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Why the Arab League cannot become a genuine ‘Arab Union’

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Photo Credit: Nicolas Raymond, licensed under Creative Commons

The Arab League has not succeeded in unifying the Arab world. Since Arab states are deeply divided on issues such as Iran, Islamism or Israel, some argue that the Arab League is a name without a meaning; others that it is under U.S. dictation; and still others that it continues to struggle with disunity and dysfunction. This general sentiment has been fostered by the Israel-United Arab Emirates (UAE) normalisation of August 2020 which, as many Twitter users claimed, represents a “death certificate” to the Arab unity – that is, the irrevocable coup to this unity which allegedly ends any hope.

It can be argued that the Arab League’s dysfunction is due in large part to the dilution of its normative structure. To support that, it is necessary to focus on the two norms that have laid the foundations of the League – unity and sovereignty – and argue that the contradictions which lie in these foundations have impeded the League from being truly effective. A case is made that these contradictions ended with the prevalence of sovereignty upon unity. This came along with a weakening of the League in dealing with mediation or conflict management. Finally, the sovereignty norm itself has faced inconsistencies which continue to weaken the League’s normative structure. Difficult, then, to find the possibility of a coherent “Arab Union”.

At the end of WW II, the struggles for independence re-emerged from where it stopped before the war – e.g. Iraq in 1932. These led to a period of decolonisation movements in the Arab world: Lebanon (1943), Syria (1946) Jordan (1946), Libya (1951), to name a few. The legal principle of uti possidetis juris, through which Arab states could assert ‘the inviolability of their boundaries from external interference’, had accelerated the importance given to the sovereignty norm in the Arab world. Colonial powers were then simultaneously rejected yet considered as a model to follow embodied by the Westphalian structure. In the meantime, another norm has recovered some influence: the Arab unity. Drawn from the Nahda – the Arab Renaissance – and encouraged by independence movements and the Palestinian cause, the notion of a shared Arab identity gave force to the unifying ideology of pan-Arabism – i.e. the maximalist version of Arab nationalism. Eventually, this identity seems to have ‘prioritised independence from and unity against these [Western] non-Arab actors’.[1]

Therefore, in 1945, the Arab League was built upon the conjunction of these two norms, sovereignty and unity. Initially, the League was indeed viewed as ‘a prelude to Arab identity’ after having escaped from colonial domination; and sovereignty was considered as a necessary means by Arab nationalists.[2] Constructivist scholars go further in explaining the League’s foundations. They contend that the mutually constitutive relation between international organisations and its member states sheds light on the identity of both the Arab League and Arab states. In particular, unity and sovereignty norms were constitutive of Arab states, meaning that they were part of their identities and interests. Whilst the unity norm was the expression of a shared belief in a common destiny – pan-Arabism –, the sovereignty one was the condition for head states to ‘legitimise their regimes’.[3] These norms were then central parameters in the sense that they were necessary to make the League emerge.

Within the normative structure of the League, the centrality of these norms also lies in their regulative function. As Griffiths stated: ‘international institutions have both regulative and constitutive functions.[4] First, although the Arab League’s Charter does not clarify what is an Arab state, the ethno-cultural criteria to enter it seems beyond doubt. Thus, it can be argued that the unity norm is regulative since only Arab states are eligible for pan-Arabism ideology. Concerning the second norm, sovereignty is also regulative as officially stipulated in the Charter: ‘safeguard their independence and sovereignty’. Finally, these two norms have been central to build the Arab League, constituting and regulating Arab states behaviour. Yet, a contradiction lies in this centrality and will lead a norm to prevail on the other.

The League, in its practice, has sought to encapsulate the contradiction between the Westphalian structure – encouraged by the governing elite – and pan-Arabism. As some argued, Arab nationalism pushed ‘Arab states to embrace the rhetoric of Arab unity […], and to fear Arab unity in practice because it would impose greater restriction on their sovereignty’.[5] Indeed, pan-Arabism precisely denies the legitimacy of states and, thereby, their sovereignty. The creation of the Federation of Arab Republics in 1972, made up of Egypt, Libya and Syria, well illustrates the incompatibility between unity and sovereignty aspirations: this union lasted barely six years. Likewise, the union between Egypt and Syria, which started in 1958, ended in 1961.

At the end of the 1970s, the contradiction between these two foundational norms reached the point of no return with the prevalence of sovereignty upon Arab unity. The first blow against unity came when Sadat, the Egyptian President, signed in 1979 a separate Peace Treaty with Israel that excluded other Arab states. Realism is useful to understand this shift in Egyptian interests. Here, the material structure reflected by the self-help principle – namely, defending Egyptian interests first and exiting from the state of war – prevailed on the normative structure: the Arab unity. Finally, the coup de grâce to pan-Arabism was given by the Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1990. Then, the collapse of the unity norm that followed these two geopolitical facts weakened the normative structure of the Arab League which, for some, ‘would never truly recover’.[6] This latter feeling may be explained by a second contradiction that the League will face: sovereignty per se restricts the mandate of the League.

