman Order: From Chieftaincy to Suzerainty’, Middle Eastern Studies 34, 1 (1998), pp. 103–22, at p. 107. 22. Dawn, ‘The Amir of Mecca al-Husayn Ibn Ali and the Origin of the Arab Revolt’, pp. 15–18. 23. Baker, King Hussein and the Kingdom of Hejaz, p. 42. 24. Dawn, ‘The Amir of Mecca al-Husayn Ibn Ali and the Origin of the Arab Revolt’, p. 18. 25. Ibid., p. 11. See also Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939, pp. 16–18; al-Enazy, The Creation of Saudi Arabia, pp. 128–34. 26. Joshua Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate: Sharif Husayn Ibn ‘Ali, Mustafa Kemal and the Ottoman Caliphate’, Die Welt des Islams 40, 3 (2000), pp. 412–24. 27. Teitelbaum, ‘Sharif Husayn ibn Ali and the Hashemite Vision of the Post-Ottoman Order’, p. 107. 28. ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi (1855–1902), Muslim thinker born in Aleppo, author of Umm al-Qura [Mother of Villages (Makkah)] and Tabai al-Istibdad [The characteristics of tyranny]. 29. Eliezer Tauber, ‘Three Approaches, One Idea: Religion and State in the Thought of ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi, Najib ‘Azuri and Rashid Rida’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 21, 2 (1994), p. 193. 30. Mohammad Rashid Rida (1865–1935), Muslim thinker and author born near Tripoli (in Syria), also involved in political activities against regime of Sultan Abdulhamid II. 31. Mahmoud Haddad, ‘Arab Religious Nationalism in the Colonial Era: Rereading Rashid Rida’s Ideas on the Caliphate’, Journal of the American Oriental Society 117, 2 (1997), pp. 253–77, at p. 269, available at http://docenti.unimc.it/u1.chelatidirar/teaching/2014/12706/files/ reading-materials/Haddad_Rashid%20Rida%20on%20the%20 Caliphate.pdf 32. Ibid. See also FO 882/15, attached to a note from Storrs to Clayton, Cairo, 5 December 1915. 33. Muhammed Rashid Rida, al-Hijaz wa al-Wahabiyyun [The Hijaz and the Wahhabis], Cairo: Dar al-Manar, 1925. 34. Ibid., p.  41. 35. Field Marshal Horatio Herbert Kitchener (1850–1916) was a British military leader and statesman; he was appointed Commander-in-Chief in India in 1902, then became British Agent and Consul of Egypt, serving there and in the Sudan until 1914, when he was made Secretary of State for War.  

406

notes



pp. [77–80]

36. FO 371/2139/83620 (1914) ‘Turkey (War)’. 37. The McMahon–Hussein correspondence (July 1915–January 1916) was a series of letters exchanged between Henry McMahon, British High Commissioner in Egypt, and Hussein ibn ‘Ali, Sharif of Mecca, during the First World War, discussing the future status of Arab lands. The correspondence concluded an Arab alliance with the British against the Turks, in exchange for British guarantees for an independent Arab state and its security. 38. McMahon to Hussein, 30 August 1915, available at http://www.jewishvirtuallibrary.org/jsource/History/hussmac1.html, last accessed 1 April 2017. 39. Aouni Bey Abdul Hadi, ‘The Balfour Declaration’, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 164 (1932), pp. 12–21, at p. 14. 40. Steven Wagner, ‘British Intelligence and Arab Nationalism: The Origins of the Modern Middle East’, paper presented at the inaugural Gingko Conference, held at the School of Oriental and African Studies, London, 6–7 December 2014. 41. Mary C. Wilson, ‘The Hashemites, the Arab Revolt and Arab Nationalism’, in Rashid Khalidi (ed.), The Origins of Arab Nationalism, New York: Columbia University Press, 1991, p. 214. 42. Ibid. 43. Wagner, ‘British Intelligence and Arab Nationalism’. 44. FO 371/2486/157740 (1915) ‘Turkey (War)’. 45. Interesting context is provided by Polly Mohs on these dynamics; she highlights the duality of the calculations of the British and the complex politico-diplomatic calculations and assessments carried out by the imperial officers and policy makers. She highlights that, to achieve their aims, the British made a series of ‘rhetorically soaring but highly ambiguous “promises”’. See Mohs, Military Intelligence and the Arab Revolt, pp. 17–19; quotation from p. 18. 46. For further context and analysis see the discussion in Troeller, The Birth of Saudi Arabia, pp. 76–83. 47. Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate’. 48. Gary Troeller, ‘Imam Ibn Saud and Sharif Husain: A Comparison in Importance in the Early Years of the First World War’ The Historical Journal 14, 3 (1971), pp. 627–33, at p. 630. 49. David George Hogarth, quoted in Troeller, The Birth of Saudi Arabia, p. 83. 50. For background and context see the discussion in Westrate, The Arab Bureau, pp. 143–7. See also Bruce Maddy-Weitzman, A Century of Arab Politics: From the Arab Revolt to the Arab Spring, New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016, p. 17.  

 

 

 

407

pp. [80–84]

Notes

51. Amin Said, al-Thawra al-‘Arabiyya al-Kubra: Tarikh Mufassal Jami‘ li’l-Qadiyya al-‘Arabiyya fi Rub‘ Qurn [The Great Arab Revolt: a detailed history of the Arab case in a quarter century], vol. 3: Imarat Sharq alUrdun wa Qadiyyat Filistin wa Saqut al-Dawla al-Hashimiyya wa Thawrat al-Sham [The Emirate of Eastern Jordan, the Palestine issue, the fall of the Hashemite state, and the Sham revolution], Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 1997, p. 133. 52. CO 323/761, 14162 (1916) ‘The Grand Sherif of Mecca and the Independence of Hedjaz with a Facsimile of the Proclamation of independence’. 53. FO 686/14 (Dec 1915–June 1918) ‘Imam Ibn Saud’, Telegram Arbur to Wilson. 54. James Barr, A Line in the Sand, New York: Simon & Schuster, 2011, p. 31. 55. Robert McNamara, The Hashemites: The Dream of Arabia, London: Haus Publishing Ltd, 2009, p. 73. 56. See William Mathew, Rescuing Balfour: Winston Churchill at the Colonial Office 1921–1922 (April 2015), available at http://www.balfourproject.org/winston-churchill-1921–22/ 57. Isaiah Friedman, Palestine: A Twice Promised Land? The British, the Arabs and Zionism 1915–1920, New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction, 2000, p. 195. 58. Report of a Committee Set Up to Consider Certain Correspondence between Sir Henry McMahon and the Sharif of Mecca. Reproduced as Annex H in the March 1939 Report of the Colonial Office (Cmd. 5974). 59. Abdul Hadi, ‘The Balfour Declaration’, p. 14. 60. CO 323/763/24 (1917) ‘Proclamation by the Ulema of Mecca’. 61. Ibid. 62. French Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Question d’Orient’ (1914), cited in Dan Eldar, ‘French Policy towards Husayn, Sharif of Mecca’, Middle Eastern Studies 26, 3 (1990), pp. 329–49, at p. 331. 63. Eldar, ‘French Policy towards Husayn, Sharif of Mecca’, pp. 331–3. 64. Ibid., p.  335. 65. FO 141/607/4 (1916–29) French pilgrimage to the Hedjaz (including Algeria, Tunis, Morocco and Syria). 66. Ibid. 67. Ibid. 68. Eldar, ‘French Policy towards Husayn, Sharif of Mecca’, pp. 340–1. 69. Donald McKale, ‘Germany and the Arab Question in the First World War’, Middle Eastern Studies 29, 2 (1993), pp. 236–53, at p. 237. Further background and context on Germany’s ‘Turkish strategy’ and its efforts to inflame a pan-Islamic jihad against the allies is provided

408

notes



pp. [84–86]

by McNamara, who argues that the British manoeuvres to pre-empt this were pivotal and that their back dealings with Sharif Hussein and Ibn Saud thus ‘took on an unexpected importance’: see McNamara, The Hashemites, pp. 32–4. 70. Maurice Philip Remy, Max von Oppenheim: Faszination Orient (2009) [documentary]. 71. McKale, ‘Germany and the Arab Question’, pp. 244–5. 72. The Covenant of the League of Nations was negotiated during Paris Peace Conference. It was signed in June 1919 by forty-four states, including The Hijaz, and came into force in January 1920. 73. See, for context, Vladimir Lenin, ‘Theses on the Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-Determination’ (1916), in V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, December 1915–July 1916, vol. 22, Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1964. 74. M. K. Nawaz, The Meaning and Range of the Principle of SelfDetermination, World Rule of Law Booklet Series 30, Durham, NC: Rule of Law Research Center, 1965, p. 83. 75. Ibid. 76. Ibid. See also Ray Stannard Baker and William E. Dodd (eds.), The Public Papers of Woodrow Wilson: War and Peace, New York and London: Harper & Brothers, 1927, vol. 0, p. 180. 77. W. C. Bullit was a senior US diplomat and a member of the American Peace Commission in Paris in 1919. 78. Trygve Throntveit, ‘The Fable of the Fourteen Points: Woodrow Wilson and National Self-Determination’, Diplomatic History, 35, 3 (2011), pp. 445–81, at pp. 445–6. 79. Allen Lynch, ‘Woodrow Wilson and the Principle of National SelfDetermination: A Reconsideration’, Review of International Studies 28, 2 (2002), pp. 419–36, at p. 419. 80. Lenin, ‘Theses on the Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-Determination’, p. 396. 81. Robert Lansing, The Peace Negotiations: A Personal Narrative, Project Gutenberg, New York and Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003 [1921], p. 97. 82. Ibid. 83. Ibid., p. 96: ‘Self-Determination is as right in theory, as the more famous phrase “the consent of the governed”, which has for three centuries been repeatedly declared to be sound by political philosophers, and has been generally accepted as just by civilized peoples. A concept which has been, however, ignored for the same three centuries by statesmen, because the right could not be practically applied without imperilling national security. Always the paramount consideration  

 

 

 

 

 

 

409

pp. [86–91]

Notes

 in national and international affairs. Incidentally, Wilson would resurrect the phrase “consent of the governed”, which seems to foreshadow the ultimate faith of the concept of “self-determination”.’ 84. Ibid., p.  97. 85. Nele Matz-Lück, ‘Civilization and the Mandate System under the League of Nations as Origin of Trusteeship’, Max Planck Yearbook of International Law 9 (2005), pp. 47–95, at pp. 54–5. 86. Article 22, Covenant of the League of Nations [1919] UKTS 4 (Cmd. 153). 87. Lansing, The Peace Negotiations, p. 96. 88. Ibid. 89. Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939, p. 18. 90. Westrate, The Arab Bureau, p. 135. 91. The Ottoman Empire joined the ‘family of nations’ under the 1856 Treaty of Paris, which brought an end to the Crimean War. 92. In January 1918 Whitehall sent Cairo Arab Bureau Commander D. G. Hogarth to meet with Sharif Hussein. The underlying messages delivered, concerning ‘Arab aspirations’ and Palestine, became commonly known as the Hogarth Message. 93. Paris, Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule 1920–1925, p. 44. 94. Lansing, The Peace Negotiations, p. 97. 95. Ibid. 96. See, for instance, Paris, Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule 1920– 1925, p. 60: ‘Pichon [the French Foreign Minister] rejoined, correctly, that the French were not parties to the British promises given Husain and declined to be bound by them.’ 97. Said, al-Thawra al-‘Arabiyya al-Kubra, p. 157. 98. FO 608/92/7 (1919) ‘Hedjaz: Desiderata of Emir Feisal, including: various letters, correspondence and telegrams sent to and from Emir Feisal, and reports of his movements’. 99. Said, al-Thawra al-‘Arabiyya al-Kubra, p. 27. 100. Paris, Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule 1920–1925, p. 58. 101. FO 608/92/7 (1919) ‘Hedjaz: Desiderata of Emir Feisal, including: various letters, correspondence and telegrams sent to and from Emir Feisal, and reports of his movements’. The full text of the Address of President Wilson, as delivered at Mount Vernon on 4 July 1918 is available at https://archive.org/stream/addressofpreside00wilson w#page/4/mode/2up, last accessed 28 February 2017. 102. FO 608/92/7 (1919) ‘Hedjaz: Desiderata of Emir Feisal, including: various letters, correspondence and telegrams sent to and from Emir Feisal, and reports of his movements’. 103. Ibid.  

 

 

 

410

notes



pp. [91–94]

104. Ibid. 105. Suleiman Mousa, ‘A Matter of Principle: King Hussein of The Hijaz and the Arabs of Palestine’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 9, 2 (1978), pp. 183–94, at pp. 184–5. 106. FO 686/74 (1920–1922) ‘Post Bellum Negotiations Between HM’s Government and the Hejaz’. 107. IOR/L/PS/11/153 P3075 (1919) ‘Arabia: Hedjaz delegation in Paris on unity of Arab nation in Syria, Palestine and Mesopotamia’. 108. Ibid. 109. Ibid. 110. FO 686/136 (1923) ‘Ratification of the Treaty of Versailles by the Hejaz’ 111. Ibid. 112.  Aimee Genell, ‘Ottoman Autonomy and the Origins of British Imperial Control in the Middle East’, paper presented at the inaugural Gingko Conference at the School of Oriental and African Studies, London, 6–7 December 2014. 113. Antony Anghie, ‘Nationalism, Development and the Postcolonial State: The Legacies of the League Of Nations’, Texas International Law Journal 41, 3 (2006), pp. 447–64. 114. Ibid. 115. FO 686/74 (1920–1922) ‘Post Bellum Negotiations Between HM’s Government and the Hejaz’. 116. Mousa, ‘A Matter of Principle’, p. 189. 117. FO 686/27 (1921) ‘Jedda Reports’; also cited in ibid., p. 185. 118. Wahim Talib Muhammad, Tarikh al-Hijaz al-Siyasi 1916–1925 [The political history of The Hijaz 1916–25], Beirut: al-Dar al-‘Arabiyya li’l-Mawsu‘at, 2007. 119. Hijaz is listed as a state, but not as a member of the League of Nations as it never ratified the Treaty of Versailles. See Manley O. Hudson, ‘Membership in the League of Nations’, American Journal of International Law 18, 3 (1924), pp. 436–58, at p. 448. 120.  Michelle Burgis, ‘Faith in the State? Traditions of Territoriality, International Law and the Emergence of Modern Arab Statehood’, Journal of the History of International Law 11 (2009), pp. 37–79, at p. 69. 121. Ibid., p.  71. 122. San Remo Resolution, 25 April 1920, available at http://www.cfr. org/israel/san-remo-resolution/p15248, last accessed 13 April 13 2015. 123. David Raic, Statehood and the Law of Self-Determination, The Hague: Kluwer, 2002, p. 93.  

 

 

 

411

pp. [95–100]

Notes

124. Lassa Oppenheim, International Law: A Treatise, vol. 1: Peace, 8th edn, London, New York, and Toronto: Longmans, Green, 1955, p. 143. 125.  See the discussion above on the Mandates and their legal challenges. 126. These are typically known as the ‘Montevideo requirements’. While the Montevideo Convention was not concluded until 1933, it is regarded as a declaration of customary international law. Refer to Chapter 6 for a detailed discussion of the 1933 Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States. 127. Summer Scott Huyette, Political Adaptation in Saudi Arabia: A Study of the Council of Ministers, Boulder: Westview Press, 1985, p. 53. 128. A conference of the post-First World War Allied Supreme Council held in April 1920 determined the allocation of Class ‘A’ Mandates for administration of the former Ottoman-ruled territories with decisions embodied in the Treaty of Sèvres. 129. IOR/L/PS/11/179 P7739 (1920) ‘King Hussein: relations of HM Government and the King of the Hedjaz’. 130. Ibid. 131. Ibid. 132. Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate’, p. 422. 133. Said, al-Thawra al-‘Arabiyya al-Kubra, p. 176. 134. Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate’, pp. 412–15. 135. Ibid. 136. Mousa, ‘A Matter of Principle’, p. 194. 137. Emir Abdullah (1924), as quoted in Teitelbaum, ‘Sharif Husayn ibn Ali and the Hashemite Vision of the Post-Ottoman Order’, p. 117. 138. Kramer, Islam Assembled, p. 81. 4. HIJAZI SELF-DETERMINATION AND THE NEW INTERNATIONAL SYSTEM 1. The first Saudi Islamic state or Emirate of Dir‘iyya (1745–1818); the second Saudi Islamic state or Emirate of Najd (1843–65); and the third Saudi Islamic state (1902–21), also referred to as the Emirate of Riyadh. 2. Al-Rasheed, A History of Saudi Arabia, p. 18. 3. Mohammad ‘Ali Pasha (1769–1849) was a commander of the Ottoman army, a vali, and the self-declared Khedive of Egypt and Sudan, with temporary Ottoman endorsement. He is considered the founder of modern Egypt due to his military, economic, and cultural reforms in the country. 4. Al-Rasheed, A History of Saudi Arabia, p. 32. 5. Alexei Vasiliev, The History of Saudi Arabia, London: Saqi, 2000, p. 177.

412

notes



pp. [100–102]

6. Al-Rasheed, A History of Saudi Arabia, p. 39. 7. Kostiner, The Making of Saudi Arabia, 1916–1936. 8. In fact, their tense, antagonistic relations had become evident earlier, in 1917, ‘by the actions of the Wahhabis in … Khurma which he [Hussein] claimed’: Troeller, The Birth of Saudi Arabia, p. 111. Troeller adds that ‘the Sharif was highly suspicious of the British attitude to ibn Sa’ud and also greatly feared the Wahhabi revival—the Ikhwan movement—and its potential strength’ (ibid.). This observation shows that the Sharif had foreseen both the risks associated with the growing Wahhabi power and Ibn Saud’s calculations, as well as British imperial manoeuvrings. For further analysis see also Joseph Kostiner, ‘Prologue of Hashemite Downfall and Saudi Ascendancy: A New Look at the Khurma Dispute, 1917–1919’, in Asher Susser and Aryeh Shmuelevitz (eds.), The Hashemites in the Modern Arab World: Essays in Honour of the Late Professor Uriel Dan, London: Frank Cass, 1995, pp. 47–64. 9. FO 686/117 (1922) ‘Wahhabi Propaganda in the Hejaz’. 10. Said, al-Thawra al-‘Arabiyya al-Kubra, p. 144. 11. Kostiner, The Making of Saudi Arabia, 1916–1936, pp. 65–6. 12. FO 686/92 (July 1925–December 1925) ‘Hedjaz internal situation: Hedjaz Najd War’. 13. Peter Wilson and Douglas Graham, Saudi Arabia: The Coming Storm, Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1994, p. 41. 14. Troeller, The Birth of Saudi Arabia, p. 218. 15. al-Enazy, The Creation of Saudi Arabia, p. 135. 16. Muhammad, Tarikh al-Hijaz al-Siyasi 1916–1925, p. 376. 17. Research conducted by the author—through oral accounts obtained through systematic fieldwork, as well as extensive data mining and processing of unpublished archival material—suggests that the size of the toll far exceeds the lower estimates and very possibly reaches this upper estimate. 18. Mark Weston, Prophets and Princes: Saudi Arabia from Muhammad to the Present, Hoboken, NJ: Wiley, 2008, p. 134. Also note that other sources mention that the total toll of the Wahhabi brutality reached ‘400,000 people, including women and children’ killed, in the process of establishing the Saudi state. See Simon Ross Valentine, Force and Fanaticism: Wahhabism in Saudi Arabia and Beyond, New York: Oxford University Press, 2015, esp. ch. 4. For the exact reference of the figure, see subsection titled ‘The capture of the Taif: a further lesson in Ikhwan brutality’. 19. Baker, King Hussein and the Kingdom of Hijaz, p. 202. 20. Al-Qibla, December 1925. 21. Muhammad, Tarikh al-Hijaz al-Siyasi 1916–1925, p. 378.  

 

413

Notes

pp. [102–107]

22. Hans Kohn, ‘The Unification of Arabia’, Foreign Affairs 13, 1 (1934), pp. 91–103, at p. 95. 23. Howarth, The Desert King, p. 143. This is supported by Weston, Prophets and Princes, p. 134, where he elaborates that King Saud ‘wept with grief’ and sent orders forbidding other murders of unarmed civilians, promising to execute violators of this order. 24. Kohn, ‘The Unification of Arabia’, p. 95. 25. Ibid., p.  94. 26. FO 686/90 ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to Foreign Office, 11 September 1924. 27. Ibid. 28. IOR/L/PS/10/1127 Pt 9 ‘Arabia: Najd–Hedjaz hostilities 1924–25. Wahhabi Massacres at Taif 1924. Compensation for British subjects for loses sustained through Taif atrocities’, Acting British Consul in Jeddah to HBM Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, April 1926. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. FO 686/90 ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to Foreign Office, London, 16 September 1924. 32. Ibid. 33. al-Enazy, The Creation of Saudi Arabia, p. 135. 34. Teitelbaum, The Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia, p. 210. 35. ‘Memorandum on the Caliphate and the Situation in The Hijaz’, Telegraph No. 43 from Singapore, the Administrative Council of the Caliphate Congress in Cairo, 11-October-1924 (India Stamped), alAzhar Archives, Cairo. A. Saddaqa Dahlan al-Makki was among those in exile in Singapore. 36. Muhammad, Tarikh al-Hijaz al-Siyasi 1916–1925, p. 378. 37. Baker, King Hussein and the Kingdom of Hejaz, p. 205. 38. E. C. Hodgkin (ed.), Letters from Jeddah 1923–5 and 1936–9: Reader Bullard, Reading: Ithaca Press, 1993, p. 63. 39.  IOR/L/PS/10/1124; File 3665 (1924) ‘Arabia: situation 1924; Wahhabi attack on Hedjaz, capture of Taif and defeat of Hedjaz army, abdication of King Hussein’. 40. Baker, King Hussein and the Kingdom of Hejaz, p. 209. 41. Said, al-Thawra al-‘Arabiyya al-Kubra, p. 191. 42. FO 686/90 ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to Foreign Office, London, 4 October 1924. 43. Government of Hijaz, Telegram No. 35 to the Congress of the Islamic Caliphate, Port Sudan to Ezbekia 4–11–1924, Egyptian State Telegraph. Al-Azhar Archives, Cairo. 44. Teitelbaum, The Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia, p. 213. 45. Said, al-Thawra al-‘Arabiyya al-Kubra, p. 190.  

 

 

 

 

 

414

notes



pp. [107–110]

46. FO 686/90 ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to Foreign Office, London, 4 October 1924. 47. ‘Memorandum on the Caliphate and the Situation in The Hijaz’ Telegraph No. 43 from Singapore, the Administrative Council of the Caliphate Congress in Cairo, 11-October-1924 (India Stamped), alAzhar Archives, Cairo, p. 2. 48. There were a number of drafts of the treaty between 1921 and 1923, available in Muhamad, Tarikh al-Hijaz al-Siyasi 1916–1925, pp. 459– 83. 49. Teitelbaum, The Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia, p. 213. 50. FO 686/92 (July 1925–December 1925) ‘Hedjaz internal situation: Hedjaz Najd War’. 51. Ibid. 52. IOR/L/PS/10/1125 P 3665 (1924) ‘Arabia: Situation 1924. HM Government’s proclamation of complete neutrality regarding the future of the Holy Cities’. 53. IOR/L/PS/10/1126 P3252 (1925) ‘Arabia: situation 1925, Hijaz– Najd Hostilities’. 54. Baker, King Hussein and the Kingdom of Hejaz, p. 212. 55. IOR/R/15/1/565 (1924) ‘Relations between Najd and The Hijaz’ HBM Agent and Consul in Jeddah to Foreign Office. 56. FO 686/92 (July 1925–December 1925) ‘Hedjaz internal situation: Hedjaz Najd War’. 57. Ibid. 58. IOR/L/PS/10/1127, Pt 7 ‘Arabia: Najd–Hijaz Situation. Fall of Medina. Surrender of Jeddah. Abdication of King Ali. Desecration of shrines by the Wahabis.’ Paraphrase Telegram from the Officer Administering the Government of Palestine to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 24 August 1925. 59. IOR/L/PS/10/1127, Pt 7 ‘Arabia: Najd–Hijaz Situation. Fall of Medina. Surrender of Jeddah. Abdication of King Ali. Desecration of shrines by the Wahabis.’ The Under Secretary of State, Colonial Office to Under Secretary of State, India Office, 28 August 1925. 60. FO 686/92 (July–December 1925) ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation: Hedjaz and Najd War’. 61.  IOR/L/PS/11/266 P734 (1926) ‘Arabia: the Hedjaz; Najd hostilities’. 62. Ibid. 63. Literally ‘the good ancestors’, the first few generations of Muslims, including the Prophet, his companions and followers at the time. 64. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 54, 8 January 1926. 65. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 55, 15 January 1926.  

 

 

 

 

415

Notes

pp. [111–115]

66. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 45, 6 November 1925. 67.  IOR/L/PS/10/1127, Pt 9 ‘Arabia: Najd Hijaz Situation. Fall of Medina. Surrender of Jeddah. Abdication of King Ali. Desecration of shrines by the Wahhabis, 6 November 1925, Acting Consul in Jeddah Jordan to Austen Chamberlain. 68. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 30, 24 July 1925. 69. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 39, 25 September 1925. 70. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 45, 6 November 1925. 71. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 52, 27 December 1925. 72. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 54, 8 January 1926. 73. See for instance the discussion of the heightened tensions arising from the announcement and during the Congress in Kramer, Islam Assembled, ch. 10, pp. 106–22. 74. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 55, 15 January 1926. 75. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 71, 14 May 1926. 76. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 75, 11 June 1926. 77. Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 75, 9 July 1926. 78. IOR/L/PS/10/1165/1 (1926/7) ‘Arabia: Imam Ibn Saud; title; recognition as king of the Hedjaz’. 79. Mai Yamani, The Cradle of Islam: The Hijaz and the Quest for an Arabian Identity, London: I. B. Tauris, 2004, p. 7. 80. Huyette, Political Adaptation in Saudi Arabia, p. 21. 81. Yamani, The Cradle of Islam, p. 11. 82. See for example the discussion in Kostiner, The Making of Saudi-Arabia 1916–1936, pp. 101–5, especially p. 101, for greater context on these developments, and how Ibn Saud advanced and expanded his administrative control over The Hijaz. 83. Al-Hassan Hamzah, ‘The Role of Religion in Building National Identity: A Case Study of Saudi Arabia’, Ph.D. thesis, University of Westminster, 2006, p. 148. 84. Warren Dockter, Churchill and the Islamic World: Orientalism, Empire, and Diplomacy in the Middle East, London: I. B.Tauris, 2015. 85. Ibid. 86. Huyette, Political Adaptation in Saudi Arabia, p. 55. 87.  Umm al-Qura, Year 1, no. 90, 3 September 1926; see also Huyette, Political Adaptation in Saudi Arabia, p. 55. 88. Hamzah, ‘The Role of Religion in Building National Identity’, p. 149. 89. Huyette, Political Adaptation in Saudi Arabia, p. 5. 90. Shahid Jamal Ansari, Political Modernization in the Gulf, New Delhi: Northern Book Centre, 1998, p. 123. 91. Huyette, Political Adaptation in Saudi Arabia, p. 56. 92.  See, for example, Don Peretz, The Middle East Today, Westport:  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

416

notes



pp. [115–121]

 Greenwood Publishing Group, 1994; Ansari, Political Modernization in the Gulf. 93. CO 732/25/7 (1927) ‘Hejaz Nationality Law’. 94. Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939, ch. 7, pp. 167–84. 95. League of Nations, ‘Appendix: Covenant for the League of Nations Showing the Preliminary Reported Draft and the Covenant as Finally Adopted at the Plenary Session’, Proceedings of the Academy of Political Science in the City of New York 8, 3 (1919), pp. 127–54. 96. Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939, pp. 172–7. 97. The Darin Pact was signed in 1915 between the ruler of Najd, Abdulaziz Ibn Saud, and Great Britain, in which he agreed not to attack British Protectorates in the Persian Gulf. In exchange, the British recognized him as the ruler of Najd. 98. (1915) 221 CTS 250. 99. Khaldoun Hasan al-Naqeeb, Society and State in the Gulf and Arab Peninsula: A Different Perspective, London and New York: Routledge, 2012, p. 69. 100. Ibid. 101. Ibid. 102. Philip P. Graves, Abdullah I of Jordan, London: Jonathan Cape, 1950, p. 186. 103. FO 967/41 (1931) ‘Internal situation in Hijaz–Nejd’. 104. Ibid. 105. Ibid. 106. IOR/R/15/1/568 (1932) ‘Hijaz–Nejd: Miscellaneous’. 107. Ibrahim F. al-Shraah, ‘Hijaz Liberals Party and its Political Role between 1928 and 1935’, Political and Social Studies 37, 1 (2010), p. 24. 108. Vasiliev, The History of Saudi Arabia, p. 282. 109. FO 141/764/6 (1933) ‘Arabia. Anti Ibn Saud movements’. 110. Al-Shraah, ‘Hijaz Liberals Party’, p. 29. 111. Ibid., p.  27. 112. Vasiliev, The History of Saudi Arabia, p. 282. 113. IOR/R/15/1/568 (1932) ‘Hijaz–Nejd: Miscellaneous’. 114. FO 967/46 (1932) ‘Internal Situation in Hejaz–Nejd’. 115. Al-Shraah, ‘Hijaz Liberals Party’, p. 32. 116. FO 141/764/6 (1933) ‘Arabia. Anti Ibn Saud movements’. 117.  FO 967/55 (1933) ‘Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy’, Telegram from HM Minister, Jeddah to Foreign Office, 19 January 1933. 118. Al-Shraah, ‘Hijaz Liberals Party’, p. 26. 119.  FO 967/55 (1933) ‘Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy’,  

 

 

417

Notes

pp. [121–127]

Telegram from HM Minister, Jeddah to Foreign Office, 19 January 1933. 120. Ibid. 121. Al-Shraah, ‘Hijaz Liberals Party’, p. 26. 122. FO 967/55 (1933) ‘Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy’, Report about Abdul Rauf Al-Sabban. 123. Ibid. 124. FO 967/55 (1933) Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy, Letter from G. W. Rendell, Foreign Office in London to Lieutenant Colonel Sir Francis Humphrys in Baghdad, 23 February 1933. 125. Ibid. 126. Al-Shraah, ‘Hijaz Liberals Party’, p. 29. 127. Vasiliev, The History of Saudi Arabia, p. 283. 128. Al-Shraah, ‘Hijaz Liberals Party’, p. 29. 129.  FO 967/55 (1933) ‘Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy’, Telegram from HM Minister, Jeddah to Foreign Office, London, 2 February 1933. 130. FO 967/55 (1933) ‘Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy’, Letter from Sir Andrew Ryan to Fuad Hamza, 19 March 1933. 131. Ibid. 132. Ibid. 133. Ibid. 134. Ibid. 135. IOR/R/15/1/568 (1932) ‘Hijaz–Nejd: Miscellaneous’. 136. Ibid. 137. Ibid. 138. Ibid. 139. Leatherdale, Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939, p. 177. 140. HC Debate, 11 November 1920, vol. 134., pp. 1358–9. 141. Henry Cabot Lodge, The Senate and the League of Nations, New York: Scribners, 1924, pp. 390–1. 142. Ibid., p.  365. 143. Ibid. 144. Jeremy Rabkin, Law without Nations?: Why Constitutional Governments Require Sovereign States, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005, p. 118. 145. Kalevi Jaakko Holsti, Taming the Sovereigns: Institutional Change in International Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, pp. 128–9. 146. See for instance the discussion in Oppenheim, International Law, p. 544. 147. Crawford regards Taft’s judgment in Tinoco to be the locus classicus of the declaratory theory. See, specifically, James Crawford, ‘The  

 

 

 

 

 

 

418

notes



pp. [127–134]

Criteria for Statehood under International Law’, British Yearbook of International Law 48, 1 (1976), pp. 93–182, at p. 103. 148. The full text of the Montevideo Convention is available online at https://www.ilsa.org/jessup/jessup15/Montevideo%20Convention. pdf, last accessed 9 March 2017. 149. Aguilar-Amory and Royal Bank of Canada claims (Great Britain v. Costa Rica) [1923] RIAA 369–399, per Taft CJ. 150. Crawford, ‘The Criteria for Statehood under International Law’, p. 103. See also Promises and Betrayals: Britain and the Struggle for the Holy Land, dir. Arense Kvaale, 2002 [documentary]. 151. Kostiner, The Making of Saudi Arabia, 1916–1936, p. 64. 152. Aguilar-Amory and Royal Bank of Canada claims (Great Britain v. Costa Rica) [1923] RIAA 369, per Taft CJ. 153. Oppenheim, International Law, p. 184. 154. Raic, Statehood and the Law of Self-Determination, p. 109. 155. Ibid. 156. Quincy Wright, ‘The Stimson Note of January 7, 1932’, American Journal of International Law 26, 2 (1932), pp. 342–8, at p. 324. 157. Although one can debate the ineffectiveness of the response to the Japanese aggression ad infinitum. 158. Covenant of the League of Nations, Article 10, available at http:// avalon.law.yale.edu/20th_century/leagcov.asp#art10, last accessed 16 April 2015. 159. Ibid., Article 12. 160. Ibid., Article 11.  

 

5. ISLAMIC SELF-DETERMINATION AND THE INTERNATIONAL LEGAL SYSTEM 1. Qur’an 3:103. 2. Ali Karaosmanoglu, ‘Islam and its Implications for the International System’, in M. Heper and R. Israeli (eds.), Islam and Politics in the Modern Middle East, New York: St Martin’s Press, 1984, pp. 115–16. 3. Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate’, p. 414. 4. Ibid., p.  415. 5. Ibid., p.  423. 6. Ibid., pp.  412–24. 7. Ibid., p.  413. 8. A. al-Katib, al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih [Wahhabi political thought: an analytical reading], Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 2008, p. 113. 9. It is important to note that, ideologically, the Ikhwan did not consider the Ottomans to be ‘pure’ Muslims. It should also be noted that they  

 

 

419

Notes

pp. [135–139]

 had no connection with the more contemporary Muslim Brotherhood of Egypt. 10. For context and a more detailed account of the campaign see Abdulaziz al-Fahad, ‘The ‘Imama vs. the ‘Iqal: Hadari–Bedouin Conflict and the Formation of the Saudi State’, EUI Working Paper, RSC 2002/11, available at http://cadmus.eui.eu/bitstream/handle/1814/1769/02_ 11.pdf;sequence=1, last accessed 10 March 2017; republished in Madawi Al-Rasheed and Robert Vitalis (eds.), Counter-Narratives: History, Contemporary Society and Politics in Saudi Arabia and Yemen (2004) New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2004, pp. 35–75. 11. For further background on Churchill’s involvement in the Middle East, and particularly The Hijaz, see Christopher Catherwood, Churchill’s Folly: How Winston Churchill Created Modern Iraq, New York: Basic Books, 2005. See also Mark Curtis, Secret Affairs: Britain’s Collusion with Radical Islam, New York: Serpent’s Tail, 2012; David E. Omissi, Air Power and Colonial Control: The Royal Air Force, 1919–39, Studies in Imperialism, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1990; Paris, Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule. 12. Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate’, p. 415. 13. Ibid., p.  416. 14. Ibid., p.  417. 15. FO 371/9135/E 601, Forbes Adam to Curzon, 12 January 1923. Cited in Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate’, p. 419. 16. The meeting was attended by Hussein’s representative, Nadji al-Asil, Shakib Arslan, Nuri al-Sa’id, Dja’far al-’Askari, Isma’il Sidqi, Ahmad Lutfi Bey, and two Indian nationalists. The meeting was held at the Hotel Cecil, in the rooms of the Egyptian delegation, and it was observed by an agent of the British SIS. See Teitelbaum, ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate’, p. 420. 17. Ibid., pp.  420–1. 18. Ibid., p.  421. 19. In the February 1924 edition of al-Qibla Hussein declared that he would ‘do his utmost to re-establish the Caliphate’: see ibid., p. 422. 20. This coincided with Hussein sustaining disastrous attacks from the Ikhwan. Makkah would fall later that year. 21. Kramer, Islam Assembled. 22. Ibid., p.  31. 23. Ibid., pp.  80–5. 24. Ibid., p.  91. 25. Ibid., pp.  91–2. 26. Fathi A. S. Shalabi, ‘Khilafa Islamic Congress in Cairo 1926’, (1989) Ph.D. thesis, Faculty of Arabic History and Civilization, al-Azhar University, 1989, p. 14.  

 

 

 

 

 

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notes



pp. [139–143]

27. Ibid., p.  74. 28. Ibid. 29. Ibid. 30. Ibid. 31. Ibid. 32. Elie Kedourie, ‘Egypt and the Caliphate 1915–1946’, Journal of the Royal Society of Great Britain and Ireland 3 (1963), pp. 208–48. 33. Ibid. 34. A discussion on the Indian Khilafat Movement and its relevance to our study follows below. For further context and in-depth analysis of the Movement and its origins see A. C. Niemeijer, The Khilafat Movement in India 1919–1924, The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1972; also available at http://www.oapen.org/download?type=document&docid=613370, last accessed 1 March 2017. See also Gail Minault, The Khilafat Movement. Religious Symbolism and Political Mobilization in India, New York: Columbia University Press, 1982. 35. Letter from Shawkat Ali to the Secretary General of the Congress, January 15, 1925 (117 al-Azhar Library Archive, the Congress, 225). 36. Shalabi, ‘Khilafa Islamic Congress in Cairo 1926’, p. 208. 37. Ibid., p.  226. 38. Ibid., p.  220. 39. Muhammed Abu-al-Isa’aad, al-Sa‘udiyya wa’l-Ikhwan al-Muslimin [Saudi Arabia and the Muslim Brotherhood], Cairo: Markaz al-Dirasat wa’lMa’alumat al-Qanuniyya li Huquq al-Insan, 2014, available at: https:// www.tahmil-kutubpdf.com/onlineread/M942G9.html 40. Kramer, Islam Assembled, p. 86. 41. Israel Gershoni and James Jankowski, Egypt, Islam and the Arabs: The Search for Egyptian Nationhood, 1900–1930, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987, p. 65. 42. Ibid., p.  64. 43. Ibid. 44. Kedourie, ‘Egypt and the Caliphate 1915–1946’, p. 227. 45. Kramer, Islam Assembled, p. 93. 46. Ibid., p.  106. 47. Shaykh Muhammad al-Ahmadi al-Zawahiri (1878–1944) was the chief of the Egyptian delegation to the Makkah congress and later Grand Shaykh of al-Azhar (1929–35). He was a well-known Shafi’i scholar. See, for instance, Kramer, Islam Assembled, p. 107. 48. Al-Isa’aad, al-Sa‘udiyya wa’l-Ikhwan al-Muslimin. 49. Kramer, Islam Assembled, p. 125. 50. Ibid., p.  202. 51. For further context see Naeem Qureshi, Pan-Islam in British Indian  

 

 

421

pp. [143–146]

Notes

Politics: A Study of the Khilafat Movement, 1918–1924, Leiden: Brill, 1999. 52. Ibid., p.  86. 53. Leader of The Hijaz Liberation Party. 54. Leader of the British Zionist Federation. 55. Qureshi, Pan-Islam in British Indian Politics, pp. 52, 92. 56. FO 371/15283 Eastern: General. Code 65 Files 1205 (papers 5784– end)—3208 (to paper 5274), Warner minutes, 25 November 1931. 57. Kramer, Islam Assembled, p. 135. 58. Ibid., p.  151. 59. For a Western account on the work of Abdel Raziq, covering thoroughly the impact of his work, the controversies, and the reactions it generated, but also its lasting impact and value, see James Brucek, ‘The Controversy of Shaykh ‘Ali ‘Abd Al-Raziq’, Ph.D. thesis, Florida State University, 2012, available at http://diginole.lib.fsu.edu/islandora/object/fsu:183227/datastream/PDF/view, last accessed 19 March 2017. 60. Sultan Abdulhamid II (r. 31 August 1876–27 April 1909) was the thirty-fourth sultan of the Ottoman Empire. 61. J. Willis, ‘Debating the Caliphate: Islam and Nation in the Work of Rashid Rida and Abul Kalam Azad’, International History Review 32, 4 (2010), pp. 711–32, at p. 714. 62. Tufan S. Buzpinar, ‘Opposition to the Ottoman Caliphate in the Early Years of Abdülhamid II: 1877–1882’, Die Welt des Islams 36, 1 (1996), pp. 59–89, republished in Carool Kersten (ed.), The Caliphate and Islamic Statehood Formation: Formation: Fragmentation and Modern Interpretations, Berlin: Gerlach, 2015, pp. 6–27, see here at p. 9. 63. Ibid., pp.  17–19. 64. Ibid., pp.  12–14. 65. Tauber, ‘Three Approaches, One Idea’. Although the book did not mention the name of any sultan or ruler, it spoke about the phenomenon of tyranny and how it should be contested. 66. ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi, Umm al-Qura: Mu’tamar al-Nahda al-Islamiyya al-Awwal [The Mother of Villages: the first conference of the Islamic renaissance] ed. Muhammad Jamal Tahhan, Damascus: Dar Safahat li’lDirasat wa’l-Nashr, 2012. 67. With few notable exceptions, such as the theses by Radwan al-Sayyid, Mohamad Salim al-Awwa, Kamal Imam, Fathi Othman, and Rashid al-Ghannouchi. 68. Shaykh ‘Ali Abdel Raziq was recognized as one of the leading al-Azhar scholars, and was later appointed as a judge in Shari’a courts. He studied for a short time at Oxford.  

 

 

 

 

 

422

 

notes



pp. [146–149]

69. In this regard, Abdel Raziq firmly believed that Arabs gathered under the leadership of the Prophet to form a community of Muslims, in which the Prophet was a religious and not a political leader, and that the unity of the Arabs therefore was not political; rather, it was mainly unity in religion and faith despite political differences. In that way, he argues, the structures of Islam are religious not political, and—according to him—this explains why the Prophet did not interfere in the political affairs of Arab tribes, including in government, administrative, and judicial systems or economic ties. See A. Abdel Raziq, alIslam wa Usul al-Hukm [Islam and the foundations of governance], Cairo: Dar al-Hilal, 1925, pp. 125–9. 70. John L. Esposito, Islam and Politics, 4th edn, New York: Syracuse University Press, 1998, p. 73. 71. In Arabic fiqh al-khilafa wa-tatawururha li tusbih ‘usbat umam islamiyya. He believed that even the existence of the Caliphate of the first four caliphs was merely a political phenomenon. However, all other forms of governance that came after the first four caliphs were monarchies that were based on force and power. See Raziq, al-Islam wa Usul alHukm, p. 61. 72. Mohammad Immarah, al-Islam wa Usul al-Hukm li ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq: Dirasa wa Watha’iq [‘Ali Abdel Raziq’s book Islam and the system of governance: studies and documents], 2nd edn, Beirut: al-Mu’assasa al‘Arabiyya li al-Dirasat wa al-Nashr, 1988, p. 182. 73. Abd Razzaq al-Sanhuri, ‘Le Califat: Son Evolution vers une Société des Nations Orientale’, published as Fiqh al-Khilafa, op. cit. 74. Al-Sanhuri, Fiqh al-khilafa, pp. 89–90. 75. Ibid., p.  96. 76. Ibid., p.  89. 77. Ibid., p.  98. 78. Imarah, al-Islam wa Usul al-Hukm. 79. Al-Sanhuri, Fiqh al-Khilafa, p. 80. 80. Muhammad Imarah, ‘al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya’ [The Islamic Caliphate], in Ahmad al-Tayyib (ed.), al-Azhar fi Muwajahat al-Fikr al-Irhabi: Min A‘mal Mu’tamar al-Azhar al-‘Alami li-Muwajahat al-Tatarruf wa-al-Irhab [Selected papers from the al-Azhar conference for confronting terrorism and extremism: Cairo, 11–12 Safar 1436 AH—3–4 December 2014], Cairo: Mashyakat al-Azhar al-Sharif wa Dar al-Quds al-‘Arabi, 2015, pp. 25–37. 81. Muhammad Imarah, Ihya’ al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya: Haqiqa aw Khayal [Reviving the Islamic Caliphate: reality or fiction?]. Cairo: Maktabat al-Shuruq al-Dawliyya, 2005, p. 13. See also Imarah, ‘al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya’.  

