The McGill Journal of Political Studies 2012 by MJPS

volume 2

McGill Journal of Political Studies

P Volume 3

McGill Journal of Political Studies WINTER 2012 EDITORS-IN-CHIEF Janina Grabs Natalie Lum-Tai EDITORIAL BOARD Andrew Faisman Corinne Goldberger Jonathan Newburgh Alexis Nigro Anna Roy Nastasha Sartore LAYOUT AND DESIGN EDITOR Isabella Liu CONTRIBUTORS Juan Diego Astudillo Helen Bowman Marie-Lise Drapeau-Bisson Michael Flynn Marco Garofalo Sheelagh Gough Katherine Green Ariana Keyman Taylor Rusnak Haley Wasserman PHOTOGRAPHERS Natalie Lum-Tai (cover) Claudia Millette (cover) Daniel Walker (cover and p. 128) Remaining photos licensed from iStock and Wiki Commons

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS Arts Undergraduate Society of McGill Political Science Students Association

McGill Journal of Political Studies

2012

TABLE OF CONTENTS Marie-Lise Drapeau-Bisson

Katherine Green

Michael Flynn

Sheelagh Gough

Taylor Rusnak

Juan Diego Astudillo

Haley Wasserman

Marco Garofalo

100

Helen Bowman

116 Helen Bowm

Nationalism and Social Policy in Quebec

Post-Colonialism in a Post-Charter Era

Towards a New Canadian Intelligence Architecture Can Judicial Investigations Curb Political Corruption? Evidence from the Tangentopoli Scandal and Mani Pulite Investigations in Italy Islam, Nationalism and Nation Building in Malaysia and Indonesia: Top-Down or Bottom-Up? Between Russia and China: Mongolian Nationalism and Nationalist Sentiment in the Twentieth Century City-State in the Modern World: A Tale of Singaporean Exceptionalism Educating Glaucon: Preparing the Soul for the City

Gender Politics in the Middle East: Gende A Comparative Case Study between the Islamic Republic of Iran and the King- Middle East: A C dom of Saudi Arabia ingdom of Saudi

Ariana Keyman

Weathering the Storm: Explaining the Resilience of Arab Monarchies in the Face of the Arab Spring

128 Ariana Key Weathering the

Nationalism and Social P licy in Québec by Marie-Lise Drapeau-Bisson

only did the Quiet Revolution give place “Not to a redefinition of the state and its role in Québec, but it also redefined the national community and the ways to promote it.

“

“O

n ne peut pas être�� bloquiste de droite. La variable du «libéralisme social» pèse davantage que l’option politique la plus fondamentale au Québec: le statut constitutionnel,” Yves Boisvert argued in his March 30th La Presse column about political choices offered to Quebecers. What Yves Boisvert touches upon here is one of the most salient political issues in Québec: the connection between social democracy and nationalism. In this paper I will analyze how such a connection has come about using a social movement approach. I argue that political leaders during the 1960s shape Québécois nationalism through government interventionism, and that the specific desire for the independence of Québec, catalyzed through the Parti Québécois (PQ), heightened the link between nationalism and social policy. NATIONALISM AS A SOCIAL MOVEMENT

The social movement literature provides great insight into both identity and nationalist movements. As Dufour and Traisnel argue: It is particularly appropriate and useful to understand nationalist movements through the lens of [this] literature…because these approaches offer concrete tools for understanding the role played by nationalist actors in the political space.1 DRAPEAU-BISSON 8

In the social movement literature the idea that identity is a product of “invented traditions,” is greatly supported: “Even where identity appeals to the history of the group and 1 Dufour and Traisnel, Nationalism and Protest, 352.

to its territorial and cultural roots, symbolic re-elaboration is always present.”2 Identity and the nationalist movements through which it is promoted are thus products of this political construction, and Québécois nationalism is no exception. This social movement premise is useful because it allows us to separate the actors from the movement in order to see how they have reshaped it throughout the years. Furthermore, it will allow us to see the different contributions the nationalist-federalists and the sovereignists have made to the movement. NATIONALISM AND SOCIAL POLICY: THE BEGINNINGS

If it is true that nationalism in Québec was present before the 1960s, it definitely took a turn from the Quiet Revolution onwards. This is due both to a peculiar context and the response to this context by political actors of the time. The 1960s were a fruitful period for social movements. Della Porta argues that this is due to the emergence of post-material values. According to the scarcity hypothesis, there is a hierarchy of needs: “Needs of a higher order (relating, for example, to the intellectual and personal growth of the individual) are conceivable only when those of a lower order (relating, for example, to physical survival) have been satisfied.”3 In the case of Québec, the scarcity hypothesis takes a particularly interesting tone. Indeed, the period preceding the Quiet Revolution, from the 1920s to 1959, is referred to as “La Grande Noirceur” and is associated with the 2 Della Porta and Diani, Social Movements, 108. 3 Ibid., 68.

ideology of Conservation.4 Thus, the main focus of political elites and the public in general before 1960 was arguably one of filling low-order needs—or, in other words, one of maintaining the language and culture of the French Canadians. Obviously, the conservation of a people can never be totally achieved, and as of 1959 more people in Québec began to doubt the pertinence of Conservation ideology. Rather, scholars at this time held that “the culture must be brought up-to-date.”5 This movement, which led directly to the ideology of development and participation in the 1960s, was definitely a sign of the concern for higherorder needs: modernization of the state and cultural development. The election of the Parti Libéral du Québec (PLQ) in 1960, a year after the death of Maurice Duplessis, the leader of “La Grande Noirceur,” was a symbolic rupture in time. In its quest to put aside religious institutions, the PLQ government took over most of its previous monopolies, namely health care, education, and culture. It enacted social policies such as Health Care, old age pensions and social assistance, which, in addition to achieving goals on solidarity, worked at transforming the national identity. By looking at the process of the Quiet Revolution through the lens of Benedict Anderson’s Imagined Communities (1991), we can see that social policy was key in transforming the nationwide French Catholic identity into a more territorial Québécois identity. Looking at the first limited aspect of the nation, it is clear that the particular intervention of the Qué4 Rioux, The Development of Ideologies, 80. 5 Ibid., 82.

bec government, rather than the Canadian government, affected the territorial identification of the nation. Indeed, before the Quiet Revolution, Quebecers identified themselves as “French-Canadians”or “Catholic,” or both, identifiers that were neither strongly identifies nor exclusive to the province of Québec. “With the provincial government running major social programmes, the national community and Québec’s territory became inseparable.”6 Thus, the provincial government’s intervention contributed to the heightening of nationalism by bringing territorial consciousness to the Québec nation. Second, the sovereign element of the nation is very salient in the case of Québec. Here, the term sovereign is not strictly meant to define the desire for a sovereign country, but also to define a sense of freedom and self-determination. The strongest and most enlightening example is the PLQ’s 1962 slogan “Maître chez nous,” which made verbal the Quebecer’s desire for self-determination. With the PLQ, a federalist party, self-determination was to be done through the state, which was seen, as Anderson states, as “the gage and emblem of this freedom.” This desire materialized in the Québec government’s fight to obtain money transfers from the federal government in order to build its own social programs. “What is noteworthy here is that the Québec government used this money to set up social programmes similar to those previously run by the federal government.”7 Thus, the Québec government has a strong symbolic meaning be6 Béland and Lecours, Nationalism and Social Policy, 55. 7 Ibid., 56.

THE PECULIARITY OF QUÉcause it was seen as the embodiment of the voice of Quebecere. BEC’S CASE: PARTI QUÉBECOIS, NATIONALISM AND SOCIAL Third, the creation of the politiDEMOCRACY cal community is essential; it allows for cohesion within the nation. AnThis redefined nationalism crederson describes it as “a deep, hori8 ated redefined nationalists, and In zontal comradeship” in spite of ex1968, a new party was born, the isting inequalities. The quintessence Parti Québécois of many social pol(PQ) was about icies, such as old age pension and The additional element to strengthen the link between sosocial insurance, brought by the PQ were to allow for was the necessity for the cial policy and nationalism. this every Québecois to provincial government have an acceptable to control all public do- section, deals with the peculiar status standard of living and to increase mains—not simply what of Québec within Canada and its their involvement fell under provincial jurisdiction—in order historical fight for in their own afrecognition, which for the Québec nation to fairs through linguistic policies. fully control its destiny.” worked as an impetus for governMoreover, social ment intervention. policies create noI will analyze power politics with tions of inclusion and exclusion. The eligibility of social services, Ottawa, the arrival of the Parti even if one is not a beneficiary, cre- Québécois and the Québec model. State interventionism was funates a clear notion of who is part damental to the sovereignty moveof the community and who is not. ment not only because it tied in With new governmental institutions, language policies, and socio- with its emancipation ideal, as I economic initiatives, not only did will discuss below, but also bethe Quiet Revolution give place to a cause it delegitimized the Canadian redefinition of the state and its role government as a political actor in in Québec, but it also redefined the Québec. As Graefe has argued, “the is national community and the ways state is…a site in which power 10 crystallized and contested. ” State 9 to promote it. Since it is through government action that the Qué- interventionism can thus be seen bec nation emerged as a concrete not only as an ideology, but also element in people’s minds, the na- as a political strategy for the attion was immediately associated tainment of a particular goal—in with the social policies the govern- this case, Québec’s sovereignty. As we have seen, social policies ment enacted and their underlying are connected to nationalism bevalues of solidarity and fairness. cause they contribute to the creation of the nation. However, the most important element that connects 8 Anderson, Imagined Communities, nationalism and social policies in

“

DRAPEAU-BISSON 10

7. 9 Béland and Lecours, Nationalism and Social Policy, 55.

10 Graefe, “Whose Social Economy?,” 19.

Québec is the egalitarian view that the PQ promoted since its arrival on the political scene. The founding of the PQ in 1968 was “the formal articulation of the secessionist and social democratic perspectives.”11 Indeed, in the 1970s the primary objective of René Lévesque’s Parti Québécois was to give the Québécois greater economic opportunities and status in their own province. This goal took a “definite class overtone,”12 as Béland and Lecours have rightfully claimed. Therefore, the goal of the PQ was to create a more egalitarian, non-discriminating society in which the working class Québecois had equal chances as the English-speaking elite to take part in the province’s economy. This obviously connects to the values of equity and solidarity, which are at the heart of progressive social reforms. Also, the social movement approach entails that identity is reinforced by reference to models of behaviour, for instance valuing solidarits, which differentiated the people within from the people outside the movement.13 Thus, by associating social-democratic values and nationalism, the PQ shaped the identity of the Québec nationalist movement and of Québecois society. In order to attain such a progressive and egalitarian goal, government intervention was necessary. Thus, the PQ government followed the PLQ’s path to government intervention when it was first elected in 1976. The additional element brought by the PQ was the necessity for the provincial government to control all public domains—not 11 Béland and Lecours, Nationalism and Social Policy, 58. 12 Ibid. 13 Della Porta and Diani, Social Movements, 107.

simply what fell under provincial jurisdiction—in order for the Québec nation to fully control its destiny. With its interventionist state, Québec not only took part in this Western trend, it also contributed to creating a national community and a nationalist movement. In addition to this desire to give the Québécois their rightful place in the province’s economy, the PQ clearly enunciated its social democratic tendencies. The PQ’s 1976 commitments were the creation of publicly funded health care, education, and social assistance regimes, as well as progressive taxation. Therefore, “by the end of the 1970s, the PQ could credibly depict itself as both a sovereignist party and a social democratic party.”14 The PQ’s quest for Québécois’ emancipation through social solidarity solidified the link between nationalism and social-democratic reforms. The connection I have described between the Québec government and social policies is embedded in a wider concept: Le modèle Québécois. A brief explanation of the Québec model is necessary. The three main elements of this model are: first, its corporatist façon de faire, which involves unions, employers and social movements as partners in the political decisionmaking process; second, government intervention in economic regulation; and, finally, the redistribution of wealth through social policies, which allowed for equal opportunity and increased social solidarity. Thus, as Béland and Lecours argue, not only did the Québec model “effectively generate and sustain the connection between 14 Béland and Lecours, Nationalism and Social Policy, 60. 11

nationalism and social policy,”15 but it also became, alongside language, representative of the distinctiveness of Québec. This model has been beneficial for the sovereignty movement, because, first, it conveys the idea that Quebecers are more solidaristic than other Canadians, and, second, it justifies decentralization and claims for independence. SHIFTING AIMS: THE 1980S AND CONSTITUTIONAL POLITICS

DRAPEAU-BISSON 12

Between 1976 and 1980, both the PQ government and civil society came to interpret the Québec model as both the representation of Québec’s distinctiveness and the tool to achieve an egalitarian and solidaristic society. However, the PQ’s loss in the 1980 referendum, as well as a peculiar economic context, set the stage for a disassociation between sovereignty and social policy. At the political level, the PQ’s loss marked “the end of a strict connection between egalitarianism, solidarity, social policy and nationalism through a bold unambiguous social democratic project.”16 ,In addition, the defeat of the 1980 referendum led PQ leader René Lévesque and his party to engage in discussions with the federal government–what he called le beau risque. Thus, the post-referendum period was dominated by constitutional arrangements with first the patriation of the constitution, and then the Meech Lake accord. Economically, Québec wan hit hard by the 1980s recession, which led to a decrease in social expenditures. Another key element of the economic context was the negotia15 Ibid., 75. 16 Ibid., 61.

tions of the North American Free Trade Agreement (NAFTA). This agreement became a central element of the nationalist discourse that was used to undermine the federalist argument of the economic non-viability of a sovereign Québec. This advocacy of NAFTA, along with cuts in social expenditures, was definitely not in line with the PQ’s pre-referendum orientation. In sum, both the harsh economic climate and the political defeat of the ‘Yes’ campaign created a context in which the link between progressive social policies and sovereignty was no longer beneficial for the PQ. However, these links are not black or white. Overall, cutbacks were not well received since “references to social policy retrenchment and neoliberal restructuring [tended] to be framed and understood as attacks against Québec nationhood.”17 Many of the support groups –most of them left leaning),–of the pre-referendum period still saw, or at least hoped to see, in the PQ a way to realise their ideological aims. In this view, Béland and Lecours argue that “there is evidence that the PQ promoted this kind of argument with their labour and feminist movement partners to keep them mobilized.”18 Therefore, we can conclude that the post-referendum period was indeed a period of disassociation between social policies and the sovereignty movement. Moreover, it was the beginning of a paradoxical discourse on the part of sovereignists. NATIONALISM AND SOCIAL POLICY: RUPTURE OR CONTINUITY 17 Béland and Lecours, Nationalism and Social Policy, 72. 18 Ibid.

The 1990s and the 2000s were arguably hard years for both interventionists and nationalists. The wave of neo-liberalism and the new “global” identity challenged the pertinence of both government intervention and social policy in Québec. However, there remains during this period in Québec a strong belief that provincial identity relies on a social-democratic state. During the 1990s, while there was near consensus on the distinct egalitarian character of Québec, ideological conflicts took precedence within the ranks of the PQ. “Neo-liberalism [had] some influence within the party, and the social–democratic faction [was] far from hegemonic.”19 Quite paradoxically, in spite of the ideological debates, the 1990s also witnessed new initiatives in the field of social policies compared to the previous decade. The most notable example is 2002 anti-poverty, which is also an illustration of a wider phenomenon. In spite of their conflicting views on the national question, all three political parties (the PLQ, PQ and ADQ) endorsed this PQ initiative since it was perceived as “in-synch with Québec’s identity, at least in principle.”20 Despite the many neo-liberal tendencies in the province and on the international scene, the ideological connection between Québécois identity and progressive social policies persisted throughout this period. In Québec, there seems to be persistent reluctance by any provincial government to launch neoliberal reforms and the PLQ is no exception. Indeed, even if Charest theoretically associated himself in 19 Béland and Lecours, Nationalism and Social Policy, 71. 20 Ibid., 69.

2002 with the “re-engineering of the state,” in reality his governance style did not rupture from that of previous governments.21 Rouillard has even interpreted these elements as “in line with the governance practices […] prevalent in Québec since the Quiet Revolution.”22 It must also be noted that this “new governance” is actually quite discrete and is far from offering a full-fledged re-engineering. Indeed, “the platform does randomly mention a limited number of measures [three] now associated with reengineering.”23 These are increased public-private partnerships (P3s); a reduced number of departments, agencies and government corporations (mentioned in a different section than the P3s); and the development of online government. All in all, these are very modest attempts at re-engineering and have been dealt with previously by the PQ in the 1990s. This is evidence that even in the presence of a federalist provincial government, it is hard to disassociate the Québec identity from social democratic values. As a result, we see the embedding of the paradox that emerged in the 1980s: on the one hand, there is an increasing importance of neo-liberalism and the apparent need to re-engineer the state, and, on the other, a quasi-unanimous acceptance of Québec as being more egalitarian and solidaristic than the rest of Canada. CONCLUSION AND DISCUSSION

Analysis of the remodelling of 21 Rouillard, Montpetit, Fortier and Gagnon, Reengineering, 96. 22 Rouillard et. al., Reengineering, 96. 23 Ibid., 95. 13

DRAPEAU-BISSON 14

nationalism by the PLQ and the heightening of the movement by the Parti Québecois has shown that from the 1960s until the 1980s, nationalism in Québec was strongly associated with social policies. Even if this connection has lost some of its impact, the previous section exposed the current paradoxical relationship between social policy and nationalism. This can be seen simultaneously as a representation of the PQ’s greatest success and failure. Its success has been to convince most Québécois that they collectively share a unique culture with distinct values. However, the analysis done in this paper serves as evidence that the idea has overcome the party and that many others have taken a hold on the distinctiveness of Québec for their own cause. A good example of this is the recent request by the Charest government for a seat in the UNESCO delegation: the “specificity” of Québec was pleaded,24 but neither the PQ nor social policies were involved. This, in turn, shows the great failure of the PQ: its incapacity to monopolize the representation of Québec’s distinctiveness, thus rendering it incapable of maintaining support for its sovereignty project. Consequently, most political leaders, including Jean Charest with his trial for “re-engineering,” are understandably reluctant to suggest social policy retrenchment. As Béland and Lecours argue, “social policy retrenchment can mean the weakening of a practical manifestation of nationhood.”25 The 24 The complete quote from the MRI website is « la spécificité du Québec l’amène à jouer un rôle particulier au niveau international ». 25 Béland and Lecours, Nationalism and Social Policy , 22.

“practical manifestation” brings us directly back to Anderson’s idea of Imagined Communities: if government intervention through social policies brings the territorial element of the nation, reinforced by sovereignty and legitimized by the political community, then the retrenchment of the state takes away these three elements central to the “imagined communities.” In conclusion, we have seen that there is a connection between nationalism and social policy that allow them to reinforce and justify each other. Moreover, the study of this phenomenon in Québec has allowed us to understand that the specificity of Québec’s political situation heightens the link between nationalism and social policy. The PQ has certainly contributed to this with its sovereignist aims, but other parties have maintained this connection. To respond to Yves Boisvert’s comment, it seems that not only is it impossible to be a “bloquiste de droite” but also a “Québécois de droite.”

BIBLIOGRAPHY Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 1991. Béland, Daniel and André Lecours. Nationalism and Social Policy: The Politics of Territorial Solidarity. New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. Béland, Daniel and André Lecours. “Sub-State Nationalism and the Welfare State : Québec and Canadian Federalism.” Nations �� and Nationalism (2006): 77-96. Boisvert, Yves. “Je me suis perdu avec la boussole.” March 30, 2011. http://www.cyberpresse.ca/chroniqueurs/yves-boisvert/201103/30/014384540-je-me-suis-perdu-avec-la-boussole.php?utm_ categorieinterne=traffic drivers&utm_contenuinterne= cyberpresse_opinions_5362_section_ECRAN1POS2 (accessed March 30, 2011). Della Porta, Donatella and Mario Diani. Social �� Movements: An Introduction. Malden: Blackwell, 2006. Dufour, Pascale and Christophe Traisnel. “Nationalism and Protest: The Sovereignty Movement in Québec.” In Group Politics and Social Movements in Canada, by Miriam Smith, 357-385. Peterborough: Broadview Press, 2008. Graefe, Peter. “Whose Social Economy? Debating New State Practices in Québec.” SAGE (2001): 35-58. Ministère des Relations Internationales du Québec. Accord QuébecCanada sur l’UNESCO. http://www.mri.gouv.qc.ca/fr/relations_quebec/ organisations_internationales/unesco.asp (accessed April 10, 2011). Radio-Canada. “Maîtres chez nous. ” October 22, 1962. http://archives. radio-canada.ca/c_est_arrive_le/10/22/ (accessed April 10, 2011). Rioux, Marcel. “The Development of Ideologies in Quebec.” In A Passion for Identity by David Taras, 72-91. Scarborough: Nelson Canada, 1993. Rouillard, Christian, �� Éric�� Montpetit, Isabelle Fortier and Alain-G. Gagnon. Re-engineering the State: Toward an Impoverishment of Québec Governance. Ottawa: University of Ottawa Press, 2006.

m e l b o al Pr

rig o b A he

in m s i l Era? a i n o ol harter C t PoPs ost-C a by Katherine Green

he Constitution Act, 1982 was a political construct intended to guarantee Aboriginal rights in Canada. The Charter and the practice of Canadian law exercised by the courts over the last three decades has, however, failed to manifest any system of complete and substantive protection of Aboriginal rights. Three fundamental issues remain unresolved regarding Aboriginal rights and Canadian constitutionalism: a Charter bolstered by Euro-liberalism, a Crown defiant of the rule of law, and a Canadian legal framework that perpetuates the injustices of colonialism. The Supreme Court of Canada (SCC) by virtue of enforcing Aboriginal rights under s. 35 has become the greatest threat to the preservation of the country’s most distinct and primordial society. Within the Canadian political superstructure, three institutions embody or act on behalf of the rule of law: constitutionalism, government, and the judiciary. These three spheres have inadvertently delivered a collaborative coup de grace to a promising new era of the recognition of Aboriginal rights—and, in doing so, they demonstrate a propensity to perpetuate the colonial model. In order to grasp the detrimental magnitude of Charter litigation and the inappropriate role of the judiciary with regards to the protection of Aboriginal peoples’ rights and the reconciliation of the “Aboriginal complex,” it is necessary to engage in a critical discourse of the root of the problem—The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms. It is crucial to diagnose the problem that lies within the existence of s. 35 of the Charter—individualism inherent in liberal political theory.1 1 McNeil, “Aboriginal Governments

Critics have recognized a fundamental contradiction in the existence of a Bill of Rights based on a Western-liberal tradition to serve collective tribal rights. Although the Charter’s aim is to protect and further aid the disadvantaged, Western-liberal tradition promotes the European ideal of protecting the individual. Aboriginal peoples’ distinct existence is defined, and has been made possible, by respective communal interests; thus “human rights in terms of the individual, poses a threat to cultural identity and jeopardizes the collectivity and, by extension, the individual right.”2 The internal contradiction of the Charter’s philosophy is nowhere more evident than in the lack of support among Native Americans for Trudeau’s campaign to unify Canada by proclamation of the Constitution. During the draft evolution of the Constitution Act, 1982, Aboriginal activists contested the notion of the Charter as an institution to preside over Aboriginal rights.3 Their absence from direct involvement in the patriation of the Constitution and the inclusion of the Charter in 1981-82 signaled their opposition.4 The feared absorption of jurisdiction is best articulated in a brief sent to the parliamentary subcommittee on Indian Women and the Indian Act by the Assembly of First Nations: As Indian people we cannot afford to have individual rights overand the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms,” 72. 2 Boldt and Long, “Tribal Philosophies and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms,” 170. 3 Ibid., 171. 4 McNeil, “Aboriginal Governments and The Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms,” 70. 17

ride collective rights. Our societies have never been structured in that way, unlike yours, and that is where the clash comes … If you isolate the individual rights from the collective rights, then you are heading down another path that is even more discriminatory.5 Two very different theories on the nature of mankind are presented in this dichotomy. The irony of this relationship is that the Charter—a document designed to protect disadvantaged minority groups—is not the champion of rights but the authority that dispossesses the disadvantaged of their right to a distinct cultural philosophy. Furthermore, there exists a verbal contradiction within the phrasing of the Charter provisions associated with the guarantee of Aboriginal rights for self-government and the subsequent practice of the Charter. This gap between intent and practice again demonstrates the problematic issue of colonial hegemonic model.6 Before addressing the governmental defiance of constitutional supremacy and the Supreme Court’s role, the framers’ intent must be explored. Three crucial provisions exist in an interdependent relationship to protect the right to Aboriginal self-government—s. 32(1), s. 25 and s. 35. S. 32, an application of the Charter to federal, provincial and territorial governments, exempts Aboriginal political structure from the imposition of the Charter amongst its relations and infringements on its own peoples.7

GREEN 18

5 Boldt and Long, “Tribal Philosophies and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms,” 171. 6 Orkin, “When the Law Breaks Down,” 448. 7 Ibid., 78.

Moreover, s. 25 shields the Aboriginal right to self-government from “abrogation” and “derogation” by the Charter. S. 35, the rights provision explicitly providing a guarantee of rights to Aboriginals, is only applicable to Aboriginal governments when an infringement is made against gender equality, which is extended to be an absolute right. Therefore, the cautious phrasing of Charter provisions alluding to Aboriginal peoples demonstrates the framers’ intent to safeguard traditional Aboriginal governments from the Charter constraints within the sphere of their own systems of self-government. The strategic interest for this specific guarantee is the key to mend past colonial injustices by allowing an autonomous political sphere to be a gateway out of Canada’s imperial model. These political efforts seem now a façade for the fruition of Trudeau’s goal for national unification—the patriation of the Constitution �� Act, 1982�� —rather than a promise by a colonial power to a dispossessed marginalized group. Consequently, the past three decades of Charter enforcement has led to the direct assault on the framers’ intent to guarantee Aboriginal self-government, which was, paradoxically, the lone promise to reconcile the wrongs of both a Western-liberal constitution as well as the colonial past. Since the proclamation of the entrenched Charter, critics have witnessed both a political indifference to negotiation and an unrestrained judicial discretion that has allowed this guarantee of self-government to go unfulfilled. Governmental defiance of the rule of law precedes the main critique of the judiciary’s role as it sets precedence for the litigation process

between the Crown and Aborigi- contradiction that both the philonal peoples. The parliament and sophical nature of the Charter as the cabinet—Crown Sovereign— well as the actions of the Canadian continue the deliberate process of Crown have in relation to Aborigicolonization through illiberal and nal rights, it is a logical conclusion discriminatory legislation. First that, by extension, the judiciary is Nations in Canada have faced the also an inappropriate institution imposition of a huge suite of fede- to remedy the colonial experience. ral legislation—such as the Indian Courts are the Constitution’s tool Act, which ignores fundamental against governmental encroachrights, including the constitutional ment on rights, acting within the guarantee for the recognition of same Western-liberal philosophy Aboriginal treaty rights.8 The Cana- that dictates individualism over coldian Crown thus extends a long his- lectivity. The judiciary must practory of colonizatice restraint in ortion through the der to reconcile the extinguishment internal contraThe irony of this reof Aboriginal diction of proteclationship is that the rights and titles Charter—a document to ting the individual by endorsing through uphollegislation that protect disadvantaged ding the dignity of derogates from a minority groups—is not the autonomous guaranteed auto- the champion of rights, Aboriginal colnomous exis- but the authority that dis- lective.10 This restence. The Indian possess the disadvantaged traint, however, Act is a creation of their right to a distinct has not been exerof the Canadian cultural philosophy.” cised in the three government, decades of Charter not of Aborigijurisprudence. The nal peoples, as a SCC’s approach to “design to facilitate assimilation of s. 35 has undermined the otherwise Indians and to prune the number of progressive campaign of an entrenIndian wards for whom the Cana- ched charter, the trust of the judidian government would be obliged, ciary and, most notably, the dignity under treaty, to take responsibility.”9 of Aboriginal peoples. It is an embodiment of non-consenThe SCC’s approach to s. 35 fasual terms placed upon the dispos- vours the sovereignty of the Crown. sessed First Nations’ territories, This is demonstrable not only resources and activities. In sum, it through judgments but also more arbitrarily locates Canadian Abori- critically in the tests created and ginals under the wholesale jurisdic- applied to future judgments. These tion of the Crown, placing a direct tests have the most detrimental efchallenge to s. 35. fects on future guarantees of AboriIn light of the fundamental ginal rights. The SCC’s record on the reco8 Orkin, “When the Law Breaks gnition of Aboriginal rights has Down,” 446. crucial pre-Charter foundations 9 Boldt and Long, “Tribal

“

Philosophies and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms,” 174.

10 Macklem, “What’s Law Got to Do With It?,” 128.

that present the hope that Canada’s highest court could be the de facto guardian of this colonized minority. Revolutionary motions towards substantive recognition began in the early 1970s, but they were later viewed as a promise dampened in the past four decades by a series of high profile case judgments that set precedence for “frozen rights” rather than their broad and liberal interpretation.11 The Charter was intended to be a groundbreaking departure from Canada’s imperial model. With Aboriginal rights enjoying scant recognition, the split decision in the Calder case in 1973 provided for the first time a legal debate on potential negotiations of a more rectified federal policy.12 It was an impetus for change, as it questioned Canada’s imperial model by recognizing the existence of land rights as a matter of common law.13 Calder was the first instance that the Canadian legal system made a substantive argument for the reconciliation of a wholesale dispossession and colonization of First Nations peoples. The legal and political discourse on the matter of Aboriginal rights can be strengthened only through the rights protections entrenched in the Constitution; however, the SCC as the interpreter of s. 35 has failed to deliver justice against infringing federal policy. The promise of a broad and liberal interpretation by the SCC was gradually diminished and eventually extinguished throughout the series of three crucial cases—Sparrow, Van der Peet and Delgamuukw. All GREEN 20

11 Murphy, “Culture and the Courts,” 110. 12 Ibid., 111. 13 Slattery, “The Organic Constitution,” 107.

three at close investigation ultimately upheld Crown sovereignty. The SCC committed this infringement of rights against its better intentions; the high court was merely acting within the avenues it was accustomed to. Nonetheless, the investigation of its judgments in the three cases is both a testament to the unrestrained discretion of the judiciary and the specificity of the circumstances of Aboriginal jurisprudence. It was also an extremely inappropriate undertaking to have a removed justice system remedy the internal matters of the Aboriginal community. In the wake of the constitutional entrenchment of the Aboriginal rights, R v. Sparrow in 1990 was the first SCC decision on s. 35. The case pertained to the proceedings of an appellant, a member of the Musqueam Indian Band, charged under s. 61(1) of the Fisheries Act. The charge was the offence of fishing with a drift-net longer than permitted by the terms of the band’s Indian food fishing license.14 Sparrow argued that the band’s license was a federal policy inconsistent with s. 35(1) of the Constitution Act, 1982, and thus invalid. For the first time, the SCC had to explore the scope of s. 35(1) and to determine the strength of its promise to guarantee Aboriginal rights under the Charter.15 The issue in this particular case was whether Parliament’s power to regulate fishing was now limited; however, the court recognized this would be the first out of many regulated Aboriginal cultural and economic activities that predated colonizers to be called into disrepute. 14 Elliot, Law and Aboriginal Peoples in Canada, 124. 15 Ibid., 127.

R v. Sparrow, and the subsequent case R v. Sioui, witnessed the SCC adopt a precedence of fiduciary relationships that would be undertaken in all later Aboriginal-Crown claim disputes. The fiduciary duty on the part of the Crown assured that the ultimate sovereign would uphold an agreement in good faith. The concept had already been outlined in R v. Guerin in 1984, but Sparrow ensured the fiduciary duty as a concrete Charter concept.16 Furthermore, Guerin established aboriginal title as sui generis and later Sparrow built upon this groundwork recognizing Aboriginal peoples as subjects of a quasinational sui generis legal status.17 The assertion of common law as sui generis in these two cases show the court asserting its authority of discretion:

This set in motion the impetus to restrict oppressive federal policy. In addition, the statement of “quasi-national sui generis legal

status” welcomed the negotiations to construct and coordinate Aboriginal autonomy with Crown Sovereignty.19 The evolution from a foundational patchwork in Guerin to a more flexible and comprehensive reading of s. 35 came to fruition in Sparrow. It was a historical breakthrough. Nevertheless, it also resulted in a promise that was left unfulfilled in the future. A close reading of this new jurisprudence makes it evident that Sparrow imposed to s. 35(1) a test on “reasonable limits,” which shielded the Crown from scrutiny rather than serving the dignity of the Aboriginal plaintiff.20 The court advocated a system whereby the Crown would have to justify any infringement of existing Aboriginal rights.21 Here exists the fundamental contradiction. The Charter is an institution of Western conception that detracts from the distinct philosophy or concept of the “collective” inherent in Aboriginal peoples’ existence. Subsequently, the framers were explicit in their vigilance to restrain governmental encroachment and judiciary discretion by providing the possibility of autonomous governance for Aboriginal peoples in s. 25 and s. 35. The SCC’s applied test then directly allows the federal, provincial and territorial governments to infringe on the rights of the Aboriginals—if demonstrably justifiable. This produces two detrimental crises for the marginalized. First, it demonstrates that the court out right rejects the capability of Ab-

16 McCormick, Supreme At Last, 148. 17 Murphy, “Culture and the Courts,” 110. 18 Slattery, “The Organic Constitution,” 104.

19 Murphy, “Culture and the Courts,” 119. 20 Christie, “Aboriginal Rights, Aboriginal Culture, and Protection,” 469. 21 Ibid., 471.

