Contentious Forces

Globalization and Theo-democracy in the Middle East and North Africa

Paper presented at the Fourth Annual Kent State University Symposium on Democracy

Don Conway-Long

 

There is a powerful discourse in Western academic work that forecasts a clash of civilizations, as expressed by Samuel Huntington (1993, 1996). A parallel discourse argues that the Islamic world cannot create a democratic institutional structure because Islam itself is contrary to the Western (putatively superior) concept of democracy. In this paper, I will challenge these suppositions, using the writings of Muslim scholars and activists in various countries of the Middle East and North Africa. I”ll supplement their theory with an overview of the present political processes in the same countries.

Obviously, the process of globalization, through its extension of economic, cultural, technological, and political tentacles rooted in Western market society, has a major impact on political discourses and practices in this focal area. It can be argued that the rise of Islamist beliefs and movements is directly linked to globalization, and is a creative response to the intense social disruptions brought about by this globe-transforming process. It appears to be unknown to many in the United States that these Islamist beliefs, while founded in a critique of the West”s fantasies of superiority and driven by its multifaceted hegemony, are far from universally critical of the entire package of principles from the European Enlightenment.

From North Africa, through the Middle East and Central Asia and on to Southeast Asia, many Muslim scholars have in fact written about the possible interweaving of Islam with Euro-American concepts of democracy. There is enormous variation in approach and analysis, but these vibrant perspectives recommend varied and fascinating outcomes to this interweaving. They include both outright rejections of Western ideas as well as many stimulating contributions to the evolving understanding of democracy. It is in the latter group that Maududi”s and Ahmad”s concept of theo-democracy (a democratic system inseparable from divine guidance) belongs.1 I contend that too much is said and written in the United States that generalizes about Islam and Muslims without any solid foundation in or understanding of these writings. This paper will introduce new approaches from outside the usual Western discourse on democracy. The dialogue that the West claims to seek cannot be and should not remain a unidirectional and patronizing monologue. It is my belief that, through a real engagement with Islamic ideas, the rather parochial, historically specific definitions usually used in Western debates will be greatly expanded and enriched.

 

On Unitary Ideologies

It must be stated immediately that there can never be a single political, religious, social, or cultural discourse that is unitary. Much of the critical discourse about Islam assumes a unitary way of thinking, a singular, and usually negative, reaction to all that the Western world represents. It should be abundantly evident to everyone that such a worldview does exist; the point I make is that it is but one among many, and does not, to my view as well as many other commentators and interpreters, represent the majority of people in the Muslim world. In fact, thinking of Islam as a singular entity is so patently ridiculous that comment should be unnecessary. Nevertheless, the problematic fantasy of “the Islamic Mind” stays with us, as if even such an orthopraxy as some claim Islam to be could have an orthodoxy that could be followed by 1.3 billion people. Is there an Islamic mindset? Well, is there a Christian one? A Jewish or Hindu one?

My preference is to recognize before we take a single step that Islam is a diverse, cross-culturally complex system of thought and practice that has a fascinating history, with a range of perspectives from modernist to assimilationist to reactionary to liberal all within its basic framework of belief and practice. I will focus here on the forms of thought within Islam that demonstrate an alternative to the broad-brush portrayal so familiar to us from Western media.

 

An Anthropology of Democracy

First, I need to make it clear that I am an anthropologist, not a political scientist. What anthropology brings to this discussion about the definitions of democracy is different from what is contributed from other disciplines. Anthropologists speak to the person on the street, seek local meanings and understandings, and try to get inside native minds to ascertain people’s understanding[s] of the world. This does not mean that theory is not important to us; in fact, theory is a central part of the process of interpretation of what we think we have found out. The disorganized chatter of a marketplace, the disputatious commentaries in a café, the different evaluations of a wedding couple from celebrants, all must be placed in an order, however contrary such an organization may seem to the original experience, and theory is necessary to accomplish this.

Now democracy is one of those concepts that elicit countless definitions in the varied cultural circumstances that enrich our planet. While many would argue that the largely successful experience of the United States provides the major template toward which the rest of the world looks, there is really no single definition of democracy, even within the United States. Rather than “deal only with imaginaries,” as Aihwa Ong puts it (see Paley, 2002, 471), we need to look at the real practice of the convoluted processes that people produce on the ground. We cannot forget that democracies are expressions of power exercised; though ideally less power is exercised with less constraint than in an authoritarian state, still power is inherent in the ongoing practice of any state. Even democracy is about maintaining order and retaining a status quo. As Paley states in a recent examination of anthropological writings about democracy (2002), democracy in practice is quite removed from the ideal type; it is contingent, local, an ongoing constructed process with many fascinating variants based on indigenous definitions. As Paley puts it, “The multiple meanings given to the term democracy . . . suggest that democracy is not a single condition that countries do or do not have, but rather a set of processes unevenly enacted over time” (2002, 479). Adopting this point of view enables us to view the struggle for people to control their own political destinies through their own eyes, and not to impose another cultural perspective onto a specific creative cultural engagement with the meaning of the modern world.