 

 

 

423

Notes

pp. [149–155]

82. King Fouad was seeking the position of caliph at the time, and the book undermined his ambition. 83. Imarah, al-Islam wa Usul al-Hukm. 84. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Fahmi (Basha) was dismissed from office by Egypt’s king because of his opinions regarding Abdel Raziq’s book. 85. ‘Abd al-‘Aziz Fahmi (Basha), Hadhihi Hayati [This is my life], Cairo: Dar al-Hilal 1963, pp. 153–4. 86. Sayed Khatab, The Power of Sovereignty: The Political and Ideological Philosophy of Sayyid Qutb, London: Routledge, 2006, p. 9. 87. Imarah, al-Islam wa Usul al-Hukm, pp. 8–16. 88. The objectives of the Caliphate were: (1) the unity of the Muslim nation (as a religious obligation); (2) the integrity of the Islamic territories in dar al-islam; (3) the sovereignty of the Islamic Shari’a (alhakimiyya) in the nation and the state. 89. Al-Sanhuri, Fiqh al-Khilafa. 90. For added analysis and context, in English, see Enid Hill, ‘al-Sanhuri and Islamic Law: The Place and Significance of Islamic Law in the Life and Work of ‘Abd al-Razzaq Ahmad al-Sanhuri, Egyptian Jurist and Scholar, 1895–1971 [Part II]’, Arab Law Quarterly 3, 2 (1988), pp. 182–218. 91. Al-Sanhuri, Fiqh al-Khilafa wa-Tatawwuruha li Tusbih ‘Usbat Umam Sharqiyya, p. 339. 92. Abd al-Razzak al-Sanhuri, al-Din wa’l-Dawla fi al-Islam [Religion and state in Islam], n.p.: Majallat Hayyat Qada’iyya al-Dawla, 1989, pp. 107–8. 93. Nadia al-Sanhuri, ‘Abd al-Razzak al-Sanhuri min Khilal Awraq al-Shakhsiyya [Abdalrazzak al-Sanhuri from his private documents], Cairo: alZahra li’l-I‘lam al-‘Arabi, 1988, pp. 122–3. See also Mohammad Imarah, Islamiyyat al-Sanhuri Basha: Islamiyyat al-Dawla wa-al-Madaniyya wa-al-‘Umran [The Islamic writings of al-Sanhuri: the Islamic perspective of state and civilization], Cairo: Dar al-Salam, 2010. 94. Imara, Ihya’ al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya. 95. ‘Memorandum on the Caliphate and the Situation in The Hijaz’, Telegraph No. 43 from Singapore, the Administrative Council of the Caliphate Congress in Cairo, 11-October-1924 (India Stamped), alAzhar Archives, Cairo, p. 1. 6. INTERNATIONAL LAW AND ITS IMPACT ON THE HIJAZ 1.  For further context on the origins of the Iraq–Kuwait war see A. J. Bacevich and E. Inbar (eds.), The Gulf War of 1991 Reconsidered, London: Routledge, 2003 (esp. chs. 1 and 2). Also, for a detailed  

424

 

 

notes



pp. [156–158]

 account on the territorial disputes between Kuwait and Iraq in a historical framework, see H. Rahman, The Making of the Gulf War: Origins of Kuwait’s Long-Standing Territorial Dispute, Reading: Ithaca Press, 2002. For an interesting, critical analysis of the different perspectives, perceptions, and justifications for the war see George Lakoff, ‘The Metaphor System Used to Justify the War in the Gulf’, peer-reviewed paper presented at Berkeley, 30 January 1991, available at https:// escholarship.org/uc/item/9sm131vj#page-1, last accessed 14 March 2017. Moreover, to see how the dynamics of the time and Iraqi claims in the run-up to the Iraqi invasion were recorded in the Western media, see, for example, Thomas C. Hayes, ‘Confrontation in the Gulf: The Oilfield Lying below the Iraq–Kuwait Dispute’, New York Times, 3 September 1990, available at http://www.nytimes.com/1990/ 09/03/world/confrontation-in-the-gulf-the-oilfield-lying-below-theiraq-kuwait-dispute.html?pagewanted=all, last accessed 14 March 2017. Lastly, for the failure of the USA to deter Saddam, see Theodore H. Draper, ‘The True History of the Gulf War’, New York Review of Books, 30 January 1992, available at http://www.nybooks.com/articles/1992/01/30/the-true-history-of-the-gulf-war/, last accessed 14 March 2017. 2. Derek Gregory, The Colonial Present: Afghanistan, Palestine, Iraq, Malden, MA: Blackwell, 2004, p. 156. In this sense, Iraq’s actions were similar to the justification offered by Saudi Arabia towards Hijaz, that it was ‘re-unifying’ the seven provinces of Saudi Arabia. See M. Almana, Arabia Unified: A Portrait of Imam Ibn Saud, London: Hutchinson Benham, 1982. 3. Almana, Arabia Unified. 4. Hayes, ‘Confrontation in the Gulf’. 5. Holsti, Taming the Sovereigns, pp. 128–9. 6. Oppenheim, International Law, p. 544. 7. Sir Hersch Lauterpacht (1897–1960) was a leading international lawyer and senior judge (in the UN among others). His contribution to the modern international legal framework is widely considered as paramount. 8. Hersch Lauterpacht, Recognition in International Law, New York: AMS Press, 1978, p. 6. 9. Tim Hillier, Sourcebook on Public International Law, London: Cavendish, 1998, p. 202. 10. See article 1, Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States (1933), League of Nations Treaty Series, vol. 165, no. 3802 (1936). 11. T. Grant, ‘Defining Statehood: The Montevideo Convention and its Discontents’, Columbia Journal of Transnational Law 37 (1999), pp. 403– 57, at p. 416.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

425

Notes

pp. [158–160]

12. Ibid., p.  417. 13. Ibid. 14. Ibid., p.  418. 15. Ibid. 16. Ibid. 17. This was a problem that Latin American states had faced in the nineteenth century; by the time of the Montevideo Convention, however, they had been recognized. 18. Alain Pellet, ‘The Opinions of the Badinter Arbitration Committee: A Second Breath for the Self-Determination of Peoples’, European Journal of International Law 3 (1992), pp. 178–85, at p. 182. 19. See the discussion on statehood in Chapters 1 and 2 above. 20. Thomas D. Musgrave, Self-Determination and National Minorities, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997, p. 181; Sakeus Akweenda, ‘Territorial Integrity: A Brief Analysis of a Complex Concept’, African Journal of International & Comparative Law 1 (1989), p. 500; Jure Vidmar, ‘Territorial Integrity and the Law of Statehood’, George Washington International Law Review 44 (2012), p. 697. 21. ‘The Members of the League undertake to respect and preserve as against external aggression the territorial integrity of all Members of the League’ (Covenant of the League of Nations (1919), Article 10) published in League of Nations Treaty Series, vol. 108, p. 188. 22. Declaration on Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Co-operation among States in accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, General Assembly Res. 2625 (XXV), UN Doc. A/RES/25/2625. See, specifically, the following three principles: (a) ‘The principle that States shall refrain in their international relations from the threat or use of force against the territorial integrity or political independence of any State or in any other manner inconsistent with the purposes of the United Nations’; (b) ‘The principle concerning the duty not to intervene in matters within the domestic jurisdiction of any State, in accordance with the Charter’; and (c) ‘The principle of sovereign equality of States’. 23.  Conference on Security and Co-Operation in Europe Final Act, Helsinki, 1975. Full text available online at http://www.osce.org/ mc/39501, last accessed 14 March 2017. 24. The Charter of the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, available at http://www.oic-oci.org/page/?p_id=53&p_ref=27&lan=en, last accessed 14 March 2017. 25. See, regarding that problem, Joshua Castellino, ‘Territorial Integrity and the Right to Self-Determination: An Examination of the Conceptual Tools’, Brooklyn Journal of International Law 33, 2 (2007–  

 

 

426

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pp. [160–161]

8), pp. 503–68, at p. 503. See also Paul Szasz, ‘The Irresistible Force of Self-Determination Meets the Impregnable Fortress of Territorial Integrity: A Cautionary Fairy Tale about Clashes in Kosovo and Elsewhere’, Georgia Journal of International and Comparative Law (28) (1999–2000), pp. 1–8, at p. 1; Samuel K. N. Blay, ‘Self-Determination Versus Territorial Integrity in Decolonization’, New York University Journal of International Law and Policy 18 (1985–6), pp. 441–72, at p. 441; Christian Tomuschat, ‘Secession and Self-Determination’, in M. Kohen (ed.), Secession: International Law Perspectives, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. 26. Burkina Faso/Mali, ICJ Reports, 1986, pp. 554, 565. 27. Antonio Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples: A Legal Reappraisal, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995, p. 12. 28. See Ian Brownlie, ‘An Essay in the History of the Principle of SelfDetermination’, in C. H. Alexandrowicz (ed.), Grotian Society Papers: Studies in the History of the Law of Nations, The Hague: Martinus Nijhoff, 1970. 29. See, for example, Joseph V. Stalin, Marxism and the National and Colonial Question: A Collection of Articles and Speeches, London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1942, esp. a pamphlet written in 1913: Marxism and the National Question. 30. See Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples, p. 16. 31. See chapter III of the RSFSR Constitution: ‘Article 4. Expressing firm determination to wrest mankind from the clutches of finance capital and imperialism, which have in this most criminal of wars drenched the world in blood, the Third Congress of Soviets unreservedly endorses Soviet policy of denouncing the secret treaties, organizing most extensive fraternization with the workers and peasants of the combatant armies and achieving at all costs by revolutionary means a democratic peace for the working people, without annexations of indemnities, on the basis of free self-determination of nations. … Article 6. The Third Congress of Soviets supports the policy of the Council of People’s Commissars, which has proclaimed the complete independence of Finland, commenced the withdrawal of troops from Persia, and proclaimed freedom of self-determination for Armenia.’ Full text available at http://www.departments.bucknell.edu/russian/ const/1918toc.html, last accessed 22 December 2016. Also see, in general, William B. Simons (ed.), The Constitutions of the Communist World, Alphen aan den Rijn: Sijthoff & Noordhoff, 1980. 32. Lenin, ‘Theses on the Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-Determination’, pp. 143–56; see point 3: The Meaning of the Right of Self-Determination and its Relation to Federation.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

427

Notes

pp. [162–164]

33. See Lenin, ‘Theses on the Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-Determination’, point 5: ‘To single out one of the demands of political democracy, namely, the self-determination of nations, and to oppose it to all the rest, is fundamentally wrong in theory. In practice, the proletariat will be able to retain its independence only if it subordinates its struggle for all the democratic demands, not excluding the demand for a republic, to its revolutionary struggle for the overthrow of the bourgeoisie.’ 34. See Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples, p. 19. 35. See Theodore S. Woolsey, ‘Self-Determination’, American Journal of International Law 13 (1919), pp. 302–5, at p. 302; Michla Pomerance, ‘The United States and Self-Determination: Perspectives on the Wilsonian Conception’, American Journal of International Law 70 (1976), pp. 1–27, at p. 1. 36. See Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples, p. 19. 37. See President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points, especially points 9–13, database of the University of Yale, Avalon Project, The Documents in Law, History and Diplomacy, available at http://avalon.law.yale.edu/20th_century/wilson14.asp, last accessed 19 July 2015. 38. McNamara, The Hashemites, p. 98. 39. For further context and background see the dynamic analysis by Wolfgang Danspeckgruber (Founding Director of the Liechtenstein Institute on Self-Determination at Princeton University and Professor at Princeton’s Woodrow Wilson School of Public and International Affairs), ‘Self-Determination: Introduction/Definition, Historical Evolution, Theoretical Implications and Practical Applications’, available at https://pesd.princeton.edu/?q=node/266, last accessed 15 March 2017. 40. President Woodrow Wilson’s Fourteen Points, point 5: ‘A free, openminded, and absolutely impartial adjustment of all colonial claims, based upon a strict observance of the principle that in determining all such questions of sovereignty the interests of the populations concerned must have equal weight with the equitable claims of the government whose title is to be determined.’ 41. Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples, p. 22. 42. See, generally, Nawaz, ‘The Meaning and Range of the Principle of Self-Determination’. 43. For a list of League-based efforts in this regard see Sergey Sayapin, The Crime of Aggression under International Criminal Law: Historical Development, Comparative Analysis and Present State, The Hague: TMC Asser Press, 2014.  

 

 

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pp. [164–166]

44. Unfortunately, the absolute prohibition of the use of force was not included in the Covenant of the League of Nations; only the procedure that the members of the League should resort to the disputeresolution mechanism was established. See articles 10–16 of the Covenant. 45. The Charter of the United Nations, available at https://treaties. un.org/doc/publication/ctc/uncharter.pdf, last accessed 15 March 2017. 46. B. M. Dattani, ‘Populism and the International Law of SelfDetermination: Charting the Emergence of Populist Legal Movements from South Africa to Palestine’, Palestine Yearbook of International Law 18, 1 (2016), pp. 92–114. 47. Text of the Atlantic Charter, reprinted in International Conciliation 21 (1942–3), p. 384. 48. ‘To develop friendly relations among nations based on respect for the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples, and to take other appropriate measures to strengthen universal peace.’ 49. ‘With a view to the creation of conditions of stability and well-being which are necessary for peaceful and friendly relations among nations based on respect for the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples, the United Nations shall promote: a) higher standards of living, full employment, and conditions of economic and social progress and development; b) solutions of international economic, social, health, and related problems; and international cultural and educational cooperation; and c) universal respect for, and observance of, human rights and fundamental freedoms for all without distinction as to race, sex, language, or religion.’ The principle of self-determination is recognized not only within the UN Charter, but also in numerous other multilateral and bilateral agreements. See for example article 2 of the Arab Charter on Human Rights, 22 May 2004, reprinted in International Human Rights Report 12 (2005), 893, entered into force 15 March 2008. 50. ‘The United States and the Recognition of Israel: A Chronology’, Compiled by Raymond H. Geselbracht from Harry S. Truman and the Founding of Israel (Westport, CT, 1997) by Michael T. Benson, available at http://www.trumanlibrary.org/israel/palestin.htm, last accessed 19 July 2015. 51. Until it suspended its operations in 1994 following the independence of Palau (the last remaining UN trust territory), according to the UN, the ‘main goals of the [Trusteeship] System were to promote the advancement of the inhabitants of Trust Territories and their progressive development towards self-government or independence.’ See for  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Notes

added background the relevant UN page titled ‘Trusteeship Council’, available at http://www.un.org/en/sections/about-un/trusteeshipcouncil/index.html, last accessed 16 March 2017. 52. GA Res. 1514 (XV), at 67, UN Doc. A/4684 (14 December 1960) (‘All people have the right to self-determination; by virtue of that right they freely determine their political status and freely pursue their economic, social, and cultural development’). The legal ammendments introduced by this seminal resolution, in a way, also further highlight the paradigm shift and stark contrast to the framework existing in the 1920s, a framework that left The Hijaz simultaneously trapped and exposed, due to the malleability of the then nascent international law at the hands of the global and regional powers, who were trying to tailor and employ the framework to advance their imperial interests. 53. See, for instance, Thomas M. Franck, The Structure of Impartiality: Examining the Riddle of One Law in a Fragmented World, New York: Macmillan, 1968; Thomas M. Franck, Fairness in International Law and Institutions, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. 54.  Balakrishnan Rajagopal, ‘International Law and the Development Encounter: Violence and Resistance at the Margins’, Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the American Society of International Law 93 (1999), pp. 16–27, at p. 16. 55. This deals with the options that should be included in a ballot to be undertaken by those about to exercise their right to self-determination in the colonial and non-self-governing context. See Declaration on the Granting of Independence to Colonial Countries and People, GA Res. 1514 (XV), UN Doc. A/4684; Declaration on Principles of International Law Concerning Friendly Relations and Co-Operation among States in Accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, GA Res. 2625 (XXV), UN Doc. A/8028. 56. As it is generally accepted, the traditional context of the principle of self-determination has to be understood in such a manner that the principle ‘fits in with the concept of territorial integrity, as it cannot apply once a colony or trust territory attains sovereignty and independence’: Malcolm Shaw, International Law, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008, p. 523. 57. For a discussion of internal and external self-determination, see ibid., p. 191. 58. GA Res. 2625 (XXV). 59. See Marc Weller, Escaping the Self-Determination Trap, Leiden and Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 2008, p. 80. See also Ghassan al-Jundi, Iqtitaf al-Zahr wa Ijtina’ al-Thamr fi Haq al-Shu‘ub fi Taqrir al-Masir [Harvesting the right of self-determination of populations], Amman: al-Sharq, 2016, p. 97.  

 

 

 

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pp. [169–173]

60. See Article 25, which states: ‘Indigenous peoples have the right to maintain and strengthen their distinctive spiritual relationship with their traditionally owned or otherwise occupied and used lands, territories, waters and coastal seas and other resources and to uphold their responsibilities to future generations in this regard’: United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous People, GA Res. 61/295 of 2007, Un Doc. A/RES/61/295. 61. Weller, Escaping the Self-Determination Trap, p. 30. 62. Ibid. 63. Ibid., p.  31. 64. Ibid., p.  32. 65. Catriona Drew, ‘The East Timor Story: International Law on Trial’, European Journal of International Law 12, 4 (2001), pp. 651–84, at pp. 651, 673. 66. See for example the report of the ILC to the General Assembly, which states: ‘The principle of self-determination, proclaimed in the Charter of the United Nations as a universal principle, had been applied mainly in eradicating colonialism, but there were other cases in which it had been and could and should be used. By not tying it exclusively to colonial contexts, it would be applied much more widely. In that connection, all members of the Commission believed that the principle of self-determination was of universal application’: Yearbook of International Law Commission, 1988, vol. II, part II, p. 64, full text available at http://legal.un.org/ilc/publications/yearbooks/index.shtml, last accessed 19 June 2015. 67. Marc Weller, ‘The Self-Determination Trap’, Ethnopolitics 4, 1 (March 2005), pp. 3–28, at p. 27. 68. Ibid.: ‘It is necessary to escape from the current self-determination trap, either by engineering new forms of co-governance within states or by accepting that secession cannot, in the end, be ruled out if other options do not suffice.’ 69. James Crawford, The Creation of States in International Law, 2nd edn, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006, p. 46. 70. Edward Heath Robinson, ‘The Involuntary Extinction of States: An Examination of the Destruction of States through the Application of Military Force by Foreign Powers since the Second World War’, Journal of Military Geography 1 (2011), pp. 17–29, at p. 17. 71. Ibid., p.  19. 72. Ibid., pp.  19–20. 73. Accordance with International Law of the Unilateral Declaration of Independence in Respect of Kosovo, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Reports 2010: ‘The Court is not required by the question it has been asked  

431

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pp. [173–176]

to take a position on whether international law conferred a positive entitlement on Kosovo unilaterally to declare its independence or, a fortiori, on whether international law generally confers an entitlement on entities situated within a State unilaterally to break away from it. Indeed, it is entirely possible for a particular act—such as a unilateral declaration of independence—not to be in violation of international law without necessarily constituting the exercise of a right conferred by it’ (p. 403, para. 56). 74. Crawford, The Creation of States in International Law, p. 55. 75. Christian Tomuschat (ed.), Modern Law and Self-Determination, London: Martinus Nijhoff, 1993, p. 6. 76. Ibid., p.  7. 77. Ibid. 78. Brian Littlefair, ‘Letting it All Come Down’, Dissident Voice, 2012, available at http://dissidentvoice.org/2012/02/letting-it-come-down/, last accessed 10 December 2014. 79. Reference Re Secession of Quebec [1998] 2 SCR 217, para. 112, reprinted in International Law Reports, vol. 115, p. 536. 80. Ibid., para. 126. 81. Ibid., para. 132. 82. Ibid., para. 133. 83. GA Res. 1514 (XV) 1960, para. 2. 84. Drew, ‘The East Timor Story’, pp. 651, 674. 85. Principle VI of GA Res. 1514 (XV) 1960. 86. Namely: (1) maintain current position (status quo); (2) implement the recommendations of the Commission on Scottish Devolution (the ‘Calman recommendations’); (3) full devolution while remaining in the UK (‘devolution max’); and (4) independence. See the 2009 White Paper, full text available at http://www.gov.scot/Publications/2009/ 11/26155932/0, last accessed 18 March 2017. 87. Drew, ‘The East Timor Story’, pp. 651, 663. 88. Christine Chinkin, ‘The East Timor Case (Portugal v. Australia)’, International and Comparative Law Quarterly 45, 3 (1996), pp. 712–25, at pp. 712, 724–5. 89. Tom Sparks, ‘Scottish Independence Insta-Symposium: The International Legal Significance of the Scottish Independence Referendum—A Long View’, Opinio Juris, available at http://opiniojuris.org/2014/09/17/ scottish-independence-insta-symposium-international-legal-significancescottish-independence-referendum-long-view/, last accessed 3 April 2017. 90. See, for example, Václav Klaus, as cited in ‘Václav Klaus Addresses the UN for the Last Time as President’, Masha Volynsky, Radio Praha 2012, available at http://www.radio.cz/en/section/curraffrs/vaclav 

 

 

 

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pp. [177–179]

klaus-addresses-the-un-for-the-last-time-as-president, last accessed 31 March 2017. 91.  See Max Weber, ‘The Three Types of Legitimate Rule’, Berkeley Publications in Society and Institutions 4, 1 (1958). pp. 1–11, available at https://www.scribd.com/document/320086819/Max-WeberThe-Three-Types-of-Legitimate-Rule. 92. Marc Weller, ‘Why the Legal Rules on Self-Determination Do Not Resolve Self-Determination Disputes’, in M. Weller and B. Metzger (eds.), Settling Self-Determination Disputes: Complex Power-sharing in Theory and Practice, Leiden and Boston: Martinus Nijhoff (2008), pp. 20–2. 93. See Weller, Escaping the Self-Determination Trap; Kalana Senaratne, ‘Beyond the Internal/External Dichotomy of the Principle of SelfDetermination’, Hong Kong Law Journal 43 (2013), pp. 463–96, at p. 463; James Summers, ‘The Internal and External Aspects of SelfDetermination Reconsidered’, in D. French (ed.), Statehood and SelfDetermination: Reconciling Tradition and Modernity in International Law, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. 94. Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples, esp. pp. 101–40. 95. See for example the Resolutions of the UN General Assembly regarding Southern Rhodesia (GA Res. 31/154 A of 20 December 1976, SC Res. 460 of 21 December 1979) and South Africa (SC Res. 417 of 31 October 1977, GA Res. 41/101 of 4 December 1986). 96. See the report of the international conference of experts organized by the UNESCO Division of Human Rights, Democracy and Peace and the UNESCO Centre of Catalonia: Report of the International Conference of Experts Held in Barcelona from 21 to 27 November 1998, full text available at http://unpo.org/article/446, last accessed 19 July 2015. 97. See the discussion on the Quebec secession which describes the notion of remedial secession when dealing with the conditions put before the court. It envisions three circumstances that give rise to it: (a) where ‘a people’ is governed as part of a colonial empire; (b) where ‘a people’ is subject to alien subjugation, domination, or exploitation; and possibly (c) where ‘a people’ is denied any meaningful exercise of its right to self-determination within the state of which it forms a part. See ‘Supreme Court of Canada: Reference Re Secession of Quebec’, International Legal Materials 37, 6 (1998), pp. 1340–77, available at http://www.jstor.org/stable/20698849, last accessed 2 April 2017. 98. As examples of South Africa, Namibia, or Algeria liberation movements, see al-Jundi, Iqtitaf al-Zahr wa Ijtina’ al-Thamr fi Haq al-Shu‘ub fi Taqrir al-Masir, pp. 36–48. 99. From GA Res. 2625 (XXV).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [179–180]

100. Report Presented to the Council of the League of Nations by the Commission of Rapporteurs, League of Nations Doc. B.7.21/68/106, 16 April 1921, p. 28. 101. The full text of the 24 October 1970 Declaration on Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Cooperation among States in accordance with the Charter of the United Nations (A/RES/25/2625) is available at http://www.un-documents.net/ a25r2625.htm, last accessed 19 March 2017. 102. ‘All peoples have the right of self-determination. By virtue of that right they freely determine their political status, and freely pursue their economic, social and cultural development. … In accordance with the Declaration on Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Cooperation among States in accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, this shall not be construed as authorizing or encouraging any action which would dismember or impair, totally or in part, the territorial integrity or political unity of sovereign and independent States conducting themselves in compliance with the principle of equal rights and self-determination of peoples and thus possessed of a Government representing the whole people belonging to the territory without distinction of any kind’: Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action, Adopted by the World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna on 25 June 1993, full text available at http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/ Vienna.aspx, last accessed 19 July 2015. 103. Jure Vidmar, Democratic Statehood in International Law, Oxford and Portland: Hart Publishing, 2013, p. 144. 104. The African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights stated: ‘In the absence of concrete evidence of violations of human rights to the point that the territorial integrity of Zaire should be called to question and in the absence of evidence that the people of Katanga are denied the right to participation in Government as guaranteed by Article 13(1) of the African Charter, the Commission holds the view that Katanga is obliged to exercise a variant of self-determination that is compatible with the sovereignty and territorial integrity of Zaire’: Katangese Peoples’ Congress vs. Zaire, African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights, Comm. No. 75/92, 1995, para. 6. 105. Vidmar, Democratic Statehood in International Law, p. 149. 106. See UN Doc S/RES/661 (6 August 1990), preamble. 107. Shafeeq Ghabra, ‘Democratization in a Middle Eastern State: Kuwait’, Middle East Policy 3, 1 (1994), pp. 102–19, at p. 102. 108. Reference re Secession of Québec (1998) 2 SCR 217 (Canada), reprinted in 115 ILR 536.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [180–182]

109. Ibid., para. 126. 110. Ibid., para. 133. 111.  See for instance Allen E. Buchanan, Justice, Legitimacy, and SelfDetermination, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004, p. 335: ‘If the state persists in serious injustices toward a group, and the group’s forming its own independent political unit is a remedy of last resort for these injustices, then a group ought to be acknowledged by the international community to have a claim-right to repudiate the authority of the state and to attempt to establish its own independent political unit.’ 112. See for instance Vidmar, Democratic Statehood in International Law, p. 161: ‘The underlying idea of remedial secession, that is, ending the oppression directed against a certain people, can still influence the recognition policies of some states.’ 113. See Weller, Escaping the Self-Determination Trap, chapter 9, ‘Supervised Independence’. 114. See Marc Weller, Contested Statehood: Kosovo’s Struggle for Independence, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. 115.  Brownlie, ‘An Essay in the History of the Principle of SelfDetermination’, p. 90. 116. Vidmar, Democratic Statehood in International Law, p. 153. 117. See the report of the international conference of experts organized by the UNESCO Division of Human Rights in Barcelona from 21 to 27 November 1998, ‘The Implementation of the Right To SelfDetermination as a Contribution to Conflict Prevention’, full text available at http://www.unpo.org/article/446, last accessed 1 November 2017. 118. Cassese, Self-Determination of Peoples, p. 101. 119. Thomas Franck, ‘The Emerging Right to Democratic Governance’, American Journal of International Law 86, 1 (1992), pp. 46–91, at p. 46. See also p. 90: ‘The entitlement to democracy in international law has gone through both a normative and a customary evolution. It has evolved both as a system of rules and in the practice of states and organisations. This evolution has occurred in three phases. First came the normative entitlement to self-determination. Then came the normative entitlement to free expression as a human right. Now we see the emergence of a normative entitlement to a participatory electoral process. The democratic entitlement, despite its newness, already enjoys a high degree of legitimacy, derived both from various texts and from the practice of global and regional organisations, supplemented by that of a significant number of nongovernmental organisations. These texts and practices have attained a surprising  

 

 

435

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pp. [182–186]

degree of specificity, given the newness of the entitlement and especially of its requirement for free and open elections.’ 120. See D. Feldman, ‘Constitutionalism, Deliberative Democracy and Human Rights’, in J. Morison, K. McEvoy, and G. Anthony (eds.), Judges, Transition, and Human Rights, Oxford Scholarship Online, 2012; DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199204939.003.0020 p. 458. Cited with the permission of the author. 121. H.-J. Heintze, ‘Territorial Autonomy and International Stability: Pros and Cons from the Viewpoint of International Law’, in Z. A. Skurbaty (ed.), Beyond a One-Dimensional State, Boston and Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff, 2005, p. 53. 122. See N. Hashemi and D. Postel, Sectarianization: Mapping the New Politics of the Middle East, London: Hurst, 2017; J. R. Williams, ‘Your Questions about the Hajj Stampede, Answered’, Brookings Blogs, Markaz, available at http://www.brookings.edu/blogs/markaz/ posts/2015/09/29-hajj-stampede-explainer-williams, last accessed 19 February 2016 (the article contains detailed references to a series of incidents drawing from Al-Jazeera and the New York Times, among others). 123. See S. Wolff, ‘Complex Autonomy Arrangements in Western Europe: A Comparative Analysis of Regional Consociationalism in Brussels, Northern Ireland and South Tyrol’, in M. Weller and S. Wolff (eds.), Autonomy, Self-Governance and Conflict Resolution: Innovative Approaches to Institutional Design in Divided Societies, London and New York: Routledge, 2005. 124. T. Benedikter, ‘The Working Autonomies in Europe: An Overview and Schematic Comparison’, available at http://www.hunsor.se/dosszie/working_autonomies.pdf, last accessed 19 July 2015. 125. Such as in the case of the autonomy of Hong Kong, for example. 126. See, generally, Ronald L. Watts, ‘Asymmetrical Decentralization: Functional or Dysfunctional?’, Indian Journal of Federal Studies 5, 1 (2004), pp. 1–42; M. Weller and K. Nobbs (eds.), Asymmetric Autonomy and the Settlement of Ethnic Conflicts, Philadelphia: Penn Press, 2010. 127. See H. Hannum, ‘Territorial Autonomy: Permanent Solution or Step toward Secession’, in Z. A. Skurbaty (ed.), Beyond a One-Dimensional State, Leiden and Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 2005. 128. Article 2 of the Constitution of the Kingdom of Spain. Passed by the Cortes Generales in Plenary Meetings of the Congress of Deputies and the Senate held on 31 October 1978. The full text available is in English at the database of the OSCE Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights, accessible in PDF format at http://  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [186–187]

www.legislationline.org/documents/id/20089, last accessed 19 March 2017. 129. The initial period of autonomy was described in the following terms: ‘During the initial years of the AC’s model, Catalan institutions were governed by moderate nationalist parties with a desire to further develop their self-government, but not to break away from Spain. In 2003, and taking advantage of a favourable Socialist Government at the central level (as of 2004), the Catalan parties initiated a process of reform of their Statue of Autonomy, with a double aim: first, to further expand their competences to the maximum allowed by the Constitution, and at the same time to resolve some of the problems with the system; and second, to provide for a better recognition of their specific Catalan national identity within the statutory framework’: Elisenda Casanas Adam, ‘The Independence Referendum and Debates on Catalonia’s Constitutional Future’, Tijdschrift voor Constitutioneel Recht 1 (2014), pp. 162–71, at p. 163. 130. Spanish Constitutional Court, Judgment 31/2010, 28 June 2010. Recurso de inconstitucionalidad 8045–2006. Available at http://boe. es/diario_boe/txt.php?id=BOE-A-2010–11409, last accessed 19 July 2015. 131. See Casanas Adam, ‘The Independence Referendum’, p. 164: ‘The Constitutional Court’s decision largely left the AC’s, and Catalonia in particular, at a crossroads: as a result of the Court devaluating the role of the Statutes of Autonomy in completing the very open constitutional framework, not only had Catalonia’s main avenue for improving their self-government been blocked, but the key elements of its autonomy had been left at the discretion of the central legislature. The decision also damaged the faith of the institutions and citizens of Catalonia in the Constitutional Court as a mediator between both levels of government.’ 132. Declaration on Sovereignty and the Right to Decide of the People of Catalonia (Declaració de sobirania i el dret a decidir del poble de Catalunya), issued on 23 January 2013, Parliament of Catalonia, available at http://www.parlament.cat/actualitat/R5_X_sobirania.pdf, last accessed 19 July 2015. 133. Spanish Constitutional Court, Judgment 42/2014, 25 March 2014, full text available at http://www.boe.es/boe/dias/2014/04/10/ pdfs/BOE-A-2014–3885.pdf, last accessed 19 July 2015. 134. On 19 September 2014, the Catalan parliament approved a call for a referendum on independence. 135.  Spanish Constitutional Court, 29 September 2014, available at http://www.boe.es/boe/dias/2014/09/30/pdfs/BOE-A-2014–9864. pdf, last accessed 19 July 2015.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

437

Notes

pp. [187–191]

136. For a detailed analysis in English see ‘Why the Referendum on Catalan Independence is Illegal’, The Economist, 26 September 2017, available at https://www.economist.com/blogs/economist-explains/ 2017/09/economist-explains-17. For the official decision as published in the Spanish State Bulletin, see https://www.boe.es/boe/ dias/2017/09/08/pdfs/BOE-A-2017–10287.pdf, last accessed 11 November 2017. 137. See Sam Jones, Stephen Burgen, and Emma Graham-Harrison, ‘Spain Dissolves Catalan Parliament and Calls Fresh Elections’, The Guardian, 28 October 2017, available at https://www.theguardian.com/ world/2017/oct/27/spanish-pm-mariano-rajoy-asks-senatepowers-dismiss-catalonia-president 138. See Marta García Barcia, ‘Catalonia: The New European State?’, ILSA Journal of International and Comparative Law 20, 3 (2013–14), pp. 399– 420, at p. 399. 139. All quotations in this sentence are drawn fromc Weller, Escaping the Self-Determination Trap, pp. 84–8. 140. Weller, Escaping the Self-Determination Trap, p. 145: ‘Often, opting for autonomy is tied to an abandonment of claims to self-determination. Or, rather, one might say that these settlements can be taken as exercising the self-determination claim at the internal level. Once it has exercised this option, self-determination may no longer be regarded as a viable argument for the entity concerned, unless the arrangement is changed unilaterally by the central government.’ 141. In this regard, see Chapters 5, 6, and 7. 142. See the discussion on pp. 172–9 above, esp. pp. 172–3. 143. See pp. 14–15 above. 144. See, in general, Cedric Ryngaert, ‘The Legal Status of the Holy See’, Goettingen Journal of International Law 3, 3 (2011), pp. 829–59; G. Arangio-Ruiz, ‘On the Nature of the International Personality of the Holy See’, Revue Belge de Droit International 29 (1996), pp. 355–69. 145. See Interpretation of the Statute of the Memel Territory, PCIJ, Judgment of 11 August 1932 (AB/49). 146. Yoram Dinstein, ‘Autonomy (International Guarantees of Autonomy)’, in Z. A. Skurbaty (ed.), Beyond a One-Dimensional State, Boston and Leiden: Martinus Nijhoff, 2005, p. 247. 147. Ibid., p.  248. 148. Carsten Stahn, The Law and Practice of International Territorial Administration, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008, p. 7. 149. Ibid., p.  26. 150. See Ralph Wilde, International Territory Administration, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010, pp. 191–232.  

 

 

 

 

 

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notes

pp. [191–196]

151. Lauri Hannikanen, ‘Self-Determination and Autonomy in International Law’, in Markku Suksi (ed.), Autonomy: Applications and Implications, The Hague: Kluwer, 1998, p. 88. 152. Examples include the Holy See, the Sovereign Military Order of Malta, and the International Committee of the Red Cross. 153. See Chapter 5. 154. Point 7: To call a general Islamic congress in Makkah to execute the desires of Islamic nations and to decide upon means that guarantee the comfort of the pilgrims, and the protection of their interest in The Hijaz so long as they are not incompatible with the sovereignty of the country: FO 967/55 Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy (1933); see discussion in Chapter 8. 155. See discussion regarding erga omnes norms in Case concerning East Timor (Portugal v. Australia) ICJ Rep. 1995. 156. See, for instance, the NATO bombing of Serbia, which was justified, inter alia, in defence of the right of return of Bosnian Muslims, whereas this right is merely the focus of peace negotiations between Israelis and Palestinians. 157. Weller, Escaping the Self-Determination Trap, p. 157. 158. Vidmar, Democratic Statehood in International Law, p. 153. 159. Ibid., p.  201. 160. For the actual constitutional provisions and the legal framework for the ‘Holy Mountain’ see Section VI, Chapter III, Article 105, ‘Regime of Aghion Oros’ (Mount Athos) of the Hellenic Constitution. The constitution of the Hellenic Republic is available online at http:// www.hri.org/docs/syntagma/. These provisions have been respected in the multilateral treaties concerning the relevant national laws. Indicatively, in the League of Nations (League of Nations Treaty Series, vol. 9, no. 173, Article 14), with important provisions regarding minority rights (see, indicatively, League of Nations communication no. C.354.1934.I., available as a PDF from the UN archive: http://biblio-archive.unog.ch/Dateien/CouncilDocs/C-354–1934-I_ EN.pdf). Lastly, specific provisions for Mount Athos have been also included in the relevant EU acquis. See for example the Schenghen acquis, Joint Declaration no. 5, CELEX: 42000A0922(06), Official Journal L 239, 22/09/2000, P. 0083–0089, available at http://eurlex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/HTML/?uri=CELEX:42000 A0922(06)&from=EN 161. For context and a discussion of the significance of the Athos case visà-vis Jerusalem see Silvio Ferrari, ‘The Religious Significance of Jerusalem in the Middle East Peace Process: Some Legal Implications’, Catholic University Law Review 45, 3 (1996), pp. 733–43. For a schol 

 

439

Notes

pp. [196–199]

arly, comprehensive Greek analysis and additional legal context see Charalambos K. Papastathis, ‘Religious Self-Administration in the Hellenic Republic’, in Gerhard Robbers (ed.), Church Autonomy: A Comparative Survey, Frankfurt am Main: Peter Lang, 2001, available at https://www.religlaw.org/content/blurb/files/Chapter%2020.%20 Papastathis.pdf 162. For detailed analyses and background see Joseph Y. S. Cheng (ed.), The Hong Kong Special Administrative Region in its First Decade, Hong Kong: City University of Hong Kong Press, 2007. 163. For practical reasons, we borrow here a definition which summarizes the different terms and their meaning, and what we more broadly refer to as ‘Vatican’ in this section: ‘Holy See, Vatican City, Catholic Church, Pope’. ‘In everyday usage, the term Vatican usually refers to the territorially defined Vatican City State or the Roman Curia as its administrative apparatus (in the narrow sense also the buildings around Saint Peter’s Square in Rome). But in foreign policy reporting, the term is also frequently used for the Holy See, which is the actual subject in international law. “Vatican” is therefore a collective term.’ See Christian E. Rieck and Dorothee Niebuhr, ‘Microstate and Superpower: The Vatican in International Politics’, Konrad Adenauer Stiftung International Reports 10 (2015), available at http://www.kas. de/wf/en/33.43202/, last accessed 3 June 2017. 164. Jodok Troy, ‘The Catholic Church and International Relation’, Oxford Handbooks Online, 2016, available at http://www.oxfordhandbooks. com/view/10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199935307.001.0001/oxfordhb9780199935307-e-2, last accessed 3 June 2017. 165. Nor is this the appropriate context in which to attempt such an indepth study; it is something, however, that subsequent research can address with a view to draw lessons and parallels which can advance this first discussion further, for the benefit of research and an international system in need of more ‘unifying voices’. 166. There are several resources to consult on the topic. See Dana C. Munro, ‘The Popes and the Crusades’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 55, 5 (1916), pp. 348–356 (mainly on the Crusades–Holy Wars); David Alvarez, The Pope’s Soldiers: A Military History of the Modern Vatican, Lawrence: Kansas University Press, 2011; Richard Abels, ‘Timeline for the Crusades and Christian Holy War to c.1350’, US Naval Academy, 2009, available at https://www.usna. edu/Users/history/abels/hh315/crusades_timeline.htm, last accessed 3 June 2017. 167. The Crusades unfolded for two centuries, from 1095 to 1291. Also, importantly, not all Crusades were against Muslims (non-Christians).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [199–201]

For instance, the Fourth Crusade was eventually directed against the (Christian Orthodox) Byzantine Empire. 168. Munro, ‘The Popes and the Crusades’, p. 352. 169. The Papal States and the papal armed forces came to an end in 1870 with the advance of Napoleon III into the Kingdom of Italy and the regions belonging to the Church. See ‘1870 End of Papal State’, Swiss Guards, 2013, http://www.guardiasvizzera.va/content/guardiasvizzera/en/storia/1870-fine-dello-stato-pontificio.html, last accessed 3 June 2017. 170. See Mariano Barbato, ‘A State, a Diplomat, and a Transnational Church: The Multi-Layered Actorness of the Holy See’, Perspectives: Review of International Affairs 21, 2 (2013), pp. 27–48; Rieck and Niebuhr, ‘Microstate and Superpower’. 171. This is something that we raise in this chapter with respect to The Hijaz—that, in a way, the world, and especially the Muslim world, needs to help The Hijaz manage the Hajj optimally and constructively. Also, interestingly, the Vatican has passed the ‘monopoly of force’ (law enforcement) to Italy; in the same way, we propose that the national oversight authority and umbrella of security remains the responsibility of Saudi Arabia in the case of The Hijaz. 172. For an interesting present day-discussion see Alan Chong, ‘The Catholic Church in International Politics, E-International Relations’, available at http://www.e-ir.info/2013/11/14/the-catholic-churchin-international-politics/, last accessed 6 June 2017. 173. As we have described the complex and multi-layered challenges associated with the root causes of extremism, the role of the ‘negative space’, and the asymmetric processes that account for a concerning level of Islamophobia and deep-rooted lack of understanding vis-àvis Islam and its core values and meaning (see earlier chapters, and also esp. chapter 7). 174. Or rather, through the expansion of the current framework. 175. Including, notably, a Memorandum of Understanding with the Arab League since 2009. 176. ‘Note on the Diplomatic Relations of the Holy See, 09.01.2017’, Summary of Bulletin, Holy See Press Office, 2017, available at http://press.vatican.va/content/salastampa/en/bollettino/ pubblico/2017/01/09/170109b.html, last accessed 3 June 2017. 177. ‘The Pope to the Members of the Diplomatic Corps: Peace is a Gift, a Challenge and a Commitment, 09.01.2017’, Summary of Bulletin, Holy See Press Office, 2017, available at http://press.vatican.va/content/salastampa/en/bollettino/pubblico/2017/01/09/170109a.html, last accessed 3 June 2017.  

 

 

 

441

Notes

pp. [202–209]

178. Pope Francis, Speech to the Diplomatic Corps, 9 January 2017; full text available at http://press.vatican.va/content/salastampa/en/bollettino/pubblico/2017/01/09/170109a.html, last accessed 3 June 2017.  