[T]he context of 1982 is surely enough to tell us that this is not just a codification of the case law on aboriginal rights that had accumulated by 1982. Section 35 calls for a just settlement for aboriginal peoples. It renounces the old rules of the game under which the Crown established courts of law and denied those courts the authority to question sovereign claims made by the Crown.18

original political and justice systems by assimilating these peoples into the Canadian colonial structure of justice. Secondly, the court garnered for itself the role of de facto guardian of these distinct peoples. This case stopped well short of recognizing Aboriginal peoples as national communities on equal level with the Canadian state.22 Matching values and philosophies of the two parallel institutions—Crown law and judiciary—have and will continue to align in favour of the Canadian Crown. This test mirrors s.1 of the Charter. The s. 35(1) test from Sparrow inappropriately awards both the Crown and the courts the ability to justify the infringement on the rights of peoples who were promised self-governing autonomy. The further extinguishment of any promise of a broad and liberal interpretation of s. 35 was accomplished in the 1996 case R. v. Van der Peet. This case, which was the first of three cases known as “the Van der Peet Trilogy,” raised a necessary historical question: How should the Aboriginal rights recognized and affirmed by s. 35(1) be defined? Van der Peet called upon the SCC to access the scope of fishing licenses and commercial fish trade as a protected right under s. 35.23 The appellant claimed that the commercial exchange of fish was a fundamental part of the practices and customs of the Sto:lo First Nation.24 Prior to ruling on the matter, the SCC found it pertinent to cultivate a clear means of how to approach rights recognition. The SCC deter-

GREEN 22

22 Michael Murphy, “Culture and the Courts,” 118. 23 David Elliot, Law and Aboriginal Peoples In Canada, 308. 24 McCormick, Supreme At Last, 149.

mined that Aboriginal rights are to be affirmed against the encroachment of the Crown if the First Nation can prove that either the practice or custom in question proves integral and exclusive to the Aboriginal peoples, or that it had been a continuing practice that originated prior to European contact.25 Based on three attributes, the test effectively left core Aboriginal practices, customs and traditions vulnerable to the discretion of the Court—only continuing, integral and distinctive practices were admissible. The Van der Peet decision demonstrated how the newly adopted approach narrowed the scope of the protection of rights through the medium of an unrestrained judiciary. At this point in time, and in the following case of R. �� v. Delgamuukw, the court was presided over by Chief Justice Lamer.26 The SCC upheld the Court of Appeal’s opinion in restoring the conviction of the appellant.27 Justice Lamer’s majority judgment stated that the court could not accept the commercial exchange of fish of the Sto:lo First Nation as admissible according to the newly distinctive means. Justice Lamer’s Court refused to take the leap and discover what the activity in question (fishing) meant to the Sto:lo people. The SCC effectively legitimized oral histories in the most progressive manner only to act in complete disregard of their new approach. The majority decision stripped Aboriginal peoples 25 David Elliot, Law and Aboriginal Peoples In Canada, 309. 26 Christie, “Aboriginal Rights, Aboriginal Culture, and Protection,” 135. 27 McCormick, Supreme At Last, 149.

of their autonomy.28 The minority judgment forwarded by dissenting Justices L’Heureux-Dube and McLachlin found it “inappropriate to say the perspective of the common law matters as much as the perspective of the natives when defining Aboriginal rights.”29 Furthermore, their primary concern was whether emphasis on integral activities predating European contact was far too restrictive an approach, as the SCC refused to consider distinctive activities adopted because of European settlement.30 The majority perpetuated a hegemonic discourse amongst colonial affiliated actors at the expense of the Sto:lo First Nation. One year after the Van der Peet judgment, another landmark case came to the Court, Delgamuukw v. British Columbia. It embodied great potential for the recognition of Aboriginal rights under s. 35. Yet, once again, this expansion was subjected to the three-part test. In Del�� gamuukw v. British Columbia, the SCC tried the case of Gitksan and Wet’suwet’en peoples’ claims to Aboriginal title and self-government over approximately 58,000 square kilometers of land in northwestern British Columbia.31 Hereditary rituals and territorial inheritance bind these “distinct peoples” to this particular British Columbian region. Most notably, the practice of ritual feasts transfers ownership of the land to the heir of the tribes’ chief.32 The Supreme Court for the 28 Simmons, Human Rights Law and the Marginalized Other, 201. 29 Ibid., 202. 30 McCormick, Supreme At Last, 150. 31 Borrows, “Sovereignty’s Alchemy,” 538. 32 Ibid., 541.

first time had to consider claims to this land against European settlement by testing the pertinence of the clan’s transmission of hereditary rituals as evidence of territorial claim. The SCC reversal (1997 appellate decision) of key findings in the 1991 decision, which favoured the Crown Sovereign by trial judge McEarchern in Delgamuukw v. the Queen, was the most liberal interpretation of s. 35 thus far. Nevertheless the reversal came with a corollary test restricting the expansiveness of the SCC’s broad approach, similar to Sparrow and the Van der Peet Trilogy.33 McEarchern’s trial verdict during the Delgamuukw case was a re-enforcement not only of extremely oppressive policies but also of stereotypes. He denied the very existence of an indigenous legal and political system by using Hobbesian language—“nasty, brutish and short”— to depict the organized civilization of the Gitskan and Wet’suwet’en peoples.34 The subsequent potential disenfranchisement of the two clans by way of the phrasing of the judgment was a gateway for the SCC to undo the hardship and favour the transmission of hereditary claims; however, the SCC decision did not fully reverse McEarchern’s judgment.35 The conservative judgment of the Lamer Court was nonetheless seen as an inversion of the Canadian colonial model, because it again validated oral history of Aboriginal peoples’ as valid evidentiary sup33 Christie, “Aboriginal Rights, Aboriginal Culture, and Protection,” 472. 34 Roth, “Without Treaty, Without Conquest,” 147. 35 Ibid., 150. 23

port in the courts.36 This continued approach to the status of Aboriginal title under s. 35 (1) fundamentally altered the law of Aboriginal rights, while simultaneously undermining the process of expansive recognition by upholding legal framework that favours the Crown Sovereign. Critical scholars argue that the Delgamuukw case does not mark the beginnings of a post-colonial era because of the illadvised nature of the courts and the courts’ continuous affirmation of the Canadian Crown. The decision to recognize oral history as an equal submission of tangible evidence under the law elevates indigenous legal systems of land tenure and sovereignty to constitutional recognition.37 This, however, is not an expansive recognition of Aboriginal peoples’ own organized societies as the test negatively influences Aboriginals’ ability to question the taking of their lands.38 The unelected court gained the authority to define “distinct,” organized societies and ancestral occupation, and thus the legitimacy of the aboriginal title’s very existence.39 This is a clear assault on the claimants’ dignity. A minor rectification of the SCC’s record of indifference to Aboriginal self-government and the subsequent undermining of rights pertaining to s. 35 of the Charter was made possible by a shift in conceptual approach in the 1999 case Marshall 1. This case forced the High Court to confront its own

GREEN 24

36 Borrows, “Sovereignty’s Alchemy,” 542. 37 Roth, “Without Treaty, Without Conquest,” 143. 38 Burke, “”Left Out In the Cold,” 5. 39 Christie, “Aboriginal Rights, Aboriginal Culture, and Protection,” 472.

historical undertakings with Aboriginal jurisprudence and found it wrought with injustice. This long overdue reevaluation with its historical record concluded that the approach selected under the Van der Peet Trilogy was vastly inadequate to address the histories of Aboriginal peoples. The application of tests was inadequate, neglecting the courts’ responsibility to protect Aboriginal rights. It could not grasp the wide range of different “sets” of Aboriginal practices and customs.40 The Marshall case effectively served to prove that since the conception of The Constitution Act, 1982 and the entrenchment of the Charter, s. 35 had been read by “a bench of nine lawyers turned amateur historians.”41 The fundamental flaw inherent in the application of the Westernliberal judicial model to the First Nations claims is not easily remedied. The legal proceedings and respective conceptual shifts in the approach to s. 35 resulted in the SCC being an inadequate judge of the distinct livelihoods, practices, customs and traditions of First Nations peoples. The application of tests in the reading of s. 35 significantly narrowed the access to rights and stripped the group of a constitutionally protected right to self-government. The SCC is a blunt instrument when employed to mitigate a delicate situation of which it has no firsthand knowledge. It cannot be done. Unless the SCC’s mandate is radically altered to incorporate the conceptual notion of a “collective” self, in addition to its current notion of the “individual” self, it will remain a hopelessly inadequate 40 McCormick, Supreme At Last, 149. 41 Ibid., 150.

institution incapable of performing its duties. Ultimately the SCC, the handmaid of constitutionalism and federal policy, failed to be the guardian of s. 35 of the Charter and instead perpetuated Canadaâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s historical colonial tendency to assimilate these â&#x20AC;&#x153;distinctâ&#x20AC;? Aboriginal tribes into the Western political and legal framework.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Boldt, Menno, and J. Anthony Long. “Tribal Philosophies and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.” In The Quest for Justice: Aboriginal Peoples and Aboriginal Rights, edited by Boldt, Long and Little Bear. Toronto: University of Toronto Press, 1985. Borrows, John. “Sovereignty’s Alchemy: An Analysis of Delgamuukw v. British Columbia.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal (1999). www.ohlj.ca/archive/ articles/37_3_borrows.pdf (accessed November 7, 2011). Burke, Brian. “Left Out In the Cold: The Problem with Aboriginal Title Under s. 35 of the Constitution Act, 1982 For Historically Nomadic People.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal (2000). www.ohlj.ca/archive/articles/38_1_ burke.pdf. (accessed November 7, 2011). Christie, Gordon. “Aboriginal Rights, Aboriginal Culture, and Protection.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal (1998). www.ohlj.ca/archive/articles/36_3_ christie.pdf (accessed November 8, 2011). Elliot, David W. Law and Aboriginal Peoples in Canada. 4th ed. Toronto: Captus Press, 1992. Macklem, Patrick. “What’s Law Got to Do With It? The Protection of Aboriginal Title in Canada.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal (1997). www.ohlj. ca/archive/articles/35_1_macklem.pdf (accessed November 8, 2011). McCormick, Peter. Supreme At Last: The Evolution of the Supreme Court of Canada. Toronto: James Lorimer and Company Ltd., 2000. McNeil, Kent “Aboriginal Governments and the Canadian Charter of Rights and Freedoms.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal (1996). http://www.ohlj. ca/archive/articles/34_1_mcneil.pdf. (accessed: November 8, 2011). Murphy, Michael. “Culture and the Courts: A New Direction in Canadian Jurisprudence on Aboriginal Rights?” Canadian Journal of Political Science (2001). doi: XXXIV:1 (accessed November 7, 2011). Orkin, Andrew J. “When The Law Breaks Down: Aboriginal Peoples in Canada and Governmental Defiance of Rule of Law.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal (2003). www.ohlj.ca/archive/articles/41_23_orkin.pdf (accessed November 8, 2011). Roth, Christopher. “Without Treaty, Without Conquest: Indigenous Sovereignty in Post- Delgamuukw v. British Columbia.” Wicazo Sa Review 17, no. 2 (2002). Simmons, Paul. Human Rights Law and the Marginalized Other. Arizona: Arizona State University, 2011. Slattery, Brian. “The Organic Constitution: Aboriginal Peoples and the Evolution of Canada.” Osgoode Hall Law Journal (1996). www.ohlj.ca/archive/articles/34_1_slattery.pdf (accessed November 7, 2011).

GREEN 26

Towards a New Canadian Intelligence Architecture by Michael Flynn

ntelligence operations receive relatively scant academic consideration when conceptualizing national security, foreign policy, and statecraft. This is largely due to the clandestine nature of intelligence communities as well as “Hollywood” perceptions of intelligence operations that often shroud public consciousness with myth. As James Der Derian puts it, “intelligence is the least understood and most under-theorized area of international relations”1; however, this should by no means prevent the rigorous academic study of the basic roles, processes, functions, and issues surrounding the field. Furthermore, following 9/11, there has been a renewed interest in the field of intelligence, with several intelligence issues finding their way into public discourse and policy discussion. In Canada, intelligence agencies have seen their budgets increased and issues such as the Abdelrazik, Arar, and Khadr “affairs”, recent accusations of foreign spies, and foreign political meddling have attracted headlines. Therefore, informed academic research and debate is not just desirable, it is necessary for fruitful public discourse on intelligence policy. One significant question facing policy makers and the Canadian intelligence community is whether Canada needs a foreign intelligence agency. This has been a perennial issue in Canadian intelligence circles and has been brought before the House of Commons numerous times only to be defeated or set aside for future consideration.2 Ad1 Der Derian, “Anti-Diplomacy, Intelligence Theory, and Surveillance Practice’, 32-35. 2 The most recent bill put before Parliament to establish a foreign

ditionally, in 2006, Stephen Harper and the Conservative Party of Canada announced that the creation of a foreign intelligence agency would be a priority for the government, but they have since waffled on the issue. Presently, all members of the Group of Seven (G-7) now operate foreign intelligence agencies, begging the question, “Why not Canada?” THE USES AND FUNCTIONS OF INTELLIGENCE IN STATECRAFT

Defining what intelligence is and what intelligence is used for is hotly contested within existing literature. Jackson and Spiegel outline two distinct approaches to understanding the nature and role of intelligence.3 The first emphasizes that intelligence should be conceptualized primarily as information, whereas the second tends to emphasize process. Central to the first conception is the principle that intelligence is information provided to decision makers in order to reduce their uncertainty and allow them to make well-informed choices. Conversely, the second approach conceptualizes intelligence “in terms of the classic intelligence cycle…whose essence lies in the various stages of collection, collation, analysis, and distribution that give intelligence meaning and make it useful to decision makers.” Thus, “intelligence is not merely informaintelligence agency was Bill C-409 (An Act to establish the Canadian Foreign Intelligence Agency). The private members bill was brought forth during the 37th Parliament, 3rd session, which ended in May 2004. The bill did not make it past first reading. 3 Jackson and Siegel, “Introduction,” 4.

tion or data…it is information that has been processed, evaluated, and distilled into a form which fulfills some purpose.”4 This echoes the oft-cited mantra in the intelligence community that “all intelligence is information; not all information is intelligence.”5 This essay adopts an approach similar to that of Jackson and Spiegel to overcome these disagreements. Specifically, defining intelligence need not be seen in such dichotomous terms; rather, intelligence ought to be treated as both information and the process by which it is gathered, analyzed, distributed, and used by decision makers. Lowenthal, on the other hand, offers three major reasons to explain why countries establish intelligence agencies: to avoid strategic surprise; to provide long-term expertise; and to support the policymaking process.6 First, Lowenthal argues that the foremost goal of any intelligence community must be to keep track of threats, forces, events, and developments that are capable of endangering the nation’s existence. As Lowenthal himself concedes, this goal is somewhat “grandiose and far-fetched.”7 Nev-

FLYNN 30

4 Ibid, 4-8, 12-16. 5 Lowenthal, Intelligence: From Secrets to Policy, 2-4. 6 Lowenthal in fact offers four major reasons to explain why countries establish intelligence agencies. However, his fourth reason—to maintain secrecy of information and needs, and to discover the intentions of foreign actors—should be treated as a given, thus needing no further elaboration. Lowenthal himself devotes little elaboration to the issue (a mere two sentences). 7 Lowenthal, Intelligence: From Secrets to Policy, 2.

ertheless, it is a useful starting point for conceptualizing further goals. This by no means suggests that the primary goal of intelligence communities is to predict events or outcomes. In fact, as Gookins notes, A common misconception of the IC’s [intelligence community’s] role is that it makes predictions. It does not. Instead, the IC writes estimates, generating possible outcomes based on available information. At best, intelligence contributions are designed to help policymakers understand complex situations. Analysts identify and monitor developing issues or trends in order to narrow down the influences in those developments. The results are then used to better prepare policymakers to make decisions.8 Lowenthal’s second major reason for the existence of intelligence agencies—to provide long-term expertise—stems from the fact that most senior policymakers are “transients” or, alternatively, are subject to relatively short stints in their respective policy roles. Furthermore, much knowledge and expertise on national security issues resides in the intelligence community, where the “analytical cadre has been relatively stable [as compared with] foreign affairs and defense agencies”.9 Lastly, Lowenthal’s third major reason for the existence of intelligence agencies—to support the policy process—requires consider8 Gookins, “The Role of Intelligence in Policymaking,” 66. 9 Lowenthal, Intelligence: From Secrets to Policy, 3.

able caution. The key to intelligence agencies policy role is that they support the policymaking process rather than dictate it. It follows that such agencies do not push specific policies, choices, or outcomes for doing so would risk politicizing the intelligence—one of the “strongest expressions of opprobrium that can be leveled against an intelligence agency.”10 Alternatively, intelligence acts as a guide for policy. As the old adage goes, “foreign policy that is not shaped by intelligence is bound to be shaped by ignorance.” The preceding view of the function and role of intelligence activities is admittedly somewhat sanguine. Critics will be quick to point out that intelligence agencies too often operate as unchecked arms of executive branches of government and/or conduits of state oppression.11 These are certainly valid concerns.12 However, this section seeks to underscore the appropriate uses of intelligence capabilities and the ways in which these activities can effectively support foreign policymaking and national security, not to provide a critique of their actions. The preceding argument can alternatively be seen as a delineation of the ways in which intelligence agencies should function in principle. CANADA’S CURRENT FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE CAPABILITIES

As Rudner notes, Canadian requirements for foreign intelligence 10 Jackson and Siegel, “Introduction,” 4-8. 11 Weller, “Accountability in Canadian Intelligence Services,” 415. 12 For an overview of these issues, see Rosen, “Background Paper: The Canadian Security Intelligence Agency”.

have historically been addressed through an array of “functionally differentiated agencies, most of which are linked to intelligence sharing arrangements.”13 Human intelligence (HUMINT) capabilities are virtually non-existent, with almost all of the knowledge and expertise being received from allies. As Cooper notes, “Canada long ago decided to stop subcontracting its diplomacy to Britain [but] is still willing to subcontract its HUMINT […] to its allies.”14 This notion of “subcontracting” intelligence capabilities to its allies has been a longstanding Canadian tradition, leading to accusations of Canada as a “free-loader” and one who punches below its weight.15 As the following section will outline, Canada nonetheless retains some ability to gather foreign intelligence, albeit this capability remains very minimal. The Communications and Security Establishment (CSE)—a civilian agency of the Department of National Defense (DND)—is the largest and most expensive intelligence organization in Canada and the chief source of foreign intelligence for the government.16 As the country’s main cryptology agency, it is tasked primarily with intercepting, collating, and analyzing signals intelligence derived from interceptions of foreign electronic communications, radio, radar, telemetry, and other electromagnetic emis13 Rudner, “Canada’s Communications Security Establishment,” 5-6. 14 Cooper, “CFIS: A Foreign Intelligence Service for Canada,” 14. 15 Ibid. 16 Rudner, “Canada’s Communications Security Establishment,” 5-6.

sions.17 The agency is also responsible for protecting critical electronic information and communications networks of the Canadian government. In addition, the CSE supports Canadian Forces overseas operations, including numerous peacekeeping operations and the mission in Afghanistan.18 Like all other intelligence agencies in Canada, its ability to collect and analyze intelligence stems largely from its intelligence sharing arrangements with close allies. A naval C4 interoperability organization—known by its acronym AUSCANNZUKUS to denote the five countries involved (Australia, Canada, New Zealand, United Kingdom, and United States)—was established in 1960 to facilitate SIGINT integration. As Mellon notes, this has led to an overreliance on the National Security Agency (NSA) of the United States.19 This is also true of the DND as a whole. The Canadian Security Intelligence Service (CSIS) plays a minor role in the collection and analysis of foreign intelligence—in principle. The agency’s mandate, established by the Canadian Security Intelligence Service Act (1984), requires that CSIS restrict its activities to defensive purposes. CSIS does not engage in any offensive operations, namely sending agents overseas to conduct clandestine intelligence gathering missions. As section sixteen of the Act lays out, intelligence gathering must be restricted to within Canada. However, especially in recent times, CSIS has been conducting foreign intelligence gathering activities though

FLYNN 32

17 Ibid. 18 Weller, “Accountability in Canadian Intelligence Services,” 416. 19 Mellon, “The Missing Agency,” 10-12.

its International Region Branch, which was established in 2006. This branch has approximately fifty employees known as foreign collection officers, who work in over thirty countries. Like the CSE, CSIS operates in peacekeeping missions and Afghanistan. The conducting of HUMINT activities in conflict zones by Canadian intelligence agencies has raised some concerns in Canada. However, debating whether such organizations collect HUMINT in conflict zones is like “debating whether armies operate with ammunition”.20 Nevertheless, this has put the agency into a sort of grey area regarding its mandate. In fact, the Security Intelligence Review Committee (SIRC)—CSIS’s watchdog—has deemed many of their international actions to be policy violations or “operating absent policy.”21 Thus, recognizing the necessity of gathering foreign intelligence in the form of HUMINT—and given the fact that the above agencies are already involved in such activities—doing so in a structured way is greatly preferable to operating in legal grey areas. Lastly, given the constraints imposed on the CSE and CSIS, policymakers and the intelligence community at large are forced to rely on the Department of Foreign Affairs and International Trade (DFAIT) for foreign intelligence. This is distressing given the fact that DFAIT has, at best, peripheral foreign intelligence capabilities. There are two main processes by which the agency collects foreign 20 Colby Cosh, “The Necessity of HUMINT”. 21 Bronskill, “Review uncovers CSIS policy violations”.

intelligence: open source intelligence (OSINT) and its Foreign Interview Program. Although OSINT is increasingly important in the information age, relying solely on it “weakens the scope, quality, accuracy, and value of intelligence.”22 Furthermore, the Foreign Interview Program is essentially open source in nature; the program consists of debriefing immigrants, travelers, and businesspeople in order to acquire political, economic, social, technological, and scientific information from inaccessible areas. Unfortunately, these capabilities are considered to be quite limited. A CANADIAN FOREIGN INTELLIGENCE SERVICE

There are three major policy and national security issue areas that would greatly benefit from the establishment of greater foreign intelligence capabilities: international trade and business; military and peacekeeping operations; and, transnational terrorism. In an era of increasing global interconnectedness, Canada’s limited foreign intelligence capabilities puts its businesses at a disadvantage since “other countries do not shy away from using their offensive intelligence capabilities to promote the interests of their flagship companies.”23 Ergo, economic and trade intelligence is essential for governments and private businesses to remain competitive in the current global environment. Meanwhile, other foreign intelligence agencies have been utilized to moni22 Rudner, “Canada’s Communications Security Establishment.” 23 Weller, “Accountability in Canadian Intelligence Services,” 51.

tor adherence to international trade agreements. As mentioned, Canada is left to rely on OSINT, which often does not provide adequate information. This risks potential economic losses, which is further exacerbated by countries conducting economic espionage of one form or another on Canadian soil.24 Canada’s engagement in multilateral peacekeeping, peace enforcement, and stabilization operations through the United Nations and NATO would also greatly benefit from the establishment of a Canadian foreign intelligence agency. Some observers claim that Canada’s intelligence needs are currently being met, particularly through intelligence sharing agreements. This is a problematic assertion, for in reality, it is impossible to know—ex ante—whether the country’s needs are being met. Furthermore, past intelligence failures in the Democratic Republic of Congo, Rwanda, Somalia, and the former Yugoslavia demonstrate both the need for accurate defence intelligence and Canada’s inability to obtain it.25 As Cooper notes, if Canada intends to deploy with multinational coalitions in the future, it must “either improve its foreign intelligence capabilities to support future deployments or it will repeat past intelligence failures”.26 Effectively dealing with issues of transnational terrorism also requires robust foreign intelligence capabilities. Given the diffuse nature of transnational terror networks and technical limitations in gathering information from them, HUMINT is one of the chief ways of 24 “Return of the Spying Game”. 25 Weller, “Accountability in Canadian Intelligence Services,” 452. 26 Ibid.

uncovering and disrupting them.27 Even prior to 9/11, the Auditor General of Canada recognized the limitations of the intelligence community in seeking out terrorist threats. These included: a) international terrorism conducted against the United States; b) a Canadian resident involved in the planning, financing, and arming of an international terrorist group about to commit a terrorist act overseas; and, c) political instability overseas affecting Canadian nationals abroad.28 These concerns are even more profound today. Thus, establishing greater foreign intelligence capabilities is a necessary component of effectively combating the ever-growing threat of international terrorism. The importance of lessening Canada’s reliance on intelligence sharing agreements is twofold. First, doing so would allow for the creation of finished intelligence products that are designed specifically to deal with Canada’s national interests. Although these national interests are often parallel to that that of allies, there are significant differences in terms of policy priorities, especially concerning international trade. Second, Canada would do well to provide its fair share of resources to existing and/ or renewed agreements. Failure to do so risks diminishing Canada’s contributions to these alliances and may further cement the notion of Canada being a “free-rider” rather than an “easy-rider”. As previously mentioned, the process of strengthening foreign intelligence capabilities brings with it FLYNN 34

27 Ramana, “The Role of Human Intelligence in Counterterrorism.” 28 Rudner, “Canada’s Communications Security Establishment,” 23.

significant challenges, both operationally and politically. On an operational level, determining which agency will oversee foreign intelligence is subject to much debate. The notion of expanding CSIS’s mandate under Article 16 of the CSIS Act to include not just domestic capabilities but also foreign ones is undesirable. It is generally accepted that the separation of foreign and domestic intelligence gathering is of utmost importance.29 This is due to myriad legal, operational, and methodological differences between the two types of activities. Thus, a desirable option would be to establish a specialized division—perhaps under the purview of DFAIT and the Minister of Foreign Affairs—that would be tasked with collecting foreign intelligence. The two agencies or “divisions” would then be reporting to different ministers entirely (CSIS being under the purview of the Minister of Public Safety). Furthermore, both agencies would be able to focus on the primary mandates and avoid the burden of organizational overhaul. This would emulate the processes undertaken by Australia and the United States.30 Oversight and accountability are also of critical importance, especially given the negative public sentiment geared towards the intelligence community in the wake of its handling of suspected terrorists. Thus, a new specialized agency or division would require a clear mandate and strict parliamentary oversight, as is the case with CSIS. Of course not all information regarding its activities would be available to the public, but robust review mechanisms by Parliament are 29 Weller, “Accountability in Canadian Intelligence Services,” 462. 30 Ibid.

critical. It may be desirable to go a step further by establishing more parliamentary control over both agencies, as has been done in the case of the United States Congress, rather than just reporting to senior officials within the government. Lastly, Canada has very little expertise and human capital available to support such activities. As Rudner states, educational opportunities in intelligence are virtually nonexistent in Canada.31 For example, Carleton University is the only post-secondary institution in the country to provide a comprehensive intelligence program. Moreover, of the three biggest research-intensive universities in Canada (McGill University, the University of British Columbia, and the University of Toronto)—all of which have substantial political science programs—not one offers a single course in intelligence matters either at the undergraduate or graduate level. This is also true of the universities’ history programs, with the exception of the University of Toronto who offers but one undergraduate course entitled ‘The History of Modern Espionage’.32 As Gookins notes, in order to be an asset to the policymaking process, the IC needs to provide specialized expertise that the policy community lacks. Thus, Canada would do well to publically support research and training in the intelligence realm as has been done in several other countries via—for example—grants, research chairs, and university outreach.33 31 Rudner, “Intelligence Studies and Higher Education.” 32 See ‘Available Courses’ pages of the respective departments, all of which are available online. 33 Weller, “Accountability in Canadian Intelligence Services,”120.

CONCLUSION

As demonstrated, intelligence is an integral part of both national security and foreign policy. Robust intelligence capabilities allow for seeking out and preparing for potential threats as well as helping to assist policymakers and national actors in making informed judgments. However, there has been little emphasis put on foreign intelligence in Canada, instead relying on intelligence sharing arrangements with friendly countries. The general intelligence structure in Canada is considerably weak, and foreign capabilities are virtually non-existent. Ergo, Canada would be well served by establishing a specialized agency or division of one form or another. Doing so would result in benefits not only to governments but also to national businesses and public safety. To be sure, such a process is undeniably fraught with many difficulties, both operationally and politically. Nevertheless, now is the time for our political institutions to catch up to speed with current international realities.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Bronskill, Jim. “Review uncovers CSIS policy violations.” The Globe and Mail, January 5, 2011. Cooper, Barry. “CFIS: A Foreign Intelligence Service for Canada.” Canadian Defense and Foreign Affairs Institute (2007). Cosh, Colby. “The Necessity of HUMINT.” National Post. http://www. nationalpost.com/opinion/columnists/story,html?id=1df921f8-9b4e4cea-9a58-e3ff3 977ab1f (accessed March 21, 2012). Der Derian, James. “Anti-Diplomacy, Intelligence Theory, and Surveillance Practice.” Intelligence and National Security 8, no. 3 (1993): 29-51. Gookins, Amanda. “The Role of Intelligence in Policymaking.” John Hopkins School of Advanced International Studies Review 28, no. 1 (2008): 65-75. Jackson, Peter and Jennifer Siegel. “Introduction.” In Intelligence and Statecraft: The Use and Limits of Intelligence in National Security, edited by Peter Jackson and Jennifer Siegel.Westport, CT: Praeger Publishers, 2005. Lowenthal, Mark. Intelligence: From Secrets to Policy. Washington D.C.: SQ Press, 2009. Mellon, Jerome. “The Missing Agency: The Case for a Canadian Foreign Intelligence Agency.” Thesis, University of Salford, 2006. Ramana, Siddharth “The Role of Human Intelligence in Counterterrorism.” Institute of Peace and Conflict Studies, Article 3820, 2010. “Return of the Spying Game.” National Post, June 7 2007. Rosen, Phillip. “Background Paper: The Canadian Security Intelligence Agency.” Library of Parliament, 2009. Rudner, Martin. “Canada’s Communications Security Establishment: From Cold War to Globalisation.” Occasional Paper, Norman Patterson School of International Affairs, 2000. Rudner, Martin. “Intelligence Studies and Higher Education: CapacityBuilding to Meet Societal Demand.” International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 22, no. 1 (2009): 110-30. Weller, Geoffrey. “Accountability in Canadian Intelligence Services,” International Journal of Intelligence and Counterintelligence 2, no. 3 (Autumn 1998): 415-41.

FLYNN 36

Can Judicial Investigations Curb Political Corruption? Evidence from the Tangentopoli Scandal and Mani Pulite Investigations in Italy by Sheelagh Gough

The mani pulite investigations believe the â&#x20AC;&#x153; limitations of any judiciary. Judges and pro-

secutors can only punish past practices, they cannot create a new institutional framework to end the culture of corruption. Mani pulite could expose but not solve the problem of Italian corruption.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

taly is notorious for its widespread and systemic corruption. The country’s current network of corruption is a consequence of the prolonged political hegemony of the Christian Democratic Party following World War Two. In 1992, after revelations by a government official inspired a series of confessions, the system of corrupt dealings was brought to light. This event marked the beginning of the Tangentopoli (Bribesville) scandal. A group of magistrates spearheaded the investigations in Milan, taking advantage of the high degree of judicial independence in Italy to pursue corruption at all levels of government. Initially, the investigations were remarkably successful and uncovered corruption among high-ranking officials in Italian politics. They were bolstered by significant public support: popular opinion treated the judges as heroes responsible for restoring morality to Italian politics. Many believed the time had come to rid Italy of crooked politicians and corruption. However, as the investigations progressed, the limitations of judicial inquiries became increasingly apparent, and the mani pulite (clean hands) investigations initiated by the Milanese magistrates slowly lost momentum. While the judges were able to dismantle the existing system of corruption, they had no mechanism to install a new government. Their reliance on public support had helped shield the judges from political interference. But by depending on public support for legitimacy, the judiciary became politicized and began to shed its image of impartiality. As interest in Tangentopoli dwindled, the public turned against the judiciary and politicians began to use their

legislative power to stall investigations. The judiciary had no means of reversing new legislation or implementing new laws to curb corruption, and consequentially the status quo slowly returned to a state of corruption. The mani pulite investigations show the ability of the judiciary to unveil and prosecute grand corruption; however, it also illustrates the limitations of judicial anti-corruption initiatives. It appears that corruption is unlikely to be permanently extinguished without cooperation between the judiciary, politicians, and the public. CORRUPTION IN ITALY

Various theories have been put forward to explain the causes of Italian corruption. Some have blamed Italians’ poor sense of civic duty, suggesting Italians feel little allegiance to the state of Italy. This may be due to considerable cultural variation among the Italian regions and Italy’s relatively recent unification in 1861.1 It has also been suggested that overly complex legal regulations and an inefficient bureaucracy have led to a lack of transparency.2 Another possible explanation, particularly for the south of Italy, is the presence of the mafia, which has received blame for infiltrating and corrupting all branches of government.3 Whatever the root-cause of corruption, most Italians have perceived it as an irreversible fact of life throughout much of the 20th century.4 1 see Banfield, The Moral Basis of a Backward Society. 2 see Ugo Savona and Mezzanotte, La Corruzione in Europa 3 see Martucci, La Criminalita Economica. 4 Jones, The Dark Heart of Italy, 218. 39

The conditions of post-WWII Italy were particularly conducive to corruption. Despite forming various coalition governments, the Christian Democrats remained securely in power and therefore did not feel the need to be accountable to voters, who were unlikely to punish them at the polls without any viable alternative. The nature of successive coalition governments made it difficult for the opposition, having been part of previous coalitions, to denounce corruption.5 The hegemony of the Christian Democrats also allowed corrupt exchanges to be honored and enforced with a high degree of certainty.6 Thus, corruption became widespread in Italian businesses. Most firm managers considered it a greater use of their resources to create and maintain political connections rather than improve the efficiency of their businesses, which would be rescued or nationalized during times of financial difficulty.7 The most pervasive form of corruption was the widespread illegal financing of parties during elections in exchange for favors.8 There was no regulation on party financing in Italy until 1974—and even when regulations were introduced, they were widely flouted with impunity.9 On February 17, 1992 Mario Chiesa, a low-ranking Socialist official in charge of an old people’s

home in Milan, was arrested in the act of taking a ₤7 million lire ($4,000 USD) bribe from the owner of a cleaning company.10 Chiesa’s arrest was not particularly notable, but it led to a series of events that changed the nature of Italian politics and resulted in the collapse of the First Republic. These events unfolded in large part because Mario Chiesa was a particularly cooperative suspect, eager to punish those whom he felt had abandoned him. Before his arrest, Chiesa had his political sights set on becoming the mayor of Milan and sought to ingratiate himself with Bettino Craxi, leader of the Italian Socialist Party (PSI). However, Craxi refused to come to Chiesa’s defense after the arrest and instead publicly dismissed him as a mariuolo (little rascal). In response to his public humiliation, Chiesa gave the authorities a series of names of those involved in corruption.11 This resulted in the uncovering of a network of corrupt dealings that eventually implicated many powerful individuals in Italy. Once Chiesa undermined the system of omertà (code of silence) between bribe-takers and bribegivers, many politicians, administrators, businessmen, and others began to confess their corrupt transactions.12 The revelations unveiled a complex network of corrupt arrangements between political parties and powerful economic groups.13 The mani pulite investi-

5 Colazingari and Rose-Ackerman, “Corruption in a Paternalistic Democracy,” 450. 6 Ibid. 7 Ibid. 449. 8 Cotta and Verzichelli, Political Institutions in Italy, 25. 9 Hopkin, “Towards a Chequebook Democracy? ,” 46.