To demonstrate this, I want to look for a moment at what one anthropologist did in his search for the meaning given to democracy in Senegal.

 

Demokaraasi Out of Democracy

The Wolof people of Senegal operate politically in a system that has taken French concepts of politique and démocratie and transformed them into politig and demokaraasi, in the process of which the concepts (necessarily) change. Politig in Wolof has come to mean circumlocution, lies, and falsehoods. Now we would all recognize some of that in politics, but the Western definition would be quite different. Something similar happened with demokaraasi. Schaffer relates the story of an informant named Modou Ndiaye who answered whether they had democracy in Senegal by telling a tale: “Yes. You cast your ballot for the party you choose. Abdou Diouf said, ‘Here’s the mosque, whoever wants can call the people to prayer.’ That is our demokaraasi. That is what brought seventeen parties to Senegal.” But then Diouf described the process by which villagers talk out their choices before voting, many shifting sides to join a larger group of supporters, until they all agreed on one candidate. Diouf ends the tale saying, “Demokaraasi is important because ‘what one person can do, two can do better.’ Twenty people can do more than five. That’s how it is here in Thiourour. . . . We deliberate and make common decisions. Demokaraasi means that the group is united in wanting good and refusing bad” (Schaffer, 1998, 55–56).

So, in Senegal, collective harmony is the goal; democratic choice is but a process. Yet, at the same time, the Wolof have various factions that struggle for influence; the curious part is that the factionalism doesn’t enter into the definition. Or perhaps, Schaffer suggests, such factionalism is not considered part of demokaraasi after all. He quotes several people defining demokaraasi as “coming to agreement” or comparable characterizations. Ultimately, Schaffer sums up, among the Wolof, demokaraasi has three aspects: consensus, solidarity, and evenhandedness. All of these contribute to a sense of community-wide interdependence (Schaffer, 1998, 57–66).

The point of all this is to show how the definitions of democracy will vary depending on the cultural circumstances within which the concept is both translated and operationalized through local practices. It is not a fixed, reified condition, but a process enacted by human agents based on their historical and cultural perspectives. This is the approach I take in seeking an understanding of what is happening in the Islamic world. I will now turn to the Middle East to discover the concepts within Islam that lay the groundwork for contemporary discussions of democracy.

 

Islam in Theory and Practice

I want to lay the groundwork for understanding Islamist perspectives on democracy by defining several key terms that are the basis for most theorizing about the intersection of Islam and democracy. These terms are: umma, shura, ijma, ikhtilaf, and ijtihad. Umma means community or nation, linked by faith (Ghadbian, 1997, 19). The term appears often in the Qur’an and appears to be used in reference to nation building. In one of the first documents produced following the Prophet’s hijra to Madinah, it says: “This is a contract from the Prophet Muhammad, the Messenger of God, between the believers and Muslims of Quraysh [the tribe of the Prophet] and the people of Yathrib [Madinah] with them; verily they are one nation (umma) unique beside all the people” (Ghadbian, 1997, 19–20).

The second essential concept is shura. This term means “deliberative consultation,” that is, relying on advisers in decision making. This concept also is derived from the Qur’an and is utilized by many contemporary Islamic theorists. For example, Rashid al-Ghannoushi states that “Islam, which enjoins the recourse to Shura (consultation) . . . finds in democracy the appropriate instruments (elections, parliamentary system, separation of powers, etc.) to implement the Shura” (Esposito and Voll, 2001, 114). Moussalli argues quite effectively that shura can be glossed as democracy in the modern context (2001).2

Ijma (consensus) is the third concept. Such consensus is to emerge from the process of consultation among the umma (as found among the Wolof discussed above). Essential to this consensus is the fourth term, ikhtilaf, which means disagreement. In early Islam, it was recognized that differences of opinion were part of the umma. However, it was also recognized that such a process could go too far. Hence, disagreement to the point of chaos (fitna) in the community was banned; ikhtilaf, however, was approved. Together, these two terms imply a process of coming to consensus in community from positions of respectful disagreement. Ijma alone has elements that are contrary to the democratic process; but ijma combined with ikhtilaf assures respect for pluralism as the community seeks consensus (Moussalli 2001).