The sovereignty norm, which both constitutes and regulates Arab League states’ behaviour, has indeed particularly constrained its practice. To deal with mediation and conflict management in the Arab world, the League is as limited as its member states are because any intervention in a member state might be seen as a violation of the sovereignty norm. This logic can explain the African Union decision, in 2003, to modify its rule about sovereignty in order to allow intervention within its member states. The argument advanced was to ease the practice of defending democracy. With this empowerment of an international organisation similar to the League, many critics emerged in the Arab world against the constraint of non-intervention.[7] Thus, a parallel could be drawn between the African Union decision and, in the same year, the interference of the Arab League in the Iraqi political process – as if intervention was becoming tacitly possible. Indeed, in the name of Arab identity, the League openly criticised the Iraqi Governing Council for allowing Kurds and Shia to build a regional autonomy in Iraq. Therefore, being more and more violated, the sovereignty norm seemed to gradually lose its prevalence during the 2000s, until almost completely in 2011.

Scholars tend to agree on qualifying the year 2011 as a ‘major change’ regarding the Arab League policy of intervention, even though some interventions occurred in the past such as in 1976 during the Lebanese civil war. The second foundational norm, sovereignty, was strongly marginalised in the salient case of Libya. In the context of the civil war, the League condemned mass killings for the first time, something that it did not do before with, for instance, Saddam Hussein’s crimes in Iraq. More than this, the League was deeply involved in enforcing the United Nations’ norm of Responsibility to Protect.[8] Indeed, its endeavour to push for a no-fly zone above Libya, claiming that Gaddafi’s government had lost its sovereignty, illustrates well this policy change. This push, together with many other negotiations, led to the adoption of the resolution 1973 authorising an intervention to protect Libyan civilians. Thus, it is interesting to notice that despite the decline of its two foundational norms and the consequent confusion of its normative structure, the League still succeeded in reaching positive outcomes. The case of Libya mentioned above (2011), the creation of the Arab Peace Initiative for the Palestinian cause (2002) or the role of mediator the League played in the Lebanese crisis (2008), all are instances of relative successes that some scholars put forward.

But to conclude, these fragile achievements should not hide the substantive contradictions that lies in the normative structure of the Arab League: two foundational norms have lost their centrality and, therefore, undermined this international organisation. The more salient example might be its ‘complete inability to deal with active civil wars,’ which have turned into humanitarian disasters. Thus, the Arab League has probably missed the opportunity to embody a genuine union that would at least, such as the European Union, guarantee peace among its members. It is a pity given that the Arab world is the only place on Earth where so different countries share as many attributes as they do – a common language, to name the most obvious one. The weakening of the League’s normative has blurred the overall mandate of this organisation.

[1] Raymond Hinnebusch, “Identity in International Relations: Constructivism versus Materialism and the Case of the Middle East,” The Review of International Affairs (2003): 360.

[2] Farah Dakhlallah, “The League of Arab States and Regional Security: Towards an Arab Security Community?”, British Journal of Middle Eastern Studies (2013): 399. https://doi.org/10.1080/13530194.2012.726489.

[3] Michael Barnett and Etel Solingen, “Designed to Fail or Failure of Design? The Origins and Legacy of the Arab League,” in Crafting Cooperation: Regional Institutions in Comparative Perspective (Cambridge University Press, 2007),181. DOI: 10.1017/CBO9780511491436.006.

[4] Martin Griffiths, Fifty key thinkers in international relations, (London: Routledge, 2009), 123.

[5] Barnett and Solingen, “Designed to fail”: 181.

[6] Dakhlallah, “The League”: 404.

[7] Ibid: 400.

[8] In Luke Glanville, “Does R2P matter? Interpreting the impact of a norm,” Cooperation and Conflict (2016): 188.

The Coup May Have Failed, But Jordan’s Troubles Are Far From Over

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King Abdullah delivers the Speech from the Throne opening the second ordinary session of the 18th Parliament. Amman, 12 November 2017, Royal Hashemite Archive, public domain.

When news of political turmoil comes out of the Middle East, there are a variety of states that you would expect to be involved, but one that you would not expect is the quiet kingdom of Jordan. For a number of decades now the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan has stood as a reliable, stabilising force within a region that too often descends into crisis and chaos. However in April, King Abdullah II announced that a number of individuals, including former Crown Prince Hamzah had been arrested on suspicion of plotting a coup against the Crown and government. Intercepts of phone conversations appeared to show Hamzah’s staff seeking pledges of allegiance from various tribal leaders and military officers. This was the first time in Abdullah’s twenty-two year reign that there had been a serious threat to his rule. The former Crown Prince was imprisoned in the Royal Family’s compound, before it was announced that Hamzah had re-pledged his loyalty to the king . So, what does this mean for Jordan’s future? This new opposition has exposed significant faults within the country’s governance, with its population experiencing a third wave of the COVID-19 Pandemic and the economy in serious peril. There have also been rumours that foreign governments, including Jordan’s allies, were involved in the failed conspiracy. So, can the Royal Family maintain its position over the country and international backing or are there further crises to come?