 

7.  GEOPOLITICAL CHALLENGES: IDEOLOGY AND STATEHOOD 1. See David McDowall, A Modern History of the Kurds, London: I. B.Tauris, 2013. The Kurds often suggest that they are the world’s largest ethnic group without a state of their own. The recent territorial changes in Iraq and Syria and the Kurdish role and influence in the emerging landscape are potentially game-changing. On 25 September 2017 the Kurds of Iraq indicated for the second time in the last twelve years that they wish to be free of the rest of the country in a non-binding independence referendum. There was a 72 per cent turnout, with 92 per cent of those voting opting for independence. In spite of the referendum’s non-binding nature, as discussed in Chapter 6, once openly seeking selfdetermination with wide popular support, the situation becomes complicated. It is even more complicated in the case of Iraqi Kurdistan, given the balance of power on the ground and the economic and military sway the ethnic group commanded by the end of 2017. For additional context, and up-to-date scholarly analyses on the Iraqi Kurdistan case and its broader implications, see Bill Park et al., ‘On the Independence Referendum in the Kurdistan Region of Iraq and Disputed Territories in 2017’, Kurdish Studies 5, 2 (2017), pp. 199–214. See also Krzysztof Strachota and Józef Lang, ‘Iraqi Kurdistan—the Beginning of a New Crisis in the Middle East? OSW Commentary, No. 247, 2017– 08–08’, 2017, Archive of European Integration, available at http://aei. pitt.edu/88842/1/commentary_247.pdf; Joost Hiltermann, ‘What Did the Kurds Get Out of the Referendum?’ The Atlantic, 27 September 2017, available at https://www.theatlantic.com/international/ archive/2017/09/kurds-iraq-barzani-isis-referendum/541260/, last accessed 3 November 2017. 2. In fact, in 2013 the BBC placed the number of armed opposition groups in Syria close to a thousand: see http://www.bbc.com/news/worldmiddle-east-24403003; Charles Lister, The Syrian Jihad: Al-Qaeda, the Islamic State and the Evolution of an Insurgency, London: Hurst, 2015. 3. Karen Yourish, Derek Watkins, Tom Giratikanon, and Jasmine C. Lee, ‘How Many People Have Been Killed in ISIS Attacks around the World?’, New York Times, 25 March 2016, available at https://www. nytimes.com/interactive/2016/03/25/world/map-isis-attacks-aroundthe-world.html, last accessed 22 June 2017. 4. Ibid.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [210–213]

5. See, for context, Kevin Uhrmacher and Mary Beth Sheridan, ‘The Brutal Toll of Boko Haram’s Attacks on Civilians’, Washington Post, 3 April 2016, available at https://www.washingtonpost.com/graphics/world/nigeria-boko-haram/, last accessed 21 June 2017. 6. See Stig Jarle Hansen, Al-Shabaab in Somalia: The History and Ideology of a Militant Islamist Group, New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. 7. See Global Terrorism Index 2015, Institute for Economics and Peace, available at http://visionofhumanity.org/app/uploads/2017/04/2015Global-Terrorism-Index-Report. 8. See US Department of State Annual Report on Global Terrorism 2016, available at https://www.state.gov/j/ct/rls/crt/2016/272235.htm# IRAN 9. Joseph Chinyong Liow, ‘ISIS in the Pacific: Assessing Terrorism in Southeast Asia and the Threat to the Homeland’, Brookings Testimony, 2016, available at https://www.brookings.edu/testimonies/isis-in-thepacific-assessing-terrorism-in-southeast-asia-and-the-threat-to-the-homeland/, last accessed 21 June 2017. 10. Robert Verkaik, Jihadi John: The Making of a Terrorist, London: Oneworld, 2016, p. 239. 11. Cynthia Kroet, ‘UN: 30,000 Foreign Fighters in Syria and Iraq: The Risk of Attacks in Countries of Origin is Growing, Top Official Says’, Politico, 5 July 2016, available at http://www.politico.eu/article/ united-nations-30000-foreign-fighters-in-syria-and-iraq-isil-terrorism/, last accessed 21 June 2017. 12. See ‘An Updated Assessment of the Flow of Foreign Fighers into Syria and Iraq’, Soufan Group, December 2015, available at http://soufangroup.com/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/TSG_ForeignFighters Update3.pdf, last accessed November 2017. 13. Ibid. 14. See US Department of State Annual Report on Global Terrorism 2016. 15. Including a number of US lists. In fact, it was still considered one of the pre-eminent sources of terrorist financing until the late 2000s. See Rob Hastings, ‘Saudi Arabia is “Biggest Funder of Terrorists”’, The Independent, 6 December 2010, available at http://www.independent. co.uk/news/world/middle-east/saudi-arabia-is-biggest-funder-of-terrorists-2152327.html, last accessed 22 June 2017. 16.  For additional context on terrorism financing see Eben Kaplan, ‘Tracking Down Terrorist Financing’, Council on Foreign Relations, 2016, available at https://www.cfr.org/backgrounder/tracking-downterrorist-financing, last accessed 22 June 2017. 17. See Martin Chulov, ‘I Will Return Saudi Arabia to Moderate Islam, says Crown Prince’, The Guardian, 24 October 2017, available at  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

443

pp. [218–221]

Notes

https://www.theguardian.com/world/2017/oct/24/i-will-return-saudi-arabiamoderate-islam-crown-prince, last accessed 1 November 2017. 18. For a detailed critique of the shortcomings of the League of Nations see Frederick Samuel Northedge, The League of Nations: Its Life and Times, 1920–1946, Leicester: Leicester University Press, 1986. For a very critical 1940s account of the UN see Leland M. Goodrich, ‘From League of Nations to United Nations’, International Organization 1, 1 (1947), pp. 3–21. 19. ‘United Nations Trusteeship Council’, available at http://www.un.org/ en/sections/about-un/trusteeship-council/index.html, last accessed 16 May 2017. 20. Which at the time also included what are now Pakistan and Bangladesh. 21. See, for example, Lawrence James, Raj: The Making and Unmaking of British India, London: Abacus, 2010. Notably, the British personnel in India consisted of only around 100,000 police, civil, and military officials. 22. For a very interesting quantitative discussion of decolonization see David Strang, ‘From Dependency to Sovereignty: An Event History Analysis of Decolonization 1870–1987’, American Sociological Review 55, 6 (1990), pp. 846–60. Strang suggests that there are various factors explaining the phenomenon, but the sunset of colonization appears to be strongly linked to changes in the global system and the role of the UN; also the position, role, and activity of the USA, as well as symbolic moments in the course of decolonization which completely delegitimized the imperial powers. 23. In the 1950s, 1960s, and 1970s this movement also included prominent actors from the developing world who often played a key role in the UN and were involved in important votes. 24. See William Roger Louis and Roger Owen (eds.), Suez 1956: The Crisis and its Consequences, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1989; William M. Wright et al., ‘A Conflict Analysis of the Suez Canal Invasion of 1956’, Conflict Management and Peace Science 5, 1 (1980), pp. 27–40, at pp. 27–31. 25. For additional context see Israel Gershoni, The Emergence of Pan-Arabism in Egypt, Tel Aviv: Shiloah Centre for Middle Eastern and African Studies, Tel Aviv University, 1981; Robert Eugene Danielson, ‘Nasser and Pan-Arabism: Explaining Egypt’s Rise in Power’ Master’s thesis, Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey California, 2007, available at https://calhoun.nps.edu/bitstream/handle/10945/3381/danielson07. pdf?sequence=3. For a critical assessment see Fouad Ajami, ‘The End of Pan-Arabism’, Foreign Affairs 57, 2 (1978), pp. 355–73. 26. For an interesting up-to-date account on Nasser, which also bridges  

 

 

 

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pp. [221–223]

the gap between the Nasserist period and its legacy and contemporary events, including the dynamic ‘return of Islam’ in Egyptian political life during the Arab Spring, see Tarek Osman, Egypt on the Brink: From Nasser to the Muslim Brotherhood, New Haven: Yale University Press, 2013. 27. See Charles Davis Cremeans, The Arabs and the World: Nasser’s Arab Nationalist Policy, Praeger Paperbacks 117, Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger, for the Council on Foreign Relations, 1963. 28. William L. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, 2nd edn, Boulder: Westview Press, 2000, p. 297. 29. Ibid., p.  289. 30. Tarik Kafala, ‘The Iraqi Baath Party’, BBC, 25 March 2003, available at http://news.bbc.co.uk/1/hi/world/middle_east/2886733.stm, last accessed 11 June 2017; John Major, ‘The Search for Arab Unity’, International Affairs (Royal Institute of International Affairs 194–) 39, 4 (1963), pp. 551–63, at p. 556. 31. Peter Mansfield, ‘Nasser and Nasserism’, International Journal 28, 4 (1973), pp. 670–88. 32. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 316. 33. Ibid. 34. Ibid., p. 325. See also John Galvani, ‘Syria and the Baath Party’, MERIP Reports 25 (1974), pp. 3–16. 35. Laksmi Pamuntjak, ‘It is 50 Years since the Indonesian Genocide of 1965 but we Cannot Look Away’, The Guardian, 30 September 2015, available at https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/ sep/30/it-is-50-years-since-the-indonesian-genocide-of-1965-butwe-cannot-look-away, last accessed 16 May 2017. 36. Roger Owen, State, Power and Politics in the Making of the Modern Middle East, London and New York: Routledge, 1992, p. 37. 37. Ibid., p.  31. 38. Iraq was created as a Mandate under Sykes–Picot. 39. De Gaulle had promised Syria an end to the Mandate System in 1941. By 1943 Shukri al-Kuwatli was elected Syria’s first president, and he had led the country to full independence by 1946. 40. ‘Definition of Baathism’, available at https://www.merriam-webster. com/dictionary/Baathism, Merriam-Webster 2017, last accessed 16 May 2017. 41. Efforts to capture the exact equivalent or meaning in English vary— some like Devlin translate it as ‘resurrection’, while it has also been referred to as ‘rebirth’ or ‘renaissance’. 42. John F. Devlin, ‘The Baath Party: Rise and Metamorphosis’, American Historical Review 96, 5 (1991), pp. 1396–1407.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

445

Notes

pp. [223–228]

43. Ibid., p.  1396. 44. Major, ‘The Search for Arab Unity’, p. 556. 45. Amatzia Baram, ‘Baathi Iraq and Hashimite Jordan: From Hostility to Alignment’, Middle East Journal 45, 1 (1991), pp. 51–70, at p. 51. 46. Ibid. 47. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 293. 48. Owen, State, Power and Politics, 3rd edn (2004), p. 23. 49. For an in-depth analysis see Roger Owen, The Rise and Fall of Arab Presidents for Life, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014. 50. Gaddafi ruled Libya for forty-two years until his violent overthrow in 2011. 51. See Owen, State, Power and Politics, 3rd edn. 52.  Ibid., p. 40. 53. Ibid., p.  41. 54. Malika Zeghal, ‘Religion and Politics in Egypt: The Ulema of al-Azhar, Radical Islam, and the State (1952–94)’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 31, 3 (1999), pp. 371–99, at p. 373. 55. To delve deeper in this discussion see ibid., pp. 373–6. 56. Ibid., p.  376. 57. Ibid., p. 380. Interestingly, as we shall discuss later, al-Azhar played a key role in the development of revivalist ideology. In a way the (Sunni) revivalist current was born in Egypt, and al-Azhar was instrumental in this current within Islam. 58. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 324. See also Nurit Kliot, ‘The Collapse of the Lebanese State’, Middle Eastern Studies 23, 1 (1987), pp. 54–74. 59.  Kliot, ‘The Collapse of the Lebanese State’. See also Michael C. Hudson, The Precarious Republic Revisited: Reflections on the Collapse of Pluralist Politics in Lebanon, Washington, DC: Institute of Arab Development, Center for Contemporary Arab Studies, Georgetown University, 1977. 60. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 324. 61. R. Stephen Humphreys, Between Memory and Desire: The Middle East in a Troubled Age, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001, p. 74. 62. See Erika G. Alin, The United States and the 1958 Lebanon Crisis: American Intervention in the Middle East, Lanham, MD: University Press of America, 1994; Agnes G. Korbani, US Intervention in Lebanon, 1958 and 1982: Presidential Decisionmaking, New York: Praeger, 1991. 63. See, for example, Ritchie Ovendale, ‘Great Britain and the AngloAmerican Invasion of Jordan and Lebanon in 1958’, International History Review 16, 2 (1994), pp. 284–303. 64. For additional background see Donald Hawley, The Trucial States,  

 

 

 

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pp. [228–232]

London: George Allen & Unwin, 1970; Husain M. Albaharna, The Legal Status of the Arabian Gulf States: A Study of their Treaty Relations and their International Problems, Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1968. 65. IOR/R/15/2/32. See also Jacob Goldberg, ‘The Origins of British– Saudi Relations: The 1915 Anglo-Saudi Treaty Revisited’, Historical Journal 28, 3 (1985), pp. 693–703. 66. In some ways, the independence, sovereignty, and self-determination of The Hijaz and the Trucial coast was traded for the safeguarding of British imperial interests in the Gulf and the region, and the recognition of the third Saudi state and its new, expanded borders (in 1915 and 1927 respectively). 67. For context see Rosemarie Said Zahlan, The Origins of the United Arab Emirates: A Political and Social History of the Trucial States, London: Routledge, 2016. 68. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 226–7. 69. See Rachel Bronson, Thicker than Oil: America’s Uneasy Partnership with Saudi Arabia, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008, pp. 19–20. 70. Ibid., p.  14. 71. See Aaron David Miller, Search for Security: Saudi Arabian Oil and American Foreign Policy, 1939–1949, Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1980. 72. James G. Mellon, ‘Pan-Arabism, Pan-Islamism and Inter-State Relations in the Arab World’, Nationalism and Ethnic Politics 8, 4 (2002), pp. 1–15, at pp. 4–5. 73. See Tim Niblock, Saudi Arabia: Power, Legitimacy and Survival, London and New York: Routledge, 2004, esp. pp. 38–45 and 47–66; Scott Shane, ‘Saudis and Extremism: “Both the Arsonists and the Firefighters”’, New York Times, 25 August 2016, available at https:// www.nytimes.com/2016/08/26/world/middleeast/saudi-arabia-islam. html, last accessed 8 August 2017. 74. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 228. 75. Humphreys, Between Memory and Desire, p. 76. 76. Which in a way, allowed Jordan to pass as ‘unthreatening’. 77.  For a detailed account see Philip Robins, A History of Jordan, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004 (esp. chs. 4 and 5). 78. For a comprehensive account see Nigel Ashton, King Hussein of Jordan: A Political Life, New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 2008. 79. Humphreys, Between Memory and Desire, p. 76. 80. See Ashton, King Hussein of Jordan. 81. Humphreys, Between Memory and Desire, p. 77. 82. Ibid.  

 

 

 

447

Notes

pp. [232–237]

83. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 322. 84. See, for example, Robins, A History of Jordan, p. 143 (and ch. 7 generally). 85. Dirk Vandewalle, A History of Modern Libya, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2012, pp. 24–40. 86. Ibid., pp.  34–68. 87. Gaddafi’s politico-ideological crux was concentrated in his so-called Green Book, which he claimed to have conceived whilst in the Libyan desert. See Muammar Gaddafi, The Green Book, Reading: Ithaca Press, 1999. 88. See Susan Gilson Miller, A History of Modern Morocco, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013 (chs. 4 and 5). 89. Ibid. 90. Ibid., pp.  174–80. 91. Ibid. 92. On a different note, regarding regional balances, Moroccan–Libyan antagonisms were a complicating factor in MENA politics, often with particularly tense relations between the king of Morocco and Libya’s long-standing military dictator, Muammar Gaddafi. 93. For a definition of Kemalism see Mete Tunçay, ‘Kemalism’, in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Islamic World, Oxford Islamic Studies Online, available at http://www.oxfordislamicstudies.com/article/opr/t236/ e0440, last accessed 8 July 2017. 94. Meaning ‘father of the Turks’. 95.  See Alexander Lyon Macfie, Atatürk, London and New York: Routledge, 2014. 96. See Erik J. Zürcher, Turkey: A Modern History, London: I. B. Tauris, 2004, esp. part II. 97. See Macfie, Atatürk, esp. ch. 8. 98. With the teaching of Arabic generally restricted to religious schools. 99. Notably, the secularization of Turkey was enshrined in the country’s constitution, removing the clause that retained Islam as the state’s religion. 100. See George McGhee, The US–Turkish–NATO Middle East Connection: How the Truman Doctrine and Turkey’s NATO Entry Contained the Soviets, London: Palgrave Macmillan, 1990. 101. The key moment of international tension in this period was the 1974 Turkish invasion of Cyprus, which led to a short period of international ‘distancing’—isolation of the biggest regional power until 1978. 102. Notably, Mohammad Reza Pahlavi had spent his formative years at the Le Rosey School in Switzerland, before receiving a political and military education in Iran.  

 

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notes

pp. [237–241]

103. Such as the traditional landowners. 104. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 280. 105. For an authoritative account on the composition, different layers, and drivers of the opposition to the Shah in the period studied see Ervand Abrahamian, Iran between Two Revolutions, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1982, esp chs. 6–10. 106. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 280. 107. Ibid., p.  281. 108. See Ervand Abrahamian, A History of Modern Iran, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008, pp. 123–54. 109. Shahrough Akhavi, Religion and Politics in Contemporary Iran, New York: State University of New York Press, 1980, pp. 60–117. 110. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, pp. 282–3. 111. Abrahamian, Iran between Two Revolutions, pp. 267–80. 112. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 284. 113. Abrahamian, Iran between Two Revolutions, pp. 419–25. 114. Ibid., pp.  450–80. 115. Ibid., pp.  473–80. 116. Roham Alvandi, ‘Nixon, Kissinger, and the Shah: The Origins of Iranian Primacy in the Persian Gulf’, Diplomatic History 36, 2 (2012), pp. 337–72, at p. 338. 117. See, for example, James Risen, ‘Secrets of History: The CIA in Iran’, Special Report, New York Times, 16 April 2000, available at http:// www.nytimes.com/2000/04/16/world/secrets-history-cia-iran-special-report-plot-convulsed-iran-53–79.html, last accessed 6 August, 2017. 118. Euro-Atlantic integration was of course facilitated through geographical realities incomparable to Iran’s—most importantly proximity to Europe, the vitality of Western or NATO control of the Bosporus Straits, and the crucial buffer of the West’s south-eastern European, Caucasus, and Mediterranean borders. In other words, the Turkish experience was heavily influenced by the need of the USA and its allies to safeguard vital geostrategic and security interests at one of the key epicentres of intersection between the two global spheres of influence. 119. Cleveland’s observation is rather striking: ‘The Turkish armed forces intervened in the political system to resolve parliamentary deadlock and economic turmoil, not to perpetuate military rule’: Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 292. See also Owen, State, Power and Politics, p. 217. 120. See, for example, Abrahamian, Iran between Two Revolutions, pp. 473– 80.  

 

449

pp. [241–242]

Notes

121. See, for example, Theda Skocpol, ‘Rentier State and Shi’a Islam in the Iranian Revolution’, Theory and Society 11, 3 (1982), pp. 265–83. 122. See, for example, John L. Esposito (ed.), The Iranian Revolution: Its Global Impact, Miami: Florida International University Press, 1990; Nikki R. Keddie and Eric James Hooglund, The Iranian Revolution and the Islamic Republic, New York: Syracuse University Press, 1986. Moreover, see Ray Takeyh, Guardians of the Revolution: Iran and the World in the Age of the Ayatollahs, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009; Michael Axworthy, Revolutionary Iran: A History of the Islamic Republic, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. 123. Note the dramatic inflationary pressures, which tend to hit the lowest earners in societies the most. 124. This was a single political vehicle whose purpose was greater social penetration: to cut deep across society and, particularly, help increase information, monitoring, and control over social groups that maintained a degree of autonomy—especially the ‘ulama’ and the bazaar merchants. 125. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 411. 126. Skocpol, ‘Rentier State and Shi’a Islam in the Iranian Revolution’, p. 267. With respect to education, there seems to be a near consensus that it played a key role in mobilizing the youth, who were increasingly aware of and irate with the skewed nature and damaging structure of the Shah’s social, political, and economic model. Also, strikingly, the Westernized urban professionals were also a key pressure group—reacting to oppression. Lastly, with respect to the ‘pace of change’, one could add that this rapid change that was being advanced was largely discordant with society and its preferences. It was this gap between popular sentiment and the central government’s direction that, given the pace of the advanced changes, produced the powerful socio-political backlash. 127. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 412. 128. Arguably, the main reason the Shah toned down his repression was to protect his vital Western ties, which were coming under pressure in the face of mounting international pressure. 129. According to Abrahamian, ‘[Shariati’s] ideas were far better known than those of Ayatollah Khomeini. Shari‘ati, therefore, can truly be characterized as the ideologue of the Islamic Revolution’: Ervand Abrahamian, ‘Ali Shariati: Ideologue of the Iranian Revolution’, MERIP Reports 102 (1982), pp. 24–8, at p. 28. 130. Ibid. 131. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 413. 132. Khomeini, Islamic Government.  

 

450

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pp. [243–247]

133. Cleveland summarized this very particular journey and revolution as follows: ‘An unarmed popular revolution inspired and guided by an elderly member of the religious establishment had toppled the king of kings and brought an end to the Pahlavi dynasty [1925–79]’: Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 417. 134. Takeyh, Guardians of the Revolution, esp. part I; Michael Axworthy, A History of Iran: Empire of the Mind, New York: Basic Books, 2016, pp. 259–82; Akhavi, Religion and Politics in Contemporary Iran, pp. 159–86. 135. Axworthy, Revolutionary Iran, pp. 133–86. 136. See Mohsen M. Milani, The Making of Iran’s Islamic Revolution: From Monarchy to Islamic Republic, Boulder: Westview Press, 1988. 137. Cleveland, A History of the Modern Middle East, p. 420. 138. See, for context, Michael Sterner, ‘The Iran–Iraq War’, Foreign Affairs 63, 1 (1984), pp. 128–43. For a comprehensive, more recent, account see Rob Johnson, The Iran–Iraq War, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2011. 139. As we shall see, Islamic revival is not exclusive to the Shi’a, the Sunni, the Wahhabi and so forth; nor is it always progressive, open, and positive. 140. Ludwig Paul, ‘“Iranian Nation” and Iranian-Islamic Revolutionary Ideology’, Die Welt des Islams 39, 2 (1999), pp. 183–217. 141.  Yaroslav Trofimov, ‘1979: Remembering “The Siege of Mecca”: Upheaval in the Muslim World, 30 Years Ago’, NPR, 2009, available at http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=11205 1155, last accessed 9 April 2017. 142. Ibid. 143. Ibid. 144. Frederic M. Wehrey, The Forgotten Uprising in Eastern Saudi Arabia, Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2013. See also Toby Craig Jones, ‘Rebellion on the Saudi Periphery: Modernity, Marginalization, and the Shia Uprising of 1979’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 38, 2 (2006), pp. 213–33. 145. Possibly in an attempt to address, satisfy, and appease the conservative revivalist pressures. 146. See Kristian Coates Ulrichsen, The United Arab Emirates: Power, Politics and Policy-Making, London and New York: Routledge, 2017. 147. See Christopher Michael Davidson, The United Arab Emirates: A Study in Survival, Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2005. 148. Frauke Heard-Bey, Abu Dhabi, the United Arab Emirates and the Gulf Region: Fifty Years of Transformation, Berlin: Gerlach Press, 2017, pp. 188–98.  

 

 

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Notes

pp. [247–251]

149. Also note that UAE–Iranian relations have been further strained by a territorial dispute over three Persian Gulf islands (Abu Musa and the Greater and Lesser Tunbs). See Sean Foley, ‘The UAE: Political Issues and Security Dilemmas’, Middle East Review of International Affairs 3, 1 (1999), pp. 25–45. 150. The Arab community in the British Palestine Mandate. 151. With the addition of Kuwait, Algeria, South Yemen, Oman, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, Mauritania, Somalia, and Palestine. 152. Specifically, Sadat’s peace agreement with Israel in 1979 led to Egypt’s ten-year suspension from the League until its readmission in 1989. 153. For a detailed introductory account see Cris E. Toffolo, The Arab League, New York: Chelsea House, 2008. 154. In 1976 the League, in another crucial decision, had authorized the formation and deployment of a peacekeeping force in Lebanon. 155. For a detailed chronology see ‘Timeline: Arab League’, BBC News, Middle East, 2011, available at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_ east/country_profiles/1550977.stm, last accessed May 30 2017. 156. MEDEA Institute, ‘The Maghreb Arab Union’, 2017, available at http://www.medea.be/en/countries/arab-world-general/maghrebarab-union-mau/, last accessed 31 May 2017. 157. For a comprehensive analysis see Mohamed Finaish and Eric Bell, The Arab Maghreb Union, IMF Working Paper WP/94/55, Washington, DC: IMF, 1994, pp. 1–56. 158. MEDEA Institute, ‘The Maghreb Arab Union’. 159. For instance, when in 1998 Libya’s authoritarian ruler, Muammar Gaddafi, founded an opposing body, the Community of Sahel and Saharan States (CEN-SAD), an African grouping of states which showed promise, the MAU cause seemed of little ongoing value and relevance. 160. OPEC’s stated purpose, as cited in ‘Our Mission’, Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, 2017, available at http://www. opec.org/opec_web/en/about_us/23.htm, last accessed 30 May 2017. 161. Initially in Geneva. 162. As quoted in ‘Brief History’, Organisation of the Petroleum Exporting Countries, 2017, http://www.opec.org/opec_web/en/about_us/24. htm, last accessed 7 August 2017. 163. For an in-depth analysis of this period see Ian Skeet, Opec: Twenty-Five Years of Prices and Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991, pp. 35–92. 164.  For a critical analysis see René D. Zentner, ‘OPEC: Cartel or  

 

 

 

 

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pp. [252–256]

Chimaera?’ in Ragaei El Mallakh (ed.), OPEC: Twenty Years and Beyond, London: Croom Helm, 1982, pp. 95–112. 165. ‘About OIC’, Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 2017, available at http://www.oicun.org/2/23/, last accessed 30 May 2017. 166.  Including military cooperation with the Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO). 167. With the OIC emerging therefore, in a way, as the ‘Islamic bloc’ in the UN. 168.  For additional context and analysis see Turan Kayaoglu, The Organization of Islamic Cooperation: Politics, Problems, and Potential, London and New York: Routledge, 2015; Ihsanoglu, The Islamic World in the New Century. 169. See for example the Iranian involvement in the 1981 attempted coup in Bahrain. 170. Yoel Guzansky, ‘Defence Cooperation in the Arabian Gulf: The Peninsula Shield Force Put to the Test’, Middle Eastern Studies 50, 4 (2014), pp. 640–54, at p. 641. 171. Ibid., at pp. 642–3. The Peninsula Shield Force has been an important milestone in Gulf defence cooperation and a critical GCC component. In spite of the occasional tensions and differences, it remains in the interest of all the GCC countries to maintain it. 172. For a succinct presentation of the key headline(s) of the thirty-four GCC Summit Conclusions from 1981 to 2015 see ‘GCC Timeline’, Saudi–US Relations Information Service, 2015, available at http:// susris.com/timelines/gcc-timeline/, last accessed 30 May 2017. 173. It is worth remembering that the EU has also been an ongoing process, and one where integration has advanced in an unsystematic way over the course of the past seven decades. 174. From the USA and the UK to Israel. 175. Ivor Lucas, ‘The Middle East and the Cold War’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs 7, 1 (1993), pp. 12–20, at p. 12. 176. Picking sides and bargaining its support. 177. Notably, the West historically had a better footing in the Middle East. The competition therefore between the West and the USSR in the region was never one of equals. For context see Salim Yaqub, ‘The Cold War and the Middle East’, in The Oxford Handbook of the Cold War (2013) Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2013. 178. And therefore, of course, its own agenda and interests—from natural resources to military bases and the security of Israel. 179. Lucas, ‘The Middle East and the Cold War’, p. 14. 180. With the partial exception of Yemen, which founded a pariah ‘communist’ state that had no autonomous capacities and remained heavily reliant on Eastern Bloc aid.  

 

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Notes

pp. [256–259]

181. Lucas, ‘The Middle East and the Cold War’, p. 13. 182. Ibid. 183. Alan Taylor, ‘The Soviet War in Afghanistan, 1979–1989’, The Atlantic, 4 August 2014, available at https://www.theatlantic.com/ photo/2014/08/the-soviet-war-in-afghanistan-1979–1989/100786/, last accessed 26 May 2017. 184. Jimmy Carter, cited in Steve Galster, ‘Afghanistan: The Making of US Policy, 1973–1990’, US National Security Archive, available at https://nsarchive2.gwu.edu//NSAEBB/NSAEBB57/essay.html, last accessed 27 May 2017. 185.  Ibid., p. 7. 186. BBC, ‘Timeline: Soviet war in Afghanistan’, BBC News, 17 February 2009, available at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7883532.stm, last accessed 27 May 2017. 187. Tanks, air force, heavy artillery, battalions, and so forth. 188. Certain US accounts suggested that the Soviet invasion was a manifestation of the Brezhnev Doctrine, ‘which held that once a country became socialist Moscow would never permit it to return to the capitalist camp’. See US Department of State, ‘The Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan and the US Response, 1978–1980’, Office of the Historian, Milestones: 1977–1980, available at https://history.state. gov/milestones/1977–1980/soviet-invasion-afghanistan, last accessed 27 May 2017. Other accounts, however, such as that of MacEachin, suggest particular caution on the part of the Soviet premier, who repeatedly suggested to the Politburo that it was ‘not the right time’ for full-scale engagement. See Douglas MacEachin, ‘Predicting the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan: The Intelligence Community’s Record’, available at https://www.cia.gov/library/center-for-the-study-ofintelligence/csi-publications/books-and-monographs/predicting-thesoviet-invasion-of-afghanistan-the-intelligence-communitys-record/ predicting-the-soviet-invasion-of-afghanistan-the-intelligence-communitys-record.html#link8, last accessed 27 May 2017. 189. In fact, at that time, Soviet resolve and the US withdrawal seemed to suggest that the USSR was gaining notable ground in the global arm-wrestle. Meanwhile, the USA seemed to be suffering losses on multiple fronts. 190. Which, as discussed earlier, soon deprived The Hijaz and the Holy Lands of their most critical functions: as the pre-eminent forum for the exchange of ideas; the resolution of theo-ideological differences; the open and dynamic interpretation of sacred texts; the prevention of sectarian differences, misunderstandings, and tensions; and a powerful tangible reminder of the need for all religious schools to coexist in peace and dialogue under core Islamic principles and values.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [259–260]

191. For a detailed study see Fawaz A. Gerges, The Far Enemy: Why Jihad Went Global, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. 192. For instance, US president Jimmy Carter’s covert action programme, which began in 1979, channelled its aid and medical assistance to the rebels through Pakistan. Then, two weeks after the invasion, again with the Pakistani authorities serving as the channel, the first US arms started reaching the Mujahideen (mainly in the form of Enfield rifles). See Charles G. Cogan, ‘Partners in Time: The CIA and Afghanistan since 1979’, World Policy Journal 10, 2 (1993), pp. 73–82, at p. 76. 193. See Steve Coll, ‘Anatomy of a Victory: CIA’s Covert Afghan War’, Washington Post, 19 July 1992, available at https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/politics/1992/07/19/anatomy-of-a-victory-ciascovert-afghan-war/1bd10b14-a0cc-441c-99cc-d2b5d1ba6e2d/?utm_ term=.4c8bf38d4454, last accessed 28 May 2017. 194. It is worth keeping a note of this element here; it ties with the earlier points raised vis-à-vis the Saudi Arabian efforts to spread panIslamism, in the age of pan-Arabism, as an ideo-political counterweight. It is also important to reiterate the kingdom’s particular advantage in sustaining its ideo-religious views and their export abroad through its oil wealth (see spread of Wahhabism, for example, and its penetration in Pakistan). 195. Cogan, ‘Partners in Time’, p. 76. 196. In fact, arguably, America’s tactics and ambitions in the 1978–9 context (purported diplomatic efforts with Hafizullah Amin of the PDPA) were among the triggers of the invasion—heightening Soviet fears and solidifying their resolve to intervene (adding to the USSR calculus the dimension of denying the advancement of the US agenda). 197. According to Cogan, for instance, the US U-2 base at Peshawar was a particularly important investment and asset. See Cogan, ‘Partners in Time’, p. 75. Importantly, a young man (then), named Osama Bin Laden, inspired by pan-Islamism, was finding his way to the Peshawar base too, shortly after the beginning of the Soviet invasion, together with his religious teacher, to join the Afghan resistance fighters in the ‘holy war’ against the ‘infidel’ imperialist invaders. Whilst they did not join the fighting they engaged in rallying financial support for the war effort and stepped up the ‘internationalisation of the jihad efforts’—globally recruiting young Muslims for the cause. 198. With particular importance attached to US satellite reconnaissance. 199. According to Coll, this was the tipping point, when the Reagan administration adopted Decision Directive 166 to ‘sharply escalate US covert action in Afghanistan’, through ‘an array of US high technology and military expertise’: Coll, ‘Anatomy of a Victory’.  

 

 

 

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Notes

pp. [260–263]

200. A figure ‘on the low side’, according to Cogan. See Cogan, ‘Partners in Time’, p. 77. 201. Coll, ‘Anatomy of a Victory’. There is an interesting background here with regard to the escalation of US-led assistance to the jihadi rebels. The US intelligence suggested that the Soviet escalation and new tactics employed since 1984, with the deployment of additional Special Forces and targeted anti-guerrilla resources (especially helicopter assaults), were working, and that there was a perception that they might be approaching a decisive victory. 202. Providing and training the rebels in the use of the latest US hardware, from heavy weapons to CIA-supplied plastic explosives—to increase the effectiveness and deadliness of the guerrilla resistance. 203. Coll, ‘Anatomy of a Victory’. 204. Ibid. 205. The ‘Anything But Communism’ paradigm. See for instance the discussion in Andrew Hartman, ‘“The Red Template”: US Policy in Soviet-Occupied Afghanistan’, Third World Quarterly 23, 3 (2002), pp. 467–89, at pp. 468–9. 206. Ibid., p.  467. 207. Galster, ‘Afghanistan: The Making of US Policy, 1973–1990’. 208. With its grave cost—not just in terms of resources, but also of image and symbolism. 209. Cogan, ‘Partners in Time’, p. 74. 210. Due to Great Power and imperial competitions, such as the RussoBritish; but also the British imperial divide-and-rule policies, associated with the dissection of British-controlled India, most famously in the case of Afghanistan, with the 1893 Durant Line, which effectively cut the Pashtun territories in half. 211. Namely, the bisection of Afghanistan: the northern ‘Central Asian’ part with its Eurasian–Caucasus links; and the southern half—predominantly Pashtun, the ruling ethnic group ‘dynasty’ since the mideighteenth century. Notably, Afghan Pashtun made up between 30 and 50 per cent of the country’s total population. 212. Cogan, ‘Partners in Time’, p. 75. 213. More than four years of heavy civil fighting ensued, especially in the 1992–6 period. 214. BBC, ‘Who are the Taliban?’ BBC World News, 26 May 2016, available at http://www.bbc.com/news/world-south-asia-11451718, last accessed 28 May 2017. 215. Ahmed Rashid, ‘The Taliban: Exporting Extremism’, Foreign Affairs (November/December 1999), pp. 22–35, at p. 26. 216. ‘The Taliban: Mapping Militant Organisations’, Stanford University,  

 

 

 

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pp. [263–266]

2016, available at http://web.stanford.edu/group/mappingmilitants/ cgi-bin/groups/view/367, last accessed 28 May 2017. 217. This was ‘largely due to their success in stamping out corruption, curbing lawlessness and making the roads and the areas under their control safe for commerce to flourish.’ See BBC, ‘Who are the Taliban?’. 218. Zachary Laub, ‘The Taliban in Afghanistan’, Backgrounder, Council of Foreign Relations, 4 July 2014, available at https://www.cfr.org/ backgrounder/taliban-afghanistan, last accessed 28 May 2017. 219. Ibid. 220. Emran Qureshi, ‘Taliban’, The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Islamic World, Oxford Islamic Studies Online, available at http://www.oxfordislamicstudies.com/article/opr/t236/e0895, last accessed May 28 2017. 221. Ibid. 222. BBC, ‘Who are the Taliban?’. 223. Pakistan was also the last country to break diplomatic ties with the Taliban. 224. It was, after all, part of their promise when pursuing power: peace, security, and stability, to be sustained through ‘their own austere version of Sharia’. See BBC, ‘Who are the Taliban?’. 225. See Qureshi, ‘Taliban’; BBC, ‘Who are the Taliban?’. 226. Rashid, ‘The Taliban’, p.  26. 227. In Afghanistan, as Rashid observes, following the Soviet–Afghan war and the rise of the Taliban, their version of Islam, in the hands of its militant leaders and their followers, had stopped being an instrument for cohesion and common progress; in its perverse and radical reinterpretations, it had become an instrument for ‘othering processes’ and sectarian tensions, and the fuel for continually renewed ‘Islamic militantism’. 228.  He had also lost his right eye in the battles. 229. Laub, ‘The Taliban in Afghanistan’. 230. Ibid. 231. Which would be, in some ways, ‘borderless’ or ‘beyond borders’ and traditional territorial conceptions. This gave it a key distinction from the relentless, pragmatic, systematic advancement of DA’ISH’s territorial bid for statehood and the establishment of a Caliphate. 232. On the basis that these were ‘idols’. 233. A parallel can be drawn to the destruction of Palmyra by DA’ISH. See Qureshi, ‘Taliban’. 234. For example, his claim to be wearing the cloak of the prophet in a public appearance. See ibid. 235. Ibid.  

 

 

 

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Notes

pp. [266–270]

236. Rashid, ‘The Taliban’, p. 26. 237. ‘A terrorist safe haven is an area of relative security exploited by terrorists to indoctrinate, recruit, coalesce, train, and regroup, as well as prepare and support their operations. Physical safe havens are often found in under-governed territory or crossing international boundaries…. [These] provide security for many senior terrorist leaders, allowing them to plan and to inspire acts of terrorism around the world. In most instances … areas or communities serve as terrorist safe havens despite the government’s best efforts to prevent this. Denying terrorists safe haven plays a major role in undermining terrorists’ capacity to operate effectively, and thus forms a key element of U.S. counterterrorism strategy as well as the cornerstone of UN Security Council Resolution 1373 that was adopted in September 2001. UNSCR 1373 specifically targets terrorists’ ability to move across international borders and find safe haven, to solicit and move funds, and to acquire weapons; it also calls on states that do not have laws criminalizing terrorist activity and support to enact such laws’: US Department of State, ‘Terrorist Safe Havens’, 2005, available at https://www.state.gov/documents/organization/65466.pdf, last accessed 29 May 2017. 238. Though, as discussed, they were certainly keen to benefit from it and the umbrella of protection that Taliban Afghanistan granted them. 239. See Jason Burke, ‘Al Qaeda’, Foreign Policy 142 (2004), pp. 18–26; Jason Burke, Al-Qaeda: The True Story of Radical Islam, London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2004. 240. Mary Habeck, ‘What does Al Qaeda Want?’, Foreign Policy 6 March 2012, http://foreignpolicy.com/2012/03/06/what-does-al-qaedawant/, last accessed 6 April 2017. 241. BBC, ‘Timeline: al-Qaeda’, BBC News, Special Reports, 7 August 2008, available at http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/7546355.stm, last accessed 29 May 2017. 242. Ibid. 243. The ‘state’ would encompass Iraq, Syria, Jordan, Lebanon, and Palestine, while the Caliphate would re-establish control in the territories once held by the Ottoman Empire and would encompass (among others) the Greater Middle East, North Africa, Spain, and considerable parts of south-eastern Europe. 244. Itai Zehorai, ‘The World’s 10 Richest Terrorist Organizations’, Forbes Business, 12 December 2014, available at https://www.forbes.com/ sites/forbesinternational/2014/12/12/the-worlds-10-richest-terrorist-organizations/#64ecb9f14f8a, last accessed 29 May 2017. Note that by Zehorai’s estimates, DA’ISH had reached an annual turnover in excess of $2 billion (possibly $3 billion).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [270–273]

245. Ibid. 246. For a more extensive, critical analysis and comparison see Charles Lister, ‘Jihadi Rivalry: The Islamic State Challenges al-Qaida’, Brookings Doha Center, 27 January 2016, available at https://www. brookings.edu/research/jihadi-rivalry-the-islamic-state-challengesal-qaida/ 247. This is crucial. Zelin has analysed the significance of Bin Laden’s background for al-Qaida’s reach, assessing it comparatively with the DA’ISH experience and the background and role of Zarqawi (poor, uneducated, criminal past). See Aaron Y. Zelin, ‘The War between Isis and al-Qaeda for Supremacy of the Global Jihadist Movement’, Research Notes 20, 1, Washington Institute for Near East Policy (2014), pp. 1–11. A year after 9/11, in a critical analysis of the US failure to prevent the catastrophic terrorist attack, Bruce Hoffman characterized Bin Laden as ‘Terrorism’s CEO’, offering a thorough Western analysis of the role of al-Qaida’s leader, aims, and ambitions: Bruce Hoffman, ‘Rethinking Terrorism and Counterterrorism since 9/11’, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 25, 5 (2002), pp. 303–16. 248. CNN, ‘Timeline: Osama Bin Laden, over the Years’, CNN World, Asia, 2 May 2011, available at http://edition.cnn.com/2011/ WORLD/asiapcf/05/02/bin.laden.timeline/, last accessed 29 May 2017. 249. BBC, ‘Timeline: al-Qaeda’. 250. Sudan was in the midst of a civil war—the second Sudanese civil war—which lasted for over two decades, from 1983 to 2005. 251. BBC, ‘Timeline: al-Qaeda’. 252. Ibid. 253. Sue Mahan and Pamala L. Griset, Terrorism in Perspective, 2nd edn, Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage, 2008, p. xiv. 254. The interesting observation here being that there were two opposing wars: the global holy war launched by Bin Laden and his associates, on the one hand; and the US-led ‘War on Terror’, on the other. In a way, the ‘war’ had truly gone global. 255. CNN, ‘Death of Osama bin Laden Fast Facts’, CNN Library, 2017, available at http://edition.cnn.com/2013/09/09/world/death-ofosama-bin-laden-fast-facts/, last accessed 30 May 2017. 256. See for example the discussion in Kathy Gilsinan, ‘Five Years after Bin Laden’s Death, al-Qaeda Lives on’, The Atlantic, 2 May 2016, available at https://www.theatlantic.com/international/archive/ 2016/05/al-qaeda-bin-laden-death/480801/, last accessed 30 May 2017. 257. John Brennan, quoted in Habeck, ‘What Does Al Qaeda Want?’.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

459

Notes

pp. [273–277]

258. Al-Qaida leader Ayman al-Zawahiri is at the top of the FBI’s Most Wanted Terrorists list. An Egyptian-born physician, al-Zawahiri founded the Egyptian Islamic Jihad (EIJ) organization. The EIJ merged with al-Qaida in 1998, and he then climbed the terrorist organization’s power. See FBI, ‘Wanted: Ayman Al Zawahiri’, 2017, https:// www.fbi.gov/wanted/wanted_terrorists/ayman-al-zawahiri, last accessed 9 April 2017. 259. Habeck, ‘What Does Al Qaeda Want?’. 260. Within the context of America’s ‘unipolar moment’. 261. The former brought about by US use of force and the latter by the international community’s ineptness. 262.  Namely, Obama’s reserved approach to far-reaching foreign interventions. 263. Others may refer to it as ‘Daesh’. 264. For additional context see Fawaz Gerges, ISIS: A History, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2016. 265. John J. Mearsheimer and Stephen M. Walt, ‘An Unnecessary War’, Foreign Policy 134 (2003), pp. 51–9, at p. 51, available at http:// mearsheimer.uchicago.edu/pdfs/A0032.pdf, last accessed 9 April 2017. 266. Ibid., p.  59. 267. Destroying a series of world heritage sites—such as Palmyra. 268. See, for example, Jessica Stern and John M. Berger, ISIS: The State of Terror, New York: HarperCollins, 2015, esp. pp. 33–53. 269. Either mass executions, to set an example and send a message to certain groups, or targeted live executions of abducted foreign nationals. See Stern and Berger, ISIS: The State of Terror, pp. 75–100, 199–218. 270. BBC, ‘Profile: Syria’s al-Nusra Front’, BBC News, 10 April 2013, available at http://www.bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-180480 33, last accessed 9 April 2017. 271. For additional context see Aymenn Jawad al-Tamimi, ‘The Dawn of the Islamic State of Iraq and ash-Sham’, Current Trends in Islamist Ideology 16 (2014), pp. 5–15. 272. See Hayat Alvi, ‘The Diffusion of Intra-Islamic Violence and Terrorism: The Impact of the Proliferation of Salafi/Wahhabi Ideologies’, Middle East Review of International Affairs (MERIA), 18, 2 (2014), pp. 38–50. 273. For context see Adil Rasheed, ISIS: Race to Armageddon, New Delhi: Vij Books India Pvt Ltd, 2015, pp. 27–33, 36–41; Bader al-Ibrahim, ‘ISIS, Wahhabism and Takfir’, Contemporary Arab Affairs 8, 3 (2015), pp. 408–15. 274. Notably, the pre-eminent sources of DA’ISH’s foreign soldiers are  

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [277–280]

countries of the wider region. Proportionate to population, Tunisia tops the list, followed by Saudi Arabia and Morocco. See ‘Foreign Fighters in Iraq and Syria: Where do they Come From?’ RFE/RL 2015, available at https://www.rferl.org/a/foreign-fighters-syriairaq-is-isis-isil-infographic/26584940.html, last accessed 2 August 2017; Efraim Benmelech and Esteban F. Klor, ‘What Explains the Flow of Foreign Fighters to ISIS?’ NBER Working Paper No. 22190, Cambridge, MA: National Bureau of Economic Research, 2016. 275. For context see Stephan Rosiny, ‘The Rise and Demise of the IS Caliphate’, Middle East Policy 22, 2 (2015), pp. 94–107, at pp. 99–100. 276. For a concise academic overview of the topic from a legal angle see Andrew Coleman, ‘Islamic State and International Law: An Ideological Rollercoaster’, Journal of the Philosophy of International Law 5, 2 (2014), pp. 75–08, available at https://www.peacepalacelibrary.nl/ ebooks/files/383162181.pdf, last accessed 2 August 2017. 277. DA’ISH had in fact published a map depicting its dark ambitions for territorial conquest on the path to the realization of a ‘global caliphate’ through a ‘global war’. See Mark Aitken, ‘ISIS Unveils Chilling New Map of Europe as it Plans for World Domination by 2020’, The Mirror, 9 August 2015, available at http://www.mirror.co.uk/news/ world-news/isis-unveils-chilling-new-map-6224227, last accessed 31 May 2017; Dan De Luce and C. K. Hickey, ‘Mapping the Spread of the ISIS Plague’, Foreign Policy, 2 February 2016, http://foreignpolicy.com/2016/02/02/mapping-the-spread-of-the-isis-plague/, last accessed 31 May 2017. Lastly, for a succinct discussion of DA’ISH’s ‘ultimate’ ambitions, see Tim Lister, ‘What Does ISIS Really Want?’ CNN, 11 December 2015, available at http://edition.cnn. com/2015/12/11/middleeast/isis-syria-iraq-caliphate/, last accessed 31 May 2017. 278. Yourish et al., ‘How Many People Have Been Killed in ISIS Attacks Around the World?’.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

8. THE IDEOLOGICAL DRIVERS OF SUBMERGED STATEHOOD IN THE AFTERLIFE OF THE HIJAZ 1. See Mahmood Mamdani, ‘Whither Political Islam? Understanding the Modern Jihad’, Foreign Affairs 84, 1 (2005), pp. 148–55. 2. Ibid. 3. Stuart Notholt, Fields of Fire: An Atlas of Ethnic Conflict, Leicester: Troubador, 2008, 4.14. 4. Ibid. 5. Ibid.