The last concept has made a resurgence in the modern period. Ijtihad, always part of early Islam, drifted from centrality in the age of the caliphate as Islamic thought became more codified and rigid. However, it returned as a key part of nineteenth century modernism. It means “independent interpretation,” and has the same trilateral root as the term jihad. Jihad means to strive with all one’s might; it has been more commonly associated with an internal struggle to follow the Islamic straight path (which Mohammad called the greater jihad), but sometimes an external battle to protect the community (called the lesser jihad).3 Hence the term ijtihad comes to mean “effort, exertions, endeavor” extrapolated into “independent judgment in a legal or theological question” (Wehr, 1980, 142–43). Fazlur Rahman defines ijtihad as “to depart from existing and generally accepted rules of law, and instead to search for original solutions” (quoted in Humphries 1999, 254).4 This independence of thought and interpretation is key in a religion that has no pope, no supreme authority above the individual’s responsibility to engage the texts and manifest the Islamic path. Each Muslim is to learn the text, even memorize it, since it is the ultimate tool given by Allah.

An intersection of these terms became key to the process of determining the succession to Muhammad after his death, which led to the creation of the caliphate (in Arabic, khalifat rasul Allah, or deputy of Allah’s messenger). At that point, the umma (community) determined that the following principles were the basis for the caliphate: (1) the leader was selected by the umma; (2) decisions were made through shura; (3) the purpose of government was to manifest justice; and (4) any legislation emerged from the umma, but it must follow Islamic law, the shari’a. Similarly, the leader would be followed only so long as he followed shari’a as well; the right of the umma to change the leader was always implicit. (Ghadbian, 1997, 20–21).

What I am hoping that you can see at this point is how some nineteenth century modernists as well as contemporary theorists can return to their Islamic roots and come up with concepts that coincide with, or reflect, or at very least show a family resemblance with various ideals of democracy, as it is interpreted in the Euro-American world. Equipped with these terms, I want to give a very truncated history of the stages of theoretical development as the Arab-Muslim world faced the latest round of challenges from Europe in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.

 

History of Islamic Modernism

As the Ottoman Empire, the last remnant of the caliphate, began to be dismantled piecemeal by European armies, Muslims had to come to terms with the decline of their status as a center of civilization. The first wave of this reaction is not well known to those outside the field of Islamic studies, especially given the overwhelming focus of late on the hatred toward the West that has been reported in some parts of the Islamic world. For the first and primary current in the nineteenth to early twentieth centuries was an emulation of the West focused on modernization and democratization. The modernists were the thinkers who decided to rescue Islam from centuries of legalistic ossification and return the religion to the people themselves.

Rafi’ al-Tahtawi (1801–1873) has the distinction of being Egypt’s first modernist. He argued that it was essential to separate scientific rationality from religious knowledge and theology. Muhammad Abdo (1849–1905) focused on the need for education and social reform. Both were influenced by Enlightenment thinkers. Qasim Amin (1865–1908) was the first (male) advocate of Islamic feminism in Egypt. In his The Liberation of Women of 1899, he defended Islam from accusations of backwardness and argued for its approach to gender equality in ways that still resonate today. Syrian Rashid Rida (1865–1935) was a strong advocate of ijtihad (independent reasoning) in interpreting Islamic law so as to make it applicable to modern problems (see Humphries 1999; Moaddel and Talattof 2000; Moussali 2001). These men and many others laid the foundation for a vibrant reassessment of Islam that stretches to the present day.

There were also political actors. The first group to argue that Islam required a constitutional government was the Young Ottomans in the 1860s. They based this argument on their understanding of shura and on the fact that the first caliph, Abu Bakr, was selected by acclamation among the Muslims of the time. This meant to these young activists that Islam was essentially democratic. They achieved such influence that the sultan actually approved and implemented a constitution in 1876, and permitted a parliament to be elected to advise him. It was dismissed two years later, reconvened in 1908, lasting that time until the end of World War I. This Ottoman Constitution was a marvelous document for its time. While quite secular, it based its arguments on Islamic principles (Humphreys 1999).

In Iran, after years of political debate among the intellectuals, a mass uprising led to the shah allowing the election of a constituent assembly in 1906, followed by a constitution and amendments. Even then, one amendment created a panel of clergy to assess whether parliamentary legislation actually followed shari’a. The panel did not happen, but its intent shows a remarkable similarity to what did happen in the Iranian constitution set up after the 1979 revolution.