It is important to understand the key position that Jordan holds within the Middle East policy of the US and its western allies. The US maintains a military presence in the country at Muwaffaq Salti Air Base, which has been used extensively in the bombing campaigns against the former so-called Islamic State. The Jordanian Crown also holds the position of the custodian of the Muslim and Christian Holy Sites of Jerusalem and so along with its accommodation of large numbers of refugees, plays an important role in the Israeli-Palestine conflict. Moreover, the country , as of 2019, hosts the third highest population of Syrian refugees. Historically, the support offered to Jordan by the US and the West has invested in the personage of the Royal Family, who have since the independence of Transjordan in 1946 effectuated a pro-western foreign policy. During the attempted coup, US support for Jordan was reaffirmed in a telephone call between President Biden and the King. But it is worth noting that this support was given once the coup was over, not in the midst of the crisis. US support for the Jordanian Crown is not infinite and is based on the monarchy’s continual ability to provide stable leadership over the kingdom, capable of adaptation and reform.

One of the great strengths of the Jordanian regime has been its ability to adapt to demands for liberalisation. It is why the monarchy came out of the Arab Spring of 2011 largely unscathed. The use of a parliamentary model, albeit with a powerful monarchical head of state, has allowed Jordan to liberalise where necessary, without descending into the civil wars or counter-revolutions that other parts of the region have experienced. To this end, Jordan has been a good choice for a US ally, as it allows them to promote a reformist agenda, that could spread to the rest of the region. But despite this obvious strength, years of regional turmoil have taken their toll on the Jordanian people and Crown. Since before independence was granted, the supremacy of the Hashemite family had been based on two aspects: the support of foreign powers and the consent and fealty of tribal factions within the country. As long as the country and its parliamentary system prospers, the monarchy can be confident of this support. But recent years have exposed underlining flaws in the Jordanian economy and political system. It’s worth noting that the leader of the failed coup, the former Crown Prince Hamzah, has been a vocal critic of government policy, particularly over the issues of corruption and social policy. Jordan is not a resource rich country and often relies on foreign tourism and investment to sustain its economy, but the huge cost of supporting its refugee population and the current pandemic have taken their toll. In 2013 alone, the housing and supporting its refugee population cost the Jordanian government more than 620 million dollars. All this has robbed the country of vital revenues from tourism and as of this time last year, unemployment stood at a staggering 23%. Even before the pandemic took hold, Jordanian unemployment was still very high. The bleak economic picture has also led to a significant increase in negative attitudes within Jordan towards the refugee population. The combination of the refugee crisis, an already weak economy and the current pandemic has resulted in a situation in which at least 1 million Jordanians live below the poverty line, out of a population of 10 million. But this domestic fragility has been further exacerbated with the failed coup and increased tensions in recent years with Israel over small areas of disputed territory, thus presenting a risk that the monarchy’s international position may become as precarious as its domestic one.

It is easy to offer to support to someone who has just claimed a victory. The Biden Administration can offer such friendship to the Hashemite Monarchy as it will cost them little in political capital at present. But what of those crises to come? King Abdullah may have been able to keep his government and family together through sheer will on this occasion, but that there is no guarantee this will continue. For years now, Jordan has been a convenient ally for the West, as governments may use its military bases and provide it with assistance, without most of the moral questions that come attached with other Middle Eastern states. While the rumours of foreign backing of the coup may prove to be false, if true they would suggest that the strong diplomatic position that Jordan has enjoyed within the region may not be as strong as it once was. The Hashemite Monarchy, for better or worse plays an important role in the Middle East, as a fairly neutral neighbour of Israel and with a relative independence that allows it to mediate in regional disputes. But as the country declines further, this role could be over and uncertainty about the future could become even greater.

Can the Abraham Accords Encourage the Denuclearisation of Israel?

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by Aleix Nadal Campos

From left to right, the Minister of Foreign Affairs of Bahrain, the Prime Minister of Israel, the President of the United States and the Minister of Foreign Affairs for the United Arab Emirates sign the Abraham Accords at the White House (Image credit: Official White House Photo by Shealah Craighead).

