Last updated: 20/06/2011 | 23:24 |  

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John Chisholm maps the spread of revolution across the Middle East and North Africa, and warns that not all will end in democratic harmony

The “Arab Spring” rolls forward. Two dictators have been toppled in a month, with maybe more to come. The upsurge of protest on the Arab street has not only affected Tunisia, Egypt and Libya, but also states as diverse as Algeria, Sudan, Jordan and Bahrain. Nobody really knows where it will all end, but the loss of certainty is very real. Corrupt sept- and octogenarian leaders, their families and their cronies can no longer count on holding down the population while they cream off money and the most lucrative commercial opportunities. It is, in many respects, a sea change. Of all the places to start, Tunisia looked on paper an unlikely option. Although the ingredients were there (an elderly leader, lack of state legitimacy and corruption), Tunisia is one of the most Western-facing Arab states with strong tourist and political links to Europe. But the 74-year-old President, Zine el Abidine Ben Ali, was vulnerable if only because his regime was quasi-democratic with multiple centres of power over which he had no direct control.

Ben Ali had come to power in a bloodless coup in 1987, a month after being appointed Prime Minister. He subsequently won two unopposed elections to the post, but was prevailed upon in 1999 to allow multi-party elections. Though he managed to garner 90 per cent of the vote, this did little to reinforce his legitimacy; indeed, the legitimacy of most Arab leaders is usually based on their longevity. This was certainly the case with Ben Ali – born in 1936 and in power since 1987. He had built up a fairly impressive police state, coming as he did from the country’s security apparatus before becoming PM; the fact that the security establishment was central to his coup is therefore not surprising. But, although a “controlled democracy”, and described by the US as “sclerotic”, it was not authoritarian.

Like many Arab countries, Tunisia had a ticking demographic time bomb. The median age in the country is 29, with nearly 70 per cent of the population living in urban centres and 33 per cent of adults aged between the ages of 15 and 24. There are arguments that Tunisia is not a “youth bulge” country compared to some Arab states, but it still has a large and comparatively well-educated young population. The issue is simply that a state like Tunisia could not cope with such a demographic change. Confronting this upsurge, Ben-Ali’s government was never going to cope easily. The stories of corruption surrounding members of his family and ruling elite abounded, while the global economic downturn simply exacerbated the economic pressures on the population in general and young Tunisians in particular.

History is a good guide, insofar as systems which want to survive have to sponsor the legitimate ambitions of their population or convince them there is no alternative and that any change would simply make the situation worse. The problem was that Ben Ali was his inability to provide enough hope or fear – or a combination of the two – to prevent the youthful, underemployed and highly educated Tunisians from considering an alternative. Western-facing, there were clearly other options.
The Tunisian revolution was not a rapid event. It started small, but in a way calculated to attract most attention, when a market trader burned himself alive in mid-December 2010. This was followed by numerous incidents, such as the suicide by electrocution of a protester on 22 December 2010 and increasing street protests. As the Jasmine Revolution gathered pace the police used teargas, batons and curfew orders to attempt to hold back the increasing numbers and frequency of protests. Ben Ali, initially complacent, responded with too little too late by sacking his government and replacing it with a new one. This revolving of the deck chairs on the Titanic just increased the scent of blood in the nostrils of the demonstrators. Without the authority or control to employ lethal force on a large scale, Ben Ali threw in the towel on 14 January and the Arab world looked on in amazement. People power had overthrown a leader. This was not a coup by some disillusioned military officer, or a politico with the support of the security apparatus. It was a popular revolution without a clear populist leader.

As soon as Ben Ali had gone, the media caravan started to cast about for the next potential state to face trouble. But the electric current inspired by Ben Ali’s fall had already encouraged other Arab leaders to look to their own security. On 1 February, King Abdullah of Jordan sacked his government and replaced it, in a move strikingly similar to Ben Ali’s, but with the hope it would be enough to satiate the popular protests that had been gripping the capital, Amman, since mid-January. Extra subsidies were announced, and Abdullah’s enlightened despotism (mirrored by Morocco) may yet have saved him from being toppled. Yemen too saw major protests, coupled with an upsurge in the country’s long-running separatist war, and it is yet to be seen if a country so close to becoming a failed state can survive the buffeting.

But it was to Egypt that most observers were looking. With a population of 85 million people, a president who had carved a global role for himself and the second largest recipient of US aid after Israel, this was the big prize. There had, of course, already been worries over Egypt. President Hosni Mubarak was in his eighties and, despite still being spry and in full possession of his faculties, health scares had begun to swirl around him. It was clear that he was not going to live forever. Mubarak had been president since the assassination of Anwar Sadat by an Islamic fundamentalist in 1981, and had been Sadat’s vice president since 1975. Before that he had been commander of the air force. This was an Arab leader with a pedigree, from a military background like Sadat and Nasser before him – a comfortable and easily-recognised type in Arab politics of military officer turned political leader. Mubarak had ruled Egypt under an emergency law since Sadat’s death, using this to justify and endorse a series of policies designed to suppress opposition and keep himself in power.
Mubarak was concerned about Islamic militancy. Although claims have been made that he used this as a fetish to scare the West, being on the same saluting platform and seeing Sadat murdered in front of him cannot have failed to have an effect. Secular, ordered and convinced of the central role of Egypt in the Arab world, Mubarak was determined to follow the lines laid down by Sadat: friendship with the US, peace with Israel and the suppression of the Muslim Brotherhood. This troika made him an increasingly valued played in Middle East politics; along with Jordan, no peace accord was ever going to be possible without their participation.