I want to mention two additional progenitors for the three Islamic theorists in the next section: ‘Ali Shari’ati (1933–1977) of Iran and Abul A’la Mawdudi (1903–1980) of Pakistan. Both are considered among the most important Islamist innovators of the twentieth century, and both are seen as conservative, influenced by the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood, Hasan al-Banna. Shari’ati was a college professor who had studied in Iran and at the Sorbonne. He argued for a revival of Islam, which, instead of just being a source of dry religious ritual, was a revolutionary tool for social change that could challenge all forms of oppression and exploitation. He strongly rejected Western ideas as inappropriate for Iranians, particularly Western consumerism and economism. A revitalized Islam was seen by Shari’ati as a way to fight Western dominance, and as a means to achieve a just society (Moaddel 1992; Moaddel and Tallatof 2000; Shadid 2002).

Mawdudi founded the Pakistani party Jamaat-i-Islami in 1941 as a means to promote an Islamic renaissance, and was an early supporter of the formation of the Islamic state of Pakistan. He was quite critical of the Western orientation of many of his generation, and strongly advocated a return to Islam as an alternative to Western secular democracy. Rationalism fails us if it omits God, he believed. It was in his challenge to a secular politics that he created the idea of theo-democracy, in which Allah has sovereignty over the state, and Allah is the only source of law. In his writing on theo-democracy, Mawdudi makes it quite clear that he supports neither theocracy (rule by a priestly class) nor democracy (rule without God). “The entire Muslim population runs the state in accordance with the Book of God and the practice of his Prophet. If I were permitted to coin a new term, I would describe this system of government as a ‘theo-democracy,’ that is to say a divine democratic government, because under it the Muslims have been given a limited popular sovereignty under the suzerainty of God” (Mawdudi 1976, 160). Later in this same article, he describes the nature of democracy in Islam, utilizing the concepts I detailed above.

I believe it is necessary to show how the ideas of these more conservative Islamist thinkers are transformed in the next generation. In the next section, two of my three examples studied with these men and were highly influenced by them.

 

Contemporary Theorists

I have chosen three Islamic activist writers to introduce the vibrant nature of democracy theory within Islam. Many others could be included (see Esposito and Voll 2001; Davis 1997; Monshipouri 1998; Ibrahim 2002; Cooper et al. 1998; Moussalli 2001; ‘Ashmawi 1998), so the selection of these three is somewhat arbitrary. However, I find these three men’s ideas most provocative and their dedication to their ideas inspiring.

I begin with Rashid Ghannouchi of Tunisia’s Al-Nahda (Renaissance) Party. Born in 1941, he studied at Cairo University, obtained his bachelor’s in philosophy at the University of Damascus, and his master’s at the Sorbonne (where, ironically, he had his first taste of Islamic activism). He then returned to Tunisia in 1969, where, as a teacher and imam, he worked against the ultra-secular Bourguiba government, forming the Islamic Tendency Movement in 1981. Arrested that year for “fomenting unrest,” he was released in 1984 after bread riots led Bourguiba to offer concessions. He was rearrested in 1987 and sentenced to life imprisonment, but when Zine al-Abidine Ben Ali replaced Bourguiba later that year and offered amnesty to political prisoners and free elections, Ghannouchi emerged from prison, renamed his party Al-Nahda, wrote a constitutional platform, and applied for recognition as a legal political party. Instead of recognition, the new government suppressed the group, arresting and torturing many. In the subsequent rigged election, members of Al-Nahda ran as independents and garnered about 14 percent of the vote nationwide and 30–40 percent in the urban areas. Ghannouchi has spent years in exile, working against the Tunisian government’s repressive tactics, advocating a peaceful transition to Islamic democracy; he describes himself as a “democratic Islamist” (Davis 1999, 89) who consistently rejects the use of violence to achieve the goals, even in the face of continued government crackdowns against members of Al-Nahda inside Tunisia.

Ghannouchi seeks to revive and reform Islam for the modern world, to replace westernized rulers who oppress their own people with an authentic Islamic system that recognizes pluralism and human rights. As he put it in a 1992 speech:

 

There is no acceptable alternative other than democracy, one that is not exclusive, recognizing all perspectives. Stability will not occur unless we have a democracy of equality that embodies the people’s right to control their civil agendas without mandate; one that adheres stringently to the rotation of power; and one that strives for the fair distribution of wealth and establishment of a free-market economy. (Ghannouchi, 1993, 42)

 

While he knows the West, particularly Europe, quite well, and has criticisms of Western polity, he is no xenophobe, accepting that Islam has something to “learn from other civilizations” (Esposito and Voll, 2001, 107). At the London School of Economics in 1992, he said:

 

We want modernity, contrary to the ridiculous allegations made by those adversely inclined against political Islam, but only insofar as it means absolute intellectual freedom; scientific and technological progress; and promotion of democratic ideals. However, we will accept modernity only when we dictate the pace with which it penetrates our society and not when French, British, or American interpretations impose it upon us. It is our right to adopt modernity through methods equitable to our people and their heritage. (Ghannouchi, 1993, 39)