The Arab states have laid two pathways for Israel to normalise its diplomatic ties with them. The first is through the Saudi-led 2002 Arab Peace Initiative, which establishes that Arab states will only recognise Israel once a peace settlement with Palestine has been achieved. The second, and less noticed one, is through the Weapons of Mass Destruction Free Zone in the Middle East’s (WMDFZME) initiative, whereby the Arab states and Iran have implicitly acknowledged that Israel could gain their formal recognition once the latter has dismantled its nuclear arsenal. Yet, the agenda of the Arab states and Iran in regard to the Zone initiative is presumably incompatible with Israel’s, whose single objective is to establish diplomatic relations with regional states. In this vein, by offering diplomatic normalisation with two Gulf countries without any stipulation that binds Israel to clear disarmament commitments, the Abraham Accords have undermined the few instruments that Arab states and Iran had at their disposal to entice Israel into foregoing its nuclear capabilities.

The Abraham Accords

Israel’s (unrecognized) nuclear arsenal serves to ultimately safeguard the country from self-perceived existential threats and quantitative asymmetries vis-à-vis other regional states. These asymmetries, however, could soon be diminished. On 15 September 2020, U.S. President Donald J. Trump hosted a ceremony at the White House where the United Arab Emirates and the Kingdom of Bahrain forged official bilateral diplomatic ties with Israel. Immediately following this, the three Middle Eastern countries issued a joint declaration of principles that has been since dubbed as the Abraham Accords. Statements by US and Israeli officials suggest that other regional countries may soon follow in Bahrain’s and UAE’s footsteps, giving Israel the official recognition it has always sought. Because Israel has justified its nuclear arsenal on the basis of a threat of an all-out war against them, one could surmise that the Abraham Accords could become a watershed moment for the eventual de-nuclearisation of Israel and the region as a whole. Unfortunately, diplomatic and security-related factors emerging from the Accords will further deter Israel from acquiescing to join a WMDFZ in the Middle East.

The history of the Weapons of Mass Destruction Free Zone in the Middle East

To dismantle Israel’s nuclear monopoly and shrink its strategic superiority, Arab countries and Iran have long advocated for the de-nuclearisation of the Middle East. In 1974, Iran and Egypt submitted a joint proposal to the United Nations General Assembly to create a Nuclear Weapons Free Zone in the Middle East (NWFZME) that would forbid the development, testing, possession, acquisition, deployment, and use of nuclear weapons in the region. Since 1980, annual resolutions from the UN General Assembly endorsing the proposal were approved unanimously until 2018, including by Israel, demonstrating that even the latter supports the initiative. The scope of the prospective treaty was subsequently broadened to include all weapons of mass destruction following a proposal by the Egyptian President Hosni Mubarak in 1990.

Whilst several dialogues have taken place since the initiative’s inception, through both official channels and backchannel diplomacy, progress has been notably absent, at least until recently. In November 2019, a conference under the United Nations’ auspices was held where all Arab states and Iran, as well as extra-regional countries, participated to discuss the creation of a Weapons of Mass Destruction Free Zone in the Middle East (WMDFZME). Henceforth, the November Conference is expected to be held annually until an agreement on the Zone is secured. Citing that the conference represented an attempt by the Arab states and Iran to impose a diplomatic process without prior consultation, Israel declined to participate in the first edition and is not expected to attend the second one, partly withering away the momentum generated by the new multilateral process. If this opt-out continues, the credibility of the entire process could be put into question, for the dismantlement of Israel’s nuclear capabilities remains the chief target of the initiative.

In essence, the persistent lack of progress and Israel’s non-involvement in the Conference reflects the fact that the ultimate objectives of Arab countries and Iran are diametrically opposed to those of Israel. For the former countries, the Zone is an instrument to dismantle Israel’s nuclear arsenal and erode the military edge that Israel enjoys over other regional countries. For the latter, any framework to negotiate a WMDFZ in the Middle East is desirable to the extent that Israel can use the process itself to normalise diplomatic relations with regional countries. These conflicting objectives have translated into a sort of chicken-and-egg dilemma about the sequencing between ‘regional peace’ and ‘disarmament’. In particular, Israel has adopted a security-based approach whereby disarmament should only occur in a context where regional peace has been previously reached. Conversely, Arab countries and Iran contend that disarmament itself creates regional peace and as such Israel should proceed with dismantling its nuclear arsenal if it ever wants peace in the region.

The question that remains, then, is whether the Abraham Accords can encourage Israel to re-engage with the Zone initiative and participate in the yearly conferences until its de-nuclearization is agreed upon.

The Abraham Accords and the de-nuclearization of Israel

In addition to the UAE’s and Bahrain’s failure to extract disarmament commitments from Israel, which undermines the ‘disarmament first’ approach taken by Middle Eastern countries, there are two security-related factors emanating from the Abraham Accords that thwart the efforts to establish the Zone. First, the Accords are an extension of the increasing bilateral cooperation that has taken place for the past few years between Israel and some of the Gulf countries in the security field. This cooperation has been largely motivated by their shared interest to contain the emergence of Iran as a determined geopolitical player and by their hostility towards the conclusion of the Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA). By formalising this anti-Iran coalition, the deal may then contribute to exacerbating inter-state polarisation in the Persian Gulf, potentially encouraging Iran to resume its pursuit of nuclear weapons. In turn, the escalation of tensions could strengthen Israel’s self-perceived legitimacy to have a nuclear deterrent as the country considers Iran as its largest security threat. Thus, in Iran, Israel would have the perfect alibi to not seriously engage with the Zone initiative.

