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By Maleeha Lodhi
WITH the Middle East in turmoil and Israel’s genocidal war on Gaza having entered its eleventh month, a book that examines the region’s political experience in the postwar period makes for insightful reading. What Really Went Wrong: The West and the Failure of Democracy in the Middle East by Fawaz Gerges, published earlier this year, examines the contribution of Western, especially US foreign policy to the chaos and instability found in the region today. Gerges, who teaches at the London School of Economics, offers sharp analysis in his book on the evolution of the Middle East in the postcolonial era and seeks to explain what has led to present-day turbulence and tensions.
The main thesis of the book is that the Middle East’s instability is not rooted in factors inherent in the region such as ancient hatreds, tribalism and chronic violence, which many Western scholars and policymakers have assumed. It is mostly the consequence of America’s disastrous foreign policy decisions during the Cold War and its interventions that have left such a lasting legacy. Gerges shows convincingly that the Cold War confrontation between the US and Soviet Union turned the Middle East into a battleground for proxy conflicts, marking a continuity with the legacy of ‘dysfunction’ left by European colonialism.
Washington’s obsessive concern with countering Russian communism, efforts to establish a Pax Americana and secure access to cheap oil drove it to ally with repressive autocrats. These regimes were assured American patronage so long as they submitted to US hegemonic aims and ensured an uninterrupted supply of oil. This denuded the region of any postcolonial peace dividend and undermined these countries’ independence. “Resources that should have gone to development were directed to the military-security sector.” Washington’s aim to build a “new informal empire” thwarted the evolution of modern pluralistic political systems and strong economies independent of the West. This diminished the Middle East’s chance of achieving a peaceful future.
In relating the story of lost opportunities and dashed hopes, Gerges focuses on key flashpoints that “sowed the seeds of discontent, hubris and subsequent conflict”. They include the 1953 CIA-sponsored coup against prime minister Mohammad Mossadegh in Iran and confrontation with Egyptian president Gamal Abdel Nasser in the mid-1950s. The author uses these ‘ruptures’ to reinterpret the history of the region and challenge the narrative popularised by Western scholars. He sees ruptures in Iran and Egypt leading to the defeat of “secular-leaning nationalist visions”. This in turn enabled “puritanical religious narratives” and movements to gain ascendancy in the 1950s and 1960s across the region and beyond. Popular leaders were replaced by those subservient to the West. The consequences of these events, writes Gerges, still haunt the region.
The consequences of policies aimed at building an ‘informal empire’ still haunt the Middle East.
He argues that before these two pivotal events, the US was viewed positively and with optimism in the region. Freed from the shackles of European colonialism, people looked forward to an era of economic and political freedom and prosperity. But soon, US policies meant Washington mimicked European imperialists by seeking to build an ‘informal empire’ — a term that resonates in the book — whose results were virtually the same as colonial rule. He cites political scientist Atul Kohli, who defined informal empire as predicated on “an alliance in which elites in the imperial country allow elites on the global periphery to share in economic growth in exchange for establishing stable but ultimately subservient governments there”. Gerges details how the US “exploited pliant local regimes, established extensive military bases, penetrated national economies, staged military interventions and imposed punishing multilateral sanctions”. These policies were obviously executed at the cost of people and countries. They hobbled political development, liberalisation and social change and, instead, pushed the region on the path of militarism, authoritarianism, strengthening of political Islam and intensification of sectarian rivalries. US decisions to ally with Islamist groups against secular-oriented nationalists proved just as fateful.
In the chapter subtitled ‘What could have been’, the author discusses the two events he sees as transformational and consequential to the region’s subsequent trajectory — ouster of Mossadegh in 1953 and American moves against Nasser that led to the Suez crisis of 1956. These triggered a chain of reactions and counterreactions that were to change the Middle East’s complexion. They also seriously undermined US relations with people in the Arab and Muslim world. Popular, progressive nationalist leaders like Mossadegh and Nasser were branded as ‘disguised communists’ because of their assertions of independence and pursuit of modernisation. Washington’s preference was to back ‘authoritarian strongmen’ on the grounds of ‘stability’ — a policy Gerges argues persists till today. Accompanying this was the expedient Western view that Islam and Arab culture were incompatible with democracy.