 

He speaks often of reasserting Islamic identity, of just economic development, of reorganizing internal affairs according to Islamic principles, and of learning from other nations. All Muslims wish for, he says, is respect for their sovereignty, their religion, and their civilization in a mutual relationship. In a key paragraph from a 1997 article, he states:

 

The Islamic peoples aspire to complement their political independence with cultural, economic, and civilizational independence. They seek to accomplish a genuine democratic transition in their societies where the rule of the majority will replace the rule of the minority. They hope to accomplish true human development by meeting the basic needs of humans, liberating their potential energies and resources within the framework of the Islamic code of conduct that encourages work and considers it to be a form of worship, and that respects private ownership, pursues justice, promotes cooperation and compassion, replaces usury by the principle of partnership, and combats all forms of corruption (Ghannouchi, 1997, 259).

 

Is there more we could ask of a political theorist than this? Much that is here resonates very strongly with my own ideals. Of course, the steps between this ideal and practical application are many, but perhaps you could explain to me what it is in these words that makes the government of Tunisia think this man is so dangerous.

Can we tell what Ghannouchi means by democracy? Well, in an interview with John Esposito and John Voll in 1993, he stated that “if by democracy is meant the liberal model of government prevailing in the West, a system under which the people freely choose their representatives and leaders, and in which there is an alternation of power, as well as all freedoms and human rights for the public, then the Muslims will find nothing in their religion to oppose democracy, and it is not in their interest to do so anyway” (Esposito and Voll, 2001, 114). And how could it be?

Abdolkarim Soroush (1945–) is the second of my examples. Sometimes called the Luther of Islam (by Robin Wright, qtd. in Soroush, 2000, xv), Soroush was trained first in philosophy at the University of Tehran, where he attended many lectures by ‘Ali Shari’ati. He then went to England for post-graduate work in analytical chemistry, followed by philosophy of science, during which time he encountered the ideas of Karl Popper and Thomas Kuhn, among others. He also grew more involved in activities against the shah, simultaneously providing strong critiques of leftist and Marxist analyses of Iran, and he began publishing. A few months after the revolution, he returned to Iran, where he was soon appointed to the Advisory Council on the Cultural Revolution, followed by other positions, in addition to teaching and writing. He began to study how different scholars reached different interpretations of the Qur’an, and he became particularly interested in the historical conditions that lie behind a specific interpretation. In the early eighties, he developed twenty theses on religion, the first of which was: “Religiosity is people’s understanding of religion just as science is people’s understanding of nature” (Soroush 2000, 15). Soroush believes that human interpretation of religion is contingent and temporary, while religion itself (particularly Islam, which believers see as the final revelation) is the unchanging bedrock. Religious knowledge is a form of changeable human knowledge capable of growth or contraction, which must be distinguished from the religion itself. It is a fine philosophical line drawn by a man who speaks as easily of Popper, Quine, Kant, or Hume as he does of other contemporary Muslim theorists.

Soroush argues that governmental policy derived from religion is insufficient to deal with the complexities of modernity, thereby calling into question the legitimating claims of clergy. Such approaches result in a “fixed ideological worldview” (Vakili, 2000, 156) that reifies and ossifies Islam as a living system. Since all religious understandings change, any attempt to make permanent a single interpretation restricts intellectual growth, individual freedom, and even undermines the development of reason and rationality. So, instead of government by a limited religious ideology, the only form of government compatible with Islam is democracy. Soroush even goes so far as to suggest that even religion must be democratic: “In a religious society, . . . the issue of religion is too great for it to be relegated to the hands of official interpreters. In a religious society, no personality, and no fatwa is beyond criticism. And no understanding of religion is considered the final or most complete understanding” (Soroush, qtd. in Vakili, 2000, 157–58). He believes an essential aspect of religion is the command to resist oppression and seek justice (based in the classic command to resist evil and create good), as well as to work to overcome the strictures of poverty and inequality. For Soroush, religion is democracy in that both are concerned with the mitigation of imbalances in both power and wealth.