Second, reports that the US would reward the UAE’s normalisation agreement with Israel by allowing it to purchase the F-35 fighter further dwindles the prospects of a WMDFZME. Such a sweetener would not be unprecedented in the context of a US Administration brokering a peace deal between Israel and an Arab country. Indeed, the US delivered significant military assistance to both Egypt and Jordan in 1979 and 1994, respectively, when they signed their peace treaties with the Jewish state. If the UAE was to receive this military payoff, however, Israel’s qualitative military edge over Middle Eastern countries that the US has long been committed to would be compromised, albeit only partially.

Other Arab countries could then interpret that peace with Israel in exchange for US military assistance would be the new gold standard and subsequently demand analogous conditions, contributing to the erosion of Israel’s conventional military superiority in the region. In such a scenario, it would be hard to envisage Israel being more willing to take progressive steps towards nuclear disarmament when nuclear superiority would constitute the ultimate strategy to offset this potentially new military reality. In fact, some Israeli officials have already aired their concerns that an arsenal of the F-35 fighter jet in the hands of an alternative leadership cadre in the UAE that is less keen on building bridges with Israel would constitute a security threat.

Conclusion

The Abraham Accords might usher in a new era in the Middle East where regional peace is progressively achieved. Accordingly, they could result in the configuration of novel security conditions that are more conducive to Israel’s nuclear disarmament. Seen in this light, the Accords could be positively assessed in terms of its contribution to nuclear disarmament. In fact, it is not implausible to assume that Israel could participate in upcoming editions of the November Conference as a gesture of goodwill towards the Arab states, for its participation would not entail any binding commitments with respect to its nuclear posture. Nevertheless, despite their positive potential, the Accords may have entrenched a series of incentives that undercut the (already) dim prospects of establishing a Weapons of Mass Destruction Free Zone in the Middle East in the foreseeable future.

Aleix Nadal Campos received his MA in European Studies: International Relations and European Politics from Maastricht University. He is currently an EU Non-Proliferation and Disarmament Consortium intern at the Istituto Affari Internazionali (IAI) in Rome. In the course of his internship, he has published a paper on the policy options that the European Union can adopt to streamline the prospects of establishing a Weapons of Mass Destruction Free Zone in the Middle East. You can find him on Twitter @AleixNadal.

Just Who Are the YPG?

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By Ed Nash

22 October 2018

 

A Manbij Military Council tank, part of the SDF, engages ISIS positions (Credit Image: Ed Nash)

 

Donald Trump recently praised what he described as the sacrifice of Kurds in the fight against ISIS across Iraq and Syria to the international press. His declaration was made shortly after the State Department removed the previous rather limited reference to the Syrian Kurdish militias known as the Yekîneyên Parastina Gel (Peoples Protection Units - YPG) from its ‘Country Reports on Terrorism 2017’. As a consequence, President Erdogan of Turkey accused the US of breaking its word in agreements reached between the two countries whereby the YPG were to withdraw from the town of Manbij in northern Syria.

A dangerously volatile nexus — composed of a range of disparate groups including the YPG — now exists in Manbij. These disparate groups operate in the same space as Turkish troops, who seek to advance their own, opposing agenda in the region.

If we read into America’s intention[1] to take a more steadfast position on backing the Syrian Kurds, then the US is very much antagonising a long time NATO ally and critical regional partner with whom relations are already at an unparalleled low.

The reasons for these tensions are multiple, and thus can hardly be summarised in a few sentences. The focus of this piece is elsewhere. Indeed, it is perhaps wise to understand a bit more about the YPG, what they stand for and why the Turks are so concerned about them, as they form such a thorny part of the disagreement.

The YPG and Yekîneyên Parastina Jin (Women’s Protection Units - YPJ) are predominantly Kurdish militias which represent the armed wing of the PYD (Partiya Yekîtiya Demokrat or Democratic Union Party). The latter organisation subscribes to the ideological, philosophical and historical writings of Abdullah Öcalan, a Kurdish political theorist and guerrilla leader who originally founded the infamous PKK, who have fought a bitter war against the Turkish military on and off for almost forty years.

This connection arguably explains the Turks’ antipathy. For them, the PYD/YPG are simply the same as the PKK and thus represent an intolerable threat to their security (for an interesting refutation of this, see Hurriyet Daily News and Foreign Policy). As the SDF - which the YPG forms the major component of – controls the whole of the north-east of Syria as the Democratic Federation of Northern Syria (generally known as Rojava), the Turk’s concerns are understandable.