10 Gilbert, The Italian Revolution, 126. 11 Newell, Parties and Democracy in Italy, 54. 12 Nelken, “The Judges and Political Corruption in Italy,” 104. 13 Waters, “’Tangentopoli’ and the Emergence of a New Political Order in Italy,” 170.

THE TANGENTOPOLI SCANDAL

GOUGH 40

gations began in May 1992, and by the end of the year the carabinieri (Italian national police) had issued an arrest warrant for former prime minister and leader of the PSI, Bettino Craxi.14 By the end of 1993, 251 members of parliament were under investigation, including four former prime ministers, five ex-party leaders, and seven members of the government cabinet.15 The pervasiveness of corruption at the highest levels of power destroyed the democratic legitimacy of all political parties. Most parties collapsed and the Italian political system was left in ruins. EXPLAINING THE TIMING OF MANI PULITE

While Chiesa’s cooperation provided useful information, it was not the only reason that the magistrates chose to take action. There is no indication that the level of corruption was any higher in 1992 than it had been previously.16 One thing that had significantly changed was the nature of Italian politics. A series of events had reshaped the Italian political landscape. First, the end of the Cold War resulted in the collapse of the Italian Communist Party. This threatened the credibility of the Christian Democrats, who had always presented their party as a bulwark against the “red terror.”17 Until the Italian Communist Party collapsed, magistrates feared that an attack on the government might increase the likelihood of the commu14 Ibid. 15 Nelken, “The Judges and Political Corruption in Italy,” 109. 16 Guzzini, “The ‘Long Night of the First Republic’,” 32. 17 Jones, The Dark Heart of Italy, 219.

nists coming to power. Moreover, judges, especially immediately after WWII, tended to hold conservative political views and endeavored to support the governing parties’ interests. They did not want to threaten democracy in a country that had recently emerged from fascist rule.18 However, by 1992 no one believed the communists would come to power and overthrow the Italian government, so the magistrates felt free to act without threatening the stability of Italian democracy. Another reason that the magistrates finally felt that they could take on the political class was the increasing willingness of entrepreneurs to collaborate in legal investigations. With the shifting political landscape and the uncertainty about the future of the Christian Democrats in mind, executives from some of the largest private corporations began to disclose the extent of the bribes they had given.19 They no longer felt beholden to the government, as it was no longer certain that the Christian Democrats would remain in power indefinitely. The rising cost of corruption, which many felt was no longer sustainable given the economic crisis that was taking place in Italy, gave further impetus to the business community to cooperate. Moreover, an escalating demand for bribes was taking place at the same time that Italy was preparing for European interrogation. New EU regulations and a need for greater competitiveness on the part of Italian firms meant that politicians had fewer favors to dispense.20 18 Newell, Parties and Democracy in Italy, 60. 19 Calisa, “Remaking the Italian Party System,” 556. 20 Newell, Parties and Democracy in Italy, 60. 41

This created a situation in which Italian firms were expected to pay higher bribes for fewer privileges. EXPLAINING THE SUCCESS OF THE JUDICIARY

The shifting political landscape, as well as the cascades of confessions following Chiesa’s revelations, finally allowed the judiciary to act; however, this does not explain their success. The most important factor explaining their achievements was the level of judicial independence. As a safeguard against the rise of fascism or authoritarianism, the Italian constitution awarded the judiciary significant freedom and had been specifically designed to avoid the magistrate becoming “the long arm of the government,” as it had been under Mussolini. The judiciary is managed by a self-governing body, the Consiglio Superiore della Magistratura (Council of Magistrates), which determines senior appointments and disciplines magistrates and judges suspected of misconduct.21 Promotion is based on seniority in order to reduce the possibility of blackmailing, and they demote “troublesome” judges for the same reason. The result of this independence is that mechanisms which allow for a certain degree of control by politicians over judges in other countries are not available in Italy.22 The independence of judges was further strengthened throughout the 1980s, as the complicit attitude of many judges with the political forces weakened significantly. This era witnessed the rise of the giudici GOUGH 42

21 Nelken, “Stopping the Judges,”, 197. 22 Della Porta, “A Judges’ Revolution?,” 13.

ragazzini (child judges), who were prepared to investigate high-level administrative and political misconduct.23 Concurrently, judges had increasingly been exercising what Donnatella Della Porta calls a “substantive function” in response to the weak and divided political class.24 Over the past 30 years, judges were increasingly viewed as “problem solvers,” having made advances in areas ranging from work place safety, environmental pollution, tax evasion, bank fraud, terrorism, and organized crimes. Giuseppe Di Fedirico argues that they had gained de facto control of public policy in the criminal sector.25 Italian prosecutors also enjoy a great deal of independence. They exercise a high degree of discretion and have certain coercive measures at their disposal. In 1989, a new law bolstered their discretionary power by awarding magistrates and regular courts the jurisdiction to prosecute and try members of the government, which had previously been the exclusive domain of the Constitutional Court.26 Prosecutors have the ability to use preventative detention, which they employed frequently over the course of the Tangentopoli investigations. If a judge holds that a suspect is likely to taint the evidence or flee the country, the suspect may be held in preventative detention for up to three 23 Ibid., 8. 24 Della Porta and Vannucci, “Corruption and Anti-Corruption,” 845. 25 Di Federico, “Prosecutorial Independence and the Democratic Accountability Requirement of Accountability in Italy,” 383. 26 Colombo, “New Immunity Law Break with Italy’s Constitutional History,”, 96.

months. The threat of being held in detention for long periods encouraged many of the accused to volunteer information that they may not otherwise have given.27 Finally, Italian law obliged the prosecution of all crimes, which meant that the government could not prevent prosecutors from proceeding on the basis of public interest, even when investigations came to include leading government officials.28 Besides the strong notion of judicial independence in Italy, judges and magistrates also greatly benefitted from public opinion, which vilified politicians and presented judges and magistrates as national saviors. At the beginning of the investigations in April 1992, an anti-Mafia judge, his wife, and his bodyguards were all assassinated in Palermo. The indignation this event inspired highlighted the public’s anger at the government’s inability to combat organized crime. It also raised the profile and public admiration for judges, as they were prepared to risk their lives in defense of the law and democratic values.29 The combination of deep contempt for politicians and the popularity of the judiciary proved vital in the mani pulite investigations. This support ensured that the investigations gathered momentum and decreased the likelihood of political interference. The first significant show of public support was the outcome of the 27 Colazingari and Rose-Ackerman, “Corruption in a Paternalistic Democracy: Lessons from Italy for Latin America,” 451. 28 Nelken, “A Legal Revolution?,” 199. 29 Della Porta and Vannucci, “Corruption and Anti-Corruption: The Political Defeat of ‘Clean Hands’ in Italy,” 845.

1992 elections, which punished all the parties implicated in Tangentopoli and made it clear to investigating magistrates that they could rely on the populace’s support.30 The events that unfolded after the election demonstrated the power of stigmatization on the part of citizens in helping to root out corruption. Public support appeared to be strengthened with each new discovery of corruption.31 This attitude was reflected in the press, which stressed the heavy workload of the judiciary, their tenacity, their investigative skills, and their fierce independence from the government. The magistrates were portrayed as the true representatives of the people, avenging the wrongs inflicted upon regular citizens throughout years of abuse of power, corruption, and inefficiency. This protected the judiciary from accusations of bias and prejudice—at least temporarily.32 Tangentopoli represented the culmination of growing resentment towards the political class in Italy. Numerous studies from Almond and Verba in 1963 to Cartocci in 1994 have highlighted Italians’ profound distrust of politicians and political parties, as well as their large-scale dissatisfaction with the operation of the political and administrative systems. The economic conditions of the early 1990s created a public that was particularly hostile towards the government, due to both a growing tax burden and a deepening financial crisis. This economic pain was exacerbated by the 30 Newell, Parties and Democracy in Italy, 58. 31 Della Porta, “A Judges’ Revolution?,”16. 32 Giglioli, “Political Corruption and the Media: The Tangentopoli Affair,” 388-390. 43

decreasing power of politicians to distribute goods via clientelistic networks.33 Politicians were perceived as being self-serving and ineffective. THE CONSEQUENCES OF MANI PULITE

The scandal resulted in a profound crisis in Italian politics, and transformed the party system. Some of the effects included: the emergence of effective alternation in government between competing coalitions; the near direct electoral investiture of the Prime Minister; the emergence of new leading political actors, namely media tycoon Silvio Berlusconi and his Forza Italia party; and, finally, the inclusion of formerly marginalized political parties, like the post-fascist Italian Social Movement and the xenophobic Northern League, within the ruling coalitions.34 By 1998 the tally of mani pulite stood at 4,000 individuals investigated; 2,970 requests by the prosecutor to the investigative judge to press charges; 1,063 people charged by investigative judges; and 438 sentenced by the court.35 Altogether, these acts represented a transition that was hailed as a move from the First to the Second Republic of Italy; however, the optimism surrounding the Second Republic was shortlived and lacked any underpinning in terms of formal institutional or constitutional change.36

GOUGH 44

33 Cotta and Verzichelli, Political Institutions in Italy, 25. 34 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” Bulletin of Italian Politics, 234. 35 Della Porta, “A Judges’ Revolution?,” 12. 36 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 234.

THE END OF MANI PULITE

In an article written on the tenyear anniversary of the Tangentopoli scandal in 2002, the Economist declared mani pulite over. After all, “[t]en years on, across Italy, none of those convicted are still in jail; one is under house arrest.” They cited a top Milanese prosecutor who felt the campaign was over by 1998.37 There were signs that the investigations were becoming less effective well before then. By 1995, politicians were no longer resigning when they were accused, which had been the norm during the early years of Tangentopoli.38 The longer the judicial investigations went on, the greater the sense of impunity for those who had committed crimes. Former justice, Gherardo Colombo, complained in 2000 that “[f]rom a judicial point of view, mani pulite has been useless, or even worse, harmful: the almost total failure to secure any convictions (of 3,200 defendants, 2,200 will get away with their crimes thanks to the statute of limitations) strengthens the sense of impunity that reigned in Italy before 1992.”39 The inability to secure convictions was exacerbated by the passage of several laws that obstructed inquiries, decriminalized formerly illegal activities, and shortened the statute of limitations.40 It seemed few had an appetite for mani pulite to continue indefinitely. Most commentators expected Tangentopoli investigations to ultimately draw to a close. Many assumed it 37 Economist, “Changing Things So Everything Stays the Same.” 38 Nelken, “Stopping the Judges,” 198. 39 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 242. 40 Ibid., 242.

was enough to show that corruption was causing harm. Editorialists complained that the period of collective soul-searching had to come to an end eventually and that living under emergency conditions in Italy was exhausting. They also argued that, while judges and prosecutors were good at punishing misbehavior, they were institutionally incapable of planning for the future.41 The mani pulite investigations belie the limitations of any judiciary. Judges and prosecutors can only punish past practices, they cannot create a new institutional framework to end the culture of corruption.42 Mani pulite could expose, but not solve, the problem of Italian corruption. Della Porta argues that an enduring improvement in the quality of public ethics in Italy would have required both (1) continued interest and action on the part of political actors; and, (2) sustained support for anticorruption measures on the part of the public. Neither one of these conditions was present in Italy.43 While the role of the public and the media in supporting the judges was decisive, it also created several complications that undermined the perceived neutrality of the judiciary. The high profile court cases were televised. The result was an awareness of all involved actors that the proceedings were taking place before the entire nation, and that the broader audience was more interested in the moral as opposed to the legal issues. The central themes of many of the trials were the moral 41 Ibid.,189. 42 Newell, Parties and Democracy in Italy, 2. 43 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 259.

facts rather than the legal ones.44 The high coverage of the investigations turned many of the prosecutors into media stars, leading some critics to suggest that they enjoyed the limelight too much.45 Arguably, the increased attention encouraged prosecutors to make exaggerated use of some extraordinary judicial means, such as preventative detention, which undermined civil liberties.46 As the investigations unfolded, it became clear that a competition had emerged between the judges and the political class to win support in the public sphere.47 Regular leaks suggested that judges were not taking appropriate measures to safeguard the secrecy of their investigations, but rather deploying information strategically to gain more public support. Politicians claimed that the judges had become too politicized and had taken on too much power.48 They had positioned themselves as social reformers and in doing so had entered the realm of politics.49 Eventually, the judiciary could no longer count on public support. They were subsequently criticized in the media for their cruel treatment of suspects. Others complained the justices were ignoring other everyday forms of injustice in favor of the more publicized mani pulite cases.50 Where the public and 44 Giglioli, “Political Corruption and the Media: The Tangentopoli Affair,” 391. 45 Nelken, “Stopping the Judges,”190. 46 Cotta and Verzichelli, Political Institutions in Italy, 243. 47 Pizzorno, Il Potere dei Giudici, 98. 48 Nelken, “Stopping the Judges,” 190. 49 Cotta and Verzichelli, Political Institutions in Italy, 243. 50 Nelken, “Stopping the Judges,”

the media had once been important sources of support, they were now questioning the usefulness and legitimacy of the investigations. Politicians did not only appeal to the public to gain the upper hand, since they also had other sources of power at their disposal. In December 1992, more than 70 parliamentarians of all political parties requested the establishment of a parliamentary commission to investigate the conduct of magistrates. In July 1993, the House of Deputies approved the proposal unanimously and, though the Senate ultimately blocked the initiative, it sent a strong message to the judiciary that their actions would be subject to a high level of scrutiny.51 Perhaps one of the greatest blows to the legitimacy of the investigation was the sudden resignation in 1994 of the most famous and popular magistrate, Antonio Di Pietro, right before Berlusconi’s trial. It quickly became clear that prosecutors were bringing forward charges against Di Pietro, as well as more minor charges against three of the existing members of the Milanese pool of magistrates. For many, Di Pietro’s charges showed that no one—not even the judges—had “clean hands.”52 In their bid to undermine the judiciary, politicians also passed a series of legislative measures that made it increasingly difficult for judges to investigate new crimes and interfered with the success of ongoing investigations. This had the intended effect of slow-

GOUGH 46

190. 51 Della Porta and Vannucci, “Corruption and Anti-Corruption: The Political Defeat of ‘Clean Hands’ in Italy,” 836-837. 52 Nelken, “Stopping the Judges,” 187.

ing down an already sluggish judiciary and showing that the political earthquakes from 1992 to 1994 had produced no tangible outcomes.53 Di Pietro was eventually acquitted and entered the realm of politics, despite vociferous claims while he was a magistrate that he had no political ambitions. He was appointed as Minister of Justice by Berlusconi to demonstrate the Prime Minister’s commitment to combating corruption; however, this further undermined the credibility of the mani pulite judges, as Di Pietro appeared to have been co-opted by Berlusconi to feed his own political ambitions. Many viewed Berlusconi’s appointment of Di Pietro as an attempt to come to an agreement with the judges and put an end to the investigations. If this was his intention, the strategy was a failure.54 Unable to bring the investigations to a halt, Berlusconi increasingly deployed his vast media empire to attack the Milanese magistrates. While the judiciary had the formidable task of battling politicians in the First Republic, they now had to battle a politician and former businessman with vast financial and media resources at his disposal. As the investigations into Berlusconi and his firms continued, the conflict between the judiciary and the political class heightened. Berlusconi increasingly complained that he faced undue discrimination, as the magistrates were concentrating much of their efforts on his firms.55 It appears that the series of accusations and counter-accusations between the judiciary and politicians generated cynicism among 53 Ibid., 844. 54 Cotta and Verzichelli, Political Institutions in Italy, 244. 55 Ibid., 244.

the public.56 After the “big bang” in the early 1990s, a habituation to corruption stories began to take place, lowering public interest and heightening the “scandalization threshold.”57 While the number of cases reported reached its peak in 1995 and 1996, newspaper coverage during that time period was less than the average from 1987 and 1991, when there were only one tenth of the number of cases of corruption reported.58 The political rhetoric over the role of the judiciary began to be reflected in public opinion. A survey in 1998 revealed a highly critical attitude towards the judicial system: 86 percent of the sample expressed very negative feelings.59 Interest in the struggle against corrupt politicians began to be eclipsed by the new struggle against the excesses and abuses of a politicized judiciary. This represented a victory for Berlusconi, who was continually subject to judicial investigation over this period.60 CORRUPTION IN ITALY TODAY

Della Porta suggests that a dividing line can be drawn with the May 2001 elections, which the centre-right coalition led by Berlusconi won. From then on, legislative measures appear to have been created on an ad hoc basis specifically tailored to the judicial needs 56 Nelken, “Stopping the Judges,” 198. 57 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 241. 58 Ibid. 59 Della Porta and Vannucci, “Corruption and Anti-Corruption: The Political Defeat of ‘Clean Hands’ in Italy,” 847. 60 Ibid., 844.

of the Prime Minister. The effect was to significantly restrain and weaken the impact of the ongoing judicial investigations into corruption.61 A law passed in 2003 gives immunity from trial to five key office holders, including the Prime Minister. This immunity applies to all crimes, even those committed before their term of office, and lasts until they leave office. Many doubts have been raised about this law, as it seems to be in direct conflict with a principle in the Italian constitution, which states that members of the government should not have legal immunity.62 Oddly, more recently the need for anticorruption policies seems to have completely disappeared from public debate and has been removed from the political agenda.63 In 2008, an evaluation on corruption in Italy by the Group of States Against Corruption found: “Italy does not have a coordinated anticorruption program. No methodology is currently in place to estimate the efficiency of anticorruption measures specifically targeting public administration.”64 While Berlusconi has implemented a series of measures that makes it more difficult to investigate corruption, almost nothing has been done to make investigations into corruption easier or to enhance transparency. Gherardo Colombo, one of the team of prosecutors responsible for the mani pulite investigations, expressed his 61 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 250. 62 Colombo, “New Immunity Law Break with Italy’s Constitutional History,” 96. 63 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 250. 64 Greco, Evaluation Report on Italy, 28. 47

disappointment in 1996, saying: “Over the past four years not a single law or decree has been approved to facilitate the investigations, or to make corruption more difficult; not a single measure to modify monitoring procedures in order to make them effective; not a single provision to expel from the public administration those who have been selling their services.”65 His statement remains true to this day. Only one anti-corruption measure was introduced in the last days of the centre-left government of Giuliano Amato in 2001, which applied to public administrators, but not politicians.66 While a new corruption agency has replaced the one which existed before the mani pulite investigations, it is still placed in a position of dependence in relation to political institutions and has meager financial and human resources. Della Porta argues: “The lack of significant outcomes of the anti-corruption initiatives of these authorities is an indicator of their symbolic nature as policy instruments, ones designed to maximize the public visibility of political action and to generate attention, mere gestures in the direction of seriousness.”67 Little has changed in Italian politics since the Tangentopoli scandal and the subsequent mani pulite investigations. Justice Piercamillo Davigo describes the outcome of mani pulite in these terms: “The repression of criminals has the same effects as those typically exerted by natural predators in a process of natural selection, namely improvement in the abilities of the prey. We caught only the slowest prey, leaving GOUGH 48

65 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 250. 66 Ibid., 251. 67 Ibid.

free those who ran fastest.”68 Operations have simply been adapted to these new conditions. No measures have been taken to curb the rising cost of politics or amend campaignfinancing practices and there are no electoral sanctions against corrupt politicians or parties. There is a monopoly in the media system that dramatically reduces accountability. Organized crime continues to be a problem in several regions. Finally, the Italian public appears to lack confidence in the state and political class.69 Ultimately, corruption remains a rational calculus for the actors involved. And so, it persists.70 CONCLUSION

The Tangentopoli scandal fundamentally changed the nature of Italian politics. The weakening of the traditional political order and a new breed of judges, with fewer connections to politicians, allowed for investigations that were surprisingly successful and that were able to uncover corruption among the highest-ranking officials in Italian politics. The judges’ and magistrates’ greatest resource was their constitutionally enshrined judicial independence. This was bolstered by the significant public support they received, which legitimized the investigations and protected judges from overt political interference. However, as the investigations progressed, judges were subject to 68 Barbacetto, Gomez and Travaglio, Mani Pulite: La Vera Storia , 678. 69 Vannucci, “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’,” 243. 70 Della Porta and Vannucci, “The Governance Mechanisms of Corrupt Transactions,” 154.

increased scrutiny due to their high visibility. They began to lose public support and the political class was able to retaliate without risking public outcry or sanction. The longer the investigations proceeded, the more the limitations of the judicial investigations became clear. While the judges had the ability to dismantle the exiting political order, they could not create a new one. Without a new institutional framework, corruption returned and persists to this day. The investigations suggest that a judiciary may not be able to investigate political corruption without themselves becoming politicized. Without the support of the public and at least some members of the political class, judicialled investigations seem unlikely to succeed, as judges and magistrates succumb to the political fray.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Banfield, Edward C. The Moral Basis of a Backward Society. Glencoe, IL: University of Chicago, 1958. Barbacetto, Gianni, Peter Gomez and Marco Travaglio. Mani Pulite: La Vera Storia. Rome: Riuniti, 2003. Calisa, Mauro. “Remaking the Italian Party System: How Lijphart Got it Wrong by Saying it Right.” West European Politics 16, no. 4 (1993): 545560. Colazingari, Silvia and Susan Rose-Ackerman. “Corruption in a Paternalistic Democracy: Lessons from Italy for Latin America.” Political Science Quarterly 113, no. 3 (Autumn 1998): 447-470. Colombo, Gherardo. “New Immunity Law Break with Italy’s Constitutional History,” in Global Corruption Report 2004: Special Focus Political Corruption, edited by Transparency International, 95-97. Sterling, VA: Pluto Press, 2004. Cotta, Maurizio and Luca Verzichelli. Political Institutions in Italy. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Della Porta, Donatella and Alberto Vannucci. “Corruption and AntiCorruption: The Political Defeat of ‘Clean Hands’ in Italy.” West European Politics 30, no. 4 (2007): 830-853. Della Porta, Donatella and Alberto Vannucci. “The Governance Mechanisms of Corrupt Transactions.” In The New Institutional Economics of Corruption, edited by Johan Graf Lambsdorff, Marcus Taube, and Matthias Schramm, 152-180. London: Routledge, 2005. Della Porta, Donatella. “A Judges’ Revolution? Political Corruption and the Judiciary in Italy.” European Journal of Political Research 39 (2001): 1-21. Di Federico, Giuseppe. “Prosecutorial Independence and the Democratic Accountability Requirement of Accountability in Italy.” British Journal of Criminology 38, no. 3 (Summer 1998): 371-387. Economist. “Changing Things So Everything Stays the Same.” Economist. October 22, 1998. http://www.economist.com.proxy2.library.mcgill. ca/node/173654 (accessed December 8th, 2011). Giglioli, Pier Paolo. “Political Corruption and the Media: The Tangentopoli Affair.” International Social Science Journal 48, no. 149 (September 1996): 381-394. Gilbert, Mark. The Italian Revolution: The End of Politics, Italian Style? Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1995. GRECO – Group of States Against Corruption. Evaluation Report on Italy. July 2, 2009. www.coe.int/t/dghl/monitoring/greco/evaluations/ round2/GrecoEval1-2(2008)2_Italy_EN.pdf (accessed December 2, 2011.) Guzzini, Stefano. “The ‘Long Night of the First Republic’: Years of Clientelistic Implosion in Italy.” Review of International Political Economy 2, no. 1 (Winter 1995): 27-61. Hopkin, Jonathan. “Towards a Chequebook Democracy? Business, Parties and the Funding of Politics in Italy and the United States.” Journal of Modern Italian Studies 10, no. 1 (2005): 43-58.

Jones, Tobias. The Dark Heart of Italy. New York: North Point Press, 2005. Maffei, Stefano and Isabella Merzagora Betsos. “Crime and Criminal Policy in Italy: Tradition and Modernity in a Troubled Country.” European Journal of Criminology 4, no. 4 (2007): 461-482. Martucci, Pierpaolo. La Criminalita Economica. Bari: Laterza, 2006. Nelken, David. “Stopping the Judges.” In Italian Politics: The Stalled Transition, edited by Mario Caciagli and David I. Kertser, 187-204. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1996. Nelken, David. “The Judges and Political Corruption in Italy.” Journal of Law and Society 23 (1996): 95-112. Nelken, David. “A Legal Revolution? The Judges and Tangentopoli.” In The New Italian Republic: From the Fall of Communism to the Rise of Berlusconi, edited by Stephen Gundle and Simon Parker, 199-205. London: Routledge, 1995. Pizzorno, Alessandro. Il Potere dei Giudici. Roma-Bari: Laterza, 1998. Newell, James. Parties and Democracy in Italy. Brookfield, VT: Ashgate, 2000. Savona, Erenesto Ugo and Laura Mezzanotte. La Corruzione in Europa. Rome: Carocci, 1998. Vannucci, Alberto. “The Controversial Legacy of ‘Mani Pulite’: A Critical Analysis of Italian Corruption and Anti-Corruption Policies.” Bulletin of Italian Politics 1, no. 2 (2009): 233-264. Waters, Sarah. “‘Tangentopoli’ and the Emergence of a New Political Order in Italy.” West European Politics 17, no. 1 (1994): 169-182.

Islam, Nationalism, and Nation-Building in Malaysia and Indonesia Top-Down or Bottom-Up? by Taylor Rusnak

he nature, timing, and origins of nationalism are widely discussed topics in social science literature. According to Crawford Young, in developing, pluralistic societies, the “unanimous mood [was] that statehood won by anti-colonial struggle required completion by the construction of nationality.”1 Despite the differences inherent in each context, this is an apt steppingstone for most analyses. As political attention shifted from the anti-colonial struggle to internal problems, domestic tensions intensified. In a process called nation-building, political leaders tried to bring together diverse groups to prevent political independence from degenerating into anarchy.2 Thus the nation becomes the product of the conflicts and accommodations that characterize the political process. Islam in Southeast Asia has played a similar role in the nationstate to that of secular nationalism in the West.3 Islam offers a bond of communal identity as strong as those developed by social or political institutions.4 Although the marginalization of religion became the Western European prototype for nation-building and modern development, it appears that it is possible for nation-building to evolve down fundamentally different paths, such that there can be complex patterns of religious and national identities embedded in the process of nationbuilding.5 By examining the unique

interaction of Islam and nationbuilding, this paper seeks to deliver a more concrete account of this process in Southeast Asia. A context-sensitive approach provides a deeper understanding of the multitude of forces that help shape the role of Islam in nationalism, nationbuilding, and identity construction. The study of Malaysia and Indonesia reveals an interesting paradox worth examining. In Indonesia, over 85% of the population is Muslim, whereas in Malaysia just over 50% of people are.6 Yet, Islam is the officially recognized state religion only in the latter. Given that both countries saw a rise in Islamic consciousness at similar junctures in history, what forces have caused the role of Islam in state nationalism and the construction of national identity to differ so greatly? The answer lies in the twin forces from “above” and “below”.7 In both Indonesia and Malaysia, the instrumentalist role of the state was paramount in determining how Islam became incorporated in the nation, while bottom-up forces were crucial in accounting for Islam’s changing role in national identity over time. Indonesia and Malaysia provide a fitting case study for several reasons. They are geographical neighbours, with similar official and national languages, bahasa Indonesia and bahasa Malaysia.8 Both experienced Japanese occupation during the Second World War, and there

1 Young, “The Dialectics of Cultural Pluralism,” 13. 2 Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia, 11. 3 Hefner, “Islamization and Democratization in Indonesia,” 18. 4 Means, Malaysian Politics, 17. 5 Jacobsohn, “Three Models of Secular Constitutional Development,”

36. 6 Staugh, Politics and Cultures of Islamization in Southeast Asia, 49. 7 For an account of forces from above and forces from below in South Africa and the United States, see: Marx, Making Race and Nation 8 Heryanto and Mandal, Challenging Authoritarianism in Southeast Asia, 3. 53

had even been dialogue between the Japanese and their respective nationalist leaders about uniting the two colonies into one independent state.9 Since achieving independence, they have both had a history of strong and long lasting regimes. At its birth in 1945, Indonesia was ruled by the Indonesian Communist Party, and then following a coup by the authoritarian New Order regimp.10 In Malaysia, although the United Malay National Organization (UMNO) operates under the façade of coalition politics, it has ruled almost uninterrupted since independence, making it one of the most dominant single-party regimes of the 20th century.11 Furthermore, Islam exists in a multireligious environment in both countries, and thus has naturally been implicated in an “uneasy relationship” with nation-building.12 First, this paper will recount the history of Islam in the area and the impacts of colonialism. It will furthed explain why this combined history greatly influenced, but did not play a determining role in the trajectories of each case. Next, it will outline the processes of nationbuilding of Indonesia and Malaysia in the early years of independence, and explain the primacy of the state in constructing and using national-

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9 Means, Malaysian Politics, 43. 10 There have been a few elections since independence, but until the fall of Suharto in 1998 they were rare and highly controlled. Islamic parties consistently faired poorly. See Tanuwidjaja, “Political Islam and Islamic Parties in Indonesia”. 11 Singh, “Tradition, UMNO, and Political Succession in Malaysia,” 242. 12 Hamayotsu, “Islam and nation building in SE Asia,” 354.

ism and Islam to this end. Finally, it will illustrate how forces from below have changed the position of Islam in national identity over time in a way that is distinct from state influence. As is the case elsewhere, colonialism had a major impact on the structure of Islam in these societies. In Malaysia, the British practiced indirect rule and supported the sultans as rulers in their provinces. These power sharing arrangements strengthened the official position of Islam.13 British colonial policy also placed the Chinese (and to a lesser extent the Indians) into positions of economic power. In response to the arrival of immigrants with widely different cultural backgroundss many Malay felt compelled to reaffirm their identity and religion. Subsequently, during The Japanese interlude in colonial, Malays played a larger role in the administration,14 causing high-ranking government officials to became politically motivated, thus shaping the postwar Malay nationalist movement and its leaders.15 Upon independence, the post colonial leadership instituted Islam as the official religion as a way to safeguard the ideological and political supremacy of Muslim Malays.16 The Malays claimed to be the rightful owners of the land, and as such believed they should receive preferential treatment to balance the inequality created under colonialism. The Chinese and Indians demanded equal citizenship rights.17 Consequently, Ma13 Ibid., 154. 14 Means, Malaysian Politics, 44; Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia, 51. 15 Ibid., 45. 16 Hamayotsu, “Islam and nation building in SE Asia,” 354. 17 Abdullah, The Politics of Islam

lays gained preferential status in the constitution, while the minorities were given citizenship rights and granted freedom of religion. Interestingly, the definition of a “Malay person” in the constitution include, Islam as only one of three determining pillars, the other two being the use of Malay language and adherence to Malay customs.18 The emphasis on Islam in national identity has been dynamic. In this way, the colonial project does not tell the whole story. Instrumentalist state actions and the state vision were what ultimately shaped the position of Islam in the country. In Indonesia, the Dutch repressed local Muslim rulers and elites. They saw Islam as a potential threat, so Muslim leaders were cast aside as the colonizers implemented their own structures of rule.19 Yet this does not easily account for official state secularism. Numerous Islamic cultural and economic organizations of the early 20th century contributed towards the creation of an Indonesian national identity and were an integral part of the struggle for independence.20 The Japanese gained control over Indonesia during World War II, and in 1945 established the Investigating Committee in Contemporary Malaysia, p. 33. Also, see p.42 for an explanation of the bumpitera concept, created by a faction of Malay nationalists before independence, which denotes an indigenous group, “pure Malay”, separate from the “immigrants”. 18 Shamsul, “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic Revivalism in Malaysia,” 200. 19 Houben, “Southeast Asia and Islam,” 155. 20 Ramage, Politics in Indonesia: democracy, Islam, and the ideology of tolerance, 15.

for the Preparation of Indonesian Independence. Both religious and secular nationalists were members on this committee.21 Sukarno came forth as the foremost of the secular nationalist leaders, fundamentally arguing against the preferential treatment of Islam since it posed a threat to national unity. This secularism has historically been associated with communism, because the state and regime are given greater value than religion;22 consequentially, Sukarno became the leader of the Indonesian Communist Party. Although undoubtedly influential, the colonial era did not necessarily determine the place of Islam in the state in either case. In Malaysia the UMNO initially gained mass support by mobilizing Muslim Malays to resist the post-war constitutional arrangements proposed by the British.23 Religion was not a critical factor in the politics of the early nation-building until after the Malays had already become mobilized. Thus, Islam was not the trigger for anti-colonial mobilization.24 In Indonesia, although the state chose not to include Islam as an officially recognized religion, 21 Ibid., 10. 22 Ramage, Politics in Indonesia: democracy, Islam, and the ideology of tolerance, 12 23 Essentially, the modifications proposed by the British would have reduced Malay sovereigns to mere figureheads, and extended citizenship rights to immigrant Chinese and Indian communities in a new political entity called the Malay Union. See: Singh, “Tradition, UMNO, and Political Succession in Malaysia,” 242. 24 Means, “The Role of Islam in the Political Development of Malaysia,” 227. 55

both sides of the religious-secular spectrum engaged in dialogue during the nation’s inception in 1945. Furthermore, in 1965, the initial New Order alliance under former President Suharto that overthrew the Indonesian Communist Party was multi-religious. In fact, Muslims were an integral part of the early New Order alliance.25 Thus, it is reasonable to conclude that each anti-colonial movement could have taken a different direction. Colonialism influenced, but did not predetermine, the outcomes of nationalism and Islam. Instrumentalists such as Donald Horowitz focus their analysis on the use of ethnicity in political and social competition.26 Cultural pluralism offers a repertoire of social roles available for the pursuit of power.27 Ethnicity in Indonesia and Malaysia encompasses much more then just Islam, but the focus here is the way in which it becomes “contingent, situational, and circumstantial.28 It is apparent in both Indonesia and Malaysia that the calculation of incentives and threats to state power upon independence, as well as party competition, account for the place of Islam in these nation-building processes. Identifying these factors illuminates how the same fundamental forces produced such different outcomes in two unique contexts. The understanding of who poses the biggest threat to the state played a large role in determining the place of Islam in the vision of the nation.