However, regardless of his popularity among students, or the respect in which he was held by many, he became too much for the conservatives in Iran. By the mid-nineties, Soroush had been fired from his job, banned from teaching, and physically assaulted by militants. He now is in exile and is most recently serving as a visiting professor at Harvard and Princeton. As an intellectual, what he calls a “powerless wielder of power” (Soroush 2003), he has suffered the indignities of exile because he questions the right of anyone, including leading clerics, to be above the law, as well as questioning the velayat-e faqih system created for Ayatollah Khomeini, which declares a religious legal scholar as the head of government. Soroush has said, “Nothing is sacred in human society. All of us are fallible human beings. Though religion itself is sacred, its interpretation is not sacred and therefore it is criticizable, modifiable, refinable, redefinable” (1997). He has staked his career, even his life on conceptualizing a liberation theology for Islam that calls for a democratic state, no longer led by the clerical establishment, and engaged in an open dialogue with the West. There are various clerics, academics, and reformers within Iran, including President Khatami himself, who continue to support his ideas to various degrees. Soroush has a powerful voice that is still being heard; curiously, there are parallels between his case and that of Ayatollah Khomeini before the 1979 revolution. Iran is undergoing another revolution today. The ending of the story has not been written.

The last of my three figures is Khurshid Ahmad (1932–) of Pakistan. It was in college in Karachi that he encountered Abul A’la Mawdudi, the Jamaat-i-Islami, and economics, his academic discipline. His early writings were often on Islamic economics, in which he argued that Islam had its own concerns with social and economic justice thereby making socialism unnecessary as an alternative to capitalism in the Muslim world. This theme has pervaded his writings since. As he stated in 1979:

 

The major contribution of Islam lies in making human life and effort purposive and value-oriented. . . . We must reject the archetype of capitalism and socialism. Both these models of development are incompatible with our value system. . . . Both are exploitative and unjust and fail to treat man as man, as God’s vice regent on earth. Both have been unable to meet in their own realms the basic economic, social, political and moral challenges of our time and the real needs of a humane society and a just economy. (qtd. in Davis, 1999, 237–38)

 

His concern for the individual person is rooted in his study of economics; he believes any economic system must provide necessities of daily life as well as opportunities for personal development to one’s highest potential (Esposito and Voll, 2001, 49). Ahmad believes deeply in an Islamic solution to economic problems that does not mirror the excesses of amoral individualism found in Western consumer society, or the godless public ownership of the Socialist states. Human resource development, to him, must be the focus of any development policy. For Ahmad, economics is a human science.

Ahmad writes, as did his mentor Mawdudi, of “theo-democracy,” defined as “a democratic system inseparable from divine guidance” (Davis, 1999, 243). This concept, while not utilized by all Islamist theorists, demonstrates the variance in defining democracy that I addressed in the section on Schaffer and the Wolof people. Activist Muslims argue repeatedly that all sovereignty comes from Allah; human actors are but “vice-regents” (translation of khalifa, caliph) representing the will of Allah. This idea may grate on absolute secularists, but the recent issues about the phrase “under God” in the Pledge of Allegiance, the mention of God on U.S. money, prayers that open congressional sessions, all indicate that the difference between systems is one of degree, not kind.

In a manner similar to what Soroush argues, Ahmad believes theo-democracy to be a far superior approach to human fulfillment than is theocracy. As he put it in a 1993 article:

 

This definition [of theo-democracy] repudiates the concept of theocracy because such a government is restrictive in its scope, i.e., it confines the leadership to a particular religious class who reserve the right to interpret religious law and wield political power. A theo-democracy, however, establishes the basic rules of law, much like a constitution; and from these essential principles appropriate laws are implemented, similar to the amendments made to the U.S. constitution and the laws Congress ratifies within the framework of that Constitution. (qtd. in Davis, 1999, 242)

 

In his argument for proportional representation in Pakistan, he defined the essential elements of an Islamic democratic process, rooted in injunctions about shura and umma, as well as in the necessity of democratic participation as the ultimate expression of his religion (Ahmad 1983). He has served in Parliament and in government office, and he remains a key actor in the Jamaat-i-Islami party of Pakistan and continues to write about his vision of an economics of justice.

By selecting three Islamist activists from a much larger pool, I am seeking to widen and deepen the portrayal of Islam from the single note that pervades so much of our media discourse. I very much believe that, given time and the ability to make their own choices, the nations of the Islamic world will manifest the aspects of the religion that call for economic and distributive justice, democratic participation in human political affairs, and human responsibility for the earth itself (see Haq 2001).

 

The Place of Islam in a Postmodern Democratic Order

So, if the Muslim world has these interesting theorists who evidently wish to direct Islam into a democratic direction, then why is the Islamic world so bereft of functioning democracies? What keeps these nations from implementing the theory? How does it come to be that pundits in the United States declaim that there is no democracy because “they” (Muslims, Islamists, fundamentalists, you name it) hate “our” (the United States,” the West’s, democratic societies’) freedom? What is it that Huntington, Lewis, Kramer, and their ilk perceive to be going on, and how do they come to have such overarching perspectives on the religion of 1.3 billion people? Earlier I said that all religiosity is interpretation, and all religious interpretation is ultimately political. The same thing is true here. My political bias here is to reject ethnocentric, essentialist reduction of all Muslims to the actions of a few.

