Tunisia and the 'Arab Spring' Reversal

[Tunisians rally in Tunis on 9 April to demand justice for victims of the 2011 revolution. Image by Magharebia/Flickr.] [Tunisians rally in Tunis on 9 April to demand justice for victims of the 2011 revolution. Image by Magharebia/Flickr.]

Tunisia and the 'Arab Spring' Reversal

By : Fadil Aliriza

Two years ago, hope was not only palpable in the streets of Tunis; it was infectious. Young Arabs had risen up and triumphed against a Western-supported dictator whose police state ran on fear. Similar uprisings across the region seemed to have confirmed that Tunisia had led the way towards a new, more democratic order. And Tunisia was about to lead the way again by holding a clean election, almost unprecedented in the Middle East and North Africa. 

Now, hope is in rare supply across the region. Egypt’s elections yielded new leaders that blindly and illiberally ran the country along strict partisan lines until a military coup publicly reasserted old-regime institutions. Libya’s timid leaders and bold militias have hampered democracy, security and institution building. Syria’s revolution turned into a bloody war and a hellish game for external actors, while Lebanon desperately tries to quarantine itself from the neighboring chaos. Western observers use increasingly desperate euphemisms for Iraq’s escalating civil war. No one dares talk about Bahrain, or perhaps no one cares. Other Gulf countries quietly quarrel amongst themselves through political and economic maneuvering in neighboring proxy countries.

While numerous pundits bemoan “Arab Spring” fatigue, many still believed that tiny Tunisia alone might overcome its challenges to create a new inclusive, civic, stable, free, and prosperous political order. But what started in Tunisia may soon end in Tunisia as the gains of the “Arab Spring” are systematically rolled back with the help of old regime forces, ascendant ideological zealots, domestic lassitude, and powerful outside players that are uncomfortable with independent, populist politics in the region. 

Direct Culprits? 

According to the Interior Ministry, the actual culprit behind the political assassinations of Chokri Belaid and Mohamed Brahmi is Boubaker El Hakim. There are vague reports that he has links to al-Qaeda, that he is a French-born religious extremist who might have fought in Iraq, and the Interior Ministry announced that he had ties to Ansar Al-Sharia Tunisia, although nothing is clear yet. If El Hakim is indeed responsible for the murder, then in this direct sense, violent and extreme Islamists represent one of the culprit groups behind Tunisia’s current political turmoil. These groups include jihadis who fought in Afghanistan and Iraq. They present a radical vision of politics that denies human agency in favor of the divine and stands opposed to modernity, nationalism, and globalization. They are a direct threat to the success of democracy in Tunisia.

However, if Brahmi’s killing does indeed prove to be a terrorist assassination, this does not explain why the event sparked immediate calls from the opposition to disband the government or the popularly elected assembly. Nor does it fully explain the deep political divisions in Tunisia. Several other groups have helped Tunisia reach its current precipice, sometimes unwittingly. 

Politicians Share Some Blame

In the background of Tunisia’s political scene, there is a steady hum of anger and frustration. Any big event risks tapping into that well of anger. Tunisians are angry that there has been little progress since the revolution. The economy has not improved and has, in some sectors, weakened. Unemployment refuses to decrease. Corruption is still integral to every facet of Tunisian life. Government and municipal services remain inaccessible and unresponsive to most of the population. Police brutality continues. Stark economic inequalities between people of different economic classes, and between developed coastal regions and underdeveloped interior regions, persist. Political divisions tend to fall along sharp ideological lines, and, despite Tunisia’s woes, assembly members take regular breaks from their task of drafting the constitution. 

In this tinderbox, the second political assassination in six months has acted like a spark, and people are looking for someone to blame. Given the depressingly slow pace of progress, the government and the assembly make for easy targets. Both have been far from perfect.

The governing Ennahda party has proved itself inept at managing the country’s problems. Instead, ideological zealots from within its own ranks have sidetracked the party. These zealots have sparked fierce public debates on values, thus diminishing the party’s political capital. Although fault does not lie solely at their feet, the governing party has failed to bring justice to the martyrs, failed to find and implement economic solutions, and failed to root out corruption. Perhaps most damning in this current phase is the party’s reticence and failure to crack down on Islamist extremists. Radicals within their own ranks have also ratcheted up political tensions on occasion

The constituent assembly, too, deserves some blame for Tunisia’s current predicament. The body as a whole has exceeded its time-proscribed mandate to draft and pass a new constitution. After two years, the assembly is working on their fifth draft of the document, despite the fact that it only differs significantly from the 1959 constitution in a couple key areas. The assembly voted twice to increase its members’ salaries, considered voting on their own pensions, and consistently starts sessions late with less than full participation due to absent members (See watchdog organization Al-Bawsala’s website for brave, consistent coverage of this problem).