461

Notes

pp. [280–288]

6. Lister, The Syrian Jihad. 7. Ibid. 8. Noah Feldman, The Fall and Rise of the Islamic State, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008, p. 3. 9. See for instance Chapter 5 above. 10. Stephen M. Walt, ‘What Should we Do if the Islamic State Wins?’ Foreign Policy, 10 June 2015, available at http://foreignpolicy. com/2015/06/10/what-should-we-do-if-isis-islamic-state-winscontainment/ 11. Hassan Farahan al-Maliki, Judhur Da’ish: Qira’a fi Turath al-Wahhabiyya wa ‘Ulama’ al-Sa‘udi [The roots of Da’ish (ISIS): a reading in the heritage of Wahhabism and Saudi ‘ulama’], Beirut: Dar al-Mahajja, 2014. 12. Ibid. 13. Hassan Farahan al-Malki, Excessive Extremism Ideology (2014) [video], p. 131. 14. Cole Bunzel, ‘From Paper State to Caliphate: The Ideology of the Islamic State’, Brookings Project on US Relations with the Islamic World, Analysis Paper No. 19, March 2015, available at https://www. brookings.edu/wp-content/uploads/2016/06/The-ideology-of-theIslamic-State-1.pdf, last accessed 22 April 2017. 15. Youssef H. Aboul-Enein, ‘Ayman al-Zawahiri: The Ideologue of Modern Islamic Militancy’, Counterproliferation Papers, Future Warfare Series 21, USAF Counterproliferation Center, Maxwell Air Force Base, AL: Air University, 2004, p. 3. 16. Jonathan Powell, Talking to Terrorists: How to End Armed Conflict, London: Random House, 2014. 17. The Grand Imam of al-Azhar, opening speech at the 2014 International Conference on Confronting Terrorism and Extremism. See Al-Tayyib, al-Azhar fi muwajahat al-fikr al-irhabi, pp. 9–16. 18. For a thorough Western viewpoint on DA’ISH’s religious–ideological profile, its historical references, and (neo-)medieval practices see Graeme Wood, ‘What ISIS Really Wants’, The Atlantic 315, 2 (March 2015), available at https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/ 2015/03/what-isis-really-wants/384980/, last accessed 23 April 2017. 19. John L. Esposito, ‘Islam and Political Violence’, Religions 6, 3 (2015), pp. 1067–81, at p. 1070. 20. ‘Those qualified to elect or depose a caliph on behalf of the Muslim community. In medieval political theory, the term refers to legal scholars whose task it was to offer the Caliphate to the most qualified person. Because, in practice, most rulers designated their successors, the task was generally a mere formality. Some modern thinkers have tried to accommodate this task to that of a parliament’: ‘Ahl al-Hall wa’l 

 

 

 

 

 

462

notes



pp. [288–291]

Aqd’, The Oxford Dictionary of Islam, Oxford Islamic Studies Online, available at http://www.oxfordislamicstudies.com/article/opr/t125/ e73#, last accessed 31 May 2017. 21. Yusuf al-Qaradawi, Min Fiqh al-Dawla fi’l Islam [From the jurisprudence of state in Islam], Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1997, pp. 32–6. 22. Ibid. 23. Al-Katib, al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih, pp. 68–72. 24. Ibid., p.  62. 25. Ibid., p.  72. 26. There are some statements issued by the Imams of the Holy Mosques in Mecca and Medina legitimizing and supporting the call of Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab and his religious views; however, al-Katib argues that such statements were issued by coercion or ‘under the threat of the weapon’: see al-Katib, al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih, pp. 81–5. See also the discussion in Natana J. Delong-Bas, Wahhabi Islam: From Revival and Reform to Global Jihad, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008, pp. 246–7. 27.  Elizabeth Sirriyeh, ‘Wahhabis, Unbelievers and the Problems of Exclusivism’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 16, 2 (1989), pp. 123–32, at p. 123. 28. Al-Katib, al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih, p. 15. 29. Ibid. 30. For a more comprehensive discussion of tawhid and shirk see DelongBas, Wahhabi Islam, esp. pp. 56–65. 31. For this interpretation, the role of Ibn Taymiyya’s teachings was instrumental, according to ibid., p. 250. 32. According to al-Katib there are two types of shirk: shirk akbar (major shirk), which leads to exclusion from Islam, such as for instance believing in partners to God; and shirk asghar (minor shirk), which is not enough to exclude someone from Islam because it does not harm the essence of faith, but is rather considered a sin. See al-Katib, al-Fikr alSiyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih, p. 16. 33. See, for example, Delong-Bas, Wahhabi Islam, p. 256. 34. Al-Katib, al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih, pp. 31–3. 35. Entitled al-S‘iq al-Ilahiyya fi al-Radd ‘ala al-Wahhabiyya (The divine lightning in responding to Wahhabism). 36. Ibid., p.  63. 37. M. A. al-Nadawi, Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab: Muslih Mazlum wa Muftra Aliyhi [Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab: an oppressed and injured reformist], Riyadh: Wizara al-Shu‘un al-Islamiyya wa’l-Awqaf wa’l-Da‘wa wa’l-Irshad, 1999. 38. ‘Abd al-Rahman al-‘Isami, al-Durrar al-Saniyya fı al-Ajwiba al-Najdiyya:  

 

 

 

 

463

Notes

pp. [292–293]

Majmu Rasa’il wa Masa’il ‘Ulama’ Najd al-A‘lam min ‘Asr al-Shaykh Muhammad Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab ila ‘Asrina [The Sparkling Pearls in Najdi Responses; a collection of treatises and cases of the scholars of Najd since the time of Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab], Riyadh: n.p., 1994, vol. 2, p. 100. 39.  For greater context see Christopher M. Blanchard, ‘The Islamic Traditions of Wahhabism and Salafiyya’, Washington, DC: Library of Congress, Congressional Research Service, 2007, available at http:// www.dtic.mil/cgi-bin/GetTRDoc?AD=ADA463789, last accessed 18 April 2017 (original version Febe Armanios, ‘The Islamic Traditions of Wahhabism and Salafiyya’, Washington, DC: Library of Congress, Congressional Information Service, 2003). 40. Al-Katib, al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih, p. 24. 41. Al-‘Isami, al-Durrar al-Saniyya fı al-Ajwiba al-Najdiyya, vol. 1, p. 299. 42. Some particularly interesting—and, in a way, telling—points to keep in mind here include: (a) the defeat of the Wahhabi–Saudi state and their supporters was very difficult; (b) the Wahhabi–Saudi tribes resisted effectively for years, greatly delaying the Ottoman-backed Egyptian armies; (c) it was not until Ibrahim Pasha, with reinforcements, resolve, and French assistance, intensified the campaign that the Saudi–Wahhabi forces were cornered in Dir‘iyya; and, d) when Dir‘iyya fell in 1818, most of the religious (Wahhabi) leaders were executed (plus only a few of the Saud family)—which is perhaps indicative of the perception of who the violent and intolerant actors or drivers were in this equation. See Sirriyeh, ‘Wahhabis, Unbelievers and the Problems of Exclusivism’, pp. 123–5. 43. Joas Wagemakers, ‘The Enduring Legacy of the Second Saudi State: Quietist and Radical Wahhabi Contestations of al-Walaaʾ wa-l-Baraaʾ’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 44, 01 (2012), pp. 93–110, at p. 95; also available at http://doi.org/10.1017/S002074381100 1267, last accessed 15 May 2015. 44. See Hamad Bin Atiq, Sabil al-Najat wa’l-Fikak min Muwalat al-Murtaddin wa’l-Atrak [Fleeing and separating from loyalty to apostates and the Turks], Riyadh: n.p., 2002. 45. ‘Abd al-Latif ibn Hasan Al al-Shaykh, ‘Uyun al-Rasa’il wa al-Ajwibah ‘ala al-Masa’il [Essence of the messengers and answers to the issues], Riyadh: Maktaba al-Rashid lil Nashr wa al-Tawzi’, 1420 [1999], vol. 2, p. 733. 46. Thomas Hegghammer, ‘Jihad, Yes, But Not Revolution: Explaining the Extraversion of Islamist Violence in Saudi Arabia’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 36, 3 (2009), pp. 395–416, at p. 411; also available at http://doi.org/10.1080/1353 0190903338938, last accessed 20 March 2015.  

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [294–295]

47. Trevor Stanley, ‘Understanding the Origins of Wahhabism and Salafism’, Terrorism Monitor 3, 14 (2005), available at https://jamestown.org/ program/understanding-the-origins-of-wahhabism-and-salafism/, last accessed 19 April 2017. The Middle East today is clearly in need of alternative models of political change to counter takfiri Salafism. It is perhaps also interesting to note Stanley’s conclusion and proposed means of addressing the ideo-religious challenge identified: ‘In the West, education has been a major factor in social integration. But as the Saudi case study indicates, we need to be aware of not only the quantity, but also the nature of education. Saudi students in the 1970s learned engineering and administration alongside an ideology of xenophobic alienation. In the long run, the battle against violent Salafism will be fought not only on the battlefields of Afghanistan and Iraq, but also in the universities of the Middle East.’ Moreover, the fact that Stanley traces the issue back to the Ikhwan influence in Wahhabi thought further empowers this argument. More on the role of the Ikhwan can be found in Chapters 4 and 5 of this book. 48. Wagemakers, ‘The Enduring Legacy of the Second Saudi State’, p. 98. 49. Abu Muhammad Essam al-Maqdisi was born in Nablus (West Bank) in 1959. He is of Jordanian nationality and a radical Salafi cleric, whose teachings and career have nurtured some of the most prominent jihadi terrorists, including al-Qaida leaders; his work is a database and source of inspiration for global jihadi extremists. 50. The Saudi invitation to 500,000 US soldiers during the Gulf War. 51. Wagemakers, ‘The Enduring Legacy of the Second Saudi State’, p. 102. 52. Jarret M. Brachman, Global Jihadism: Theory and Practice, New York: Routledge, 2009, p. 47. 53. Wagemakers, ‘The Enduring Legacy of the Second Saudi State’, p. 103. 54. Marc Lynch, ‘Islam Divided between Salafi-Jihad and the Ikhwan’, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 33, 6 (2010), pp. 467–87, at p. 475. 55. See, for instance, the discussion in Sirriyeh, ‘Wahhabis, Unbelievers and the Problems of Exclusivism’, pp. 124–7; Delong-Bas, Wahhabi Islam, pp. 243–4, 248, 256, 289. 56. Shaykh Mahmoud Shaltut (1893–1963) was Grand Imam of al-Azhar and a prominent Egyptian religious scholar, who taught at al-Azhar whose work contributed significantly towards showing that Shari’a law is not an obstacle to modern life, but a useful guide to facilitate one’s navigation of the modern landscape. 57. Mahmoud Shaltut, al-Qur’an wa’l-Qital [The Qur’an and fighting], Cairo: Maktab Ithad al-Shuruk, 1948. 58. Wagemakers, ‘The Enduring Legacy of the Second Saudi State’, p. 103. 59. Abu Muhammad al-Mas’ari, al-Muwalat wa’l-Mu’adat [Loyalty and enmity], London: Tajdeed, 2004, p. 63.  

 

465

pp. [296–297]

Notes

60. See, for example, the discussion in Asma Afsaruddin, ‘The “Islamic State”: Genealogy, Facts, and Myths’, Journal of Church and State 48, 1 (2006), pp. 153–73, at pp. 161–5. 61. Mustafawi, Nazaryat al-Hukm wa’l-Dawla, pp. 77–8. 62. ‘Oh, verily, His is all creation and all command’ (Qur’an 7:54); ‘judgment rests with none but God’ (Qur’an 6:57). See also, for further context and discussion on these points relating to the perception of sovereignty, Delong-Bas, Wahhabi Islam, pp. 258–9, 242, 205. 63. ‘The Prophet has a higher claim on the believers than [they have on] their own selves, [seeing that he is as a father to them]’ (Qur’an 33:6). 64. Mustafawi, Nazaryat al-Hukm wa’l-Dawla, pp. 77–8. 65. See the discussion in Afsaruddin, ‘The “Islamic state”’, pp. 161–5. 66. Literally translated as ‘renegade’ in English. The Khawarij, or Kharijites, believed, inter alia, that men had no right to legislate; that anyone could serve as a caliph so long as they were righteous; and that there was a right to revolt against any ruler who did not adhere to their interpretation of Islam. 67. Lynch, ‘Islam Divided’, p. 472. 68. See the discussion of al-Mawdudi’s influential scholarship and work on jahiliyya, hakimiyya, dawla, and jihad, as well as his writings on Islamic society and ‘understanding Islam’ in Asyraf H. A. B. Rahman and Nooraihan Ali, ‘The Influence of al-Mawdudi and the Jama’at Al Islami Movement on Sayyid Qutb Writings’, World Journal of Islamic History and Civilization 2, 4 (2012), pp. 232–6. 69. Al-Qaradawi, Min Fiqh al-Dawla fi’l Islam, pp. 63–4. Al-Qaradawi cited Qutb’s statement regarding hakimiyya, that ‘the kingdom of God on earth is not established on the basis of giving the hakimiyya to a certain person (i.e. religious clerics—as was the case with the church— nor is it for those men who speak in the name of God as was the case with what was known as “theocracy” or the sacred divine governance). Indeed, it is based on the fact that God’s Shari’a is the one to govern, and thereby all issues should be returned to God in accordance to what he approved in the clear Shari’a’: al-Qaradawi, Min Fiqh alDawla fi’l Islam, p. 62. 70. Sayyid Qutb (1906–66) was an Egyptian writer, educator, and religious leader. His writings about Islam, and especially his call for a revolution to establish an Islamic state and society, greatly influenced the Islamic resurgence movements of the twentieth century. He was detained by the Egyptian authorities. On 19 August 1966 Sayyid Qutb and two companions were sentenced to death by a military tribunal, and the sentence was carried out on the morning of 25 August 1966. See ‘Sayyid Qutb’, Encyclopedia of World Biography 2004, available from  

 

 

 

 

466

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pp. [297–301]

Encyclopedia.com at http://www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G2–34047 05757.html, last accessed 6 August 2015. 71. However, some have suggested that the emergence of hakimiyya in Qutb’s thought came as a response to a process of ‘Westernizing’ Muslim society. See S. Khatab, ‘The Voice of Democratism in Sayyid Qutb’s Response to Violence and Terrorism’, Islam and Christian–Muslim Relations 20, 3 (2009), p. 315–2, at p. 320; also available at http:// doi.org/10.1080/09596410902983008, last accessed 30 January 2012. 72. Ibid., p.  321. 73. Al-Qaradawi, Min Fiqh al-Dawla fi’l Islam, p. 64. 74. F. M. al-Nadi, Mabadi’ Nizam al-Hukm fI’l-Islam [Principles of a system of governance in Islam], 2nd edn, Cairo: Dar al-Manar, 2005, pp. 48–9. 75. Rashid al-Ghannouchi, Mabadi’ al-Hukm wa‘l-Sulta fi‘l-Islam [Principles of governance and authority in Islam], published online by Al-Jazeera, 2004, available at http://www.aljazeera.net/specialfiles/pages/2321a16c5ca8-4d7b-90a3-0afedd939ff7# ‫مصدر الشرعية في الدولة اإلسالمية‬, last accessed 26 April 2015. 76. Qur’an 5:44. 77. Qur’an 5:45. 78. Qur’an 5:47. 79. Ira M. Lapidus, ‘Islamic Revival and Modernity: The Contemporary Movements and the Historical Paradigms’, Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient 40, 4 (1997), pp. 444–60. 80. As’ad Abu Khalil and Mahmoud Haddad, ‘Revival and Renewal’, in The Oxford Encyclopaedia of the Islamic World, Oxford Islamic Studies Online, available at http://www.oxfordislamicstudies.com/article/ opr/t236/e0682, last accessed 17 June 2017. 81. ‘Islamic Modernism and Islamic Revival’, in Atlas of the World’s Religions, 2nd edn, ed. Ninian Smart and Frederick Denny, Oxford Islamic Studies Online, available at http://www.oxfordislamicstudies.com/ article/opr/t253/e9, last accessed 17 June 2017. 82. Abu Khalil and Haddad, ‘Revival and Renewal’. 83. Ibid. 84. For examples of Indian Muslims under the British in 1857, and Algeria under the French in 1831, see Radwan al-Sayyid, Azmina al-Taghir: alDin wa’l-Dawla wa’l-Islam al-Siyasi [Times of change: religion, state, and political Islam], Cairo: al-Hay’a al-Masriyya al-‘Amma li’l-Kutub, 2015, pp. 195–9. 85. Esposito, Islam and Politics, p. 39. 86. Qur’an 4:59. 87. Arnold H. Green, ‘A Comparative Historical Analysis of the Ulama and the State in Egypt and Tunisia’, Revue de l’Occident Musulman et de la Méditerranée 29 (1980), pp. 31–54, at p. 35.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

467

pp. [301–307]

Notes

88. A concept analysed in Ibn Taymiyya’s influential account, al-Kitab alSiyasa al-Shar‘iyya [Treatise on government by the Shari’a], Cairo: Dar al-Sha’b, 1971. 89. Qur’an 4:58, 4:59. 90. For an in-depth study of the Muslim Brotherhood and its evolution see Carrie Rosefsky Wickham, The Muslim Brotherhood: Evolution of an Islamist Movement, Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013, also available at https://doi.org/10.1515/9781400866243, last accessed 17 June 2017. 91. An Islamic political organization and social conservative movement founded in 1941. 92. Yvonne Yazbeck Haddad, John Obert Voll, and John L. Esposito, The Contemporary Islamic Revival: A Critical Survey and Bibliography, New York: Greenwood Press, 1991, p. 39. 93. Ibid., pp.  43–4. 94. Ibid., p.  44. 95. Ibid. 96. Abu Khalil and Haddad, ‘Revival and Renewal’. 97. Haddad et al., The Contemporary Islamic Revival, p. 41. 98. For additional context see Rouhollah K. Ramazani, Revolutionary Iran: Challenge and Response in the Middle East, Baltimore and London: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1986; Rouhullah K. Ramazani, ‘Iran’s Islamic Revolution and the Persian Gulf’, Current History 84, 498 (1985), pp. 5–8 and 40–1. 99. Haddad et al., The Contemporary Islamic Revival, pp. 43–4. 100. In other words, because of their belief that the Islamists, like other opposition and political groups, should have a say, and the freedom to participate in the electoral processes and public discourse. 101. Al-Sayyid, Azmina al-Taghir, pp. 195–217. 102. N. Ayubi, Political Islam: Religion and Politics in the Arab World, London: Routledge, 1991, p. 59. 103. Abu Khalil and Haddad, ‘Revival and Renewal’. 104. Al-Sayyid, Azmina al-Taghir, pp. 195–217. 105. Abu Khalil and Haddad, ‘Revival and Renewal’. 106.  Kamran Bokhari and Farid Senzai, Political Islam in the Age of Democratization, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2014. 107. See Salafism in Egypt, Religious Literacy Project, Harvard Divinity School, Harvard University, 2017, available at https://rlp.hds.harvard.edu/faq/salafism-egypt, last accessed 1 Aug 2017. See also Guido Steinberg, ‘Leading the Counter-Revolution: Saudi Arabia and the Arab Spring’, Berlin, SWP Research Paper 2014/RP 07, available at https://www.swp-berlin.org/fileadmin/contents/products/  

 

 

 

 

 

468

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pp. [309–310]

research_papers/2014_RP07_sbg.pdf, p. 8; John R. Bradley, After the Arab Spring: How Islamists Hijacked the Middle East Revolts, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 2012, p. 83 (for further context see also pp. 65–94). 108. See Kathryn Babayan, ‘The Safavid Synthesis: From Qizilbash Islam to Imamite Shiism’, Iranian Studies 27, 1–4 (1994), pp. 135–61. The account of the beginning of the Safavid state (al-dawla al-safawiyya) in Arabic scholarship begins with the fall of the Aqquyunlu, and ends in 1736. See Hassan Karim al-Jaf, Mawsu’at Tarikh Iran al-Siyasi [Encyclopaedia of the political history of Iran], Beirut: al-Dar al‘Arabiyya li’l-Mawsu’at, 2008. 109. The mountains south of Lebanon and the north-east of Syria. Jabal ‘Amil had witnessed important moments in Shi’ite history, such as the visits of the Prophet’s companions Abu Dhar al-Ghifari and Salman the Persian, as well as that of Saladin’s son, to the Ottoman persecutions, and finally Arab nationalism. See Ali Dawud Jabir, The Missing Link of the History of Jabal ‘Amil, Beirut: Dar al-Hadi, 2005, pp. 61–183. 110. David Blow, Shah Abbas: The Ruthless King who Became an Iranian Legend, London: I. B. Tauris, 2014, p. 4. 111. Ibid. 112. Andrew Newman, Safavid Iran: Rebirth of a Persian Empire, London: I. B. Tauris, 2009, p. 13. 113. Ibid., p.  26. 114. Ibid., p.  50. 115. Rula Abisaab, Converting Persia: Religion and Power in the Safavid Empire, London: I. B. Tauris, 2014, pp. X, 50. 116. More monographs have recently discussed him and his legacy; see e.g. Blow, Shah Abbas. 117. Both Musavi genealogy and Sufi-mindedness of the state feature heavily in Babayan’s scholarship. See Kathryn Babayan, ‘Sufis, Darvishes, and Mullas: The Controversy over Spiritual and Temporal Dominion in 17th Century Safavi Iran’, in Charles Melville (ed.), Safavi Persia, London: I. B. Tauris, 1996, p. 123. 118. Babayan, ‘The Safavid Synthesis’, p. 137. 119. These extreme actions are naturally transgressive, but they are meant to show loyalty by breaking normative boundaries and allowing for a new form of codes and values intended to show loyalty. 120. Babayan, ‘The Safavid Synthesis’, p. 140. 121. Shahzad Bashir, ‘Shah Isma‘il and the Qizilbash: Cannibalism in the Religious History of Early Safavid Iran’, History of Religions 45, 3 (2006), pp. 234–56.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

469

pp. [301–314]

Notes

122. Newman, Safavid Iran, p. 15. 123. Al-Karaki issued a fatwa (injunction) allowing the cursing of Abu Muslim, the god-like hero of the Qizilbash, and wrote one of the earliest polemics against the extreme Sufiesque ghulat sects. See Babayan, ‘The Safavid Synthesis’, p. 144. 124. Mohamad Bassam, Jabal ‘Amel: Documented Truths, Beirut: al-Kawkab Publishing, 2011, p. 34. 125. Al-Jaf, Mawsu’at Tarikh Iran al-Siyasi, p. 25. 126. Babayan, ‘Sufis, Darvishes, and Mullas’, p. 123. 127. ‘It seems most reasonable to divide the Safavid period into two centuries.’ See Newman, Safavid Iran, p. 584. 128. Ibid., p.  9. 129. Ibid., p.  10. 130. The clerics supported confessional rituals. See Abisaab, Converting Persia, p. 50. 131. Ibid., p.  5. 132. Babayan, ‘Sufis, Darvishes, and Mullas’, p. 125. 133. Said Amir Arjomand, The Shadow of God and the Hidden Imam, Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1984, p. 107. 134. Newman, Safavid Iran, p. 580. 135. Abisaab, Converting Persia, p. 36. 136. Note also the controversies over the direction of prayer; the Friday prayer; the Nuqtavi affair; local shrines (e.g. Yazd); the tombs of imamzadas and Ni‘matullahis; verses; the shrines of imams (in Mashhad/Qum and Qadamgah). 137. Abisaab, Converting Persia, p. 19. 138. Ibid., p.  137. 139. Ibid., p.  119. 140. The Ni‘matulallahi family aligned themselves with the Safavid house by several marriages. See Arjomand, The Shadow of God, p. 116. 141. Newman, Safavid Iran, p. 15. 142. Ibid., p.  90. 143. Arjomand, The Shadow of God, p. 12–17. 144. Abisaab, Converting Persia, pp. 117–20. 145. Newman, Safavid Iran, p. 69. 146. Ibid., p.  70. 147. Ibid., p.  581. 148. Ibid., p.  589. 149. Babayan, ‘Sufis, Darvishes, and Mullas’, p. 117. 150. Newman, Safavid Iran, p. 57. 151. Ibid. 152. Al-Jaf, Mawsu’at Tarikh Iran al-Siyasi, p. 48.

470

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pp. [314–316]

153. Kathryn Babayan, Mystics, Monarchs and Messiahs: Cultural Landscapes of Early Modern Iran, Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2002, p. 352. 154. Ibid., pp.  351–2. 155. Abisaab, Converting Persia, p. 57. 156. Babayan, Mystics, Monarchs and Messiahs, p. 352. 157. Ibid., p.  365. 158. Ibid. 159. Babayan argues that at the turn of the seventeenth century ‘the court was becoming urbanized, the nature of male royal power took on feminine characteristics, in that shahs were secluded in the heart of the palace’: ibid., p. 373. 160. Al-Jaf, Mawsu’at Tarikh Iran al-Siyasi, p. 50. 161. Taima, al-Usul al-‘Aqadiyya li-al-Imamiyya, p. 31. 162. Khomeini, Islamic Government. 163. For context and analysis on the contributions of Yusuf al-Qaradawi to contemporary Islamic thought and scholarship see Sami E. Baroudi, ‘Sheikh Yusuf Qaradawi on International Relations: The Discourse of a Leading Islamist Scholar (1926–)’, Middle Eastern Studies 50, 1 (2014), pp. 2–26. 164. Yusuf al-Qaradawi, Ummatna Bayn Qarnayn [Our umma between two centuries], Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 2002, p. 122. 165. Ali Shariati, What Is To Be Done: The Enlightened Thinkers and an Islamic Renaissance, ed. F. Rajaee and foreword by J. L. Esposito, Houston: Institute for Research and Islamic Studies, 1986, p. 49. 166. Ali Shariati, al-Tashayu’ al-‘Alawi wa al-Tashayu’ al-Safaw’ [Red (Alevi) Shi’ism vs. black (Safavid) Shi’ism], Beirut: Dar al-‘Amir li’l-Thaqafat wa’l-Funun, 2007, p. 150. 167. Janey Levy, Understanding Iran and the Shia, New York: Rosen Publishing Group, 2009, p. 25. 168. Misagh Parsa, Social Origins of the Iranian Revolution, New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press, 1989, p. 9. 169. Murtada Mutahhari, The Islamic Movements in the Twentieth Century, trans. E. Qoran, Tehran: Great Islamic Library, 1979. 170. J. J. Donohue and J. L. Esposito (eds.), Islam in Transition: Muslim Perspectives, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1982, pp. 308–9. 171. He states: ‘The Shia ecclesiastic order is an independent institution, drawing strength (from the spiritual point of view) from God alone and (from social point of view) from the power of the masses’: ibid., p. 308. 172. Mohamad Sayyid Rassas, Ikhwan al-Muslimin wa Iran al-Kumayni–alKhamina’i [The Muslim Brotherhood and Khomeini–Khamena’i], Beirut: Jadawil lil-Nashr wa al-Tawzi, 2013.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

471

Notes

pp. [316–320]

173. Muhammad ‘Abduh, Nahj al-Balagha of ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, Beirut: Dar al-Ma‘rifa li’l-Tiba’a wa al-Nashr, 2009. 174. Khamahyar Saidi, Iran wa-al-Ikhwan al-Muslimin: Dirasa fi ‘Awamil alIltiqa’ wa-al-Iftiraq [Iran and the Muslim Brotherhood: a study in factors of convergence and divergence], Beirut: Markaz al-Dirasat alIstiratijiyya wa-al-Buhhuth wa-al-Tawthiq, 1997. 175. http://iranarab.com/Default.asp?Page=ViewArticle&ArticleID=213 176. It would be naive to assume that the relationship was not free from antagonism. Rassas recites an interesting myth the second plane landing after that of PLO leader Arafat in Tehran was a private plane carrying several members of the global leadership of the Muslim Brotherhood. The Muslim Brotherhood believe in the centrality of establishing an Islamic Caliphate, they offered to pledge allegiance (bay‘a) to Khomeini as long as he accepted that the controversy between the ideas of the Imamate and the Caliphate are in fact political rather than creedal. He chose to reflect on the issue and, as the spokesman of the Ikhwan claims, the answer came by way of the constitution much later, in so far as the Ja‘fari madhhab was made the official madhhab, and velayat-e faqih established supremacy of the Hidden Imam. The narrative suggests that this was the fatalistic targeted answer of Khomeini to the proposal made by the Ikhwan which may have been superficial since it does not account for the internal political reality of the state. 177. In 1984 a postage stamp featuring Sayyid Qutb was released in Iran. 178. Khomeini, Islamic Government. 179. Ibid. See Algar’s introductory comments: ‘Then he [Khomeini] continues logically to discuss insinuated misgivings, such as “Islam is not a competent religion to govern the society at the age of industrial civilization” or “legal provisions of Islam are inadequate to resolve the social problems, and to provide us with appropriate answers”.’ 180. Said Amir Arjomand, The Turban for the Crown: The Islamic Revolution in Iran, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1988, p. 75. 181. Ibid., pp.  184–6. 182. Vanessa Martin, Creating an Islamic State: Khomeini and the Making of a New Iran, London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2003, p. 100. 183. Ibid., p.  50. 184. Zubaida, ‘An Islamic State?’. 185. It is worth pointing out that this Islamic principle is exactly that of Ibn Taymiyya in his book on constitutional or legitimate policy (alsiyasa al-shari‘yya). 186. Roy, The Failure of Political Islam, p. 78. 187. Iran and the Arabs, as well as other non-Iranian Shi’a, seem to be  

 

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notes



pp. [320–323]

aware that they might need to cooperate to achieve short-term political goals. It appears that Iranian nationalism and national interest will be the driving forces behind the country’s foreign policy in the aftermath of nuclear disarmament. This nationalism would not be ‘racialized’, as it would include the ethnic non-Persian Shi’a of Iran, such as the Ahwazi Arabs and Azeris, who make up a significant proportion of the population in their respective provinces. This orientation of Iranian foreign policy is possibly easier to address than a ‘religiously inspired’ messianic one, as it allows for diplomatic, pragmatic solutions to current issues such as the recent US–Iranian rapprochement. Paradoxically, the Islamic Republic would then be rooted in traditional Iranian foreign policy: see Marcinkowski, Between Iran and Persia. 188. Al-Awwa, Fi al-Nizam al-Siyasi li’l-Dawla al-Islamiyya, pp. 254–96. 189. Ibid., p.  269. 190. Ibid., p.  275. 191. Ibid., p.  296. 192. See Lister, The Syrian Jihad. 193. DA’ISH leader Abu Bakr al-Baghdadi, as cited in Bunzel, ‘From Paper State to Caliphate’. 194. Mehana al-Habil, Daeish Najid al-Umq al-Aqa’di wa’l-Istratiji [DA’ISH Najid: The ideological and strategic depth], Islamtoday.net 3–7–2015, available at http://www.islamtoday.net/nawafeth/artshow-13-211332. htm; see also Lister, The Syrian Jihad. 195.  See, for example, Alastair Crooke, ‘The ISIS “Management of Savagery” in Iraq’, Huffington Post, 2014, available at http://www.huffingtonpost.com/alastair-crooke/iraq-isis-alqaeda_b_5542575.html, last accessed 22 April 2017. 196. For an analysis of DA’ISH’s economic model, which attempts to secure revenues from diverse sources ranging from oil and natural gas to phosphate, cement, sulphur, and agriculture, see Jean-Charles Brisard and Damien Martinez, ‘Islamic State: The Economy-Based Terrorist Funding’, Thomson Reuters, 2014, available at http://www. gdr-elsj.eu/wp-content/uploads/2015/11/Islamic-State.pdf, last accessed 22 April 2017. 197. Crooke, ‘The ISIS “Management of Savagery” in Iraq’. 198. Rick Noack, ‘Here’s How the Islamic State Compares with Real States’, Washington Post, 12 September 2014, available at https:// www.washingtonpost.com/news/worldviews/wp/2014/09/12/ heres-how-the-islamic-state-compares-to-real-states/?utm_ term=.256f8502ce89, last accessed 22 April 2017. 199. See, for example, Karen Armstrong, ‘Wahhabism to ISIS: How Saudi  

 

 

 

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Arabia Exported the Main Source of Global Terrorism’, New Statesman, 27 November 2014, available at http://www.newstatesman.com/world-affairs/2014/11/wahhabism-isis-how-saudi-arabiaexported-main-source-global-terrorism, last accessed 22 April 2017; Alastair Crooke, ‘You can’t Understand ISIS if you don’t Know the History of Wahhabism in Saudi Arabia’, Huffington Post, 2014, available at https://www.huffingtonpost.com/alastair-crooke/isis-wahhabism-saudi-arabia_b_5717157.html, last accessed 22 April 2017. 200. See, for context, Gretchen Peters, Seeds of Terror: How Heroin is Bankrolling the Taliban and al Qaeda (2009) New York: Macmillan, 2009; Gretchen Peters, How Opium Profits the Taliban, Peaceworks 62, Washington, DC: United States Institute of Peace, 2009. Even though the Taliban initially cracked down on opium cultivation and trade, according to Peters (How Opium Profits the Taliban), 95 per cent of the Taliban commanders today fight for profit and only 5 per cent for ideology. Lastly, see Raphael F. Perl, ‘Taliban and the Drug Trade’, Congressional Research Service, Library of Congress, 2001, available at http://www.au.af.mil/AU/awc/awcgate/crs/rs21041.pdf, last accessed 22 April 2017. 201. Al-Habil, Daeish Najid; Lister, The Syrian Jihad. 202. Crooke, ‘The ISIS “Management of Savagery” in Iraq’. 203.  See, for context, Charles Lister, ‘Profiling the Islamic State’, Brookings Doha Center Analysis Paper No. 13, 2014, Chapter IV, Part II, esp. pp. 21–5, available at http://somalianation.com/wp-content/uploads/2014/12/en_web_lister.pdf, last accessed 22 April 2017. 204. The recruiting process is facilitated by DA’ISH’s masterful digital propaganda as well as its high remuneration to its fighters. Also, ultimately, the recruitment is facilitated by the fact that the fighters effectively are under the impression that they are soldiers serving in the ranks of the (actual and territorial) Islamic State, advancing the establishment of a tangible Caliphate. For further context see, for example, Abdel Bari Atwan, Islamic State: The Digital Caliphate, Berkeley: University of California Press, 2015. 205. Wood, ‘What ISIS Really Wants’. 206. See Philippe Droz-Vincent, ‘“State of Barbary” (Take Two): From the Arab Spring to the Return of Violence in Syria’, Middle East Journal (Middle East Institute) 68, 1 (2014), pp. 33–58. 207. Esposito, ‘Islam and Political Violence’, pp. 1078–9; Rami Khouri, ‘ISIS is about the Arab Past, not the Future’, Michael Van Dusen Lecture Series on the Middle East, Wilson Center Middle East Program, May 2015, pp. 1–23, at p. 10, text available at https://  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [325–330]

www.wilsoncenter.org/sites/default/files/isis_is_about_the_arab_ past_not_the_future.pdf, last accessed 23 April 2017. 208. See Khaled Abou El Fadl, The Great Theft: Wrestling Islam from the Extremists, New York: HarperSanFrancisco, 2005. 209. Esposito, ‘Islam and Political Violence’, p. 1072. 210. Khouri, ‘ISIS is about the Arab Past, not the Future’, p. 10. 211. See Abd al-Salam al-Wayyil, Tahadiyyat Da’ish 2/1 [Da’ish Challenges 2/1], al-Markaz al-Arabi lil Buhuth Wa al-Diraasaat (Arab Centre for Research and Studies), available at https://www.acrseg.org/10022 212. Ibid. 213. Esposito, ‘Islam and Political Violence’, p. 1072. 214. M. J. Kirdar, ‘al Qaeda in Iraq’, Centre for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), Al Qaeda and Associated Movements (AQAM) Futures Project, Case Study No. 1, 15 June 2011, p. 2, available at https:// www.csis.org/analysis/al-qaeda-iraq, last accessed 22 April 2017. 215. Ibid. 216. Al-Wayyil, Tahadiyyat Da’ish 2/1. 217. Kirdar, ‘al Qaeda in Iraq’. 218. Wood provides further context for the meaning of takfir: ‘In Islam, the practice of Takfir, or excommunication, is theologically perilous. “If a man says to his brother, ‘You are an infidel,’” the Prophet said, “then one of them is right.” If the accuser is wrong, he himself has committed apostasy by making a false accusation.’ This is particularly interesting given the ease by which terrorist groups such as DA’ISH, al-Qaida, and Boko Haram have used takfir to justify their extreme practices and brutality towards fellow Muslims. See Wood, ‘What ISIS Really Wants’. 219. See Sharif Hatim ben Aref al-Awni, Takfir Ahl al-Shahadatayn [The expiation of the people of the two degrees], Riyadh: Markaz Nama li’l-Buhuth wa al-Dirasat Nama Center for Research and Studies, 2015. 220. Shaykh Dr Hatim al-Awni al-Sharif is a distinguished Saudi academic figure at the University of Um al-Qurra and an ex-member of the Saudi Shura Council. 221. See a-Awni, Takfir Ahl al-Shahadatayn. 222. Ibid. 223. ‘al-Shaykh Hatam al-Awni Dayf Barnamaj Liqa’ al-Juma‘a Ma’aa Abdullah al-Mudifir’ [Shaykh Hatem al-Awni guest programme, Friday meeting with Abdullah al-Mudifir], YouTube video, 58:50, posted by “‫[ خليجية‬Khaliyjiyya], 11 September 2014, available at https://www. youtube.com/watch?v=FPG0inv45–8&feature=youtu.be 224. Al-Awni in his interview (ibid.) gives some examples of Saudi schol 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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pp. [330–343]

ars who have made some reformation attempts, such as Bin Baz clarifying hakimiyya or the legality of adopting positive legislation. He noted that the crucial point in providing a judgment should be the belief or intention that is based on the heart of the person, for example if the person believes that these positive laws are not better than religion or are much more important than religious law, then the person should not be categorized as doing something prohibited, and consequently these laws are lawful. 225. See al-Awni, Takfir Ahl al-Shahadatayn; ‘al-Shaykh Hatam al-Awni Dayf Barnamaj Liqa’ al-Juma‘a Ma’aa Abdullah al-Mudifir’. 226. ‘Wilayat Najd (Najd Province)’, Global Security 2015, available at http://www.globalsecurity.org/military/world/para/wilayat-najd. htm, last accessed 24 April 2017. 227. Al-Tayyib, ‘Opening Speech’ 228. Ibid. 229. Ibid., pp.  10–12. 230. Ibid., pp.  12–13. 231.  ‘Al Azhar Conference Calls for Muslims to Combat Extremist Ideology’, Washington, DC: Embassy of Egypt, 2014, available at http://www.egyptembassy.net/news/al-azhar-conference-calls-formuslims-to-combat-extremist-ideology/, last accessed 22 July 2015. 232. Al-Tayyib, ‘Opening Speech’, p. 17. 233. Ibid., pp.  9–16. 234. ‘Ali ibn Isma‘il Abu al-Hasan Ash‘ari, Maqalat al-Islamiyyin wa-Ikhtilaf al-Musallin [The articles of Islamists and differences of worshippers], Beirut: al-Maktaba al-‘Asriyya, 2005, pp. 1–2. 235. Muhammad ‘Abduh (1849–1905) was the head of the Islamic Verdict Body (mufti) in Egypt and most other Islamic countries in his time. 236. Muhammad ‘Abduh, al-A’mal al-Kamila li’l-Imam al-Shaykh Muhammad ‘Abduh [The complete works of Muhammad ‘Abduh], ed. and comp. Muhammed Imarah, Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1993, vol. 3, p. 302. 237. Al-Tayyib, ‘Opening Speech’, pp. 13–14. 238. Qur’an 5:32. 239. Al-Tayyib, ‘Opening Speech’, p. 14.  

 

9. THE RELUCTANT HIJAZ: A MOMENT FOR PAUSE, REFLECTION, AND LEGITIMATE POLICY RESET 1. Al-Tayyib, ‘Opening Speech’, p. 14. 2. Ibid. 3. ‘Al Azhar Conference Calls for Muslims to Combat Extremist Ideology’. 4. Quoted in Mohammad al-Majdhub, Muhadarat fi al-Munzzimat al-Dawliyya

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pp. [343–346]

 wa’l-Iqlimiyya [Lectures on international and regional organizations], Beirut: Maktabat Makawi, 1978, pp. 18–19. 5.  For instance, in the present context, as discussed earlier, the Organisation of Islamic Cooperation has an ‘Islamic bloc’ dimension, at times reflected within the UN context too. 6. Mohammad Imarah, Jamal al-Din al-Afghani: Muqidh al-Sharq wa Falasuf al-Islam [Jamal al-Din al-Afghani: saviour of the Orient and philosopher of Islam], Beirut: Dar al-Wahda, 1984, p. 113. 7. Al-Afghani recognized the negative impact of centralization and the traditional system of governance on the Ottoman Sultanate, so he was keen to promote internal self-determination in order to improve these ten states/territories in terms of prosperity and civilization compared to Egypt at that time. 8. Jamal al-Din al-Afghani, al-A’mal al-Kamila li Jamal al-Din al-Afghani [The complete works of Jamal ad-Din al-Afghani], ed. Mohammad Imarah, Beirut: al-Mu’asassa al-‘Arabiyya li’l-Dirasat wa’l-Nashr, 1981, vol. 2, pp. 28–9. 9. Jacob M. Landau, The Politics of Pan-Islam: Ideology and Organization, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990, p. 21. 10. Imarah, Ihya’ al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya, pp. 27–8. 11. ‘Abduh, al-A’mal al-Kamila, p. 117. 12. Al-Kawakibi’s proposal for such an Islamic organization suggests that it might consist of 100 members, with others as advisers; such an organization should not be subject to any government, or represent any particular religious school of thought, and its slogan—he suggests—should be ‘We Do not Worship any Deity but God’. Among the organization’s goals could be promoting religious education and other beneficial sciences and morals; see al-Kawakibi, Umm al-Qura. 13. Ibid. 14.  Abdelhamid Ben Badis (1889–1940). He studied at Zaytouna University in Tunis and was an symbolic figure of the Islamic reform movement in Algeria. In 1931 Ben Badis founded the Association of Algerian Muslim ‘Ulama’, which was a national grouping of many Islamic scholars in Algeria. Ben Badis also spoke out against French rule in an attempt to preserve Algerian culture in the wake of French colonization. 15. Discussed earlier in the context of leadership in policy making. 16. Mohammad Rashid Rida, al-Khilafa [The Caliphate], Cairo: al-Zahra li’l-‘Ilam al-‘Arabi, 1988 [1922], p. 78. 17. Rida wrote al-Khilafa in 1922 to explore his views about the Caliphate and its importance for Muslims. The book discussed several issues and arguments concerning the validity of the Caliphate system, and at the  

477

pp. [347–350]

Notes

same time he suggested holding a conference for Muslim scholars and influential figures in the Islamic world to restore the real Caliphate. See ibid., p. 156. 18. Abul Kalam Azad (1888–1958), a prominent Indian religious scholar and activist. 19. Willis, ‘Debating the Caliphate’, p. 729. 20. Ibid., p.  720. 21. Ibid., p.  729. 22. Tauber, ‘Three Approaches, One Idea’, p. 197. 23.  In his contribution to the al-Azhar International Conference on Confronting Extremism and Terrorism held in 2014. 24. Abul-‘Ala al-Mawdudi developed the concept that led to the creation of zones with Muslim majorities, such as Pakistan in 1947. 25. Radwan al-Sayyid, ‘al-Dawla al-Islamiyya wa’l-Khilafa’ [The Islamic state and the Caliphate], in al-Tayyib (ed.), al-Azhar fi Muwajahat alFikr al-Irhabi. 26. Ibid. 27. For instance, in earlier sections we discussed the violence and role of the militant Wahhabi Ikhwan in the early twentieth century. Also, consider the broader late 2010s, the rise of Islamophobia, the role of populist politicians in the West and securitization discourses, as well as the election of Donald Trump and his initial actions. There has been an idea that there is a ‘move against Islam’ which, in turn, is dangerous in empowering reactionary, radical voices within Islam too, leading us to the gloomy scenarios of support for entities such as the Ikhwan, militant Salafi Wahhabis, the Taliban, al-Qaida, DA’ISH, alShabaab, or Boko Haram. The worst part of this equation was provided by DA’ISH’s plans for a universal ‘Islamic State’ (of terror) and ‘Caliphate’, and the notable mobilization this had in terms of international support—underlined in the numbers of recruits, foreign fighters, and ‘digitally’ radicalized individual supporters. 28. This principle has been recognized by the ICJ. See, for example, Legal Consequences for States of the Continued Presence of South Africa in Namibia, Advisory Opinion, ICJ Rep 1971, pp. 46–7. 29. It was illegal due to the fact that Japan signed the General Treaty for Renunciation of War as an Instrument of National Policy, known as The Kellogg–Briand Pact or Pact of Paris. 30. See, for instance, Security Council Res. 476 (1980) and 478 (1980) declaring purported changes in the status of Jerusalem by Israel to be null and void; also Security Council Res. 216 (1965), calling on members not to recognize Rhodesia’s declaration of independence. 31. See, for example, Legal Consequences for States of the Continued Presence of South Africa in Namibia.  

