Thursday, December 18, 2014

Prince Tancredi Falconieri Considers the Arab Spring


“Se vogliamo che tutto rimanga come é, bisogna che tutto cambi”

           Most useful in understanding the different outcomes of what appear to be similar processes in Tunisia and Egypt are the words Tomasi Di Lampedusa places in the mouth of Prince Tancredi Falconieri in the novel Il Gattopardi (The Leopard).  A challenge to an elite faced with ruin, they form the epigraph to this essay:  If you want things to stay as they are, they have to change.  Lampedusa’s novel is set in Sicily during the unsettled conditions of the Risorgimento.  The problem confronting the old nobility is what to do in the face of the new Italian nationalism and the revolutionary changes to the state and society that Giuseppe Garibaldi hoped to impose.  To preserve its influence and elite status (that is, to ensure that nothing changes), the family must accept the new forms of governance (that is, accept that everything has changed).   Prince Tancredi’s observation suggests that we think of the old elites, even in a revolutionary uprising, as active participants who are neither passive nor innocent.

The recent legislative elections in Tunisia provided an increasingly rare moment of optimism.  Political analysts are especially happy with Tunisia.  It has garnered high praise for passing the “Huntington two-turnover” test that every other Arab country has failed: the party that dominated the government immediately after the fall of the authoritarian regime has now peacefully given way to its opposition. Tunisia’s October legislative election therefore marks what political scientists call the consolidation of democracy because it seems that all political actors accept the verdict of the ballot box.   

            Explanations of the divergent political outcomes in Tunisia, where an Islamist party peacefully ceded what power it had gained, and Egypt, in which a similar party was forcibly ousted, have subtly and forcefully been attributed to a multitude of causes. Among the most commonly proposed reasons is that the revolutionary youth never gained mass support or had a solid organization either to compete with the Islamists in elections or push the revolution to its conclusion.  But looking at Egypt and Tunisia together tells us that’s wrong.  The revolutionary youth in both Egypt and Tunisia had little impact on the outcome either way whereas the old elite had a very large impact.  Democratization succeeded in Tunisia because the old elite was neither excluded nor subjected to the threat of political or administrative marginalization.

The underlying thread of many analyses since December 2010 has been that democracy can be and perhaps should be the result of a revolutionary rising. It is my belief that democracy, unlike revolution, is a profoundly conservative as well as inclusive solution to the problems of social change.  Democracy’s success thus more or less guarantees, for a protracted period of time, that there will be few political solutions—whether in terms of moderate public policy or dramatic institutional change—to economic inequality.

        To understand why the Tunisian and Egyptian uprisings have had different outcomes, I therefore propose to leave aside the dominant narrative of secularism, Islamism, and the political weakness of the youth in order to focus on a very different issue: what happened to the old ruling elite outside the central core of the presidency in the wake of the uprising. It is seductive to dwell on the more contentious and more emotionally laden issues such as whether Muslims can be democrats or the often incomprehensible constitutional wrangling. These lead us astray from the more fundamental and essential role of the ruling elite, without whom no country can make the transition from authoritarianism to democracy.

There are, as far as I can tell, two different ways of talking about democratization, social upheaval and dictatorship.  One, largely confined to the left, focuses on the tectonic plates of social cleavage.  These are the elements of the body politic: workers, farmers, landowners, officials, and a handful of capitalists.  The second, far more popular within American academic circles, largely reduces to the interplay of millions of individuals who must find ways to resolve their differences whether over constituting the institutions of governance, property rights, or political participation. 

Understanding the larger sociological background of revolt as well as choices that confront generic individuals are both worthwhile enterprises.  What I propose here, though, is that we will gain more traction in understanding the events of the last four years if we focus on a different set of admittedly elite institutional actors: members of political parties, government officials, and holders of significant economic resources.  The crucial question to be asked is whether the political conflicts in the wake of a mass uprising and the collapse of a regime provided a plausible existential threat to any particular group.  Rather than thinking of revolution vaguely as a rapid and complete change, I prefer a definition proposed by Otto Kirchheimer.  Does the new regime destroy the possibility that the old regime and its members can return to power?  This saves us from the implicit mysticism of structural-functionalism and its game-theoretical descendant in which individuals carry all of society’s institutions in their own heads. It allows us to focus on the crucial aspect of democracy:  are all parties, including the ones ousted by the collapse of authoritarianism, able to contest for governance?

Of the many contextual differences between Tunisia and Egypt we can note three.  First the Egyptian courts had a much longer history of systematic intervention in political disputes than did their counterparts.  Second, the Tunisian military had never in the 20th century played a direct role in political or government life.  Third, the level of mass mobilization in Egypt before the collapse of the authoritarian regime was far wider and exhibited much higher levels of spontaneity than did those in Tunisia.  This is another way of saying that politics in Tunisia more directly displayed the underlying capacities of institutions and organizations than did those in Egypt.

In both Tunisia and Egypt the authoritarian regime centered on a particular figure who had been in power for decades and around whom an increasingly small coterie of family and close associates clustered.  By 2010 wide sections of the political elite in each country had been marginalized by a narrow group at the very pinnacle of authority.   In each country the regime maintained its grip on power partly through reliance on the police and partly through the manipulation of a single party (the Constitutional Democratic Rally in Tunisia and the National Democratic Party in Egypt). 

In early 2010 there was every reason to think that Egypt was more likely to experience a successful transition to democracy than Tunisia.  Egypt had a far more open press environment, more competitive elections, and had experienced more turnover among government ministers.  For example, in 2010 the Tunisian prime minister, Mohammad Ghannouchi, was the same one who had been appointed more than 20 years earlier by Ben Ali.  Atef Ebeid, who President Mubarak had appointed as Prime Minister in 1999 (when Ghannouchi assumed his office) to replace Kamal Ganzouri had departed after a five year term.  Ahmad Nazif, Ebeid’s successor, had only served seven years when he was replaced on January 30, 2011.  Egypt had had three prime ministers in the two decades during which Tunisia had one.

The story of the protests in Tunisia and the massive uprisings in Egypt is sufficiently well known for me not to repeat it.  In its place it is worth looking more closely at other aspects of the subsequent events in the two countries.  In some ways they are remarkably similar but in other respects they differ notably.  An understandable desire by many observers and analysts to conflate a revolutionary uprising with the process of democratic transition has created a narrative that now lacks not only many details but is, in some ways, a significant distortion of the political trajectory of the two countries. 

As strikes and demonstrations became more widespread in both countries, members of the judiciary played an early role in shaping events.  Reformist judges appeared from the first days of the uprising in Tahrir square while in Tunisia the country’s attorneys were on strike by January 6.  Violence against property in the protests led to the promulgation of a curfew in both Tunis and Cairo and in both places the Armed Forces refused to fire on demonstrators.  In Cairo, however, where Field Marshal Mohammed Tantawi was both supreme commander of the Armed Forces and Minister of Defense, the army’s chain of command remained intact and shielded from civilian interference.  In Tunis, President Ben Ali dismissed the commander of the Armed Forces Rachid Ammar on January 13.  Ammar was re-instated the following day by long-serving Prime Minister Ghannouchi who Ben Ali had deputized as president before he fled the country. 

The Tunisian Supreme Court first appeared as an actor in the transition on January 15 when it declared that Ben Ali was not incapacitated but had quit the presidency.  Consequently, Fouad Mebaza3, the speaker of the Assembly, was installed as president rather than Ghannouchi, who then remained as Prime Minister.  Mebaza3, a member of the RCD Central committee since 1988, served as the president of Tunisia until December 13, 2011 when he was replaced by the human rights activist and Ben Ali opponent, Moncef Marzouki.  Had the Egyptian Supreme Constitutional Court made a similar ruling when Mubarak left office, it would have declared that either the speaker of the Assembly, Fathi Sorour or Farouk Sultan, president of the court, was his constitutional successor.  Both men were as closely associated with Mubarak as Mebaza3 was to Ben Ali.

By January 17, Prime Minister Ghannouchi announced a new cabinet  which contained 12 members of the CDR including former defense minister Ridha Grira, a graduate of the distinguished French institute for training high-level civil servants, the Ecole Nationale d’Administration (a distinction he shares with Adly Mansour, the president of the Egyptian Supreme Constitutional Court who served as President of the Republic from the ouster of Mohammad Morsi in 2013 until the election of Abdel-Fattah Al-Sissi in 2014).   

Initial attempts to contain popular unrest that had only grown since Ben Ali fled were unsuccessful.  Neither Ghannouchi’s resignation from the CDR nor the inclusion of trade union and opposition political figures silenced protests.  Within a day the trade union ministers had resigned and on January 27 Ghannouchi gave up and resigned as Prime Minister.

