by Lin Noueihed
On top of all that, the Arab Spring once again illustrated to many the stark contradictions between what the Western world preached and what it practised. Washington, which had pledged its support for democratic transitions in Tunisia and Egypt, turned a comparatively blind eye to the crackdown in Bahrain. Virtually until the very eve of Ben Ali's departure, Paris had offered to sell the Tunisian president the equipment and expertise needed to contain the unrest, and for years had been trying to seal defence deals with Gaddafi before eagerly pummelling his hardware in 2011. In September, Washington's proclaimed backing for the freedom and dignity that so many people in the region were demanding rang hollow when it blocked Palestine's bid to become a full member of the United Nations. And when UNESCO members voted in October to accept Palestine as a full member, Washington appeared both petty and undemocratic to critics in freezing its funding to the cultural organization.
Realists would argue that there was nothing fundamentally wrong or new about a foreign policy that prioritized national interests above wider principles, but it chafed to many when Washington, Paris or London tried to portray those national interests as being aligned with popular will in the Arab world. The outcome that Washington sought in Bahrain was not the one that most Bahrainis wanted, for instance, and trying to pretend otherwise simply did not wash with them.
Given that so many people from Rabat to Manama had demonstrated in favour of the values that were embodied more strongly in the US national psyche than any other, it was ironic that the reputation of the United States appeared to deteriorate during the course of 2011. Between 2009 and 2011, according to one poll, the proportion of respondents who held a favourable perception of the United States fell from 30 per cent to 5 per cent in Egypt, from 55 per cent to 12 per cent in Morocco, and from 41 per cent to 30 per cent in Saudi Arabia. Out of the six countries surveyed, it was only in Saudi Arabia and Lebanon where overall attitudes had improved since 2008, the final year of the Bush era.17
Was the United States still successfully projecting its soft power in the Middle East? The technological tools that so many Arab activists had harnessed in 2011 – Google, Facebook, Twitter – were all creations of American entrepreneurs, or of California's Silicon Valley. But social media was an inherently equalizing and interactive framework, a blank canvas that could be moulded according to the user's purpose, where they lived and what language they spoke. It did not so obviously advertise US power in the way that Coca Cola or MTV had done in the 1980s or 1990s, nor did it embody an overtly ‘Made in America’ brand. For the man on the street, the internet did not inspire the same awe as a NASA space shuttle (which, incidentally, was launched for the last time in July 2011 before the shuttle programme was shut down for being too expensive).
The perceptions of Arab leaders towards Washington had also shifted. While it was hard to argue that the United States was not still the single most powerful country in the world, its recent failures and its reaction to the uprisings had unnerved many authoritarian rulers. To a certain extent, of course, Obama could not please everybody. To openly back the demonstrators in January and February 2011 might have given them the kiss of death. But to declare full and unwavering support for regimes facing a potentially successful uprising risked leaving Washington high and dry if those regimes fell.
Sitting on the fence and hedging bets seemed to anger both the protesters – who decried what they saw as a hypocritical US stance and lacklustre moral and financial support for their cause – and authoritarian allies in the region, who felt Washington had abandoned Mubarak too easily or criticized Bahrain too strongly. ‘We are astonished at what we see as the interference in the internal affairs of Egypt by some countries,’ said Saudi Arabia's foreign minister in February 2011, referring to Obama's unambiguous calls for Mubarak to step aside.18
If the old global heavyweights, then, were seemingly unable to offer leadership in this uncertain new Arab world, then what about the rising ones, the emerging superpowers like China or Russia? And what about countries within the region that could also bring their political and economic weight to bear, countries like Turkey, Saudi Arabia or Qatar? All had their own interests in the Middle East, but none could provide a realistic model for any other Arab country to aspire to.
Filling the Gap
In 2009, for the first time ever, China bought more Saudi Arabian oil than the United States. Over the first decade of the new millennium, Saudi exports to China had risen by more than 21 times, while its imports from China had increased more than tenfold.19 By 2010 Saudi Arabia was supplying about a quarter of Chinese and Indian oil imports, but sent just 16 per cent of its crude to the United States and 4 per cent to Europe.20 The amount of oil that the United States imported from Saudi Arabia – its key strategic partner in the region – had fallen by more than a third in 2009 as the world's biggest economy struggled under the recession and financial crisis.21 The global economy's centre of gravity was shifting, and it had not gone ignored.
Trade with China was not perfect, of course. Bilateral disputes were frequent and Chinese firms found doing business in the Middle East just as tricky as their Western counterparts. Nor was the United States any longer an important commercial partner to many countries in the region. But trade with the Chinese came with fewer complications. There was little question, for instance, of the Chinese media criticizing how dictators or kings ruled their countries, as the Western press was frequently wont to do. Nor was Beijing ever likely to launch an embarrassing investigation into corruption scandals or arms sales.