478

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pp. [350–351]

32. James Crawford, The International Law Commission’s Articles on State Responsibility: Introduction, Text and Commentaries, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2002, p. 249. 33. The question regarding the peremptory norms of general international law is very complex, and it is not the intention of this publication to discuss that issue. However, it is sufficient for the current dispute, not entering the theoretical problems of jus cogens, peremptory, or erga omnes norms, to highlight that it is generally accepted that the prohibition of aggression, and the prohibition of slavery and racial discrimination, among others, are to be regarded as peremptory norms. Those norms are mentioned because of two aspects: (a) as discussed, there was a general agreement among the governments, during the work on the Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (VCLT) and also during the Vienna Conference, as to the peremptory character of these prohibitions; (b) it is quite easy to establish that the actions of DA’ISH are in violation of the prohibition of aggression and the prohibition of slavery and racial discrimination (to cite a few). Therefore, it can be assumed that the actions of DA’ISH are a serious breach of obligations under peremptory norms. 34. See Article 40 of the Article on State Responsibility, in Crawford, The International Law Commission’s Articles on State Responsibility, p. 69. 35. See, in general, John Dugard, Recognition and the United Nations, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987. See also Vidmar, Democratic Statehood in International Law, p. 44: ‘It further specifies that states owe an obligation erga omnes to withhold formal or implied recognition of an effective territorial situation created in breach of jus cogens.’ 36. ‘Contemporary international law also knows of the concept of additional statehood criteria. These criteria are defined in negative terms: a state must not emerge as a result of the (illegal) use of force, in violation of the right of self-determination and/or in pursuance of racist policies’: Vidmar, Democratic Statehood in International Law, p. 61. 37. See Sunny Hundal, ‘The Real Threat from the Islamic State is to Muslims, Not the West: The Rise of the Islamic State Group is Probably the Worst Event in Recent Muslim History Since 9/11’, Al-Jazeera News, 26 August 2014, available at http://www.aljazeera. com/indepth/opinion/2014/08/real-threat-from-islamic-state— 201482316357532975.html, last accessed 24 March 2017. 38. As discussed in Part II of this book. 39. See Andrew Hosken, Empire of Fear: Inside the Islamic State, London: Oneworld, 2015, and Mahdi Darius Nazemroaya, ‘Plans for Redrawing the Middle East: The Project for a “New Middle East”’, Centre for  

 

479

Notes

pp. [352–353]

Research on Globalization, Montreal, 2015, available at https://www. globalresearch.ca/plans-for-redrawing-the-middle-east-the-projectfor-a-new-middle-east/3882 40. ‘At this moment, the greatest threats come from the Middle East and North Africa, where radical groups exploit grievances for their own gain. And one of those groups is ISIL—which calls itself the “Islamic State”. Now let’s make two things clear: ISIL is not ‘Islamic’. No religion condones the killing of the innocent. And the vast majority of ISIL’s victims have been Muslim. Furthermore, ISIL is certainly not a state. It was formerly al Qaeda’s affiliate in Iraq, and has taken advantage of a sectarian strife and Syria’s civil war to gain territory on both sides of the Iraq–Syrian border. It is recognized by no government, nor by the people it subjugates. ISIL is a terrorist organization, pure and simple. And it has no vision other than the slaughter of all who stand in its way.’ Statement by the President of the United States of America, Barack Obama, on ISIL, The White House, Office of the Press Secretary, 10 September 2014, available at https://www.whitehouse.gov/the-press-office/2014/09/10/statement-president-isil-1, last accessed 24 March 2017. 41. Declaration on Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Co-operation among States in accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, GA Res 2625 (XXV) (1970). 42. See Case Concerning Military and Paramilitary Activities in and against Nicaragua, ICJ Rep 1986, p. 14: ‘The principle of non-intervention forbids all States or groups of States to intervene directly or indirectly in internal or external affairs of other States. A prohibited intervention must accordingly be one bearing on matters in which each State is permitted, by the principle of State sovereignty, to decide freely. One of these is the choice of a political, economic, social and cultural system.’ 43. See, for context, the activity of the Personal Envoys of the SecretaryGeneral for the Greece–FYROM talks—Cyrus Vance (1993–9) and Matthew Nimetz (since 1999); see also UNSC Res. 817 (1993) or UNGA Res. 47/225; and ICJ cases touching upon that issue: Application of the Interim Accord of 13 September 1995 (the former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia v. Greece), Judgment, ICJ Reports 2011 (II), esp. p. 644) and Memorial of the Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (20 July 2009) and Counter-Memorial of Greece (19 January 2010), available at www.icj-cij.org, last accessed 23 March 2017. 44. Sir Michael Wood, ‘Macedonia’, Max Planck Encyclopaedia of Public International Law, online version, para. 4: ‘In common usage, “Macedonia” may be used as an informal way of referring to the  

 

 

 

 

 

480

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pp. [353–355]

Republic of Macedonia, or may refer to an area larger than the Republic, approximating to “geographical” or “historic” Macedonia. In August 1913, this larger area was divided up among Serbia (the present Republic of Macedonia), Bulgaria (Pirin), and Greece (Province of Macedonia). A very small area north and south of Debar became part of Albania. The three main parts of “Macedonia” in this wider sense are sometimes referred to as Vardar Macedonia, Pirin Macedonia, and Greek/Hellenic Macedonia respectively.’ 45. Greece is also using its leverage accrued from being member of both the EU and NATO, and pressures its smaller neighbour through these multilateral fora. The EU and NATO still refer to the Republic of Macedonia as FYROM. In fact, Greece blocked FYROM’s NATO membership bid in 2008 and EU accession negotiations in 2009. For greater context on Greece’s pressure tactics on the issue, see Fotis Mavromatidis, ‘The Role of the European Union in the Name Dispute between Greece and FYR Macedonia’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 18, 1 (2010), pp. 47–62. 46. Wood, ‘Macedonia’, para. 33. 47. Matthew Craven, ‘What’s in a Name? The Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia and Issues of Statehood’, Australian Yearbook of International Law 16, (1995), pp. 199–239, at pp. 199–200. 48.  Fred Burton and Scott Stewart, ‘The Hajj: Challenges and Opportunities’, Stratfor Weekly, 5 December 2007, available at https:// www.stratfor.com/weekly/hajji_challenges_and_opportunities, last accessed 22 March 2017. 49. John Kifner, ‘400 Die as Iranian Marchers Battle Saudi Police in Mecca; Embassies Smashed in Teheran’, New York Times, 2 August 1987, available at http://www.nytimes.com/1987/08/02/world/400-dieiranian-marchers-battle-saudi-police-mecca-embassies-smashed-teheran. html?pagewanted=all, last accessed 22 March 2017. 50. Saudi officials reported that 769 pilgrims had died, but reports from other nations claimed the numbers were underestimated and the dead toll was over a thousand. See, for example, ‘Hajj Stampede: What we Know So Far’, BBC News, 1 October 2015, available at http://www. bbc.co.uk/news/world-middle-east-34357952, last Accessed 22 March 2017. 51. ‘Hajj Stampede: Iran’s Rouhani Calls for Investigation at UN’, BBC News, 27 September 2015, available at http://www.bbc.co.uk/news/ world-middle-east-34368387, last accessed 23 March 2017. 52. And also earlier, with South Ossetia and Abkhazia in Georgia (2008). 53. BBC reporter Andrew Hosken released a map (available at https:// www.express.co.uk/news/uk/597254/ISIS-Map-Europe-Terror 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

481

pp. [356–362]

Notes

Organisation-Andrew-Hosken-Caliphate-Abu-Musab-al-Zarqawi) detailing DA’ISH’s ambitions to acquire huge territory including The Hijaz. See Mark Aitken, ‘The World According to ISIS: Redrawn Map Reveals Terror Group’s Blueprint to Take Over Huge Territory’, Daily Record, 9 August 2015, available at http://www.dailyrecord.co.uk/news/ukworld-news/world-according-isis-redrawn-map-6222005#jLLHrTk ZYmcfJrCd.97, last accessed 24 March 2017. 54. Report of Committee set up to consider certain correspondence between Sir Henry McMahon (His Majesty’s High Commissioner in Egypt) and the Sherif of Mecca in 1915 and 1916 (McMahon Correspondence). 1938–39 [Cmd. 5974] House of Commons Parlia­ mentary Papers Online; text available at https://unispal.un.org/DPA/ DPR/unispal.nsf/0/4C4F7515DC39195185256CF7006F878C 55. See Antonius, The Arab Awakening. 56. See Mamdani, ‘Whither Political Islam?’. 57. Ibid. 58. Ibid. 59. Lister, The Syrian Jihad. 60. See Maher, Salafi Jihadism. 61. ‘Saudi Arabia Population 2017’, available at http://worldpopulationreview.com/countries/saudi-arabia-population/, last accessed 24 March 2017. 62. See, for instance, House, On Saudi Arabia, pp. 107–11. 63. Ibid., p.  219. 64. Ibid., p.  218. 65. House, On Saudi Arabia, p. 219. 66. For example, by way of its plans to build high-speed rail systems to connect Riyadh and the Holy Cities with the Gulf, Jeddah, Jordan, and Kuwait. 67. See the discussion in Chapter 6. 68. FO 967/55 (1933) ‘Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy’. 69. Justin Dargin, Desert Dreams: The Quest for Arab Integration from the Arab Revolt to the Gulf Cooperation Council, Dordrecht: Republic of Letters Publishing, 2011, p. 195. 70. See Roger Owen, ‘Arab Integration in Historical Perspective: Are There any Lessons?’, Arab Affairs 1, 6 (1988), pp. 41–51. 71. The Deauville Partnership was launched in May 2011 by the G8 in response to the far-reaching changes under way in several MENA countries (the Arab Uprisings). It was ‘launched as a long-term, global initiative that provides Arab countries in transition with a framework based on technical support to: (i) strengthen governance for transparent, accountable governments; and (ii) provide an economic frame 

 

 

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pp. [362–365]

work for sustainable and inclusive growth’. For context and more information see OECD, ‘The Deauville Partnership and the MENAOECD Initiative’, available at https://www.oecd.org/fr/sites/mena/ investissement/thedeauvillepartnership.htm, last accessed 25 March 2017. 72. Jean-Pierre Chauffour, From Political to Economic Awakening in the Arab World: The Path of Economic Integration, Washington DC: World Bank, 2013, available at https://openknowledge.worldbank.org/handle/10986/12221, last accessed, 25 March 2017. 73. ESCWA, Arab Integration: A 21st Century Development Imperative, Beirut: ESCWA/United Nations, 2014, available at https://www.unescwa. org/sites/www.unescwa.org/files/publications/files/e_escwa_ oes_13_3_e.pdf, last accessed 25 March 2017. 74. The most important reason behind the failure of these attempts was that the final agreements reached were nothing but a compromise between an Egyptian proposal for full economic union with common directions and policies, and the desire of other states to go no further than the creation of a regional market for certain goods by means of the reduction or elimination of certain barriers. 75. Owen, ‘Arab Integration’, p. 47. 76. See Jamel Zarrouk, ‘The Greater Arab Free Trade Area: Limits and Possibilities’, in Bernard M. Hoekman and Jamel Zarrouk (eds.), Catching Up with the Competition: Trade Opportunities and Challenges for the Arab Countries, Ann Arbor: Michigan University Press, pp. 285–305. 77. For an updated, concise presentation of the Arab League see ‘Profile: Arab League’, BBC News, 24 August 2017, available at http://www. bbc.com/news/world-middle-east-15747941, last accessed 25 March 2017. 78. See Zarrouk, ‘The Greater Arab Free Trade Area’, especially the subsection ‘Harnessing Trade’. 79. Chauffour, From Political to Economic Awakening in the Arab World, p. 1. 80. Part of a broader proposal that was submitted to the World Economic Forum’s Global Agenda Council on the Future of the Middle East (GAC-FME) by Institution Quraysh for Law and Policy (iQ) in Octo­ ber 2009. 81.  For more information on the initiative see the Joint Political Declaration as published by the Turkish Foreign Ministry: ‘Joint Political Declaration on the Establishment of the High Level Cooperation Council among Turkey, Syria, Jordan and Lebanon’, available at http://www.mfa.gov.tr/joint-political-declaration-on-the-esthablishement-of-the-high-level-cooperation-council-among-turkey_syria_-jordan-and-lebanon.en.mfa, last accessed 5 April 2017.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

483

Notes

pp. [365–367]

82. See, for context, Aslı Ilgıt and Rochelle Davis, ‘The Many Roles of Turkey in the Syrian Crisis’, MERIP Online, 28 January 2013, available at http://www.merip.org/mero/mero012813, last accessed 5 April 2017. 83.  Republic of Turkey, Ministry of Foreign Affairs, ‘Joint Political Declaration’. 84. The relevant organizations that are excluded from this list are the Muslim World Assembly and the Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), because of their specific agendas and wider international remits. 85. Arguably, the TTIP had started losing popularity in Europe too after the Brexit vote, especially in Germany and France. See, for context, Rem Korteweg, ‘The End of the Transatlantic Trade Consensus?’ Centre for European Reform (CER), Insight, 21 February 2017, available at https://www.cer.org.uk/sites/default/files/insight_ RK_21.2.17.pdf, last accessed 5 April 2017. 86. See François Godement and Agatha Kratz (eds.), ‘“One Belt, One Road”: China’s Great Leap Outward’, European Council on Foreign Relations (ECFR) China Analysis, 10 June 2015, available at http:// www.ecfr.eu/page/-/China_analysis_belt_road.pdf, last accessed 5 April 2017. Importantly, China has been employing a long-term strategy towards infrastructure and development in Africa as well— including an important energy component. In other words, the global milieu-shaping efforts are an ongoing multi-layered process from China’s perspective. See, for instance, Nida Jafrani, ‘China’s Growing Role in Africa: Myths and Facts’, International Economic Bulletin, Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 9 February 2012, available at http://carnegieendowment. org/2012/02/09/china-s-growing-role-in-africa-myths-and-factspub-47140, last accessed 5 April 2017; David Dollar, ‘Setting the Record Straight on China’s Engagement in Africa’, Brookings, 11 July 2016, available at https://www.brookings.edu/blog/order-fromchaos/2016/07/11/setting-the-record-straight-on-chinas-engagementin-africa/, last accessed 5 April 2012. Yeroen van der Leer and Joshua Yau, ‘China’s New Silk Route: The Long and Winding Road’, PwC’s Growth Markets Centre, February 2016, available at https://www. pwc.com/gx/en/growth-markets-center/assets/pdf/china-new-silkroute.pdf, last accessed 5 April 2017. 87. Peter Frankopan, The Silk Roads: A New History of the World, London and Oxford: Bloomsbury, 2015. 88. Among them, the Chinese president and the Chinese leadership, which strongly ties development initiatives and economic progress with peace and security. See, for example, Lina Benabdallah, ‘China’s Peace and  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

484

notes



pp. [367–369]

Security Strategies in Africa: Building Capacity is Building Peace?’ African Studies Quarterly 16, 3–4 (2016), pp. 17–34, at p. 19. 89. To cite one example, see Jikkie Verlare and Frans Paul van der Putten, ‘One Belt, One Road’: An Opportunity for the EU’s Security Strategy, Clingendael: Netherlands Institute of International Relations, 2015. 90. For further analysis and additional context see Malik R. Dahlan ‘Rethinking Regional Organization in the Gulf and Middle East’, in M. Hudson and M. Kirk (eds.), Gulf Politics and Economics in a Changing World, Singapore: World Scientific Publishing Co., 2014; Malik R. Dahlan, ‘Rethinking Global Redesign and Regional Organization’, in Gulf Politics and Economics in a Changing World, World Scientific, 2009, available at http://www.worldscientific.com/doi/abs/10.1142/9789 814566209_0007 91. Andrew Moravcsik, ‘Taking Preferences Seriously: A Liberal Theory of International Politics’, International Organization 51, 4 (1997), pp. 513– 53. 92.  Anne-Marie Slaughter, Andrew S. Tulumello, and Stepan Wood, ‘International Law and International Relations Theory: A New Generation of Interdisciplinary Scholarship’, American Journal of Inter­ national Law 92, 3 (1998), pp. 367–97. 93. See Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. 94. See Sungjoon Cho, ‘Rethinking APEC: A New Experiment for a PostModern Institutional Arrangement’, in Mitsuo Matsushita and Dukgeun Ahn (eds.), WTO and East Asia: New Perspectives, London: Cameron May, 2004. 95. Ibid. 96. Note that the arguments for legalization under international organization theory evaluate some systems as having strong legalization and others having softer legalization. Regardless, there always exists a certain level of legalization. 97. For example, ‘negotiation theory’ would focus on the idea of interestbased interaction among states, meaning the creation of options through principled negotiation, as opposed to positional, power-based negotiation. 98. APEC’s flexibility makes it easier for developing countries to assess their commitments when it comes to the pressure of deregulation and liberalization. Sungjoon Cho, ‘Breaking the Barrier between Region­ alism and Multilateralism: A New Perspective on Trade Regionalism’, Harvard International Law Journal 42, 2 (2001), pp. 419–65. APEC is institutionalized in such a way that it advances transgovernmental networking, which promotes regulatory cooperation. Further to that, it  

 

 

 

 

485

Notes

pp. [371–373]

 is the ‘private’ involvement in APEC that seems like a tradition in the region, with businesses often playing a critical and sometimes constructive role in operating institutions’: Cho, ‘Rethinking APEC’. 99. In December 2011, following a proposal by King Abdullah ibn Abdulaziz of Saudi Arabia to form a ‘single entity’, the GCC closing statement of the thirty-second session and the Riyadh Declaration affirmed the GCC’s commitment to ‘coordination, integration and interdependence among Member States’, while aiming to achieve ‘greater coherence, unity, strength and well-being’. The Riyadh Declaration also gave the ‘development of defense and security cooperation’ as a goal. For the full text of GCC closing statement and the 2011 Riyadh Declaration see ‘32nd GCC Summit Final Statement and Riyadh Declaration’, Saudi–US Relations Information Service (SUSRIS), 21 December 2011, available at http://susris.com/2011/ 12/21/32nd-gcc-summit-final-statement-and-riyadh-declaration/, last accessed 25 March, 2017. 100. See ibid.: King Abdullah called for the formation of a ‘single entity’, and a plan was put forward for tighter financial and military integration, as well as foreign policy convergence. 101. The inception of the Peninsula Shield (renamed the Peninsula Shield Force) dates to 1981. Beyond deterrence, it is an effort to advance cooperation and readiness through joint exercises, training, and multilayered confidence-building socialization. It has had a dynamic evolution through time, in response or reaction to external developments. After 2006 the Peninsula Shield Force’s strength and scope extended significantly. For further context, background, and analysis of the GCC’s efforts in this realm see Zafer Muhammad Alajmi, ‘Gulf Military Cooperation: Tangible Gains or Limited Results?’, Al Jazeera Centre for Studies, Dossiers, 31 March 2015, available at http:// studies.aljazeera.net/en/dossiers/2015/03/201533164429153675. html, last accessed 25 March 2017. 102. See ‘GCC–US Strategic Cooperation Forum 4th Ministerial Meeting’, Saudi–US Relations Information Service (SUSRIS), 26 September 2014, available at http://susris.com/2014/09/26/gcc-us-strategiccooperation-forum-4th-ministerial-meeting-communique/, last accessed 5 April 2017. Also, see for context, Imad Harb, ‘The Return of Strong GCC–US Strategic Relations’, National Council on US– Arab Relations (NCUSAR), 26 November 2014, available at https:// ncusar.org/blog/2014/11/return-strong-gcc-us-strategicrelations/#footnote_3_3851, last accessed 5 April 2017. 103.  ‘37th GCC Summit Issues Final Communiqué’, Arab News, 8 December 2016, available at http://www.arabnews.com/node/ 1021001/saudi-arabia, last accessed 5 April 2017.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

486

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pp. [373–381]

104. See for instance the nine-point GCC–UK joint communiqué with the strategic overview of this partnership and cooperation: ‘Gulf Co-operation Council–United Kingdom, First Summit 6 to 7 December 2016, Kingdom of Bahrain: Joint Communiqué’, available at https://www.gov.uk/government/publications/gulf-co-operation-council-united-kingdom-first-summit-joint-communique/gulfco-operation-council-united-kingdom-first-summit-6-to-7-december2016-kingdom-of-bahrain-joint-communique, last accessed 5 April 2017. 105. See Dahlan, ‘Rethinking Regional Organization’; Dahlan, ‘Rethinking Global Redesign’. 106. Arguably, as we have seen and discussed, every era has had its Faith Militant strands and their exponents, from the religious violence in Europe, the Inquisition, the Crusades, the Wars of Religion, and other extreme practices of the past, to certain extreme religious strands or individuals stemming out of the Islamic world—such as the Ikhwan, al-Qaida, DA’ISH, and so forth. Overall, we have to safeguard our nations, religions, societies, and global peace in the face of the rise of extremism—out of any sect or strand of faith and thought. Greater dialogue and understanding is needed; and the model proposed here can help advance it.  

 

CONCLUSION 1. For further context and analysis on the birth of Hizb al-Tahrir see Shaul Bartal, Jihad in Palestine: Political Islam and the Israeli–Palestinian Conflict, Israeli History, Politics and Society 57, Abingdon: Routledge, 2016, chap. 5, ‘Hizb al-Tahrir al-Islami Arises’. 2. Reza Pankhurst, The Inevitable Caliphate? A History of the Struggle for Global Islamic Union, 1924 to the Present, London: Hurst, 2013. 3. Kersten (ed.), The Caliphate and Islamic Statehood Formation, vol. 3, p. 4. 4. Wilfrid Scawen Blunt, The Future of Islam, London: Kegan Paul, Trench & Co., 1882 5. It was reminiscent of the confrontation with the Khawarij separatists of the seventh century and their adoption of the Prophetic Banner. In this way, it was a symbolic counter-attack against the rise of DA’ISH. 6. Emad Yusif, al-Hijaz fi al-‘Ahd al-‘Uthmani [The Hijaz in the Ottoman era], Beirut: al-Warrak Publishing, 2005, p. 41. 7. Al-Tayyib, al-Azhar fi Muwajahat al-Fikr al-Irhabi. 8. For an expert strategic analysis of the coalition and its implications, including the Iran dimension and its reaction, see Dhrubajyoti Bhattacharjee, ‘The Saudi Led Islamic Alliance: An Assessment’, 13 May  

 

487

Notes

pp. [381–388]

 2016, Indian Council of World Affairs, Issue Brief, available at http:// icwa.in/pdfs/IB/2014/TheSaudiLedIslamicAllianceIB13052016.pdf, last accessed 26 March 2017. 9. Noah Browning and John Irish, ‘Saudi Arabia Announces 34-State Islamic Military Alliance against Terrorism’, Reuters, 15 December 2015, available at http://www.reuters.com/article/us-saudi-securityidUSKBN0TX2PG20151215, last accessed 26 March 2017. 10. ‘Saudi Arabia Forms Muslim “Anti-Terrorism” Coalition’, Al-Jazeera, 15 December 2015, http://www.aljazeera.com/news/2015/12/saudiarabia-forms-muslim-anti-terrorism-coalition-151215035914865.html, last accessed 26 March 2017. 11. ‘Transcript of President Trump’s Speech in Riyadh’, VOA News, 21 May 2017, available at https://www.voanews.com/a/trumpspeech-in-riyadh/3864144.html, last accessed 24 June 2017. 12. Royal Order to Adopt Provisions of Traffic Law, Executive Regulations, including Issuance of Driving Licenses for Males, Females alike; see http://www.spa.gov.sa/1671331 13.  Royal Decree No. 35/A of 17–10–2017, Establishment of the Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques King Salman bin Abalaziz Repository the Prophetic Hadith. See http://www.spa.gov.sa/viewfullstory.php?lang=en&newsid=1679758 14. Statement by Crown Prince Mohammad ibn Salman on October 24 2017 during the Future Investment initiative Forum in Riyadh. See also Salman al-Ansari, ‘Deputy Crown Prince Mohammed Bin Salman’s Three-Pronged Approach to Counter-Terrorism’, ed. Majid Rafizadeh, Harvard University, report no. 24539, available at https://scholar.harvard.edu/majidrafizadeh/publications/PrinceHarvardAlAnsari 15. Chris Thornhill, A Sociology of Constitutions: Constitutions and State Legitimacy in Historical–Sociological Perspective, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011, p. 18. 16. Ibid., p.  17. 17. Thomas Franck, ‘The Emerging Right to Democratic Governance, American Journal of International Law 86, 1 (1992), pp. 46–91, esp. p. 90: ‘The entitlement to democracy in international law has gone through both a normative and a customary evolution. It has evolved both as a system of rules and in the practice of states and organizations. This evolution has occurred in three phases. First came the normative entitlement to self-determination. Then came the normative entitlement to free expression as a human right. Now we see the emergence of a normative entitlement to a participatory electoral process. The democratic entitlement, despite its newness, already enjoys a high degree of legitimacy, derived both from various texts and from  

 

 

 

 

 

 

488

notes



pp. [388–392]

the practice of global and regional organizations, supplemented by that of a significant number of non-governmental organizations. These texts and practices have attained a surprising degree of specificity, given the newness of the entitlement and especially of its requirement for free and open elections.’ 18. Feldman, ‘Constitutionalism, Deliberative Democracy and Human Rights’, p. 458. 19. Al-Jundi, Iqtitaf al-Zahr wa Ijtina’ al-Thamr fi Haq al-Shu‘ub fi Taqrir alMasir, p. 18. EPILOGUE 1. Caliph, guardian, or successive authority. 2. Qur’an 2:30. ‫اعلٌ فِي األَر ْ ِض َخلِيفَ ًة‬ َ ُّ ‫ وَ ِإذ ْ قَالَ رَب‬:‫قال اهلل تعالى‬ ِ ‫ك لِل َْمال َئِكَ ِة ِإن ِّي َج‬ ‫َك‬ َ ‫ح ُن ن ُ َسبِّ ُح ب ِ َح ْم ِد‬ َ ‫ك وَنُقَ دِّ ُس ل‬ ُ ‫س ِف‬ ِ ‫يها َمن يُف‬ َ ِ‫ْس ُد ف‬ َ ِ‫قَالُوا ْ أ َ جَت ْ َعلُ ف‬ ْ َ ‫ك الدِّ َماء وَن‬ ْ َ ‫يها وَي‬ َ ‫َم َما ال َ ت َ ْعل َُمو َن‬ ُ ‫قَالَ ِإن ِّي أ ْعل‬ 3. See Martin Lings, Mecca: From before Genesis until Now, Cambridge: Archetype, 2004. 4. In Psalm 84 which begins with the words: ‘How amiable are Thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts’, there is a reference to Hagar and her son: ‘Blessed is the man whose strength is in Thee, in whose heart are the ways who passing through the valley of Baca make it a well’ (5–6); see ibid., p. 5. 5. See Ibn Khaldun, The Muqaddimah: An Introduction to History, translated by F. Rosenthal, London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1967.  

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SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Esposito, J. L. (ed.). The Iranian Revolution: Its Global Impact. Miami: Florida International University Press, 1990. ——— ‘Islam and Political Violence’, Religions 6, 3 (2015), pp. 1067–81. ——— L. Islam and Politics. 4th edn, New York: Syracuse University Press, 1998. Fahmi, A. A. Hadhihi Hayati [This is my life]. Series No. 154, Cairo: Dar alHilal, 1963. Falk, R. ‘Revisiting Westphalia, Discovering Post-Westphalia’, Journal of Ethics 6, 4 (2002), pp. 311–52. Fan, H. ‘The Missing Link between Self-Determination and Democracy: The Case of East Timor’, Northwestern Journal of International Human Rights 6, 1 (2008), pp. 176–95. al-Fara’, A. Y. al-Ahkam al-Sultaniyya [The ordinances of government]. Edited by Muhammad Hammed al-Taqi. Beirut: Dar al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyya, 1983. Feldman, D. ‘Constitutionalism, Deliberative Democracy and Human Rights’, in J. Morison, K. McEvoy, and G. Anthony (eds.), Judges,Transition, and Human Rights, Oxford Scholarship Online, 2012; available at DOI:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780199204939.003.0020. Feldman, N. The Fall and Rise of the Islamic State. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2008. Fowda, E. D. Mudhkirat fi ‘Ilm al-Siyasa [Memorandums on political science]. Cairo: Qulit al-Iqtisad wa’l-‘Ulum al-Siyasiyya, Jami‘at al-Qahira, 1975. Franck, T. ‘The Emerging Right to Democratic Governance’, American Journal of International Law 86, 1 (1992), pp. 46–91. Franck, T. M. Fairness in International Law and Institutions. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1998. ——— The Structure of Impartiality: Examining the Riddle of One Law in a FragmentedWorld. New York: Macmillan, 1968. Frankopan, P. The Silk Roads: A New History of the World. London and Oxford: Bloomsbury, 2015. Galster, S. ‘Afghanistan: The Making of US Policy, 1973–1990’, US National Security Archive; available at https://nsarchive2.gwu.edu//NSAEBB/ NSAEBB57/essay.html Gershoni, I., and J. Jankowski. Egypt, Islam and the Arabs:The Search for Egyptian Nationhood, 1900–1930. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1987. Ghabra, S. ‘Democratization in a Middle Eastern State: Kuwait’, Middle East Policy 3, 1 (1994), p. 102–19. al-Ghannouchi, R. Mabadi’ al-Hukm wa’l-Sulta fi’l-Islam [Principles of governance and authority in Islam]. Published online by Aljazeera, 2004; available at http://www.aljazeera.net/specialfiles/pages/2321a16c-5ca8-4d7b90a30afedd939ff7#‫مصدر الشرعية في الدولة اإلسالمية‬ Grant, T. ‘Defining Statehood: The Montevideo Convention and its Discontents’, Columbia Journal of Transnational Law 37 (1999), pp. 403–57.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

497

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY al-Habil, M. Daish Najid al-Umq al-Aqa’di wa’l-Istratiji [DA’ISH Najid: The ideological and strategic depth], Islamtoday.net 3–7–2015; available at http://www.islamtoday.net/nawafeth/artshow-13–211332.htm Haddad, M. ‘Arab Religious Nationalism in the Colonial Era: Rereading Rashid Rida’s Ideas on the Caliphate’, Journal of the American Oriental Society 117, 2 (1997), pp. 253–77. Haddad,Y. Y., J. O. Voll, and J. L. Esposito. The Contemporary Islamic Revival: A Critical Survey and Bibliography. New York: Greenwood Press, 1991. Hamid-Allah, M. Majmu‘at al-Watha’iq al-Siyasa li’l ‘Ahd al-Nabawi wa alKhilafa al-Rashida [A collection of the political documents of the Prophetic and Ritually Guided Caliphate era]. 4th edn, Beirut: Dar al-Nfa’is, 1983. ——— Majmu‘at al-Watha’iq al-Siyasa li’l-‘Ahd al-Nabawi wa al-Khilafa alRashida [A collection of the political documents of the Prophetic and Ritually Guided Caliphate era]. 6th edn, Beirut: Dar al-Nfa’is, 1987. Hamzah, H. ‘The Role of Religion in Building National Identity: A Case Study of Saudi Arabia’, Ph.D. thesis, University of Westminster, 2006. Hannikanen, L. ‘Self-Determination and Autonomy in International Law’, in M. Suski (ed.), Autonomy: Applications and Implications. The Hague: Kluwer, 1998. Hannum, H. ‘Territorial Autonomy: Permanent Solution or Step Toward Secession’, in A. Z. Skurbaty (ed.), Beyond a One-Dimensional State. Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 2005. Happold, M. ‘Independence: In or Out of Europe—an Independent Scotland and the European Union’, International and Comparative Law Quarterly 49, 1 (2000), p. 15–34. Hartman, A. ‘“The Red Template”: US Policy in Soviet-Occupied Afghanistan’, ThirdWorld Quarterly 23, 3 (2002), pp. 467–89. Harwn, A. S. Tahdhib Sirat Ibn Hisham [Refinement of Ibn Hisham’s Prophetic biography]. 4th edn, Beirut: Musat al-Risalh, 1983. Hashemi, N., and D. Postel, Sectarianization: Mapping the New Politics of the Middle East. London: Hurst, 2017. Hastedt, G. Encyclopedia of American Foreign Policy. New York: Facts-on-File, 2004. Hayes, T. C. ‘Confrontation in the Gulf: The Oilfield Lying below the Iraq– Kuwait Dispute’, New York Times, 3 September 1990; available at http:// www.nytimes.com/1990/09/03/world/confrontation-in-the-gulf-theoilfield-lying-below-the-iraq-kuwait-dispute.html?pagewanted=all Hegghammer, T. ‘Jihad,Yes, But Not Revolution: Explaining the Extraversion of Islamist Violence in Saudi Arabia’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 36, 3 (2009), pp. 395–416; available at http://doi.org/10.1080/1353 0190903338938 Heintze, H.-J. ‘Territorial Autonomy and International Stability: Pros and  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

498

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Cons from the Viewpoint of International Law’, in A. Z. Skurbaty (ed.), Beyond a One-Dimensional State. Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 2005. Heper, M., and R. Israeli (eds.). Islam and Politics in the Modern Middle East. New York: St Martin’s Press, 1984. Hoffman, B. ‘Rethinking Terrorism and Counterterrorism since 9/11’, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 25, 5 (2002), pp. 303–16. Holsti, K. J. Taming the Sovereigns: Institutional Change in International Politics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1991. House, K. E. On Saudi Arabia: Its People, Past, Religion, Fault Lines—and Future. New York: Vintage Books, 2013. Howard-Ellis, C. The Origin, Structure and Working of the League of Nations. London: George Allen & Unwin, 1928. Howarth, D. The Desert King: A Life of Ibn Saud. London: Collins, 1964. Humphreys, R. S. Between Memory and Desire:The Middle East in a Troubled Age. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2001. Huntington, S. ‘The Clash of Civilizations’, in F. L. Lechner and J. Boli (eds.), The Globalization Reader. 4th edn, Chichester: Wiley-Blackwell, 2012. Huyette, S. S. Political Adaptation in Saudi Arabia: A Study of the Council of Ministers. Boulder: Westview, 1985. Ibn Ashur, M. Naqd ‘Ilmi li-Kitab al-Islam wa Usul al-Hukm [A scientific critique to the book of Islam and foundations of governance]. Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Salafiyya, 1925. Ibn Hisham. al-Sira al-Nabawiyya [The Prophetic biography], vol. 2. Beirut: Dar al-Ma’arifa, 1978. Ibn Kathir, I. U., and S.-R. Mubarakfuri. Tafsir Ibn Kathir [The commentary of Ibn Kathir] (abridged). Riyadh: Darussalam, 2000. Ibn Khaldun. al-Muqaddima [The introduction]. Beirut: Dar al-Kitab al-‘Arabi, 1978. Ibn Khaldun. The Muqaddimah: An Introduction to History. Translated by F. Rosenthal. London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1967. Ibn al-Mulqn, S. S. O. A. A. al-Tawdih li-Sharah al-Jami‘a al-Sahih [The clarification in the explanation of al-Jami‘a al-Sahih], vol. 22. 1st edn, Qatar: Wizart al-Uqaf wal Shu’an al-Islamiyya, 2008. Ibn al-Qayyim al-Jawziyya. I‘lam al-Muwaq‘in ‘an Rabb al-‘Alamin [Information for those who write on behalf of the Lord of the Worlds]. Edited by M. Abdelhamid. 1st edn, Cairo: Matba’at al-Sa‘ada, 1955. ——— al-Turuq al-Hukmiyya fi al-Siyasa al-Shar‘iyya [Techniques of governance in Islamic legitimate policy]. Edited by M. J. Ghazi. Cairo: Maktabat al-Madani, n.d.. Ibn Taymiyya. al-Siyasa al-Shar‘iyya fi Islah al-Ra’i wa al-Ra’iyya [The legitimate policy in reforming the ruler and ruled]. 4th edn, Cairo: Dar al-Kitab al‘Arabi, 1969.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

499

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Ihsanoglu, E. The IslamicWorld in the New Century:The Organisation of the Islamic Conference 1969–2009, London: Hurst, 2009. ——— Islamophobia: From Confrontation to Cooperation, the Task Ahead. Jeddah: Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, IRCICA, 2013. Imarah, M. Ihya’ al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya: Haqiqa aw Khayal [Reviving the Islamic Caliphate: reality or fiction]. Cairo: Maktabat al-Shuruq al-Dawliyya, 2005. ——— al-Islam wa Usul al-Hukm li ‘Ali ‘Abd al-Raziq: Dirasa waWatha’iq [Islam and the foundation of governance by ‘Ali Abdel Raziq: study and documents]. 2nd edn, Beirut: al-Mu’assasa al-‘Arabiyya li’l-Dirasat wa’l-Nashr, 1988. ——— Islamiyyat al-Sanhuri Basha: Islamiyyat al-Dawla wa-al-Madaniyya wa-al‘Umran [The Islamic writings of al-Sanhuri: the Islamic perspective of state and civilization]. Cairo: Dar al-Salam, 2010. ——— Jamal al-Din al-Afghani: Muqidh al-Sharq wa Falasuf al-Islam [Jamal alDin al-Afghani: saviour of the Orient and philosopher of Islam]. Beirut: Dar al-Wahda, 1984. ——— ‘al-Khilafa al-Islamiyya’ [The Islamic Caliphate], in A. al-Tayyib (ed.), al-Azhar fi Muwajahat al-Fikr al-Irhabi: Min A‘mal Mu’tamar al-Azhar al-‘Alami li-Muwajahat al-Tatarruf wa-al-Irhab [Selected papers from the al-Azhar Conference for Confronting Terrorism and Extremism: Cairo, 11–12 Safar 1436 AH—3–4 December 2014]. Cairo: Mashyakat al-Azhar al-Sharif wa Dar al-Quds al-‘Arabi, 2015. al-‘Isami (Ibn Qasim), ‘A. R. al-Durrar al-Saniyya fı al-Ajwiba al-Najdiyya: Majmu’at Rasa’il wa-Masa’il ‘Ulama Najd al-A‘lam min ‘Asr al-Shaykh Muhammad Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab ila ‘Asrina [The sparkling pearl in the Najdi answers: a collection of letters and issues of Najdi scholars from the time of Muhammad Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab to our current era], vol. 2. Riyadh: n.p., 1994. al-Jaf, H. K. Mawsu’at Tarikh Iran al-Siyasi [Encyclopaedia of the political history of Iran]. Beirut: al-Dar al-‘Arabiyya li’l-Mawsu’at, 2008. al-Jassas, A. A. A. Ahkam al-Qur’an [The provisions of the Qur’an], vol. 1. Beirut: Dar al-Kitab al-‘Arabi, n.d.. al-Jundi, G. Iqtitaf al-Zahr wa Ijtina’ al-Zamr fi Haqq al-Shuayb fi Taqrir al-Masir [Harvesting the right of self-determination of populations]. Amman: alSharq, 2016. al-Katib, A. al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-Wahhabi Qir’a Tahlilih [Wahhabi political thought: an analytical reading]. Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 2008. al-Kawakibi, A. R. Umm al-Qura: Mu’tamar al-Nahda al-Islamiyya al-Awal [The Mother of Villages: the first Islamic renaissance conference]. Edited by M. J. Tahhan. Damascus: Dar Safahat li’l-Dirasat wa’l-Nashr, 2012. Kayaoglu, T. The Organization of Islamic Cooperation: Politics, Problems, and Potential. London and New York: Routledge, 2015.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

500

 

 

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Kedourie, E. ‘Egypt and the Caliphate 1915–1946’, Journal of the Royal Society of Great Britain and Ireland 3, 4 (1963), pp. 208–48. Khan, A. ‘The Medina Constitution: Understanding Islamic Law’, SSRN, 17 November 2006; available at http://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers. cfm?abstract_id=945458 Khatab, S. The Power of Sovereignty: The Political and Ideological Philosophy of Sayyid Qutb. New York: Routledge, 2006. ——— ‘The Voice of Democratism in Sayyid Qutb’s Response to Violence and Terrorism’, Islam and Christian–Muslim Relations 20, 3 (2009), pp. 315– 32; available at http://doi.org/10.1080/09596410902983008 Khomeini, R. Islamic Government: Governance of the Jurist. London: Alhoda UK, 2002; available at http://ijtihad.ir/images/FileUploaded/5796.pdf Khouri, R. ‘ISIS is about the Arab Past, not the Future’, Michael Van Dusen Lecture Series on the Middle East, Wilson Center Middle East Program, May 2015, pp. 1–23; available at https://www.wilsoncenter.org/sites/ default/files/isis_is_about_the_arab_past_not_the_future.pdf Kirdar, M. J. ‘al Qaeda in Iraq’, Centre for Strategic and International Studies (CSIS), Al Qaeda and Associated Movements (AQAM) Futures Project, Case Study No. 1, 15 June 2011; available at https://www.csis.org/analysis/al-qaeda-iraq Kliot, N. ‘The Collapse of the Lebanese State’, Middle Eastern Studies 23, 1 (1987), pp. 54–74. Kohn, H. ‘The Unification of Arabia’, Foreign Affairs 13, 1 (1934), pp. 91–103. Koskenniemi, M. The Gentle Civilizer of Nations:The Rise and Fall of International Law 1870–1960. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Kostiner, J. The Making of Saudi Arabia, 1916–1936: From Chieftaincy to Monarchical State. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1994. Kramer, M. Islam Assembled: The Advent of the Muslim Congress. New York: Columbia University Press, 1986. Kurdi, A. A. The Islamic State: A Study Based on the Islamic Holy Consitution. London: Mansell, 1984. Laremont, R. R. (ed.). Revolution, Revolt, and Reform in North Africa: The Arab Spring and Beyond. Abingdon: Routledge, 2014. Landau, J. M. The Politics of Pan-Islam: Ideology and Organization. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990. Lansing, R. The Peace Negotiations: A Personal Narrative. New York and Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 2003 [1921]. Laub, Z. ‘The Taliban in Afghanistan’, Backgrounder, Council of Foreign Relations, 4 July 2014; available at https://www.cfr.org/backgrounder/ taliban-afghanistan Lauterpacht, H. Recognition in International Law. New York: AMS Press, 1978. Leatherdale, C. Britain and Saudi Arabia 1925–1939. London: Frank Cass, 1983.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

501

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Lenin, V. I. ‘Theses on the Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to Self-Determination’ (1914), in V. I. Lenin, Collected Works, December 1915– July 1916, vol. 22. Moscow: Progress Publishers, 1964. Lister, C. R. The Syrian Jihad: Al-Qaeda, the Islamic State and the Evolution of an Insurgency. London: Hurst, 2015. Littlefair, B. ‘Letting it Come Down’, DissidentVoice, 24 February 2012; available at http://dissidentvoice.org/2012/02/letting-it-come-down/ Lodge, H. C. The Senate and the League of Nations. New York: Charles Scribners & Sons, 1925. Lucas, I. ‘The Middle East and the Cold War’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs 7, 1 (1993), pp. 12–20. Lynch, A. ‘Woodrow Wilson and the Principle of National SelfDetermination: A Reconsideration’, Review of International Studies 28, 2 (2002), pp. 419–36. Lynch, M. ‘Islam Divided between Salafi-Jihad and the Ikhwan’, Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 33, 6 (2010), pp. 467–87. MacEachin, D. ‘Predicting the Soviet Invasion of Afghanistan: The Intelligence Community’s Record’; available at https://www.cia.gov/library/centerfor-the-study-of-intelligence/csi-publications/books-and-monographs/ predicting-the-soviet-invasion-of-afghanistan-the-intelligence-communitysrecord/predicting-the-soviet-invasion-of-afghanistan-the-intelligencecommunitys-record.html#link8 Macfie, A. L. Atatürk. London and New York: Routledge, 2014. Maddy-Weitzman, B. A Century of Arab Politics: From the Arab Revolt to the Arab Spring. New York: Rowman & Littlefield, 2016. Maher, S. Salafi Jihadism:The History of an Idea. London: Hurst, 2016. al-Majdhub, M. Muhadarat fi al-Munzzimat al-Dawliyya wa’l-Iqlimiyya [Lectures on international and regional organizations]. Beirut: Maktabat Makawi, 1978. Major, J. ‘The Search for Arab Unity’, International Affairs (Royal Institute of International Affairs 194–) 39, 4 (1963), pp. 551–63. al-Maliki, H. F. Judhur Da’ish: Qira’a fi Turath al-Wahhabiyya wa ‘Ulama’ al-Sa‘udi [The roots of DA’ISH: a reading in the heritage of Wahhabism and Saudi ‘ulama’], Beirut: Dar al-Mahajja, 2014. Mamdani, M. ‘Whither Political Islam? Understanding the Modern Jihad’, Foreign Affairs 84, 1 (2005), pp. 148–55. Marcinkowski, C. Between Iran and Persia: Islam and Nationalism in Iran’s Resurgence as a Regional Power, RSIS / Commentaries / Middle East and North Africa / Religion in Contemporary Society, 28 September 2006; available at https://www.rsis.edu.sg/rsis-publication/rsis/861-betweeniran-and-persia-islam/#.WOKNVW_yvb0 Martin, V. Creating an Islamic State: Khomeini and the Making of a New Iran. London and New York: I. B. Tauris, 2003.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

502

 

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY al-Mas‘ari, M. al-Muwalat wa’l-Mu’adat [Loyalty and enmity]. London: Tajdee, 2004. Mason, R. ‘Dis-United Kingdoms: What Lies behind Scotland’s Referendum on Independence’, Georgetown Journal of International Affairs 14 (2013), pp. 139–46. Matz-Lück, Nele. ‘Civilization and the Mandate System under the League of Nations as Origin of Trusteeship’, Max PlanckYearbook of International Law 9 (2005), pp. 47–95. al-Mawardi, A. al-Ahkam al-Sultaniyya wa’l-Wilayat al-Diniyya [The ordinances of government]. Beirut: Dar al-Kutub al-‘Ilmiyya, 1978. McKale, D. ‘Germany and the Arab Question in the First World War’, Middle Eastern Studies 29, 2 (1993), pp. 236–53. McNamara, R. The Hashemites:The Dream of Arabia. London: Haus, 2009. Mearsheimer, J. J., and S. M. Walt. ‘An Unnecessary War’, Foreign Policy 134 (2003), pp. 51–9; available at http://mearsheimer.uchicago.edu/pdfs/ A0032.pdf MEDEA Institute. ‘The Maghreb Arab Union’, European Institute for Research on Mediterranean and Euro-Arab Cooperation, 2017; available at http://www.medea.be/en/countr ies/arab-world-general/ maghreb-arab-union-mau/ Miller, S. G. A History of Modern Morocco. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Mohs, P. A. Military Intelligence and the Arab Revolt:The First Modern Intelligence War, Studies in Intelligence. London: Routledge, 2008. Morris, C. An Essay on the Modern State. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998. Mottahedeh, R. P. Loyalty and Leadership in an Early Islamic Society. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980. Mousa, S. ‘A Matter of Principle: King Hussein of the Hijaz and the Arabs of Palestine’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 9, 2 (1978), pp. 184–5. Muhamad, W. T. Tarikh al-Hijaz al-Siyasi 1916–1925 [The political history of The Hijaz 1916–25]. Beirut: al-Dar al-‘Arabiyya li’l-Mawsumat, 2007. Munro, D. C. ‘The Popes and the Crusades’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 55, 5 (1916), pp. 348–356. Musgrave, T. Self-Determination and National Minorities. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1997. Mustafawi, M. Nazaryat al-Hukm wa’l-Dawla: Dirasa Muqarana Bayn al-Fiqh alIslami wa’l-Qanun al-Distawri al-Wad’ai [Theories of governance and state: comparative study between Islamic jurisprudence and the positive constitutional law]. 2nd edn, Beirut: Markaz al-Hadara li Tanmiyyat al-Fikr alIslami, 2002.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

503

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY al-Nabhan, M. F. Nizam al-Hukm fi’l-Islam [The system of governance in Islam]. Kuwait: Jami‘at al-Kuwait, 1974. al-Nadawi, M. A. Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab: Muslih Madhlum wa Muftra ‘Alih [Muhammad ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab: an oppressed and harmed reformist]. Riyadh: Wizart al-Shu’wan al-Islamiyya wa’l-Awqaf wa’l-Da’wah wa’lIrshad, 1999. al-Nadi, F. M. Mabadi’a Nizam al-Hukm fi’l-Islam [Principles of the system of governance in Islam]. 2nd edn, Cairo: Dar al-Manar, 2005. Nasif, Muhammad Husayn. Tarikh al-Hijaz [The history of The Hijaz]. Jeddah: Dar al-Hikma, 1928. al-Nawawi, Imam. Shara Sahih Muslim [The explanation of Sahih Muslim], vol. 12. Cairo: al-Taba’a al-Masriyya, n.d.. Nawaz, M. K. ‘The Meaning and Range of the Principle of SelfDetermination’, Duke Law Journal (1965), pp. 82–101; also published as The Meaning and Range of the Principle of Self-Determination, World Rule of Law Booklet Series 30. Durham, NC: Rule of Law Research Center, 1965. Newman, A. Safavid Iran: Rebirth of a Persian Empire. London: I. B. Tauris, 2009. Notholt, S. Fields of Fire: An Atlas of Ethnic Conflict. Leicester: Troubadour, 2008. Nozick, R. Anarchy, State and Utopia. New York: Basic Books, 1974. Ochsenwald, W. ‘The Annexation of the Hijaz’, in M. Ayoob and H. Kosebalaban (eds.), Religion and Politics in Saudi Arabia:Wahhabism and the State. Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2009. ——— ‘Ironic Origins: Arab Nationalism in the Hijaz 1882–1914’, in R. Khalidi (ed.), The Origins of Arab Nationalism. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991. ——— ‘Ottoman Subsidies to the Hijaz’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 6, 3 (1975), pp. 300–7. ——— Religion, Society and the State in Arabia:The Hijaz under Ottoman Control, 1840–1908. Columbus: Ohio State University Press, 1984. Oppenheim, L. International Law: A Treatise, vol. 1: Peace. 8th edn, London, New York, and Toronto: Longmans, Green, 1955. Owen, R. ‘Arab Integration in Historical Perspective: Are There any Lessons?’ Arab Affairs 1, 6 (1988), pp. 41–51. ——— The Rise and Fall of Arab Presidents for Life. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2014. ——— State Power and Politics in the Making of the Modern Middle East. 3rd edn, London and New York: Routledge, 2004 [1992]. Panara, C., and G. Wilson (eds.) The Arab Spring: New Patterns for Democracy and International Law. Leiden: Koninklijke Brill NV, 2013. Pankhurst, R. The Inevitable Caliphate? A History of the Struggle for Global Islamic Union, 1924 to the Present. London: Hurst, 2013.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

504

 

 