Ghannouchi’s replacement was not an outsider by any stretch of the imagination.  On the contrary, he was replaced by an even more central figure from the old regime.  The new Prime Minister, Beji Caid Essebsi, had served in several key positions under the Republic’s founder, Habib Bourguiba.  Essebsi was defense minister from late 1969 until June 1970 and then served as Ambassador to France.  In Tunisia, as in other former French colonies, the ambassador to Paris is a position of exceptional importance for economic, political and security issues.  Between 1981 and 1986 Essebsi was the country’s foreign minister.   After Ben Ali ousted Bourguiba, Essebsi moved to the legislature where he was president of the Chamber of Deputies from 1990-1991.  Essebsi, who would be Prime Minister in 2011 until he resigned to make way for Ennahda party leader, Hamadi Jabali, on December 24 thus played a key role in determining the nature of the democratic transition.   Before the courts in Tunisia (as in Egypt) dissolved the former ruling party in March, the Interior Ministry had already suspended it from official activity.   Essebsi thus presided over the liquidation of the party in which he had spent most of his adult career and from which he would draw many of the leaders for the new party he created for the 2014 legislative elections.  Essebsi and his associates were quintessentially what Egyptians derided as “feloul” or the remnants of the old regime.
It is possible that Essebsi only pursued this course under the pressure of demonstrations, but nevertheless it was Essebsi and a number of politicians from the old regime as well as some of their long-standing opponents who bore the responsibility for shaping a democratic outcome in Tunisia.  Thus, speaking on November 10, 2011 at the African Media Leaders forum, Essebsi noted that it was his government’s responsibility to ensure that the Tunisian revolution did not devolve into a fratricidal conflict nor deviate from what he called its virtuous path.

Among the consequential choices his government made was the exclusion of members of the CDR from participating in the elections for the constituent assembly.  Arguably even more important, however, was the decision to encourage human rights activist Kamel Jendoubi to preside over the commission charged with writing the relevant electoral law and carrying out the election itself, ISIE.  Jendoubi and his fellow commissioners chose to employ a particular version of proportional representation that provided Ennahda with the number of seats that corresponded to its share of the vote but that also privileged smaller parties.  Other electoral rules, including other versions of proportional representation, would have translated Ennahda’s 38 % share of the popular vote into a majority of seats rather than the plurality it actually received.  Ennahda thus, by design, was unlikely to control the constituent assembly without receiving an overwhelming majority of the popular vote.

Ennahda had the votes in the constituent assembly to impose a constitutional article banning members of the old ruling party from engaging in politics.  In fact, just such an article (116) was drafted into the Tunisian constitution by a majority.  Under the rules of the assembly, however, it was rejected because it did not have the necessary super-majority.  The measure failed to gain a super-majority in large part because of significant number of Ennahda delegates abstained.  Such a constitutional article would have been an insuperable barrier to the old political elite regaining influence through electoral politics and would have made the creation of Essebsi’s Nida’ Tounis, the largest party after the last elections, impossible.   The most widely cited argument for not excluding former members of the CDR was simply that there is, in a democracy, no reason for stripping individuals of their political rights unless they have been convicted of criminal activity.  Whether Ennahda representatives were convinced of this argument on its merits or simply took a more hard-nosed view of the likely results of excluding their long-time opponents we do not know, but their decision was consequential.

In Egypt events have worked out quite differently.  There are, of course, many contextual differences between Egypt and Tunisia but one obvious and crucial difference was the inability or unwillingness of the Muslim Brotherhood to find a way to compromise with members of the old regime.  On the contrary, the Muslim Brotherhood often sought to marginalize and exclude as much of the NDP as possible.   These attempts to marginalize and exclude the NDP and its cadre as well as its leadership were highly popular with a significant portion of the Egyptian public.  The top NDP leadership included prominent businessmen, religious officials, and government officials all of whom were widely derided as corrupt figures of an authoritarian regime. 
Days before Husni Mubarak resigned, on February 6, 2011 Vice President Omar Suleiman met with members of the opposition including the Muslim Brotherhood in an attempt to broker an agreement about the future of Egypt. These were the days in which several groups of so-called “wise men”, including some of Egypt’s wealthiest and most important businessmen as well as academic figures and former officials engaged a public dialogue through public statements and occasional interviews.  Other opposition leaders including Muhammad El-Baradei opposed the talks which were unpopular with the demonstrators in Tahrir Square. The Obama administration backed the talks as a way out of the impasse in Egypt.  Both President Obama and Secretary of State Hilary Clinton called for an orderly transition.  Some disarray in the American position occurred when former US Ambassador Frank Wisner stated that Mubarak would have to stay in office indefinitely.  Press reports indicated that Mubarak would have agreed not to run for a new term and that some changes in the laws regarding freedom of expression would have been made.   

             The first attempt to broker some kind of agreement or transitional pact foundered.  Subsequently there were occasional talks between leaders of the MB and some of their political competitors and more than occasional claims that the MB had worked out a deal with the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces but nothing of the kind ever happened.  Talks routinely broke down; bargains once made were scuttled; and a heightened sense of distrust permeated relationships between all the dominant actors during the period after Mubarak left office.  

            Unlike in Tunisia, it proved, for example, very difficult to win agreement on the nature of the electoral process as well as substantively limiting the ability of the Islamist movements to dominate the legislature.  After initially promising to limit itself to contesting 25 % of the seats, the MB finally decided to contest nearly everywhere.  SCAF found it difficult to choose among a variety of electoral schemes but ultimately chose a mixed system in which some seats were contested by party list and others by individual candidacy.  Parties were nevertheless allowed to contest the individual seats although it was widely known that the Supreme Constitutional Court, in several prior decisions, had ruled such contestation unconstitutional. 

            Anger and contempt for the political figures of the old regime were common through the first year of the uprising in Egypt and the MB began to present themselves as a party dedicated to reforming Egypt by continuing the revolution.  Key to this objective was eliminating the “feloul” or remnants of the old regime.  This was surprising to many Egyptians because there was no reason to believe that the MB planned to make significant or rapid changes to the country’s economic or governmental structures which would have been the hallmark of a revolutionary party as widely understood in Western as well as Egyptian academic literature.

            Circumspect as the MB was, however, their reaction to the so-called Selmi document of late 2011 shows how different the situation in Egypt was from what obtained in Tunisia.  Ali Al-Selmi, vice prime minister, drafted a proposal that had the backing of SCAF and the government which was then still dominated by liberal elements of the old regime and a handful of its liberal opponents.  He offered a set of supra-constitutional principles to guide the work of the still-to-be chosen constituent assembly which had many substantive similarities to earlier such statements issued by the Muslim Brotherhood, his own Wafd party, and independent forces in March 2011.  It only allowed the civilian government to consider the total budgetary allocation to the Armed Forces and it gave SCAF the right to prior review of any legislation affecting the army.  There was opposition to ratifying the military’s hitherto unofficial authority in the new constitution, but the subsequent constitution drafted a year later by the Muslim Brotherhood-dominated assembly gave the Armed Forces significantly more control over its own finances and the government. 

His proposal also included significant restrictions on how the still to be chosen legislature could choose the constituent assembly.  First, Selmi proposed that elected legislators not be allowed to serve as members of the constituent assembly.  He also proposed a corporatist plan through which the SCAF would appoint the bulk of the members of the constituent assembly from the existing institutional framework of Egyptian society in which unions, professional associations, and other groups would choose their own representatives.

If implemented, his proposal placed mild substantive constraints on what the assembly could write but it egregiously violated one of the few obviously legitimate elements of the transitional process.  That an elected legislature would choose the constituent assembly was one of a handful of provisions that had been the object of the March 19 referendum.  The MB called for massive demonstrations against the Selmi proposals and hundreds of thousands of people mobilized against them including sections of the left. Selmi himself became a lightning rod for protest and mistrust because of his own connections to the old regime. Selmi has a doctorate in economics and had served previously in Mubarak cabinets.  He was a prominent member of the Wafd, generally considered a secular pro-business party with a significant Christian base of support.  Rejecting the Selmi placed the MB firmly on the side of electoral legitimacy but it suggested an at best limited tolerance for reaching substantive agreements with the social, political or economic elite of the old regime. 

            The Muslim Brotherhood initiated demonstrations in Tahrir Square and were able to mobilize significant support against the proposal on November 18, 2011.  Police later attacked a sit-in by relatives of the people killed in the initial uprising and protests continued.  These included particularly violent confrontations between the police and youth, many of whom were drawn from the ranks of soccer fans and from poorer neighborhoods, which left 41 dead and perhaps 1,000 wounded.  The Selmi document was another victim and so was the government of Prime Minister Essam Sharaf who resigned on November 21.  He was replaced by Kamal Ganzouri, who had served as prime minister under Hosny Mubarak from 1996 to 1999.

            From the left the Muhammad Mahmoud events were widely viewed at the time as evidence that the Muslim Brotherhood was uninterested in pursuing the revolution to establish a democratic order.  Viewed in the framework of Tunisian politics, however, they suggest a different interpretation:   the Muslim Brotherhood refused to reach an agreement with members of the old regime about the new structure of the state.  The mobilization of street demonstrations and the willingness to accept the outcome of the violent confrontations that it had neither solicited nor endorsed placed the Muslim Brotherhood on a distinct path in the months to come.  This was the path of electoral politics, themselves a fundamental process for representative democracy.  It was also, however, a path in which elections and demonstrations together could be used to marginalize and diminish the role of other institutions of the state as well as the political opponents of the electoral victors.
            In the succeeding months a far more brutal and direct battle for power developed in Egypt that took the country in a very different direction from Tunisia.  The Muslim Brotherhood coalition gained 45 % of the seats in the new parliament and, in alliance with the Salafi “Islamist bloc”, could control the new legislature.  Among other measures it enacted a political ban on members of the old ruling party which, like its Tunisian equivalent, had been dissolved.  The Supreme Constitutional Court struck down this law as unconstitutional, using language similar to that deployed by Tunisian legislators in rejecting Article 116.  The Court also voided the elections to the lower house because the electoral rules violated established court doctrine about the rights of voters. 