Dark Forces at Work?

Yet despite the shortcomings of both of these post-revolutionary bodies, something more sinister seems to be at work in the case of Brahmi. Protestors did not just vent their anger at the government because they had failed to secure the safety of an elected official. Hours after Brahmi was reportedly killed, angry crowds gathered outside the hospital where his body and family were located. According to journalist Asma Ghribi, who was on the ground, the crowds chanted that Rached Ghannouchi (Ennahda leader) is an “assassin.” They screamed that “Islamists are vampires,” and “We want to overthrow the government of terrorists.” Protestors used similarly extremist rhetoric across downtown Tunis. The vitriol is even more surprising given that Brahmi comes from a small nationalist party that only has two out of 216 seats in the assembly.

One culprit behind the immediate and vocal politicization of the assassination is the media. Many local news outlets still have staff that operated during the old regime, when the press’s main role was to prop up the dictatorship. Today’s inflammatory anti-Ennahda headlines make little attempt to inform the public of actual news, often inventing facts instead. Tunisia Live has recently restarted its project of compiling and translating local newspaper headlines. Several from the week before Brahmi’s assassination stand out. Assabah’s from 22 July reads: “Ennahda and the International Organization of the Muslim Brotherhood: The Mysterious Relationship and the Mystery Behind it.” Assarih’s from the same day reads: Politicians and Analysts Answer Question: Are we on the brink of the Egyptian scenario or not?” 

While there are several excellent French reporters based in Tunis, many French press outlets have been equally bombastic in criticizing Ennahda on ideological grounds. Some of this amounts to fear mongering. One example is a January, 2013 documentary that appeared on France 2. The documentary, by Karim Baïla and Stéphan Villeneuve, entitled “Tunisia under the Salafist threat,” angered many Tunisians with its biased and selective reporting. 

While it is encouraging to see that the press can now criticize the government so freely, it has had several negative effects. It fails to inform the public. It has fueled tensions between Islamists and the press, and Islamists now regularly attack journalists at their political rallies. It has pushed Islamists to create their own news networks; this reinforces divisions between secularists and Islamists as they are exposed almost solely to their own information streams. Additionally, when it comes to French language press, inflammatory yellow journalism has likely contributed to keeping French tourists from coming to Tunisia and spending their Euros.

Another culprit behind the politicization of the assassination is the security forces. It is clear that politicians have little control over the police and the Interior Ministry as an institution. Prime Minister Ali Laareyedh was the first interior minister appointed after the revolution. During his years in the opposition, Laareyedh had been subjected to some of the worst forms of torture in the basement of the Interior Ministry. Yet after taking charge of the ministry, Laareyedh was unable or unwilling to fire the men who tortured him. Some of them continued to work on the same floor of the building as Laareyedh. 

As journalist Mischa Benoit-Lavelle documented, the Interior Ministry may be outside the control of the government. Benoit-Lavelle reported that thousands of police officers passionately rallied against their titular chief, Laareyedh, only two weeks before politician Chokri Belaid was assassinated. Belaid received numerous death threats prior to his assassination that he presented to the Interior Ministry, yet nothing was done. The Human Rights Watch representative in Tunisia has called the ministry a “black box” that no one really understands.

More than this, the police across the country use brutal tactics to suppress peaceful demonstrations. There have been reports of torture continuing even after the revolution. Their use of brutality changes depending on which political group happens to be holding a demonstration or rally. These tactics only add to violence and instability in the country. When anger does spill into the streets, almost every group makes its way at some point to the Interior Ministry. Protests outside of the capital often target police stations. After the assassination of Brahmi, protestors in front of the ministry chanted that it was in fact the “Ministry of Terror.” They may be onto something.

Confusion, Political Games  

Mabrouka Mbarek is one assembly member who admits confusion at what is going in Tunisia at the moment.

“It is very confusing because yesterday, the Ministry of Interior did a press conference and they declared that the investigation around the assassination of Chokri Belaid led to a tangible conclusion and they were able to identify his murderers, and that identification of his murderers would be published very, very soon. A couple of hours after this, another MP [sic] is assassinated,” says Mbarek, a member of the minor governing coalition party Congress for the Republic (CPR). 

Mbarek also comments on the speed with which opposition parties called for the dissolution of the government and the assembly.

“They want to abort the transition. They would want to have the same scenario that is happening in Egypt,” she says. “Ahmed Nejib Chebbi and the party Al-Massar have called to dissolve the assembly. I found it very strange because [Chebbi], from the Jumhouri party, was satisfied with the final draft of the constitution. They were happy about it.” 