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25 Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,” 619. 26 See: Horowitz, Ethnic Groups in Conflict. 27 Young, “The Dialectics of Cultural Pluralism,” 22. 28 Ibid., 22.

Malaysia is divided by specific ethnic identities. Ethnic Malays represent the majority at 59%, with the Chinese and Tamil minorities representing 32% and 9% of the population respectively.29 Multiethnic politics have dominated Malaysia’s political history. Indeed, as discussed earlier, the initial threat envisioned by the UMNO was an overly large Chinese influence. Although the UMNO was a secular party, Muslim interests were therefore entrenched in the constitution by establishing Islam as Malaysia’s official religion. Particularly in pluralist societies, the ruling class often seeks to find a moral or legal basis for the possession of power–here, it was Islam that was appropriated in order to bolster both Malaysian unity and the state’s legitimacy. Once the constitution established the state and made Islam an official religion, party competition came to define exactly how the place of Islam would be interpreted. Conversion to Islam, in the Malay language, is called Masok Melayo, meaning “to enter the Malay community.” As a result of this re-enforcement of Islamic attitudes, politicians frequently try to reinterpret and use Malays’ religious ideas when attempting to mobilize Malays for political support.30 In 1951 the PanMalayan Islamic Party (PAS) was established as a response to what many orthodox Muslims viewed as an insufficient emphasis on Islam in Malaysia. They wanted an Islamic state that was governed by shari’a law.31 In response to this politi29 Mabry, “Modernization, nationalism, and Islam,” 78. 30 Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia,11. 31 Lee, “The Ethnic Implications of Contemporary Religious Movements

cal competition and in an attempt to preempt the conservative Islam emphasized by the PAS from becoming too influential, the UMNO made a concerted effort to promote a “modernist Islamic” vision. Resources were put into education and the creation of training colleges that had this “modernist” Islameas their foundation. Furthermore, the Malay language was used in these institutions in order to emphasize the connection between “modernist Islam” and the Malay people.32 Various other policies enacted by the UMNO attempted to court Muslims away from the PAS. The party created an affirmative action program, the New Economic Policy (NEP) of 1971, in order to promote Malay participation in the economy, and it took steps to Islamize society through the creation of Islamic educational and banking institutions.33 The ultimate aim was to maintain the domination of the secular state by satisfying the various streams of Malaysian Islam while detracting from the conflict over what constituted “true Islam” between the UMNO and PAS.34 The UMNO successfully incorporated Islam in the national vision by flexibly and pragmatically interpreting religious doctrines. According to Abdullah, Islam was used as a “social instrument” to create one’s “self consciousness.”35 In Malaysia, Islam played a vital role in building the nation-state, just as the state was instrumenand Organization in Malaysia,” 74. 32 Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia, 47. 33 Houben, “Southeast Asia and Islam,” 159. 34 Ibid.,159. 35 Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia, 51.

tal in defining its place. Islam became a key aspect of national unity. Indonesia has a population of just over 200 million people, and is home to the world’s largest Muslim majority populatiod.36 Nationalist postcolonial leaders, led by President Sukarno, chose from the beginning to push Islam to the background, instead installing Pancasila as the philosophical foundation of Indonesia.37 This came about after long and heated debates that concluded that an official role for Islam in the state would be exclusionar, and would contravene the national vision for Indonesia.38 As such, Islamists have not been successful in injecting their sense of Muslim nationhood into the narrative of the Indonesian state because the construction of the early national identity was so state-centric.39 Sukarno, the secular Communist Party leader, 36 Mabry, “Modernization, nationalism, and Islam,” 78. 37 Tanuwidjaja, “Political Islam and Islamic Parties in Indonesia,” 36. The Pancasila refers to the five basic principles of the Indonesian state: the belief in one god, humanity that is just and civilized, the unity of Indonesia, democracy guided by the wisdom of representative deliberation, and social justice for all Indonesians. 38 In one of the initial drafts of the constitution, “seven words” were inserted which represented a commitment to Islam by the state. These “seven words” were removed, and are now referred to as the “Jakarta Charter”. See: Hamayotsu, “Islam and nation building in SE Asia,” 355, and Elson, “Nationalism, Islam, ‘Secularism’ and the State in Contemporary Indonesia,” 332. 39 Elson, “Nationalism, Islam, ‘Secularism’ and the State in Contemporary Indonesia,” 328. 57

was thus able to resist the Islamization of politics in a territory made up predominately by Muslims. Within Indonesia there was great diversity among the Muslims themselves, so that officially incorporating Islam into the state narrative would have resulted in conflict over varying interpretations of Islamic law. Although this may see contradictory, the biggest threat envisioned by the early nation was secession and the loss of territorial integrity, since Sukarno believed that the Christian-populated East, among other regions, would secede if the state were Islamic.40The one large and successful Islamic party in Indonesia, Masjumi, was banned in the late 1950s because of the role of prominent leaders in regional rebellions considered separatist and Islamic. Ostensibly, This behavior contravened the fundamental principles of Indonesia political identity: multireligiousness and national territorial integrity.41 The initial adoption of Pancasila and the enforcement of a non-Islamic state was thus a product of the government’s instrumental state-building behavior. A new era began in Indonesia upon the overthrow of the Indonesian Communist Party by Suharto and the armey forces in 1965. The New Order alliance made the strategic choice to unite under the banner of secular nationalism, since each region of Indonesia had a different understanding of an Islamic identity.42 The appeal of nationalism

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40 Ramage, Politics in Indonesia: democracy, Islam, and the ideology of tolerance, 17. 41 Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,” 620. 42 “There was no way in which

was greater than the appeal of Islam. Once the New Order regime had established itself and effectively destroyed the communists, it singled out Islam as “public enemy number two.43 The New Order asserted that Islam was politically dangerous and socially disruptive, and deemed it to be; the antithesis of its pragmatic, modernizing, developmentalist paradigm. Suharto adopted a “two-pronged” Islamic policy which strongly suppressed political Islam, but encouraged “cultural” or “civil” Islam, which then became the new focus of Muslim energies.44 In fact religious observance for all five officially recognized religions was strongly encouraged as an anti-communist weapon.45 In 1973, Suharto fused the four existing Islamic parties into one, the Partai Perasaluan Pembandunan (United Development Party, or PPP). They were forced to drop their Islamic names and symbols, and then to adopt Pancasila as their sole Javanese can make common cause the Acehnese by uniting under the banner of Islam to overthrow the government…(however) neither would hesitate to defend Indonesia against an outside enemy…the appeal of nationalism is greater than the appeal of Islam”, (Mabry, “Modernization, nationalism, and Islam,” 83) 43 Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,”620. 44 Elson, “Nationalism, Islam, ‘Secularism’ and the State in Contemporary Indonesia,” 330. 45 The reason for this is that the communists were overwhelmingly atheist. See: Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,” 620.

foundation.46 This effectively undermined their coherence and discredited the Islamic voice, because they could not agree on a response to this policy.47 According to Mujani and Liddle, Suharto accomplished a transformation of political Islam in Indonesia from being strongly proshari’a to accepting a secular state by adopting market-oriented economic policies that produced rapid, steady, and wide shared growth, and by repressing the defiant and incorporating the willing.48 Economic success in Indonesia provided the resources and rationale for many orthodox Muslims to cooperate with Suharto. Essentially, Islam became the target of modernization. In Suharto’s efforts to modernize Indonesia, Islamic nationalists came to be seen as parochial and backward, and as part of Indonesia’s past rather than its future.49 In contrast to the Malaysian case, in Indonesia the lack of Islam played a vital role in building the nation-stata. However, in each case it played an instrumental role in the process of nation-building. Scholars with primordialist leanings may criticize instrumentalist accounts for their failure to explain the powerful emotional aspect of ethnicity. According to Clifford Geertz, human beings are essentially created through creating a culture, and thereby a primordial social existence. Frederick Barth explains how groups define themselves by establishing boundaries from the 46 Ibid., 622. 47 Hamayotsu, , “Islam and nation building in SE Asia,” 367. 48 Mujani and Liddle, “Muslim Indonesia’s Secular Democracy,” 585. 49 Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,” 620.

“other.”50 Scholars examining Indonesia and Malaysia through this lens would attribute the outcomes of the nation-building exercises in both countries to the traditional, primordial Malayan and Javanese cultural backgrouns. Gunn asserts that since the birth of the nationalist movement, Indonesian ideological formulations have reflected the Javanese cultural heritage, in his view Suharto took on the role of a Javanese king in the state.51 Furthermore, primordial and instrumentalist explanations do not necessarily have to be completely dichotomous, sinct primordialism can explain the “affective tie” through which interest is instrumentally pursued.52 In this case, Islam is clearly the affective identity of focus. However, in reality primordialism ignores the debate that occurred at independence. In Indonesia, attributing the outcome of nation-building to Javanese culture is insufficient. Primordialism misses the frequent contestation of these “ties” by people within and outside the cultural group. It does not account for the evolution of newer and changing identities, and does not give sufficient credit to the choices made by the state in the face of certain threats and incentives. Primordialist scholars examining Malaysia will also be found wanting. Religion was not a focal point of identity in pre-colonial society, yet it became one in the 50 For explanations of both instrumentalism and primordialism see Young, “The Dialectics of Cultural Pluralism,” 23. 51 Gunn, “Ideology and the Concept of Government in the Indonesian New Order,” 752. 52 Young, “The Dialectics of Cultural Pluralism,” 23. 59

postcolonial era.53 In addition, the conflict between Chinese and Malays is not an issue of deeply rooted identity, but a result of British policies that advanced the Chinese to higher economic positions in society. Thus primordialism cannot sufficiently explain the use of Islam in nation-building and its key role in national identity. Some Malaysian nationalists even fought to have Malaysian nationalism mirror the Indonesian model.54 What determined the role of Islam in nationalism and nationbuilding was how the state chose to construct its image while responding to particular incentives and challenges throughout the nationbuilding struggle. The state’s ideological appropriation of Islam can account for the diverging outcomes of Indonesia and Malaysia.55 In sum, it is apparent in both Indonesia and Malaysia that threats perceived by the state at independence, political competition afterwards, and the project of nation-building throughout, initially determined how Islam was incorporated into the nation. According to Shamsul, identity construction and nation formation taks place within two levels of social reality. One is the official or authority-defined social reality. The second is the everyday-defined social reality experienced by the people in their daily lives. At any given time these two social realities exist side by side.56 Malaysia and Indonesia

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53 Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia, 32. 54 Means, “The Role of Islam in the Political Development of Malaysia,” 93. 55 Hamayotsu, “Islam and nation building in SE Asia,” 356. 56 Shamsul, “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic

have both been experiencing an Islamic revivalism since the 1970s, with growing religious identification and piety seen in people of all generations and backgrounds.57 This shift spurred a rethinking of Islam and national identity. Now, Islam is seen as the key for understanding law, society, politics, the state, and national identity. National identity is changing, and interestingly, “Islamization” coincides with development in these countries. Many people are inclined to attribute this revitalization to state policy. In Malaysia, they believe the state did an insufficient job of quelling ethnic tension in the 1950s. As a result of the ethnic riots of 1969, the New Economic Policy (NEP) was implemented with the goal of raising the status of Muslims and reducing economic inequality between Muslimm and Chinese.58 These Revivalism in Malaysia,”208. 57 Some scholars such as Robert Hefner consider “revivalism” an incorrect word for the process described. Hefner prefers the term “Islamization”. I will use the term interchangeably because I think that both terms, in fact, capture the essential changes occurring. “Revivalism” does so because there has been a rethinking of Islam, and “Islamization” because Islam has been incorporated into more aspects of society and the national identity. For a concurrent view see: Shamsul, “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic Revivalism in Malaysia,” 211. 58 The New Economic Program’s professed main objective was national unity. It incorporated poverty eradication and societal restructuring. This was directly aimed at Malays, because they were at the bottom of the socio-economic pyramid. See:

scholars see the NEP as the catalyst for the Islamic revivalization because it created a Muslim middle class that was able to push for the Islamization of state policy.59 According to this view, the Islamization of the state is essentially a result of the social engineering of the UMNO.60 In reality, this top-down approach is inadequate. Islamic revivalism was, and is, a communitylevel response to the ethnic riots in 1969. For example, the Dakwah movement emerge61 and attempted to resolve how to live in a world of radical doubt.62 Its main attraction was its ability to implement fundamentalist Islamic ideology doctrine in the context of Malay Muslims living in a multi-ethnic society.63 In particular, university students were deeply involved in the process. The National Students Association decided to establish a Muslim youth organization (ABIM) Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia, 57. 59 Abdullah, The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia, 56. 60 Singh, “Tradition, UMNO, and Political Succession in Malaysia,” 247. 61 Young, “The Dialectics of Cultural Pluralism,” 23. 62 This coincides with Shamsul’s Phase I of Islamic revivalism in Malaysia. Although Shamsul’s four phases break up the time periods nicely, they represent a mixture of bottom-up and top-down forces, but do not distinguish between the two. For limited space, these phases will not be separated in this paper. (See Shamsul, “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic Revivalism in Malaysia,” 212-222) 63 Shamsul, “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic Revivalism in Malaysia,” 219.

in 1972, whose goal was to build a society based on the principles of Islam. These activities redefined the Malay identity. The importance of language was reduced because of its limited use in a globalizing and modernizing world. Sultanism would no longer be the pillar around which people rallied, for there was widespread belief of corruption.64 The result was a reemphasizing of the role of Islam in national identity. These “forces from below” led the UMNO to increase its attention on Islamic policies. The state did not engineer change, but responded to the societal impetus for iy. After the riots, the ides that “true Islam rejects racism”65 continued to spread. The UMNO was forced to respond to the growing Dakwah movement. It reformed the state to approach Islam in a more positive manner, both economically and politically. To demonstrate its new commitment to Islam, the government spent millions of dollars in the late 1970s to mid-1980s on projects such as the Southeast Asian Islamic Research Center, the introduction of Islamic religious knowledge as a subject in national education examinations, and the launching of the national Dakwah month.66 Additionally, The “Vision 2020” policy is a clear example of elites responding to pressures from below. The policy’s aim is twofold: modernization and the inclusion of non-Malay ethnic groups within the cultural foundation. This is consistent with the Dakwah movement, which has reinterpreted 64 Ibid., 210. 65 Martinez, “The Islamic State or the State of Islam in Malaysia”, 488. 66 Shamsul, “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic Revivalism in Malaysia,” 217-218.

the Malay identity and Islam in a modernizing society, and attempted to reconcile the contradictions of living in a pluralistic society. In the 1990s, Islam did not influence election results, but it played a crucial role in the two parties’ representation of their relevance and legitimacy.67 This demonstrates that the forces of Islamic revivalism came from below. The people were not responding to the state, but the state responding to the people.68 The Dakwah movement began as a community project for redefining the Malay self, but became a force that challenged and reinterpreted national identity. There is a persistence of nationalist sensibilities in everyday life, which suggests the active participation by ordinary Malaysians in nationalistic visions of progress and cultural futures.69 This dispels the notion of nation-building as a mere product of state manipulation. In Indonesia, the top-down account of revivalism is based on the idea that Suharto, after sufficiently repressing his opponents, decided to construct Islam in his own view, ye. Once again, this process was less top-down than bottomup. In the early years of the New

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67 Shamsul, “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic Revivalism in Malaysia,” 217-218. 68 That Islam did not affect election results means that although Islam was becoming more important in society, people did not vote for the Islamic party. See: Mohamad, “The Ascendance of Bureaucratic Islam and the Secularization of the Sharia in Malaysia”, 508. 69 Lan, “Globalization and Postcolonial Nation in Malaysia: Theoretical Challenges and Historical Possibilities,” 14.

Order regime the larger reason that young activists were not eager to oppose the government was that they were convinced that the mass politics of the late 1950s had wrecked the economy and driven many Muslims into the arms of the communists.70 Furthermore, many Muslims concluded in 1966 that the military, under Suharto, could be a force for progress. They chose to distance themselves from mass politics in favour of a new strategy of Islamic revitalization.71 While Suharto suppressed political Islam, many Muslims took the view that restrictions on political Islam should not be equated with government opposition to cultural or civil Islam. These intellectuals decided that a cultural approach to Islamic revitalization had to be formulated in order to neutralize military concerns while deepening roots of Islam.72 This cultural emphasis sanctioned the shift of Muslim energies out of formal politics and into social and educational activities, with universities at the forefront of the trend.73 In the 1950s and 1960s they were very secular institutions, but rapid growth of Muslim initiatives on state university campuses took place in the 1970s, such as the encouragement of strict adherence to devotional acts like daily prayer, fasts, and payment of alms.74 Furthermore, the Muslim middle class of the 1980s and 1990s became more self-confident, 70 Hefner, “Islamization and Democratization in Indonesia,” 81. 71 Ibid., 82. 72 Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,” 622. 73 Hefner, “Islam, State, and Civil Society,” 8. 74 Ibid., 13.

whereas their predecessors suffered from the belief that Islam was a religion of traditional, backward, uneducated villagers.75 Suharto’s opening to Islam was a consequence of the deepening Islamization of the urban middle class. Interestingly, Suharto’s 1985 policy stipulating that all social and political organizations must acknowledge Pancasil, actually helped the Islamic revivalist movement. Their acceptance of Pancasila meant that Islam was not associated with any single party. When the politicians recognized that the nation was experiencing an Islamic resurgence, political parties began to advertise their commitment to Islam. Suddenly, as was evident in the 1993 elections, Islam was not confined to one party, but promoted by all of them. After the fall of Suharto in 1998, there was very little support garnered for the idea of inserting the “seven words” remnant of the failed Jakarta charter of the 1950s.76 People have come to see the state as embodying Islamic values instead of opposing them: “I accept Pancasila, because I am Muslim.”77 Evidently, national identity changed over the decades. Counter to what many would expect, Islam has actually become a more important element of nationalism. It was forces from below that influenced elite decision-making and the overall view of the national identity in later decades after independence. This paper has shown that the two South-East Asian Muslim ma75 Liddle, “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation,” 615. 76 Elson“Nationalism, Islam, ‘Secularism’ and the State in Contemporary Indonesia,” 332. 77 Ibid., 331.

jority countries, Indonesia and Malaysia, had the potential to become either secular or Islamic states. However, the elites in each country perceived different threats and found different incentives to construct their nation in a particular way. In Malaysia, Malay elites considered the Chinese minority to be the threat to their power, and therefore they includeg Islam as the official religion in order to give preference, Malays in their future nation. In Indonesia the biggest threat was secession, and thus secular nationalism was seen as a better way to unite the country. Political competition affected the enacted policies towards Islam and how they were interpreted. For example, in Malaysia, PAS competition led to a push for “modernist Islam.” In Indonesia, political opposition led to the forceful adoption of Pancasila, and repression of Islamic parties. As much as the result of nationbuilding was a product of top-down forces in the early years, the forces from below have changed the trajectory of Islam in state nationalism, nation-building, and identity. In Malaysia, the result of the ethnic riots of 1969 was an attempt to redefine the Malay identits and incorporate Islam into a multi-religious society. In Indonesia, “cultural Islam” was appropriated and Islam was worked into other realms of society. All of this occurred as these states were modernizing. Modernization and nation-building do not, it appears, necessarily require, nor result in, secularization. Thus the creation of national identity is a dual proces,ein which it is difficult to separate the influences and the resulte. It is a dynamic process, with different paths available to certain groups of people at specific times in 63

history. The nation-state and nationalism have influenced Islamic politics as much as any timeless principls of Muslim governance it is not, nor is any religion, an unchanging and “all-encompassing blueprint” for social and political order.78

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78 Hefner, “Islam, State, and Civil Society,” 26.

BIBLIOGRAPHY Abdullah, Kamarulnizam. The Politics of Islam in Contemporary Malaysia. Malaysia: Penerbit Universiti Kebangsaan Malaysia, 2003. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities. London, UK: Verso, 1983. Elson, R.E. “Nationalism, Islam, ‘Secularism’ and the State in Contemporary Indonesia.” Australian Journal of International Affairs 64, no.3 (June 2010): 328-343. Gunn, Geoffrey C. “Ideology and the Concept of Government in the Indonesian New Order.” Asian Survey 19, no.8 (August 1979): 751-769. Hamayotsu, Kikue. “Islam and nation building in SE Asia: Malaysia and Indonesia in a comparative perspective.” Pacific Affairs 75, no.3 (Fall, 2002): 353–376. Hefner, Robert W. “Islam in an Era of Nation-States: Politics and Religious Renewal in Muslim Southeast Asia.” In Islam in an Era of NationStates, edited by Robert W. Hefner and Patricia Horvatich, 3-40. USA: University of Hawai’i Press, 1997. Hefner, Robert W. “Islamization and Democratization in Indonesia.” In Islam in an Era of Nation-States, edited by Robert W. Hefner and Patricia Horvatich, 75-40. USA: University of Hawai’i Press, 1997. Hefner, Robert W. “Islam, State, and Civil Society: ICMI and the Struggle for Indonesian Middle Class.” Indonesia 56 (October 1993): 1-35. Heryanto Ariel and Sumit Kumar Mandal, eds. Challenging Authoritarianism in Southeast Asia: Comparing Indonesia and Malaysia. New York: Routledge Curzon, 2003. Horowitz, Donald L. Ethnic Groups in Conflict. Los Angeles: University of California Press, 1985. Houben, Vincent J.H., “Southeast Asia and Islam.” Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science 588 (July 2003): 149-170. Jacobsohn, Gary Jeffrey. “Three Models of Secular Constitutional Development: India, Israel and the United States.” Studies in American Political Development X, no.1 (1996): 1-68. Lan, Goh Beng. “Globalization and Postcolonial Nation in Malaysia: Theoretical Challenges and Historical Possibilities.” Philippine Journal of Third World Studies 23, no.2 (2008): 4-19. Lee, Raymond, L.M. “The Ethnic Implications of Contemporary Religious Movements and Organization in Malaysia.” Contemporary Southeast Asia 8, no.1 (June, 1986): 70-86. Liddle, William R. “The Islamic Turn in Indonesia: A Political Explanation.” The Journal of Asian Studies 55, no.3 (August 1996): 613-634. Mabry, Tristan James, “Modernization, nationalism, and Islam: an examination of Ernst Gellner’s writings on Muslim society with reference to Indonesia and Malaysia.” Ethnic and Racial Studies 21, no.1 (January 1998): 64-87. Martinez, Patricia A., “The Islamic State or the State of Islam in Malaysia.” Contemporary Southeast Asia 23, no.3 (December 2001): 474-503. Marx, Anthony W. Making Race and Nation: A Comparison of South Africa, the United States, and Brazil. Cambridge and New York: Cambridge 65

University Press, 1998. Means, Gordon. Malaysian Politics. London: University of London Press, 1970. Means, Gordon. “The Role of Islam in the Political Development of Malaysia.” Comparative Politics 1, no.2 (January 1969): 264-284. Mohamad, Maznah, “The Ascendance of Bureaucratic Islam and the Secularization of the Sharia in Malaysia.” Pacific Affairs 83, no.3 (September 2010): 505-524. Mujani, Saiful and Liddle, William R., “Muslim Indonesia’s Secular Democracy.” Asian Survey 49, no.4 (July 2009): 575-590. Ramage, Douglas E. Politics in Indonesia: democracy, Islam, and the ideology of tolerance, New York: Routledge, 1995. Shamsul, A.B. “Identity Construction, Nation Formation, and Islamic Revivalism in Malaysia.” In Islam in an Era of Nation-States, edited by Robert W. Hefner and Patricia Horvatich, 207-273. USA: University of Hawai’i Press, 1997. Singh, Hari. “Tradition, UMNO, and Political Succession in Malaysia.” Third World Quarterly 19, no.2 (1998): 241-254. Stauth, Georg. Politics and Cultures of Islamization in Southeast Asia: Indonesia and Malaysia in the Nineteen-nineties. Bielefeld: �� Transcript Verlag, 2002. Tanuwidjaja, Sunny. “Political Islam and Islamic Parties in Indonesia: Critically Assessing the Evidence of Islam’s Political Decline.” Contemporary Southeast Asia 32 no.1 (2010): 29-49. Young, Crawford. “The Dialectics of Cultural Pluralism: Concept and Reality.” In The Rising Tide of Cultural Pluralism: The Nation-State at Bay?, edited by Crawford Young, 3-35. Madison,WI: University of Wisconsin Press, 2003.

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Between Russia and China Mongolian Nationalism and Nationalist Sentiment in the Twentieth Century by Juan Diego Astudillo

INTRODUCTION

thnic Mongols, the cultural and linguistic heirs of Chinggis Khan’s medieval land empire, inhabit the independent state of Mongolia as well as parts of Russia and China. Mongolian nationalism and national sentiment, however, are distinctly modern phenomena which arose in reaction to 20th century Russian and Chinese policies that threatened the survival of the Mongol way of life. Yet, of the three Mongol-inhabited regions where nationalist sentiment arose, only in one did true nationalism emerge. Whether or not national sentiment developed into nationalism was related to the extent to which Russia and China used administrative divisions to weaken their Mongol subjects’ cultural unity and political strength. While Mongols in Outer Mongolia managed to unite, those of Buriatia and Inner Mongolia, who were more exposed to the administrative barriers of Russia and China, could not. Like its rise, the trajectory of Mongolian nationalism was largely guided by the agendas of surrounding empires. Two phases of social engineering during the Soviet period, the first successful and the second unsuccessful, are strongly linked to key characteristics of modern Mongolian nationalism. Nationalism in modern Mongolia is neither ethnic nor civic, but assumes a form that is “both and neither at the same time”1; it is void of irredentism and has been described as xenophobic. An understanding of the rise and development of Mongolian nationalism in the 20th century allows us to bet1 Kaplonski, “Restructuring Mongolian Nationalism,” 331.

ter relate to this fierce, proud, and strong people, and to better comprehend the swift, dramatic changes that contemporary Mongolia faces. PRE-MODERN MONGOLIA

Mongolian nationalism is a distinctly modern phenomenon. It did not exist in pre-modern Mongolia, consistently with Ernest Gellner’s characterisation of pre-industrial societies as militating against national identity as a source of political legitimacy. In Gellner’s account of pre-modern society, a rigid, socially imposed division of labour defines individual identity, and “culture tends to be branded either horizontally (by social caste) or vertically, to define very small local communities.”2 Higher social castes represent the “centralization of power [and] culture/cognition”3 as often expressed in diglossia, whereby the religiously based “high society” speaks a liturgical language incomprehensible to the population at large. Politically, Gellner claims agrarian societies organize themselves into local, self-governing communities, large empires, or some fusion of the two4. In all these respects, Mongol society, until the 20th Century, was pre-modern and thus did not allow the rise of nationalism as a political ideology. Until 1911, “Mongolia was ruled by…the descendants of Chinggis Khan’s lineage”5. The Chingissid aristocracy, known as the Taiji class were considered “the only full mem2 Gellner and Breuilly, Nations and Nationalism, 12. 3 Ibid., 12 4 Ibid., 13. 5 Sneath, “Political Mobilization,” 251. 69

bers of the Mongolian community”6 and comprised the entirety of civil society. “Mongol commoners did not share common descent with the nobility nor could they do so even in theory”7: the diglossic nature of pre-modern Mongolia even distinguished the Taiji class from the more educated, literate Mongols. Mongol politics and society were, since the time of the Eurasian land empire, “essentially feudal… replete with an aristocracy and strong ecclesiastical hierarchy”8 and organized locally into small territorial units (aimags).9 This allowed for local self-rule and local identities within the vast Mongol empire. Thus, though Mongols share a Buddhist religion, nomadic culture, and Mongolian language, even the weak conditions of national sentiment did not emerge until 20th century Russian and Chinese policies directly threatened Mongol cultural survival. Only then did a sense of “imagined community”— a conception of nationhood larger than one’s immediate locality but still limited to members of one’s culture10-- emerge among the Mongols. Of the three Mongol-inhabited regions in which national sentiment developed, only in one case did true nationalism emerge. CONCEPTS AND DEFINITIONS

Chris Kaplonski distinguishes between nationalism, “a political sentiment centred around the ASTUDILLO 70

6 Ibid., 252. 7 Ibid., 251. 8 Kaplonski, Truth, 95. 9 Kaplonski, “Creating National Identity,” 37. 10 Anderson, Imagined Communities, 6.

nation”, and national sentiment, which is “the ideas, and more importantly perhaps, feelings that underlie nationalist movements.”11 Both Mongolian nationalism and national sentiment are predicated on a sense of belonging to an “imagined community.”12 However, nationalism proper is necessarily drawn along political lines, while national sentiment may only be cultural in emphasis.13 Drawing from Partha Chatterjee’s observations about anti-colonial nationalism, Kaplonski describes Mongolian nationalism as seeking to replace colonial power as well as establish a new national order. Nationalism, he argues, “not only argues against something (colonial rule) but argues for something (self-rule and independence).”14 Furthermore, Kaplonski cites Liah Greenfield’s notion of “dignity associated with being a member of a nation”: nationalism requires that “being a Mongolian is seen as more important than being a rich Mongolian, a poor Mongolian, a Halh Mongolian, Buryat Mongolian, etc. By the mere fact of being Mongolian, a certain degree of commonality is assumed.”15 Thus, Mongolian nationalism—as opposed to national sentiment—has both positive and negative discourses, implies expression along political lines, and centres on a Mongol identity which transcends 11 Kaplonski, “Restructuring Mongolian Nationalism,” 335. 12 Kaplonski, Truth, 119; Kaplonski, “Creating National Identity,” 36; Bulag, Nationalism, 44; Sneath, “Political Mobilization,” 252. 13 Kaplonski, “Restructuring Mongolian Nationalism.” 14 Ibid., 333. 15 Ibid., 333.

socioeconomic and other divisions. RUSSIFICATION AND NATIONAL SENTIMENT IN BURIATIA

In Buriatia, a Mongol-inhabited region occupied by Russia since the mid-17th century, Russification policies created a cultural movement for pan-Mongol cultural unification. This movement demonstrates how a previously-acquiescent group of occupied people may become defiant in the face of a threat to the survival of their culture. Russification policies toward the end of the 19th century prompted what has been described as the 1900-1910 “Buriat nationalist movement,”16 but which in the light of nationalist theory can only be considered nationalist sentiment. Russia’s Buriats are traditionally classified into three groups: Eastern, Western, and Southern. In the late-18th century, Eastern and Southern (Transbaikal) Buriats were largely Buddhist, while many Western (Irkutsk) Buriats “retained their ancient shamanist beliefs.”17 Reinforcing this division, Western Buriats “had turned to farming, abandoning nomadic pastoralism,” while Transbaikal Buriats were mostly cattle-breeders.18 The Russian Empire, in its attempts to preempt a nationalist challenge to its rule, took measures to deepen the divisions between these groups in the latter half of the 19th century. Western Buriatia was purposefully isolated by an 1853 Russian decree banning migration, destroying Buddhist educational centres, 16 Montgomery, “The Buriat Alphabet of Agvan Dorzhiev,” 82. 17 Ibid., 80 18 Ibid.

and forcing Western Buriats’ conversion to Orthodoxy.19 This curtailed literacy and made it difficult for Western Buriats to understand dialects other than their own.20 Furthermore, 1896 “Tsarist legislation reduced [Buriat] landholdings, increased the number of Russian settlers in their native region, abolished their quasi-autonomous administrative organs [and transferred confiscated lands to] a colonization fund for Russian settlers.”21 Other Russification policies featured forced baptism into Russian Orthodoxy and outright persecution and violence against Buriats.22 In response to this, Buriat intellectuals attempted to create a standard Mongol alphabet, Buriat educators lobbied the Russian administration to teach Buriat and Mongolian in schools, and there was widespread renouncement of Russian Orthodoxy among Western Buriats.23 “Hostility from the Tsarist administration”, as well internal divisions within the Buriats,24 constrained the “imagined community” to a cultural sphere. Buriat intellectuals were never able to agree on a writing system, a spelling system, or on the dialect for standardization for the new pan-Mongolian alphabet. Such discord caused even the original inventor of the new alphabet to lose interest in the project.25 Cultural divisions, which had been reinforced by administrative boundaries, impeded Buriat unity in this early-20th century movement. Never growing to make 19 Ibid., 80. 20 Ibid., 82 21 Ibid., 83. 22 Ibid., 84. 23 Ibid., 83. 24 Ibid., 88. 25 Ibid. 71

bolder claims such as political autonomy or self-determination, national sentiment in Buriatia could never express itself as nationalism. THE NEW ADMINISTRATION IN CHINA

ASTUDILLO 72

Like the Buriats, Mongols in China experienced a shift away from localized identity in reaction to 20th-century policies that threatened their culture. However, Mongols in China were more successful than their Buriat counterparts in making political demands that aligned with their new conception of a Mongol “imagined community.” Since the 17th century Manchu conquest of China, the Chinese empire has occupied vast swaths of land inhabited by Mongols, and, similarly to Russia, it utilised a “divide and rule” strategy to minimise nationalist threats.26 However, only in the early 20th century, with the installation of the New Administration, did the distinctiveness of Mongol culture become relevant to Mongols living under Chinese rule. When the Qing Empire collapsed in 1911, only Outer Mongolia was able to develop its national sentiment into political nationalism. While some Outer Mongolian leaders led a battle both against Chinese domination and for Mongol political sovereignty, Inner Mongolia only experienced the former. Here, the anti-Chinese movement was not cohesive and the “dignity” of the Mongol identity did not override regional and class divides.27 Before the 20th century, China’s “attitude toward Mongol internal administration” was largely laissez26 Lan, “China’s ‘New Administration,’” 39. 27 Ibid., 49.