            This is not the place to discuss in detail the long conflict between the Muslim Brotherhood, the courts, and members of the old political class.  It is telling that the MB, despite its commitment to the electoral process and its claims to the necessity of the alternation of power, remained unwilling to allow the one set of political activists most likely to challenge its dominance successfully to compete in an organized fashion for power.  It is in this sense that the MB can legitimately claim to be a revolutionary force.  The MB was certainly not an ideological party committed to socialism, income redistribution, or secularism.   For reasons that are too complex to address here they were certainly committed to eliminating a significant fraction of the old political class (the “feloul” or remnants of the old regime) and moved as rapidly as they could to do so. 

            No doubt the stories of the Tunisian and Egyptian experiences of political conflict in the wake of authoritarian collapse are more complex than the one I have told here.  I plan to examine some of those aspects, including the role of the army, elsewhere. The advantage of this story, however, is that it takes our attention away from the problems of secularism, post-secularism, moderation, radicalism and religion and places it firmly back into the structure of conflict and accommodation between political and institutional forces. 

            Sometime before his tragically premature death I had coffee one morning with Samir Soliman, the respected Egyptian political scientist.  In the years since it has become common to argue that the failure of the Egyptian revolution and Egyptian democracy can both be attributed to the failure of the secular left to organize sufficient popular support to challenge the Muslim Brotherhood.  Seen in this optic the tragedy of Egypt is the fault of the middle-class intellectuals who played such conspicuous roles in front of the television cameras in the early days of the uprising in 2011.  Samir had a different view of how democracy, if it was to work at all, would work in Egypt.   The only party that could conceivably challenge the MB and alternate with it, he argued, was a conservative party. Committed as he was personally to the politics of the left, he did not that day argue that the liberal left would be a likely counterweight to the MB nor did he mention from where such a party would draw its leaders or members.

            In Tunisia it is clear that a conservative-centrist party has emerged to challenge Ennahda and its roots are heavily in the old regime although it also boasts other supporters.  In Egypt for a variety of reasons no alternate center-conservative party was built.  That would have necessarily been a party with deep roots in the old NDP, the party many of whose members have re-emerged since the coup.  In the absence of a thorough-going revolutionary exclusion, they would, I think, have re-emerged anyway.  The question is whether they did so through elections or as part of an anti-electoral coalition.   Attempting to exclude the economic and political elites of the old regime may have seemed like both revolutionary and democratic good sense to the Muslim Brothers and to many Islamists and leftists between 2011 and 2014. 

            Egyptian revolutionaries (in the conventional left-wing sense) and the leaders of the MB feared the re-emergence of the feloul as a political force.  They correctly understood that a powerful conservative party with significant support from Egypt’s business elite was not a friend.  Such a political grouping was not inclined to support either the projects of economic and social equality that animated the left or the projects of creating new state institutions that the MB favored.  The MB were committed to elections. As the old elite increasingly re-asserted itself the MB responded by attempting to marginalize both their institutional and electoral capacity. In this they echoed the very old concern of revolutionaries in Europe and Latin America that electoral democracy is not necessarily the friend of movements for economic redistribution nor do they necessarily lend themselves to the creation of strong protections for the political, civil, or social rights of the poor and the weak. 

The idea that democracy is the last station on the revolutionary road remains seductive and it informs a certain idealized understanding of American history and the process of democratization.  Representative democracy itself, however, is less likely the successful conclusion of revolution and more likely the premature end of its utopian hopes and dreams.  Only if nothing changes, can everything change.

Wednesday, August 20, 2014

Sisi Victorious (with apologies to the late Ossie Davis)

                  SISI VICTORIOUS

A year after the violent dispersion of protesters at Rabaa and Nahda squares in Cairo Egyptian President Abdel Fattah Sisi has reason to be pleased with the state of the world.  The early mutters of disapproval in Washington have died down and even a recent report by Human Rights Watch asserting that the government crackdown on supporters of former President Muhammad Morsi comprised a series of crimes against humanity will probably be ignored. That Egypt today, with an authoritarian regime underwritten by the armed forces, is far less torn by conflict than Libya, Syria, or Iraq may be one reason for feeling self-satisfied.  Another, and one of the most surprising reasons for such feelings, besides the usual cynicism of international politics and foreign policy, is due to the remarkably accommodating policies of Egypt’s neighbor to the northeast, Israel.
                  While the most common optic used to view events in the region remains that of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, it has also become increasingly fashionable to think in terms of a struggle for influence between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia (aided by its friends in the United Arab Emirates) and the Islamic Republic of Iran (with an occasional assist from Qatar).   Through these lenses Egypt is no longer an independent player in the Arab world but merely a dependent supplicant for favor in a conflict between far more powerful forces.  While this may be true to some degree, it ignores how rapidly Egyptian diplomacy has used the assets—meager as they may be—at its disposal to reverse the negative impact of the criminal violence through which the current regime came to power.  Whether this is due to remarkable skill or dumb luck remains to be seen, but the new government has done a superb job of taking advantage of opportunities.
                  Not the least of those assets has been Israel.  To say this is to admit an unconventional view of the current situation in the region.  The dominant approach is to say that Egypt is the ally or even the cat’s paw of Israel.  The Israelis, after all, rely on Egyptian weakness to carry out their assault on Gaza and Israel is the dominant military and economic power in the eastern Mediterranean. Many believe that Egyptians (and thus any democratically elected Egyptian government) really want nothing more than for their army and their economy to come to the aid of the beleaguered Palestinians.  Exactly why, after even the Morsi government closed down tunnels to Gaza and maintained the blockade, anyone should unquestioningly believe this is something of a mystery. It is true that the Muslim Brotherhood, of which Morsi was a leading member, had a fraternal relationship with Hamas.  It is equally true that the Freedom and Justice party leaders vociferously campaigned at rallies on their intentions to liberate Jerusalem. As all the little communist parties of the world learned to their sorrow during the years of Stalin’s Comintern, the interests of big brother take precedence.  Morsi and his allies may have talked a good game of fighting Zionism but in the end they turned out to be mainly interested in the victory of Islamism in one country.
                  The Sisi government (which includes the transitional period) is far less enamored of the Palestinian cause and Hamas than was the Muslim Brotherhood.  The new government, faced with continuing unrest in the Sinai Peninsula and ongoing armed attacks on border guards, police and army units, sees the entire region as a security threat.  Gaza is, in this view, a source of and a refuge for armed elements that the new government sees as threatening.   That Hamas militants paraded through the streets of Gaza before the recent fighting while holding weapons and making the raised four-finger sign of Rabaa could not have been pleasing to President Sisi and his government.
                  Egypt’s new generals, it has been widely observed, have little combat experience.  Unlike former Defense Minister Tantawi they never fought the Israeli Defense Forces.  If they have never been victorious in battle neither have they suffered defeat at the hands of the IDF.  Nor does the Israeli government of Benjamin Netanyahu appear to harbor any ill will toward an Egyptian military that stolidly guards its own borders.  On the contrary, ministers and pundits alike committed to the Netanyahu government see political Islam (whether in Iran or the Arab world) as the most dangerous strategic threat they face.  In their rhetoric, and perhaps in their own strategic calculus, the Muslim world is a seething cauldron of rage about to pour down on the Jewish state.  Against this possibility the Egyptian military are a bulwark.
                  It is thus not so surprising that Israeli diplomats and American organizations strongly connected to Israel urged the Obama Administration not to cut aid to Egypt in the wake of the coup.  One way to look at this is that the new regime in Egypt had been rewarded for truckling to Israel.  Another way—at least as honest a description—would be that the Israeli government carried water for the Egyptians.  To repeat: the Israeli government judged its interests best served by aiding the strategic interests of the Egyptian regime in exchange for no formal promises or assurances.
                  Israeli intelligence about Gaza is known to be relatively impoverished. Unsurprisingly, Israel is better informed about the more open society in the West Bank than what many describe as the open air prison of Gaza.  Despite the fantasies of Jeremy Bentham and Michel Foucault, prisons are not easy places to observe nor does the Hobbesian world of incarceration lend itself to stable patterns of alliance or preference.  If Israeli officials rely to any degree on Egyptian colleagues for intelligence about Gaza, they would not be the first occupying power to risk being systematically misled by those from whom they seek information.
                  Israel’s assault on Gaza and weakening of Hamas has gone well for President Sisi.  The Israelis and Islamist Palestinians have wounded each other.  Hamas has been materially weakened and Israel has, in the eyes of important sections of the developed world, forfeited much of its moral and political capital.  Egypt, a country which for a year had labored under the threat that the US or the European states would diminish both economic and diplomatic support has now become once again a crucial interlocutor.  In fact, as President Obama’s attention is drawn increasingly to Syria and Iraq as well as Ukraine, Egypt is a welcome partner. Cairo becomes the venue and the primary agent in facilitating talks between the two warring parties.  Whatever possibility there was that the Obama administration would further cut aid to Egypt has vanished in the plumes of Hamas’s rockets and the explosions of Israeli ordnance.
                  On the home front the picture facing the Egyptian government is less rosy, but it is not quite as dismal as Sisi’s opponents suggest.  A year after the government violently dispersed the demonstrations at Rabaa and Nahda squares, it has managed to write and implement a new constitution.  That the new constitution was approved by 98% of the voters and President Sisi elected by 96% has not embarrassed the new government nor does it seem to be an element of popular discontent for now.
                  The government faces far more severe problems than the validity of its mandate.  It has so far proven incapable of resolving many of the issues that President Morsi unsuccessfully confronted.  In the process it has become clear that the profound challenges that faced the Morsi government were not manufactured by the deep state, foreign interests, or anything other than the present structure of the Egyptian economy and politics. 
                  There has been significant commentary about Egyptian food imports and the dire consequences of bread shortages in a country where bread is a necessary dietary staple.  Nevertheless, among the most pressing problems in Egypt is that of electricity supply.  The persistent outages that occurred before the coup have become longer and more frequent over the last year.  Initially there was a respite as power consumption dropped below production for a brief period but the general trend has been negative.  The government plans to resolve the issue in the short term by increasing coal imports but these will necessarily increase the drain on foreign currency reserves. A cleaner alternative would be natural gas. Although Egypt has very large reserves of natural gas, it faces increasing shortages.  The government has diverted more of the gas from exports (including small but very controversial shipments to Israel) to domestic consumption but has been unable to increase production.  The major stumbling block is the unwillingness of the government to increase the price for foreign partners as well as the government’s inability to pay its previous energy debts.  A possible resort to increasing imports of liquefied natural gas may briefly alleviate the physical shortfall but at the cost of further drain of foreign reserves and foregone investment in production. 
                  Long-term problems include high unemployment and continued weakness in production and investment as well as the diminished activity in the tourist sector.  Although Egyptians like to think of the tourist attractions in their country as unique this is something of a mistake.  It is true that no other country has pyramids so large or Pharaonic monuments so grand, but the Pyramid of the Sun in Teotihuacan is also unique. Having visited Luxor once globetrotters are as likely to want to see Angkor Wat as make a return visit to the temples on the Nile.  Other Egyptian tourist attractions—sandy beaches, clear blue water, exotic scenes for scuba diving—must compete with similar accommodations in Thailand, Mexico, Brazil, and even socialist Cuba’s white sands of Varadero. Tourism is a source of hard currency and Egypt’s historical attractions are uniquely important in human history but the global tourist market is highly competitive. The number of tourists coming to Egypt dropped from 14 million in 2010 to around 9 million last year. That other destinations can be visited without fear of disruption or political unrest makes them even more desirable today.
 One bright spot is remittances, which according to the central bank, flow on the order of $22 billion annually.  In academic discussions of the Egyptian economy remittances are often referred to as a form of “rent” probably because, like royalties on oil production or Suez Canal transit fees, they are paid in hard currency. They are better thought of as as a form of export of human capital.  The higher returns abroad to the joint investment between individual Egyptians and the state in education are partially returned to Egyptian society through this mechanism.  What is insufficiently appreciated is that the particular form inter-Arab economic relations have taken in the past five decades makes it possible for this economic arbitrage to function effectively from the vantage of the state.  Ordinarily migrants take their education with them as well as their entrepreneurial talents when they settle abroad.  Egyptians cannot, for the most part, do this because although they can often enter other Arab countries in search of employment they cannot easily become citizens in their new homes and must return to Egypt.  The Arab world would look would look very different today if millions of Egyptians had permanently left the country over the past three decades and become citizens in Gulf countries or Libya.   
                  President Sisi has also announced a plan to dig a second Suez canal and widen the existing channel.  This would allow more ships to transit and increase revenues to the government.  Increasing the capacity of the Suez Canal is certainly a better investment than building a second Nile in the Western Desert parallel to the existing one.  Whether the government can accomplish this in the year that President Sisi set for the project is dubious and even the Suez Canal is no longer a certain source of rents or hard currency.  Today, unlike in decades past, Suez and Panama--in opposite hemispheres--can compete for the shipping trade between China and Europe.  With Suez tolls for some ships set at more than a million dollars for the round trip, the journey around Africa or through a widened channel in Panama have become competitive for some shippers.
                  The numbers make the economic situation appear impossibly grim. There are also many accounts detailing the stranglehold the army is said to have over the economy with estimates of military enterprises accounting for between 5% and 40% of the whole.  It is something of a mystery in this case why Egypt does not experience the complete collapse pundits have been predicting regularly for the last three years.  Remittances and the financial support of the Gulf monarchies certainly make a difference. The state budget is nevertheless under pressure and there is little reason to believe that the Armed Forces, despite the engineering degrees held by many of its officers, will be able to chart a successful course out of the current mess.
                  What Sisi and the generals may be able to rely on at least for a while is the informal economy.  Estimates of the size of the informal economy—defined as those enterprises that pay no taxes and which have no legally recognized property rights—range from between thirty to forty percent.   There is every reason to believe that the informal sector plays an important and possibly even nearly a dominant role in urban housing markets and that informal systems of property rights and adjudication procedures exist.  Living in the informal markets for labor and commodities is precarious but on balance it is clear that millions of Egyptians manage to do so.  There is no need to romanticize the difficult lives of those for whom pennies (or more appropriately piasters) spell the difference between ruin and relief.  What studies there are suggest that for some Egyptians, informal employment is a first step in a ladder to a viable livelihood and for others (women and poorly educated men for example) it may well be an inescapable trap.  Nevertheless for the moment it provides some stability in an economy that is increasingly at risk. And it may well be that Egyptians in the most precarious situations are the ones who most desire stability, even at the cost of increased political repression. Sisi’s supporters, who helped to drive President Morsi from office, are not drawn only from the ranks of well off liberals any more than were the enemies of Maximilien Robespierre during Thermidor of 1793.  He went to the guillotine with the assent and even the enthusiasm of much of Paris as well as the French countryside.   Although Robespierre’s downfall is linked in modern imagination with the Terror it appears in retrospect to have been more closely connected to how opposing elites deployed issues of more widespread popular concern: rising prices, bread shortages, and the absence of fuel.

