Disordered World

  Disordered World

  Amin Maalouf

  In this brilliant exploration of the post-9/11 world, leading Lebanese novelist and intellectual Amin Maalouf sets out to understand how we have arrived at such disorder. He explores three different but related aspects of disorder: intellectual (manifested in an unleashing of statements on identity that allow no possibility of peaceful co-existence or debate), economic and financial (that is exhausting the earth’s resources), and climatic (the result of turning a blind eye to the consequences of rampant industrialization). Instead of seeing the current disorder of the post-9/11 world as ‘a clash of civilisations’ Maalouf sees it as the ‘exhaustion of two civilisations’, a period in which humanity has reached its threshold of ‘moral incompetence’. Islam and the West have theoretical coherence, he says, but in practice each betrays its true ideals: the West is unfaithful to its own enlightenment values, which has discredited it in the eyes of the people to whom it has introduced democracy by force; while Islam finds itself condemned to a headlong rush into radicalism. These symmetrical disorders are only some of the elements in a global disorder that requires humanity as a whole to take responsibility for its future and face up to the urgent tasks such as climate change and the global financial crisis that threaten us all.

  Disordered World is a plea by one of the major writers of the last twenty years for intelligence, tolerance and a sense of urgency in order that we develop an adult vision of our patrimony, our beliefs, our differences and the future of the planet which is our common home.

  Amin Maalouf

  DISORDERED WORLD

  Setting a New Course for the Twenty-first Century

  Translated from the French by George Miller

  For Marlène and Salim Nasr

  And in memory of Paolo Vida (1948–2005)

  Man has survived hitherto

  because he was too ignorant to know

  how to realize his wishes.

  Now that he can realize them,

  he must either change them

  or perish.

  from ‘Orchestra’,

  William Carlos Williams,

  Collected Poems (1954)

  Preface to the English Edition

  I thought it useful to write a preface to this edition, because the thesis at the heart of this book suddenly, and spectacularly, appeared at the very front of the world stage in the early months of 2011 — and seems likely to remain there for some time to come.

  In examining what I have called a ‘disordered world’, I came to the conclusion that one of the roots of the problem was that leaders of the Arab world lacked legitimacy in the eyes of their people. Deprived of freedom, dignity, a future and the revenues their countries have earned from oil and other natural resources which have been misappropriated by ruling families, many Arabs had succumbed to despair, to the point of contemplating suicide. There is scarcely any need to mention that extremists have profited from this state of mind to recruit militants ready to become suicide bombers.

  Paradoxically, the Arab spring also began with suicides. But in this case they had a very different political and ethical meaning: they were not acts of murder but self-sacrifice in the manner of the Buddhist monks who set fire to themselves in Vietnam in the 1960s. A man prepared to die for a cause becomes a powerful weapon, and the Arabs have discovered that this weapon is infinitely more effective when it ceases to be destructive, hate-filled and murderous, and is instead put to the service of universally recognised values — liberty, democracy, integrity, transparency and the right of every human being to dignity and a decent life.

  ‘Yes, we are desperate,’ countless Arab protesters said through their actions. ‘Yes, we are ready to sacrifice ourselves, but we will die like saints, like true martyrs, not like murderers. We will not kill and we will not destroy.’ ‘Salmiyah!’ (‘We are peaceful!’) the demonstrators chanted every time anger levels rose, in order to calm their opponents and moderate their fellow protesters. ‘No violence! We want only to live, to be able to express ourselves freely, to sing, and to connect with the rest of the world like young Europeans and Americans and all other peoples. We are heirs to a great civilisation and deserve the best.’

  From the first uprisings, the crowd chanted famous lines by the Tunisian poet Aboul-Qacem Echebbi:

  If the people one day desire life

  It is inevitable that destiny grants it

  It is inevitable that the darkness lifts…

  The desire for life and preference for non-violent action were to remain a deep inspiration to the movement. In this sense, the Arab spring of 2011 represents the most eloquent — and in the long run the most effective — riposte to the attacks of 11 September 2001 and the jihadist ideology which inspired them.

  Long before Osama bin Laden collapsed in a hail of US commando bullets in his compound in Abbottabad in May 2011, his strategy had already collapsed in the streets of Arab towns. He himself implicitly recognised this in his last statement, which was disseminated shortly after his death and differed in both tone and content from his previous pronouncements: making no mention of the armed struggle, he spoke bizarrely of representative assemblies and research institutes, and concluded with a saying of the Prophet which states that the most venerable of martyrs are those who stand up to authority to accuse them and those who are killed for their courage in speaking out.

  Of course, terrorism such as we have seen since the start of this century will not disappear overnight; for some time to come it will retain its power to do harm. But for the people in whose name it claims to speak, it has now been consigned to the past. In overcoming their fear of dictators, the Arabs have overcome their indulgence towards terrorists.