faire.28 The Manchus “reconfirmed and elaborated the Mongolian feudal system, and respected Mongolian religious beliefs and traditional law.”29 Only when China saw that its territorial integrity was under threat by Russian, Japanese, and British imperial expansion did it “change its policies to enforce greater control over Mongolia.”30 China’s New Administration reforms gave rise to the contemporary division between what is now independent (Outer) Mongolia and what remains Inner Mongolia, a province of the People’s Republic of China. The New Administration of the Qing dynasty aimed to keep Mongols divided “not only administratively, but also by religion.”31 For instance, the Chinese government “supported rival incarnate Lamas” in the Outer and Inner Mongolian branches of the Tibetan Buddhist church. They also “tried to weaken the [Inner Mongolian] nobility by superimposing a banner system” that undermined the existing feudal power structure.32 The New Administration focused on modernising the Chinese empire: industrialisation, centralisation of politics and prevention of foreign penetration were emphasized, as was the region’s conversion into a “regular Chinese province.”33 Thus, “[t]he Chinese government opened a Department of Colonization [in 1907 and] in 1911 opened a coloniza28 Kotkin and Elleman, “SinoRussian Competition,” 28. 29 Lan, “China’s ‘New Administration,’” 39. 30 Ibid., 40. 31 Kotkin and Elleman, “SinoRussian Competition,” 27. 32 Lan, “China’s ‘New Administration,’” 28. 33 Ibid., 41.

tion bureau in Urga (Ulaanbaatar) to promote Han colonization directly.”34 The New Administration reforms caused a backlash from Mongols in both Inner and Outer Mongolia, who were incensed by the incompatibility of Chinese policies with Mongol traditions. These Mongols “considered the idea of assembly and election unsuitable for Mongolian society [and] especially opposed the opening-up of pasture land [for agriculture],” which threatened to crowd out their nomadic pastoralist way of life.35 The collapse of Qing China allowed for the expression of national sentiment in both Inner and Outer Mongolia. In Inner Mongolia, the fight to maintain nomadic traditions and prevent the opening-up of pasturelands to Chinese farmers took a violent turn. Angry Mongols “obstructed land surveys, murdered officials involved in the opening-up, and plundered Chinese local governments. The rebels were generally called ‘Mongolian bandits’ by the Manchu authorities, but they saw themselves as impoverished and grieved Mongols who were forced to take up weapons to fight for their [cultural] survival.”36 The Inner Mongolian struggle does not qualify as a nationalist movement, however, because although Inner Mongolian responses to cultural threats were violent and antiChinese, they were mostly “related to economic and social discontent” rather than demands for Mongol political sovereignty. In Inner Mongolia, “Mongols of different regions and different classes were not ready 34 Kotkin and Elleman, “SinoRussian Competition,” 30. 35 Lan, “China’s ‘New Administration,’” 45. 36 Ibid., 49.

to unite in order to work together for a higher political goal.”37 Mongols in Inner Mongolia fought against the threat that China’s New Administration posed to their way of life, but they did not do so together or toward a political end. In Outer Mongolia, by contrast, a group of tribal leaders banded together to lobby for an independent Mongolian state. In July, 1911, leaders of the Khalkha tribe sent a delegation to Russia asking for their help and protection in resisting the Chinese’s colonization policies.38 Russia, who had economic interests in an independent or at least autonomous Mongolia39 acquiesced and supported the creation of the Bogad Khanate (1911-1921), the first independent Mongolian state. Although it was the Khalkha Mongolians who organized politically and sought independence, the Bogad Khagan government “soon spread throughout all of Outer Mongolia” to include non-Khalkha aimags.40 At this point Mongolian nationalism had not yet taken its final form, but a national sentiment which transcended socioeconomic and tribal differences had undeniably arisen. The trajectory of (Outer) Mongolian nationalism, like its creation, was heavily influenced by the policies and aims of its imperial neighbours. THE MATURATION OF MONGOLIAN NATIONALISM

Only Outer Mongolia, which 37 Ibid. 38 Tatsuo, “Russian Diplomats and Mongol Independence,” 71. 39 Kotkin and Elleman, “SinoRussian Competition,” 28. 40 Tatsuo, “Russian Diplomats and Mongol Independence,” 74. 73

was less fragmented administratively than Inner Mongolia and Buriatia, developed a political movement aimed against foreign domination as well as for an independent state. Outer Mongolia was not ethnically homogenous; however, unlike in Russia and Inner Mongolia, modern administrative boundaries were not put in place to exacerbate existing divisions between groups. This allowed for an imagined community “based on linguistic and cultural similarities, as well as some links to the memory of Chinggis Khaan”41 to emerge in Outer Mongolia, leading to the creation of the first Mongolian state. However, this early imagined community was quite different from that which characterizes Mongolian nationalism today. As with its initial creation, Mongolian nationalism’s development depended largely on the political and social agendas of the Soviet Union, whose influence Mongolia could not escape. The Mongolian People’s Republic (19211990), a Soviet satellite state, overtly intervened in the development of the imagined community. To the extent that Soviet social engineering tactics were successful, Mongolian nationalism today draws heavily from this time; to the extent that it was unsuccessful, Mongolian nationalism and identity represent the antithesis of Soviet ideology. MONGOLIA, THE SOVIET SATELLITE STATE

ASTUDILLO 74

Though Mongolia gained de facto independence in 1911, it was considered “the unofficial ‘sixteenth republic’ of the USSR”42 until its 41 Lan, “China’s ‘New Administration,’” 39. 42 Ginsburg, “Political Reform in

democratic reforms in 1990. According to Owen Lattimore, “the unmistakable satellite may be defined as the country whose domestic policies, as well as its international relations, simply cannot be discussed with candor and realism without reference to the… protecting or controlling country.”43 As the quintessential satellite state, Mongolia modeled itself on the Soviet Union, undertaking policies that would “eventually make it homogenous in social composition, economic characteristics, and political institutions.”44 The Soviet Union dictated almost every aspect of Mongolian policy—from its antireligious stance to its socialist reforms. Not even the way in which people were allowed to view themselves and their fellow Mongolians was exempt from Soviet control. Whereas in many other places the Soviets used nationalist rhetoric to push its socialist agenda, in Mongolia an appropriate national identity had to first be created.45 A political nationalist movement had already begun in Mongolia, but “Soviet policymakers needed a nationalist discourse that would serve the interests of the Mongolian People’s Republic (MPR) and not allow any pan-Mongolian movements in the future,”46 so the MPR instituted the Soviet-inspired “ethnic process.” The ethnic process institutionalized differences Mongolia.” 43 Lattimore, Nationalism and Revolution in Mongolia, 41. 44 Lan, “China’s ‘New Administration,’” 42. 45 Kaplonski, “Creating National Identity,” 43. 46 Boikova, “Aspects of SovietMongolian Relations, 1929-1939,” 145.

between the Khalkha subgroup (yastan) and other non-Khalkha yastans, and equated the Khalkha yastan with Mongolian undesten, or nation. This social engineering project successfully inspired the fusion of different yastans into the Halh yastan-cum-undesten. According to socialist ethnology, “the yastan is a social group in feudal society; it is a unit of territory, language, and culture.”47 The undesten nation appears “when the market economy is developed in a capitalist society,”48 at which point small yastans disappear. Policy in the MPR was above all concerned with modernizing Mongolia without capitalism, so the merging of yastan and undesten was a social engineering project created to replicate a social structure which the Soviets were used to working with. As part of the ethnic process, yastan identity was institutionalized, devalued, and subsequently merged with the Halh yastan/ undesten, which was made coterminous with the Mongolian state. Subethnic yastans were always relevant in Mongolian culture, but only with the arrival of the Soviets did the differences between them become fixed and politically meaningful. For instance, marriage between yastans was traditionally accompanied by a ceremony in which “the incoming bride had to be purified between two fires in the wedding ceremony.”49 This illustrates that, while yastan membership was important in pre-Soviet Mongol culture, with the performance of specific cultural practices50 membership could 47 Bulag, Nationalism, 32. 48 Ibid., 31. 49 Ibid., 263. 50 Ibid., 44.

be changed within one’s lifetime. By including a section for yastan on the national census,51 the Mongolia People’s Republic institutionalized sub-Mongol ethnicity. The yastans “were granted various levels of administrative autonomy and their own territories,”52 and “state-controlled population movements from one area to another were designed… to achieve an ethnic homogeneity.”53 In schools, all Mongol-speaking groups except the Buriats “were taught that they were Halh,” and the cultural differences between true (jinhin) Mongols and the Buriats and the Kazakhs were emphasized to schoolchildren.54 It was the Halh dialect that was chosen “as the standard language enshrined in the Cyrillic Mongolian script adopted in the 1940s”55 and subsequently became the primary language used in schools. The Mongolian educational system played to the prestige of the Halh majority, and surely communicated the Soviet ideology that “a majority [was] not just a matter of numerical supremacy. It has the clearly ideological connotation of signifying the right track on which the people is advancing… non-Halh Mongols strive[d] to emulate the Halh; for to be a Halh is to be not only a better Mongol, but a better human being, one step closer to socialist humanhood.”56 The efforts of this centralized and authoritarian state were largely successful. Most Mongolians of mixed yastan parentage, by the second generation of Soviet rule, identified as Halh and an important so51 Ibid., 33. 52 Ibid., 31. 53 Ibid., 33. 54 Ibid., 36. 55 Ibid., 34. 56 Ibid., 35. 75

cial distinction was made between Mongols who were genuine Mongolians (jinhin) and those who were not.57 Whereas the 1956 census recorded that there were twentythree yastans, by 1969 that number had dropped to ten.58 The results were quick and long-lasting: “Until the mid-20th century, Mongols of various affiliations recognized each other as Mongols [but] today this is no longer so.”59 Through institutional changes and the manipulation of the educational system, Soviet ideologues and technocrats in the People’s Republic of Mongolia created new sources of group identity while destroying older ones. RE-ENGINEERING THE IMAGINED COMMUNITY

However, the ethnic process described above was only an intermediate goal of the Communist Party. The communist ideal was not a statewide ethnic identity, but “loyalty to an international workforce.”60 Thus, the Soviets launched a second phase of social engineering in which they worked to replace this newly-created ethnic identity with an even more modern identity centred around the socialist ideology of the state. Through restrictions and guidelines on the teaching of Mongolian history, the government aimed to convince its populace that the nationalism they had just engineered “was something backward, which was to be deplored and replaced by the internationalism of socialism.”61

ASTUDILLO 76

57 Ibid., 36. 58 Ibid., 33. 59 Ibid., 64. 60 Bumaa, “The Twentieth Century,” 55. 61 Kaplonski, “Reconstructing Mongolian Nationalism,” 343.

To express one’s identity in terms of undesten after the 1940s was dubbed “selfish narrow-minded nationalism,” and discouraged for being “harmful to our society.”62 Nationalism was associated with feudalism, religion, and class exploitation, and Mongolians were encouraged to pursue the more modern ideals of “fraternal socialism and proletarian internationalism.”63 Furthermore, ideological oppositin to the Buddhist Church and to Chinggis Khan symbolized latesocialist efforts to rid Mongolians of their nationalism. Non-Marxist history books detailing the Mongolian feudalism of Chinggis Khan were recalled and altered by decree in order to portray his feudal society as brutal and oppressive.64 The Buddhist ecclesiastical organization was similarly portrayed and systematically purged.65 Pre-socialist history was largely ignored and almost entirely discredited within the Mongolian educational system. This second phase of social engineering, however, was not as successful as state planners hoped or expected it would be. “Alongside and integrated with the official [historical] writings of the socialist period, there existed unofficial histories.”66 These consisted mainly of evocative transcripts or informal stories told by old men, and had the effect of mounting a subtle “criticism of the regime [and a] ‘preser62 Bulag, Nationalism, 47. 63 Sneath, “Political Mobilization,” 252. 64 Kaplonski, “Reconstructing Mongolian Nationalism,” 123-24; Boldbaatar, “The Eight-Hundredth Anniversary of Chinggis Khan,” 244. 65 Kaplonski, Truth, 122; Bumaa, “The Twentieth Century.” 66 Ibid., 110.

vation’ of truth against the official falsehoods.”67 Though this dissent was never openly expressed until the democratic revolution of 1990, its existence became evident to party leaders following the public relations fiasco that resulted from a 1962 celebration of Chinggis Khan’s 800th anniversary.68 The 1962 conference inspired a pro-Chinggis movement, which, although crushed immediately, “undoubtedly played a crucial role in keeping Mongolian nationalism alive, so that it could express itself yet again in the tumultuous events surrounding” the collapse of the Soviet Union and Mongolia’s transition to democracy.69 While state efforts were relatively successful in assimilating the various Mongol ethnic groups into a unified Halh nation synonymous with the Mongol state, it proved difficult to convince Mongolians to then forsake this new identity in favour of a pan-Socialist or pan-proletarian imagined community. Mongolians have retained the Halh as the core of Mongolian identity, but they have also retained the coterminality of the Mongolian state with the Mongolian nation, much to the dismay of policymakers of the late Socialist period. DRAWING FROM AND REACTING AGAINST SOVIET INFLUENCE

Mongolian nationalism today is described as Halh-centric, xenophobic, and chauvinistic, reflecting adhesion to the values instilled in the early Socialist period and rejection of the values proposed in 67 Ibid. 68 Boldbaatar, “The Eight-Hundredth Anniversary of Chinggis Khan.” 69 Ibid., 110.

the late Socialist period. In a key example, Buddhism is seen as a defining characteristic of Mongolian culture even though few Mongols are actively religious. Mongolian nationalist discourse internalized the messages of the first phase of Soviet social engineering, but strongly reacted against the second. “Xenophobic nationalism, coupled with Halh-centrism, continue to be the most noticeable forms of national sentiment,”70 and this manifests through Mongolian views on marriage, suspicion of non-Mongolian Mongols, and mistrust or resentment toward foreigners—particularly Chinese and Russian. The concept of erliiz, or race-hybridity, is “politically stigmatized,”71 and applies to Mongols from outside of Mongolia as well as to children not born of two Mongolian parents. “For the Halh Mongols [by now equated with Mongolians], Inner Mongolia is a lost land, not much different from any other distant territory of the old Mongolian Empire.” Inner Mongolians are socially stigmatized and called hujaa, “a derogative term referring to the Chinese.”72 Similarly, “to the Halh, Buryats are known as buha (bull, not castrated); they are not only stubborn, but have misplaced their loyalty by giving it to the Russians.”73 Though Inner Mongolians “increasingly [define] themselves in diasporic terms,”74 they are wholesale rejected by Mongolians. Chinese and Russians have received very ill treatment since independence in 199075 and the nota70 Kaplonski, “Reconstructing Mongolian Nationalism,” 359. 71 Bulag, Nationalism, 137. 72 Ibid., 184. 73 Ibid., 192. 74 Ibid., 4. 75 Kaplonski, Truth, 35-40. 77

ble lack of irredentism has “largely relegated [pan-Mongolism] to the cultural/intellectual sphere.”76 Thus, to the extent that Soviet social engineering was successful, its results are still evident in Mongolia today. However, where social engineering was unsuccessful it has created a significant backlash against the teachings espoused by Soviet historiography. Chinggis Khan, whose influence during Soviet times was understated at best and reviled at worst, has emerged not only as the “far-sighted founder of the Mongolian state,”77 but as a personification of the state and “an object of private worship.”78 Like the memory of Chinggis, Buddhism as a central tenet of Mongolian identity was revived in the democratic revolution of 1990. It was exploited by political parties as a nationalist and anti-Soviet rallying cry79 and was actively promoted as the state religion, even in the absence of strong religious inclinations among the general population.80 CONCLUSION

“Mongol history, for better or worse, is Russian history and it is Chinese history”81—or at least it was in the 20th century. Since its inception, Mongolian nationalism and the Mongolian state were heav-

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76 Kaplonski, “Reconstructing Mongolian Nationalism,” 359. 77 Kaplonski, Truth, 1. 78 Humphrey, “The Moral Authority of the Past in Post-Socialist Mongolia,” 387. 79 Kaplonski, Truth, 83. 80 Brunn and Odgaard, “A Society and Economy in Transition,” 35. 81 Lattimore, quoted in Kotkin and Elleman, “Sino-Russian Competition,” 17.

ily influenced by Russia and China. Nationalist sentiment, a precursor to nationalism proper, arose in response to Russian and Chinese colonisation policies. Similarly, the development of national sentiment into nationalism was also related to the modernisation policies of these powerful empires. Yet even where nationalism did arise, it was still not free of foreign influence. In the fifteen years after democratic reforms, Mongolian nationalism has shown its externally influenced roots in its xenophobia, lack of irredentism, and dichotomous religious circumstance. An understanding of Mongolian nationalism and the ideas that shaped it helps to explain Mongolian nationalism’s lack of conformity, yet logical consistency, with several of the grand Western theories of nationalism as a modern phenomenon.

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 2006. Boikova, Elena. “Aspects of Soviet-Mongolian Relations, 1929-1939.” In Mongolia in the Twentieth Century: Landlocked Cosmopolitan, by Stephen Kotkin and Bruce A. Elleman, 107-22. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 1999. Boldbaatar, J. “The Eight-Hundredth Anniversary of Chinggis Khan: The Revival and Suppression of Mongolian National Consciousness.” In Mongolia in the Twentieth Century: Landlocked Cosmopolitan, by Stephen Kotkin and Bruce A. Elleman, 237-46. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 1999. Brunn, Ole, and Ole Odgaard. “A Society and Economy in Transition.” In Mongolia in Transition; Old Patterns, New Challenges, by Ole Brunn and Ole Odgaard, 23-41. London: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies, 1996. Bulag, Uradyn E. Nationalism and Hybridity in Mongolia. Clarendon: Oxford University Press, 1998. Bumaa, N.D. “The Twentieth Century: From Dominion to Democracy.” In Modern Mongolia: Reclaiming Genghis Khan, by Paula L. W. Sabloff, 30-60. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania, 2004. Gellner, Ernest, and John Breuilly. Nations and Nationalism. Ithaka, NY: Cornell University Press, 2008. Ginsburg, Tom. “Political Reform in Mongolia: Between Russia and China.” Asian Survey (1995): 459-471. Humphrey, Caroline. “The Moral Authority of the Past in Post-Socialist Mongolia.” Religion, State and Society 30, no. 3 (1992): 389-475. Kaplonski, Christopher. “Creating National Identity in Mongolia.” Central Asian Survey 17, no. 2 (1998): 35-49. —. “Reconstructing Mongolian Nationalism: the view ten years on.” In Mongolian Political and Economic Development During the Past Ten Years and Future Prospect, 328-365. Taipei: Mongolian and Tibetan Affairs Commission, 2000. —. Truth, History and Politics in Mongolia: the Memory of Heroes. London: RoutledgeCurzon, 2004. Kotkin, Stephen, and Bruce A. Elleman. “Sino-Russian Competition over Outer Mongolia.” In Mongolia in the Twentieth Century: Landlocked Cosmopolitan, by Stephen Kotkin and Bruce A. Elleman, 27-38. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 1999. Lan, Mei-hua. “China’s ‘New Administration’ in Mongolia.” In Mongolia in the Twentieth Century: Landlocked Cosmopolitan, by Stephen Kotkin and Bruce A. Elleman, 35-58. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 1999. Lattimore, Owen. Nationalism and Revolution in Mongolia. New York: Institute of Pacific Relations, 1955. Montgomery, Robert. “The Buriat Alphabet of Agvan Dorzhiev.” In Mongolia in the Twentieth Century: Landlocked Cosmopolitan, by Stephen Kotkin and Bruce A. Elleman, 79-98. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 1999. Sneath, David. “Political Mobilization and the Construction of Collective Identity in Mongolia.” Central Asian Survey 29, no. 3 (2010): 257-61. Tatsuo, Nakami. “Russian Diplomats and Mongol Independence, 79

1911-1915.â&#x20AC;? In Mongolia in the Twentieth Century: Landlocked Cosmopolitan, by Stephen Kotkin and Bruce A. Elleman, 69-78. Armonk, NY: ME Sharpe, 1999.

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City-State in the Modern World: A Tale of Singaporean Exceptionalism

by Haley Wasserman

Singapore’s rapid and undeniable economic “success could not have been possible without the ability of a large administrative government to exercise tight control over the small island society.

“

nce the dominant political organization of great antiquity, the city-state was eclipsed by the rise of empires, and later, the dominance of the nation-state. Amidst a plethora of sovereign nation-states, Singapore remains one of the only sovereign city-states in modernity.1 As a consequence of the demographic and spatial constraints faced by the island society, the ruling People’s Action Party (PAP) has adopted a rational approach to an atypical reality, which entails the systematic maintenance of a liberal economy alongside an illiberal governing structure. Although this dichotomous relationship is far from ideal, it serves as an effective response to the difficult challenge of building a modern nation in a small, heterogeneous island city. This article will examine the economic development of Singapore, its political system and nation-building strategy, as well as its unique value systems. I will argue that the concession of sovereign autonomy to Singapore allowed the city-state to engineer an exceptional method of governance—one that would directly cater to the unique challenges faced by its multiethnic composition, urban form, and geopolitical location. Section I recounts the colonial history of Singapore and traces its economic development and accession to “world city” status. In Section II, I examine the autocratic nature of the People’s Action Party and its role in manifesting a national ideology upon which nation-building could take place. 1 When referring to Singapore as a city-state, my intent is to emphasize the state as a unique form of macro social organization dominated by financial and industrial activities.

Finally, Section III assesses Singapore’s unusual combination of high-level economic development and illiberal political landscape as an anomaly in the context of the modernization literature. In sum, this article analyzes the ways in which Singapore has responded to its singular political circumstances, and how its urban structure has defined Singapore’s national character as it currently exists. I. COLONIZATION

Since the second century A.D., Singapore has played host to countless regional and European conquests.2 Situated on the southern tip of the Malay Peninsula, Singapore was strategically oriented along the British Straits Settlements in Southeast Asia. Along with Penang and Malacca, Singapore was seen as an important trading post. Although Singapore’s history as an important regional lifeline dates far back, this article will begin with a discussion of how Singapore gained appeal as a colonial possession during the nineteenth century, in the crux of European imperialism and mercantile capitalism. Amidst heightened imperial competition in the early nineteenth century, European powers felt a need to bolster their trading interests in the Far East by securing control over important sea routes.3 Singapore’s economic rise was ac2 Originally part of the Malay archipelago, the island of Singapore was previously subject to control by: the Java-based Majapahit Empire; Siam; Portuguese, Dutch, and British colonial powers; and Japan. See Chew and Lee, A History of Singapore. 3 Regnier, Singapore: City-State, 25. 83

celerated by its capacity to receive large ships, unique among the Strait colonies.4 In 1824, the Treaty of London divided up the Malay world between the British and Dutch signatories, and effectively ceded Singapore to Britain. Singapore’s geographic location offered Britain a strategic foothold from which to control trade routes to Malaya and China, allowing the mercantile community to benefit from the advantages the port afforded.5 Britain’s colonial interests in the Malay Peninsula endured into the late nineteenth century, as Singapore ascended as a chief outpost for London’s financial interests in the region.6 The founding and early urban evelopment of Singapore were based on British urban planning, and particularly the efforts of Sir Stamford Raffles, the first to appreciate Singapore’s geostrategic location.7 Raffles was deliberate in his allocation of land, believing that urban order was the key to growth and prosperity. His plan for Singapore carved out a particular spatial layout for streets and residences, and even specified the orderly use of public spaces.8 Raffles’ urban insight formed the basis of Singapore’s early development, and also constituted the overall land-use scheme of the city for the entire twentieth century. Moreover, “Raffles’ ‘free-hand’ approach, combined with an ide-

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4 Cowan, Early Penang and the Rise of Singapore, 17. 5 Buckley, An Anecdotal History, 82. 6 Regnier, Singapore: City-State, 19. 7 Raffles was also responsible for the creation of Singapore’s first Constitution in 1823. Much of its content remains the same, particularly the outlawing of gaming, slavery, and crimes against religion and race. 8 Ibid., 29.

alists’ view of how the city should develop, led to an early interventionist approach.”9 This successful effort in organized urban planning, coupled with Singapore’s expanding economy and lax immigration policy, drew in large numbers of immigrants during the late nineteenth century, whereby Singapore’s population grew from 137,722 in 1881 to over 500,000 in 1931.10 Singapore owes much of its present economic success to its colonial legacy. The urban structure of the city-state is one that was modeled on and continues to draw from British patterns of urban development. Singapore’s British foundation forged efficient systems of government within the city-state and heightened its industrial capacity for infrastructure and trade.11 In addition, Britain’s economic and political presence left Singapore with a large financial inheritance that supported future growth and international investment links. On August 31, 1963, Singapore became independent from Britain, and two years later, on August 9, 1964, it gained sovereignty as the Republic of Singapore. ECONOMIC DEVELOPMENT

Although, as I will argue, Singapore’s colonial past laid the groundwork for its present success, its forced independence left it to face the impending challenges of economic reorganization, political turmoil, and regional threats on its own. These challenges and the resulting reforms contributed to shaping the character of the city-state as it currently stands. Singapore’s co9 Dale, Urban Planning, 24. 10 See Saw, “Population Trends,” 39. 11 Perry et al., Developmental City State, 5.

lonial origins helped steer its urban economic fate towards global integration. Insofar as colonialism created “openness to constant change, and an outward-oriented and relatively cosmopolitan sensibility,” it also forged the “legal, linguistic, and technological foundations for integration into the contemporary global economy.”12 It is vital to note, however, that Singapore’s colonial advantages did not guarantee a linear ascent to becoming a global economic champion. Rather, Singapore faced significant internal and external challenges that complicated its development trajectory. As a small island society that lacked natural resources, defensive capabilities, and even its own drinking water, the newly independent Singapore appeared to be on the brink of collapse. During its status as a colony, Singapore functioned as the commercial heart of the Malay hinterland around which entrepot trade evolved. Yet, its expulsion from Malaya terminated any hope for a common market, and its internal market was too small to foster job creation or sustain domestic viability. With such limited options, Singapore’s newly elected government, led by Lee Kuan Yew and his People’s Action Party (PAP), faced the immediate challenge of resolving the economic direction of the city-state. From 1965 onwards, Singapore’s government had no choice but to treat the matter of economic survival and policy adoption as a national emergency. Within a matter of months, Singapore was transformed from a traditional laissezfaire economy to an overwhelm12 Olds and Yeung, “Pathways to Global City Formation,” 510.

ingly interventionist society.13 After consolidating stringent government control over the small city-state, Lee Kuan Yew concluded that the economic development of Singapore required the creation of a local environment that could inspire confidence in foreign investors. Fundamentally, this economic strategy was a substitute for Singapore’s lack of natural resources and its wealth of human capital. Its top-down social order was managed by an educated and incorrupt ruling team of exceptional elites, and led by a single charismatic leader able to determine and articulate the political and economic direction best suited to Singapore’s needs and interests.14 Operating under a virtually oneparty system with a single level of government, the PAP has directed its administrative policy of economic and urban growth, enabling Singapore’s rapid transform from a Third World city to a First World city.15 Dependence on foreign investment posed risks, but given Singapore’s lack of internal resources, this appeared to be the only method available to rapidly transform the economy. The Economic Development Board created by the PAP operationalized a plan for economic liberalization to draw in investors, based on a United Nations Industrial Survey Mission led by Albert Winsemius.16 The key elements of 13 See Ong, Job Creation or Job Loss? 14 Regnier, Singapore: City-State, 52-53. 15 Yuen, “Singapore Planning,” 202. 16 The Economic Development Board has worked closely with Singapore’s large cross-section of over 3000 multinational corporations to foster a lucrative relationship favorable to the long-term growth 85

the industrialization strategy included upgrading technical education, controlling wage costs and workplace behavior, providing taxation incentives, and promoting the free transfer of capital.17 Today, virtually every aspect of Singaporean society has been organized around international business. The historically traditional urban landscape has been replaced by skyscrapers, commercial high-rise buildings, and hotel complexes. Meanwhile the city’s remaining shorelines are occupied by industrial estates and public housing settlements. This coherent management of land ensures that valuable investors, industries, and trading partners continue to invest in city projects.18 As a result of this strategic prioritization, Singapore quickly became a safe refuge for foreign investment, and within a brief period of time achieved one of the highest growth rates in the world.19 In an effort to overcome the severe economic constraints associ-

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and survival of both parties. Not only has Singapore has been able to capitalize on the financial growth of these companies, but the multinational corporations have also continued to supply jobs to the population since 1965. See Jussawalla et al., “Singapore: An Intelligent City-state,” 34. 17 Perry et al., Developmental City State, 9-10. 18 Gamer, Urban Development, 132. 19 Next to China, Singapore was the largest host developing economy to foreign-direct-investment flows from 1981-1992. See “United Nations Conference on Trade and Development,” 14. For a summary of Singapore’s statistics and achievements see Hall, Maritime Trade and State Development.

ated with having limited land mass, Singapore has exploited its diplomatic relations with Malaysia and Indonesia to take advantage of their territory and create its own external economy. The SIJORI Growth Triangle, invented by Singapore and agreed to in an accordance with Malaysia and Indonesia, aims to pool the resources of each country in order to attract new investors. Each state focuses on its comparative advantage: Singapore offers its capital, technical and management skills; the Malaysian state of Johor contributes its semi-skilled labour; and the Riau province in Indonesia provides its cheap labour and land.20 According to Seetoh and Ong, strategic planning and projects such as these allow Singapore to address its lack of hinterland and globalize beyond its own national territory.21 The SIJORI Growth Triangle reflects how, despite its limited land mass, the city-state has been able to transcend spatial boundaries in order to perpetuate its urban design. Hampered by narrow boundaries, Singapore’s restricted territory can be interpreted as a blessing in disguise. These constraints forced Singapore to amalgamate the industrial capacity and highclass service sector needed to compete in the international economic sphere.22 Hence, Singapore’s urban form and the challenges therein may have been the arbiter of the city’s economic success. Due to its interventionist approach and its one-party structure, the PAP has skillfully managed economic and 20 Colombijn, “Kuala Lumpur and Singapore,” 203. 21 Seetoh and Ong, “Achieving Sustainable Development.” 22 Colombijn, “Kuala Lumpur and Singapore,” 116.

urban planning to such an extent that Singapore has become one of the world’s richest countries in per capita income. This wealth is also reflected in urban terms, through the delivery of both private and public goods including housing, education, healthcare, popular entertainment, fashion, and food.23 Taken together, the course of economic development in Singapore was engineered in part as a strategic response to the challenges of its urban structure, and also as an effort to perpetuate an urban character that would allow it a competitive advantage on a global front. Today, Singapore is heralded as one of the original “Asian Tigers” due to its exceptional economic development and high growth rates.24 It is also considered to have one of the most competitive, free, and least corrupt economies in the world.25 As a result of Singapore’s impressive economic record and almost entire integration into the global financial market, many argue that Singapore is not just a city-state, but also a world city.26 As a world city, Singapore serves as a command point for the organization of the global

economy, a key location for leading industrial partners, and a major site of production for these industries.27 Rather than servicing domestic or regional hinterland, world cities are primary sites for the development and supply of financial services to the global market economy. Compared to other world cities, Singapore is spatially quite small, with a landmass of only seven hundred square kilometers supporting a population of five million people. The city does not allow for urban sprawl or expansion into hinterland, because it has none. Thus, development in Singapore necessitates “planning for more with less, and making the most effective use of limited land in order to create a “distinctive, dynamic, and delightful” city.28 Because Singapore’s only level of government is municipal, its urban development program is coherently articulated and does not suffer from the constraints of higher levels of government. In the following section, I turn to a discussion of the political system and nation-building strategy in order to conceptualize the making of a modern city-state.

23 Rimmer and Dick, City in Southeast Asia, 76. 24 The Four Asian Tigers include Singapore, Taiwan, Hong Kong, and South Korea. See Perry et al., Developmental City State; Castells, “Four Asian Tigers with a Dragon Head: A Pacific Rim.” 25 See “The Global Competitiveness Index 2009-2010”; Gwartney, J. et al., “Economic Freedom”; “Corruption Perceptions Index 2010.” 26 See Douglass, “World City Formation”; Friedmann, “The World City Hypothesis”; Sassen, World Economy; Sassen, “Cities in a World Economy.”