Others have merely expressed dismay at what looks like a break down in Tunisia’s national political dialogue and democratic process. Asked about her recently assassinated colleague in the assembly, Hela Hammi, an Ennahda member, gave an emotional response. 

“We had good relations, even though we had contradicting political positions. I respected him because he was very frank, very clear. He had his own position. That’s democracy,” she said, before breaking into tears.

Whether what happened in Egypt will occur in Tunisia remains to be seen. Avoiding an Egypt-style scenario will depend largely on Tunisians resisting easy and comforting narratives that vilify their political opponents. It will also depend on Tunisians keeping their faith in the weak and often inept, but legitimate and growing political institutions that they created after the revolution. It will depend on Tunisians, particularly those in power, taking greater responsibility for their citizens and country. In this way, perhaps hope can still triumph.

Occupy Gezi as Politics of the Body

Since the Gezi resistance started with bloodshed on 31 May, it has had an “anti-depressant” effect, as a friend of mine puts it, as much as it has been nerve-racking. During this period where each day has been prone to new crises and normalcy was completely disrupted, we simultaneously experienced the peaks of ecstasy and the depths of sorrow.

Analyzing such an intense event naturally requires taking some distance. Pending systematization, however, the vivid memory of each day impels one to put on paper multifarious ideas that resonate well with the resistance. Each morning, many bodies with sleep deprived eyes wake up in Istanbul, Ankara, Antakya, Urfa, and Denizli to take to the streets once again, after having quickly checked the latest news in the social media. They are astonished and impressed that they can still walk, run, stand up, and carry provisions for those in the parks. Exhausted bodies rejuvenate with every new threat that the government utters, and with thousands, tens of thousands of others they begin flowing to Taksim, Kızılay, Kuğulu Park, Gündoğdu, Abbasoğlu, and Yeniköy Park carrying home-made gas masks, swimmer goggles, anti-acid solutions, and whistles.

No one does or can govern these bodies. The masses that gather in public spaces are not formed by virtue of transferring tax money into the wallets of partisans. No one provides shuttle buses for them; no one gives them flags, or feeds them with sandwiches. No one assigns them the slogans they shout out during the demonstrations. Bodies that take heart from knowing that they are not alone do not count, or count on, numbers to meet with others in communal or virtual spaces. One standing man suffices for thousands of others to take to the streets. After all, “one” is also a number…

The government, whose tactlessness prompts these resisting and standing bodies to convene again and again every single day, could not have missed the significance of this body politics. These bodies naturally do have a language, even a few languages that are at times congruent and at others incongruent; however, as a whole, they constitute a politics of the body. The rage and dreams that have been embodied in tweets and graffiti since 31 May turn into material realities through the physical existence, visibility, and endurance of the bodies. If history is being rewritten, then its subject is the body.

Four of these bodies lost their lives during this war that the government has waged on society. Thousands of bodies have been beaten up: some lost their eyes, some received irretrievable injuries. Skins were burnt under the water from the cannons, “laced” with chemicals for maximum harm; lungs were choked with tear gas. Pounded arms, legs, and heads got crushed and broken. The long-term effects of the tons of chemicals dumped on bodies are still unknown. What is known, however, is that these chemicals killed hundreds of cats, dogs, and birds, and that they did harm to countless insects, butterflies, and other smaller organisms.

The apparatuses of the state, and the vehicles of death that responded to Gezi’s politics of the body, attempted to imitate the life force that they failed to extort. In response to the huge numbers that filled the parks and squares and astonished everyone without exception, they hoped to gather partisans together in scripted rallies. They began comparing head counts; they calculated representative percentages. When the calculations did not match, they increased the number of police in body armor and helmets and moved them from protest to protest. They built walls of flesh and steel against the wave of resisting flesh. When that did not work, they offered these bodies—which have been in contact with each other physically and virtually through meetings, banners, and tweets—a mise en scène of dialogue, the conditions of which were more or less already determined. They could not even wait for this attempt to yield fruit; two warnings and a command were enough to launch an assault to remove the bodies that produced an alternative sociability from the park, from the space in which physical resistance could be transformed into a life style. They freed the public space of the public. They collected all the banners, pictures, and colors one by one to erase them from social memory. They stripped all the trees, each dedicated to victims of state violence; they appropriated the barricades that were named after tens of people who had undergone physical and psychological torture, and they tore them to tatters. They destroyed the efforts to keep alive the memories of Fikret Encü, who was a victim of Roboski; Metin Göktepe, who was tortured and killed in detention; Dicle Koğacoğlu, who could not take all the sorrow inherent in this society any more; and the Surp Hagop Armenian Cemetery, which was destroyed by Turkish racism.