Yet it was precisely this ‘no strings attached’ approach that highlighted how the world's rising superpowers, who wielded the financial and commercial clout to enlarge their political influence in the Middle East, were failing to fill the gap left by a retreating United States. The West had tried to export a certain political and economic ideology, but there was no obvious alternative waiting in the wings. China, Russia and India still saw the region through a prism of commercial pragmatism and political survival – with a generous sprinkling of anti-Western sentiment thrown in for good measure.
In Beijing, where the Arab Spring came as an unwelcome shock and prompted a domestic crackdown, the overriding priority of the Communist regime was to secure its own power. Steering clear of complex Arab politics, China focused on securing the natural resources it needed to fuel economic growth that was so crucial to keeping its own people happy.
Russia was more proactive in the Middle East, and as the world's single-largest crude producer did not rely on the Gulf energy exporters. Moscow's attitude towards the Arab world might be best summarized as desiring to provide a counterweight to Western, and particularly US, influence, rather than seeking a leadership role. It, too, faced domestic problems, as the nascent Russian protest movement of late 2011 showed.
India runs on different internal dynamics and takes a more cautious approach to the Arab world. Like China, it relies on the Gulf for energy imports and has little interest in seeing political instability threaten them.22 Around 5.5 million Indian nationals reside in the six GCC countries, part of a mutually beneficial relationship that provides abundant cheap labour for the oil-rich Gulf and generates colossal remittances for Indians. India's Muslim population, estimated at around 177 million people, also influences how the country deals with the region.
Reaction, rather than action, defined the stance of all three countries in 2011. India, China, Russia, Brazil and South Africa all abstained from voting on Resolution 1973 – which authorized the military intervention in Libya – then criticized it later. In September, Syria, China and Russia vetoed a proposed Security Council resolution that would have condemned the actions of Bashar al-Assad. India abstained, and said the resolution was too one-sided.
Beijing and Moscow have, in general, sought to discourage external intervention in, or sharp criticism of, authoritarian regimes embroiled in the messy business of restoring domestic order. For one thing, intervention or sanctions set a dangerous
precedent should Russia or China ever be in that very position. For another, their opposition to intervention in the Arab world suggests to non-democratic rulers elsewhere that Russian or Chinese patronage is worth having.
Both countries will probably emerge from 2011 with diminished influence and a tarnished reputation in the Arab world. They may not be unduly worried. Tunisia is too small to matter. In Libya, their companies may find it more difficult to win or renew government contracts. In Syria, they are likely to enjoy little favour with any replacement to Assad. But none of these countries is a major trading partner for Beijing or Moscow, and in reality, they need the emerging superpowers more than the superpowers need them.
So while the role of the United States has clearly faded, none of the new poles in the multi-polar world have yet shown the authority, credibility or willingness to play a leadership role in the Middle East. Instead, Arab countries undergoing transformations are more likely to look within the region itself for guidance. Here too there is no obvious model.
Turkey stands out as an example of a Muslim country that has managed to erode the political role of its military, build a functioning democracy, and generate decent economic growth. But it is hardly perfect. Rights groups complain about Turkey's human rights record, and Ankara has failed to resolve the issue of Kurdish separatism or recognize the Armenian genocide of 1915. The ruling AK Party is increasingly intolerant of dissent and its prime minister, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, is accused by critics of showing dangerous authoritarian tendencies. Media and academia are operating under ever-greater restrictions. Yet of all the countries in the wider region, Turkey has the most relevant experience to offer countries like Tunisia, Libya or Egypt as they look to learn from other case studies.
As the previous chapter discussed, Iran's theocratic system does not translate to Sunni Islam. Saudi Arabia's unstable foundation of a monarchy allied with a religious establishment is no blueprint. The kingdom might be a source of funds and religious ideology, but it is not dynamic or secure enough to undertake policies that are not directly or indirectly linked to the goal of maintaining domestic power. Although they are more ambitious, stable and self-confident, the United Arab Emirates and Qatar can offer little besides money and moral support. Their economic, social and political models are vastly different from those in North Africa or the Levant, and are hardly transferable to them. Even oil-poor Dubai's state-driven capitalism had all but collapsed by 2009, and required colossal bailouts from its wealthier neighbour in Abu Dhabi to stay afloat. Dubai cannot provide direction for policymakers in Tunis or Cairo, although it can certainly demonstrate the long-term value of investing in infrastructure, free zones or tourism.
However much money Tunisia, Egypt, Syria or Morocco do receive from the Gulf over the coming years, it will fund short-term life support rather than build long-term solutions, addressing the symptoms of problems rather than their causes. Reforming Egypt's public sector, for instance, is akin to turning round an ocean liner travelling at full speed. Fuelling it to keep steaming in the same direction simply makes the change more painful when it comes. This is an equally apt way to summarize how Gulf states responded to the 2011 uprisings, mollycoddling their citizens even more than before by offering financial perks that were much easier to give than they will be to take away. The Arab Spring may well have set back their efforts to prepare for the post-oil era, a day in the not too distant future when, as previous chapters discuss, the contract between state and citizens will have to be painfully rewritten.