Friday, March 07, 2014

The Needle and the Gun


            The recent announcement by the Egyptian government that the Armed Forces have discovered a device to detect and possibly cure hepatitis “C” and AIDS has been met with disbelief, ridicule and occasional contempt.  It was not met with a great deal of anger, but perhaps this was because Egyptians were all too aware of the context within which the device has been offered.  Or perhaps after three years of revolutionary upheaval many Egyptians are too exhausted. The foreign media has echoed some of the ridicule but with rare exceptions has been either willfully or blindly ignorant of the public health background of the last two decades. Whether these events were an indication of malice, hypocrisy, incompetence or simple lack of attention by the relevant authorities remains uncertain.

            Announced at a mid-February 2014 press conference by Ibrahim Abdel Atti, a general by courtesy, the device—named C-Fast—resembles a radio antenna connected to a trigger mechanism.  It is thus supposed to be instantaneous (whence its name) and non-invasive. Abdel Atti claims that he spent two decades developing the device, most recently with support from the Armed Forces.  Similar technology, he claimed, was at use in “complete cure” which ostensibly did what its name implied.  Several Egyptian scientists, including the president’s science adviser, have publicly announced that the device itself is most likely a fake and that neither the device nor the theory on which it was supposedly developed has any validity. 

            If the underlying health issues were less serious the events of the past week might have the quality of an arcane comedy or a peculiar vaudeville act. But there is every reason for Egyptians to be worried about hepatitis C.  It is a severe liver disease whose full effects may take decades to manifest.  These include cancer of the liver and cirrhosis either of which is fatal if untreated.   The most common medications are uncertain and require a course of treatment lasting months.  Even after government assistance, they may cost hundreds or thousands of dollars which puts them beyond the reach of many of Egypt’s poor who may subsist on $2 a day.

            As a story in the New York Times on February 26, 2014 coyly noted Egypt has “the highest prevalence of hepatitis C.”   The superlative here refers to the entire globe: the rate of infection among Egyptians is the world’s highest.  According to a report issued by the US Centers for Disease Control but largely authored by Egyptian specialists about 10 % of the Egyptian population, or 6 million people in 2008, had chronic hepatitis c virus (HCV) infection.   Egypt, with less than a quarter the population of the United States has twice as many people infected with the virus.  Another telling comparison is that Egypt with less than 1% of the world’s population has roughly 4% of the world’s cases of hepatitis C. 

            In general hepatitis C rates are higher in the countryside than the cities, among men than women, and among those who are older.  The same report indicates that between 2008 and 2011 the Egyptian government treated about 190,000 Egyptians with one or two medications that cure between 60 and 80% of cases.  However, about 40,000 Egyptians die every year due to liver cancer or cirrhosis (not all of which is attributable to HCV) and it is the second highest cause of death in the country after heart attacks.

There is every reason for Egyptians, especially the poor and the illiterate, to be concerned about hepatitis C and to hope that someone can develop a quick and inexpensive treatment.  That many Egyptians welcomed the claims about C-Fast is not surprising. There is no particular reason that ordinary Egyptians should have very clear ideas about the best science for the detection and cure of AIDS or hepatitis C.  Whatever the vices of General Abdel Atti’s device, it has the virtue of being harmless in itself.  This is more than can be said of a drug such as laetrile that was popular in the United States at least through the 1970s and is still occasionally touted as a cure for cancer.  Laetrile, made from apricot pits, has no impact on cancer but it does contain sufficient cyanide that patients taking it have a real risk of being poisoned. 

            The problem with a harmless treatment is that it induces a false sense of security among patients who will nevertheless succumb to a deadly disease.  It is not clear whether the peak incidence of the disease occurred in the past several years but it will be a severe public health problem for decades to come.