I argue that such perceptions as those of Huntington are ahistorical misrepresentations that deny the overwhelming impact of earlier Euro-American imperial designs as well as the contemporary foreign policies of the United States and Europe that provide strong support for the indigenous practice of nondemocratic, even antidemocratic government policy in the Middle East and North Africa. The United States is a strong supporter of Egypt, Saudi Arabia, and recently, Pakistan. Just a short while ago, the United States made a new deal with the government of Algeria, which has been engaged in a decade-long exceedingly bloody attempt to forbid the implementation of a democratic victory by Islamists in the early nineties. In the post–September 11 world, the United States has chosen Algeria as a fellow fighter against terrorism, regardless of the abundant information that clearly demonstrates that government’s terror against its own people (Zoubir 2002). In fact, some of the same pundits who decry the inability of Muslims to implement democracy also state that democracy would not be in the interests of the United States since Islamists would probably win, and as we all are supposed to believe, Islamists hate our freedom, and so forth (see Ghannouchi 1997 for a critique of these views).

Either you support democracy or you do not. One cannot claim the right to decide which party, which approach, which program is acceptable in someone else’s nation. One supports democracy or one does not; the outcome is up to the voters, not to Western analysts and political leaders.5 History shows us that each time the Islamist parties in various countries have been denied the opportunity to participate fairly in open elections, violence against the state has been a direct outcome. Check the recent history of Jordan, Egypt, Algeria, Tunisia, and, of course, Lebanon. On the other hand, once given the freedom to participate, the violence decreases. See today’s Jordan, or Turkey, where a real democratic process was observed by the entire world when the Turkish Parliament, bowing to the desires of their people, refused to support the United States’ use of Turkish territory for the Iraqi Invasion. And in Soroush’s Iran, as we speak, the right-wing clerics who still hold the greatest power are being challenged on every side by the forces of democratic transformation, from students, academics, youth, professionals, people in smaller towns, and even many clerics who do not believe in Islamic theocracy, though theo-democracy might well find great support. The people are not seeking to overturn Islam. The forces arrayed in struggle in Iran are similar to those in many European countries and the United States: those who love power and think in terms of xenophobic and ideological arrogance versus those who believe in the democratic process and who think in terms of idealistic pluralism.6

The words of Rashid Ghannouchi are to the point. He said, in an interview in 1994 that Western nations

 

should stop double-standard behavior . . . while speaking democracy and preaching it, they are supporting dictatorships. They should stop such behavior. That is why there is a doubt now in the Islamic world about whether these democracies are true and genuine democracies. . . . How can the taxpayer in the United States support dictatorship in Algeria? Is it right only for people in the West to enjoy freedom? Don’t we Muslims have the right to a dignified life? . . . We tell them that the era of dictatorial regimes is on the brink of collapse. The real representatives, the legitimate sons of Islam, are on their way to power, regardless whether the West accepts it or not. If it keeps preventing these legitimate forces from achieving their goals . . . and if they keep putting hurdles against them and fighting them, this means when that particular force achieves power, it will be hostile. We fear that there will not only be one Iran. But the West is helping to bring about a lot of Irans around the world. . . . They should bear in mind that Islam can be a friend of the West . . . moderate and tolerant. But Islam can be hard as well, and angry and seeking revenge. And the West has the power to shape this by its approach to Islam. (Davis, 1999, 105)

 

None of this is to ignore the internal dynamics that occur in the Middle East and North Africa. In the recent United Nations’ Arab Human Development Report of 2002, an important contribution was made by Arab scholars themselves to a critique of the absence of freedom; gender inequality; poor quality health care, education, and technological development; and high unemployment. But this is all in a context that many in the area attribute to the north-south, west-east divisions.

This brings us to another issue necessary to grasp the complexities of the struggle for democracy in the Middle East and North Africa: international economics. Globalization has not provided its promised elevation of the standard of living to the masses of Arabs and Muslims, while it has enriched those who serve global capital throughout the world. The fantasies envisioned in the nineteenth century were of economic and political development that would revive the decrepit Islamic empire and return the Muslims to their rightful place as a center of intellect and culture. These fantasies were dashed not only by the forced destruction of the Ottoman Empire but also by the subsequent failures of experiments in socialism and democracy, and the reestablishment of militarist, authoritarian governments. These governments have not provided the benefits of economic development any better than the West had promised to do so. Instead, they appear to act as the emissaries of predatory globalization process (see Falk 1999; Pasha 2002). It is not just the most radical supporters of Osama bin Laden who perceive leaders of the Muslim world as unbelievers and as beholden to the Western powers.