  Under autocratic rule, militant extremists were sometimes like fish in water. Their acts, however absurd, seemed a plausible response to the atmosphere of despair; and for lack of any alternative, many were willing to support them. Today, millions of men and women can hold their heads high and say that they themselves are heroes; they defied dictatorships, braved police repression, stood directly in the line of fire and helped liberate their people without soiling their hands or blackening their souls.

  Up until recently, the Arab world had been caught in the crossfire of two groups of usurpers: those who seized power and wealth in the name of the nation or a dynasty, or in the name of stability and the fight against extremists; and those who invoked the name of Islam to advance their own intolerant, regressive political agenda.

  What is more, these two types of usurpation reinforced each other. Under the pretext of fighting terrorism, autocrats won recognition, help and support; when the level of this support sometimes flagged, some regimes had no compunction about committing terrorist attacks themselves, which they attributed to the Islamists, so as to appear as a useful bulwark to the international community. The debate over whether it was religious fanatics or state agents who bombed such and such a church, carried out a particular massacre or assassinated a certain individual will last a long time.

  The whole world seemed to believe that this perverse status quo would last for ever. How could it not, it was said, since the people themselves are resigned to it? But the people’s patience was not infinite.

  The signal for the great uprising was given by a young Tunisian street vendor, Mohammed Bouazizi, who set fire to himself after a municipal official slapped him in public and confiscated his vegetable cart. He died after eighteen days of agony on 4 January 2011. His act of despair was seen by his compatriots as a reflection of their own. ‘But,’ they reasoned, ‘if we are prepared to die, what is the sense of each of us dying in our own little corner? Why not march against those who oppress and terrorise us? We may well be arrested and beaten, even gunned down in our tens or hundreds, but at least we will have the satisfaction of dying with our heads held high, trying to bring down tyrants.’

  When, faced with this unexpected determination, the authorities seemed to hesitate, retreat or waver, it was initially a marvellous surprise and a terrific incentive for the protesters to go all the way — first in Tunisia, then in Egypt and then in other countries. More mass demonstrations sprang up, as did clashes with the security forces. And established regimes, which were hated by their people and had held on to their power for decades through intimidation and terror, began to crumble one after the other like rotting edifices: Zine-el-Abidine Ben Ali left Tunis on 14 January, twenty-three years after the coup d’etat that brought him to power; Hosni Mubarak left Cairo on 11 February, in the thirtieth year of his presidency. The movement soon sent shock waves of varying intensity through various Arab regimes.

  After these first dazzling successes, there was a feeling that peaceful protest was going to have an almost miraculous domino effect throughout the entire region, linked in part to new means of communication — Facebook, Twitter, YouTube, smartphones, etc. — which would accelerate and amplify the movement, giving it a resonance among both local populations and international opinion. But subsequent events soon tempered that initial euphoria.

  The turning point came first in Libya. Demonstrations began in Benghazi on 15 February and rapidly spread throughout the country. Up until then, Colonel Muammar Gaddafi, who had been in power for almost forty-two years, seemed immoveable. So it was astonishing to see a scenario similar to those in Tunisia and Egypt beginning to be played out there, too. Of course, from its earliest days it was violently repressed, creating hundreds of victims, but the protests kept on growing and by the end of that week speculation had begun as to
the likely destination for the exile of the soon-to-be-ousted dictator. There were persistent rumours that he was already on his way to Venezuela.

  This was premature. At the critical point at which Ben Ali and Mubarak judged it futile to hang on and thought it better to go, Gaddafi dug his heels in. Of course, he was different from his neighbours in many ways — his personality, the structure of his regime, the topography of his country — but the most significant distinguishing feature at that crucial moment was linked to the nature of Libya’s armed forces. In both Tunisia and Egypt, the regular army had not wanted to fire on civilians, leaving that degrading task to the police and special forces; in Libya, the regular army carried little weight and the best-armed, most combat-hardened contingents reported directly to Gaddafi and his sons; he decided therefore to use them to the limit and turn all their fire power on the demonstrators. That allowed him to retake Tripoli and then launch a recovery operation throughout the country. Confronted with an organised military offensive, peaceful marching in the streets and public squares no longer made any sense. Protesters seized weapons they found in the barracks in their towns, thereby becoming insurgents. A civil war had begun that would soon lead to international intervention.

  This escalation in the violence had repercussions elsewhere in the region, where several rulers felt that they could avoid being overthrown by clinging on to power, cracking down more severely, and ignoring the demands of their people and the condemnation of the international community. There were, of course, major differences between the Libyan situation and those of other countries such as Yemen, Bahrain and Syria, but it became clear from the first weeks of the year that peaceful protests would not be enough to bring down Arab regimes, and that they would fight fiercely — even savagely — to ensure their survival.