            That the epidemic itself was in large part the effect of an earlier Ministry of Health program designed to eliminate endemic schistosomiasis (also known as bilharzia) was well known and recently reported in The Economist.  Schistosomiasis also causes severe liver disease.  That campaign itself was necessitated by earlier decisions by many Egyptian governments (including those at the turn of the 20th century when the country was effectively under British control) to extend perennial irrigation.  Egyptians suffered from schistosomiasis thousands of years ago but perennial irrigation allowed a parasite that moves from snails to humans and back again to routinely complete its life cycle and infect large numbers of people.

From 1960 until around 1980 the government injections of tartar emetic were used to control schistosomiasis.  The decision by the government to employ re-usable glass syringes that were often not effectively sterilized between uses spread the HCV epidemic even as it began to reduce the incidence of schistosomiasis.  By the mid-1980s an oral drug had begun to replace the earlier treatment.  Unfortunately by then HCV was endemic and an unrelated hepatitis B virus had also begun to spread. 

There are other sources for the spread of HCV.  The growing incidence of adult diabetes has also led to a growing incidence of kidney failure (more formally, end stage renal disease).  As a consequence more Egyptians are undergoing dialysis which, when the machines are not adequately sterilized, has become another vector for the spread of HCV. 

Egypt has more than 1,000 dialysis units that provide care for patients with kidney disease.  Dialysis costs about $3200 a year for three treatments a week (in the US the cost is about 50 times as great and would also be beyond the reach of most who suffer from the disease if Medicare did not pick up the bill).  This is well beyond the income of most Egyptians with ESRD.  Needless to say 1,000 units is far from sufficient for a country with millions who have ESRD.  Recent estimates indicate that about 10% of Egyptians suffer from diabetes (about half of which is undiagnosed) and perhaps twice that many suffer from hypertension which is the other major precursor to ESRD.
Dialysis clinics are spread throughout the country but are most easily available in the large cities.  Thus there is relatively large dialysis center not far from Tahrir Square tucked into a small side street opposite an art gallery and not far from automobile repair shops.  In Giza, on the boundary between the upscale neighborhood of Muhandiseen and impoverished area of Imbaba there are several clinics specializing in kidney and liver disease.  At the height of the demonstrations in Tahrir Square, empty as the streets of Cairo and Giza may have been, the clinics were filled with patients, some from Upper Egypt and some from upper class Cairene families waiting to see their physicians and watching the news reports on television.  Neither kidney nor liver patients could let revolution prevent their search for treatment.  My only reason for being aware of this is that I spent most of a day there on several occasions waiting for my own appointment.

            Treatment of HCV has been expensive and until recently quite uncertain.  In December 2013 the English-language Ahram reported news of a trial in the US. These results were clearly well known to officials of the Health Ministry.  The US Food and Drug Administration has recently approved an orally delivered medication that is extremely effective when used to treat the particular variation of HCV common in Egypt.  Dr. Wahid Doss, head of the Egyptian National Liver Institute, was quoted in news reports (including the Ahram report) about the results of a study in the United States that showed Sofusbuvir in conjunction with Peginterferon and Ribavirin achieved a 97% permanent clearance rate of the virus after 12 weeks of treatment.  
            All of this information and more was available to the Egyptian government and Egyptian medical organizations and it was in the public record when the first reports of C-Fast were made.  In the space of a week and a half the emptiness of the claims of Abdel Atti and the C-Fast device had been revealed.  On the positive side it is apparent that the repressive as the new government may be and despite the danger of scientific quackery Egypt’s scientific community remains active.  It is easy to dismiss the value of expertise but for many Egyptians today in many areas of society there is a far greater problem in not having access to expert advice and care than in having too much of it.

The size of the public health tragedy that confronts the country and the very limited resources for dealing with it are truly daunting.  Much as been written of the macroeconomic challenges Egypt faces, the cost of fuel and food subsidies, the continuing problems with electricity supply and butane.  And of course there is repressive response of the state to public political opposition.
The 2011 electoral program of the Muslim Brotherhood’s Freedom and Justice party correctly noted the extent of the hepatitis and diabetes epidemic facing the country but proposed no immediate proposals to address it and no significant increase in funding already existing institutions or policy initiatives.  The current government is clearly aware of the extent of the crisis and of how it affects the lives of ordinary Egyptians.  Despite information available from the government’s own scientific advisers and the Egyptian professional medical community, the government promoted a quack response.  Had the C-Fast device not been critiqued, ridiculed and (one can only hope) withdrawn, its use would have been worse than doing nothing.  It is sobering to realize that every month almost as many Egyptians unnecessarily die due to the consequences of government incapacity and inaction as were killed in the public squares in the summer of 2013.  These deaths are unintended and clearly cannot be considered the policy of the state.  No violation of rights is involved.  They are nevertheless a significant human tragedy for which negligence may be a reason but not really an excuse.

Wednesday, September 18, 2013

A Tale of Two Coups


            I keep a black and white photograph on the wall.  It’s a grainy old black and white photo, poorly mounted and inexpertly framed.  Very few people who mount the stairs from the door to my living room recognize the faces in the picture.  Usually they ignore it completely but sometimes their attention is drawn by the large hammer and sickle in the center foreground.  It has been years since any visitors recognized that the unsmiling, somber figure just above and behind the Communist emblem is the former President of Chile, Salvador Allende.   He is, appropriately perhaps, surrounded by members of the Popular Unity government and yet appears to be abstracted and isolated.  Only the Minister of Labor, Luis Figueroa, is looking directly at Allende who lay dead in Chile’s presidential palace, La Moneda, a week after the photograph was taken.  General Augusto Pinochet had seized power in a military coup and the Chilean Air Force had bombed Chile's own government center.

            For obvious reasons the coup against President Mohammad Morsi has been compared to the coup against Allende.  Emotionally the picture is compelling:  democratically elected presidents forced out of office by generals who profoundly hated their politics and who then pursued increasingly violent campaigns against the remaining civilian opposition.  In the world of American academic politics the comparison is especially powerful because it suggests that the anti-communism that drove policies a generation ago and now seems shameful and regrettable is surfacing again as “Islamophobia” or an irrational hatred of Islam.   Saving democracy, a lost cause in 1973, is now possible and a moral imperative as the events of the past are replayed in a different part of the world with a different cast of characters.

            It would be useless to enter an academic hissing match about whether the characters really are playing the appropriate roles:  Egyptian General Abdelfattah Sisi as Pinochet and Morsi as Allende.   The argument as it stands is rooted in the moral sentiments of observers, but a closer look at the comparison can be useful.  It reveals the substantial differences between the use of the electoral process for economic change and political democratization.  It also reveals how military interventions may have very different ways of deploying violence, even overwhelmingly high levels of violence.  And it reveals the degree to which, regardless of the extent or experience of constitutional rule, armies are likely intervene when levels of political polarization reach the point at which civil conflict threatens.

            At the most superficial level the comparison obviously succeeds and equally obviously fails.  Two presidents, democratically elected, were both ousted by a military establishment.  One, Allende, was engaged within a political system that had been a functioning constitutional democracy for at least 40 years.  He sought to fashion a transition to socialism and more particularly to enhance the role of the state in the economy and to make the distribution of goods and services more equitable.  Morsi’s election in an open contest occurred a year after the collapse of a 60-year old authoritarian regime under the influence of an immense revolutionary upheaval.  He appears to have been laying the foundation for an Islamic state the contours and content of which remain somewhat vague.  Allende was secular, socialist and considered himself a democrat; Morsi was an Islamist, committed to private property, and also considered himself a democrat. 

            From the viewpoint of American social scientists and policy makers the differences may not matter.  Both men were engaged in “transformative politics” against entrenched interests.  Both had been chosen by the appropriate mechanisms to hold the country’s highest executive office.  Both were overthrown by the military bureaucracies acting on their own and in their own interest.  Neither army had fought a foreign enemy in decades and neither general had any experience in combat.  Calling Al-Sisi Pinochet, like calling Pinochet Hitler, is sufficiently satisfying not to require further reflection. 

What happens though if we look at the comparison as something less like a slogan and more like an analysis?  We can begin to see more clearly the outlines of Morsi’s catastrophic political failure and we may begin to understand some of its roots.  We may also begin to see, unpleasant as it may be, more clearly into the ways in which the Egyptian military intends to use force. 

Like Mohammad Morsi, Salvador Allende running as the candidate of the Popoular Unity Coalition won the presidency with a slender lead. Although Morsi received just under 25 % of the vote in the first round, he was elected by about 52 % in a run-off.  Unlike Morsi, however, Allende only won a plurality, 36.2 % of the 3 million votes cast; conservative Jorge Alessandri won 34.9 % of the votes and Christian Democrat Radomiro Tomic has 27.8 %.  Unlike Egypt, Chile then had no run-off.  With no majority candidate, the names of the top two candidates went to the legislature which itself was dominated by Allende’s opponents.   The legislature had historically chosen the candidate with the most votes, and to placate his opposition Allende signed a formal “Statute of Constitutional Guarantees.”

In the end, Christian Democratic congressmen voted for Allende rather than abstain or return Alessandri who had been president from 1958-1964 to the office.  Allende obtained the presidency with a considerably weaker electoral mandate than Mohammad Morsi.  He knew it, his opponents knew it, and the Chilean population knew it.  Allende’s Socialist party did gain the Interior (as in Egypt the ministry that controls the police unlike the US where the Interior Department controls the national parks) and Defense ministries but despite nominal civilian control over the Armed Forces it proved impossible to prevent a coup.  Jose Toha, Allende’s first Minister of the Interior, was suspended by Congress for tolerating the emergence of left-wing militias He was then named Minister of Defense by Allende but was ultimately forced from that portfolio as well.  Clodomiro Almeyda, a left-wing Socialist, replaced him until he was himself succeeded by General Carlos Prats. 