Ultimately, there is much reason to believe that a combination of historical circumstances and economic conditions has prevented the development of democratic institutions in the Middle East and North Africa. That is the argument made by a collection of scholars associated with the journal Muslim Democrat (Nov. 2002). Islam may well be deeply embedded in the process of creating democracy in the Muslim world, but like all religions, “Islam” is an interpretative process, not a fixed and unitary reification (see Tessler 2002). The teaching of this religion, like all others, can at times be manipulated toward a particular telos by one influential cleric or another, but it is essential to recall that all religious interpretations, in all religious traditions, are ultimately political. As the personal is political, then, so is the religious political.

I would like to conclude with a statement made by a student at the end of the last class I taught on Islam. She said that, after reading our course materials, including the many theorists we covered, she was convinced that there would emerge out of the Islamic world a renaissance in which Islamists, reformers, and perhaps even fundamentalists would join to provide for the world a new contribution to democratic discourse. I of course do not know if she will be proven correct but I do know the potential is there.7 Islam has a strong foundation in the humanistic impulse, the desire for equality and rights, always based on the deep conviction that none of us achieve anything on our own. For many Muslims, their kind of democracy was in the mind of Allah when Gibreel the messenger spoke Allah’s words into Muhammad’s ear. To date, its implementation has only been prevented by human failing: that is, by the exigencies of the Islamic empire, the devastation of colonialism, the dismal failures of postwar secular experimentation, the creeping distortions of neoliberal economics, the double-standard foreign policy of the United States in particular, and most recently the complex impacts of predatory globalization. In an article written ten years ago that has a spooky prescience to it, Khurshid Ahmad wrote:

 

The West must take a hard look at itself and realize that economic and cultural imperialism are no less destructive than political imperialism. The United States, in particular, as the sole superpower on the global stage, must become more sensitized to the fears of less developed states that see the U.S. embarking on a new imperial order. In so doing, the U.S. is willing to ignore the suppression of democracy when it seems that the opposition will not bend to its will. (qtd. in Davis, 1999, 241)

 

We must also reach beyond simplistic efforts to project enemy status onto great collectives of people, whether nations or religions. If we learn in our own democratic process that respect for differences is a just and viable goal, how else can we move forward than to make the effort to create global democracy? I end with the words of Rashid Ghannouchi, who often speaks of his belief that cultural and religious differences do not necessitate conflict, but can lay the groundwork for mutual respect and recognition. As he says, “We appeal for and work to establish dialogue between Islam and the West, for the world now is but a small village and there is no reason to deny the Other’s existence. Otherwise, we are all doomed to annihilation and the destruction of the world” (Cheref 2002). If we truly seek democracy, we need to apply the concepts of pluralism, justice, and human rights across the board, internationally, not just inside Western nations because if we are not supporting democracy outside, we become increasingly less able to support it within. That is why we must understand, anthropologically, the insider’s meaning of such terms as democracy whenever we engage with those from the culture of Others.

 

Notes

1. Abul A’la Maududi and Khurshid Ahmad are Pakistani theorists discussed below. See Maududi 1976 and Ahman 1976, 1883.

2. Shura is discussed in many places, and it appears to be the most common framework for arguing that a link to democracy can be found in seventh century Arabia. See the U.S. Institute of Peace Special Report 93 (2002), Ibrahim 2002, Shadid 2002, Nettler 1998. Moussalli 2001 provides a useful history of the concept’s classical, medieval, and modern usages. Also see Tibi 2002, who critiques the claim of parallelism.

3. Muhammad was to have spoken to his warriors after their return from a great battle, “We return from the lesser jihad to the greater jihad.” The greater struggle for a Muslim is the internal battle against ego, selfishness, and other forms of evil. See Esposito, 2002, 28.

4. This seems directly drawn from the Syrian thinker Rashid Rida, who is one of the earliest advocates of this interpretation of ijtihad. See below.

5. See the U.S. Institute of Peace Special Report 93 of September 2002 on Islam and democracy for a quite measured approach to this contradictory, double-standard approach of the United States toward democracy in the region.

6. I realize that dualities such as this one are both reductionist and hyperbolic. There are many forces involved in the Iranian political world; the political spectrum is more like a continuum, as is true everywhere. However, the ideal types stand as representative of the essences of the battle.

7. See, for example, Dale Eickelman’s 1998 article on Islamic reformation, which makes a similar argument, as does his 1997 piece in Entelis’s Islam, Democracy, and the State in North Africa.

 

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