II. POLITICS UNDER THE PAP

Singapore’s rapid and undeniable economic success could not have been possible without the ability of a large administrative government to exercise tight control over the small island society. Insofar as government leadership created new wealth and prosperity for the country, it was able to use this economic imperative as a vehicle to justify 27 Sassen, World Economy, 4. 28 Urban Redevelopment Authority, Concept Plan 2001. 87

its jurisdiction over the state.29 Singapore’s government functions as a parliamentary republic under a written constitution that formally establishes representative democracy. In each election, members are voted into Parliament by a first-past-the-post system. Yet the People’s Action Party (PAP) has won control of Parliament with large majorities in every election since self-governance in 1959. As some observers have argued, Singapore is a democracy only insofar as it has a representative government. However, several political characteristics render it a “carefully controlled democracy.”30 In its 2009 Annual Survey of Political Rights and Liberties, Freedom House rated Singapore as “partly free.”31 In Singapore, each ballot carries the means to detect the voter’s identity. Also, members of opposition parties are closely supervised as well as liable to deportation and arrest without trial. Although Singapore does not officially impose censorship by actively suppressing free speech, media organizations are required to apply annually to renew their licenses, and universities are vigilantly monitored. Insofar as the PAP has complete sovereignty over its territory and land-use,32 as well as taxation and budgeting, community projects have often been prioritized for those who demonstrate the great-

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29 Trocki, Singapore: Wealth, 179. 30 Geiger and Geiger, Tales, 220. Singapore has also been classified as a “developmental democracy,” a “benevolent dictatorship,” a “meritocracy,” and a “technocracy.” 31 Freedom House, Annual Survey, 897. 32 In Singapore the state formally owns four-fifths of the land.

est support for the government.33 The issue of who controls what land is important in any country, but it is especially crucial in Singapore, a country that has so little of it. Operating at a single level of government is a significant advantage to the PAP, which can single-handedly articulate and control policies without constantly bargaining for power. Within the state, former Prime Minister Lee Kuan Yew dictated the major policies and guidelines for urban development but left the details to professional planning agencies, such as the Urban Redevelopment Authority and the Housing and Development Board.34 Singapore was considered a compact walking city until 1968. The city revolved around Boat Quay, and most people lived in cramped shophouses alongside their workplaces. The state has since intervened extensively in mass housing, education, health, and infrastructure, and taken radical action in the physical development of the city’s urban structure.35 According to Dale, this spatial regulation has “steered Singapore along a course of active engagement, in both the economic and social spheres..36 In this way, the PAP has attempted to bracket national development with urban and economic development. As a result, Singapore has been described as an entrepreneurial “property state” insofar as the state has orchestrated the cohesion of both public housing and business districts to complement its development as 33 Gamer, Urban Development, 199. 34 Colombijn, “Kuala Lumpur and Singapore,” 118. 35 Rimmer and Dick, City in Southeast Asia, 56. 36 Dale, Urban Planning, 25.

a world city-state.37 The PAP’s instrumental role in directing urban politics as well as economic prosperity in Singapore makes evident the administrative nature of the regime and the efficiency of the state. Although Singapore is one of the least corrupt states in the world, it is also one of the most opaque. Control over information is part of a strategic effort to conceal state planning, investments and industrial initiatives. This guarded policy is met by a bureaucratic culture that is unsympathetic and unresponsive to the limited grassroots demands for greater transparency.38 According to Rodan, Singapore’s regime is one of bureaucratic authoritarianism. He classifies authoritarian regimes as being characterized by the “concentration of power and the obstruction of serious political competition with, or scrutiny of, that power.” Thus, “the free flow of ideas is an anathema to authoritarian rule.”39 The PAP’s ability to micromanage the city-state goes above and beyond the capabilities of even the most administrative governments. Through its political permanence, the PAP has successfully combined “systematic blunting of political opposition” with public administration which is “efficient and reliable in implementing official policies.”40 By securing its own intransience, the PAP has so far secured the hegemony of its agenda. The existence of significant curbs to political freedom implies that its commitment to democratic governance may be no more than a façade to attract in37 Haila, “Real Estate in Global Cities,” 2241. 38 Rodan, Transparency and Authoritarian Rule, 51. 39 Ibid., 1. 40 Ibid., 48.

ternational investment. Hence, we have reason to doubt Singapore’s political and social record as well as its ability to provide the kinds of human rights that are normally taken for granted in modern countries. NATION-BUILDING IN AN URBAN ENVIRONMENT

Beyond authoritative governance, the transformation of Singapore from a colonial trading post to a city-state necessitated the political, social, and ideological creation of a nation. During the course of Singapore’s development, the PAP realized that economic growth alone could not form the basis of a strong national Singaporean identity. According to Benedict Anderson, a nation can be defined as an “imagined political community.”41 This definition is not easily applied to Singapore, a city-state that cannot pride itself on a long history from which to derive an imagined community. Rather, this nation (if Singapore is to be considered one) is made of a heterogeneous amalgamation of different races, ethnicities, and religions. It is for this reason that in Singapore the nation must be considered a politically constructed phenomenon.42 In the case of Singapore, nation41 A nation is imagined because no matter how small it is, citizens will never personally come to know their fellow citizens. Yet, each person entertains the “image of their communion.” Likewise, a nation is a community insofar as it fosters a “deep, horizontal comradeship” which citizens are willing to make immense sacrifices for. See Benedict Anderson, Imagined Communities, 6-7. 42 Ortmann, “Singapore: The Politics of Inventing National Identity,” 25. 89

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building takes the form of a selfconscious political project in which nationalism is a means to political ends.43 These ends aimed to circumvent the prospect of internal strife and to propagate a unified identity that could increase support for the state and its agenda. According to Eric Hobsbawn, nations are constructed through the invention of tradition. In Hobsbawn’s definition, “‘invented tradition’ is taken to mean a set of practices, normally governed by overtly or tacitly accepted rules of a ritual or symbolic nature, which seek to inculcate certain values and norms of behavior by repetition.”44 Thus, in order to invent a nation in Singapore, the state had to manifest a Singaporean identity that would unify its multiethnic population and inspire confidence in the state by fostering an ideology that could transcend its multiracial composition. Singapore’s nation-building strategy had to be implemented within a city comprised of very distinct peoples. Urban diversity, according to Jacobs, “rests on the fact that in cities so many people are so close together, and among them contain so many different tastes, skills, needs, supplies, and bees in their bonnets.”45 But in Singapore, urban diversity is accompanied by ethnic, racial, and religious differences. The existence of such diversity within the citystate requires the government to institutionalize a nation-building strategy that not only accommodates these differences, but also accounts for the close proximities within which people live together. 43 See Bell, The Cult of the Nation. 44 Hobsbawm, “Introduction: Inventing Traditions,” 1. 45 Jacobs, Death and Life, 147.

From 1965 onwards, Singapore has been considered a “melting pot” comprised of four primary ethnic groups: Chinese, Malay, Indian, and European. Even within each ethnic group there exist substantial linguistic and social differences, particularly amongst the Chinese majority. Thus, the bringing together of such culturally distinct peoples has illuminated certain incompatibilities between them. Heterogeneous as it may be, the highly sophisticated state of Singapore had the advantages of complete political independence and a strong government, from which it was able to marshal a calculated nation-building strategy. Of utmost importance on this agenda was the homogenization of Singapore’s multiethnic and religious groups so to secure internal stability The essence of city life is such that socio-cultural values therein are largely discrepant from those of the nation and the countryside. In Singapore, the city is the nation and vice versa. Thus, the values of the nation and the identity of all citizens is juxtaposed with the density, concentration, and bustling nature of the city. Iris Young defines city life as a form of social relations that is “the being together of strangers.”46 By virtue of their close proximity, individuals work and interact with strangers. In Singapore, clusters of people from different generations and multiracial backgrounds must necessarily share public spaces, services, and communities. Hence, the challenge of nation-building in Singapore was a task that entailed not just the homogenization of the nation, but also the reorientation of spatial boundaries to assist racial harmony and prevent exclusion. 46 Young, Justice and the Politics of Difference, 237.

The PAP’s housing policy has been one vehicle through which the government has encouraged social integration. According to Jacobs, the combination of density and diversity can be considered a positive good insofar as they are “combined with tolerable living conditions in the case of enough dwellings for enough people, and so more people who develop choice are apt to stay put.”47 In Singapore, over eighty percent of Singaporean housing has been built, managed, and regulated by the PAP’s Housing Development Board.48 Since 1969, the PAP has allocated housing to actively disperse different ethnic groups across the city. In this way, the state-led and carefully controlled housing policy in Singapore has improved inter-ethnic understanding through exposure, and has helped the city evade social polarization and gentrification.49 In addition to housing policy, the state has intervened in public transportation, labour relations, car licensing, land ownership, and education. According to Gamer, Singapore’s government has been able to use such policies as tools of social engineering as a result of the economic success it has sustained: To those who hold political power this appears to be an ideal way to reduce tensions stemming from race, language, and class. Areas where single races live in isolation can be cleared and replaced with new multiracial housing. Multiracial bilingual 47 Jacobs, Death and Life, 208. 48 Yuen, “Singapore Planning,” 202. 49 Newman and Thornley, Planning World Cities, 252. Also see Van Grunsven, “Singapore.”

schools can be set up where all children learn the English language as a common lingua franca. Since public housing is located close to private housing, both rich and poor can shop and attend school together. Much of the building directly or indirectly affects the poor giving them a feel of having a share in the operations of the government. Industrialization will create new jobs. If all races can become modernized, they may care less about their racial differences. 50 By improving material life and ensuring economic prosperity, the PAP has harnessed popular support from the citizens and achieved social and political stability.51 That the state has relied on urban restructuring to facilitate cohesion within the city is evidence that the urban form of the city-state assumes a powerful and deterministic role in social and political dimensions of city life in Singapore. Taken together, multiracial policy in Singapore seeks to encourage the cohesive coexistence of racial, religious, and cultural practices devoid of discrimination.52 The early concession of equal status to Chinese, Malay, and Indian racial groups, as well as the establishment of a multicultural society thereof, has circumvented the surfacing of any major ethnic rivalries or the creation of a racial “underclass.”53 50 Gamer, Urban Development, 113. 51 Newman and Thornley, Planning World Cities, 253. 52 Chan and Evers, “National Identity and Nation Building in Singapore,” 123. 53 See Lai, Beyond Rituals and Riots; 91

In MacDougall’s study of the level of nation identification among Singapore’s three major ethnic groups (Chinese, Malay, and Indian), findings suggested that ninety percent of all citizens regarded their identity as Singaporean when presented with a list of an array of appropriate labels. Moreover, almost ninety percent agreed with the statemen: wherever I am, I am a Singaporean.”54 The degree to which individuals of varying ethnic groups have come to identify with a Singaporean nationality is a testament to the success of the PAP’s multiracial ideology. This cohesion has benefitted the PAP, whose stronghold is conserved under conditions of social stability. Despite Singapore’s multiracial policy having a positive effect on city life in the present, there is reason to be uncertain that social stability will last. As Singapore expands as an international business hub, attracting more foreigners and encouraging greater immigration to the tiny island, overcrowding in high-rise condos and duplexes may exacerbate class and racial strife. Although close proximity in a city can breed neighborliness, it does not necessarily do so. As Newman and Thornley claim, “When you destroy an old ethnic neighborhood environment, and move individuals to mass-produced highrise public housing blocks, they do not necessarily associate with their neighbors. They may not like their neighbors, and they may simply feel alienated and alone in their new surroundings.”55 The “being togethWASSERMAN 92

Clammer, Race and State; Barr and Skrbis, Constructing Singapore. 54 MacDougall, “Birth of a Nation: National Identification in Singapore,” 514. 55 Newman and Thornley, Planning

er of strangers” might promote stability, but overcrowding may lead to discomfort. Likewise, the need for innovation and construction to accommodate a fast-growing economy is accompanied by the challenge of preserving historical districts. Going forward, the PAP will continue its efforts to negotiate a tit-for-tat strategy that will secure economic and social needs alike. III. CHALLENGES TO MODERNIZATION

All arguments made hitherto have amounted to an examination of Singapore’s economic, urban, and political landscape. I have attempted to present this city-state as a unique and experimental model of administrative government that has maintained a contrast between its laissez-faire economy and its illiberal governance. As I will discuss in this section, this dichotomy presents a decisive challenge to modernization theorists who argue that economic advancement causes a parallel shift in democratic political values. The modernization theory that emerged during the Enlightenment era is centered on the belief that economic and technological progress allows humanity to have greater control over human nature.56 According to Lipset, one of the first proponents of this theory, “the more well-to-do a nation, the greater the chances that it will sustain democracy.”57 Other modernization theorists such as Marx, Weber, Bell, and Toffler argue that the rise of industrial soWorld Cities, 253. 56 Inglehart and Welzel, Modernization, 16. 57 Lipset, Political Man, 31.

ciety brings about the eclipse of traditional values in favor of secular-rational values.58 Fundamentally, modernization theory posits that all industrial societies experience rapid sociopolitical changs, which follows a uniform direction. Inglehart and Welzel have attempted to reform modernization theory to account for postindustrial societies. Whereas industrial societies experience a value shift from traditional to secular-rational values, postindustrial societies undergo an additional transition from survival to self-expression values.59 The unprecedented wealth that has accumulated in advanced societies during the past generation means that an increasing share of the population has grown up taking survival for granted. Thus, priorities have shifted from an overwhelming emphasis on economic and physical security toward an increasing emphasis on subjective well-being, self-expression, and quality of life.60 This qualitative value shift from survival values to self-expression values has given way to a greater emphasis on human choice, autonomy, and individual creativity. Moreover, as individuals become more materially secure, traditional systems 58 Bell, The Coming of Postindustrial Society; Toffler, Future Shock; Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic. See also Abramson, “Generations and Political Change”; Putnam, Democracies in Flux. 59 Inglehart and Welzel, Modernization, 20. 60 Inglehart and Welzel, “Changing Mass Priorities,” 564.

of being are dismantled in favor of a balanced sociopolitical system consistent with individual liberty. To quantify this cultural pattern, modernization literature has relied on data collected by World Values Surveys, designed to measure human values with regards to political, religious, economic, and social life.61 The aggregate scores of these surveys can be mapped according to the former modernization dimensions: traditional/secular-rational and survival/self-expression. According to Inglehart, these two dimensions explain over seventy percent of cross-cultural variance in values scores generated by the survey.62 Figure 1 represents a cultural map of the world, with value scores derived from the 2000 World Values Survey. Upon this map, I have superimposed the actual cultural positioning of Singapore, which had a traditional/secular-rational score of (-0.64) and a survival/ self-expression score of (-0.28). Given Singapore’s consistently high economic growth rates and its sta61 See World Values Survey, “WVS 2000 Questionnaire.” Available for download at http://www. worldvaluessurvey.org/. 62 Ronald Inglehart, “Nationallevel Value Scores by Country.” Available for download at http://www. worldvaluessurvey.org/wvs/articles/ folder_published/article_base_111. The traditional/secular-rational dimension represents the shift from agrarian to industrial society. The survival/self-expression dimension represents the “polarization between emphasis on order, economic security, and conformity and emphasis on selfexpression, participation, subjective well-being, trust, tolerance, and quality of life concerns.” See Inglehart and Welzel, “Changing Mass Priorities,” 7. 93

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tus as a champion of the neo-liberal economic order, modernization theory predicts that Singapore’s cultural values should follow suit. Yet, indicative of its negative score on both dimensions, Singapore is evidently a unique case that does not fit neatly into the modernization pattern shared by other non-city states. In their 2005 study, Inglehart and Welzel attempted to situate countries on the cultural map by predicting their positions in accordance with four key factors. This predictive model is calculated using (1) per capital GDP, (2) the number of years under communist rule, (3) percentage of workers employed in industrial or service sectors, and (4) cultural zone.63 On the basis of 63 Inglehart and Welzel, “Exploring the Unknown,” 176.

these factors, Singapore was assigned a traditional/secular-rational score of (-0.60) and a survival self-expression score of (-0.16).64 The actual positioning and the predicted positioning of Singaporean values both gravitate toward the lower-left quadrant of the cultural map, representing a strong association with traditional-survival values. Although both positions would appear quite close together, there is a significant difference between the actual and predicted positions of the city-state, particularly on the survival/self-expression dimension. This discrepancy indicates that predicting cultural values based on the above four indicators alone is not sufficient for predicting actual values scores. Albeit Ingle64 Ibid., 193.

hart and Welzel account for important economic and political factors, they fail to consider the effect of urban form on cultural values. Although in theory one would expect world cities to tend toward the upper right quadrant of the cultural map, as indicated earlier, Singapore is not just any world city. The regimented nature of the city-state and the strictly regulated structure of urban development may have a deterministic influence on the cultural norms and values of Singaporeans. It would be useful to assess the World Values Survey on a city-to-city basis to determine whether population density and urban development significantly enhance the predictive capacity of modernization theory. Despite Singapore’s record of development, and notwithstanding its having all the necessary preconditions for greater liberalization espoused by secular-rational and selfexpression tendencies, Singapore remains politically illiberal. Juxtaposed alongside the majority of developed and developing countries, which overwhelmingly follow this calculated pattern of modernization, Singapore exists as an irrefutable counter-example—not because the theory isswrong, but because the city-state is exceptional. Perhaps in time Singapore’s insulated state will capitulate to mounting domestic and international pressure for liberalization, and learn to work with its urban reality to reform its austere approach to city life. Until then, however, the gap between theory and practice in the case of Singapore is a testament to the distinct challenges and choices that this modern city-state has faced.

IV. CONCLUSION

Even after forty-six years of independence, Singapore continues to struggle with its atypical position in the global environment. Harnessing absolute autonomy, Singapore is not just a city. Yet, bearing no hinterland, Singapore is also not a country. The tension between its unique urban structure and sovereign autonomy is a limitation that still plagues the nation’s leaders today. This article has attempted to distinguish Singapore as an anomalous modern city-state, and explain the conditions and political artifices under which it has managed to not only survive, but also flourish. Singapore’s colonial legacy helped direct its course of urban planning and bolster its economic linkages and propensity for growth. Singapore’s economic development has situated it as a “world city” in that it serves as a command point for the global economic market. However, the government structure necessary for this success has been that of a carefully controlled democracy. As a result of its precarious geopolitical positioning and multiethnic composition, the People’s Action Party (PAP) has asserted itself as a bureaucratic authoritarian regime to articulate the direction of development. Housing policy and urban redevelopment have been crucial vehicles to maintain stability and mitigate racial, class, and ethnic tension. As a result of this regimented urban structure and its rigid model of governance, the PAP has contravened the progression toward liberal democracy predicted for Singapore by modernization theory. This resistance to mounting pressure to reform may be an impediment to 95

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its own political development in an increasingly globalized world. In an effort to protect the citystate from internal and external threats contingent upon its unique structure, regional insecurity, late independence, and multiethnic population, Singapore has thus far accepted a tradeoff between political liberalization on one hand, and stability and continued economic success on the other, ushering in the latter at the expense of the former. Although illiberal governance in Singapore may not be ideal, it has constructed an effective response to a complex political reality. Whether or not policy can be contorted to accommodate both liberal democracy and internal stability free from conflict is a question that would benefit from scholarly investigation. Further research should focus on the status of Singaporean policy reform, mainly related to transparency in government, censorship in media organizations, the condition of public interest initiatives, and the coherence of opposition parties and their role in the state. Such research could provide insight into whether the PAPâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s policy measures are necessary or disproportionate to selfpreservation. It may also be useful to address the role of regional and international bodies in encouraging policy reform within the city-state. Future research should adopt a holistic approach to assessing the prospect of modernization in Singapore, accounting for the reality of its urban structure and spatial constraints, in order to discern the orientation of its forthcoming development. Perhaps, then, the most important question remains unanswered: where will this unique city-state go from here?

BIBLIOGRAPHY

Abramson, Paul. “Generations and Political Change in the United States.” Research in Political Sociology 4 (1989): 235-280. Anderson, Benedict. Imagined Communities: Reflections on the Origin and Spread of Nationalism. London: Verso, 1983. Barr, Michael D. and Zlatko Skrbis. Constructing Singapore: Elitism, Ethnicity, and the Nation Building Project. Copenhagen: Nordic Institute of Asian Studies Press, 2008. Bell, Daniel A. The Coming of Postindustrial Society. New York: Basic Books, 1973. Bell, David A. The Cult of the Nation in France: Inventing Nationalism, 1680-1800. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2003. Buckley, C.B. An Anecdotal History of Old Times in Singapore. Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1984. Castells, M. “Four Asian Tigers with a Dragon Head: A Comparative Analysis of the State, Economy, and Society in the Asian Pacific Rim.” In States and Development in the Asian Pacific Rim, edited by R. Appelbaum and J. Henderson, 33-69. London: Sage, 1992. Chan, H.C. and H.D. Evers. “National Identity and Nation Building in Singapore.” In Studies in ASEAN Sociology: Urban Society and Social Change, edited by P. Chen and H.D. Evers, 117-129. Singapore: Chopmen Enterprises, 1978. Chew, Ernest and Edwin Lee. A History of Singapore. Singapore: Oxford University Press, 1991. Clammer, John. Race and State in Independent Singapore 1965-1990. Aldershot: Ashgate Publishing Ltd, 1998. Colombijn, Freek. “Kuala Lumpur and Singapore: High Hopes Versus a Low Profile.” In Directors of Urban Change in Asia, edited by Peter J.M. Nas, 96-105. New York: Routledge, 2005. “Corruption Perceptions Index 2010.” Transparency International. http://www.transparency.org/policy_research/surveys_indices/cpi/2010/ results (accessed November 1, 2011). Cowan, Charles D. Early Penang and the Rise of Singapore, 1805-1832. Singapore: Malaya Publishing House, 1950. Dale, Ole Johan. Urban Planning in Singapore: The Transformation of a City. New York: Oxford University Press, 1999 Douglass, M. “World City Formation in the Asia Pacific Rim: Poverty, ‘Every-day’ Forms of Civil Society and Environmental Management.” In Cities for Citizens, edited by M. Douglass and J. Friedmann, 107-137. Chichester: John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 1998. Friedmann, John. “The World City Hypothesis.” In The City: The City in a Global Context, edited by Micheal Pacione, 151-163. London: Routledge, [1986] 2002. Freedom House. Annual Survey of Political Rights and Liberties. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield, 2009. Gamer, Robert E. The Politics of Urban Development in Singapore. London: Cornell University Press, 1973. Geiger, Theodore and Frances Geiger. Tales of Two City States: The 97

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Development Progress of Hong Kong and Singapore. Washington: National Planning Association, 1973. van Grunsven, L. “Singapore: The Changing Residential Landscape in a Winner City.” In Globalizing Cities: A New Spatial Order, edited by P. Marcuse and R. van Kempen. Oxford: Blackwell, 2000. Gwartney, J. et al. “Economic Freedom of the World: Annual Report.” Fraser Institute. http://www.freetheworld.com/2011/reports/world/ EFW2011_complete.pdf (accessed November 1, 2011). Hall, Kenneth R. Maritime Trade and State Development in Early Southeast Asia. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1985. Haila, Anne. “Real Estate in Global Cities: Singapore and Hong Kong as Property States.” Urban Studies 37 (2000): 2241-2256. Hobsbawm, Eric. “Introduction: Inventing Traditions.” In The Invention of Tradition, edited by Eric Hobsbawm and Terrence Ranger, 1-14. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1983. Inglehart, Ronald. “National-level Value Scores by Country.” http:// www.worldvaluessurvey.org/wvs/articles/folder_published/article_ base_111 (accessed November 1, 2011). Inglehart, Ronald and Christian Welzel. “Exploring the Unknown: Predicting the Responses of Publics Not Yet Surveyed.” International Review of Sociology 15 (2005): 173-201. Inglehart, Ronald and Christian Welzel. Modernization, Change, and Democracy: The Human Development Sequence. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Inglehart, Ronald and Christian Welzel. “Changing Mass Priorities: The Link Between Modernization and Democracy.” Perspectives on Politics 8, no. 2 (2010): 551-567. Jacobs, Jane. The Death and Life of Great American Cities. New York: Random House, 1961. Jussawalla, Meheroo, Toh Mun Heng, and Linda Low. “Singapore: An Intelligent City-state.” Asian Journal of Communication 2 (1992): 31-54. Lai, Ah Eng. Beyond Rituals and Riots: Ethnic Pluralism and Social Cohesion in Singapore. Singapore: Eastern Universities Press, 2004. Lipset, Seymour Martin. Political Man. London: Heinemann, 1960. MacDougall, John A. “Birth of a Nation: National Identification in Singapore.” Asian Survey 16 (1976): 510-524. Newman, Peter and Andy Thornley. Planning World Cities: Globalization and Urban Politics. Hampshire: Palgrave MacMillan, 2005. Olds, Kris and Henry Yeung. “Pathways to global city formation: a view from the developmental city-state of Singapore.” Review of International Political Economy 11 (2004): 489-521. Ong, Wee Hock. Job Creation or Job Loss? What Every Singaporean Should Know About the Economics of Survival. Singapore: National Trades Union Congress, 1977. Ortmann, Stephan. “Singapore: The Politics of Inventing National Identity.” Journal of Current Southeast Asian Affairs 28, no..4 (2009): 2346. Perry, Martin, Lilly Kong, and Brenda Yeoh. Singapore: A Developmental City State. West Sussex: John Wiley & Sons Ltd., 1997.

Putnam, Robert D. Democracies in Flux: The Evolution of Social Capital in Contemporary Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Regnier, Philippe. Singapore: City-State in South-East Asia. London: C. Hurst & Co., 1991. Rimmer, Peter J. and Howard Dick. The City in Southeast Asia: Power, Processes, and Policy. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 2009. Rodan, Garry. “Elections Without Representation: The Singapore Experience Under the PAP.” In The Politics of Elections in Southeast Asia, edited by Robert H. Taylor. 61-89. Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1996. Sassen, Saskia. Cities in a World Economy. Thousand Oaks: Pine Forge Press, 1994. Sassen, Saskia. “Cities in a World Economy.” In The Globalization and Development Reader: Perspectives on Development and Global Change, edited by J. Timmons Roberts and Amy Bellone Hite, 195-215. Oxford: Blackwell Publishing Ltd, [2000] 2007. Saw, S.H. “Population Trends in Singapore, 1819-1967.” Journal of Southeast Asian History 10 (1969): 36-49. Seetoh, K.C. and A.H.F Ong. “Achieving Sustainable Development Through a System of Strategic Planning and Implementation: The Singapore Model.” In Spatial Planning for a Sustainable Singapore, edited by T.C. Wong and Belinda Yuen. Berlin: Springer, 2008. “The Global Competitiveness Index 2009-2010.” World Economic Forum. https://members.weforum.org/pdf/GCR09/GCR20092010fullrankings.pdf (accessed: November 1, 2011). Toffler, Alvin. Future Shock. New York: Random House, 1970. Trocki, Carl A. Singapore: Wealth, Power, and the Culture of Control. New York: Routledge, 2006. Urban Redevelopment Authority. Concept Plan 2001. Singapore: Urban Redevelopment Authority, 2001. “United Nations Conference on Trade and Development.” World Investment Report. New York: United Nations, 1994. Weber, Max. The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, [1904] 1958. World Values Survey. “WVS 2000 Questionnaire.” http://www.worldvaluessurvey.org (accessed November 1, 2011). Young, Iris. Justice and the Politics of Difference. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1990. Yuen, Belinda. “Singapore: Planning for More with Less.” In Planning Asian Cities: Risks and Resilience, edited by Stephen Hamnet and Dean Forbes, 201-219. New York: Routledge, 2011.

Educating Glaucon: Preparing the Soul for the City by Marco Garofalo

“And thus, Glaucon, a tale was saved and not lost; and it could save us, if we were persuaded by it.”1

lato’s Republic ultimately does not answer the questions it raises. Instead, it presents the reader with a way of life, and of thinking, that pays proper respect to those questions. Mining our beliefs at their foundation, the Republic is a deeply dramatic and personal experience for each reader. Read properly, it is the beginning of each reader’s thousand-year journey. Glaucon is ostensibly the interlocutor in the Republic with whom the average reader identifies most. Socrates ignites within Glaucon a desire to pursue knowledge over opinion. The pursuit of knowledge provides Glaucon with an aspiration that is an alternative to the rat-race of honour and luxuries in democratic Athens. At the beginning of Plato’s Republic, Glaucon shows an almost immature concern for the bigger timeless questions. Socrates, in his role as teacher, guides Glaucon to a serious consideration of knowledge. Like Glaucon, the average reader feels the pressure to run a rat race of career success and material excess. Like Glaucon, the average reader also senses the challenge presented by the timeless questions—one which he or she inexplicably never rises to. And while Glaucon may not emerge from the Republic with knowledge in hand, the reader cannot imagine him carrying on with his life as though nothing happened. Socrates exposes Glaucon to a compelling argument regarding the health of the soul. The argument strikes a 1 Plato, The Republic of Plato, 620c2.

chord with us because we can all see ourselves reflected in Glaucon. Only at the end of Plato’s Republic does the reader fully realise the extent of Glaucon’s transformation. In this article, I trace Glaucon’s education throughout the Republic and demonstrate that Socrates saves him from the life of the tyrant by reorienting his eros towards philosophy and the truth. To do so, I proceed in three parts. In Part I, I present the Allegory of the Cave as the key to understanding the process of education that takes place in the Republic. In Part II, the Allegory of the Cave is shown to reflect three distinct stages in the process of education, and I will trace Glaucon’s movement through these stages. These stages are a logical consequence of the challenge that Glaucon presents to Socrates at the beginning of Book II, in which Socrates must provide a defence of the life of justice and show the life of injustice to be deficient. This challenge exposes Glaucon’s erotic nature, an eroticism that will need to be reworked and moderated in order for him to engage in philosophy. In the first stage of education, Socrates leads Glaucon to consider an initial questioning of convention that compels him to give up many of his erotic desires. The second stage is a turning of the soul, aimed at reworking traditional Greek virtues and discovering justice to be a harmony within the soul. The third stage is the narrative climax that outlines and defends the just life. Lastly, in the fourth stage, Socrates leads Glaucon back into the Cave to reveal the various disharmonies that corrupt the soul, culminating with the tyrant. The third and final part of this article will discuss Book X and Leontius, and present 101

them as an exhortation to extend the learning of the Republic beyond the dialogue itself. This article will conclude that Glaucon has been saved from a life of servitude to the tyrannical eros by a compelling tale of the justice of the soul.

The Allegory of the Cave is presented in Plato’s Republic as a model for education. After discussing the divided line, Socrates begins Book VII intending to “make an image of our nature in its education and want of education.”2 In essence, the process of moving out of the Cave is the process of moving upwards on the divided line. Accordingly, the image of the Cave moves from the depths of dark ignorance to a geographic highpoint where one can contemplate the sun, which was presented as a symbol of knowledge in Book VI, with the discussion of sight and what enables comprehension of the forms.3 The Allegory of the Cave begins with an image of our want of education, as Socrates describes a group of prisoners who are stuck at the bottom of a cave. In back of the prisoners there is a road behind a wall and “a fire burning far above and behind them.”4 The prisoners down in the Cave are stuck facing the wall in front of them, and are only able to see the shadows projected on it. These shadows are cast by artefacts which are held up and manipulated by puppet-handlers standing on the road. A quick reference back to Book I and the theories of justice expounded there suf-

fices to explain the meaning of the prisoners seeing these shadows. The interlocutors in the first books simply repeat the definitions of justice that have been given to them by convention. Socrates notes that “such men ... hold that the truth is nothing other than the shadows of artificial things.”5 The lack of critical thought directed towards their beliefs on such crucial matters makes them lovers of opinion, in the language of Book V, as opposed to lovers of knowledge. The prisoners’ abundance of opinion and lack of knowledge is demonstrative of their want of education. The first stage of education, an initial questioning of convention, consists in a release from the shackles. Release is a painful, confusing experience that shakes the man’s entire world view. Turning his head away from the wall, he is “unable to make out those things whose shadows he saw before.”6 While another person arrives and tells the newly released man that previously he saw “silly nothings,” the former prisoner would “be at a loss and believe that what was seen before is truer than what is now shown.”7 This new person is the man’s teacher, there to facilitate the education. Compulsion and force are the necessary tools of the teacher, who must strip away the man’s (now student’s) confidence in conventional beliefs and opinion. If Glaucon is to differentiate himself from lovers of opinion, then he must become a lover of knowledge. In order to become a lover of knowledge, however, it is necessary for him to undergo the painful negation of the summation of his beliefs about the world.

2 Ibid., 514a1-514a2. 3 Ibid., 507d6-508e2. 4 Ibid., 514b2.

5 Ibid., 515c1-515c2. 6 Ibid., 515c9. 7 Ibid., 515d2; 515d6-515d7.

I THE ALLEGORY OF THE CAVE

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The second stage of the educa- est level on the divided line. Yet, tion in the Cave continues to re- the image that Socrates gives us of work conventional beliefs to pre- education reaches its climax with pare the soul for contemplation of the contemplation of the stars and the forms. The student, dragged the sun outside of the Cave. Every along the steep path up and out of mystery evaporates and the stuthe Cave, has “his eyes so full of [the dent, who now experiences an insun’s] beam,” and is “unable to see tellectual liberation, can see “the even one of the things now said to source of the seasons and the years,” be true.”8 Once his eyes become ac- which are the forms themselves.10 customed to the extreme brightness After basking in intellection, and he exits the Cave, the student is the student must descend back able to see first the shadows of the into the Cave, which is not a happy area outside, then the landscape. development. There he must reThe accustoming of join his former sight to the light is the fellow-prisoners The student comes analogue of preparing in looking at the back to his society the soul for knowlshadows on the edge, and eventually with different priorities wall. By now the he is able to see the because what he used student finds the stars and the moon to hold as true has been “honours, praisby night and the sun shown to him to be es, and prizes for by day, which is the false. He has given up the man who is analogue of contem- the opinions that were sharpest at makplating the forms. ing out” the shadHere he reaches dictated by convenows repulsive, the third stage of ed- tion in order to pursue longing instead ucation and is now knowledge.” to return outside happiest, because he the cave to purcan contemplate the forms. This sue knowledge rather than opinion. contemplation corresponds with The student comes back to his sothe highest level on the divided ciety with different priorities beline, that of intellection.9 It should cause what he used to hold as true be noted that contemplation of the has been shown to him to be false. forms never occurs in Plato’s Re- He has given up the opinions that public. Socrates at numerous occa- were dictated by convention in orsions suggests that there is a longer der to pursue knowledge. Such a road that they could be taking, one pursuit requires a harmony of the that could presumably lead them soul, which is not found in the to the truth. But uncovering the souls of the prisoners.11 Now, after truth is not the objective of the Re- having left the Cave, the student is public. Rather, Socrates’ objective unable to assume his old place and is to ignite the love of knowledge stare at the shadows on the wall. within his interlocutors (which it 10 Ibid., 516b9. is ostensibly Plato’s objective to ig- 11 The Republic traces the nite within the reader) in order to corruptions of the soul in Books VIII inspire a quest to reach the high- and IX to show how the different types

“

8 Ibid., 515e8-516a1; 516a1-516a2. 9 Ibid., 511d8.

of disharmony manifest themselves in the lives of men.