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Paris, T. J. Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule 1920–1925: The Sherifian Solution. Abingdon: Routledge, 2003. Pellet, A. ‘The Opinions of the Badinter Arbitration Committee: A Second Breath for the Self-Determinations of People’, European Journal of International Law 3 (1992), pp. 178–85. Pomerance, M. ‘The United States and Self-Determination: Perspectives on the Wilsonian Conception’, American Journal of International Law 70 (1976), pp. 1–27. Powell, J. Talking to Terrorists: How to End Armed Conflict. London: Random House, 2014. al-Qaradawi, Y. Min Fiqh al-Dawla fi’l Islam [From the jurisprudence of state in Islam]. Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 1997. ——— Ummatna Bayn Qarnayn [Our umma between two centuries]. Cairo: Dar al-Shuruq, 2002. Qureshi, E. ‘Taliban’, in The Oxford Encyclopedia of the Islamic World, Oxford Islamic Studies Online; available at http://www.oxfordislamicstudies. com/article/opr/t236/e0895 Qureshi, N. Pan-Islam in British Indian Politics: A Study of the Khilafat Movement 1918–1924. Leiden: Brill, 1999. al-Qurtubi, A. A. al-Jami‘a li-Ahkam al-Qur’an (Tafsir al-Qurtubi) [The compendium of the rules of the Qur’an (Qurtubi’s commentary)], vol. 5. Cairo: Dar al-Kutub al-‘Arabiyya li’l-Tib’a wa’l-Nashr, 1967. Rabkin, J. Law without Nations?Why Constitutional Governments Require Sovereign States. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2005. Raic, D. Statehood and the Law of Self-Determination. The Hague: Kluwer, 2002. Rajagopal, B. ‘International Law and the Development Encounter: Violence and Resistance at the Margins’, Proceedings of the Annual Meeting of the American Society of International Law 93 (1999), pp. 16–27. Al-Rasheed, M. A History of Saudi Arabia. 2nd edn, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Rashid, A. ‘The Taliban: Exporting Extremism’, Foreign Affairs (November/ December 1999), pp. 22–35. al-Raysuni, A. Imam al-Shatibi’s Theory of the Higher Objectives and Intents of Islamic Law. London: International Institute of Islamic Thought, 2005. Republic of Turkey, Ministry of Foreign Affairs. ‘Joint Political Declaration on the Establishment of the High Level Cooperation Council among Turkey, Syria, Jordan and Lebanon’; available at http://www.mfa.gov.tr/jointpolitical-declaration-on-the-esthablishement-of-the-high-level-cooperation-council-among-turkey_-syria_-jordan-and-lebanon.en.mfa Richards, H. Understanding the Global Economy. Thousand Oaks, CA: PEB Publishing, 2004. Rida, M. R. al-Hijaz wa al-Wahabiyyun [The Hijaz and the Wahhabis]. Cairo: Dar al-Manar, 1925.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

505

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY ——— al-Khilafa [The Caliphate]. Cairo: al-Zahra li’l-‘Ilam al-‘Arabi, 1988 [1922]. ——— Tafsir al-Manar (Tafsir al-Qur’an al-Hakim) [al-Manar’s interpretation of the Qur’an], vol. 5. 1st edn, Cairo: Matba’at al-Manar, 1927. Rieck, C. E., and D. Niebuhr. ‘Microstate and Superpower: The Vatican in International Politics’, Konrad Adenauer Stiftung International Reports 10 (2015); available at http://www.kas.de/wf/en/33.43202/ Robins, P. A History of Jordan. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004. Robinson, E. H. ‘The Involuntary Extinction of States: An Examination of the Destruction of States through the Application of Military Force by Foreign Powers since the Second World War’, Journal of Military Geography 1 (2011), pp. 17–29. Roy, O. The Failure of Political Islam. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1998. Ryngaert, Cedric. ‘The Legal Status of the Holy See’, Goettingen Journal of International Law 3, 3 (2011), pp. 829–59. Said, E. Covering Islam: How the Media and the Experts Determine How we See the Rest of theWorld. London: Random House, 1997. al-Sanhuri, A. R. Fiqh al-Khilafa wa Tatawwuruha li-Tusbih ‘Usbat ‘Umam Sharqiyya [The jurisprudence of the Caliphate and its development towards an Oriental league of nations]. Beirut: Mu’assasat al-Risalh, 2008. al-Sanhuri, N. ‘Abd al-Razzak al-Sanhuri min Khilal Awraqh al-Shakhsiyya [Abdalrazzak al-Sanhuri, through his private papers]. Cairo: al-Zahra li’lI’lam al-‘Arabi, 1988. al-Sann’ani, A. R. Musannaf Abdel Raziq [Abdel Raziq’s workbook]. Edited by Abdel Rahman al-‘Azamy. 1st edn, Beirut: al-Majlis al-‘Ilmi, 1970. Sayapin, Sergey. The Crime of Aggression in International Law: Historical Development, Comparative Analysis and Present State. The Hague: TMC Asser Press, 2014. al-Sayyid, R. Tashih al-Mafahim [Correcting the concepts].Year 46, first book. Cairo: Silsilat Majma’a al-Buhuth al-Islamiyya, 2015. ——— al-Umma wa’l-Jama‘a wa’l-Sulta: Dirasat fi al-Fikr al-Siyasi al-‘Arabi al-Islami [Nation, group, and authority: studies in Arab Islamic political thought]. 2nd edn, Beirut: Dar al-Iqra’, 1986. ‘Sayyid Qutb’, in Encyclopedia of World Biography, 2004; available at http:// www.encyclopedia.com/doc/1G2–3404705757.html Senaratne, K. ‘Beyond the Internal/External Dichotomy of the Principle of Self-Determination’, Hong Kong Law Journal 43 (2013), pp. 463–96. Shahin, E. E. ‘The Egyptian Revolution: The Power of Mass Mobilization and the Spirit of Tahrir Square’, in R. R. Laremont (ed.), Revolution, Revolt and Reform in North Africa: The Arab Spring and Beyond. New York: Routledge, 2014.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

506

 

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Shalabi, F. A. S. ‘Khilafa Islamic Congress in Cairo 1926’, Ph.D. thesis, alAzhar University, 1989. Shaltut, M. al-Islam ‘Aqida wa-Shari‘a [Islam is a belief and a law]. Cairo: Dar al-Qalam, 1948. ——— al-Qu’ran wa’l-Qital [The Qur’an and fighting]. Cairo: Maktab Ithad al-Shuruq, 1948. Shariati, Ali. al-Tashayu’ al-‘Alawi wa al-Tashayu’ al-Safaw’ [Red (Alevi) Shi’ism vs. black (Safavid) Shi’ism]. Beirut: Dar al-‘Amir li’l-Thaqafat wa’l-Funun, 2007. ——— What is to be Done:The Enlightened Thinkers and an Islamic Renaissance. Edited by F. Rajaee; foreword by J. L. Esposito. Houston: Institute for Research and Islamic Studies, 1986. Shaw, M. International Law. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. al-Shraah, I. F. ‘Hijaz Liberals Party and its Political Role between 1928 and 1935’, Political and Social Studies 37, 1 (2010). Simons, W. B. (ed.) The Constitutions of the Communist World. Alphen aan den Rijn: Sijthoff & Noordhoff, 1980. Sirriyeh, E. ‘Wahhabis, Unbelievers and the Problems of Exclusivism’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 16, 2 (1989), pp. 123–32. Skocpol, T. ‘Rentier State and Shi’a Islam in the Iranian Revolution’, Theory and Society 11, 3 (1982), pp. 265–83. Smuts, Jan Christian. The League of Nations: A Practical Suggestion. Charleston: Forgotten Books, 1918. Sparks, T. ‘Scottish Independence Insta-Symposium: The International Legal Significance of the Scottish Independence Referendum—A Long View’, Opinio Juris, 17 September 2014; available at http://opiniojuris. org/2014/09/17/scottish-independence-insta-symposium-internationallegal-significance-scottish-independence-referendum-long-view Spencer, M. E. ‘Weber on Legitimate Norms and Authority’, British Journal of Sociology 21, 2 (1970), pp. 123–34. Stahn, C. The Law and Practice of International Territorial Administration. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2008. Stalin, J. Marxism and the National and Colonial Question: A Collection of Articles and Speeches. London: Lawrence & Wishart, 1942. Stanley, T. ‘Understanding the Origins of Wahhabism and Salafism’, Terrorism Monitor 3, 14 (2005); available at https://jamestown.org/program/ understanding-the-origins-of-wahhabism-and-salafism/ Stern, J., and J. M. Berger. ISIS:The State of Terror. New York: HarperCollins, 2015. Strang, D. ‘From Dependency to Sovereignty: An Event History Analysis of Decolonization 1870–1987’, American Sociological Review 55, 6 (1990), pp. 846–60.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

507

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Summers, J. ‘The Internal and External Aspects of Self-Determination Reconsidered’, in D. French (ed.), Statehood and Self-Determination: Reconciling Tradition and Modernity in International Law. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2013. Suski, M. Autonomy: Applications and Implications. The Hague: Kluwer, 1998. al-Suyuti. Tarikh al-Kulfa’ [The history of the caliphs]. Edited by M. Abdelhamid. 1st edn, Cairo: Matba’at al-Sa‘ada, 1952. Szasz, P. ‘The Irresistible Force of Self-Determination Meets the Impregnable Fortress of Territorial Integrity: A Cautionary Fairy Tale about Clashes in Kosovo and Elsewhere’, Georgia Journal of International and Comparative Law 28 (1999–2000), pp. 1–8. al-Tabari, M. J. Jami‘a al-Bayian fi Tafsir al-Qur’an [Collection of statements on interpretation of verses of the Qur’an], vol. 5. 4th edn, Beirut: Dar alMa’arifa, 1980. ——— J. Tarikh al-Rusl wa al-Muluk (Tarikh al-Tabari) [The history of messengers and kings]. Edited by Muhammed Abu Alfdl Ibrahim, vol. 2 (30). Cairo: Dar al-Ma’arif, Silsilt Dhkhaer al-‘Arab, 1963. Taima, S. al-Usul al-‘Aqadiyya li-al-Imamiyya [The origins of the imami [Shi’ite] doctrine] Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, n.d.. Takeyh, R. Guardians of the Revolution: Iran and the World in the Age of the Ayatollahs. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Tauber, E. ‘Three Approaches, One Idea: Religion and State in the Thought of ‘Abd al-Rahman al-Kawakibi, Najib ‘Azuri and Rashid Rida’, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 21, 2 (1994), pp. 190–8. Taylor, A. ‘The Soviet War in Afghanistan, 1979–1989’, The Atlantic, 4 August 2014; available at https://www.theatlantic.com/photo/2014/08/ the-soviet-war-in-afghanistan-1979–1989/100786/ Te’aima, S. al-Dawla wa’l-Sulta fi’l-Islam [The state and authority in Islam]. Cairo: Maktabat Madbuli, 2005. al-Tayyib, A. al-Azhar fi Muwajahat al-Fikr al-Irhabi: min A‘mal Mu’tamar al-Azhar al-‘Alami li-Muwajahat al-Tatarruf wa-al-Irhab [Selected papers from the alAzhar Conference on Confronting Terrorism and Extremism: Cairo, 11–12 Safar 1436 AH–3–4 December 2014]. Cairo: Mashyakat al-Azhar al-Sharif wa Dar al-Quds al-‘Arabi, 2015. al-Tayyib, A. ‘Opening Speech of Al-Azhar Conference on Confronting Terrorism and Extremism’, in Tasshi al-Mafahim [Correcting the concepts]. Year 46, the first book, Cairo: Silsilat Majma’a al-Buhuth al-Islamiyya, 2015. Teitelbaum, J. The Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia. New York: New York University Press, 2001. ——— ‘Sharif Husayn ibn Ali and the Hashemite Vision of the PostOttoman Order: From Chieftaincy to Suzerainty’, Middle Eastern Studies 34, 1 (1998), p. 103–22.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

508

 

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Teitelbaum, J. ‘“Taking Back” the Caliphate: Sharıif Husayn Ibn ‘Alıi, Mustafa Kemal and the Ottoman Caliphate’, Die Welt des Islams 40, 3 (2000), pp. 412–24. Thornhill, C. A Sociology of Constitutions: Constitutions and State Legitimacy in Historical–Sociological Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Throntveit, T. ‘The Fable of the Fourteen Points: Woodrow Wilson and National Self-Determination’, Diplomatic History 35, 3 (2011), pp. 445–81. Tomuschat, C. (ed.). Modern Law and Self-Determination. Dordrecht, Boston, and London: Martinus Nijhoff, 1993. Tomuschat, C. ‘Secession and Self-Determination’, in M. Kohen (ed.), Secession: International Law Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006. Troeller, G. The Birth of Saudi Arabia: Britain and the Rise of the House of Sa’ud. London: Routledge, 1976; repr. 2015. Trofimov, Y. ‘1979: Remembering “The Siege of Mecca”: Upheaval in the Muslim World, 30 Years Ago’, NPR, 20 August 2009; available at http:// www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=112051155 Vasiliev, A. The History of Saudi Arabia. London: Saqi, 2000. Verkaik, R. Jihadi John:The Making of a Terrorist. London: Oneworld, 2016. Vidmar, J. Democratic Statehood in International Law. Oxford and Portland: Hart Publishing, 2013. Vidmar, J. ‘Territorial Integrity and the Law of Statehood’, GeorgeWashington International Law Review 44 (2012), pp. 697–747. Vincent, R. J. ‘Grotius, Human Rights and Intervention’, in H. Bull, B. Kingsbury, and A. Roberts (eds.), Hugo Grotius and International Relations. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1990. Wagemakers, J. ‘The Enduring Legacy of the Second Saudi State: Quietist and Radical Wahhabi Contestations of al-Walaaʾ wa-l-Baraaʾ’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 44, 1 (2012), pp. 93–110; available at http:// doi.org/10.1017/S0020743811001267 Wagner, S. ‘British Intelligence and Arab Nationalism: The Origins of the Modern Middle East’, paper presented at the inaugural Gingko Conference, held at the School of Oriental and African Studies, London, 6–7 December 2014. Watt, M. Islamic Political Thought. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 1998 [1968]. Watts, R. L. ‘Asymmetrical Decentralization: Functional or Dysfunctional?’ Indian Journal of Federal Studies 5, 1 (2004), pp. 1–42. al-Wayyil, A. S. Tahadiyyat Da’ish 2/1 [Da’ish Challenges 2/1], al-Markaz alArabi lil Buhuth Wa al-Diraasaat (Arab Centre for Research and Studies), available at https://www.acrseg.org/10022  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

509

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Weber, M. Theory of Social and Economic Organization. New York: Simon & Schuster, 1997. ——— ‘The Three Types of Legitimate Rule’, Berkeley Publications in Society and Institutions 4 (1958). pp. 1–11, translated by Hans Gerth. Weber, S. ‘Mapping the Sovereign State: Cartographic Technology, Political Authority and Systemic Change’, Ph.D. thesis, University of California, Berkeley, 2011. Weller, M. Contested Statehood: Kosovo’s Struggle for Independence. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. ——— Escaping the Self-Determination Trap. Leiden and Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 2008. ——— ‘The Self-Determination Trap’, Ethnopolitics 4, 1 (March 2005), pp. 3–28. ——— ‘Why the Legal Rules on Self-Determination Do Not Resolve SelfDetermination Disputes’, in M. Weller and B. Metzger (eds.), Settling SelfDetermination Disputes: Complex Power-Sharing in Theory and Practice. Leiden and Boston: Martinus Nijhoff, 2008. Weller, M., and K. Nobbs (eds.) Asymmetric Autonomy and the Settlement of Ethnic Conflicts. Philadelphia: Penn Press, 2010. Weston, M. Prophets and Princes: Saudi Arabia from Muhammad to the Present. Hoboken, NJ: Wiley, 2008. Westrate, B. The Arab Bureau: British Policy in the Middle East 1916–1920. University Park: Pennsylvania State University Press, 1992. Wickham, C. R. The Muslim Brotherhood: Evolution of an Islamist Movement. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2013; available at https://doi. org/10.1515/9781400866243 Wilde, R. International Territory Administration. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Willis, J. ‘Debating the Caliphate: Islam and Nation in the Work of Rashid Rida and Abul Kalam Azad’, International History Review 32, 4 (2010), pp. 711–32. Winckler, O. ‘The “Arab Spring”: Socioeconomic Aspects’, Middle East Policy Council 20, 4 (2013), pp. 68–87. Winter, J. ‘The Media, Meech Accord and the Attempted Manufacture of Consent’, Electronic Journal of Communication 1, 2 (1991); available at http://www.cios.org/EJCPUBLIC/001/2/00125.HTML Wolff, S. ‘Complex Autonomy Arrangements in Western Europe: A Comparative Analysis of Regional Consociationalism in Brussels, Northern Ireland and South Tyrol’, in M. Weller and S. Wolff (eds.), Autonomy, SelfGovernance and Conflict Resolution: Innovative Approaches to Institutional Design in Divided Societies. London and New York: Routledge, 2005. Wood, G. ‘What ISIS Really Wants’, The Atlantic 315, 2 (March 2015); avail 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY able at https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2015/03/whatisis-really-wants/384980/ Woolsey, T. S. ‘Self-Determination’, American Journal of International Law 13 (1919), pp. 302–5. Yamani, M. The Cradle of Islam: The Hijaz and the Quest for an Arabian Identity. London: I. B. Tauris, 2004. Yourish, K., D. Watkins, T. Giratikanon, and J. C. Lee. ‘How Many People Have Been Killed in ISIS Attacks around the World?’ New York Times, 25 March 2016; available at https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2016/03/25/world/map-isis-attacks-around-the-world.html Zarrouk, J. ‘The Greater Arab Free Trade Area: Limits and Possibilities’, in B. M. Hoekman and J. Zarrouk (eds.), Catching Up with the Competition:Trade Opportunities and Challenges for the Arab Countries. Ann Arbor: Michigan University Press. Zeghal, M. ‘Religion and Politics in Egypt: The Ulema of al-Azhar, Radical Islam, and the State (1952–94)’, International Journal of Middle East Studies 31, 3 (1999), pp. 371–99. Zubaida, S. Islam, the People and the State: Political Ideas and Movements in the Middle East. 2nd edn, London: I. B. Tauris, 2001. ——— ‘An Islamic State? The Case of Iran’, Middle East Report No. 153: Islam and the State (July–August 1988), pp. 3–7.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Judgments and Reports Interpretation of the Statute of the Memel Territory, Judgment of 11 August 1932 (A/B49) ICJ http://www.icj-cij.org/pcij/series-a-b.php?p1= 9&p2=3 Burkina Faso/Mali, ICJ Rep. 1986. Case concerning East Timor (Portugal v. Australia) ICJ Rep. 1995. Katangese Peoples’ Congress vs. Zaire, African Commission on Human and Peoples’ Rights, Comm. No. 75/92, 1995. Spanish Constitutional Court, Judgment 31/2010, 28 June 2010. Recurso de inconstitucionalidad 8045–2006; available at http://boe.es/diario_boe/ txt.php?id=BOE-A-2010–11409, (accessed 19 July 2015). Spanish Constitutional Court, Judgment 42/2014, 25 March 2014; available at http://www.boe.es/boe/dias/2014/04/10/pdfs/BOE-A-2014–3885. pdf Spanish Constitutional Court, 29 September 2014; available at http://www. boe.es/boe/dias/2014/09/30/pdfs/BOE-A-2014–9864.pdf  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Documents, UN Resolutions and others Charter of the United Nations

511

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Declaration on the Sovereignty and Right to Decide of the People of Catalonia (Declaració de sobirania i el dret a decidir del poble de Catalunya), issued 23 January 2013, Parliament of Catalonia; available at http://www.parlament.cat/actualitat/R5_X_sobirania.pdf Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States (1933), League of Nations Treaty Series, vol. 16. Covenant of the League of Nations (1919), published in 108 League of Nations Treaty Series 188. Atlantic Charter, reprinted in International Conciliation 21 (1942–3), p. 384. Arab Charter on Human Rights, 22 May 2004, reprinted in International Human Rights Report 12 (2005), p. 893; entered into force 15 March 2008. Constitution of the Kingdom of Spain. Passed by the Cortes Generales in Plenary Meetings of the Congress of Deputies and the Senate held on 31 October 1978; available in English at database of OSCE Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights at http://www.legislationline. org/documents Declaration on Principles of International Law concerning Friendly Relations and Co-operation among States in accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, General Assembly Res. 2625 (XXV); UN Doc. A/ RES/25/2625;. GA Res. 1514 (XV), UN Doc. A/4684 (14 December 1960). GA Res. 1514 (XV); Declaration on Principles of International Law Concerning Friendly Relations and Co-Operation among States in Accordance with the Charter of the United Nations, GA Res. 2625 (XXV), UN Doc. A/8028 (24 October 1970). GA Res. 61/295 of 2007, A/RES/61/295. GA Res. 31/154 A (20 December 1976). SC Res. 460 (21 December 1979). SC Res. 417 (31 October 1977). GA Res. 41/101 (4 December 1986). SC Res. 661, UN Doc S/RES/661 (6 August 1990). Report of Committee Set Up to Consider Certain Correspondence between Sir Henry McMahon (His Majesty’s High Commissioner in Egypt) and the Sherif of Mecca in 1915 and 1916 (McMahon Correspondence), 1938–9 [Cmd. 5974], House of Commons Parliamentary Papers Online; available at https://unispal.un.org/DPA/DPR/unispal.nsf/0/4C4F7515DC3919 5185256CF7006F878C Report of the ILC to the General Assembly, Yearbook of International Law Commission (1988), vol. II, part II, p. 64; available at http://legal.un.org/ ilc/publications/yearbooks/index.shtml Report Presented to the Council of the League of Nations by the Commission of Rapporteurs, League of Nations Doc. B.7.21/68/106 (16 April 1921).  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

512

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY Report of the International Conference of Experts Organized by the UNESCO Division of Human Rights, Democracy and Peace and the UNESCO Centre of Catalonia, Report of the International Conference of Experts Held in Barcelona from 21 to 27 November 1998; available at http://unpo.org/article/446 UN ESCWA Report, Arab Integration: A 21st Century Development Imperative. Beirut: ESCWA/United Nations, 201; available at https://www.unescwa. org/sites/www.unescwa.org/files/publications/files/e_escwa_ oes_13_3_e.pdf The United States and the Recognition of Israel: A Chronology, compiled by R. H. Geselbracht from M. T. Benson, Harry S. Truman and the Founding of Israel. Westport: Praeger, 1997; available at http://www.trumanlibrary. org/israel/palestin.htm Vienna Declaration and Programme of Action, Adopted by the World Conference on Human Rights in Vienna on 25 June 1993; available at http://www.ohchr.org/EN/ProfessionalInterest/Pages/Vienna.aspx  

 

 

 

 

 

 

Archival Sources FO 371/2139/83620 (1914) ‘Turkey (War)’. FO 371/2486/157740 (1915) ‘Turkey (War)’. CO 323/761, 14162 (1916) ‘The Grand Sherif of Mecca and the Independence of Hedjaz with a Facsimile of the Proclamation of Independence’. FO 686/14 (December 1915–June 1918) ‘Imam Ibn Saud’, Telegram Arbur to Wilson. CO 323/763/24 (1917) ‘Proclamation by the Ulema of Mecca’. FO 141/607/4 (1916–29) French pilgrimage to the Hedjaz (including Algeria, Tunis, Morocco and Syria). FO 608/92/7 (1919) ‘Hedjaz: Desiderata of Emir Feisal, including: various letters, correspondence and telegrams sent to and from Emir Feisal, and reports of his movements’. FO 686/74 (1920–2) ‘Post Bellum Negotiations Between H.M.’s Government and the Hejaz’. IOR/L/PS/11/153 P3075 (1919) ‘Arabia: Hedjaz delegation in Paris on unity of Arab nation in Syria, Palestine and Mesopotamia’. FO 686/136 (1923) ‘Ratification of the Treaty of Versailles by the Hejaz’. FO 686/27 (1921) ‘Jedda Reports’. IOR/L/PS/11/179 P7739 (1920) ‘King Hussein: relations of HM Government and the King of the Hedjaz’. FO 686/117 (1922) ‘Wahhabi Propaganda in the Hejaz’. FO 686/90 (1924) ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to Foreign Office, 11 September 1924.  

513

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY FO 686/90 (1924) ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to Foreign Office, London, 16 September 1924. FO 686/90 (1924) ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to HBM’s Principal Secretary for Foreign Affairs, 21 September 1924. IOR/L/PS/10/1127 Pt 9 (1926) ‘Arabia: Najd-Hedjaz hostilities 1924–25. Wahhabi Massacres at Taif 1924. Compensation for British subjects for loses sustained through Taif atrocities’, Acting British Consul in Jeddah to HBM Principal Secretary of State for Foreign Affairs, April 1926. FO 686/92 (July–December 1925) ‘Hedjaz internal situation: Hedjaz Najd War’. Telegraph No. 43 from Singapore, the Administrative Council of the Caliphate Cangress in Cairo, 11-October-1924 (India Stamped), Al-Azhar Archives, Cairo. See A. Saddaqa Dahlan al-Makki in exile in Singapore. IOR/L/PS/10/1124; File 3665 (1924) ‘Arabia: situation 1924; Wahhabi attack on Hedjaz, capture of Taif and defeat of Hedjaz army, abdication of King Hussein’. FO 686/90 (1924) ‘Hedjaz Internal Situation’, British Agent in Jeddah to Foreign Office, London, 4 October 1924. Government of Hijaz, Telegram No. 35 to the Congress of the Islamic Caliphate, Port Sudan to Ezbekia 4–11–1924, Egyptian State Telegraph. Al-Azhar Archives, Cairo. ‘Memorandum on the Caliphate and the Situation in the Hijaz’ Telegraph No. 43 from Singapore, the Administrative Council of the Caliphate Congress in Cairo, 11-October-1924 (India Stamped), al-Azhar Archives, Cairo, p. 2. IOR/L/PS/10/1125 P 3665 (1924) ‘Arabia: Situation 1924. H.M. Govern­ ment’s proclamation of complete neutrality regarding the future of the Holy Cities’. IOR/L/PS/10/1126 P3252 (1925) ‘Arabia: situation 1925, Hijaz–Najd Hostilities’. IOR/R/15/1/565 Relations between Najd and the Hijaz (1924) HBM Agent and Consul in Jeddah to Foreign Office. IOR/L/PS/10/1127, Pt 7 (1925) ‘Arabia: Najd-Hijaz Situation. Fall of Medina. Surrender of Jeddah. Abdication of King Ali. Desecration of shrines by the Wahabis.’ Paraphrase Telegram from the Officer Administering the Government of Palestine to the Secretary of State for the Colonies, 24 August 1925. IOR/L/PS/10/1127, Pt 7 (1925) ‘Arabia: Najd-Hijaz Situation. Fall of Medina. Surrender of Jeddah. Abdication of King Ali. Desecration of shrines by the Wahabis.’ The Under Secretary of State, Colonial Office to Under Secretary of State, India Office, 28 August 1925. IOR/L/PS/11/266 P734 (1926) ‘Arabia: the Hedjaz; Najd hostilities’.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

514

SELECT BIBLIOGRAPHY IOR/L/PS/10/1127 Pt 9 (1925) ‘Arabia: Najd Hijaz Situation. Fall of Medina. Surrender of Jeddah. Abdication of King Ali. Desecration of shrines by the Wahhabis, 6 November 1925, Acting Consul in Jeddah to Austen Chamberlain. IOR/L/PS/10/1165/1 (1926/7)‘Arabia: Imam Ibn Saud; title; recognition as king of the Hedjaz’. CO 732/25/7 (1927) ‘Hejaz Nationality Law’. (1915) 221 CTS 250. FO 967/41 (1931) ‘Internal situation in Hijaz–Nejd’. IOR/R/15/1/568 (1932) ‘Hijaz–Nejd: Miscellaneous’. FO 141/764/6 ()1933 Arabia. Anti Ibn Saud movements. FO 967/46 (1932) Internal Situation in Hejaz-Nejd. FO 967/55 (1933) Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy (1933), Telegram from HM Minister, Jeddah to Foreign Office, 19 January 1933. FO 967/55 (1933) Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy. Report about Abdul Rauf Al-Sabban. FO 967/55 (1933) Local Government. Dabbagh Conspiracy (1933), Letter from G.W. Rendell, Foreign Office in London to Lieutenant Colonel Sir Francis Humphrys in Baghdad, 23 February 1933. ——— , Telegram from HM Minister, Jeddah to Foreign Office, London, 2 February 1933. ——— , Letter from Sir Andrew Ryan to Fuad Hamza, 19 March 1933. FO 371/9135/E 601 (1923) Forbes Adam to Curzon, 12 January 1923. Letter from Shawkat Ali to the Secretary General of the Congress, January 15, 1925 (117 al-Azhar Library Archive, the Congress, 225). FO 371/15283 (1931) Eastern: General. Code 65 Files 1205 (papers 5784– end) 3208 (to paper 5274), Warner minutes, 25 November 1931. HC Debate, 11 November 1920, vol. 134, pp. 1358–9. Report of a Committee set up to consider certain correspondence between Sir Henry McMahon & the Sharif of Mecca. (This was reference 222, it needed attention). I found it as such: ‘Reproduced as Annex H in the March 1939 Report of the Colonial Office (Cmd. 5974)’, from here: http:// www.cercles.com/n28/capet.pdf, at p. 45. Report Presented to the Council of the League of Nations by the Commission of Rapporteurs, League of Nations Doc. B.7.21/68/106, 16 April 1921. Aguilar-Amory and Royal Bank of Canada claims (Great Britain v. Costa Rica) [1923] RIAA 369–99, per Taft CJ.  

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

515

INDEX

Abdullah ibn Faisal, Emir of Najd, 293, 294 Abdulmajid II, Ottoman Sultan, 139, 346 Abisaab, Rula, 309 Abkhazia, 173, 185 Aboul-Enein,Youssef H., 285 Abraham, 391 Abrahamian, Ervand, 59, 450 Abu Bakr, Rashidun Caliph, 3, 44–5, 147, 394, 399 Abu Dhabi, 247 Abu Khalil, As’ad, 306 Abu Manneh, Butrus, 24 Abyssinia, see Ethiopia Aden,Yemen, 79, 90 al-Afghani, Jamal al-Din, 58, 138, 299–300, 302, 316, 343–4, 378, 477 Afghanistan, 8 Bamiyan Buddhas, destruction of (2001), 266 DA’ISH, 283, 324 Durant Line, 456 foreign fighters, 324 Ibn Saud, relations with, 110 revivalism, 302 Saur Revolution (1978), 258

Aaland Islands, xxv, 159, 179 Abbas Hilmi, Khedive of Egypt, 120 ‘Abbas I, Shah of Iran, 309–15, 387 Abbasid Caliphate (750–1258), 4, 17, 47, 48, 72, 340, 341 ABC strategy, 261 ‘Abdal-Malik ibn Marwan, Umayyad Caliph, 47 al-Abdali, Khalid ibn Luwai, 101, 109 Abdel Raziq, ‘Ali, 18, 144, 145–9, 200, 422 ‘Abduh, Muhammad, 58, 137, 138, 299, 300, 316, 335, 343, 345 Abdulhamid II, Ottoman Sultan, 72, 144, 145, 344, 378 Abdullah I, King of Jordan, 24 assassination (1951), 231 and Caliphate, 97 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122 Kitchener’s message (1914), 77 and Najd–Hijaz conflict (1924– 5), 108, 109 and Turkish nationalists, 135 Abdullah ibn Abdulaziz, King of Saudi Arabia, 371, 486



517

INDEX Shi’ites, 320 Soviet War (1979–89), 20, 207, 215, 256–63, 271, 279, 280, 281, 323, 326–7, 356, 454–6 Taliban, 216, 256, 261, 263–6, 267–9, 274, 320, 323, 457 as terrorist safe haven, 268 US-led war (2001–14), 9, 265, 266, 274, 282, 294 Aflaq, Michel, 221–2 African Union (AU), 17, 64, 369 Agreement for Facilitation and Promotion of Intra-Arab Trade (1981), 364 Aguilar Amory Corporation, 128 al-‘Ahd, 79 Ahkam al-Sultaniyya (al-Mawardi), 44 ahl al-bayt, 311, 379 ahl al-hall wa al-‘aqd, 288, 289, 346, 399, 462 al-Ahsa’, see al-Hasa Ahwazi Arabs, 60, 473 Ajman, 247 Akhbaris, 313 al-‘Alaqat bayn al-Dawla al‘Uthmaniyya wa Iqlim al-Hijaz (Sawaf), 24 Alawites, 276 Albanians, Albania, 6, 185, 353 Aleppo, Syria, 79, 91, 277 Algeria, 83, 223, 233, 249, 345, 363, 467, 477 ‘Ali ibn al-Hussein, King of Hijaz, 102, 105, 106, 107–9, 120 ‘Ali ibn Abi Talib, Rashidun Caliph, 3, 4, 16, 296, 315, 316, 394 ‘Alids, 311, 316 Allenby, Edmund, 1st Viscount Allenby, 81, 220 Almohad Caliphate (1121–1269), 48

518

Alpharabius, 342–3 Alsace-Lorraine, 158 alternative dispute crisis resolution (ADR), 370 American Declaration of Independence (1776), 161 Amnesty International, 242 al-amr bi ’l-ma‘ruf wa ’l-nahy ‘an almunkar, 288 Ancient Sanctuary, 391 al-Andalus (711–1492), 57, 399 Anderson, Benedict, 52, 401 Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC), 238–9 Ansar, 2, 38, 39, 42, 44, 45, 149, 398, 399 Anschluss (1938), 217 Antonius, George, xxiv, 57 apartheid, 165–6 Aqaba, 122, 149 Aqquyunlu confederation (1378– 1501), 310, 469 Ara’ Ahl al-Madina al-Fadila, 342 Arab Awakening, The (Antonius), xxiv, 57 Arab Bureau, xxiv, 28, 81, 87–8, 410 Arab Common Market, 363 Arab Cooperation Council, 364 Arab Human Development Report, 393–4 Arab League, 17, 215, 232, 248, 251–2, 363–5, 379, 386, 452 Arab Music Orchestra, xvii Arab nationalism, 30, 75, 93 and Arab Revolt (1916–18), 74–82 Ba’athism, 221–2, 223, 225, 232 and Britain, 77–82 Damascus Protocol (1915), 78–9 and Faisal, 78, 91 and France, 82–4

INDEX and Gaddafi, 232 and Germany, 84 and Hussein of Jordan, 231 and Ibn Saud, 118 Nasserism, 219–27, 229–30, 232 pan-Arabism, 54, 220, 222–5, 226, 229–30, 256 Arab Neighbouring States Policy, 365 ‘Arab race’, 88, 145 Arab renaissance (nahda), 79 Arab Revolt (1916–18), xxi–xxiii, xxvii, 4, 5, 12–13, 74–82, 108, 115, 130, 137, 378, 405 and Caliphate, 75–6, 77, 78, 80 centennial celebrations (2016), 23 Damascus Protocol (1915), 78, 79 literature on, 24–30 McMahon–Hussein correspondence (1915–16), 77, 79, 80, 116, 356 Arab Uprisings (2011), 9, 208, 268, 274, 280, 305, 307, 356, 365 Arab–Israeli conflict, 252, 253 1956 Suez Crisis, 219–20 1967 Six Day War, 9, 211, 255, 305 1973 October/Yom Kippur War, 63, 250 Arabic, 56, 91, 92, 138, 344 al-Arabiyya al-Fatat, 78–9 Arafat,Yasser, 472 Arjomand, Said Amir, 309, 311, 312, 316, 317 Armenia, 92, 163, 427 genocide (1914–23), 23 Arslan, Shakib, 138, 420 Articles on State Responsibility, 350  

Asbab al-Thawra al-Arabiyya al-Kubra (Zain), 24 al-Ash’ari, Abu Hassan, 335 Ash’ariyya school, 334–5 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC), 17, 254, 368–70, 373, 386, 485–6 al-Asil, Nadji, 136, 420 Asir region, 118, 120, 125 al-Askari, Jafar, 24, 420 al-Askari, Tahseen, 24 Asrar al-Thawra al-Arabiyya al-Kubra wa Ma’sat al-Sharif Husayn (Said), 24 al-Assad, Bashar, 208, 255, 275 al-Assad, Hafez, 225 Association of Algerian Muslim ‘Ulama’, 345 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN), 17 Atatürk, Mustafa Kemal, 97, 133– 4, 135, 136, 139, 234–5, 299 Atlantic Charter (1941), 166 al-Attafi, Amjad, xvii Augsburg Settlement (1555), 10 Austin, Warren, 166 Austria-Hungary (1867–1918), 85, 132, 162, 164, 341 autonomy, 183–9 Avignon, 161 ‘Awn al-Rafiq, Sharif of Makkah, 75 al-Awni, Hatim, 328–30, 475–6 al-Awwa, Mohamad Salim, 40–41, 46, 320–21, 398, 422 Ayubi, Nazih, 305 Azad, Abul Kalam, 347 Azerbaijan, 217 Azeris, 60, 473 al-Azhar, xxiv, 107, 132, 149, 226–7, 286, 295, 337, 379–80, 446 on Caliphate, succession of, 340

519

INDEX General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138–42, 331, 378 International Conference on Confronting Extremism and Terrorism (2014), 331–3 and jihad, 335–6 and takfir, 335 Azores, 184 Aztec Empire (1430–1521), 33 Ba’ath Party of Iraq, 157, 209, 221–2, 223, 225, 232, 286, 382 of Syria, 221–2, 223, 225, 232, 382 Babayan, Kathryn, 309, 310, 311, 314, 371 Babrak Karmal, 258 Baca, 391 Badie, Bertrand, 58 Badinter Commission, 159 Baghdad, 4, 17, 48, 84, 121, 285, 341 al-Baghdadi, Abu Bakr, 277 Bahai, Shaykh, 313 Bahrain, 7, 8, 9, 129, 252, 333, 359, 363, 371, 372, 453 Baker, Randall, 29 Balfour Declaration (1917), 80–81, 93, 94, 143, 144 Balkan wars (1912–13), 75 Bamiyan Buddhas, 266 Bangladesh, 302 al-Banna, Hassan, 146, 293–4, 316 Barrow, Clyde, 34 Basque Country, 185 Basra vilayet, 156 Battle of Mogadishu (1993), 271 Bautista Quiros, Juan, 128 bay‘a, 37, 44–5, 97, 111, 123, 137, 394

520

al-Bayhaqi, 62, 403 Bazargan, Mehdi, 242, 243 Bederman, David, 33 Bedouin, 36, 72, 75, 104, 288, 289 Belgium, 161, 185, 210 Ben Badis, Abdelhamid, 345, 477 Benedikter, Thomas, 185 Berlin–Baghdad railway, 84 Bermond, Édouard, 24 Biafra (1967–70), 192 bilad al-haramayn, 3, 21 Billi tribe, 120 Bin Atiq, Hamad, 293 Bin Baz, Abdulaziz, 284, 476 Bin Laden, Osama, 265, 268, 271, 272, 273, 281, 377–8, 459 Bingham, Thomas Henry, Baron Bingham of Cornhill, 10 Birdwood, George, 145 Birth of Saudi Arabia, The (Troeller), 30 al-Bitar, Salah al-Din, 221 Black Sea, 255 Black September, 281 Blunt, Wilfrid Scawen, 145, 378 Bokhari, Kamran, 306 Boko Haram, 8, 210, 475 Bolsheviks, 80, 81, 84, 85, 91, 94, 161–2 Bosnia, 193, 252, 439 Bourbons, 9 Bremer, Paul, 285 Brennan, John, 273 Brexit (2016–), 186, 366, 484 Brezhnev, Leonid, 454 Britain, the Hashemites and Arab Rule 1920–1925 (Paris), 28 Buchanan, Allen, 435 Bulgaria, 353 Bullard, Reader, 101 Bullit, William, 85, 409 Bunzel, Cole, 284

INDEX Burkina Faso, 160 Bush, George Walker, 272, 273, 364 Byzantine Empire (285–1453), 33, 441 Cairo, Egypt, xvii, xxiv al-Azhar University, see al-Azhar Arab Bureau, xxiv, 28, 410 General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138–42, 331 Hijazi Defence Association, 120 International Conference on Confronting Extremism and Terrorism (2014), 331–3 League of Arab States HQ, 248 Mamluk period (1250–1517), 17, 72, 341 al-Manar, 137 Caliphate, xxiv, 9, 13, 14–18, 21, 53, 132–53, 189, 340–49, 376–9 al-Azhar on, 340 and DA’ISH, 15, 21, 194, 269, 273, 277, 280, 286, 322–5, 331–3, 351, 356, 376, 382, 458 ‘Declaration to the People on the Matter of the Caliphate’ (1924), 139 European Muslim Congress (1935), 143–4 evolution of, 47–9 General Islamic Congress (1931), 142–3 General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138–42, 331, 378 and Hijaz, control of, 72 and Hizb al-Tahrir, 347, 377 and Hussein, 75, 80, 96–7, 134, 135–7, 138, 189, 420

and Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, 289 as international cooperation, 65–7 and jurisprudence, 16, 144–53, 168 Khilafat Movement, 110, 111, 140, 143, 297, 378 and Muslim unity, 150–53 objectives, 45–7 and al-Qaida, 269–70, 273, 376, 377 and Quraysh, 13, 97, 136–7, 138, 140, 289, 347, 378 and revivalism, 300–302 and secret societies, 145 Shar’ia, 151, 282, 296 and succession, 42–5, 146–7 and sultat al-istila wa al-taghallub, 48, 349 and Wahhabism, 301 Cambodia, 190 Cambridge University, xxiv, 9 Cameroon, 218 Canada, 168–9, 174, 178, 180, 187, 192, 195, 365, 433 capacity building, 283 Carr, Edward Hallett, 85 Carter, Ashton, 381 Carter, James ‘Jimmy’, 257, 281, 455 cartography, 52 Casey, William, 261 Cassese, Antonio, 161, 177, 182 Catalonia, 185, 186–7, 437 Caucasus, 217, 255 Central Intelligence Agency (CIA), 239, 240, 259, 261, 262, 282, 456 Century of Arab Politics, A (MaddyWeitzman), 23 Chad, 218 Charlemagne, King of the Franks, Holy Roman Emperor, 34

521

INDEX Chechnya, 185, 324 Cheney, Richard ‘Dick’, 273, 377 children, killing of, 37, 397 China, 11, 140, 188, 195, 196, 369 Japanese invasion of Manchuria (1931), 129, 156, 164, 217, 350, 478 One Belt One Road, 367 Cho, Sungjoon, 368 Christianity, 9–11, 52, 57, 61, 84, 138, 403 Holy See, 182, 189, 195, 197– 202, 214, 340, 440, 441 Mount Athos, 195–6, 439 Churchill, Winston, 81, 114, 135, 166, 375 Cicero, Marcus Tullius, 33 citizenship, 4, 40, 54, 55 city states, 16, 33, 34 civilization, 87 Clematis, HMS, 103 Cleveland, William, 221, 224, 232, 449, 451 Code of Hammurabi (c. 1754 BCE), 41 Cogan, Charles, 259, 262, 455 Cold War, 207, 215, 216, 219, 241, 254–7, 279 Egypt, 226, 230 Jordan, 232 League of Arab States, 248 Lebanon, 228 Morocco, 233 Saudi Arabia, 230, 232 Turkey, 236 Coll, Steven, 260, 261, 455 colonialism, 53, 58, 66, 88, 93, 94, 108, 119, 122, 131, 143–4, 153, 300 ‘civilizing mission’, 342 decolonization, 215, 216, 218–40, 345, 444

522

and self-determination, 159–80, 192, 194, 300 Commander of the Faithful, 47, 54, 265 Committee for the Liberation of the Maghreb, 249 Committee of Union and Progress (CUP), 74, 75, 82, 346 communism, 222, 226, 227, 228, 327, 453 Communist Party of Iraq, 222 Community of Sahel and Saharan States (CEN-SAD), 452 conditionalist Islamists, 306 Congo, 8, 190, 218, 434 Congress of Vienna (1815), 157 Constitution of Medina (622), 2, 4, 39–41, 62, 397–8 Constitutional Assembly (621), 149 constitutive theory, 127, 128, 157–8, 173, 352 constructivism, 368 Consultative Council of the Caliphate, 95 consultative councils (shura), 112, 114, 288–9, 345 Corfu, 217 Corsica, 185 Costa Rica, 128 Council of Ministers, 95 Council of Tribes, 121 Councils of Deputies and People, 95 Crawford, James, 128, 172, 173–4, 193, 418 Creation of Saudi Arabia, The (alEnazy), 27 Crimea, 13, 355 Crimean War (1853–6), 410 Critical Legal Studies (CLS), 11 Crusades, 57, 199, 440–41, 487 customary international law, 159, 178

INDEX Cyprus, 185, 365, 448 Czechoslovakia, 164, 165, 173–4, 176, 192, 217 DA’ISH, xxiv, 7, 9, 207–12, 216, 268, 273–8, 283–7, 322–33, 349–57, 372, 373, 381 and Boko Haram, 8, 210 and Caliphate, 15, 21, 194, 269, 273, 277, 280, 286, 322–5, 331–3, 351, 356, 376, 382, 458 and al-Durrar al-Saniyya fi alAjwiba al-Najdiyya, 328–30 federalism, 283 and foreign fighters, 210, 212, 324 funding, 270 and Gulf Cooperation Council, 253 and hakimiyya, 329, 330 and Holy Lands, capture of, 20, 246, 277, 358, 382 iconoclasm, 266, 457 information and communication technology (ICT), 327 and Kurds, 208 legal status, 349–55 al-mufasala al-jihadiyya, 322, 328 Najd wilayah, 351 neo-medievalism, 7, 21, 22, 188, 207, 269, 282–3, 286–7, 322–31, 350–55 and al-salafiyya al-jihadiyya, 326–31 and Saudi Arabia, 21, 283–7, 351, 358 sectarianism, 323 and Soviet–Afghan War, 256, 262 and Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 277, 280, 356 takfir, 286, 328–30, 475

territory, size of, 277, 323 terror attacks, 209–10, 272, 277 and Wahhabism, 274, 276, 283–7 al-wala’ wa al-bara’ (loyalty and disavowal), 322, 329 Da’ish from Najdi to Baghdadi (Ibrahim), 285–6 al-Dabbagh, Hussein, 118, 120, 143 al-Dabbagh, Tahir, 105, 106, 118, 121 Dahlan, Abdullah, xxiii, 107, 140 Damad, Mir, 313 Damascus Damascus Protocol (1915), 78–9 in ‘General Organic Law of the Arab Empire’ (Rida), 76 German Intelligence Bureau, 84 Umayyad period (661–750), 4, 17, 45, 47, 72, 341 dar al-‘ahd, 400 dar al-harb, 47, 300, 400 dar al-islam, 47, 56, 148, 300, 348, 400 Dar al-Ward, 25 Darfur, 181 Darin Pact (1915), 80, 115, 116, 447 dawla, 35, 47, 51, 54 Dawn, Ernest, 25, 30, 75 de-Baathification (2003–4), 209, 286 Deauville Partnership, 362, 364–5, 382–3 Declaration of Independence, US (1776), 161 Declaration on Principles of International Law (1970), 160, 168, 175, 179, 180, 426, 430, 434 Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007), 169