  As I write this preface, the initial revolutionary wave seems to have run out of steam, and the pace of dramatic change, which was gathering momentum from week to week, or to be exact from one Friday to the next, now seems to stretch over months and even years. Where the movement has already won victories, it has quickly reached the difficult and thankless phase of reconstruction. New democratic institutions need to be established, economies restarted, social tensions managed — and all this in countries where the people’s expectations are huge and no leadership has emerged. This is because what constitutes the revolutionary movements’ strength — their spontaneity, the key role played by idealistic, imaginative and generally non-partisan young people — also constitutes their weakness. Those who fought on the internet, making good use of social networks and skilfully circumventing official censorship to put up videos showing the security forces’ brutality, succeeded as if by a miracle in sweeping away the regimes in power; but they were not able to transform themselves into governments or administrators. They had no option but to leave power in the hands of the military and experienced politicians who had distanced themselves — sometimes very late in the day — from the fallen despots, but who did not necessarily share the ideals of the rebellious young people. As a result, it is hardly surprising that the transition is turning out to be long, faltering, troubled and littered with pitfalls.

  Will Egypt, the most populous Arab country and the one which in the past has often been their leader, especially at the time of Gamal Abdel Nasser, be able to assume political, economic and social leadership once more? Will it be able to construct a stable democracy, catch up in the field of education, define the place of religion in public life, manage relations between different communities, and give women full rights? And will Tunisia, which was the pioneer in the great uprising and which has always been at the vanguard of social modernity in the Arab world, be able to come up with an advanced model that will inspire other countries?

  On this as on so many other scores, it would be presumptuous to make predictions. If there is a lesson to be drawn from the events of 2011, it is that the future does not allow itself to be contained within the limits of what is foreseeable, plausible or probable. And it is precisely for that reason that it contains hope.

  While nations which have already freed themselves get down to the difficult task of transition, the struggle against dictatorial powers is proceeding at different speeds in the rest of the Middle East and North Africa. In some countries, leaders seem irredeemably weakened both domestically and internationally, and it is conceivable that when the protesters triumph, it will give the whole of the Arab uprising a new impetus. Because even if the resilience of regimes has been strengthened, the people’s determination has not been broken, despite bloody repression.

  All the ingredients of the initial revolt are still present, apart from the element of surprise. The causes of unhappiness have not, of course, disappeared — quite the reverse. Fearful despots behave with more ferocity than ever, thereby losing what little legitimacy they had retained in the eyes of their subjects, who now regard them more as foreign occupiers than as national leaders. And any moves towards reform on the part of most of these regimes remain timid, often no more than vague promises intended to calm the protesters’ passion while waiting for the storm to pass so that business as usual can be resumed.

  And yet, in people’s minds, a great deal has changed, though those in power often fail to realise how profoundly. All Arab societies have shown a deep desire to live with dignity and a remarkable determination to fight to achieve it. It has often been said during this turbulent period that the Arabs have put an end to the myth which suggests they are less hungry for freedom than other peoples and less keen to live in representative democracies. This myth has effectively collapsed, but what has happened goes much further than that. The Arabs have not just caught up; they have not simply joined the group of democratic peoples: they have gone much further. 2011 will not just go down in history as the Arab equivalent of 1989 in Central and Eastern Europe. At no point in recent history — not even at the fall of the Berlin Wall — have we seen tens of millions of people brave death, baring their chests to bullets, and growing neither tired nor discouraged, as we have seen in Taez, Zawiya, Manama or Homs, day after day, week after week. Nowhere in the world have we seen such heroism. It is an exceptional, unprecedented phenomenon, and perhaps the harbinger of a democratic renewal worldwide.

  The German poet Hölderlin said: ‘Where there is danger, some salvation grows there too.’ The great uprising of the Arab people bears out his words. For my part, I would add: it is from those places where the world has been most disordered that in the next few decades the readjustment could come. So that a planet which is more peaceful, harmonious and human might be born, and therefore one which is more capable of facing the common dangers that lie ahead.

  Amin Maalouf

  Paris, 31 May 2011

  Postscript

  Rereading the pages that follow, I realised there were many things I would have written differently today, not so much at the level of fact, but certainly of tone. For while my diagnosis remains roughly the same, my state of mind has undoubtedly changed. That ‘Arab despair’ which I describe at length, I was experiencing it myself; I certainly did not relate to the suicidal and regressive reactions which that despair had triggered; and although I hoped for some kind of democratic uprising, I did not believe it would come so quickly. After pondering at length whether I should alter the text in the light of recent facts, I decided not to do so — or only very little. It seemed to me that, in both its analysis and its tone, this essay represents a faithful image of the state of mind which led to the spectacular events we have witnessed, and that it might provide a useful perspective for understanding what happened and what could still happen. I therefore chose not to make too many changes and have limited any substantial additions to the Preface to the English Edition and the Afterword.

  Preface to the Original Edition

  We have embarked on this century without a compass.

  From its very first months, disturbing events took place which created the impression that the world had gone seriously off course in several areas at once — it had gone off course intellectually, financially, environmentally, geopolitically and ethically.