Öcalan originally founded the PKK as a Soviet/Stalinist style communist party seeking a socialist Kurdish state but, inspired by the writings of American social theorist Murray Bookchin, has since become focused upon promoting Democratic Confederalism, a political theory that mixes Marxism-Leninism, Stalinism, anarchism, and libertarian ideals. Broadly, it espouses the idea that the authority of a central government should be kept to a minimum, that power should be highly decentralised, and local issues should be addressed at a local level; that regional, racial, and religious customs should be respected; and greater attention is need to espouse gender equality and ecological issues. The theory also advocates for a fairer redistribution of wealth along similar lines to European social democracy.

Such a mix of political theories would seem to create a rather schizophrenic ideology that, depending on your personal stance, could be interpreted in any way one deems fit. And there are definite, radical contrasts in how the PYD/YPG conducts itself that demonstrate this. On the one hand, areas under their control have brought women’s rights into fact. On the other hand, however, they have been accused of recruiting child soldiers and criticised for their human rights record, as well as persecution of other political parties in the region.

It is in their reaction to these external criticisms that we see the key to the world’s relationship with the PYD/YPG. Complaints against them by external actors are generally addressed and openly rectified, which stands in stark contrast to just about every other faction involved in the Syrian Civil War, the Assad government included.

What motivates this willingness is the wish to be seen to be a better, more democratic society that can engage with the international community, something the council currently running northern Syria understands it needs desperately. Without a powerful backer, the fledgling experiment in local democracy will be mercilessly crushed by either Assad or the Turks, as what took place with the Kurdish canton of Afrin.

And it seems that the sudden interest in America for sponsoring the YPG beyond the defeat of ISIS could be inspired by the realisation that, if it won’t commit to backing the Kurds and their assorted allies in Syria, then others will. Recently the YPG has made overtures to Assad and the Iranians, seeking their support. With , the sudden renewed interest in the Kurds as a local ally makes sense.

There is no denying that continued support for the YPG/PYD is beset with political complexities, including a number of concerns with the movement’s ideology, that will need to be addressed if it is to continue to receive said support. At this time, however, it is probably the best chance for more reasoned, democratic, and ultimately law-abiding governance in the region.

 

Ed Nash has spent years travelling around the world and, on occasion, interfering as he sees fit. Between June 2015 and July 2016 he volunteered with the Kurdish YPG in its battle against ISIS in Syria. His book Desert Sniper: How One Ordinary Brit Went to War Against ISIS was published in September 2018.

Notes:

[1] Which, when concerning Syria, may be best accomplished with a crystal ball.

Image Source: the picture was provided by the author

Strife Feature | The Islamic State’s Social Contract: A ‘state’ founded on fear or freedom?

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By Kierat Ranautta-Sambhi

 

A man cries as he carries his daughter while walking from an Islamic State-controlled part of Mosul towards Iraqi special forces soldiers during a battle in Mosul, Iraq, on March 4, 2017. Image Credit: REUTERS/Goran Tomasevic

 

With the Islamic State’s caliphate crumbling, many in the towns and villages on the brink of liberation fear their post-Islamic State future. To understand why the group succeeded to such an extent and to establish a lasting end to the conflict, we must look back at how the Islamic State managed to win the hearts and minds of the people, thus allowing the rise of its caliphate. Whilst the group has attempted to portray itself as a concerned and capable ruler, the reality is that its social contract is built on a foundation of fear.

Annie Barnard and Hwaida Saad of The New York Times write: ‘The Islamic State alternates between terrorizing residents and courting them.’ The group succeeded precisely because it realised that there is no single method by which to persuade its target audiences to its cause – in this case, the revival of the Islamic caliphate. Rather, it carefully constructs its strategic communications so that it resonates with numerous audiences, appealing both to their desires and fears.

The question of whether the basis for the state – the Islamic State or otherwise – is freedom or fear is an old one. In this regard, the influences of both Thomas Hobbes and Jean-Jacques Rousseau are evident in the Islamic State’s approach to establishing its caliphate. For instance, Hobbes suggests that the desire for security lies at the heart of the formation of the social contract. Ultimately, fear lays the foundations of the state. On the contrary, Rousseau’s approach to the social contract is based on freedom which, in essence, is the right of an individual to pursue his/her will. And so, the question arises: Does the philosophy of fear or the philosophy of freedom found the basis for the state? Is fear more powerful than freedom?

Mara Revkin argues that the existence of a social contract goes beyond the theoretical realm in the context of the Islamic State, as evidenced by the Wathīqat al-Madīnah [Document of the City]. The document is distributed by the group throughout territories under its control, defining the rights and duties binding together the residents of the caliphate and the Islamic State.

 

Excerpts of the Wathīqat al-Madīnah[i]

 

So, the question remains: what is – or, more accurately, was – it about the Islamic State that resonated with certain individuals?