523

INDEX Declaration to the People on the Matter of the Caliphate (1924), 139 Declaration to the Seven (1918), 81 declaratory theory, 127, 128, 158, 173, 352, 418 decolonization, 215, 216, 218–40, 345, 444 democracy, 297, 326, 333, 337, 362, 364 deliberative, 182, 388 entitlement to, 182, 388, 435, 488–9 and hakimiyya, 297 internal self-determination, 181–2 and Islamism, 306–7 in Turkey, 235, 240, 308 Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC), 8, 190, 434 Democratic Republic of Vietnam (1945–76), 172 Deutsche Continental Gas Gesellschaft Arbitration (1929), 159 developing nations, 218 Devlin, John, 223 devolution max, 176, 183 Dhawi-‘Awn, 74, 145 Dhawi-Zayd, 74 Diana, 103 Dillard, Hardy Cross, 170 Dir‘iyya Emirate (1744–1818), 5, 99–100, 134, 288–90, 292, 294, 323, 412, 464 dislocative nationalism, 56, 402 diwan, 47, 54 Diyala, 277 doctrine of three elements, 158 Drei Elementen Lehre (Jellinek), 158 drug trafficking, 267

524

Dubai, 247 dudman, 54 Duijzings, Gerlachlus, 53 Durant Line, 456 al-Durrar al-Saniyya fi al-Ajwiba alNajdiyya, 291, 328–30 East Timor, 171, 190, 192 Ecuador, 126 Edinburgh Agreement (2012), 175–6 Egypt, 65 ‘Ali’s intervention request (1925), 109 Arab Common Market agreement (1964), 363 Arab Cooperation Council, foundation of (1989), 364 and Arab Neighbouring States Policy, 365 al-Azhar University, see al-Azhar University and Congress of the Islamic World (1926), 142 coup (2013), 307 and DA’ISH, 209, 351, 359 Deauville Partnership, 365 ‘Declaration to the People on the Matter of the Caliphate’ (1924), 139 foreign fighters, 211 General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138–42, 331, 378 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118, 120, 121, 122, 123 and Ibn Rifada’s uprising (1932), 120 Ibn Saud, relations with, 110, 141 International Conference on Confronting Extremism and Terrorism (2014), 331–3

INDEX Islamic Jihad, 460 Israel, relations with, 63, 248, 452 League of Arab States, foundation of (1945), 248, 364 al-Manar, 137 Mohammad ‘Ali, reign of (1805–48), 6, 73, 100, 290, 292, 294, 412 Muslim Brotherhood, see under Muslim Brotherhood Napoleonic invasion (1798– 1801), 299 Nasserism, 219–27, 229–30, 279 as nation state, 53 October War (1973), 63, 250 Revolution (1952), 220 Revolution (2011), 209, 268, 304, 305, 307 Saudi Arabia, relations with, 359 Second World War (1939–45), 217 Shura Council, creation of (1981), 303 Six Day War (1967), 9, 211, 255, 305 Soviet Union, relations with, 255, 256, 279 Suez Crisis (1956), 219–20 takfir of, 330 as terrorist safe haven, 268 United Arab Republic (1958– 61), 224, 229, 247, 255 Wahhabi War (1811–18), 100, 290, 292, 294, 464 Egyptian Islamic Jihad (EIJ), 460 Eighty Years’ War (1568–1648), 401 emic and etic, 35 Emirate of Dir‘iyya, see Dir‘iyya Emirate

Emirate of Najd, see Najd Emirate Emirate of Riyadh, see Riyadh, Emirate of empirical question, 172 al-Enazy, Askar, 27, 101, 104 England, 52, 116, 186 see also United Kingdom Enlightenment, 11, 22, 376 Erdogan, Recep Tayyip, 308 erga omnes, 192, 479 Eritrea, 118, 119 Esposito, John, 287, 325, 326 Estonia, 162 Ethiopia, 8, 36, 217, 255 ethnic identity, 53 ethnocentric nationalism, 13, 21, 52–3, 78, 91–2, 93, 119 European Coal and Steel Community, 363 European Customs Union, 236 European Economic Community (EEC), 236, 363 European Muslim Congress (1935), 143–4 European Union (EU), 8, 64, 159, 201, 249, 366, 369, 380, 385, 453 Brexit (2016–), 186, 366, 484 foreign fighters, 210 refugee crisis (2015–), 275 and terrorism, 211 and Turkey, 236, 308 and Union for the Mediterranean (UfM), 364 Eve, 391 exit visas, 41 Fahmi, ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, 149 Faisal I, King of Syria and Iraq, 28 and Allenby, 81–2 and Damascus Protocol (1915), 79

525

INDEX as ‘King of Arabia’, 137 and nationalism, 78, 91 Oppenheim, meeting with (1915), 84 Paris Peace Conference (1919), 90–92 and Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 92 and Turkish nationalists, 135 Faisal II, King of Iraq, 224 Faisal ibn Abdulaziz, King of Saudi Arabia, 114, 123, 229, 294, 380 Faisal ibn Turki, Emir of Najd, 293 Faith Militant, 13, 209, 267, 270, 278, 287, 289, 307, 323, 325, 349, 373, 377, 380, 487 Fall and Rise of the Islamic State, The (Feldman), 282 ‘far enemy’, 304, 326 al-Farabi, 342–3 Faroe Islands, 184 al-Farouqi, Mohammad Sharif, 78 Faruq I, King of Egypt, 220 fascism, 164 Fashoda incident (1898), 73 fasiq, 334 al-Fatat, see al-Arabiyya al-Fatat Fatherland, 59, 156 Fatimid Caliphate (909–1171), 48, 72, 340, 341 fatwas, 226, 272, 283–4, 301 al-Fawaz, Kulaib, 23 federalism, 247 Federation of Iraq and Jordan (1958), 224, 247 Feldman, Noah, 182, 282 feudalism, 48–9, 51 Finland, xxv, 427 First World War (1914–18) Arab Revolt (1916–18), xxi– xxiii, xxvii, 4, 5, 12–13, 74–80, 108, 115, 130, 137, 378, 405

526

Darin Pact (1915), 80, 115, 116, 228, 417, 447 al-Farouqi desertion (1915), 78 Gallipoli Campaign (1915–16), 78, 84 Ottoman entry (1914), 77 Russian withdrawal (1917), 81, 85 fitna, 288 foreign fighters, 210–11, 212 formalism, 59 Former Yugoslav Republic of Macedonia (FYROM), 353–4, 355 forum shopping, 127 Foundational Instructions (1926), 114 Four Key Concepts of the Quran (alMawdudi), 317 Fourteen Points (1918), 84–6, 93, 163, 428 France, 82–4 Algeria, colonial (1830–1962), 83, 233, 345, 467, 477 Alsace–Lorraine, 158 Congress of Vienna (1815), 157 Damascus, capture of (1920), 96 Deauville Partnership, 365 Fashoda incident (1898), 73 foreign fighters, 210 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 141 Kellogg–Briand Pact (1928), xxvi, 126, 129, 478 Lebanese Mandate (1920–43), 227 Libya intervention (2011), 275 and McMahon–Hussein correspondence (1915–16), 77 Morocco Protectorate (1912– 56), 233 Ottoman Empire, relations with, 341, 342

INDEX Paris Peace Conference (1919), 90, 91 Revolution (1789), 33, 161, 319 and Siege of Makkah (1979), 246 Spain, relations with, 342 Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 3, 12, 80, 82, 87, 90, 116, 163, 277, 279, 280, 282, 356 Suez Crisis (1956), 220 Syrian Mandate (1923–46), 81, 135, 445 and terrorism, funding of, 211 terrorist attacks, 9 Thirty Years War (1618–48), 9 Turkish War of Independence (1919–21), 235 and Union for the Mediterranean (UfM), 364 and United Nations, 165 Vichy government (1940–44), 217 Francis, Pope, 201–2 Franck, Thomas, 168, 182, 388, 435, 488–9 Frankish Empire (481–843), 34 Frankopan, Peter, 367 Free Officers, 221 Freedom Movement, 242, 243 Freeman, Charles, 401 Friendly Relations Declaration (1970), 160, 168, 175, 179, 180, 426, 430, 434 From Ottomanism to Arabism (Dawn), 25 From Political to Economic Awakening in the ArabWorld, 362 Fuad I, King of Egypt, 109, 138, 141, 149 Fujairah, 247 futuhat, 45, 47 Future is for this Religion, The (Khamenei), 316

Gaddafi, Muammar, 225, 226, 232, 256, 448, 452 Gallipoli Campaign (1915–16), 78, 84 Galster, Steven, 257–8 Gandhi, Mohandas, 143, 219 Gaugazia, 188 de Gaulle, Charles, 445 General Islamic Congress (1931), 142–3 General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138–42 General Organic Law of the Arab Empire, The’ (Rida), 76 Geneva, Switzerland, 15, 92, 143–4 Geneva Conventions, 193 Georgia, 173, 185 Germany and Alsace–Lorraine, 158 Anschluss (1938), 217 Czechoslovakia, invasion of (1938), 164, 217 Deauville Partnership, 365 Deutsche Continental Gas Gesellschaft Arbitration (1929), 159 First World War (1914–18), 84, 130, 408–9 foreign fighters, 210 Holocaust (1941–5), 23 and Mandate System, 87, 89, 95 Munich Olympics terror attack (1972), 281 Nazi period (1933–45), 164, 217, 229, 232, 236 Ottoman Empire, relations with, 341 reparations, 87 Second World War (1939–45), 217, 229, 232, 236 Treaty of Versailles (1919), 94, 234

527

INDEX and Union for the Mediterranean (UfM), 364 Ghalib, Sharif of Makkah, 100 Ghana, 218 al-Ghannouchi, Rashid, 297, 307, 422 al-Ghaseen, Faiz, 24 al-Ghazali, 54, 57 al-Ghazzah Palace, Makkah, xxii al-Ghifari, Abu Dhar, 469 Ghulams, 310, 312 ghulat, 311, 312 Ghyiath al-Umam fi Iltiyath al-Zulam (al-Juwayni), 145 global state, 342 Government of the Islamic Jurist (Khomeini), seeVelayat-e Faqih Grand Mosque, Makkah, xxiii, 19–20, 73, 107, 132, 337, 351, 382 bay‘a to Ibn Saud (1926), 110 Caliphate, jurisprudential views on, 152–3 and Dhawi-‘Awn, 74 Freedom of Islamic affiliation, 20 Siege (1979), 245–6, 355, 382 Great Depression (1929–39), 216 Greater Arab Free Trade Area (GAFTA), 364 Greater Middle East initiative (2004), 364 Greece city-states, 33, 34 genocide (1913–22), 23 Macedonia dispute, 353–4, 355 Mount Athos, 195–6, 439 Turkish War (1919–22), 235 Greenland, 184 Grotius, Hugo, 11, 33, 61 Group of 8 (G8), 362, 364–5 Guinea, 218 Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC),

528

8, 17, 211, 215, 228, 252–4, 278, 363, 371–3, 386 Peninsula Shield Force, 253, 372, 486 Ramadan Crisis (2017), 8–9, 212, 379 Gulf War (1990–91), 155–7, 180, 193, 248, 252, 280, 294, 356, 465 Habsburgs, 9 Haddad, Mahmoud, 306 Hadiths, 66, 293, 301, 314, 383 Hadramaut, xxii Hagar, 391 hajj, 18, 72, 76, 169, 182–4, 191–2, 195–7, 200, 337, 351, 355, 362, 372, 377, 388 bombing (1989), 184, 355 bombing (2017), 382 and Dir‘iyya Emirate (1744– 1818), 290 fire (1997), 184 and Hijaz National Party, 119 and Ibn Saud, 112, 113, 142, 229 and India, 103, 108, 143 Iranian demonstrations and riot (1987), 184, 355 al-Kawakibi on, 138, 345 and Kingdom of Hijaz (1916– 25), 83, 95, 101, 113 and Najd–Hijaz conflict (1924– 5), 101, 112, 113 stampedes, 184, 355, 481 and Sultan, 72 and Taif massacre (1926), 102, 103 al-hakimiyya, 139, 149, 295–8, 305, 306, 317, 329, 330, 466, 476 Hamadan, 313 Hamas, 212

INDEX Hamza ibn Abdul-Muttalib, 109 Hamza, Fuad, 121, 122–3 Han Empire (202 BCE–220 CE), 33 Hanbali school, 284, 383 al-Haraka al-Arabiyya (al-Musa), 24 Hardinge, Charles, 1st Baron Hardinge of Penshurst, 92 Hartman, Andrew, 261 Harun al-Rashid, Abbasid Caliph, 47 Harvard Law School, 11, 282 al-Hasa, 100, 116, 246, 284 Hasan ibn ‘Ali, 393, 405 Hashemites, 4, 12, 19, 36, 72, 375–6, 392 and al-Afghani’s proposals, 344 and Arab nationalism, 78 and Committee of Union and Progress, 74, 75 crimson standard, 378 and Federation of Iraq and Jordan (1958), 224, 247 and Ibn Saud, 105, 115 and Quraysh, 4, 12, 19, 379, 399 and Rida’s proposals, 347 umma, leadership of, 4, 12, 36, 76 Hatay, 365 Hava, 391 Haydar, ‘Ali, 74 Hedjaz dans la Guerre Mondiale, Le (Bermond), 24 Hegghammer, Thomas, 293 Heintze, Hans-Joachim, 183 Hejaz beforeWorldWar I (Hogarth), xxiv, 25 Helsinki Final Act (1975), 160 Hezbollah, 208, 212, 281 Hidden Imam, 59, 244, 309, 312, 315, 320 High-Level Strategic Cooperation Council (HLCC), 365

Hijaz, Kingdom of (1916–25), 74–97, 99–111, 118, 189, 375 Arab Revolt (1916–18), xxi– xxiii, xxvii, 4, 5, 12–13, 74–80, 108, 115, 130 Hijaz National Party, 105–7, 109, 153, 216, 388 Najd, conquest by (1924–5), xxv, xxvi, 6, 18, 20, 76, 97, 101–11, 134, 138, 155, 164–5, 413 Paris Peace Conference (1919), xxv, 5, 84–93 Taif massacre (1924), 6, 23, 25–6, 101–5, 130, 164, 325, 375 Hijaz and Najd, Kingdom of (1926–32), 113–24, 140, 141 Congress of the Islamic World (1926), 140, 141, 142, 192 Hijaz Liberation Party, 118–23, 124, 361–2 Hijaz National Charter (1928), 6, 118–19, 216, 361–2 Hijaz National Party, 114 Hijazi Nationality Law (1926), 115 Ibn Rifada’s uprising (1932), 120, 122, 125 al-majlis al-ahli, 114 Sabala campaign (1929), 135 al-Ta‘limat al-Asasiyya (1926), 114, 141 Treaty of Jeddah (1927), 129, 165, 228, 447 and ulama, 113–14 Hijaz Liberation Party (HLP), 19, 118–23, 124, 361–2 Hijaz Maqam, xvii Hijaz National Charter (1928), 6, 118–19, 216, 361–2 Hijaz National Party (HNP), 105–7, 109, 114, 118, 216, 388

529

INDEX Hijaz Railway, 75 al-Hijaz wa al-Wahabiyyun (Rida), 76 Hijazi language, 19–20 Hijra (622), 37–8, 39, 389, 398, 399 Hinduism, 11, 264 Hitler, Adolf, 164 Hizb al-Tahrir, 347, 377 Hoffman, Bruce, 459 Hogarth, David George, xxiv, 25, 79, 81, 88, 410 Holsti, Kalevi Jaakko, 127, 157 Holy Roman Empire (800–1806), 400–401 Holy See, 182, 189, 195, 197–202, 214, 340, 440, 441 Hong Kong, 188, 195, 196 Horn of Africa, 8, 73 Houkumat-i Islami (Khomeini), see Velayat-e Faqih House, Karen, 358, 360 Howarth, David, 29 Hudaybiyya treaty (628), 62, 63, 404 hukm, 66, 297 Human Rights Council, 15 human rights, 12, 167–8, 179–81, 192, 242 Humphreys, R. Stephen, 231 Huns, 34 al-Huseyni, Amin, 143 Hussein ibn ‘Ali, 290, 309, 314 Hussein, Sharif of Makkah, xxi– xxii, xxiv, 12, 23, 24, 28, 29, 74–84 abdication (1924), 105, 106, 153 Arab nationalists, meetings with (1911), 75 and Balfour Declaration (1917), 81, 93 and Battle of Turaba (1919), 100  

530

and Caliphate, 75, 80, 96–7, 134, 135–7, 138, 189, 420 declaration of independence (1916), 79–82, 83–4 France, relations with, 82–4 Germany, relations with, 84 Hogarth Message (1918), 88, 410 Ibn Saud, relations with, 100–105 as ‘King of Arabs’, 80, 83, 93, 105 as ‘King of Hijaz’, 80, 82, 84, 93, 137 and Mandate System, 92–7, 107 McMahon, correspondence with (1915–16), 77, 79, 80, 116, 356, 407 Mohammed VI, hosting of (1922), 136 and Palestine, 93, 96, 107, 136 Pilgrimage Congress (1924), 138 Sultan, pledge of loyalty to (1908), 74 Syria, tour of (1924), 136 Transjordan, tour of (1924), 96–7, 136 and Treaty of Lausanne (1923), 136 and Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 93 and Treaty of Versailles (1919), 92, 93 and Turkish nationalists, 134, 135 umma, loyalty of, 79 United Kingdom, relations with, 77–82, 93, 95, 107, 413 Hussein, King of Jordan, 224, 231–2 Hussein, Sharif of Makkah, xxi– xxii, xxiv, 12, 23 Hussein, Taha, 148 Huyette, Summer Scott, 113

INDEX Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, Mohammad, 19, 99, 134, 284, 288–92, 299, 329–30, 463 Ibn ‘Abd al-Wahhab, ‘Soliman, 291 Ibn Abbas, Abdullah, 102, 103 Ibn al-Samit, ‘Ubada, 37 Ibn Bajad, Sultan, 101 Ibn Khaldun, 59 Ibn Rifada, Hamid, 120, 122, 125 Ibn Saud, Abdulaziz ibn Abdulrahman, 230–31 bay‘a (1926), 110, 141 Battle of Turaba (1919), 100 Congress of the Islamic World (1926), 140, 141, 142, 192 correspondence with the Hijazi people (1924–6), 111–13 Darin Pact (1915), 80, 115, 116, 228, 417, 447 Egypt, relations with, 141 Faisal’s view of, 91 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 141 and hajj, 101, 113 Hijaz, conquest of (1924–5), xxv, xxvi, 6, 18, 20, 76, 97, 101–11, 134, 138, 155, 164–5, 361, 413 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 121, 122–3, 124 Hijazi Nationality Law (1926), 115 Ibn Rifada’s uprising (1932), 120, 122, 125 and Khilafat Movement, 140, 143 and non-Muslims, 134 ‘Proclamation of the Sultan Regarding General Amnesty’ (1925), 112 Riyadh, capture of (1902), 100 Sabala campaign (1929), 135

Saudi Arabia, creation of (1932), 123–5 and Second World War (1939– 45), 229 al-Ta‘limat al-Asasiyya (1926), 114, 141 Taif Massacre (1924), 6, 23, 25–6, 101–5, 130, 164, 325, 375 and takfir, 134 Treaty of Jeddah (1927), 129, 165, 228, 447 and ulama, 113–14 United Kingdom, relations with, 26, 29, 79, 80, 91, 93, 101–6, 108, 115–17, 134–5, 229 Ibn Taymiyya, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 288, 301–2, 320 Ibn Umayr, Abdullah, 121 Ibn Zayid, Shakir 121 Ibrahim Pasha, Wali of Egypt, 100, 464 Ibrahim, Fouad, 285–6 idarat al-dawla, 47 idealized state, xxvii, 2, 16 idolatry (shirk), 6, 103, 104, 284, 291, 292, 293, 463 Idris, King of Libya, 232 al-Idrisi, al-Hassan, 80, 120, 122 Ihsanoglu, Ekmeleddin, 17 Ihsanullah, Runsi, 104 ijma‘, 43–4, 146, 399 ijtihad, 64, 151, 300 Ikhwan, 5, 29, 97, 100, 101–5, 134, 246, 274, 282, 323, 487, 465 iltizam, 48 imagined communities, 52, 55, 401 Imam, Kamal, 422 iman, 333, 334 Imarah, Muhammad, 148–9, 152 In the Shadows of the Qur’an (Qutb), 316

531

INDEX Inca Empire (1438–1533), 33, 34 India apartheid challenge (1952), 165–6 British rule, 77, 91, 108, 163, 218, 456, 467 donations to Holy Sites, 72 General Islamic Congress (1931), 142–3 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 140, 141 Independence (1947), 218, 219 Khilafat Movement, 110, 111, 140, 143, 297, 378 and Najd–Hijaz conflict (1924– 5), 108, 109 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118, 119, 120 and Ibn Saud, 91, 110–12 Indonesia, 65, 140, 141, 171, 188, 210, 222 information and communication technology (ICT), 327 Innocent III, Pope, 199 Inquisition, 487 Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), 263 International Conference on Confronting Extremism and Terrorism (2014), 331–3 International Court of Justice, 155–6, 160, 173, 350 International Institute for Nationalist and Socialist Studies, 25 International Monetary Fund (IMF), 359 international treaties, 62–5 internationalization of territories, 190–92 Iqbal, Mohammad, 58

532

Iran, 9, 20, 236–45, 309–22 Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC), 238–9 Anglo-Soviet invasion (1941), 217, 236–7 anti-Western/American sentiment, 242, 256, 317 Aqquyunlu period (1378–1501), 310, 469 and Arab League summit (2010), 365 and Bahrain coup attempt (1981), 453 constitution (1979), 318 coup (1953), 238–9, 240 and ethnic identity, 53, 60 Freedom Movement, 242, 243 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 141 and Gulf Cooperation Council, 253 and hajj, 355 hostage crisis (1979), 245, 281 Ibn Saud, relations with, 110 Iraq–Iran War (1980–8), 244, 252 Islamic Republic Party, 244 Islamic Revolution (1979), 55–6, 58, 60, 207, 241–5, 250, 262, 298, 304, 315–22, 327, 450, 472 and Lebanese Civil War (1975– 90), 228 and Medina, 356 Muharram events (1978), 243 and Muslim Brotherhood, 316, 317, 320, 472 and Najd–Hijaz conflict (1924– 5), 109 as nation-state, 55, 56, 58 and nationalism, 55–6, 59–61 nuclear deal (2015), 9

INDEX oil, 238–9, 241 OPEC, foundation of (1960), 250 ‘pace of change’, 242, 450 Pahlavi period (1925–79), 217, 236–43, 279, 299, 316, 356, 448 and proxy war, 20, 208, 209, 286, 320 Qajar period (1789–1925), 316 Qatar, relations with, 212 Resurgence Party, 241 Revolutionary Guard, 243, 244, 316 Safavid period (1501–1736), 51, 59, 309–15, 316, 341, 342, 387, 469 Saudi Arabia, relations with, 208, 209, 212, 358–9 SAVAK, 239, 244 Second World War (1939–45), 217, 236–7 secularization, 238, 240, 299 Shi’ism, 20, 51, 55, 59–60, 241–5, 262, 282, 298, 304, 309–22 Soviet Union, relations with, 217, 236–7, 256, 427 Syrian War (2011–), 208 terrorism, funding of, 211 Timurid period (1370–1507), 309 Tudeh Party, 237 United Arab Emirates, relations with, 247, 452 United Kingdom, relations with, 217, 236–7, 238–9, 356 United States, relations with, 9, 61, 237–40, 245, 256, 258, 262, 279, 356, 473 velayat-e faqih, 55, 60, 242, 244, 315, 317–21, 472

White Revolution (1963–78), 238, 299 Iraq, xxvii, 3 Arab Common Market agreement (1964), 363 Arab Cooperation Council, foundation of (1989), 364 Ba’ath Party, 157, 209, 221–2, 223, 225, 279, 286 British Mandate (1920–32), 109, 121 Civil War (2006–), 9, 208, 210–11 Communist Party, 222 DA’ISH, xxiv, 194, 208, 210–11, 212, 266, 273, 276–8, 280, 323–33, 351, 356, 372 de-Ba’athification (2003–4), 209, 285–6 Federation of Iraq and Jordan (1958), 224, 247 foreign fighters, 210–11, 324, 461 Gulf War (1990–91), 155–7, 180, 193, 248, 252, 280, 294, 356, 465 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118, 121 and Ibn Rifada’s uprising (1932), 120 Ibn Saud, relations with, 110 Iran, relations with, 60 Iran–Iraq War (1980–8), 244, 252 Kurds, 285, 442 League of Arab States, foundation of (1945), 248, 364 as nation state, 53 OPEC, foundation of (1960), 250 al-Qaida in Iraq (AQI), 276, 327–8

533

INDEX and San Remo Conference (1920), 94 Second World War (1939–45), 217 Shi’ites, 9, 60, 100, 209, 284, 285–6, 290, 314, 320 Soviet Union, relations with, 256 Sunnis, 9, 209, 276, 285–6, 327 Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 3, 12, 80, 82, 87, 90, 116, 163, 277, 279, 280, 282, 356 as terrorist safe haven, 268 tribal allegiance, 386 US-led war (2003–11), 9, 10, 21, 274, 275, 276, 280, 282, 285–6, 294, 323, 327, 356 and Wahhabism, 285 Isfahan, 310, 313, 314, 387 Ishmael, 35, 391 Iskenderun, 365 Islam and the Problem ofWestern Civilization (Khamenei), 316 Islam wa Usul al-Hukm (Abdel Raziq), 145 Islamic Conference of Foreign Ministers (ICFM), 251 Islamic Government (Khomeini), see Velayat-e Faqih Islamic Republic Party (IRP), 244 Islamic State in Iraq (ISI), 328 Islamic State in Iraq and Syria (ISIS), see DA’ISH Islamic statehood, xxiv, xxvii, 2, 14–18, 20 and bay‘a, 37 and consultative councils, 288 evolution of, 47–9 and international relations, 62–7 and Islamists, 282 and Makkah, 36–7 and Medina, 37–41 and nationalism, 56–7

534

objectives, 45–7, 55, 59 and public interest, 54–6 and Quraysh, see under Quraysh and succession, 42–5 and umma, 41–2, 51, 53, 54–6 Islamic World Conference, 112 Islamophobia, 15, 65, 202, 379, 381, 393, 441, 478 Isma‘il I, Shah of Iran, 59, 309–11, 315 Ismat Bacha, 136 Israel, 9, 23 creation of (1948), 166 and DA’ISH, 331–2 Egypt, relations with, 63, 248, 452 and Gulf Cooperation Council, 253 Munich Olympics terror attack (1972), 281 and Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 252 and right of return, 439 Six Day War (1967), 9, 211, 255, 305 Suez Crisis (1956), 220 Yom Kippur War (1973), 63, 250 istikhlaf, 66 Italy city-states, 33 Deauville Partnership, 365 fascism, 164 Lateran Treaty (1929), 182, 200 Ottoman Empire, relations with, 341 Somaliland (1890–1941), 166 Second World War (1939–45), 217, 232 South Tyrol, 185, 188 Turkish War of Independence (1919–21), 235 Izmir, Turkey, 235

INDEX Ja‘fari school, 472 Jabal ‘Amil, 309, 311–12, 315, 337, 469 Jabhat al-Nusra, 276 Jabhat Fatah al-Sham, 276 al-Jaf, Hassan Karim, 311, 314–15 Jama‘at-i Islami, 302 James I and VI, King of England, Scotland and Ireland, 116, 186 Japan, 129, 156, 164, 217, 350, 365, 478 Jeddah British Agents, 101, 102–3, 107, 108, 117, 123–4 Consultative Council, 112 Eve, burial site of, 391 Hijaz National Party, 105, 106, 107 and Hussein, 80 Islamic Conference of Foreign Ministers (ICFM), 251 King Abdul Aziz University, 271 and Najd–Hijaz conflict (1924– 5), 101, 102–3, 105, 106, 107, 109, 110 Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), 251, 380 Treaty of Jeddah (1927), 129, 165, 228, 447 Jellinek, Georg, 158 Jemaah Islamiyah, 210 Jerusalem, 12, 142–3, 203, 231, 478 Jews in Afghanistan, 264 Balfour Declaration (1917), 80–81, 93, 94, 143, 144 Constitution of Medina (622), 2, 4, 38, 39, 40, 62, 397 Holocaust (1941–5), 23 and Muslim Brotherhood, 294 jihad, 207–12, 287, 335–6

al-Azhar on, 335–6 DA’ISH, 274–8, 286, 287, 322 definition of, 287 against Entente, 77, 84, 408–9 and Kharijites, 285 against Ottoman Empire, 79 al-Qaida, 207, 265, 269–73 and Revivalist Fundamentalism, 304 Salafi, 264, 282, 284, 285, 287, 294, 322, 326–31, 381, 383 against Soviet Union, 207, 259–63, 264, 280, 356 el-Tayeb’s view on, 286 and United States, 207, 259–63, 269, 280 Wahhabis, 13, 100, 134, 246, 282, 284, 285, 287, 293 al-wala’ wa al-bara’ (loyalty and disavowal), 294–5, 322 jizya, 47, 62, 400 Jordan, 231–2, 373 Abdullah I, assassination of (1951), 231 Arab Common Market agreement (1964), 363 Arab Cooperation Council, foundation of (1989), 364 Deauville Partnership, 365 Federation of Iraq and Jordan (1958), 224, 247 foreign fighters, 211 Hashemite standard, presentation of (2015), 378 High-Level Strategic Cooperation Council initiative (2010), 365 nationhood, 53 refugee crisis (2011–), 275 revivalism, 302 and Siege of Makkah (1979), 246 Six Day War (1967), 9, 211, 255, 305

535

INDEX United States, relations with, 232 see also Transjordan al-Jundi, Ghassan, 389 jurisprudence (fiqh) and Caliphate, 16, 144–53, 168 and Grand Mosque, 20 ijtihad, 64, 151, 300 objectives (maqasid), 14, 45–7, 55, 59, 150–52, 379, 389 and silence of the law, 43, 46–7 and solidarity, 64 jus cogens, 192, 350, 479 jus gentium, 11, 88 Justice and Development Party, 307 al-Juwayni, 54, 145, 320, 348 Ka’ba, Makkah, 72, 95, 314, 391 Kadri, Ahmad, 24 Kafka, Franz, 378 al-Karaki, ‘Ali ‘Abd al-‘Ali, 309, 310, 312, 313, 470 Karaosmanoglu, Ali, 132 Karbala, 100, 284, 290, 314 al-Kashani, Muhtashim, 315 Katanga, 434 al-Katib, 134, 288, 291, 292, 463 al-Kawakibi, ‘Abd al-Rahman, 76, 137, 145, 301, 343, 345, 477 Kazimiyyah, 314 Kellogg–Briand Pact (1928), xxvi, 126, 129, 478 Kemalism, 134, 135–7, 234 Kenya, 210, 272 Kersten, Carool, 378 khalifa, 66 Khamenei, Ali, 316, 319 Khan,Yasin, 103 kharaj, 47, 48, 400 Kharijites/Khawarij, 285, 296, 329, 466

536

Khatab, Sayed, 297 al-Khatib, Fuad, 105 al-Khilafa (Rida), 346, 477–8 Khilafat Movement, 110, 111, 140, 143, 297, 378 Khomeini, Ruhollah, 53, 55, 59, 239, 242–5, 298, 315, 317–21, 327, 472 Khouri, Rami, 325 khums tax, 312 King Abdul Aziz University, Jeddah, 271 Kirdar, Muhammad. J., 327 Kitchener, Herbert, 1st Earl Kitchener, 77, 406 Kohn, Hans, 102 Korean War (1950–53), 219 Koskenniemi, Martti, 12 Kosovo, 13, 173, 181, 185, 190, 431–2 Kostiner, Joseph, 29 Kramer, Martin, 30 Kufa, 4, 45 kuffar, 103, 104, 134, 298, 304 kufr, 295, 329, 333, 335 Kurdi, Abdulrahman, 66 Kurds Kurdistan, 53, 208, 442 Kuwait, 3, 100, 116, 129, 155–7 British Protectorate (1899– 1961), 116, 129, 156, 279, 356 Deauville Partnership, 365 Fund for Arab Economic Development, 363 Gulf Cooperation Council, foundation of (1981), 252, 363, 371 Gulf War (1990–91), 155–7, 180, 193, 248, 252, 280, 294, 356, 465 oil, 155–6, 250, 363 OPEC, foundation of (1960), 250

INDEX and proxy war, 286 Saudi Arabia, relations with, 359 UNSC Resolution 661 (1990), 180 al-Kuwatli, Shukri, 445 land tax, 47, 48 Lansing, Robert, 86, 87, 89, 95 Latakia, Syria, 255 Lateran Treaty (1929), 182, 200 Latin America, 59, 159, 426 Laub, Zachary, 263, 265 Lausanne Conference (1923), 133, 136 Lauterpacht, Hersch, 158, 172, 425 Lauterpacht Centre for International Law, xxiv Law of the Vilayets (1864), 405 Law of the Vilayets (1913), 75 Lawrence, Thomas Edward, 24 League of Arab States, 17, 215, 232, 248, 251–2, 363–5, 379, 386, 452 League of Nations, xxv, xxvi, 6, 21, 84–97, 99, 105, 106, 125–7, 163–6, 342, 411 Covenant, 86, 92, 93, 115, 125, 130, 160, 163, 429 and Ibn Saud, 115, 116 Japanese withdrawal (1933), 164 Mandate System, 86–97, 163, 166, 190, 216, 218, 375, 412 Paris Peace Conference (1919), xxv, 5, 84–93 and Second World War (1939– 45), 217 Stimson Doctrine (1932), 129–30, 350 League of Oriental Nations, 150–52 Leatherdale, Clive, 27, 87, 115

Lebanon, 227–8 Beirut barracks bombings (1983), 281 Civil War (1975–90), 228, 281, 452 foreign fighters, 211 French Mandate (1920–43), 227 High-Level Strategic Cooperation Council initiative (2010), 365 Iran, relations with, 59, 60 Jabal ‘Amil, 59, 309, 311–12, 315, 337, 469 League of Arab States, foundation of (1945), 248, 364 nationhood, 53 Paris Peace Conference (1919), 91 refugee crisis (2011–), 275 Second World War (1939–45), 217 Shi’ites, 281, 309, 311–12, 315, 320 Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 87 as terrorist safe haven, 268 United States, relations with, 228 Wahhabis, 6 Lenin, Vladimir, 84, 85, 161–2 ‘liberal’ monarchies, 231–3 Libya, 232–3, 249, 255, 256 Arab League summit (2010), 365 Civil War (2011–), 274, 275 Community of Sahel and Saharan States, foundation (1998), 452 Conference of Maghreb Economic Ministers (1964), 249 DA’ISH, 208, 209, 283 Deauville Partnership, 365 Gaddafi government (1969–

537

INDEX 2011), 209, 225, 226, 232–3, 256, 448, 452 League of Arab States accession (1958), 248 and Lebanese Civil War (1975– 90), 228 Maghreb Arab Union, foundation of (1989), 249, 363, 452 Morocco, relations with, 448 Revolution (2011), 209, 268, 274 Soviet Union, relations with, 255, 256 as terrorist safe haven, 208, 268 tribal allegiance, 386 Lithuania, 162 Lloyd George, David, 126 Lodge, Henry Cabot, 126 Lombards, 34 London bombings (2005), 272 Lorimer, James, 158 Loutfallah, Habib, 92 Lucas, Ivor, 256 al-Luhayyah, 120 Lutfi Bey, Ahmad, 420 Lynch, Allen, 85 Lynch, Marc, 295, 296 Macedonia, 185, 353–4, 355 Maddy-Weitzman, Bruce, 23 Madeira, 184 Madhbahat al-Taif (1924), 6 Madrid bombings (2004), 272 Maghreb Arab Union (MAU), 17, 249, 363, 452 Maghreb, 8 Magna Carta (1215), 41 Mahdi, 246 majallat al-ahkam al-sultaniyya, 395 majlis al-nuwwab, 95 majlis al-shuyukh, 95 Majlisi, Mohamad Taqi, 313, 316

538

Majlisi, Mohammad Baqer, 313 Making of Saudi Arabia,The (Kostiner), 29 Makkah, xxi–xxii, 3, 4–5, 6, 13, 17, 35, 36–7, 336–7, 354, 372 bay‘a to Mohammad, 37 bombing (1989), 184, 355 bombing (2017), 382 Congress of the Islamic World (1926), 140, 141, 142, 192 Consultative Council, 112 Dir‘iyya Emirate, capture by (1803), 100, 289, 290 fire (1997), 184 hajj, see under hajj Hijaz National Charter (1928), 6, 118–19, 216, 361–2 Hijaz National Party, 105, 153 Hijra (622), 37–8, 39, 389, 398, 399 Hudaybiyya treaty (628), 62, 63, 404 Iranian demonstrations and violence (1987), 184, 355 Islamic World Conference (1926), 112 jurisprudential views on Caliphate, 152–3 Ka’ba, 72, 95, 314, 391 Mohammad’s conquest (630), 42 Najd Emirate, capture by (1925), 109 Ottoman emirate, 73–6, 82 Pilgrimage Congress (1924), 138 ‘Proclamation of the Sultan Regarding General Amnesty’ (1925), 112 ‘Proclamation of the Ulema’ (1917), 82 Siege (1979), 245–6, 355, 382 Sharif, 23, 73, 76 stampedes, 184, 355, 481

INDEX and Taif Massacre (1924), 102 and Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 92 and umma, 41–2 Malaysia, 65, 140 Mali, 160, 218 malik al-bilad al-‘arabiyya, 80 Maliki school, 400 al-Maliki, Hassan Farahan, 283–4 Malta, 365 Mamluk Sultanate (1250–1517), 17, 72, 340, 341 al-Manar, 137 Manchester Guardian, 97 Manchester Herald, 81 Manchukuo (1932–45), 129, 156, 164, 217, 350, 478 Mandate System, 86–97, 163, 166, 190, 216, 218, 375, 412 maqasid, 14, 45–7, 55, 59, 150–52, 379, 389 al-Maqdisi, Abu Muhammad, 294, 465 al-Maraghi, Mustafa, 139–40 Mardom, Ummat, Mellat (Khomeini), 59 Marshall, George, 166 Martin, Vanessa, 316, 317 Marxism, 59, 237, 242, 258, 321 al-Mas’ari, Abu Muhammad, 295 maslaha, 43, 64, 320, 400 Mauritania, 363 al-Mawardi, 44, 54 al-Mawdudi, Abul-‘Ala, 296–7, 302, 317, 378 Mawsu’at al-Hijaz al-Siyasi, 23 Mazar-e Sharif, Afghanistan, 320 McDowall, David, 442 McKale, Donald, 84 McMahon–Hussein correspondence (1915–16), 77, 79, 80, 116, 356, 407 McMahon, Henry, 77, 356, 407

McNamara, Robert, 162, 409 Mearsheimer, John, 275 Medina, xxiii, 3, 6, 35, 37–41, 337, 354, 372 Constitution (622), 2, 4, 39–41, 62, 397–8 Consultative Council, 112 Dir‘iyya Emirate, capture by (1803), 100, 289, 290 Hijra (622), 37–8, 39, 389, 398, 399 Hudaybiyya treaty (628), 62, 63, 404 Iranian interest in, 356 Najd Emirate, capture by (1925), 109 Prophet’s Mosque, 106, 337, 351 Rashidun Caliphate (632–61), 4, 16, 45, 72 Mesopotamian Covenant Society, 91 Meydan-i Shah, Isfahan, 314 Milestones (Qutb), 316 Military Intelligence and the Arab Revolt (Mohs), 28 millennialism, 313 Mindanao, 188 ‘Mirrors for Princes’, 54 modern nation-state, 53 modernization, 216, 235, 238, 240 Mogadishu, battle of (1993), 271 Mohammad, Prophet of Islam, 2, 35–44 bay‘a, 37 on children, killing of, 37, 397 Constitutional Assembly (621), 149 Constitution of Medina (622), 2, 4, 39–41, 62 death (632), 3, 44, 45 Hadiths, 66, 293, 301, 314, 383

539

INDEX Hijra (622), 37–8, 39, 389, 398, 399 Hudaybiyya treaty (628), 62, 63, 404 and khalifa, 66 Makkah, conquest of (630), 42 succession, 42–4, 146–7 and treaties, 62, 63, 403 Mohammed V, King of Morocco, 233 Mohammed VI, Ottoman Sultan, 136 Mohammad ‘Ali, Khedive of Egypt, 6, 100, 412 Mohammad ibn Salman, Crown Prince of Saudi Arabia, 360, 380, 387 Mohammad ibn Saud, Emir of Dir‘iyya, 99, 288–9 Mohammad Reza Pahlavi, Shah of Iran, 237, 238–40, 241–3, 256, 299, 448 Mohs, Polly, 28, 407 Moldova, 188 Mongol Empire (1206–1368), 285, 301 Monnet, Jean, 363 monopoly on violence, 8, 34 Montesquieu, 394 Montevideo Convention on the Rights and Duties of States (1933), 127, 158–9, 172, 193, 412, 426 Morocco, 83, 211, 231, 233, 248, 249, 363, 365, 448 Morris, Christopher, 34 Morsi, Mohamed, 307 Mosaddeq, Mohammad, 238, 240 Mosul, 347 Mottahedeh, Roy, 48 Mount Athos, 195–6, 439 Mount Vernon address (1918), 90–91

540

Moussa, Amr, 365 al-Mu’akha, 39 Mu’tazila school, 334 mubah, 400 Mubarak, Hosni, 365 Muhajirun, 2, 38, 39, 42, 44, 45, 149, 398 Muharram, 243, 313 mujaddid, 246 Mujahideen, 215, 256, 259–63, 265, 269, 271, 279, 281, 455 Munich Agreement (1938), 164 Munich Olympics attack (1972), 281 Munro, Dana, 199 Murasalat al-Mutabadala bayn al-Sharif al-Husayn ibn ‘Ali wa al‘Uthmaniyyin (al-Fawaz), 23 Murassalat al-Tarikhiyya 1914–1918 (al-Musa), 24 murshid, 302 al-Musa, Suliman, 24 mushrikin, 103, 104 music, xvii Muslim Brotherhood, 132, 146, 281, 282, 305–7, 316, 420 al-Banna, Hassan, 146, 293–4, 316 and DA’ISH, 328, 330 and hakimiyya, 297, 305 and Iran, 316, 317, 320, 472 and Jews, 294 Morsi administration (2012–13), 282, 307 murshids, 302 participatory Islamism, 306 al-Qaradawi,Yusuf, 287–8, 297, 466 Qatar, relations with, 212 Qutb, Sayyid, 146, 281, 293–4, 297, 316, 317, 320, 328, 330, 466, 472

INDEX and Revolution (2011), 282, 305 and wasatiyya, 306 Muslim World Assembly, 484 Mustafawi, M., 296 al-Mustansiriyya University, 25 Mutahhari, Murtada, 316 Muwafawat fi Usul al-Shari‘a (alShatibi), 400 Muwahhid Caliphate (1121–1269), 48 muwatana, 4 al-Nabhani, Taqi al-Din, 377 al-Nadawi, Mohammed Akram, 291 al-Nadi, F. M., 297 Nahda Party, 307 nahda, 79 al-nahidh bi al-bilad al-‘arabiyya, 80 Nahj al-Balagha (‘Ali), 316 Najaf, 132, 284, 314, 337 Khomeini’s lectures (1970), 55, 315, 317 Najd Emirate (1824–91), 100, 293 Najd and Hasa Emirate (1902–21), 100, 412 Battle of Turaba (1919), 100 Darin Pact (1915), 80, 115, 116, 228, 417, 447 Riyadh, capture of (1902), 100, 229 takfir, 134 Najd Sultanate (1921–6) correspondence with the Hijazi people (1924–6), 111–13 and hajj, 101, 113 Hijaz, conquest of (1924–5), xxv, xxvi, 6, 18, 20, 76, 97, 101–11, 134, 138, 155, 164–5, 413 Taif Massacre (1924), 6, 23, 25–6, 101–5, 130, 164, 325, 375  

takfir, 134 Najd wilayah, 351 Najran, 403 Napoleon I, Emperor of the French, 299 Napoleonic Wars (1803–15), 157 Nasser, Gamal Abdel, 219–27, 229–30, 232 nation states, 51–67 National Front, Iran, 238 nationalism, 16, 33, 55, 56, 58, 67, 132, 164, 215, 315, 362, 370, 401 Afghan, 261, 262 and Arab Revolt (1916–18), 74–82 Ba’athism, 221–2, 223, 225, 232 and Caliphate, 138, 150, 347, 378 and Cold War, 255 Damascus Protocol (1915), 78–9 and decolonization, 218–40, 279, 356 ethnocentric, 13, 21, 52–3, 78, 91–2, 93, 119, 152, 194 and Faisal, 78, 91 and Gaddafi, 232 Hijazi, 6, 19, 105–7, 109, 114, 118–23, 124, 216, 361–2, 388 and Hussein of Jordan, 231 and Ibn Saud, 118 Iranian, 55–6, 59–61, 311, 318, 320–22 and jihad, 270 Nasserism, 219–27, 229–30, 232 pan-Arabism, 54, 220, 222–5, 226, 229–30, 256 and revivalism, 299, 302, 303, 315 Syrian, 93