It is against this backdrop that Mubarak entered 2011. Concerns were increasingly expressed about the succession, and the notion that he would not only stand again (as he intended) but also serve out another full term seemed ludicrous. Yet this was the narrative the regime pursued, with the unspoken assumption that his son, Gamal, would step into the breach when his father had left the scene. The search for a secure and seamless transition that ensured stability was not something confined to Egypt, as the US and Israel had clear security concerns too. But it was not to be. Protests started on Tuesday 25 January when, inspired by the successful revolution in Tunisia, thousands began taking to the streets to protest poverty, rampant unemployment, government corruption and autocratic governance of Mubarak; indeed, exactly the same issues that had fired the Tunisians.

But it was not immediately clear how persistent or widespread these protests were going to be. An early indication was that, like the Tunisians, most Egyptians lived in urban centres. Around 17 million people live in Cairo alone, with more than four million in Alexandria and half a million in Suez. Equally, there had always been significant minorities in Egypt, such as the Coptic Christians who made up around ten per cent of the population who have been consistently discriminated against and marginalised. On top of this group there are other minorities, such as Greeks and Armenians, who make up a further three per cent of the overall population. Not included as minorities as they speak Arabic are the Berber tribes and Numidians, but by far the largest Arabic-speaking Muslim group are the Bedouin. Not officially counted, estimates range between half a million and a million living in Egypt.
Layered on top of this is the existence of the Muslim Brotherhood. This was by far the largest and most significant organised opposition to Mubarak. With its slogan “Islam is the solution”, it was almost a calculated bogeyman to ensure continued Western support for Mubarak. When, in 2000, the party-aligned independent candidates won 17 seats in parliament, Mubarak ordered a crackdown on its activities. Elections on 10 November 2010 saw the Islamic Brotherhood gain not a single seat, leading to widespread allegations of ballot stuffing and electoral corruption.

As the unrest spread, the Egyptian authorities began a predictable crackdown. On 27 January the Internet was shut down and social media was heavily restricted. The following day, in a re-run of Ben Ali’s strategy, Mubarak sacked the government and announced the formation of another – one which he claimed would respond more favourably to the demands of the people. Gradually it became clear that Mubarak was losing his grip, as the police showed themselves incapable of controlling the demonstrations and their actions only reinforced the hatred of the police by the demonstrators. This explains why the deployment of army units was greeted with such acclaim.

One would have expected the army to act decisively to protect Mubarak. He was, after all, a general himself and the army’s senior officers were heavily embedded in the functioning of the regime. What seems to have been obvious to them at the time, however, is that they could not rely on the army to shoot its own people. Junior and middle-ranking serving officers were clearly not going to play ball, while even retired military officers joined the demonstrators and called on the army to abandon the regime. When the army declared it was there to protect the legitimate rights of the Egyptian people to demonstrate, it was clearly the end for Mubarak.

As demonstrators garlanded the army with flowers and sprayed pro-democracy slogans on armoured personnel carriers, the defection of the army was critical to the process. When the army went further and defended the protesters from pro-Mubarak supporters, the writing was very clearly on the wall. It was no surprise, therefore, that when Mubarak finally went on 11 February, it was the army that stepped into the breach. Now, of course, the protesters are nervous that the army will not referee a peaceful transition of power to a democratic body and head of state. This is yet to play out, but it seems unlikely that the US, the army’s paymaster and guarantor of modern equipment, would allow such a promise to slip.

Egypt may be heading down a Turkish-style route, with a secular army setting the boundaries of what is deemed “acceptable” for an elected government to do. The key factor must be the continuance of the Camp David accords: aid for Egypt in return for peace with Israel. Even then it is not impossible for a situation to arise similar to Algeria; imagine the Muslim Brotherhood winning an election and the army intervening to prevent it assuming power. These two options are part of the same scenario. But let us not forget, the Egyptian revolution has shown quite clearly that the one decisive working institution in the country is the popular and well-trained military. Their positive participation in any process of change is going to be critical.
Of course all eyes are currently on Libya. And this offers yet another lesson. Gaddafi has outlasted three Egyptian presidents, and not by accident. Coming to power in 1969 in a military coup, he ensured it did not repeat itself by weakening the army dramatically. Instead, he can rely on small, well-trained and loyal paramilitary groups and mercenaries from Chad and Niger, both groups well paid and cosseted by the regime. In effect, unlike Egypt, there is no state structure able to bear the weight if and when he goes. This is why Libya is not likely to end anything like as well as Tunisia or Egypt. With thousands dead already, apocalyptic and rambling speeches from leaders of the regime and a collapse of the rule of law in the country it is the next, and bloodiest, bloom in the Arab spring.

John Chisholm is intersec’s International Affairs Correspondent