Hobbes believes that humans are fundamentally governed by our ‘appetites and aversions’ – in other words, our desires and our fears. The Islamic State has recognised this. It capitalises on the desires and fears of its target audiences in order to construct the Islamic State, and gain and maintain support for its rule. Beyond those who are ‘ideologically committed to the goal of establishing a caliphate that is governed according to sharia’, [ii] many of those who support – or, at least accept – Islamic State control are attracted to its claims to be able to provide security and services to its residents.

Consider just one example of a target audience: Sunni Muslims in Iraq and Syria.

Certain individuals view the Islamic State as the only actor actively addressing its (immediate) desires for a sense of belonging, and fears of continued alienation. The group claims that ‘There is only one sect here, Sunni Islam […] Here in the Caliphate, there is no room for pluralism’.[iii] Such claims resonate with many Sunnis who feel marginalised by the relevant non-Sunni ruling sect. By nature, humans seek power so that they are able to preserve themselves. It appeals to Iraqi Sunnis’ desires to restore the power lost in the wake of the 2003 Iraq War; and, it appeals to many Sunni Syrians living under an Alawite regime (a minority sect), as evidenced in the accounts given by former Islamic State members. Peter Neumann observes that defectors’ critiques are ‘framed in jihadist and/or sectarian terms’, with some members deserting as a result of brutality against Sunnis, whom they believed the Islamic State ought to protect.[iv]

Others fear the Islamic State itself, viewing the group as a threat to their self-preservation. Whilst the role of the government should be to dispel fear, the Islamic State utilises it to consolidate its control in areas it has seized. William McCants argues that brutality can be a very efficient means with which to ‘subdue a population’ and ‘establish your own state’ – at least, in the short-term. The Islamic State made clear that violations of its strict understanding of sharī‘a codes of conduct would result in harsh punishments – from lashes to execution.

It could be argued that, as consideration for a Hobbesian social contract, subscribing citizens voluntarily give up their natural rights and pool their liberties, agreeing to live by the rule of the state in return for which the state provides them security. Yet, at least in the case of the Islamic State, the choice is often taken away from many residents living in areas under its control. They are often left with little choice but to accept the group’s rule. In a somewhat twisted version of the Hobbesian state, it could be argued that individuals accept this social contract as a means to avoid a state of war with the state itself.

Those who break the social contract – or, those who the Islamic State deem to have done so – revert to the state of war, and, thus, the state is no longer required to protect them. Rather, the state is at liberty to protect itself against such a threat to its preservation – an approach followed by the Islamic State. This is evident when considering its brutal reaction to deserters. By 2016, the Syrian Observatory for Human Rights had recorded more than 400 executions carried out by the group on its own fighters and followers, including many whom were trying to return to their home countries.

Whilst many of the arguments Hobbes makes are still pertinent to the construction of a state based on fear, there is an obvious flaw in applying the Hobbesian explanation of the social contract to the Islamic State. The group is actively seeking the coming of ‘the Major Malhamah’,[v] ‘eagerly awaiting’ the arrival of its opponents’ armies. [vi] Rather than avoiding war at all costs, the Islamic State invites war, and, thus, the inevitable insecurity that accompanies it. Moreover, whilst Hobbes argues that the social contract is formed so that man can live together in society without fearing one another, this is not the case with the Islamic State. Rather, many residents of the caliphate live in fear of their rulers.

Furthermore, contrary to Hobbes, Rousseau argues that the social contract is essentially founded on freedom. Individuals surrender their natural liberties in the hope that the state can protect the civil liberties that they receive in return. However, the Islamic State provides very limited rights within its social contract. It claims to abide by the religious teachings of the ḥadīth which states: ‘The people are as equal as the teeth of a comb’.[vii]

(In theory), most non-Muslims within Islamic State-controlled areas would be protected so long as they paid the jizyah tax. However, in reality, protection is only afforded to the ‘true believers’, determined by the Islamic State as only Sunni Muslims. Christians and other religious minorities are the victims of genocide at the hand of the group. This contradicts the idea that the social contract establishes mutual protection amongst citizens within society, in return for the enjoyment of the same rights as every other citizen. Thus, it appears as though this protection only extends to certain contracting parties.

The promise of rights, liberties, and security serves as a means with which to entice individuals to accepting Islamic State rule, playing to the fears of those feeling marginalised by national governments. The Islamic State attempts to construct the perception of being a compassionate, embracing, and capable governing group so that it can demand allegiance in return for the provision of security, public services, and justice – responsibilities typically associated with a traditional understanding of a state. This is explicitly demonstrated in its social contract: in the Wathīqat al-Madīnah, the Islamic State promises to provide safety and security, rights (albeit limited), and justice in return to those who ‘join the society [the Islamic State] and renounce factions and strife’. [viii]

Yet, as coalition efforts continue, the Islamic State continues to suffer considerable financial and territorial losses, affecting its ability to provide security and services in the caliphate. With its caliphate crumbling around it, the group seems to rely on fear as a sort of fail-safe. In reality, the Islamic State seems, first and foremost, based on fear – fear of the alternative and/or fear of the Islamic State itself.