541

INDEX Turkish, 57, 74, 97, 133, 134, 135, 137, 139 and Wilson, 85 Nazi Germany (1933–45), 164, 217, 229 nazr, 314 negative space, 202, 209, 214, 259, 262, 267, 268, 269, 278, 279, 280, 323 Nehru, Jawaharlal, 219 neo-medievalism, 7, 21, 22, 188, 207, 269, 282–3, 286–7, 322–31, 350–55 Netherlands, 165, 367, 401 New York Accords (1999), 171, 192 Newman, Andrew, 309, 310, 311, 312 NewYork Times, 277 Niger, 218 Nigeria, 8, 210 Nimeiry, Gaafar, 225 nizam al-hukum, 54 Noah, 391 Non-Aligned Movement (NAM), 219, 222 Norris, George, 85 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO), 9, 17, 219, 236, 254, 449 North Yemen (1962–1990), 224, 248 Northern Ireland, 185, 354 Numay, Abu, 379 Nuremberg Statute (1945), xxvi Obama, Barack, 272, 351, 480 ‘obedience to the commander’ (wali al-amr), 301, 320 Ochsenwald, William, 27, 73 October War (1973), 63, 250 oil, 8, 21, 62, 213, 217, 259–60, 362

542

Caucasus, 217 crisis (1973), 241, 250 Iraq, 155–6 Iran, 238, 239, 241 Kuwait, 155–6, 363 Libya, 232 OPEC, 249–51 Saudi Arabia, 3, 7, 213, 229, 230, 359, 380 and United States, 21, 259–60 Oman, 8, 252, 359, 363, 371 Omar, Mullah Mohammed, 264, 265, 266, 271 One Belt One Road, 367 open regionalism, 368 Operation Eagle Claw (1980), 281 von Oppenheim, Lassa, 94–5, 157 von Oppenheim, Max, 84 Organisation of Islamic Cooperation (OIC), 15, 17, 152, 160, 215, 251–2, 366, 379, 380 Organization for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE), 201 Organization of the Petroleum Exporting Countries (OPEC), 249–51, 484 Orientalism, 11–12, 24, 57–8, 144–5, 281 al-Otaybi, Juhayman, 246 Othman, Fathi, 422 Ottoman Caliphate/Sultanate (1299–1924), 4, 72, 269, 277, 340, 341, 344 Abdullah bin Faisal’s request for assistance (c. 1870), 293, 294 al-Afghani’s proposals, 344 Anglo-Ottoman Convention (1913), 156 Arab Revolt (1916–18), xxi– xxiii, xxvii, 4, 5, 12–13, 74–80, 108, 115, 130

INDEX Armenian genocide (1914–23), 23 Balkan wars (1912–13), 75 ‘Caliph of Islam’, 74 Caliphate, abolition of (1924), 12, 13, 18, 97, 132, 133, 136–53, 234, 280, 301 Caliphate, separation from Sultanate (1922), 97, 133 constitution (1876), 74 despotism, 144, 145 al-Farouqi desertion (1915), 78 feudalism, 48–9 First World War, entry into (1914), 77 France, relations with, 342 Greek genocide (1913–22), 23 Hijaz, conquest of (1517), 136 Hijaz, status of, 72–3 and Khilafat Movement, 110, 111, 140, 143 and Kuwait, 156 Law of the Vilayets (1864), 405 Law of the Vilayets (1913), 75 and Mohammad ‘Ali’s Egypt (1805–48), 6, 73, 100, 290, 292, 294, 412 Proclamation of the Ulema of Mecca (1917), 82 Safavids, relations with, 310, 311, 341, 342 statehood, 35 Sultanate, abolition of (1922), 136, 346 and Treaties of Westphalia (1648), 10–11 Treaty of Lausanne (1923), 133, 136 Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 92, 93, 134, 136, 234, 412 Turkification, 93 Turkish nationalism, 57, 74, 97, 135, 139

Wahhabi War (1811–18), 100, 290, 292, 294, 464 Young Turks, 74, 75, 82, 346 Ottoman Correspondence Registry, xxiv Owen, Roger, 223, 226, 231, 362 Oxford University, xxiii, 422 Pahlavi dynasty (1925–79), 217, 236–43, 279, 299, 316, 356 Pakistan Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI), 263 Jama‘at-i Islami, 302 and pan-Arabism, 229 and Siege of Makkah (1979), 246 and Soviet–Afghan War (1979– 89), 257, 259, 260, 261, 262, 455 and Taliban, 263, 264, 266, 267, 323 as terrorist safe haven, 268 United States, relations with, 257, 259, 260, 261, 262, 455 Palatinate, 161 Palau, 429 Palestine, 9, 21 Balfour Declaration (1917), 80–81, 93, 94, 143, 144 British Mandate (1920–48), xxv, 5, 121, 122, 123, 143, 166 General Islamic Congress (1931), 142–3 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 142 and Gulf Cooperation Council, 253 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118, 121, 123 Hogarth Message (1918), 88, 410 Hussein and, 93, 96, 107

543

INDEX Israel, creation of (1948), 166 League of Arab States, foundation of (1945), 248, 364 and Montevideo requirements, 193 Munich Olympics terror attack (1972), 281 and Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 252 Palestine Liberation Organization (PLO), 472 and right of return, 439 statehood, xxv, 53, 165, 193 Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 80 and Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 93 and Treaty of Versailles (1919), 93 and United Nations, 165, 203 Palmyra, Syria, 457 pan-Arabism, 54, 220, 222–5, 226, 229–30, 256, 294 see also Arab nationalism pan-Islamism, 19, 54, 132, 144, 200, 229, 233, 239, 343–4 and Centrism, 331 and DA’ISH, 277 and First World War, 77, 78 General Islamic Congress (1931), 142–3 General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138–42 and Hijazi cosmopolitanism, 19 and positive space, 278 and al-Qaida, 270 and Qurayshi Caliphate, 76, 344 and Salafism, 293 and Saudi Arabia, 229, 278, 294 Pankhurst, Reza, 377 Papal States (754–1870), 189, 199, 200 Paris Peace Conference (1919), xxv, 5, 84–93

544

Paris, Timothy, 28 Paron, 391 participatory Islamists, 306 Pashtuns, 323, 456 Peninsula Shield Force, 253, 372, 486 People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan (PDPA), 258–9 Persia, see Iran Peshawar, Pakistan, 455 Peshmerga, 208 Peterhouse College, Cambridge, 9 Philby, St John, 24 Philippines, 188, 210 Piraeus, Greece, 367 Plato, 317 Poincaré, Raymond, 83 Poland, 162 Political Encyclopedia of The Hijaz, 23 Politico, 210 Politics as aVocation (Weber), 34 politics, 16 polytheism (shirk), 6, 103, 104, 284, 291, 292, 293, 463 Portugal, 171 positive space, 214, 278, 279, 281, 330, 336–7, 357, 381–4, 388 postmodernism, 7, 22, 269, 282–3, 322, 368 Powell, Jonathan, 286 pre-modern states, 33–5 Proclamation of the Ulema of Mecca (1917), 82 Prophet’s Mosque, Medina, 106, 337, 351 proxy wars, 20, 208, 257, 258, 267, 355 Prussia (1525–1947), 157, 158 public good, 43, 64, 320, 400 Public Record Office, London, 25 al-Qadi, Wedad, 66

INDEX al-Qahtani, Mohammed Abdullah, 246 al-Qaida, 7, 20, 21, 207, 210, 212, 216, 256, 262, 267–74, 322–4, 356, 381, 459 Battle of Mogadishu (1993), 271 Bin Laden, killing of (2011), 272 and Caliphate, 269–70, 273, 376, 377 and ‘far enemy’, 304, 326 fatwa on killing of US citizens (1998), 272 funding, 270 and hakimiyyia, 296 and Holy sites, 20, 281 in Iraq (AQI), 276, 327–8 Jabhat al-Nusra, links with, 276 London bombings (2005), 272 Madrid bombings (2004), 272 and Qatar, 212 and safe havens, 265, 270–71 September 11 attacks (2001), 9, 18, 210, 252, 265, 268, 269, 272, 273, 282, 356, 359 takfir, 475 and Taliban, 265, 268 US East African embassy bombings (1998), 272 and Wahhabism, 285, 294–5 al-wala’ wa al-bara’ (loyalty and disavowal), 294–5 World Trade Centre bombing (1993), 271 al-Qaradawi,Yusuf, 287–8, 297, 466 Qatar, 8–9, 12, 116, 129, 211, 252, 363, 365, 371, 379 Qatif Uprising (1979), 246 qawm, 93 al-Qibla, 25, 96, 420 Qizilbash, 309, 310, 311, 312, 470 Qom, 132, 337

Quebec, 168–9, 174, 178, 180, 192, 385, 433 Quigley, John, xxv Qur’an and Arabic, 97, 344 and ‘authority of command’, 302 on children, killing of, 37, 397 faith and deeds, separation of, 335 and government, system of, 146 and hakimiyya, 296, 297, 298 and Holy Cities, 82 ijtihad, 64 and international treaties, 62 khalifa, 66 and non-Muslims, 295 and Salafism, 289 and shura, 288 and umma, 54 and Wahhabism, 289 al-Qur’an wa al-Qital (Shaltut), 295 Quraysh, 19, 35–6, 38, 42, 344, 391, 399 and Caliphate, 13, 97, 136–7, 138, 140, 289, 347, 378 Constitution of Medina (622), 2, 39 and Hashemites, 4, 12, 19, 379, 399 and Holy Sites, 73 and Hudaybiyya treaty (628), 62, 63, 404 and Makkah, conquest of (630), 42 Muhajirun, 2, 38, 39, 42, 44, 45, 149 and succession, 3, 44 trade journeys, 35 and umma, leadership of, 4, 12, 76 Qutb, Sayyid, 146, 281, 293–4, 297, 316, 317, 320, 328, 330, 466, 472

545

INDEX al-Quwain, 247 Rabkin, Jeremy, 126 Raic, David, 129 Rajagopal, Balakrishnan, 168 Ramadan Crisis (2017), 8–9, 212, 379 Ras al-Khaimah, 247 al-Rasheed, Madawi, 29 Rashid, Ahmed, 264, 266, 267–8, 457 Rashidun Caliphate (632–61), 3–4, 16, 44–8, 59, 72, 146–8, 295–6, 394–5, 399 Rassas, Mohamad Sayyid, 316, 472 al-Raysuni, Ahmad, 46 Reagan, Ronald, 455 Recognition in International Law (Lauterpacht), 172 regionalism, 216, 246–54, 363–73 rejector Islamists, 307 Religion, Society and the State in Arabia (Ochsenwald), 27 remedial secession, 168, 178–81, 192, 194, 435 Rendell, George William, 117 Republic of Macedonia, 353–4, 355 Republic of Rhodesia (1965–79), 172–3, 193, 478 Republic of Vietnam (1955–75), 172 Resurgence Party, 241 revivalism, 298–308, 315–22 Shi’a, 215, 241, 245, 262, 315–22, 386 Sunni, 55, 58–9, 137, 215, 245–6, 262, 297, 298–308, 386, 446 Revivalist Fundamentalism, 302–7 Revolutionary Command Council (RCC), 221

546

Revolutionary Guard, 243, 244, 316 Reza Pahlavi, Shah of Iran, 236, 237, 316 Rhodesia (1965–79), 172–3, 193, 478 Rida, Rashid, 76, 137, 138, 145, 302, 316, 346–7, 378, 477–8 ridda wars, 45, 399 Rise and Fall of the Hashemite Kingdom of Arabia, The (Teitelbaum), 29 Riyadh, 100, 229, 271 Riyadh, Emirate of (1902–21), 100, 412 Battle of Turaba (1919), 100 Darin Pact (1915), 80, 115, 116, 228, 417, 447 Riyadh, capture of (1902), 100, 229 takfir, 134 Riyadh Declaration (2011), 371, 486 Rome, ancient, 33, 41 Rommel, Erwin, 217 Roosevelt, Franklin, 166 Rotterdam, Netherlands, 367 Rousseau, Jean-Jacques, 16, 394 Royal Bank of Canada, 128 rugs, xxii Rule of Law, The (Bingham), 10 Rumaila oil fields, 155 Russian Empire (1721–1917), xxv, 7, 81, 341 Russian Federation (1991–), 9, 13, 173, 185, 208, 211, 255, 355, 365 Russian Revolution (1917), 80, 81, 85, 91 Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic (1917–91), 80, 81, 84, 85, 91, 94, 161–2, 427

INDEX see also Soviet Union Ryan, Andrew, 117, 123 Sa’id, Nuri, 420 Sabala campaign (1929), 135 al-Sabban, ‘Abd al-Rauf, 105, 118, 121 sadat, 312 Sadat, Anwar, 225, 452 sadd al-tharay’, 64 Saddam Hussein, 156–7, 225, 275 sadrs, 312 al-Safah, Jamal Pasha, 24 Safavid dynasty (1501–1736), 52, 59, 309–15, 316, 341, 342, 387, 469 sahwa, 55, 306, 315 see also revivalism Said, Amin, 24 Said, Edward, 11 as-Salafee, Abu Mu’aadh, 294 Salafism, 276, 282, 283–7, 326–31, 465 and DA’ISH, 322, 326–31 al-Durrar al-Saniyya fi al-Ajwiba al-Najdiyya, 328–30 and Faisal, 293 hakimiyya, 296–7 and Hijaz, rule of, 100 and Ibn Saud, 113, 289 and Ibn Taymiyya, 281, 282, 283, 284, 285, 288, 301–2, 320 and leaders, resistance against, 323 revivalism, 301, 302, 306, 307 al-salafiyya al-jihadiyya, 264, 282, 284, 285, 287, 294, 322, 326–31, 381, 383 shirk, 284, 293 tawhid, 284, 293 and Wahhabism, 283–7, 293, 299, 301, 307, 326–31

al-wala’ wa al-bara’ (loyalty and disavowal), 295 Salama, Hasan, 104 Salman ibn Abdulaziz, King of Saudi Arabia, 380, 387 Salman the Persian, 469 Samira, 314 San Francisco Treaty (1945), 164, 165 San Remo Conference (1920), 93, 94–5, 96 al-Sanhuri Pasha, Abdalrazzak, 18, 144, 147–8, 150–52, 200, 347, 357, 378, 379 al-Sanusi, Muhammad ibn ‘Ali, 299 Saqifat Bani Sa‘ida, 44 Sarkozy, Nicolas, 364 Saud, House of Abdulaziz ibn Abdulrahman (r.1902–53), see under Ibn Saud Abdullah ibn Abdulaziz (r. 2005–15), 371, 486 Abdullah ibn Faisal (r. 1865–73), 293, 294 Faisal ibn Abdulaziz (r. 1964– 75), 114, 123, 229, 294, 380 Faisal ibn Turki (r. 1834–8, 1843–65), 293 Mohammed ibn Abdulaziz (Crown Prince, 1964–5), 110 Mohammad ibn Salman (Crown Prince, 2017–), 360, 380, 387 Mohammad ibn Saud (r. 1726– 65), 99, 288–9 Salman ibn Abdulaziz (r. 2015–), 380, 387 Saud ibn Abdulaziz (r.1803–14), 100 Saud ibn Abdulaziz (r. 1953–64), 123 Saud ibn Faisal (r. 1871, 1873– 5), 293

547

INDEX Saud ibn Faisal (Foreign Minister, 1975–2015), 365 Saudi Arabia, xxvi, xxvii, 3, 6–7, 12, 65, 99, 123–5, 229–31, 357–60, 380 allies, 359 constitutional revolution (2017), 380 and DA’ISH, 21, 283–7, 351, 358 Deauville Partnership, 365 demographics, 357–8 creation of (1932), 123–5, 186 foreign fighters, 211, 461 Gulf Cooperation Council, foundation of (1981), 252, 363, 371 intervention, 7 Iran, relations with, 208, 209, 212, 358–9 League of Arab States, foundation of (1945), 248, 364 nationhood, 53 and Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 251, 380 oil, 3, 7, 213, 229, 230, 359, 380 OPEC, foundation of (1960), 250 and openness, 213 and pan-Arabism, 229–30 and Peninsula Shield Force, 253, 372, 486 population growth, 20 and proxy war, 20, 208, 209, 286 Qatif Uprising (1979), 246 Ramadan Crisis (2017), 8–9, 212, 379 Riyadh Declaration (2011), 371, 486 ‘Saudi-ness’, 19–20

548

Second World War (1939–45), 229 Siege of Makkah (1979), 245–6, 355, 382 and Taliban, 264, 267 terrorism, funding of, 211 Trump’s visit (2017), 381 United Arab Emirates, relations with, 247 United Arab Republic, relations with, 224, 229 United Kingdom, relations with, 123–5, 134, 229, 356 and United Nations, 165 United States, relations with, 7, 20, 134, 229, 230, 255, 279, 356, 359, 381 Wahhabism, 229, 230, 282, 283–95, 355, 359, 360 SAVAK, 239, 244 Sawaf, Bakr Faiq, 24 al-Sayyid, Radwan, 18, 301, 305, 348, 422 sayyids, 73, 310, 311 Scotland, 116, 175–6, 185, 186, 192, 385 secession, 161, 168–9, 174–6, 178–81, 184, 185, 186, 188, 435 Second World War (1939–45), 166, 217, 229, 232 sectarianism, 3, 9, 19, 192, 209, 212, 213, 285–6 secularization, 235, 238, 240, 282, 299 self-determination, 84–6, 131, 157–203, 376, 389, 409–10 Damascus Protocol (1915), 78–9 external and internal, 85, 151, 168, 174, 177, 179, 180, 181–3, 189, 192 and League of Nations, 84–97, 163–6

INDEX Lenin, 84, 85, 161–2 and territorial integrity, 159–61, 167–70, 174, 176–7, 179–81, 183–5, 188, 192–4 trap of, 170–81, 183, 187, 189, 195, 355, 438 and United Nations, 164–82, 429, 430, 431 Wilson, 84–6, 90–91, 92, 161, 162–4 Selim I, Ottoman Sultan, 136 Senzai, Farid, 306 September 11 attacks (2001), 9, 18, 210, 252, 265, 268, 269, 272, 273, 282, 356, 359 Serbia, 353, 439 Seven Pillars ofWisdom, The (Lawrence), 24 al-Shabaab, 210 al-Shafi‘i, 400, 421 al-Shaibi, Mohammad Saleh, 95 Shaltut, Mahmoud, 295, 465 Shar’ia, 14, 17, 36, 38, 51, 147 and Caliphate, 151, 282, 296, 348 al-hakimiyya, 139, 149, 296–8, 305, 306, 317, 329 Ibn Taymiyya on, 301 ijtihad, 64, 151, 300 and international relations, 62–7 and Islamists, 282 maqasid, 14, 45–7, 55, 59, 150–52, 379, 389 Shi’ism, 310 and silence of the law, 43, 46–7 Shariati, Ali, 60, 242, 315–16, 319, 450 Sharif of Makkah, 23, 73, 393, 405 Sharjah, 247 al-Shatibi, Imam, 46, 399–400 al-Shaykh, House of ‘Abd al-Latif ibn ‘Abd al-Rahman Al, 293

Muhammad ibn Ibrahim Al, 283–4 Sulayman ibn ‘Abdallah Al, 292 Shi’a Islam, 4, 14, 35, 207, 308–22, 373, 469–71 Afghanistan, 320 ‘Alids, 311, 316 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138 ghulat, 311, 312 al-hakimiyya, 298, 317 Hidden Imam, 59, 244, 309, 312, 315, 320 Iran, 20, 51, 55, 59–60, 241–5, 262, 282, 298, 304, 309–22 Iraq, 9, 60, 100, 209, 284, 285–6, 314, 320 and Jabal ‘Amil, 59, 309, 311–12, 315, 469 Lebanon, 281, 309, 311–12, 315, 320 and proxy war, 20, 208, 286, 320 Qajar dynasty (1789–1925), 316 Qatif Uprising (1979), 246 Qizilbash, 309, 310, 311, 470 revivalism, 215, 241, 245, 262, 386 Safavid dynasty (1501–1736), 309–15, 316, 341, 342, 387 sectarianism, 9, 10, 20, 208, 209, 276, 285–6, 323 Syria, 320 Twelver Shi’ism, 59, 138, 309–15, 320–21, 379 and Wahhabism, 284 shirk, 6, 103, 104, 284, 291, 292, 293, 463 Shubrah, 104 shura, 112, 114, 288–9, 345 Sidqi, Isma’il, 420 Siege of Makkah (1979), 245–6

549

INDEX Sikhs, 264 silence of law, 43, 46–7 Silk Road, 367 Simms, Brendan, 9 Singapore, xxiii, 107, 140, 361 al-Sira‘ al-Duwali ‘ala al-Sharq alAwsat (Zain), 24 Siraj, Abdullah, 95 Sirte, Libya, 365 Six Day War (1967), 9, 211 siyasa al-shar‘iyya, 63, 301, 349 Skocpol, Theda, 242, 450 socialism, 220, 221, 222, 223, 226, 279 Somalia, 8, 210, 217, 271 Somaliland, 192 Somaliland, Italian (1890–1941), 166 South Africa, 165–6 South Ossetia, 173, 185 South Tyrol, 185, 188 South Yemen (1967–90), 453 sovereignty, 33, 52, 55, 315 and Mandate System, 88–9 Soviet Union (1922–91), 11, 18, 20, 219, 226, 230, 254–63, 279 Afghanistan War (1979–89), 20, 207, 215, 256–63, 271, 279, 280, 281, 323, 326–7, 356, 454–6 collapse (1991), 262, 279 Egypt, relations with, 255, 256, 279 Ethiopia, relations with, 255 Iran, relations with, 217, 236–7, 256, 427 Iraq, relations with, 256 Libya, relations with, 255, 256 and Six Day War (1967), 255 Syria, relations with, 255, 256, 279 Tunisia, relations with, 255

550

Warsaw Pact, 219, 254 Yemen, relations with, 255, 256, 453 Spain, 9, 57, 157, 164, 185, 186–7, 233, 272, 401, 437 Stalin, Joseph, 225 Stanley, Trevor, 465 state definition of, 33–5 responsibility, 350 statecraft, 2, 13, 16, 20, 22, 29, 144, 189, 216, 223, 300, 317, 376, 401 Abu Bakr, 45 DA’ISH, 283 and ethnic identity, 53 and feudalism, 49 Ibn Saud, 113 Iran, 309, 321 Mohammad, 36, 38–9, 40, 41, 42 nizam al-hukum, 54 Shar’ia, 43, 45–7 Shi’a, 309 Statehood of Palestine, The (Quigley), xxv Stimson Doctrine (1932), 129–30, 350 Stimson, Henry, 129, 350 Strang, David, 444 Sudan, 73, 103, 139–40, 225, 248, 271, 272, 302 Sudetenland, 217 Suez Crisis (1956), 219–20 Sufism, 309, 311, 313 Suharto, 222 sui generis, 73, 189, 191 Suleiman I, Ottoman Sultan, 10, 341 Sultan Abdulhmaid and the Sharifs of Mecca 1850–1900 (Abu Manneh), 24

INDEX Sultanate, 48 sultat al-istila wa’l-taghallub, 48, 349 Sun of Vergina, 353 Sunna, 62, 64, 82, 110, 146, 288, 297 Sunni Islam, 9, 60, 207 and Caliphate, 76 Kurds, 208 in Iraq, 9, 209, 276, 285–6, 327 in Lebanon, 7 maslaha, 43, 64, 320 and proxy war, 20, 208, 286, 320 revivalism, 55, 58–9, 137, 215, 245–6, 262, 297, 298–308, 386, 446 sectarianism, 10, 208, 209, 276, 285–6, 323 in Syria, 221 takfir, 334 and Wahhabism, 104, 246, 264, 282 wali al-amr, 301, 320 Sweden, 157 Switzerland, 15, 92, 143–4 Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 3, 12, 80, 82, 87, 90, 116, 163, 277, 279, 280, 282, 356 Syria, xxvii, 3 Arab Common Market agreement (1964), 363 Ba’ath Party, 221–2, 223, 225, 279 Civil War (2011–), 7, 9, 208, 209, 210–11, 255, 274, 275–8, 280 DA’ISH, xxiv, 194, 208, 210–11, 212, 266, 273, 276–8, 280, 283, 323–33, 351, 356, 372 and Deauville Partnership, 365 foreign fighters, 210–11, 461

French Mandate (1923–46), 81, 135, 445 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 142 Hatay dispute, 365 High-Level Strategic Cooperation Council initiative (2010), 365 Iran, relations with, 60 Kurds, 208, 442 and Lebanese Civil War (1975– 90), 228 Paris Peace Conference (1919), 91 refugee crisis (2011–), 275 revivalism, 302 Russian Federation, relations with, 9, 208, 255 and San Remo Conference (1920), 94 Saudi Arabia, relations with, 7 Second World War (1939–45), 217 Shi’ites, 320 Six Day War (1967), 9, 211, 255, 305 Soviet Union, relations with, 255, 256, 279 Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 3, 12, 80, 82, 87, 90, 116, 163, 277, 279, 280, 282, 356 and Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 93 and Treaty of Versailles (1919), 93 United Arab Republic (1958– 61), 224, 229, 247, 255 Syrian Democratic Forces (SDF), 208 al-Ta‘limat al-Asasiyya (1926), 114 Tabai‘ al-Istibdad (al-Kawakibi), 145, 345

551

INDEX al-Tabari, Abu Ja‘far Muhammad ibn Jarir, 62, 403 Taft, William, 128, 418 Tahmasp, Shah of Iran, 309, 311 al-Tahtawi, Rifa‘a, 299 Taif Dir‘iyya Emirate, capture by (1803), 100 Consultative Council, 112 Najd Sultanate capture and massacre (1924), 6, 23, 25–6, 101–5, 130, 164, 325, 375 tajdid, 299 Tajiks, 310, 312 takfir, 134, 286, 291, 295, 328–30, 333–5, 328, 329, 333–5, 465, 475 Taliban, 216, 256, 261, 263–6, 267–9, 274, 320, 323, 457 Talibanization, 267–9 Talking to Terrorists (Powell), 286 tamkin, 283, 286 Tanzania, 272 Tartus, Syria, 255 tawaf, 391 al-Taweel, Mohammed, 105 tawhid, 284, 290–91 taxation, 47, 48 el-Tayeb, Ahmed, 286 Taylor, Alan, 256 Teitelbaum, Joshua, 29, 75, 96, 134, 135 territorial integrity, 159–61, 167–70, 174, 176–7, 179–81, 183–5, 188, 192–4 terrorism, 9, 10, 12, 18, 64, 66, 194, 201, 202, 209–10 DA’ISH, 9, 209–10, 272, 277 funding of, 211–12 London bombings (2005), 272 Madrid bombings (2004), 272 Makkah bombing (1989), 184, 355

552

Makkah bombing (2017), 382 Munich Olympics attack (1972), 281 and Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 252 al-Qaida, 7, 20, 21, 207, 210, 212, 216, 256, 262, 267–73, 323 safe havens, 265, 268, 269, 270–71, 458 September 11 attacks (2001), 9, 18, 210, 252, 265, 268, 269, 272, 273, 282, 356, 359 and Talibanization, 267–9 US East African embassy bombings (1998), 272 War on Terror, 12, 18, 65, 272, 459 World Trade Centre bombing (1993), 271 al-Thani, al-Muhaqqiq, 309, 312, 313 al-Thawra al-Arabiyya al-Kubra (Said), 24 Thawrat al-‘Arab fi al-Qarn al-‘Ishrin (Said), 24 Theory of Social and Economic Organization, The (Weber), 34 ‘Theses on the Socialist Revolution and the Right of Nations to SelfDetermination’ (Lenin), 162 third world, 218 Third World Approaches to International Law (TWAIL), 11 Thirty Years War (1618–48), 9, 400–401 Thornhill, Chris, 384 Throntveit, Trygve, 85 Timurid Empire (1370–1507), 309 Tinoco Claims Arbitration (1923), 127, 128, 157, 418 Tinoco Granados, Federico, 128

INDEX Tito, Josip Broz, 219 Tomuschat, Christian, 173 topography, 52 Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), 367 Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP), 366, 484 Transjordan (1921–46), 3, 12, 231 and Hijaz–Najd conflict (1924), 108, 109 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118, 119, 120, 121, 122 Hussein’s tour (1924), 96–7, 136 League of Arab States, foundation of (1945), 248, 364 literature on Arab Revolt, 23, 25 Transnistria, 185 Treaties of Westphalia (1648), 9–11, 21, 52, 198, 385, 400–401 Treaty of Hudaybiyya (628), 62, 63, 404 Treaty of Jeddah (1927), 129, 165, 228, 447 Treaty of Lausanne (1923), 133, 136 Treaty of Münster (1648), 52, 400 Treaty of Osnabruck (1648), 52, 400 Treaty of Paris (1856), 410 Treaty of Paris (1928), 129 Treaty of San Francisco (1945), 164, 165 Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 92, 93, 94, 134, 136, 234, 412 Treaty of Versailles (1919), xxv, 5, 84–93, 115–16, 126, 234, 411 Troeller, Gary, 29–30, 413 Trofimov,Yaroslav, 246 Trotsky, Leon, 81 Troy, Jodok, 198

Trucial States (1820–1971), 116, 129, 228–9, 247 Truman, Harry, 166, 172 Trump, Donald, 212, 366, 381, 478 Trusteeship Council, 166–7, 190, 218, 219 Tudeh Party, 237 Tunisia, 83, 210–11, 223, 248–9, 255, 299, 304, 307, 363, 365, 461 Turaba, battle of (1919), 100 Turkish nationalism, 57, 74, 97, 133, 134, 135, 137, 139 Turkish Republic (1923–), 97, 234–6, 307–8, 449 and Arab League summit (2010), 365 Caliphate, abolition of (1924), 12, 13, 18, 97, 132, 133, 136–53, 234 constitutional referendum (2017), 308 Cyprus, invasion of (1974), 448 Deauville Partnership, 365 and European Union, 236, 308 foreign fighters, 211 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 139, 141 Hatay dispute, 365 High-Level Strategic Cooperation Council initiative (2010), 365 Justice and Development Party, 307–8 Kurds, 208 Lausanne Conference (1923), 133, 136 NATO membership, 236, 254, 449 Qatar, relations with, 212

553

INDEX refugee crisis (2011–), 275 revivalism, 307–8 Second World War (1939–45), 236 secularization, 235–6, 299 and Union for the Mediterranean (UfM), 364 United States, relations with, 236, 255, 449 War of Independence (1919– 23), 235 Turnour, Edward, 6th Earl Winterton, 126 Twelve Tables (450–49 BCE), 41 Twelver Shi’ism, 59, 138, 309–15, 320–21, 379 tyranny, 59, 144, 145, 345 U-2 planes, 455 Ukraine, 355 ulama, 43, 132, 282, 299 al-Azhar, 138–9 General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138–40 Egypt, 138–9, 227 Jabal ‘Amil, 59, 309, 311–12, 315 Kingdom of Hijaz (1916–25), 82, 95, 102 Kingdom of Hijaz and Najd (1926–32), 113–14 and Nasserism, 227 Pahlavi dynasty (1925–79), 237, 242, 316 ‘Proclamation of the Ulema of Mecca’ (1917), 82 Qajar dynasty (1789–1925), 316 Safavid dynasty (1501–1736), 59, 310, 311, 313, 315, 316 Saudi Arabia, 246, 283 Shi’ite, 59, 310, 311, 313, 315, 316

554

Taif massacre (1924), 102 Wahhabi, 246, 283, 294 ‘Umar, Rashidun Caliph, 47, 53, 394 ‘Umar ibn ‘Abd al-‘Aziz, Umayyad Caliph, 400 Umayyad Caliphate (661–750), 4, 17, 47, 72, 340, 341, 400 Umm al-Qura, 25, 111–13, 114, 124 Umm al-Qura (al-Kawakibi), 145 Umm Zayd, xxi umma, 11, 14, 46, 51, 53, 54–6, 147, 148, 373, 399 and ahl al-hall wa al-‘aqd, 346 Arabs as centre, 55 in Arab nationalism, 4 consensus of, 44, 111, 147–8, 288, 289 in Constitution of Medina (622), 2, 4, 38, 39, 40, 41–2 and dar al-islam, 56 and hakimiyyia, 296 and international treaties, 63 as nation-state, 56 and Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 17, 251 and public interest, 54–6 and Quraysh, 4, 12, 76 and revivalism, 301 Rida on, 347 and self-determination, 131–2 and Shi’ism, 318, 322 and silence of the law, 43, 44, 46 al-Ummah, 121 undeserved wealth, 3, 8 unilateral declarations of independence (UDIs), 172–3 Union for the Mediterranean (UfM), 364 United Arab Emirates (UAE), 8, 229, 247, 252, 255, 264, 359, 363, 365, 371, 452

INDEX United Arab Republic (1958–61), 224, 229, 247, 255 United Kingdom, 4–5, 77–82, 341 Afghanistan War (2001–14), 266 ‘Ali, relations with, 107–8, 109 Anglo-Iranian Oil Company (AIOC), 238–9 Arab Bureau, xxiv, 28, 81, 87–8, 410 Atlantic Charter (1941), 166 Bahrain Protectorate (1868– 1971), 129 Balfour Declaration (1917), 80–81, 93, 94, 143, 144 Brexit (2016–), 186, 366, 484 Darin Pact (1915), 80, 115, 116, 228, 417, 447 Deauville Partnership, 365 Declaration to the Seven (1918), 81 Durant Line, creation of (1893), 456 East of Suez decision (1968), 247 Edinburgh Agreement (2012), 175–6 Egypt Protectorate (1882– 1952), 118, 120, 121, 122, 123 Faisal, relations with, 114 al-Farouqi desertion (1915), 78 Fashoda incident (1898), 73 foreign fighters, 210 Foreign Office, xxiv, 25–6, 90, 100, 102, 107, 115–17, 121, 124–5, 145 Gallipoli Campaign (1915–16), 84 and General Islamic Congress (1931), 143 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 141 and Gulf Cooperation Council summit (2016), 373, 487

and Hijaz, status of, 125–6 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 119, 121–3 Hijazi delegation (1919), 92 Hogarth Message (1918), 88, 410 Hussein, relations with, 77–82, 93, 95, 107, 413 Ibn Saud, relations with, 26, 29, 79, 80, 91, 93, 101–6, 108, 109, 115–17, 134–5, 413 India, rule of, 77, 91, 108, 163, 218, 219, 456, 467 Iran, relations with, 217, 236–7, 238–9, 356 Iraq Mandate (1920–32), 109, 121–2 Iraq War (2003–11), 9, 10 Kellogg–Briand Pact (1928), xxvi, 126, 129, 478 Kitchener–Abdullah correspondence (1914), 77 Kuwait Protectorate (1899– 1961), 116, 129, 156, 279, 356 Libya intervention (2011), 275 McMahon–Hussein correspondence (1915–16), 77, 79, 80, 116, 356, 407 Munich Agreement (1938), 164 National Archives, xxiv, 25–6 Northern Ireland, 185, 354 Ottoman Empire, relations with, 156, 341 Palestine Mandate (1920–48), xxv, 5, 121, 122, 123, 143, 166 Paris Peace Conference (1919), 91, 93 poll tax (1989–90), 186 Qatar Protectorate (1916–71), 116, 129

555

INDEX Rhodesian UDI (1965), 172–3 Saudi Arabia, relations with, 123–5, 134, 229, 356 Scotland, 116, 175–6, 185, 186, 192, 385 Suez Crisis (1956), 220 Sykes–Picot Agreement (1916), 3, 12, 80, 82, 87, 90, 116, 163, 277, 279, 280, 282, 356 and Taif Massacre (1924), 102–4, 375 and terrorism, funding of, 211 Tinoco Claims Arbitration (1923), 127, 128, 157, 418 Transjordan Mandate (1921– 46), 121, 122, 231 Treaty of Jeddah (1927), 129, 165, 228, 447 Treaty of Sèvres (1920), 92, 93 Treaty of Versailles (1919), 92, 93 Trucial States (1820–1971), 116, 129, 228–9, 247 Turkish War of Independence (1919–22), 235 and United Nations, 165 Wahhabis, relations with, 30, 97, 102–5, 106, 375 United Nations, 64, 164–82, 218, 219, 343 Arab Human Development Report, 393–4 Charter, xxvi, 156, 160, 165, 166, 167, 429, 431 Declaration on Principles of International Law (1970), 160, 168, 175, 179, 180, 430, 426, 434 Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (2007), 169 Economic and Social Commission for Western Asia (ESCWA), 362–3

556

Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation (UNESCO), 178, 181–2 General Assembly, 160, 167–8, 175, 430 and hajj, 355 Interim Administration Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK), 190 Islam, representation of, 201, 203, 214, 340 League of Arab States, recognition of (1958), 248 and Libyan Civil War (2011–), 275 and Macedonia dispute, 353, 355 and Maghreb Arab Union, 249 Operation in the Congo (ONUC), 190 and Organisation of Islamic Cooperation, 251, 252 ‘post-colonial’ test, 177 racial groups, secession of, 178 Resolution 476 on Jerusalem (1980), 478 Resolution 216 on Rhodesia (1965), 478 Resolution 661 on Kuwait (1990), 180 Resolution 1373 on terrorism (2001), 458 Resolution 1514 on Independence to Colonial Countries (1960), 167–8, 184, 430 Resolution 1541 on self-determination (1960), 168, 175 Resolution 2625 on Friendly Relations (1970), 160, 168, 175, 179, 180, 426, 430, 434 and Rhodesian UDI (1965), 173, 478 San Francisco Treaty (1945), 164, 165

INDEX Security Council, 156, 165, 167, 180 and Suez Crisis (1956), 220 Terrorist Financing Convention (1999), 211 and territorial integrity, 160 Transitional Administration in East Timor (UNTAET), 190 Transitional Authority in Cambodia (UNTAC), 190 Trusteeship Council, 166–7, 190, 218, 219, 429 Universal Declaration of Human Rights (1948), 167 Vienna Declaration (1993), 179 United States ABC strategy, 261 Afghanistan War (2001–14), 9, 265, 266, 274, 282, 294 and Armenia, 163 Atlantic Charter (1941), 166 and Balfour Declaration (1917), 81 Battle of Mogadishu (1993), 271 Beirut barracks bombings (1983), 281 Bin Laden’s fatwa (1998), 272 Bin Laden, killing of (2011), 272 Cold War, see under Cold War DA’ISH, airstrikes against (2014–), 277 Deauville Partnership, 365 Declaration of Independence (1776), 161 East African embassy bombings (1998), 272 Fourteen Points (1918), 84–6, 93, 163, 428 Greater Middle East initiative (2004), 364 Gulf War (1990–91), 155–7, 180, 193, 248, 252, 280, 294, 356, 465

and Hijaz, status of, 125, 126 Iran, relations with, 9, 61, 237–40, 245, 256, 258, 262, 356, 473 Iran hostage crisis (1979), 245, 281 Iraq War (2003–11), 9, 10, 21, 274, 275, 276, 280, 282, 285–6, 294, 323, 327, 356 Israel, relations with, 166 Jordan, relations with, 232 Kellogg–Briand Pact (1928), xxvi, 126, 129, 478 Lebanon, relations with, 228 Libya intervention (2011), 275 Mount Vernon address (1918), 90–91 neoconservatives, 21 oil crisis (1973), 250 Pakistan, relations with, 257, 259, 260, 261, 262, 455 Paris Peace Conference (1919), 91 Saudi Arabia, relations with, 7, 20, 134, 229, 230, 255, 279, 356, 359, 381 Second World War (1939–45), 341 September 11 attacks (2001), 9, 18, 210, 252, 265, 268, 269, 272, 273, 282, 356, 359 and Soviet–Afghan War (1979– 89), 207, 257, 258–63, 279, 454–6 Stimson Doctrine (1932), 129–30, 350 and Suez Crisis (1956), 219–20 Syrian War (2011–), 208, 276 Taliban, relations with, 265 and terrorism, funding of, 211 and Trans-Pacific Partnership (TPP), 367

557

INDEX and Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP), 366 Truman Doctrine (1947), 172 Trump administration (2017–), 212, 366–7, 381, 478 and Trusteeship Council, 166 Turkey, relations with, 236, 255, 449 United Arab Emirates, relations with, 255 and Vietnam, 172, 260 War on Terror, 12, 18, 65, 272, 459 World Trade Centre bombing (1993), 271 universalism, 56, 215 University of Um al-Qurra, 475 ‘unregulated world’, 61 Urban II, Pope, 199 Usulis, 313 ‘usur al-ard, 47 ‘Uthman, Rashidun Caliph, 4, 394 uti possidetis, 48, 400 Vandals, 34 Vatican, 182, 189, 195, 197–202, 214, 340, 440, 441 Velayat-e Faqih: Hokmat-e Islami (Khomeini), 55, 60, 242, 244, 315, 317–21, 472 Venezuela, 250 Venice, Republic of (697–1797), 157 Verdery, Katherine, 53 Verkaik, Robert, 210 Versailles Peace Conference (1919), xxv, 5, 84–93 see also Treaty of Versailles Vichy France (1940–44), 217 Vidmar, Jure, 179–80, 435 Vienna Convention on the Law of Treaties (1969), 479

558

Vienna Declaration (1993), 179–80 Vietnam, 172, 219, 260 vilayets, 73, 75, 156, 405 Visigoths, 34 vizirs, 312 Wahba, Hafiz, 141 Wahhabis, Wahhabism, xxii, 5, 7, 12, 19, 20, 29, 30, 76, 97, 259, 282–95, 383, 465 and Abdel Raziq, 149 Bolsheviks, comparison with, 91 and burial sites, 6, 103, 104, 284, 290 and Caliphate, 301 Churchill’s view of, 135, 375 and DA’ISH, 274, 276, 283–7 al-Da‘wa al-Najdiyya, 329 Dir‘iyya Emirate (1744–1818), 5, 99–100, 134, 288–90, 292, 294, 323 al-Durrar al-Saniyya fi al-Ajwiba al-Najdiyya, 291, 328–30 and expansionism, 282 Faisal’s view of, 91 and fitna, 288 and General Islamic Congress for the Caliphate (1926), 138 and Grand Mosque, 19 and hajj, 101, 113, 290 and hakimiyya, 298, 329, 330 and Hijaz, conquest of (1924–5), 5, 12, 19, 23, 29, 76, 97, 101–11, 117, 134, 137, 164, 413 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118, 121 jihad, 13, 100, 134, 282, 284, 285, 293 and jurisprudence, 6, 284 and kuffar, 103, 104, 134, 298, 304

INDEX and mushrikin, 103, 104 Najd Emirate (1824–91), 293 nawaqid al-islam al-‘ashra, 329 and al-Qaida, 285, 294–5 and radicalisation, 20, 211 Sabala campaign (1929), 135 and Salafism, 283–7, 293, 299, 301, 307, 326–31 and Saudi Arabia, 7, 229, 230, 282–95, 355, 359, 360 and Shi’ism, 284 and shirk, 6, 103, 104, 284, 291, 292, 293 and shura, 288–9 Siege of Makkah (1979), 245–6, 355, 382 state, 287–90 Taif Massacre (1924), 6, 23, 25–6, 101–5, 130, 164, 325 takfir, 134, 286, 291, 328–30 and Taliban, 264, 265 and tawhid, 284, 290 United Kingdom, relations with, 30, 97, 102–5, 106, 375 Wahhabi War (1811–18), 100, 290, 292, 294 al-wala’ wa al-bara’ (loyalty and disavowal), 290, 292–5, 304 wali al-amr, 301, 320 Zawahiri’s view of, 142 Wahib Bey, 75 al-wala’ wa al-bara’ (loyalty and disavowal), 290, 292–5, 304, 329 wali al-amr, 301, 320 Walt, Stephen, 275, 283 waqfs, 227 War on Terror, 12, 18, 65, 272, 459 Warsaw Pact, 219, 254 wasatiyya, 306 Wathiqa, see Constitution of Medina al-Wayyil, Abd al-Salam, 326 wazirs, 312

Weber, Max, 4, 8, 19, 34, 317, 321, 387 Weber, Steven, 52 Weizmann, Chaim, 143 Weller, Marc, 170–71, 173–4, 177, 180, 189, 192 West Papua, 188 Western Sahara, 170, 192, 249 Westernization, 216, 235, 240, 282, 299, 342 Weston, Mark, 102 Westphalian state, 7–10, 11, 21, 22, 33, 34, 51–3, 55, 56, 215, 315, 376, 385 Westphalian treaties (1648), 9–11, 21, 52, 198, 385, 400–401 Westrate, Bruce, 28, 88 Wheaton, Henry, 33 wilayah, 54 Willis, John, 144 Wilson, Woodrow, 81, 84–6, 90–91, 92, 161, 162, 428 Wingate, Reginald, 140 Winterton, Earl, see Turnour, Edward Wood, Graeme, 324 Wood, Michael, 353–4 World Bank, 362 Xi Jinping, 367 Yanbu, 112 Yar, Abbas Khamah, 316 Yemen, 3, 373 Arab Cooperation Council, foundation of (1989), 364 Civil War (2015–), 7, 9, 208, 209 DA’ISH attacks, 209 and Deauville Partnership, 365 and Gulf Cooperation Council, 253 and Hijaz Liberation Party, 118

559

INDEX North Yemen (1962–1990), 224 Quraysh winter journey, 35 Revolution (2011), 268 Saudi intervention (2015), 7 South Yemen (1967–90), 453 Soviet Union, relations with, 255, 256, 453 as terrorist safe haven, 268 Yom Kippur War (1973), 63, 250 Young Arab Party, 78, 79 Young Turks, 74, 75, 82, 346 youth bulge, 213, 357–8 YPG/J (Yekîneyên Parastina Gel/ Jin), 208 Yugoslavia, 172, 219, 252

560

Zain Nour al-Din Zain, 24 Zaire (1971–97), 434 zakat, 47, 334 zalimun, 298 al-Zarqawi, Abu Musab, 276, 324, 327, 459 al-Zawahiri, Ayman, 273, 285, 460 al-Zawahiri, Muhammad alAhmadi, 142, 421 Zaydis, 138 Zeghal, Malika, 227 Zelin, Aaron, 459 Zia-Ebrahimi, Reza, 402 Zogby, 393 Zubaida, Sami, 57–8, 60, 319