The only thing that remains is a politics of the body—but the bodies that produce this politics differ from what Giorgio Agamben calls “bare life.” They are not “mere” bodies that the arbitrary will of a sovereign can isolate from society, oppress unceremoniously, or push to the margins of the symbolic world. Rather, they evoke what Ernst Bloch calls “the upright man,” the collective Prometheus. Bloch writes:

Nothing is more fortifying than the call to begin from the beginning. It is youthful as long as it is; to it there belongs a young and aspiring class. It is innocent of the bad things that have happened, for it has never had a real opportunity to be guilty. When this happens, justice has the effect of a morning; it opposes itself to that eternal sickness which was handed down before it. Beginning anew is freshness through and through; it is a first if it appears completely ahistorical, and if it seems to lead back to the beginning of history….It carries the image of the pastoral mood, of the shepherd, of the simple and upright man; one can play with it even in the dark.[1]

Gezi is the struggle of disorderly bodies, those who do not have any dispositif other than their own bodies, against the death machines. If the machines are regulatory instances that follow commands and extort public spaces of mobility with force and violence, then the force they face is the resistance of life itself. Life flourishes at the most unexpected moments and places, just like weeds that crack the concrete and spring out of it. No apparatus of the state can succeed in dominating life absolutely.

The state seeks order; it can control only those whom it orders. It cannot cope with the demand of "freedom"; it has to ask questions such as “freedom for whom,” “freedom for what,” or “freedom under what circumstances” in order to tuck freedom into neat boxes. Order draws borders, fixes identities, and defines. It attempts to establish a hierarchy. By telling parents to take their daughters and sons home from the park, it both brands the resisting bodies as "children" and tries to trigger into action the nucleus of society: family. Through its rhetoric of security, it attributes the risks of its own making to the resisting bodies. It hangs its own flag or banner on the bodies that it prefers knocking down rather than protecting. It punishes those who do not obey; it uses punishment as retaliation. It operates through censorship, threats, and propaganda.

Life, on the other hand, is a constant flux. It challenges borders and moves beyond them. It opens up to circulation those spaces that are closed off due to construction; it paints such destructive vehicles as bulldozers pink; it transforms steps into tribunes, pieces of iron into wish trees, and trees destined to be cut down into monuments. It walks on highways and bridges that are closed to pedestrians. It does not like the empty and the sterile; it covers them up with banners, slogans, tents. It leaves its mark on every surface. It disrupts silence at times with pots and pans, and at other times with a tune from a piano. It plays with identities and definitions; it makes them fluid; it renders them indistinguishable. It can make fun of both itself and the established order thanks to its humor. By changing one single letter in a word, it can ridicule the heaviest of symbolisms. When the state apparatus sends a riot-intervention vehicle to pour tear gas on it, life stops to catch its breath for a while and goes right back to resisting. When a body grows tired, it gets replaced by a reinvigorated one. Life turns into thousands of fingers that tweet and take photographs when the state apparatus sends down vehicles of propaganda. It stops its wheelchair to grab the flag that fell on the ground while escaping from tear gas. It apologizes when it steps on someone`s foot while running; it calms down those who panic.

It is obvious that these bodies that fascism wants to militarize will not assume any ideological identity. When they do not drink alcohol, they ridicule conservatism; when they lie under a TOMA, they make fun of liberalism, which claims that life is the most valuable good. Orthodox Marxism cannot decide under which class struggle these "çapulcu" bodies are to be subsumed. As long as they stay in physical contact, as long as they remain as collective Prometheuses, as long as they—have to—continue the resistance, they grow accustomed to each other`s colors, languages, and genders. They disrupt the behavioral rules that ideologies and institutions expect from them. The natural or moral instinct of protection that has been attributed to mothers loses ground when female bodies participate in the resistance alongside their children. The nationalist and the Kurd exchange anti-acid solutions in gas-filled hotel lobbies. The upper-class college kid drinks the water handed over by the kid with an Anonymous mask without needing to ask what neighborhood he’s from. Soccer fans save their curses for the police rather than for their rivals.

What comes out of all this is trust, not chaos. That`s why the bodies multiply with every gush of tear gas, spaces expand with every police attack, and the quality of contact among the bodies increases with every propaganda speech. The life woven together by bodies born in Gezi is so tenacious that the government is right in fearing it. The power of these bodies stems from their capacity to mutualize endurance, rather than vulnerability (as Judith Butler envisioned they would). One would need to look into the extensive interstices of this politics of the body, rather than into macro-level discourses, to begin deciphering it.

NOTES

[1] Ernst Bloch, Natural Right and Human Dignity (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1987), 61.

[An earlier version of this article was published on 26 June 2013 on BIA ("Independent Communication Network"). The link to that version can be found here. This article was translated from Turkish by Gülfer Göze.]