In answering the ‘what if’ question had the US not overthrown Mossadegh, the author posits that a democratic Iran would have evolved, at peace with itself and serving as an example to its neighbours. In Egypt, US hostility towards Nasser, although no democrat but a secular nationalist leader intent on modernising his country and pursuing an independent path, also had damaging consequences. It changed regional dynamics and shaped issues of war and peace. Gerges recalls that Nasser retaliated by turning to Moscow for arms and opposing Arab monarchs and leaders who joined the US military alliance, which in turn led to the Arab Cold War. Lost in the process was balance and equilibrium in the Arab state system with geopolitical rivalries dashing hopes of unity and regional economic integration. According to Gerges, “America’s imperial overreach and Cold War crusade ignited and escalated geostrategic rivalries in the region.”
The conclusion Gerges draws from his detailed assessment of covert and overt external interventions during the Cold War is this. Today’s grim situation in the Middle East would have been very different if Washington had shown tolerance for countries that disagreed with its foreign policy and declined to serve its economic interests at the cost of their own. Of course, one should add that blind US support for Israel drove a dagger into the heart of the region and destabilised it, which is so tragically illustrated by the catastrophe unfolding in Gaza today. This book is a must read for its riveting revisionist account of the Middle East’s modern history.
The writer is a former ambassador to the US, UK and UN.
Published in Dawn, August 19th, 2024
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THE modern state differs from its earlier predecessors in that it seeks to regulate and control all aspects of the society it lays claim to. Whether it is successfully able to do it or not is a different matter. Recently released results from the country’s digital census in 2023 help visualise some fairly far-reaching transformations taking place in Pakistani society. It is worth going through a couple of these, given how they interact with the state’s attempt to regulate and control different aspects of its citizen’s lives. One such arena is the country’s ongoing struggles with the electricity sector. Decision-makers across multiple regimes since the 1990s opted for a model of private sector-led electricity generation that expanded capacity but produces expensive electricity. The end-result of this model is an energy grid that is singularly reliant on residential consumers staying connected and paying a high tariff.
It is in this context that the state is attempting to regulate the use of solar energy, and especially net-metering connections. As Asha Amirali pointed out in an excellent piece on these very pages it needs high-consuming residential connections to stay on the grid and pay a relatively high tariff. Ultimately, it may be successful in discouraging net-metering in high-income households by changing the buy-back rate or by refusing to give out new connections. But there is an entirely different transformation taking place at lower tiers.
As per the 2023 census, approximately eight per cent of all Pakistani households — nearly three million households comprising 20m people — rely on solar panels as their primary energy source for electricity (lighting etc.). This number is up by about 60pc since the last such measurement through a sample survey in 2021. On its own, the number may not seem very high. But it masks important variations. Solar panel deployment is understandably higher in rural than in urban areas — 11pc of all rural households are reliant on it versus just 3pc of urban ones.
There are other key variations as well. In Punjab, solar reliance is not very high — just under 2pc of all households. But it is considerably higher in KP (13pc), Sindh (13pc), and Balochistan (26pc). Across the provinces, the urban-rural divide is fairly stark, with numbers reaching as high as 34pc in rural Balochistan.
This variation captures important aspects of Pakistan’s development trajectory. It highlights the relative success of electricity grid expansion across rural areas in Punjab, but its continued failure in the smaller provinces. It also shows a higher rate of self-sufficiency among lower-income rural segments, who are bypassing the state altogether for reasons that likely include reliability and cost.
Ultimately, this dramatic turn towards solar shows the absence of a key point of interface — the electricity grid — between the state and its citizens. Just between 2017 and 2023, the percentage of rural households across Pakistan relying on grid electricity declined by 6pc.