Unlike Egypt in 2012, Chile had a well-established constitution.  It had been written in 1925 and the timing of elections made it almost impossible for a single party to control the executive and legislative branches.  No exception occurred in 1970 for the UP coalition had 20 senators (of 50) in the upper house and 60 (out of 150) in the lower house. Unlike Morsi whose own coalition had 235 of 508 seats in the lower house and 105 of 180 elected seats in the upper house, Allende never had a friendly legislature.  Before the Egyptian Supreme Constitutional Court dissolved the lower house, Morsi had a working plurality in the Egyptian parliament.  After the dissolution of the lower house and the passage of the new constitution in December 2012 Morsi was a president with a majority in the rump upper house that constituted the legislature (and to which he had, by right, appointed 90 of the total of 270 members).

The hostility of the courts and the legislature was directly rooted in Allende’s socialist agenda challenging the inviolability of private property.   His insistence on completing the nationalization of the large mining properties (already begun as “Chileanization” under Eduardo Frei, his Christian Democratic predecessor) as well as other sectors of the economy brought him into conflict with the judiciary and the legislature.  His equally great insistence on distributing many of the fruits of the nationalization through programs such as provision of milk to all children was seen by many as a threat: whether by degrading the efficiency of the economy or deploying the strategy of the “rentier state” (a phrase that had barely been invented at the time) to enhance his party’s control over the powers of government.

The relationship of the Armed Forces to the executive and more generally to the constitutional order is less easily comparable than other aspects of the two presidents’ tenure.  Allende’s civilian ministers of defense and the interior never really controlled the armed forces or the police respectively.  Nevertheless, when Allende was elected the Chilean Armed Forces had not intervened against a civilian government in more than 40 years and it was common to argue that Chile had an unbroken chain of constitutional governments going back to the late nineteenth century.  No coup was possible in Chile until violence within the military itself had brought new leadership to the Army.  This process began when a group of dissident officers and former officers, with the aid of the US Central Intelligence Agency, murdered Army Chief of Staff General René Schneider in October 1970 shortly before Allende’s inauguration.

 Until 1973, the Army had been guided by the so-called “Schneider doctrine” expressing the general’s belief in the need for a complete separation of political and military power.  Schneider’s successor, General Carlos Prats, accepted the doctrine and even put down an attempted coup on June 29, 1973, the so-called Tanquetazo.  Prats was forced out of the Army weeks before the coup and in 1974 was murdered in exile by the Chilean secret services.  In his place, Allende appointed the little known and colorless Augusto Pinochet as chief of staff.  It is not surprising that before 1970 scholars ranked the Chilean Armed forces as one of the least likely to make a coup and that until the very end few Chileans or foreigners had reason to believe that any move by the army would result in a dictatorship that would last nearly two decades.

The Egyptian Armed Forces have a very different relationship to the government and since 1952 have been intimately connected to the sinews of the state if they did not in fact constitute them.  Until the election of Mohammad Morsi all Egyptian presidents had come from one or another branch of the Armed Forces; generals and former generals served as provincial governors, government ministers, and at the head of state-owned economic enterprises.  The armed forces have been an autonomous administration within the larger state and the 2012 constitution formalized that relationship by requiring that the Minister of Defense be a general rather than a civilian and by removing the Army’s budget from significant legislative oversight.  For the first time in Egyptian history the army hierarchy itself came to power in a coup against former President Hosny Mubarak in February 2011 and assumed the country’s executive and legislative authority until at least mid-2012 when it relinquished both authorities to elected civilians.   In August 2012 Morsi retired the two key military leaders who had ousted Mubarak, Mohammad Tantawi and Sami Anan, and chose Abdelfattah Al-Sisi as the new Chief of Staff and Minister of Defense. 

It is no secret that since 1954 Egyptian governments and the Armed Forces have tried many times to destroy the Muslim Brothers.  Morsi thus faced an officers’ corps with no particular commitment to constitutional government and with a deep distaste for his politics.  Despite much wishful thinking by observers outside the army, it has also shown no inclination to split in the face of popular unrest.  It is difficult to know whether Morsi truly thought he had neutralized the Armed Forces but if he did it was, given their previous 60 years, a colossal mis-reading of the situation.  

What of the political context of the periods during which Allende and Morsi held office?  This is where the similarities may be greatest but where crucial differences also become most apparent.  Lacking control of the legislature and attempting to change the structure of property rights in favor of tenants, workers, and the impoverished, Allende and the UP resorted to rule by decree and refused to implement countervailing court orders based on the existing laws.  Allende thus found himself increasingly in conflict with the judiciary and the Supreme Court.  Although the Chilean Supreme Court is far less powerful than its Egyptian counterpart, the justices engaged in a public dispute with Allende including an exchange of letters accusing him of undermining the rule of law.  Congress had been in the hands of his opposition since 1970 and the 1973 elections did not materially change the political balance of forces.  Mass demonstrations against Allende to influence a legislature already hostile to him were unnecessary. On August 22, 1973 a majority of the lower house voted to ask the military to intervene and overthrow the Allende government.

The UP’s attempt to re-shape the Chilean economy had important repercussions especially in a country that had long suffered from high levels of inflation and rigidly separate labor markets and whose balance of payments depended on the export of a single commodity.  The decline of copper prices diminished the government’s income during Allende’s presidency and the ensuing lack of foreign currency made imports, including food, scarce and expensive.  Workers in the formal sector, especially mining and processing, had won some significant wage increases.  Price-fixing and rationing, especially the role of the Price and Supply Boards, worsened the situation rather than ameliorating it.   This in turn helped to re-create inflationary pressure that reached at least 140% a year in 1972 whereas measured Egyptian inflation appears to be on the order of 12 %. Much is made of the depreciation of the Egyptian (from about 5 to the US dollar in 2010 to somewhat over 7 today,), a drop of about 30%.  In the equivalent period of Allende’s presidency the escudo dropped from 20 to the dollar to 3000.  Unhappy as Egyptians have been with the worsening economic situation over the past year it is hard to imagine how the country would have reacted to the vaporization of the currency that Chile experienced which would have rendered the central bank’s foreign reserves worthless long before they were spent.

Nationalizations included firms driven out of business by worsening economic problems and this made investors increasingly skittish. Consequently the population suffered from increasing shortages of consumer goods and rising prices that affected the poor as well as the wealthy.  Strikes and lock-outs also affected production and a strike by truck-owners, many of whom were impoverished, with both political and economic goals dislocated commerce.   Allende’s opponents viewed the repression of the truckers’ strike (deemed economic sabotage by the UP government) as a violation of his pledge to respect the constitution.  One crucial difference between the strikes during the Allende period and widespread strikes in Egypt over the last two and a half years is that neither the Army nor the Muslim Brotherhood used its regulatory authority to win the support of striking workers against owners or to extend the role of state ownership or control.   The strikes by associations known as gremios were for economic ends but they also had an anti-trade union edge.  Unsurprisingly the Chilean trade union movement (CUT) strongly supported Allende, opposed the gremios, and in turn received significant support from the UP government.

In Egypt the nature of the revolutionary upsurge itself affected several key industries, notably tourism an important employment sector and a source of foreign currency.  Egypt is often called a rentier state but unlike Chile in the 1970s it has several streams of foreign income.  Remittances and Suez Canal receipts are other important sources of foreign currency although Canal passages declined somewhat in the wake of the global financial crisis of 2008.  Egypt ceased being an oil exporter in 2007.  Foreign exchange is crucial for a country that imports about half the wheat it consumes.   There were longstanding shortages of butane gas (crucial for cooking and heating among lower income groups), gasoline (crucial for transport), diesel and electricity.  From late 2011 on there were frequently long lines at gas stations, rolling blackouts, and insufficient diesel for a variety of urban and agricultural production.  The Egyptian trade union movement has long been under the control of the state but has been challenged by wildcat strikes and independent union movements.  Its independent leadership resisted any alliance with the Muslim Brotherhood and its formal organization is in disarray.  To the degree that voting in the industrial cities of the Delta over the past three years is any indication it would be difficult to say that there is any coherent majority organizationally or politically with the industrial workforce.

Allende, certainly a secular politician if not necessarily a liberal, faced significant opposition from devout Catholics and the church hierarchy.  In March 1973, the UP government announced plans to reform the educational system (K-12), the so-called National Unified School curriculum (ENU). Perhaps the biggest problem for Allende was that the ENU called for educating students in the values of “socialist humanism” which the Church found offensive and which provoked sufficiently significant opposition to force Allende to temporize (but not withdraw) the proposal.   Morsi was obviously not committed to a secular program in education or anywhere else nor was he committed to overhauling the Egyptian educational system.  He and the Muslim Brotherhood evoked opposition from the mainstream religious establishment represented by the Mufti of the Republic or the Shaykh of Al-Azhar. 

Internationally, however, the two leaders faced different situations with the United States.  US policy makers increasingly wanted to see Allende ousted both because they feared the emergence of a socialist government on the Latin American continent and because the Hickenlooper Amendment formally committed the US to oppose governments that nationalized foreign property with insufficient compensation.  It would be wrong to say that the US supported Morsi as such but the US appears to have been committed to Morsi’s presidency as a step toward democratization and initially sought, albeit halfheartedly, for his return as the legitimate holder of the office.