103

Many commentators have noted that from the moment that Glaucon offers the Myth of Gyges and the dichotomy between the perfectly just and perfectly unjust man, the Republic inevitably moves towards the rich and compelling image of the soul’s education that Socrates describes in Book VII.12 After hearing the conventional definitions of justice brought up and defeated in Book I, Glaucon speaks up at the beginning of Book II in defence of Thrasymachus’ notion that it is more advantageous to be unjust than just. Socrates claims that justice is good for itself as well as for its consequences, and Glaucon decides to present an argument in favour of injustice so that he can provoke Socrates to respond in defense of justice. He presents the Myth of Gyges, in which a shepherd finds a ring that conferred upon him the power of invisibility. Given “license to do whatever he wants,” the shepherd commits adultery with the king’s wife and kills the king.13 Glaucon’s point is that people will be unjust given the opportunity to do so without being punished. This is the essence of the challenge

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12 Bloom notes this on page 425 of his Interpretive Essay that accompanies his translation, already cited. Eric Voegelin shares the interpretation that the Myth of Gyges sets The Republic in motion in his discussion of the work’s general structure on page 47 and in his discussion of the Myth of Gyges on page 77 of his Voegelin, Plato. This interpretation is further shared by John Sallis, who argues that “the cave image illuminates and gathers up the entire movement undergone on the way to the center of the Republic,” on page 445 of Sallis, Being and Logos. 13 Ibid., 359c1-359c2.

he poses to Socrates. He wants to know why the life in which someone is perfectly just but seems unjust is better than the life in which someone is unjust but seems perfectly just. In his argument, Glaucon conceives of justice as a kind of unfortunate necessity: men must appear just for the sake of society, but they would be much happier if they could go around eating, drinking, killing and having sex at will. Glaucon’s challenge to Socrates sets the objective of the Republic. Glaucon wants Socrates to show him how the just life is better than the unjust life. The proof that such a challenge will require sets the narrative on course for the Allegory of the Cave. For this reason, John Sallis argues that “the cave image illuminates and gathers up the entire movement” that has taken place in the Republic up to that point.14 The movement on the way to the Cave passes through the discussion of the definition of justice given in Book IV as a harmony between different parts of a whole. Before he gives his definition of justice, Socrates becomes quite excited, as though he were chasing the definition. Searching for what justice is, Socrates describes what he is envisioning to be “hard going and steeped in shadows.”15 The hunt for justice and the discovery of it in a dark place both inserts movement into the narrative and evokes the Allegory of the Cave. However, it is important to remember that the discussion leading up to the Cave was set in motion by Glaucon’s challenge to Socrates. Glaucon’s argument also reveals something about his own character, which in turn further focuses the challenge that Socrates faces. Glau14 Sallis, Being and Logos, 445. 15 Plato, The Republic of Plato, 432c8.

con is an erotic man, but his eros is directed towards the desires. The reader’s first indication is the way in which Glaucon sets up the argument about injustice. When he postulates what a happy life would be, he describes a life of eating, drinking, killing and having sex with impunity. It could be objected that he only describes such a life for the sake of argument, as he adds a qualification to his argument: “don’t suppose it is I who speak, Socrates, but rather those who praise injustice ahead of justice.”16 However, Glaucon’s desire goes further than his initial framing of the argument. During the building of the city in speech, Glaucon objects to their constitution on the basis that it seems “to make men have their feast without relishes.”17 Excessive and misdirected eros seems to be a pervasive phenomenon in the society Glaucon describes. When pressed to specify what kind of relishes he would like, Glaucon responds that it should be “as is conventional,” and that men should “recline on couches and eat from tables and have relishes and desserts.”18 At another instance, Socrates makes reference to Glaucon’s desire for young boys and calls him an “erotic man,” which Glaucon attempts to laugh off by saying, “if you want to point to me while you speak about what erotic men do ... I agree for the sake of the argument.”19 Socrates’ challenge is to redirect Glaucon’s eros towards the just life, but he will have to grapple with Glaucon’s attachment to his desires in the process, and attempt to redirect it towards a philosophical eros. 16 Ibid., 361e2-361e3. 17 Ibid., 372c2-372c3. 18 Ibid., 372d8-372d9. 19 Ibid., 474d4; 475a3-475a4.

II THE FOUR STAGES OF GLAUCON’S EDUCATION BREAKING OUT OF THE SHACKLES

In the first stage of Glaucon’s education Socrates compels him to give up many of his desires and consider an ideal city, built in speech. After Socrates and Adeimantus create the “true city” in speech, Glaucon interrupts to object to the lack of luxuries in the city, arguing for the conventional relishes.20 Tentatively accepting such a feverish city, Socrates instates a guardian class to protect it. In order for these guardians to be good at their job, they must be restrained and disciplined. To this end Socrates turns on the poets, whose works dictate much of the conventions that Glaucon holds dear. Raising the guardians with tales of Zeus, who is “so struck when he sees Hera that he isn’t even willing to go into the house, but wants to have intercourse right there on the ground,” is not conducive to creating a good guardian class.21 The guardians should not be raised with tales of excessive desire. Socrates also wants to prevent the guardians from becoming too materialistic. They “mustn’t be allowed to be receivers of gifts or lovers of money,” lest they acquire the “illiberality accompanying love of money” that is characteristic of Achilles.22 These restrictions are markedly part of Socrates’ effort to moderate eros within Glaucon. After Socrates argues for moderation within the city, he will divide the city and define justice as a harmony between the parts. For 20 Ibid., 372e6. 21 Ibid., 390c2-390c3. 22 Ibid., 390d7-390d8; 391c4-391c5. 105

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now, however, Glaucon feels compelled to agree with Socrates that the guardian class should be disciplined because he cannot possibly argue for a guardian class that is constantly distracted by desires. The discussion of music in Book III is particularly illustrative of Glaucon’s moderation. When Socrates opens the discussion Glaucon appears well versed in the elements of music. They discuss the type of musical education appropriate for the guardian class and Socrates continues to expose Glaucon’s desires by asking him about the different modes of music. Glaucon is familiar with the Lydian mode, which accompanies “drunkenness, softness, and idleness,” traits that are “most unseemly for guardians.”23 Glaucon has already committed himself to preserving the honour and discipline of the guardians, which precludes their having such unseemly traits. He must therefore give up the Lydian mode of music. The Ionian mode, too, is not good for the guardians. This mode is “suitable for symposia,” which Allan Bloom’s note indicates to be a drinking party.24 The two modes that remain are the Dorian and the Phrygian, which turn out to be the modes that Socrates seeks. The guardians must have one mode for violent deeds that require courage and another that is peaceful and invokes moderation. Socrates claims that educating the guardians with these modes of music will create “moderate and courageous men,” who know when to act “moderately and in measure” and how to hold “[themselves] in check.”25 The type of guardian that Socrates is creating to defend their 23 Ibid., 398e7; 398e7-398e8. 24 Ibid., 398e10. 25 Ibid., 399c4; 399c1; 399b7.

city in speech has therefore had to give up the bodily desires of drinking and sex. More importantly, Glaucon has felt compelled to consent to the lack of relishes to accompany the feasts of the guardians, and has done so willingly. After their discussion of music, Socrates remarks that, “by the dog... unawares we’ve again purged the city that a while ago we said was luxurious,” to which Glaucon responds: “That’s a sign of our moderation.”26 Finally, Glaucon is asked to detach himself completely from his material and bodily desires by giving up private property. Socrates first suggests that women, marriage, and procreation of children be “arranged according to the proverb that friends have all things in common.”27 The removal of the particular relationships between men and women greatly moderates sexual desire, as Socrates points out in their discussion in Book V about the equality of men and women. Socrates suggests that women, whether young or old and wrinkled, should “exercise naked with the men in the palaestras.”28 While Glaucon finds this proposal ridiculous at first, Socrates reminds him that not so long ago the Greeks found it strange to see men exercising naked. When Glaucon brings up the desires that these guardians have, Socrates chastises him, saying that a relationship based on desire is not holy, “nor will the rulers allow it.”29 In fact, the act of procreation advocated by Socrates is calculated for the purpose of achieving the best kind of offspring. Instead of allowing for procreation 26 Ibid., 399e6-399e7; 399e8. 27 Ibid., 423e7-423e8. 28 Ibid., 452a12-452b1. 29 Ibid., 548e1.

resulting from sexual desire, the rulers “will have to use a throng of lies and deceptions” in order to convince the “best men to have intercourse as often as possible with the best women ... if the flock is going to be of the most eminent quality.”30 The guardian class is therefore not permitted sexual desires and the male-female relationship loses both its private nature and its erotic component. More importantly for the purposes of his education, Glaucon finds himself compelled by the argument to accept the loss of the guardian class’ desires. Moderating Glaucon’s desire has constituted much of the first stage of his education. In order for Glaucon to be open to philosophical argument, it was necessary for Socrates to have him renounce many elements of his erotic nature. The construction of the city in speech was the perfect opportunity to do so, as Glaucon was able to object to a lack of luxury within this city. Socrates addressed his concern, showing Glaucon that moderation was necessary in order to have a guardian class that could protect the city. Indeed, Socrates entirely removed the element of desire from the guardians’ lives with the discussion of procreation, which Glaucon accepted for the good of the city. To use the language of the Cave, Socrates’ argument compels Glaucon to abandon his commitment to the shadows on the wall of the Cave. Having made an argument regarding a hypothetical city, Socrates can next turn his attention to the health of the soul. In the second stage of Glaucon’s education, his soul must be pre-

pared for the activity of philosophy. The movement in the Republic from the Myth of Gyges through the first stage of Glaucon’s education was primarily concerned with moderating Glaucon’s eros. In the second stage, Socrates addresses the health of Glaucon’s soul. In particular, Glaucon discovers the definition of justice that Socrates offers and what that means for the type of soul he should be seeking to fashion. The argument for justice made in the Republic is intimately tied with the health of the soul. Indeed, the health of the soul is a prerequisite for accessing the higher levels of the divided line. First, this section will show that Socrates jumps from the first stage to the second by discussing the soul as an analogue to the city in speech. Second, the definition of justice provides a blueprint for the healthy soul, after which Glaucon must try and fashion his own soul. The division of the soul into three distinct parts is the first movement in providing Glaucon with the concept of a healthy soul. The ideal city in speech was divided into three classes: the complete guardians, the auxiliary class, and the money-making class. Each class has its particular duties and functions. The complete guardians form the more intelligent and disciplined class, being the source of wisdom and good counsel in the city.31 The auxiliaries are guardians of a lesser calibre than the complete guardians in terms of their wisdom, but instead are endowed with large amounts of courage. The complete guardians form the auxiliaries’ opinions, and the auxiliaries have the courage to act unflinchingly to the benefit of the city. The money-making class simply performs its individual crafts

30 Ibid., 459c9; 459d8-459d9; 459e.

31 Ibid., 428d9.

TURNING THE BODY

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and does not have much wisdom or courage. Once the city in speech has been adequately treated, Socrates begins to discuss the soul as an analogue. He distinguishes three parts of the soul: reason, spirit, and desire. In the City of the Soul, reason is the complete guardian class, spirit is the auxiliary class, and desire is the money-making class. Socrates addresses the question of how to govern these three separate classes with his conception of justice, seeking a harmony between the parts in which each minds its own business. In terms of the city in speech, Socrates defines justice to be “the minding of one’s own business and not being a busybody.”32 The city in speech is most justly governed when each of the three parts performs its own duties. The key to justice is moderation. While wisdom is found in the complete guardian class and courage is found in the auxiliary class, “moderation doesn’t work that way, but actually stretches throughout the whole, from top to bottom of the entire scale.”33 In this schema, the complete guardians rule over the auxiliary and money-making classes, which, in turn, perform their duties as required of them. In the same way, justice within the soul is found when each of the parts acts in moderation to what is required of them. In the same way that the guardian class rules in the city, reason should rule in the soul because “it is wise and has forethought about all of the soul.”34 Just as with the city, the spirited part of the soul should “be obedient” to reason and be “its ally.”35 The part of the soul in most 32 Ibid., 433a8-433a9. 33 Ibid., 432a1-432a3. 34 Ibid., 441e4-441e5. 35 Ibid., 441e5.

need of moderation is the desiring part, which reason and spirit must control. The greatest threat to the soul is that the desiring part becomes “big and strong, and then [does] not mind[…] its own business,” instead attempting to control the other parts.36 The healthy soul exists when each part performs its own duty in relative moderation, creating a harmony between the three parts, “exactly like three notes in a harmonic scale, lowest, highest and middle.”37 The description of the desiring part directly addresses Glaucon, warning him about how his soul might become corrupt and offering validation for his recent sacrifice of all the desires. The division of the soul and the portrayal of a healthy and just soul continue the Republic’s movement towards the image of the Cave. So far, Glaucon abandoned his commitment to the desiring part of the soul. He has begun to re-prioritise his values, placing reason at the top of the hierarchy. By engaging with Socrates’ argument, Glaucon has opened himself to the answers he may receive in response to his initial challenge. Indeed, Socrates is poised to address the first part of Glaucon’s challenge by praising the just life. Once he does that, he will still have to respond to the second part by blaming the unjust life. THE ROAD OUT OF THE CAVE

Socrates’ praise of the just life constitutes the third stage in the education of Glaucon. While there is no moment in the Republic that corresponds with an exit from the Cave and contemplation of the good, this third stage is the closest we get. The 36 Ibid., 442a8-442b1. 37 Ibid., 443d6-443d7.

Republic discusses the good in an abstract way; while he leaves “aside for the time being what the good itself is,” Socrates acquaints Glaucon with the existence of the good, which he says is intelligible to us as the idea of the good and accessible through philosophical contemplation.38 The short road leads to an awareness of the good, while the good itself is only accessible by the long road. The third stage of education is the exhortation to take the longer road, in which Socrates portrays philosophy as pleasurable. In order to claim that the just life is pleasurable, Socrates first establishes the path to understanding the truth. Socrates opens a discussion of eros by making reference to “all the boys in the bloom of youth,” in which Glaucon delights.39 Glaucon apparently delights in every sort of boy, whether he is cute or kingly or manly. Similarly, lovers of wine enjoy all types of wine and philosophers enjoy all types of wisdom. Socrates thus defines philosophers as “lovers of the sight of truth,” and lovers of knowledge.40 However, lovers of opinion are different from lovers of truth and knowledge. Opinion is simply a belief that one holds, whereas knowledge is a belief that one holds which is true. In terms of the Cave, the lovers of opinion are the prisoners who stare at the shadows on the wall, whereas the philosopher seeks to find the source of those shadows. The philosopher seeks the being without the seeming, the “idea of the beautiful itself, which always stays the same in all respects” instead of the many manifestations of seeming beauty, with which the lover of

opinion is satisfied.41 Those who are content with the shadows on the wall occupy a very low level on the divided line, whereas the philosophers constantly attempt to reach the highest level of intellection. Socrates thus lays out for Glaucon the path to accessing the truth, which is the path out of the Cave. In order to prove to Glaucon the good of the just life, Socrates describes philosophy as a viable object of eros. Philosophy is the love of truth. Bloom argues that “Socrates formulates his account of the good in such a way as to appeal to Glaucon’s interest and passion.”42 Socrates has already curtailed Glaucon’s desires throughout the Republic. However, because “eros is the soul’s longing for completeness,” the erotic Glaucon needs a new object for his now-repressed eros.43 In order to convince Glaucon of truth as a suitable replacement, Socrates must establish a rank order of pleasures. Socrates does so by appealing to truth itself. He plays on the seeming-being dichotomy that Glaucon set up in Book II with the perfectly just man who seems unjust. Socrates argues that while men seek the reputation of being just and fair, they are not satisfied with simply appearing to have things that they consider good. Men want the real thing when it comes to the good. The perfectly just man will seek not only to appear just, but also to be just. Socrates thus presents Glaucon with a way out of the Cave—an alternative way of life, the life of philosophy—and proof that justice is good in itself. Justice, after all, is a harmony within the soul, in which reason rules over

38 Ibid., 506e1. 39 Ibid., 474d4-474d5. 40 Ibid., 475e4.

41 Ibid., 479a2-479a3. 42 Ibid., 401. 43 Ibid., 402. 109

spirit and desire. Indeed, Socrates has shown that the justice of the perfectly just man is not due to his restraint of desire, but rather to a difference in the object of his eros. Socrates still has one question left to answer. After having praised justice, he must blame injustice. For this last task, it is necessary to revert to the city in speech to see the different ways it can be corrupted, which is analogous to descending back into the Cave. Starting from aristocracy, the city degenerates to timocracy, oligarchy, and finally democracy. A corruption in the harmony that exists between the different parts of the soul accompanies each stage of degeneration. Indeed, Socrates’ fear of the desiring part becoming big and strong amplifies with each stage. The extreme corruption is the tyrant, who is ruled by his desires. Socrates must defend the life of philosophy, which is ruled by the love of knowledge, from the life of the tyrant in order to completely convince Glaucon of the good of the just life. Socrates’ blame of the unjust life proceeds by investigating the life of the tyrant. In the same way that the city in speech provides a looking glass into the soul, so is the tyrant described in terms of the soul. Socrates defines the tyrant as a man whose guiding principles are “drunken, erotic, and melancholic.”44 Desire, the lowest of the soul’s components, rules in the soul of the tyrant with “all anarchy and lawlessness.”45 Their desire leads them to frantically seek food, drink, and sex, as these are the things that

the tyrant considers good. The tyrant has the desires of the perfectly unjust man in the Myth of Gyges, and carries them out as much as possible. The problem that Glaucon posed to Socrates comes to its impasse. Book IX is a make-or-break moment because, as Bloom points out, “either philosophy or tyranny is the best way of life.”46 Having already made the argument for philosophy, Socrates must show that tyranny is the worst way of life. The philosopher and the tyrant are similar in that they are both erotic, and they are different with respect to the object of their eros. Socrates proceeds, therefore, by demonstrating that the eros of the tyrant is inferior to that of the philosopher. He presents an argument to refute the desire of the tyrant in three steps. First, Socrates argues that the tyrant can never find peace, as he never experiences “a taste of freedom or true friendship” because his entire life is consumed by strife, in which he is “always one man’s master or another’s slave.”47 While the philosopher’s activity does not preclude others from also philosophising, the tyrant plays a zero-sum game. That is to say, an idea is infinitely accessible by everyone, but the tyrant must contest with others the resources that lead to his pleasure. The philosopher engages as an equal with others in their love of knowledge, but the tyrant must constantly be in strife to enjoy his pleasure. For example, the “consumption” of the idea of meat and potatoes by one does not preclude another from also “consuming” that thought. However, if there were real meat and potatoes at stake, there would be a conflict over the divi-

44 Ibid., 573c8. 45 Ibid., 575a1.

46 Ibid., 425. 47 Ibid., 576a5; 576a4.

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sion of that good. As a competition between tyrannical souls, this constant strife results in the tyrant’s desires remaining unfulfilled. Second, Socrates places the pleasure of the tyrant below the pleasure of the philosopher. Socrates argues that each part of the soul has its own eros, and the tyrant only has experience of the lowest form of desire. The philosopher, however, having experienced all of the eros, finds most comfort in philosophy. This second step may seem doubtful because it requires confidence in the philosophers’ judgement. However, this step becomes more persuasive once we consider its rhetorical dimension. Socrates is speaking to Glaucon, a potential tyrant. In attempting to dissuade him from tyranny and attract him to philosophy, Socrates has given Glaucon an image through the entire movement of the Republic leading to the Cave image of what philosophy looks like. One can safely say that Glaucon has received a taste of philosophy. The effectiveness of the second step of the argument is therefore dependent on how Glaucon has responded to his education so far. This is somewhat of a gamble on the part of Socrates, but he wagers that Glaucon will agree with him that philosophy is the higher pleasure. Third, while the pleasure of philosophy is pure, the pleasure of the tyrant is mixed with pain. The pleasure of the philosopher exists in enjoying the truth, whereas the pleasure of the tyrant is never an enjoyment, but the “absence of pain and repose from it.”48 This ties back to Socrates’ first point concerning strife. The philosopher’s pleasure in contemplating the truth, which he argues proceeds with others 48 Ibid., 583d9-583d10.

through the dialectical method, can continue without conflict. This is the case because they are equals. The tyrant is always in conflict and he must enter a master-slave relationship in order to enjoy his pleasure. III THE STORY OF LEONITUS

With his refutation of tyranny as the most pleasurable life, Socrates completes the movement of the Republic that was set in motion by Glaucon’s challenge that Socrates praise the just life and blame the unjust life. More importantly, the erotic Glaucon appears to have been persuaded that there is pleasure to be had in the just life. Bloom’s interpretation of this movement is that Socrates “takes a young man tempted by the tyrannic life and attempts to give him at least a modicum of awareness of philosophy which will cure him of the lust for tyranny.”49 At the conclusion of Socrates’ attempt, it is worthwhile to step back and review the change that has taken place within Glaucon, and consider what he will carry away from the discussion. In fact, the Republic is structured to ensure that the discussion that takes place in it is not forgotten after the dialogue is over. Socrates uses the example of Leontius to persuade Glaucon of the importance of continuing to question convention. In distinguishing spirit from desire, Socrates cites a story he has heard about Leontius, and Glaucon says that he has heard it too. In this story, Leontius was “walking up from the Piraeus outside of the North Wall when he noticed corpses lying by the public executioner.”50 His desire 49 Ibid., 425. 50 Ibid., 439e9-439e10. 111

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told him to look at the corpses, and when he finally did he became angry with himself for doing so. Glaucon duly notes that it “certainly indicates that anger sometimes makes war against the desires.”51 However, Socrates does something more profound than simply distinguishing spirit from desire. Danielle Allen has noted that “disposed bodies” had become “a normal sight in the landscape” of democratic Athens of the time.52 Leontius’ disgust with seeing the bodies was a significant break from Athenian political ideology of the time. Glaucon’s familiarity with the story means that he would have picked up on the departure from convention. Further, the discussion of the Republic takes place in the Piraeus, and Glaucon will have to take the same road back to Athens that Leontius took. After he hears the story, Allen hopes that Glaucon will learn from Leontius’ experience and “turn away from the corpses.”53 The case of Leontius extends the importance of the discussion that is taking place far beyond the confines of the Piraeus and the Republic. The hope is that the turning of the soul that Glaucon undergoes in this discussion will continue when he leaves the Piraeus. Glaucon was the interlocutor for most of the crucial developments in the movement towards the definition of justice and is naturally the interlocutor for the closing remarks of the work. Socrates brings up the Myth of Er, in which Er is led into the underworld and witnesses the way in which souls choose their lots in the next world. The happiest among these souls is Odysseus, who 51 Ibid., 440a5-440a6. 52 Allen, “Envisaging the Body of the Condemned,” 139. 53 Ibid.

chooses the life of the just man.54 They then pass through “the plain of Lethe,” or the plain of forgetfulness, causing all to forget the entire process after going back up to earth from the underworld.55 In concluding his exhortation, Socrates urges Glaucon to make “a good crossing of the river of Lethe and not defile [his] soul.”56 The word for truth is “aletheia” (ἀλήθεια), which is the negation of “lethe” (λήθη). Socrates’ urging that Glaucon make a good crossing of the river of Lethe is a reminder that in order for Glaucon to keep his soul healthy, he must continue to pursue the truth. Linking the Myth of Er back to the story of Leontius, Danielle Allen argues that Socrates “enjoins his interlocutors to think carefully about which road they will take back from his fantastic nether worlds to the real world.”57 In so doing, Socrates addresses Glaucon directly: “And thus, Glaucon...”58 The road that he hopes Glaucon will keep to is the longer road, the “upper road,” the road that will keep their souls healthy. As such, Glaucon’s education in the Piraeus is completed and the road upwards and out of the Cave lies before him. This article has tracked the education of Glaucon’s soul throughout the course of the Republic. Glaucon accompanies Socrates down to the Piraeus, where Glaucon poses the challenge of praising justice over injustice. Through their journey, in which Socrates and Glaucon engage in dialectic, they pass through the different stages found in the Al54 Plato, The Republic of Plato, 620c4620c5. 55 Ibid., 621a2; note 19 on p. 472. 56 Ibid., 621c1-621c2 57 Allen, “Envisaging the Body of the Condemned,” 139. 58 Plato, The Republic of Plato, 621b8.

legory of the Cave. First, Glaucon was compelled by Socrates to let go of his erotic desires. Next, Socrates began the turning of Glaucon’s soul by introducing him to an image of justice: a soul in harmony with itself in which reason rules. Third, Socrates introduced Glaucon to the consideration of the truth and the hunt for it as a pleasure in itself, thereby answering the first part of the challenge, namely praising justice. Fourth, Socrates answers the second part of Glaucon’s challenge by showing how the man who leads the perfectly unjust life, the tyrant, is not as happy as the philosopher. By the end of the Republic, the reader feels that Glaucon will not become a tyrannical soul when he leaves the Piraeus. The tale of the Republic has saved Glaucon’s soul, which now sees the road out of the Cave. This tale can save our souls, too, if we are persuaded by it.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

Allen, Danielle S. “Envisaging the Body of the Condemned: The Power of Platonic Symbols.” Classical Philology 95, no.2 (2000): 133-150. Plato. The Republic of Plato, translated and edited by Allan Bloom. New York: Basic Books, 1991. Sallis, John. Being and Logos: Reading the Platonic Dialogues. Bloomington and Indianapolis: Indiana University Press, 1996. Voegelin, Eric. Plato. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press, 1966.

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Gender Politics in the Middle East: by Helen Bowman

A Comparative Case Study between the Islamic Republic of Iran and the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

little political privileges the average â&#x20AC;&#x153; What Saudi citizen has, Saudi women lack; at

present, they cannot vote, run for public office in municipal elections, nor can they be elected lawmakers.

â&#x20AC;&#x153;

n November 2010, elections were held to establish the executive board for a new United Nations super-agency, UN Women, an organization devoted to dealing with women’s issues and promoting worldwide gender equality. The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Islamic Republic of Iran both competed for seats on the council, provoking strong opposition from human and women’s rights advocates, who feared that the systematic discrimination of women in their legal codes would send the wrong message to women around the world.1 Iran drew international condemnation when one of its female citizens was charged with adultery, and subsequently sentenced to death by stoning.2 Saudi Arabia is also frequently criticized, as women are not allowed to drive, nor can they make 1 “Iran Fails to Get Seat in Un Women’s Rights Agency”, BBC, November 10, 2010, http://www. bbc.co.uk/news/world-middleeast-11729848 (accessed November 10 2010); Mona Eltahawy, “Saudi Arabia’s Spot on the Board of Un Women a Sad Joke,” The Star, November 13, 2010, http:// www.thestar.com/news/insight/ article/890485--saudi-arabia-s-spoton-the-board-of-un-women-a-sad-joke (accessed March 15, 2012); and Bill Varner, “Iran, Saudi Arabia Seats on Un Women’s Board Would Be a ‘Joke,’ Ebadi Says,” Bloomberg, November 9, 2010, http://www. bloomberg.com/news/2010-11-09/ iran-saudi-arabia-seats-on-un-womens-board-would-be-a-joke-ebadi-says. html (accessed March 15, 2012). 2 “Iran Fails to Get Seat in Un Women’s Rights Agency”, BBC; and Varner, “Iran, Saudi Arabia Seats on Un Women’s Board Would Be a ‘Joke,’ Ebadi Says.”

important decisions without approval from a male family member.3 Activists questioned how much progress UN Women could make in forwarding women’s rights if actors such as Iran and Saudi Arabia were allowed to sit on the council; specifically, they feared that these countries would not recognize gender equality as part of human rights.4 Ironically, Iran’s bid was rejected, but Saudi Arabia ran uncontested and secured a position, prompting further outrage.5 Activists said they found it difficult to take the UN seriously in allowing a conservative nation like Saudi Arabia to take part in the global campaign for gender equality. They also found it paradoxical that Iran’s bid should be rejected, while Saudi Arabia’s succeeded, since, as Iranian Nobel laureate Shirin Ebadi stated, “the situation of women’s rights in [Saudi Arabia] is even worse [than that of Iran].”6 The reaction of 3 “Iran Fails to Get Seat in Un Women’s Rights Agency”, BBC; Eltahawy, “Saudi Arabia’s Spot on the Board of Un Women a Sad Joke”; and Miglani, “Saudi Arabia Spot on Un Women Agency Triggers Outcry.” 4 “Iran Fails to Get Seat in Un Women’s Rights Agency”, BBC; Varner, “Iran, Saudi Arabia Seats on Un Women’s Board Would Be a ‘Joke,’ Ebadi Says.” 5 “Iran Fails to Get Seat in Un Women’s Rights Agency”, BBC; Eltahawy, “Saudi Arabia’s Spot on the Board of Un Women a Sad Joke”; and Miglani, “Saudi Arabia Spot on Un Women Agency Triggers Outcry.” 6 Eltahawy, “Saudi Arabia’s Spot on the Board of Un Women a Sad Joke”; Miglani, “Saudi Arabia Spot on Un Women Agency Triggers Outcry”; and Varner, “Iran, Saudi Arabia Seats on Un Women’s Board Would Be a 117

women’s rights advocates towards Iran and Saudi Arabia underscore their poor women’s rights records. This paper will focus on a comparative examination of modern gender politics in Saudi Arabia and Iran, and will examine how growing feminist and reformist movements will impact the future of gender politics in both countries. The first section of this paper will compare and contrast several major women’s issues in Saudi Arabia and Iran, namely political participation, education and employment, and domestic law. It contends that, overall, Iran has progressed further in woman’s rights than Saudi Arabia, due to the more progressive nature of the Iranian political system and the constraints against women in the Saudi male guardianship system. However in the realm of domestic law, both countries have a long way to go to increase gender equality, as a result of their conservative and patriarchal interpretations of Islamic law. The second part of this paper will look at the growing women’s rights movements in both countries and how they might affect reform in the future, despite efforts to stifle them. Growing support from within these countries and from the international community might eventually force the governments of both countries to implement reform policies, but change will occur slowly, given the conservative nature of these societies. BACKGROUND: LEGAL SYSTEMS IN SAUDI ARABIA AND IRAN BOWMAN 118

The legal codes of both Saudi Arabia and Iran are founded on Shari’a law, Islamic law based on the ‘Joke,’ Ebadi Says.”

Qur’an and the “customs and practices…associated with the Prophet Muhammad, comprising his deeds and utterances,” known as the Hadith.7 Due to religious differences however, the interpretation, and implementation of Shari’a law differs in each country.8 Saudi Arabia’s Basic Law, introduced in 1992 by King Fahd, establishes Shari’a law as the foundation for all jurisprudence in the country, in accordance with orthodox Wahhabi interpretation of Sunni Islam that falls under the strict Hanbali school of thought. Because Shari’a is revered and sacred, only expert male scholars on the Qur’an and the Hadith are permitted to become judges in the judiciary.9 Ultimately, however, definitive authority rests with the monarch, “whose primary role [is] to ensure that the Islamic community [lives] in conformity with the Shari’a.”10 Since the country is an absolute monarchy, Saudis have few avenues to exercise any political power, unless they are affiliated with the royal family. In contrast, the 1979 Constitution of the Islamic Republic of Iran, established by Imam Khomeini, embraces the Ja’fari school of jurisprudence.11 All political power and legitimacy lies with the Imams, rather than a single sovereign, as in the case of Saudi Arabia.12 Jurisprudence in Iran is founded on two pillars: the 7 Johnson and Vriens, Islam: Governing under Sharia; and Robinson, “Sharia Law within Sunni Islam: A Brief Introduction.” 8 Johnson and Vriens, Islam: Governing under Sharia; and Metz, “The Legal System.” 9 Metz, “The Legal System.” 10 Ibid. 11 FRIDE, The Relationship between Sharia and the Rule of Law in Iran. 12 Ibid.

authority of the faqih (Islamic Jurist), and republicanism, the rule of the people in the public sphere.13 Similar to Saudi Arabia, Iran follows an orthodox, authoritarian interpretation of Islam, in which the faqihs must submit to Islamic law, while simultaneously governing the country.14 However, in contrast to the gulf state, republicanism allows for leadership and self-determination by the people through the rule of law, political participation, elections, and lawmaking via the Iranian Parliament (the majlis).15 ISSUES FACING WOMEN IN SAUDI ARABIA AND IRAN POLITICAL PARTICIPATION

As an absolute monarchy and a rentier state, by definition Saudi Arabia leaves its citizens very little room to participate in politics. The country’s enormous oil wealth has allowed the Al-Saud family to essentially “buy” popular support. For example, the establishment of a strong social welfare system and a lack of taxation have afforded the authorities the ability to mute political demands.16 The King appoints all members of the country’s legislative branch, increasing the reach of the royal family.17 Local assembly elections began in 2005, but only men above the age of 21 were permitted to vote and its power is highly limited.18 What little political privileges the average Saudi citizen has, Saudi women lack; at present, 13 Ibid. 14 Ibid. 15 Ibid. 16 Okruhlik, “Rentier Wealth, Unruly Law, and the Rise of Opposition.” 17 Ziegler, “The Political System of Saudi Arabia.” 18 Ibid.

they cannot vote, run for public office in municipal elections, nor can they be elected lawmakers.19 However, women’s political participation is on the rise. In 2009, King Abdullah appointed the country’s first female minister, and in 2011, the King declared that women would have the right to be appointed to the Shura Council, and by 2015, women would be able to vote and run for office in municipal elections.20 Iran, on the other hand, is an Islamic Republic. While it shares an element of Islamic authoritarianism with Saudi Arabia, Iran’s political system has partially democratic features. Its Legislative Body, President, and Assembly of Experts are elected by the people, while the Supreme (religious) Leader, Armed 19 “Saudi Women Barred from Voting”, BBC, October 11, 2004, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/ middle_east/3734420.stm (accessed November 22, 2010); and Ziegler, “The Political System of Saudi Arabia” 20 “Women in Saudi Arabia to Vote and Run in Elections”, BBC, September 25, 2011, http:// www.bbc.co.uk/news/world-uscanada-15052030 (accessed March 8, 2012); Martin Chulov, “Saudi Women to Be Given Right to Vote and Stand for Election in Four Years”, The Guardian, September 25 2011, http:// www.guardian.co.uk/world/2011/ sep/25/saudi-women-right-to-vote (accessed March 8, 2012); Incognito, “Saudis’ Path to Reform?”; Wilcke, Loosening the Shackles on Women; and Katherine Zoepf, “The Female Factor: Talk of Women’s Rights Divides Saudi Arabia,” The New York Times, March 31, 2010, http:// www.nytimes.com/2010/06/01/world/ middleeast/01iht-saudi.html (accessed March 13, 2012).