Whilst the group has made attempts to demonstrate its commitment to protecting the rights of the residents of the caliphate, it is its reputation as a strict, authoritative ruler that dominates. It relies on coercive credibility, leaving residents fearful of acting out of line with Islamic State rule. Following a somewhat Hobbesian mindset, the group seems to believe that less freedom will lead to less anarchy.

As it fails to uphold the mirage of protector, even those supporting the group begin losing faith in its abilities to govern. Yet, it remains evident that the Islamic State will follow through on what it says regarding punishment of those who it deems an enemy of the group. Moreover, Hobbes argues that man is able to connect together his sensory experiences to garner what may occur in the future; consequently, mankind fears not only its present but, also, its future. Given its high coercive credibility, many residents of Islamic State-controlled areas continue to live in fear for their lives, and those of their family.

Although this has been a somewhat simplistic discussion of the Islamic State’s social contract, it is worth considering in more depth what it is that attracts individuals to the Islamic State: What do they desire? What do they fear? What made them believe the Islamic State was more able to fulfil the responsibilities and duties of the State? The Islamic State evidently possessed an answer to these questions. From its inception, the group has purported to address the disaffection of Muslims worldwide. It claims that the ‘revival of the Khilāfah [caliphate]’ has allowed each Muslim to ‘satisfy his natural desire for belonging to something greater.’ [ix] Yet, the rise of the caliphate was largely due to the Islamic State’s ability to play on the fears of its target audience(s). Rather than Hobbes or Rousseau, the success (at least, initially) of the Islamic State in establishing its State is perhaps more accurately summarised by Niccolò Machiavelli:

‘it is desirable to be both loved and feared, but it is difficult to achieve both, and if one of them has to be lacking, it is much safer to be feared than loved.’

 

Kierat Ranautta-Sambhi has just completed her MA International Peace and Security at King’s College London. She holds a LLB Law with French Law from the University of Birmingham, with a year spent studying at Université Panthéon-Assas (Paris II). Her research interests include strategic communications, counter-extremism and the MENA region. You can follow her @kieratsambhi

Notes:

[i] Revkin, Mara. 2016. “The legal foundations of the Islamic State.” Analysis Paper No.23, July, 2016. The Brookings Project on U.S. Relations with the Islamic World. https://www.brookings.edu/research/the-legal-foundations-of-the-islamic-state/, 15.

[ii] Revkin, Mara, and Mhidi, Ahmad. 2016. “Quitting ISIS.” Foreign Affairs, May 1, 2016. https://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/syria/2016-05-01/quitting-isis.

[iii] Dabiq #12. 2015. “Just Terror.” Al-Ḥayāt Media Center. November 18, 2015. https://clarionproject.org/islamic-state-isis-isil-propaganda-magazine-dabiq-50/, 47.

[iv] Neumann, Peter R. 2015. “Victims, Perpetrators, Assets: The Narratives of Islamic State Defectors.” ICSR. http://icsr.info/2015/09/icsr-report-narratives-islamic-state-defectors/, 10.

[v] ‘Malhamah is the singular of malahim, which are the bloody battles that occur before the Hour.’ – Rumiyah #3. 2016. Al-Ḥayāt Media Center. November 11, 2016. https://clarionproject.org/islamic-state-isis-isil-propaganda-magazine-dabiq-50/, 25.

[vi] Al-Furqan Media. 2014. “Although the disbelievers dislike it.” November 16, 2014. https://clarionproject.org/gruesome-islamic-state-video-announces-death-peter-kassig-50/, 15:12.

[vii] Revkin, Mara, and Mhidi, Ahmad. 2016. “Quitting ISIS.” Foreign Affairs, May 1, 2016. https://www.foreignaffairs.com/articles/syria/2016-05-01/quitting-isis.

[viii] Revkin, Mara. 2016a. “The legal foundations of the Islamic State.” Analysis Paper No.23, July, 2016. The Brookings Project on U.S. Relations with the Islamic World. https://www.brookings.edu/research/the-legal-foundations-of-the-islamic-state/, 15, Table 1, Articles 3 & 9.

[ix] Dabiq #7. 2015. “From Hypocrisy to Apostasy: The Extinction of the Grayzone.” Al-Ḥayāt Media Center. February 12, 2015. https://clarionproject.org/islamic-state-isis-isil-propaganda-magazine-dabiq-50/, 57.

 

Image source:

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-mideast-crisis-iraq-father/terror-on-the-mosul-front-line-idUSKBN16D2F2