To sum up, by the weeks before the respective coups Morsi and Allende faced widespread public opposition that may have accounted for a majority of the population.  This opposition had also taken the form of street fighting and the increasing possibility of violent confrontations. They also both faced significant opposition from significant state institutions, notably the judiciary and the military.  They both faced a rapidly deteriorating economic situation. 

            Allende’s opposition had two primary roots.  One lay in opposition to his project for socialist transformation.  The US, Chilean private enterprise, landowners, the Catholic Church, sections of the Armed Forces, and multinational firms all opposed the policies that aimed at a Chilean transition to socialism for reasons of material interest, ideology, or principle.  In addition there was significant opposition to the Allende government because of the economic and social disruption the projected socialist transformation caused.  Allende and the UP may have expected to win over Chile’s working class and the poor as the socialist transformation went forward, but the real process of implementing the outlines of socialism alienated many Chileans.

            Before addressing the nature of the opposition to Morsi it is worth noticing that his project, unlike Allende’s, was vague at best and contradictory at worst.  The US government and many specialists have analyzed the events of the last two years as a process of democratization.  Was this, however, the way that Morsi and the Muslim Brotherhood and the Freedom and Justice Party looked at events?  Morsi and MB/FJP appear to have been of two minds about the process in which they were engaged.   It has never been clear if they saw themselves as a party committed to democratic transition or to the revolutionary re-structuring of the state and politics.  The clearest way to understand the difference is to look at how the Morsi government sought to deal with the so-called feloul or remnants of the old regime.  Morsi tried by decree to deny political rights to members, especially from the leadership, of the dissolved National Democratic party.   When this failed by order of the Supreme Court it was written into the new constitution.  It is easy enough to understand why a revolutionary party wants to proscribe leaders of the old order, but it is less easy to see why a democratizing party wishes to do so especially when the existing law limits the political rights of anyone convicted of criminal acts.  Acute as the political polarization in Chile was it never occurred to the UP, despite its formal commitment to revolutionary social and economic change, to strip the members of opposition parties of the right to run for office.

            Morsi also clearly faced at least two distinct strands of opposition.  There were those who opposed him on principle or and those who feared him but before the late fall of 2012 neither expressed the kind of implacable hatred that characterized Allende’s opposition.  To the contrary, a significant number of his opponents conceded his electoral legitimacy.  Certainly the Christian communities were uncomfortable with Morsi and Muslim Brotherhood from the beginning as were trade union leaders who refused as early as 2011 the idea of an MB-oriented union movement.  He was also opposed by sections of the Armed Forces and probably most of the police.  Religious minorities and trade unions, however, play a much smaller role in Egypt than in Chile and the police and armed forces had, by early 2012 lost popular support.  However, as the economy began to deteriorate through 2012 and into 2013 and as street violence became more pronounced opposition to Morsi clearly grew.  Official Islam in the guise of the Azhar, which like the Catholic hierarchy in Chile commands broad respect, became increasingly hostile as did broader sections of the population, the press, and local communities and groups of soccer fans (whose networks and institutions have played a significant role in mobilizing Egyptians over the past year).             

            In Egypt, unlike Chile where disagreement with Allende was expressed by an elected legislature, popular discontent with the Morsi presidency manifested itself in a petition campaign and massive demonstrations.   Egyptian constitutions since 1923 have guaranteed the people the right to assemble peacefully.  Western liberals in the wake of the coup seem to have decided that the Egyptian people were wrong to demonstrate or at least to demonstrate in such large numbers while making demands that not only contravened a constitutional whose ink had barely dried but which invited the Armed Forces to intervene again in the political process.   This is not a question germane to this discussion but clearly the generals in both countries acted on their own judgment.  It expects too much, I think, to believe that masses of people will use their rights not only to express their beliefs but with the kind of unrealistically sophisticated prudential or moral judgment required by theoreticians of rationality or moral philosophy.

            Comparing Egypt and Chile in the wake of their respective coups brings us to what political scientists like to call a “puzzle.”  To grasp the nature of this puzzle it is necessary first to do something few people want to do:  accept the not all violence is the same.  It can be deployed in different ways for different ends.  Thousands of people were killed both in Egypt and in Chile after the coups but the nature of the violence and, at least in the short term, its political implications are different.  This is not to say that one is acceptable or excusable.  It is simply to recognize that there is a profound difference in how the major institutions associated with organized violence, the army and police, have deployed it and the political implications of its use.    This is important if any form of constitutional democracy is to be restored to Egypt.

            I have insisted on what distinguishes Chile from Egypt in order to make a fundamental point.  In Chile the Armed Forces took power during a period of severe economic and political upheaval from a weakened president who had never had a clear electoral mandate or much institutional support.  Internal and external agents re-shaped the Chilean Armed Forces by violence and argument to make them the instrument for a coup, thereby vitiating Chile’s significant history of constitutional democracy. 

The Egyptian Armed Forces have taken power twice in the past three years as the country has experienced the initial phases of economic and political breakdown.  They did so most recently from a president with an electoral mandate and a friendly legislature, but they also did so as an Army that was no stranger to intervening in the affairs of government.  There was no need to re-shape the Army itself in order for it to remove a fragile constitutional government but the second time around the Armed Forces have so far chosen, unlike 2011 and unlike in Chile, not to rule directly.  General Abdelfattah al-Sisi may be the big man in the government but he is not the president and the decisions of the government are at least formally made by the government rather than by a junta acting as the government (as was also the case during the period in which the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces ruled Egypt in 2011-12).    

            If we look at the way in which the two armies deployed violence there is one important difference:  in Chile violence was used to overturn established institutions of constitutional democracy and to uproot the entire set of political parties from the center Christian Democrats to the extreme left MIR.  Acts of violence included mass arrests, summary executions (“disappearances”), the proscription of parties, the dissolution of parliament (where Allende’s opponents had a majority), and the prohibition of demonstrations.   Pinochet, in short, not only repressed Allende and his allies but his enemies as well.

In Egypt Morsi was already under the control (“protection”) of the Armed Forces when the coup occurred.  The coup itself, in the midst of massive anti-Morsi demonstrations, was (unlike Pinochet’s attack on La Moneda) peaceful.  The military and the police have used overwhelming and arguably criminal violence to disperse the large sit-ins supporting Morsi (early July and again in August) and killed more than a thousand people.  Most, but not all, of the top leadership of the Muslim Brothers organization is under arrest but the organization itself has not yet been dissolved although the government is taking steps in that direction.   The armed forces dissolved the legislature.  They have not so far attacked many of Morsi’s political allies or his enemies. The Salafi parties have, for example, continued to function as does the Freedom and Justice party which has chosen new leadership and continues to call for and lead demonstrations.  Without minimizing the terrible violence used to disperse the demonstrations in Cairo or apologizing for it, it is nevertheless true that a significant fraction of the Islamist section of the political spectrum continues to function.  This was simply not true of the equivalent parties and leaders in Chile in 1973.

            What is puzzling is why the violence of the armed forces in these two situations is, at least initially, so different.  Why did the Pinochet regime deploy violence against wide sections of Chilean society including the centrist political elite when it was clear that a majority of Chileans and that elite, through their votes and political affiliations, rejected the Allende presidency?  There is every reason to think that a majority of the legislature and the Supreme Court would have agreed on a decision by the Armed Forces to hold new elections and that a candidate from the Christian Democrats or the Conservatives would have won (as they had the two free elections before 1970).   Why have the Egyptian Armed Forces not deployed such violence against wide sections of Egyptian society and the political elite given that Morsi (unlike Allende) had won a majority in the presidential election and that his party had a majority in the legislature?  Why have, in contradistinction to Chile, parties more radical than the MB (the Salafi Nour party in particular) been allowed to remain in existence and why have some members of the Freedom and Justice party (the political arm of the MB) been allowed to remain free, and why have (for the moment at least) human rights groups been allowed to function?  Not long ago Ziad Bahaa al-Din, the Deputy Prime Minister for the economy, proposed a truce between the government and the FJP.  None of Pinochet’s ministers proposed such a truce with the UP and had any of them done so they would have been immediately retired if not imprisoned or perhaps executed.  Additionally why is the new government so intent on re-writing the constitution rather than simply ruling by decree as the Pinochet government did for seven years? 

            One answer might be that the Egyptian Armed Forces are kinder and gentler than the Chilean Armed Forces.  The repeated use of violence against massed protesters makes this unlikely although it does not answer the question of why there was no immediate move to attack the sit-ins. The Egyptian high command may be more interested in creating a civilian government than was Pinochet because they may prefer a role in which their power derives as much from balancing between contending parties as from the use of violence.

            Another possibility is that the Egyptian generals are more cunning than their Latin American counterparts in the 1970s.  Where generals in Argentina, Uruguay, and Chile wiped out elected governments and ruled directly, the Egyptian generals understand the need for an intermediary.   Whether they are inherently so or simply learned during the experience of direct rule by the Supreme Council of the Armed Forces they have a more complex strategy which relieves them of the need to deploy the high levels of constant force deploy in Chile.