If citizens cannot receive any electricity supply, let alone a reliable and cost-effective one from the state, they have one less reason to trust it or to see themselves as partners in a larger social contract. Alternatively, expecting deference and fealty from a citizen solely due to geographical incident of birth is unlikely to be successful over the long term. Another key issue of state regulation in recent months is the internet. State institutions are devoting energy to ‘digital terrorism’, which allegedly leads Pakistani youth astray. The logical response, in their view, is an internet-strangulating firewall that slows down the spread of content deemed to be questionable.
It’s worth considering exactly what such views are up against, demographically speaking. Among Pakistanis above the age of 45, ie, the generation currently found in positions of authority, only six out of 100 had a BA degree or above. Among those between 35 and 40, the same stat inches up to about 10 in 100. While new census data showing educational attainment by age group is yet to be made public, enrolment data is available. There are just over 4m students presently enrolled in colleges and universities across Pakistan. This number alone is 50pc of the total number of all graduates (and postgraduates) in the country back in 2017. Further, if we take 20 to 24 as the standard age range of higher education, we would end up with an upper estimate of nearly one in five, or 20pc, with college attainment. In other words, a tripling of university access in the space of two decades.
Combined with mobile internet reaching nearly 90pc of all households, and the sheer size of the youth bulge (76m individuals between 15 and 35), the demographic and social reality of Pakistan is on a planet entirely separate from the one occupied by the state authorities. One can speculate about the political preferences and allegiances of young people and their implications for the country’s ongoing politics. But it is equally important to stress that greater connectivity and educational attainment lead to heightened expectations and aspirations. Such expectations are unlikely to be satiated through the accidental leftovers of a resource pie that decision-makers divide and devour among themselves. They are also unlikely to be quelled through lectures on patriotism delivered from above or from the strangulation of the internet.
Despite its faltering nature, Pakistan’s development trajectory is inducing societal change in its economy, in consumption preferences, and ideas at a fairly rapid pace. The implications of such change are becoming apparent, in the bypassing of state-provided services and the growing anger and frustration of young people across the country. What is left to see is whether state authorities acknowledge a strategy of adaption, or whether they stay committed to one of forcible control.
The writer teaches sociology at Lums.
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Huma Yusuf
THE government installs a ‘web management system’. Unidentified men whisk away a YouTuber who posts satirical content. A fashion designer threatens legal action against the director and cast of a TV serial. A legislator objects to a female professional’s outfit and calls for SOPs for women’s attire. These may seem like disconnected matters. But they are signs that a surveillance society is becoming entrenched in Pakistan, an outcome we must resist.
Anxieties about surveillance have been mounting globally and are largely linked to ‘surveillance capitalism’, ie, the commodification of personal data, particularly by Big Tech. There is a growing focus on the extent to which individuals are aware of what personal data they are surrendering, to whom, and why.
Concerns about surveillance capitalism mounted when it became clear that customer data collection was enabling not only targeted advertising and improved user experience but also behavioural manipulation, for example, by skewing voting preferences. The regulation of Big Tech and its use of personal data will soon be a key human rights battle.
In this context, old-fashioned state surveillance — in the sense of the state collecting information about its citizens — seems passé. But it continues to be a major concern globally, and certainly in Pakistan.
In an article for Constitutional Political Economy, Alshamy et al argue that state surveillance can either be protective-productive or predatory. In the former case, the state collects personal information to support citizens and improve welfare service delivery. In the latter, state data collection “reduces citizen welfare by violating the rights of citizens or by extracting resources from citizens to benefit a small group of politically connected elites. This harms individual agency, freedom and self-governing democracy.”
The authors note that predatory data collection is non-transparent, poorly legislated and regulated, and often in the service of nebulous national security considerations that can be interpreted variously by whichever stakeholder has most power. In this scenario, the courts become helpless to challenge surveillance, as they too become subsumed by the state narrative. The plight of missing persons in Pakistan is the perfect illustration of a predatory surveillance state in action.