Libya, with its small population and substantial energy wealth, shares some characteristics with Qatar and the UAE. It may learn something from the relatively successful way that these two states have distributed oil revenues to their citizens and built infrastructure, but an intrinsic element of that development model has been a family-run political system unencumbered by the bickering that pluralist politics always brings. In contrast, Libya now faces a period of violent squabbling in an enormous, unsecured country awash with weapons and ostensibly run by fragile new democratic institutions. Rulers in Doha or Abu Dhabi hardly boast the relevant experience to offer advice. Past Qatari efforts at mediating in Lebanon or Yemen, for instance, have involved large amounts of money and have not resolved underlying problems in either country.
Libya has a chance to cherry-pick the best aspects of other energy-rich countries around the world. It inherited no coherent ideology from Gaddafi, and like the Gulf states is wealthy enough to chart its own course without being dependent on external financial support. It has an opportunity to craft the relationship between state and citizens in a much more sustainable way than the Gulf states have done, and could avoid the mistake of nurturing a population that relies on artificial and overpaid public-sector jobs. What makes this so unlikely to happen, of course, is that many Libyans will demand lasting post-revolution dividends to compensate them not only for the sacrifices of 2011, but also for decades of poorly managed oil wealth. The prospect of being heavily cosseted by the state is not unappealing.
To be successful in the long-term, though, a new government in Tripoli or elsewhere must balance populist measures against the need for a business environment that encourages foreign and private investment, and builds a competitive and motivated local workforce. There is no magic policy bullet to slay the demons of chronic unemployment or low incomes, particularly in Tunisia or Egypt, which do not even have Libya's luxury of oil revenues. When it comes to templates like those provided by the IMF, the challenge for new Arab governments will be to filter out what is relevant for their own unique circumstances. They do not need high-frequency stock trading, ultra-liberalized banking sectors or asset-stripping private equity firms, but nor should they discourage the type of entrepreneurship that in so many countries has been crushed by cronyism, corruption or oil wealth. Economic success must now be judged not on growth, GDP per capita, state indebtedness or foreign investment levels, which reveal little about popular discontent, but rather on job creation, income distribution and regional inequalities. In the late 2000s Libya had zero debt, impressive economic growth, solid foreign investment and one of the highest GDPs per capita in Africa. Tunisia was long hailed as an economic miracle. Such advantages saved neither country from revolution.
The chances of long-term stability will be improved if no foreign country seeks to export a specific economic or political blueprint in the same way that Washington had done in the past. As they asserted their independence and made a break from the past, the new political forces in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya or elsewhere were in any case unlikely to embrace such a blueprint. This increases the likelihood of new structures being derived more from bottom-up popular agreement than from a top-down authoritarian regime or an ill-suited external concept.
In each of those places, a loose consensus had been formed about what should come next. No one in the mainstream was calling for a dictatorship, military rule, absolute theocracy or Soviet-style communism. The new constitutions being drafted in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya sought to enshrine the values that the majority of protesters were demanding, namely a stronger rule of law, greater economic equality and political accountability, and to realize them through the mechanism of meaningful elections to empowered parliaments that were answerable to the people. So did the draft programme of the Syrian National Council, the most prominent political opposition to Bashar al-Assad.
Broader context will be just as important in shaping outcomes as the politics of domestic constituencies. In the 1950s, when the previous wave of revolution spread through the Arab world, new regimes were joining a world in which one-party states were common. In 2011, only a handful of military dictatorships or absolute monarchies could be found outside of the Middle East. In the 1950s and 1960s, they were born into a Cold War that fought some of its proxy battles in the strategic and wealthy Arab world. But 2011 was a less polarized globe where even those living in established democracies had deep misgivings about their own systems.
Here is not
the place to ask whether all this supports the theory that democracy might be the end point of human political development. But that idea links the aftermath of the Arab Spring to the global protest movement that was emerging at around the same time. Did the increasingly flawed democracy in the West just need to be tweaked, rather than ripped up completely? Did the predatory, unproductive breed of capitalism in the United States or Britain simply need reform rather than replacement with a totally different system? The momentous events of 2011 have raised those questions anew, and they will not go away easily.
If democracy does take firm root in the Middle East, it will naturally bear the imprint of local circumstances. In Egypt it may be a hybrid between a military regime and a democratically elected parliament, with invisible but meaningful red lines between the two. In Libya it may be a democracy built along localism, with voting defined not by party manifestos but rather by home towns and extended families. In Tunisia it may be a democracy characterized by a tug-of-war between secularists and Islamists. Morocco and Jordan may become limited democracies overseen by a monarch whose absolute power is gradually eroded over time. In every case it will take years, and possibly another round of uprisings, for the dust to settle.
None may turn out to be liberal democracies. Their political structures may enshrine the values that people had demanded in 2011 by introducing multi-party parliaments, universal suffrage and greater accountability for leaders, but nonetheless be subservient to a constitution that derives its ultimate authority from Islam. But for most of those who demanded change in 2011, even secularists, an illiberal democracy that can grow and change is an improvement on a dictatorship. And if society itself is conservative, then the most successful parties in such a democracy will be conservative too.