It may also be that the Egyptian Armed Forces simply lack the capacity for the level of repression Chile experienced. The Egyptian Armed Forces are proportionately smaller than their Chilean equivalent.  Pinochet commanded about 65,000 men for a population of not quite ten million; Sisi’s Egypt has nine times the population but only seven times as large an army.  Unlike Pinochet, Sisi’s armed forces are necessarily deployed in a border area (Sinai) as well as in the population centers.  Thus, General Sisi may not have the necessary force at his disposal to engage in the level of repression that characterized the Pinochet regime.  Or perhaps, as is frequently asserted, the Egyptian armed forces are simply incompetent as is the state apparatus more generally.   It is an army that has not fought a war since 1973 (although the Chilean Armed Forces had not fought a war since in the 69 years preceding the coup) and has extensive domestic interests.   Fighting more frequent wars does not seem, however, to be in the interests of the Egyptian people nor is it clear that more frequent wars would be a key to more democracy.  Generally speaking the reverse is true: war has been the pathway through which dictatorship was consolidated in the French, Russian, and Iranian revolutions.

Sisi, unlike Pinochet, also faces significant American opposition to the new government.   The US government today views some Islamist movements as potential partners in the project of democratization where the US government of 40 years ago viewed communists and socialists alike as revolutionary enemies.   This shift in US strategy under President Obama, echoed in part by Republican Senators McCain and Graham during a visit to Egypt in early August, may have an impact comparable over time to the US preference for military leaders as modernizers in the 1950s. 

There is at least one other, more surprising possibility:  the more unsettled revolutionary nature of the situation in Egypt.  Wiping out the threat of socialism or even social reform in Chile required more than simply decapitating the one party whose candidate had become president.  It required a much broader assault on the organized social forces that supported him.  In Egypt there was no similar coalition of parties and organizations whose program was both clear and yet transcended the presence of a single party at the center of government.  Consequently in Egypt the Armed only wishes to uproot one party but not necessarily to destroy institutions of governance with which it has itself has long been intimately associated.

Unlike Morsi and his presidential election, neither Allende nor his coalition was inexperienced in Chilean electoral politics.  He had first run for the presidency in 1952 and won 5.5 % of the vote; in 1958, running against Alessandri, he was in second place with 28 % of the vote; in 1964, against Eduardo Frei he had amassed nearly 39 %.  He had been a minister in a Popular Front government in 1938 and an elected senator since the 1940s.  He was not only a founder of the Chilean Socialist party, on whose ticket he ran, but one of the authors of the politics of an electoral (Chilean) path to socialism.  The revolution in Chile was, unlike Cuba or Nicaragua, electoral politics.  In Egypt, by contrast, Morsi’s electoral victory was the fortuitous result of a revolutionary upheaval in which millions of people took to the streets. 

It was neither the expected result of a long-term electoral strategy within a constitutional and democratic order nor was it the result of an armed struggle against the old regime.   This verges on the problem of revolution which also outside the scope of this discussion.  Suffice it to say that if by revolution we mean the entry of masses of people into action in unexpected ways that break down the old ways of organizing politics then Egypt has been in revolution for the last three years.  If by revolution we mean the creation of a new order, preferably in some Utopian mold, then Egypt has certainly not.

The problem is less that the MB were unprepared to govern as that they seem to have had no very clear idea of what they wanted to govern for:  was it the revolutionary re-structuring of the political order and the seizure of power or was it the consolidation of democracy?  Did they want to dismantle and re-make the existing institutions of governance or did they simply want to share in the spoils?   To what degree were they interested in punishing and excluding the old regime and to what degree were they interested in including its supporters?

Chile’s politics were far more organized than Egypt’s but they were not accompanied by the kind of massive spontaneous upwelling of support that has characterized Egypt in the past two years.  Several Allende policies were extensions Frei government.  Allende’s policies neither extended nor weakened his electoral base significantly, but they did expand the power and influence of the institutions and organizations in his electoral coalition, especially the Communists, the Socialists, the MIR, and the Chilean trade union movement.  They also attracted some support in other organizations and mobilized a few new social groups, especially in the countryside.   Paradoxically in the absence of Allende himself there was every possibility that not only the left parties but the centrist parties would attempt to pursue the policies of the UP after this ouster.  The use of violence against even those, such as the legislature and its Christian Democrat majority, was testimony to the military’s desire for a clean slate.  There is no reason to believe the Egyptian Armed Forces want a clean slate or desire to pursue their own Utopian fantasy as dictated by Chicago-trained economists. 

It is only an apparent paradox that the Egyptian military has used more violence but in a far more focused fashion than their Chilean counterparts.  Uncertain of their own goals, the Muslim Brothers rode the wave of a massive uprising.   They were therefore propelled by it to as great a degree as they were able to shape it.  Dispersing the demonstrations at successive locations in Cairo (the Republican Guards Club, Raba’a al-Adawiya, and Nahdah Squares) and arresting most (but not all) of the MB leadership has thus dislocated the adversaries of the Armed Forces’ preferred order.  There is no need, for the moment, to extend the overt repression to other organizations or institutions.  In fact, there is every reason to avoid anything that might evoke renewed spontaneous demonstrations.

There are two other important differences between Chile and Egypt: the relative independence of the Egyptian judiciary.   While this independence may depend in part of corruption and nepotism, it is also real in the sense that the judiciary has guarded as best it could its own institutional and social field from the other institutions of the state.   In comparison to the Chilean judiciary the Egyptian courts have a history of using their authority against the legislative and executive branches.   The rush to re-write a constitution can be best explained if the judiciary is itself a partner, through the Supreme Court, in the re-making of the state.  The courts do not need to be exemplars of justice or paragons of Weberian rationality to pursue their own institutional ends and thereby limit, even if only to a degree, the authority of the army and the executive.

The other profound difference is the emergence of at least one area of opposition to the coup based not only on geography but religion.  Upper Egypt has emerged as an area in which the control by the central government has become highly contested and on occasion disappeared.   This loss of control is connected to the mobilization of both anti-Christian and anti-regime sentiments.  This too is unlike Chile where the MIR, the Communists and the Socialists were never able to create zones in which the power of the government ceased to exist for days or weeks at a time.  Even had they created “liberated zones” in the terminology of the day those would not have been based on any claim of religious (or ethnic) community.   The success of this form of mobilization especially in communities such as Dalga where several churches and a monastery were looted and destroyed, Christians killed, and where Christians were reportedly required to pay ransom as well as the sectarian-tinged murder of members of the Social Democratic party in Asyut are a dark underside to the claims of supporters of President Morsi that they only desire the return of constitutional governance.  Rightly or wrongly, it is precisely this kind of unrestrained social violence that many of Morsi’s opponents feared would occur if his presidency continued. 

The remaining question is what happens next.  As in Chile in 1973 there will be those who wish to oppose the armed forces and what Karl Marx would have called the party of order with violence.   Attacks on police stations and the attempt to assassinate the Interior Minister are examples.  In Chile, as in most places, these actions—even if they accomplish their immediate goals—are almost never successful as forms of political organization.  Throughout a long history in which they have been variously called exemplary acts, focos, terrorism, or armed struggle they have almost invariably demobilized mass movements, given the state an excuse for further violence, and ended in disaster and tragedy.  Egypt may, of course, be an exception but it is not very likely.  

The MB and its political allies will also face some difficult political choices and it is worth reflecting on the experience of Chile, different as it was.  In the wake of the coup, it took a long time for Pinochet’s opponents to develop a workable and coherent strategy.  In the end it was a decision that recognized that the Allende experience would never be revived nor would the 1925 constitution and that the only path forward was the construction of a new Chilean democracy rather than a revolutionary re-structuring of society. 

For Chile’s left-wing socialists, the MIR and the communists this was a bitter defeat and they have never recovered anything like the place in Chile’s political life that they held on September 10, 1973. The communists have essentially disappeared from Chile’s political life as has the left-wing of the Socialist party once embodied in leaders such as Clodomiro Almeyda and the Revolution Left Movement (MIR) is also only a shadow of its former self.  It would once have been self-evident that the Marxist left in Chile, like the Muslim Brotherhood today in Egypt, could not be eliminated from public life.  It was, many would have said, too deeply implanted in the society and too deeply rooted in the unions and working class communities.  This turned out not to be the case but what is also true is that there were other avenues for unions, working class communities, and political leaders to struggle for social justice and the immediate demands connected to it.  The MB may turn out not to be the only way to imagine a link between Islam and politics and their brand of Islamism may turn out, like Communism, to be a real but historically delimited political movement.

Michelle Bachelet, a socialist, was elected president of Chile in 2006 and served until 2010.  She was the daughter of Air Force Brigadier Alberto Bachelet (another military opponent of the coup) who died after being tortured by the Pinochet regime in 1974.  But she was not the first president elected after the fall of the Pinochet regime.  That was Patricio Aylwin, a Christian Democratic member of the legislature in 1973 who had voted on the resolution asking the Armed Forces to step in.  Aylwin came to regret his stance and his candidacy was backed by Ricardo Lagos, leader of the Socialists and of the Democratic Alliance, and himself later president.  Lagos emergence as the leader of the Chilean Socialist party was also testimony to how much the party had changed since the years when Allende, Almeyda, and Toha had been its leaders.  Lagos, an international civil servant with a degree in political science from Duke University, is known for his work on unemployment policies rather than his desire to expropriate the means of production.  He is most famous for the “Lagos finger” when he pointed at Pinochet in a television debate and called him a liar and torturer.  But he did not bring Pinochet to justice and he served in Aylwin’s cabinet.

For Egyptians of all political persuasions, this may be the most bitter political reality of any comparison of Pinochet’s Chile with events in their own country today.  In the wake of Mubarak’s downfall there was a long debate about how slowly the wheels of production were turning and how impatient Egyptians had become.  Unfortunately the wheels of justice will not turn any more quickly along the road to democracy.