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Forces, the Head of the Judiciary, and the Expediency Council are appointed.21 Women are permitted to hold public office and at age fifteen, gain the right to vote.22 According to a survey conducted by the UN on female political participation in the Middle East and North Africa, women held 1% of decision-making positions in the government at the subministerial level in 1998, and 5% of parliamentary seats in the country’s legislative assembly in 1999.23 Democracy in Iran is largely constrained by the half-elected, halfappointed Council of Guardians, which presides over all elected and unelected institutions to ensure Islamic law is upheld in every area of Iranian life.24 The Council of Guardians has the power to veto bills passed through parliament, and can bar candidates from standing for election; all women and almost all reformist candidates were barred during the 2005 national elections.25 EDUCATION AND EMPLOYMENT

Although women in Saudi Arabia have the right to an education, the education system is biased towards men, in that men have better access to facilities and curricula.26 Since segregation laws largely prohibit boys and girls from being schooled together, men retain greater access to resources than women. State-provided opportuni-

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21 “Iran: Who Holds the Power?” 22 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30, 2007. 23 Moghadam, Modernizing Women, 13. 24 “Iran: Who Holds the Power?” 25 Ibid. 26 Hamdan, “Women and Education in Saudi Arabia”

ties for women have increased over the years, through better access to facilities and programs at all levels, but gender inequalities continue to exist.27 Thus, while more and more women are being educated and graduating from secondary and post-secondary institutions,28 extensive laws governing sex segregation and the traditional belief that a woman’s place is in the home, make it difficult for women to enter the public sector29 Thus, Saudi women make up a very low percentage of the country’s workforce: percentages have fluctuated between 5 and 10 % between the 1980s and the late 1990s; those that do find work in the public sector are typically limited to a few fields such as healthcare, education, and the civil service.30 Iranian women, in contrast, enjoy a freer education system, and increased opportunities for work. Liberalization of the formally conservative, religious, and restrictive education system occurred after the Iran-Iraq War, and the death of Ayatollah Khomeini.31 The costly war left the country severely cash-strapped, so to improve the national economy, the government lifted bans on study and work in various technical and professional programs.32 Now, women 27 Ibid. 28 Doumato, “Between Breadwinner and Domestic Icon?” 29 Hamdan, “Women and Education in Saudi Arabia.” 30 Doumato, “Between Breadwinner and Domestic Icon?,” 173; Hamdan, “Women and Education in Saudi Arabia,” 47; and Moghadam, Modernizing Women, 25. 31 Afary, Sexual Politics in Modern Iran. 32 Ibid., 306; Moghadam, Modernizing Women , 207.

are admitted into almost all fields, and make up 60% of the total student body in the country.33 Iranian women make up approximately 30% of the nation’s total workforce, the majority of which work in the rural private sector, taking up agricultural and manufacturing of traditional goods. Women may also work in professional fields such as healthcare and education, particularly in urban areas.34 Women in the civil service enjoy many state benefits, including insurance, pensions, and maternity leave.35 Although the rules of sex segregation are not as strictly enforced as in Saudi Arabia, Iranian women still face restrictions in the workplace, such as the requirement to wear the hijab in the presence of men.36 DOMESTIC LAW

Whereas Saudi Arabia and postRevolutionary Iran follow different interpretations of Shari’a law, family law is remarkably similar in both countries particularly with regards to discrimination against women. The patriarchal nature of the family in Middle Eastern culture has fundamentally shaped legal practice in the region, as Islamic law in both countries largely favours men over women. This is reinforced by the cultural notion 33 Afary, Sexual Politics in Modern Iran; and “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30, 2007. 34 Afary, Sexual Politics in Modern Iran, 308; and Moghadam, Modernizing Women : Gender and Social Change in the Middle East, 212. 35 Moghadam, Modernizing Women , 62. 36 Ibid.

that a woman is subordinate to her husband, and her duty is to her children and the home.37 For example, a Muslim woman’s worth is equivalent to half that of a Muslim man, in terms of court testimony, inheritance, and blood money.38 Women’s sexual “purity” is strictly enforced, all the while giving men “cheaper, easier access to sex.”39 This is particularly prevalent in laws pertaining to marriage: a wife’s sanction of the marriage contract is not necessary, marriage grants men sexual control over their wives without their consent, it is common for young girls to be married off to much older men, polygyny is permitted but polyandry is not, and Muslim women cannot marry outside of their religion.40 Divorce and custody rights are also unequal. Men may divorce “unilaterally and without cause,” whereas women wishing to divorce must obtain them through court proceedings, which, even then, may not guarantee annulment.41 The custody of children often goes to the father, rather than the mother, even if the former is abusive.42 Furthermore, criminal law in both nations allows for lighter punishments to 37 Ibid., 126. 38 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30, 2007. 39 Afary, Sexual Politics in Modern Iran, 265. 40 Moghadam, Modernizing Women, 128. 41 Ibid. 42 “Feminist Movement in Iran and Persecution of the Activists,” Youtube. com, February 28, 2008; Frances Harrison, “Iranian Women Struggle for Equality,” BBC, March 8, 2007, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_ east/6426087.stm (accessed March 8, 2012) 121

be handed down to men for crimes committed in the name of honour, even if that crime is murder.43 Despite efforts by feminists in both Iran and Saudi Arabia to bring about legal reform, the cultural paradigm of the patriarchal family continues to persist in both nations. One reason for this lack of change, according to Moghadam, is that patriarchal states like Iran and Saudi Arabia legitimize their power through policies and institutions that essentially leave women at the mercy of men, enshrining their inability to change oppressive laws.44 WOMEN’S RIGHTS MOVEMENTS AND THE FUTURE OF GENDER POLITICS

On 12 June 2006, hundreds of demonstrators met in Tehran’s Hafte-Tir Square, to peacefully protest Iran’s discriminatory laws against women.45 The police responded by attacking the demonstrators with clubs and pepper spray, and arrested over seventy people, including the five organisers, who were charged with “endangering national security” and “spreading propaganda.”46

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43 Moghadam, Modernizing Women, 128. 44 Ibid. 45 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30, 2007; Carla Power, “The Women of Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign: The Activists”, Glamour, November 3, 2009, http://www.glamour.com/ inspired/women-of-the-year/2009/ the-women-of-irans-one-millionsignatures-campaign (accessed March 15, 2012). 46 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30, 2007; “One Million Signature Campaign,” Youtube.com, March 17, 2008; and

Subsequently, a small group of feminists launched the door-to-door, grassroots Campaign for Equality, also known as the One Million Signatures Campaign. The group aims to collect one million signatures in support of a petition to reform laws that discriminate against women.47 More specifically, the campaign demands equal rights for men and women in family law, judicial practice, including harsher punishment and compensation for violence inflicted against women, an end to domestic practices such as polygamy, and banning stoning as a method of capital punishment. Beyond legal reform, the campaign aims to educate the public on Iran’s discriminatory laws, promote the needs and voices of women, and peacefully advance social and democratic change through the power of numbers and diversity.48 In short, women want equality under the law, and to be recognized as full citizens.49 The movement faces a consisPower, “The Women of Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign.” 47 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30, 2007; Asieh Amini, “Battle of the Blogs,” New Statesman, September 11, 2008, http://www.newstatesman. com/asia/2008/09/women-rightsiran-blogs-online (accessed March 15 2012); Power, “The Women of Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign”; and “Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign.” 48 “One Million Signature Campaign,” Youtube.com, March 17, 2008; Tahmasebi, “Answers to Your Most Frequently Asked Questions About the Campaign.” 49 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30 2007; Harrison, “Iranian Women Struggle for Equality.”

tent backlash from the conservative onstration in March 2007, a group Iranian government, which views of 33 prominent women’s rights it as a genuine threat to the estab- activists gathered outside of Iran’s lished order.50 The state has used Revolutionary Court to protest the many intimidating measures to try trials of the June 2006 demonstraand stifle it, including censoring tion, and were all promptly arrestor shutting down ed by the police. online and print The charges laid The patriarchal nature against them inmedia affiliated with One Million of the family in Mid- cluded endangerSignatures, bully- dle Eastern culture has ment of national ing its supporters, fundamentally shaped security and upsetspying on activ- legal practice in the ting public order.53 ists’ movements region, as Islamic law in The governand actions, pre- both countries largely ment’s ongoing venting them from effort to clamp travelling to con- favours men over wom- down on the One ferences overseas, en. This is reinforced by Million Signatures dispersing pro- the cultural notion that Campaign has not tests, and detain- a woman is subordinate deterred the moveing campaigners.51 to her husband, and her ment at all; on the Over 50 activists duty is to her children contrary, it seems have been arrested and the home.” to have hardened since the campaign the determinabegan, and they have faced signifi- tion of the movement to improve cant punishments, from beatings their organization and further their and blindfolded interrogations, to cause at the grassroots level.54 Acseveral weeks of solitary confine- cording to Iranian scholar and ment.52 During one particular dem- activist Ziba Mir Husseini, their willingness to risk their freedom 50 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in protest is alarming to hardliners in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30 who do not view women as having 2007; Amini, “Battle of the Blogs”; independent minds and voices, and Harrison, “Iranian Women Struggle are unwilling to tolerate any form of for Equality”; Power, “The Women dissent.55 The Campaign for Equalof Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign”; and Tahmasebi, “Answers ity has also been helped along by the widespread news and media to Your Most Frequently Asked

“

Questions About the Campaign.” 51 Afary, Sexual Politics in Modern Iran, 373; “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30 2007; Amini, “Battle of the Blogs”; and Power, “The Women of Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign”. 52 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30 2007; Power, “The Women of Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign”; and Tahmasebi, “Answers to Your Most

Frequently Asked Questions About the Campaign.” 53 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30 2007; and Harrison, “Iranian Women Struggle for Equality.” 54 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30 2007; and Power, “The Women of Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign”. 55 “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran,” Youtube.com, April 30 2007.

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coverage of these events, which has increased international awareness of the movement, and consequently, damaged Iran’s reputation on the international stage. Activists are optimistic that the women’s movement will eventually be able to affect some change, since both society and timing favour the campaign, and because their demands are those of all Iranian women.56 Although less visible than the Iranian women’s rights movement, similar reform campaigns have begun to spring up in Saudi Arabia, and they are gaining momentum. One in particular, called the Black Ribbon Campaign, was established in November 2009 by Saudi activist Waheja al-Huwaider. The campaign asks women around the world to tie black ribbons around their wrists and not remove them until Saudi women gain their rights. It demands equality between women and men in the areas of citizenship, domestic law, and travel. In legal reforms, it calls for an end to male guardianship, and promotes gender empowerment.57 Al-Huwaider, renowned for an Internet video of her driving a car illegally on International Women’s Day in 2008, has slowly gained domestic support. Her defenders follow her example by driving cars around Riyadh and travelling to other countries without following the rules.58

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56 Ibid. 57 Jane Fonda, “The Black Ribbon Campaign, Saudi Arabia,” Globalsister.org Blog, entry posted November 6, 2009, http://blog. globalsister.org/?p=518 (accessed March 15, 2012). 58 Wajeha Al-Huwaider, “Wajeha Al-Huwaider -- Fighting for Women’s Rights in Saudi Arabia”, Washington Post, August 16, 2009,

However, many women in Saudi Arabia are not so keen on following al-Huwaider’s liberal approach to women’s rights.59 Rowdha Yousef, incensed at al-Huwaider’s attempt to cross into Bahrain without the permission of a male guardian in 2009, created her own counter-campaign called “My Guardian Knows What’s Best for Me” that rejects what she sees as the Western notion of gender equality, not one that serves the needs of Saudi women.60 Instead, Yousef insists that women could still enjoy a great deal of freedom within the confines of the male guardianship system and Saudi Shari’a law.61 These various women’s campaigns have yet to provoke an official response from the country’s leadership, but King Abdullah’s approach to the issue seems to side more with the reformers than the conservatives.62 According to Al-Huwaider, Abdullah is, “by Saudi standards… liberal;” in recent years, he has slowly inched his country towards a more open society, especially for Saudi women.63 He has poked holes in the male guardianship system by allowing women to start businesses on their own, and in 2008 he issued a decree allowing women to stay in http://www.washingtonpost.com/ wp-dyn/content/article/2009/08/14/ AR2009081401598.html (accessed March 15, 2003); Fonda, “The Black Ribbon Campaign, Saudi Arabia.” 59 Zoepf, “The Female Factor” 60 Al-Huwaider, “Wajeha AlHuwaider”; Zoepf, “The Female Factor.” 61 Zoepf, “The Female Factor.” 62 Wilcke, Loosening the Shackles on Women; Zoepf, “The Female Factor.” 63 Al-Huwaider, “Wajeha AlHuwaider”; Incognito, “Saudis’ Path to Reform?”

hotels without a male guardian.64 King Abdullah has also softened the country’s hardline stance on sex segregation. In 2009, he established the King Abdullah University of Science and Technology, the nation’s first coeducational post-secondary research institution.65 That same year, a senior cleric was fired for criticizing co-education at the university on television, and in April of 2010, the head of Mecca’s religious police was reinstated after being dismissed for saying that Islam did not prohibit gender mixing.66 These changes, no matter how small and symbolic they may seem to Westerners, hint at shifting attitudes within Saudi society itself.67 Women are now more open to challenging authority and demanding their rights, and the country’s royalty seems to be cautiously backing the reformists.68 However, most people agree that change will be slow at best, as it will take a long time for the country to become accustomed to breaking socially engrained norms such as sex segregation.69 CONCLUSION

Iran and Saudi Arabia demonstrate similarities and differences when it comes to issues regarding 64 Wilcke, Loosening the Shackles on Women. 65 “Saudis Open Hi-Tech Science Oasis”, BBC, September 23, 2009, http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/middle_ east/8270601.stm (accessed March 15, 2003); Zoepf, “The Female Factor.” 66 Incognito, “Saudis’ Path to Reform?”; Zoepf, “The Female Factor.” 67 Incognito, “Saudis’ Path to Reform?” 68 Ibid.; Zoepf, “The Female Factor.” 69 Zoepf, “The Female Factor.”

women. Fundamentally, their distinctions arise from divergent interpretations of Islamic law and jurisprudence. The highly authoritarian and theocratic rule of the Al-Saud family, combined with cultural traditions such as the male guardianship system, have stifled women in many areas of life, including political participation, and limited opportunities for an education or employment in the public sector. The slightly more democratic, though still conservative, Iranian political system, however, has opened many doors and possibilities for Iranian women, compared to their Saudi counterparts. In spite of this, both countries’ fundamentalist interpretations of Islamic law place many restrictions on women. Both Iran and Saudi Arabia have, in recent years, spawned women’s rights movements that are slowly growing in popularity. However, it is ironic that the women’s rights movement in the more progressive Iran is continuously being repressed by the state, while the establishment of the more conservative Saudi Arabia is cautiously starting to support the reformers. Nonetheless, campaigns in both countries are gaining support daily from within their own countries, and from the international community. A new dawn for women of both countries may well be on the horizon, but it is slow to rise.

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BIBLIOGRAPHY

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Afary, Janet. Sexual Politics in Modern Iran. Cambridge, UK; New York: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Doumato, Eleanor Abdella. “Between Breadwinner and Domestic Icon?” In Women and Power in the Middle East, edited by Suad Joseph and Susan Slyomovics. Philadelphia, PA: University of Pennsylvania Press, 2001. “Everywoman - Women’s Rights in Iran.” Youtube.com. Video clip posted April 30, 2007. “Feminist Movement in Iran and Persecution of the Activists.” Youtube.com. Video clip posted February 26, 2008. FRIDE. The Relationship between Sharia and the Rule of Law in Iran. Madrid, 2006. Hamdan, Amani. “Women and Education in Saudi Arabia: Challenges and Achievements.” International Education Journal 6, no. 1 (2005): 4264. Incognito. “Saudis’ Path to Reform? Saudi’s King Abdullah and 40 Women in Photo Together.” Incognito73 Weblog. Entry posted May 3, 2010. “Iran: Who Holds the Power?” BBC. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/shared/ spl/hi/middle_east/03/iran_power/html/default.stm (accessed November 22, 2010). Johnson, Toni, and Lauren Vriens. Islam: Governing under Sharia. New York: Council on Foreign Relations, 2011. Metz, Helen Chaplin. “The Legal System.” http://countrystudies.us/ saudi-arabia/51.htm (accessed November 22, 2010). Miglani, Sanjeev. “Saudi Arabia Spot on Un Women Agency Triggers Outcry.” Afghan Journal: Lifting the veil on conflict, culture and politics Weblog. Entry posted November 14, 2010. http://blogs.reuters.com/afghanistan/2010/11/14/saudi-arabia-spot-on-un-women-agency-triggersoutcry/ (accessed March 15, 2012). Moghadam, Valentine M. Modernizing Women : Gender and Social Change in the Middle East. Boulder, Colo.: L. Rienner, 2003. Okruhlik, Gwenn. “Rentier Wealth, Unruly Law, and the Rise of Opposition: The Political Economy of Oil States.” Comparative Politics 31, no. 3 (1999): 295-315. “One Million Signature Campaign.” Youtube.com. Video Clip posted March 17, 2008. Robinson, B A, “Sharia Law within Sunni Islam: A Brief Introduction.” http://www.religioustolerance.org/islsharia.htm (accessed November 22, 2010). Tahmasebi, Sussan, “Answers to Your Most Frequently Asked Questions About the Campaign.” The One Million Signatures Campaign in California. http://changeforequality-ca.org/eFAQ.php (accessed November 21, 2010). Wilcke, Christoph. Loosening the Shackles on Women. New York: Human Rights Watch, 2010. “Iran’s One Million Signatures Campaign”, Women’s Learning Partner-

ship. http://www.learningpartnership.org/iran-oms (accessed March 8, 2012). Ziegler, Helen, â&#x20AC;&#x153;The Political System of Saudi Arabiaâ&#x20AC;?, http://www. hziegler.com/locations/middle-east/saudi-arabia/articles/political-system-of-saudi-arabia.html (accessed 22 November 2010).

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Weathering the by Ariana Keyman Storm: Explaining the Resilience of Arab Monarchies in the face of the Arab Spring

gnited by the self-immolation of a young Tunisian vegetable seller on 18 December 2010 in protest of police brutality and corruption, the Arab Spring has led to major protests and civil unrest throughout the Arab world. Nearly every country of the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region has been affected, and thus far it has resulted in the toppling of the authoritarian regimes of Tunisia, Egypt, and Libya. Given the breadth of the protest wave, it is puzzling that some states have witnessed revolutionary regime change, whereas other states have faced limited unrest or have been able to thwart and survive major protests. In this context, this paper seeks to address the question of whether the Arab monarchs, as opposed to the authoritarian presidents of the neighbouring Arab republics, are better able to withstand the Arab Spring. This paper contends that the consequences of the Arab Spring will be different for the monarchies than the republics, as Arab monarchs are more equipped and better able to withstand the Arab Spring. The continuing prevalence of absolutist monarchies in the MENA region, given the near-extinction of this regime-type in the rest of the world, is a curious phenomenon. However, it is important to note that not all modern monarchies of the region have survived to this date. Therefore, determining the characteristics of the remaining monarchies that have aided their survival through the generally tumultuous 20th century will be helpful in understanding their resiliency in the face of the Arab Spring. This paper will address this particular question in two sections: the first focuses on factors endog-

enous to the regimes themselves, while the second elaborates on the impact of exogenous factors to the regimes in order to explain the resilience of the monarchical regimes, as opposed to authoritarian republics, in the face of the Arab Spring. ENDOGENOUS FACTORS

Endogenous factors that exist in all modern Arab monarchical regimes help explain monarchical resilience in the face of the Arab Spring. The first, and perhaps most important of these in the context of the Arab Spring, is that all of the eight surviving monarchies are able to foster a degree of legitimacy in their governance that presidents cannot. Thus, the overthrow of a monarchy in the name of democratization is a more formidable task and less imaginable by their populations. Furthermore, varying structural factors of the regimes play a significant role in their resilience, while the survival of monarchical regimes is contingent on their institutional flexibility in attentive management of the regime’s coalition of supporters and society at large.1 FOSTERING LEGITIMACY

Monarchs tend to draw on historical or religious legitimacy in justifying their rule allowing them to retain some degree of popularity and immunity.2 The impact of perceived legitimacy on monarchical resilience can be examined in three ways: through the role of modern Arab monarchies in state formation and nation building, through 1 Lucas. “Monarchical Authoritarianism,” 117. 2 Hamid. “Why the Middle East Monarchies Might Hold On.”

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the significance of historical or religious claims to legitimacy, and finally through the consequences of paradigmatic differences between republics and monarchies. The role of modern Arab monarchies in the process of state formation and nation building has played a major role in fostering their legitimacy.3 In this light, it is important to remember that almost all monarchies of the MENA region, with the exception of Oman and Morocco, are creations of the 20th century. Thus, “the regime usually pre-dates the state and the nation,” allowing the regime to build a state and nation around itself, rather than reconstruct an already existing nation based on its rule. Thus, modern Arab monarchies have been able to mold entire national identities with the royal family centrally legitimating this identity.4 The Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan, a British mandate that emerged following the collapse of the Ottoman Empire at the end of World War I, serves as an example of a successful project of 20th century nation-building in the Middle East. Although the Hashemite family originally hails from Mecca in Western Arabia, it was handed an ethnically and socially diverse Transjordan in the 1920s. Today, many citizens of Jordan consider themselves to be “Jordanian,”5 and despite significant ethnic cleavages between East and West Bankers in Jordan, no prominent Jordanian Palestinians call for separation. Rather, they show support for the regime, “looking to their leadership

for hope and direction.”6 Similarly, the al-Saud family established the Saudi Arabian state through territorial conquest with British and American assistance.7 Thus it is impossible to separate the national identity of Saudi Arabia from the royal al-Saud family itself. In each of these examples, the monarchy existed before the modern state, supplying the unique advantage to ruling families of creating states and nations whose identity are contingent upon the existence of the monarchy itself. After comparing state formation of modern Arab monarchies with those of republics, it is evident that authoritarian presidents cannot possibly present the same kind of legitimacy as monarchs, due to the nature of the nations themselves. Many monarchies also claim legitimacy on the grounds of religion or history. For example, both the royal families of Jordan and Morocco claim to be descendants of the Prophet Mohammed.8 Perhaps the clearest example of a monarchy that claims legitimacy through religion, however, is Saudi Arabia. King Abdullah of Saudi Arabia is often referred to as “Custodian of the Two Holy Mosques,” in reference to Mecca and Medina.9 The nature of Saudi Arabia’s founding combined with religious aspects of the state, such as the active political role given to religious bodies and a judicial system based on Islamic Shari’a law, enforce the religious legitimacy of the royal family. This, in turn, makes opposition to the state a complicated and difficult en-

3 Anderson. “Absolutism and Resilience of Monarchy in the Middle East.” 4 Lucas, “Monarchical Authoritarianism,”104. 5 Rex Brynen. Lecture, 1 Nov 2011.

6 Ryan, “Jordan,” 324. 7 Lucas, “Monarchical Authoritarianism,” 106. 8 Greenblatt, “In Arab States, it’s Good to be King.” 9 Ibid.

deavor; to challenge the state would appear as a challenge to aspects of Islam itself. States such as Morocco, Oman, and Bahrain also claim legitimacy through family histories. The nearly 200-year reign of the Sunni al-Khalifa family in Bahrain grants them some degree of historical legitimacy, despite a Shiite majority, that many authoritarian presidents of republics cannot obtain. In Morocco, the presence of the Alouite dynasty from 1666 to the present day grants the Moroccan monarchy a similar degree of legitimacy. Lastly, the paradigmatic differences between a monarchy and a republic play an important role in the legitimacy of authoritarian rule. Since republics are nominal democracies, presidents will act as though citizens have a voice by holding elections and by other means, whereas “with the monarchy, no one’s pretending there’s a democracy.”10 In Mubarak’s Egypt, the political system appeared to have all the devices of a constitutional and democratic political system. In practice, however, skewed elections, restrictions on freedom of organization, and broad presidential appointive powers created a system where all lines of authority led back to the president.11 This is not unique to pre-transition Egypt—such means of maintaining authoritarian rule as well as a façade of democracy, characterized politics in pre-transition Tunisia and Libya, as it does in Syria, Algeria and Yemen. With their people living within such blatantly corrupt democratic political systems, the perception of the regimes as illegitimate in the eyes of the masses is unsurprising. 10 Landler and Cooper, “U.S. Trying to Pick Winners in New Mideast.” 11 Brown and El-Din Shahin. “Egypt,” 206.

Furthermore, some autocrats such as Gaddafi and Mubarak were preparing their sons to succeed them. This was more problematic than when President Bashar al-Assad of Syria succeeded his father. “People in a monarchy expect their son to take over power… In what are nominally republics, there was a lot of resentment from seeing sons taking power.”12 Monarchs thus avoid the legitimacy problems associated with maintaining authoritarian rule in the framework of a republic, making the republics more vulnerable to the Arab Spring.13 STRUCTURAL FACTORS: DYNASTIC VS. LINCHPIN MONARCHIES

Following the examination of the impact of perceived legitimacy, this paper now aims to determine the structural characteristics of modern Arab monarchies that can explain their resiliency during the Arab Spring. Generally, the endurance of monarchies will be contingent on their institutional flexibility in attentive management of the regime’s coalition of supporters and society at large.14 However, modern Arab monarchies have varying relationships with their regime coalitions and society, leading to differences in the degree and nature of necessary institutional flexibility. Although far from identical, they can be characterized as either linchpin or dynastic monarchies, and different conclusions can be drawn regarding survival strategies amongst these 12 Greenblatt, “In Arab States, it’s Good to be King.” 13 Landler and Cooper, “U.S. Trying to Pick Winners in New Mideast.” 14 Lucas, “Monarchical Authoritarianism,” 117.

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different types of monarchies.15 Thus the Jordanian monarchy atIn linchpin monarchies, the tempted to both mobilize and conroyal family usually participates tain political opposition through its only in the political institutions of reform of the electoral system, and the monarchy and not the state bu- the strategy worked in their favour. reaucracy.16 Jordan and Morocco Morocco also serves as an example are prime examples of this type of this trend in promoting politiof monarchical regime. Rulers of cal pluralism. William Zartman, in linchpin monarchies operate from explaining the nature of Moroccan above the fray of tribal, ethnic, or political opposition, argues that, religious divisions within his state, “as long as the king gives parties a acting as a linchpin in balancing, minimum, consultative role in the manipulating, and present formation controlling vertical of policy and as With their people cleavages within long as he is able to living within such a pluralistic socikeep alive their fuety.17 Therefore, blatantly corrupt demo- ture hopes of govinsofar as the mon- cratic political systems, erning, their inarch is strategic in the perception of the terests as pressure promoting mobili- regimes as illegitimate in groups are better zation of different the eyes of the masses is served by playing groups through his unsurprising.” the game than by benevolent patronchallenging the age, opposition system.”20 Therewill have difficulty fore, in the case finding common ground in their of Morocco, it is important for the interests and unifying against the king to at least minimally maintain monarchy. Rather, they will tend to political opposition; if he were to compete directly with each other completely abolish it, he would dewhile expressing positive attention crease their stake in the system and vertically up towards the monarchy.18 provide an interest in destroying it.21 One example of this is the way Vast differences exist between Jordan responded to its 1989 parlia- such strategies and politics in aumentary elections, which resulted thoritarian republics like Mubarak’s in the opposition taking more than Egypt. Egypt has a history of exhalf of the seats in parliament. In cessive repression of political and response to this initial unsettling social pluralism, stemming from response, the regime changed the the Nasserist extreme pan-Arab electoral law for the 1993 elections socialist ideology following the to a one-person, one-vote system. In military coup of 1952. In pre-tranaddition, the new electoral law set a sition Egypt, the Muslim Brotherfew uneven electoral districts that hood was banned, and the regime tended to be monarchy loyalists.19 used legal constraints and security measures to curb the potential 15 Lucas, “Monarchical

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Authoritarianism,” 108. 16 Ibid. 17 Ibid., 107. 18 Ibid., 115. 19 Ryan, “Jordan,” 315.

20 Zartman. “Political Pluralism in Morocco,” 582. 21 Zartman, “Political Pluralism,” 582.

of growth of civil society.22 Given this historical context, Mona ElGhobashy explains that the fall of the regime was primarily due to joint mobilization of three mobilizing structures of society, including workplace protest, neighbourhood protest, and associational protest.23 The decades-long repression had systematically enabled various interest groups of such a pluralistic society to revolt together against the incumbent regime—a phenomenon that linchpin monarchies may be able to avoid through their tolerance and mobilization of pluralism. This illustrates that repression of plurality will only foster tensions within society, making rulers who follow such policies more vulnerable to the tide of the civil uprising throughout Arab Spring than linchpin monarchies. Hence, “the deeper and more robust the authoritarian structure, and the fewer the opportunities for legal political opposition and participation, the more likely the citizens are to rebel.”24 Although Jordan and Morocco serve as examples of linchpin monarchies, except for the partial exception of Oman, all of the Gulf monarchies are examples of dynastic monarchies, and thus do not require a broad coalition for survival. Michael Herb defines dynastic monarchies as “regimes in which the ruling family monopolizes the highest state offices, controls the institutions of the state by distributing family members throughout the bureaucracy, and has developed mechanisms for settling family dis-

putes—especially over succession.”25 Saudi Arabia and Kuwait exemplify this kind of regime. While military coups have historically been the main threat to monarchies in the Arab world, dynastic monarchies would be difficult to overthrow in this way because so many members of the royal family are embedded in key positions in military institutions.26 Succession is not just from father to son, as the royal family selects the new ruler from their own number and therefore prevents incapable rulers from taking throne. Lastly, and perhaps most relevant to the context of the Arab Spring, families can act as an informal mechanism of representation, with various members of the families talking to different groups of society.27 As Gause puts it, “their wide presence in society provided a built-in intelligence service, keeping the families close to those they ruled. They knew what was going on and thus did not get too far ahead of, or fall too far behind, their subjects.”28 In this way, dynastic monarchies can enjoy relative immunity to the tides of social unrest and revolt, which authoritarian presidents, without such a coalition as an extensive royal family, do not maintain. This is not to say that dynastic monarchies will refrain from promoting pluralism in their societies. However, their regime coalition rests on a narrower social base than those of linchpin monarchies, leading to less need for mobilization of political groups in managing plurality. There are a few distinct char-

22 Brown and El-Din Shahin. “Egypt,” 206-11 23 E-Ghobashy. “The Praxis of the Egyptian Revolution.” 24 Chomiak and Entelis. “The Making of North African Intifadas.”

25 Lucas, Monarchical Authoritarianism,” 108. 26 Herb. “Kuwait and the UAE,”339 27 Herb, “Kuwait and the UAE,” 339. 28 Gause. “Why Reform in the Gulf Monarchies is a Family Feud.”

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acteristics prevalent in all dynastic monarchies, which enable them to rest on a narrower social base. The first is that all dynastic monarchies are also oil-producing rentier states. Oil not only funded the formation of the institutions of the family regimes, but also continues to enable governments to distribute oil wealth to co-opt political allies and sideline rivals. Saudi Arabia’s immediate response to the events of the Arab Spring was to increase spending on benefits for citizens. This demonstrates a more general trend in oil-producing states, where oil rents are used to cushion crises and buy loyalty. Another characteristic of dynastic monarchies that contributes to their survival is found in demographic factors. With the exceptions of Saudi Arabia and Bahrain, the Gulf monarchies have very small, mostly homogenous citizen populations. Therefore, the impact of oil rents, combined with small citizen populations will ultimately make it easier for such states to maintain control over their populations. Looking at the case of Saudi Arabia, hosting a much larger and more pluralistic population than its Gulf counterparts, the unique and extreme role that religion plays in legitimizing its rule, coupled with the impact of oil wealth and a wide-ranging means of tools of social control may explain its exceptionalism in this respect. EXOGENOUS FACTORS: REGIONAL DYNAMICS AND THE IMPACT OF THE GCC

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The impact of regional security politics and regional dynamics, manifested most clearly through recent actions taken by the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), is

a significant advantage that Arab monarchs enjoy over their autocratic president counterparts in the face of the Arab Spring. The Saudi-led GCC ‘counterrevolution’ has attempted to prevent the potential disruptive effects of the Arab Spring on its member states through economic, military, and ideational means. Composed (with the exception of Morocco and Jordan) of oil-rich rentier states, the GCC’s individual members’ response to the events of the Arab Spring so far has been to increase expenditure on public services, salaries, benefits etc. in order to weather the storm and appease the people. Therefore, the GCC has promised $20 billion to aid development projects in Bahrain and Oman for the same reasons, fearing that lack of increased public spending in these states could be insufficient in the face of mass protest or civil unrest. Furthermore, by sending military support to Bahrain in the midst of one of the worst periods of violence throughout the crackdown, Saudi Arabia signaled its determination to prevent significant disruptive effects of the Arab Spring on GCC member states to GCC members as well as the rest of the world. Finally, through its actions, it appears that Saudi Arabia is contemplating the role of the GCC as replacing that of the Arab League in fostering Arab unity in this time of stress. Such a role for the GCC would not only band the monarchies more tightly together, but also increase their domestic survivability along with popular legitimacy.29 Although the Saudi-led GCC counterrevolution has led to real results such as taming the situation in Bahrain, Mehran Kam29 Mehran. “The Arab Spring and the Saudi-Led Counterrevolution,” 5.

rava warns that “the extent to which this strategy is likely to succeed in the long term remains to be seen.”30 CONCLUDING REMARKS

Monarchies are advantageous over authoritarian republics in the context of the Arab Spring in three main ways. Firstly, monarchies can generally foster legitimacy in order to strengthen their authoritarian rule through their role in modern state formation and nation building, historical or religious claims, and the paradigmatic differences between republics and monarchies. Furthermore, fundamental structural differences between modern Arab monarchies and republics will give monarchs institutional flexibility in attending to the demands of their regime coalition in a way that autocratic presidents will necessarily avoid. Finally, the recent actions of the Saudi-led GCC in promoting unity and stability throughout its member-states – now including all eight monarchies in the MENA region—suggests real implications of regional security politics in weathering the tide of the Arab spring. Aside from these factors, case-specific characteristics of some monarchies such as extensive oil resources and small, homogenous populations will also aid stability in these countries throughout the events of the Arab Spring. Monarchies have generally resorted to increasing public spending (in the case of oil-producing monarchies) and promising political liberalization in responding to the events of the Arab Spring. While these methods of survival are useful in the short run, it is uncertain whether such means will 30 Kamrava, “The Arab Spring,” 9.

promote security and stability in the long run.31 Furthermore, the nature of the protests in Bahrain and Kuwait, along with Morocco and Jordan, suggests that the varying nature of the ‘social contract’ that has defined the relationship between these states and their people have been fundamentally altered. Therefore, real steps taken towards gradually establishing true constitutional monarchies throughout the Middle East are necessary for their long-term survival. In conclusion, while Arab monarchies are fundamentally better able to withstand the Arab Spring than the autocratic presidents of neighbouring republics in the short run, their long term survival will be contingent upon their institutional flexibility and willingness to employ their unique ideational, structural, and regional characteristics that have aided them through the tumultuous events of 2011 in adapting to a new social and political climate.

31 Sager. “Reforms the Arab Monarchies Cannot Avoid.”

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