Increasing attention is paid to the links between capitalist and state surveillance, in the sense of public understanding that private sector players, such as internet service providers or social media platforms, are required to surrender customer data when the state comes calling.
But what is less considered is the impact of surveillance becoming normalised — the de facto approach to political and social interaction. When power becomes synonymous with the ability to surveil the activities of others — shame them, report them, and so ultimately control them — then it will contaminate society. Those who seek status and control will increasingly use surveillance as a tool to shape public behaviour to their own ends. Meanwhile, self-censorship, the survival tactic of Pakistani media, will become the default mode of all citizens.
Pakistan has already seen the toxic effect of this kind of social surveillance through the misuse of the blasphemy laws — the fear that someone may perceive something you say, do, or absentmindedly forward to be profane, and wield that ultimate power of an accusation, resulting in conviction or lynching.
But we are now on the precipice where social control and abuse previously linked to state monitoring of ‘anti-establishment’ activities is becoming more pervasive. We are moving from the realm of state and capitalist surveillance to one of social surveillance, one in which citizens, taking a cue from the state itself, are willing to police each other’s clothing, artistic output and sense of humour.
The powers that be may be pleased by this ripple effect. But they should tread with caution as no good comes of surveillance states. The most obvious toll is economic. We have heard all week about the millions lost to internet disruptions while the state installs its ‘web management system’, but that may not be the extent of it. Academic research on the Stasi in East Germany (admittedly an extreme example) has documented economic losses from lack of innovation, less self-employment, widespread unemployment and brain drain.
More material is the social toll of less inclusive, more predatory societies. In our highly weaponised and already conflict-prone context this would manifest as surveillance as a trigger for violence. The ultimate problem with surveillance is that its parameters are necessarily non-transparent and ever-shifting, meaning everyone is vulnerable. Who knows who already has eyes on your data?
The writer is a political and integrity risk analyst.
X: @humayusuf
Published in Dawn, August 19th, 2024
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Editorial
NO matter how much power is arrayed behind the state’s efforts to bring more investment into the country, the fact remains that till businesses and talent do not feel comfortable in Pakistan, no new money can be expected to pour in. In fact, the prevailing fear now seems to be that Pakistan may see an exodus of local investors to more welcoming countries and markets that enable businesses to grow and prosper by facilitating their integration with the global economy. According to recent data put out by the Dubai Chamber of Commerce, there has been a 17pc year-over-year increase over the months of January to June in the number of Pakistani companies registering in the emirate. With Pakistan grappling with surging unemployment amid sluggish economic growth, as well as stagnating wages amid runaway inflation, it seems that neither businesses nor their employees want to continue living in the country if they have the option to leave. The recent surge in emigration of skilled labour was already worrying, but to note that entire businesses may be considering the same is a deeply alarming sign and a damning indictment of the current regime’s poor policies.
The Pakistan Business Council recently raised the prospect of ‘idle capacity’ in the country’s budding software sector due to foreign clients turning away from local businesses due to the opacity around the recently rolled-out internet firewall. “Trials could have saved the livelihoods of thousands of freelance software developers and avoided damage to Pakistan’s credibility as a reliable supplier of IT/IT-enabled services,” it pointed out in response to the crippling of internet connectivity services in the country over the past week while the firewall in question was being implemented. But this is just one example of how badly local businesses can be hurt by tunnel-visioned policymaking. Likewise, the prevailing environment of fear and general lawlessness will also have consequences for the economy that may be less obvious immediately but could prove equally devastating in the long run. No enterprise can flourish in a market where rules and laws are bent or broken by the authorities on a whim. Such destructive tendencies invariably trickle down to the lowest rungs of the state, making it impossible for businesses to survive while keeping within lawful limits. If Pakistan is to prosper, the attitude of those in power must change.
Published in Dawn, August 19th, 2024
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