The People Want E-Book

Gilbert Achcar

• Herausgeber: Saqi Books
• Kategorie: Geisteswissenschaft
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 659

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

'The people want' - thus began the slogans chanted by millions of protesters in 2011 in what was dubbed the 'Arab Spring'. ?While the protests revealed a long-suppressed craving for democracy, they also laid bare a deep structural crisis. In this landmark work, Middle East analyst Gilbert Achcar examines the socio-economic roots and political dynamics of the regional upheaval. He assesses the peculiarities of the region's states and regimes, and sheds light on the movements that use Islam as a political banner. Achcar argues that the Arab Spring was but the beginning of a long-term revolutionary process - a perspective confirmed by a second wave of uprisings in 2019 - and outlines the requirements for a solution to the crisis. This new edition features a preface drawing a balance sheet of the upheaval's first decade.

Leseprobe

Gilbert Achcar is Professor of Development Studies and International Relations at SOAS, University of London. He previously taught and researched in Beirut, Paris and Berlin. His publications include Perilous Power: The Middle East and US Foreign Policy, co-authored with Noam Chomsky, and the critically-acclaimed The Arabs and the Holocaust: The Arab-Israeli War of Narratives.

ALSO BY GILBERT ACHCAR

Morbid Symptoms: Relapse in the Arab Uprising

Marxism, Orientalism, Cosmopolitanism

The Arabs and the Holocaust:The Arab–Israeli War of Narratives

Perilous Power:The Middle East and U.S. Foreign Policy(with Noam Chomsky)

The 33-Day War:Israel’s War on Hezbollah in Lebanon and its Consequences(with Michel Warschawski)

The Clash of Barbarisms:The Making of the New World Disorder

Eastern Cauldron:Islam, Afghanistan, Palestine, and Iraq in a Marxist Mirror

Gilbert Achcar

THE PEOPLE WANT

A Radical Exploration of the Arab Uprising

Translated from French by G. M. Goshgarian

SAQI

SAQI BOOKS

26 Westbourne Grove

London W2 5RH

www.saqibooks.com

First published 2013 by Saqi Books

This new edition published 2022

Copyright © Gilbert Achcar 2013 and 2022

Translation © G. M. Goshgarian 2013

Gilbert Achcar has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work.

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

ISBN 978 0 86356 477 2

eISBN 978 0 86356 832 9

A full cip record for this book is available from the British Library.

Printed and bound by Clays S.A.r, Elcograf

Contents

List of Figures

List of Tables

Preface to the Second Edition

Acknowledgements

Introduction: Uprisings and Revolutions

1. FETTERED DEVELOPMENT

The Facts

Poverty, Inequality, Precarity

Informal Sector and Unemployment: The Bouazizi Syndrome

Youth Underemployment

Female Underemployment

Graduate Unemployment

Fetters on Development

2. THE PECULIAR MODALITIES OF CAPITALISM IN THE ARAB REGION

The Problem of Investment

Public and Private Investment

A Specific Variant of the Capitalist Mode of Production

1. Rentier and Patrimonial States

2. A Politically Determined Capitalism: Nepotism and Risk

The Genesis of the Specific Regional Variant of Capitalism:An Overview

3. REGIONAL POLITICAL FACTORS

The Oil Curse

From “Arab Despotic Exception” to “Democracy Promotion”

The Muslim Brothers, Washington and the Saudis

The Muslim Brothers, Washington and Qatar

Al Jazeera and the Upheaval in the Arab Mediascape

4. ACTORS AND PARAMETERS OF THE REVOLUTION

Overdetermination and Subjective Conditions

The Workers’ Movement and Social Struggles

New Actors and New Information and Communication Technologies

States and Revolutions

5. A PROVISIONAL BALANCE SHEET OF THE ARAB UPRISING

Coups d’État and Revolutions

Provisional Balance Sheet No. 1: Tunisia

Provisional Balance Sheet No. 2: Egypt

Provisional Balance Sheet No. 3: Yemen

Provisional Balance Sheet No. 4: Bahrain

Provisional Balance Sheet No. 5: Libya

Provisional Balance Sheet No. 6: Syria

6. CO-OPTING THE UPRISING

Washington and the Muslim Brothers, Take Two

NATO, Libya, and Syria

The “Islamic Tsunami” and the Difference between Khomeini and Morsi

conclusion: the future of the arab uprising

The Difference between Erdogan and Ghannouchi ...

… And the Difference between Erdogan and Morsi

Conditions for a Genuine Solution

Notes

References and Sources

Further Reading

Index

Figures

Figure 1.1 GDP per capita average annual growth rate

Figure 1.2 Egypt - GDP per capita annual growth rate 1970-2010

Figure 1.3 Average annual population growth rate

Figure 1.4 GDP average annual growth rate

Figure 1.5 Human development index 1980-2010

Figure 1.6 Informality in labour force & employment

Figure 1.7 Unemployment rate

Figure 1.8 Unemployment rate youth & adults

Figure 1.9 Youth in total population 2010

Figure 1.10 Unemployment rate by sex 2010

Figure 1.11 Employment-to-population rate by sex, 2010

Figure 1.12 Population with advanced education

Figure 2.1 GDP per capita annual growth MENA - 1969-2010

Figure 2.2 Gross fixed capital formation 1969-2009

Figure 2.3 Gross capital formation annual growth ENA without GCC - 1969-2007

Figure 2.4 Gross capital formation annual growth

Figure 2.5 Gross fixed capital formation, public sector 1995-2007

Figure 2.6 Net official financial flows

Figure 2.7 Gross fixed capital formation, private sector 1995-2007

Figure 2.8 Gross fixed capital formation, total and public Egypt - 1982-2010

Figure 2.9 Public sector revenue 2006

Tables

Table 1.1: Distribution of consumption

Table 1.2: GDP per capita 2008 (current US$)

Table 1.3: Gross enrolment ratio in tertiary education (2009)

Table 1.4: Graduate unemployment rates 1984–2010

Table 4.1: Percentage of individuals using the Internet (2010)

Preface to the Second Edition

This book offers analytic cornerstones for an in-depth, multidimensional understanding of the upheaval that has been shaking the Arabic-speaking region since 2011. I finished writing it in October 2012. This was close to two years after the ignition in December 2010 of the revolutionary shockwave, quickly dubbed the “Arab Spring”, that engulfed most Arabic-speaking countries in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA), culminating in major popular uprisings in six of the region’s countries: Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, Yemen, Bahrain and Syria.

The tenth anniversary of the Arab Spring in 2021 elicited a predictable deluge of comment and analysis offering various assessments of the shockwave and its consequences. These comments sounded more often like obituaries than appraisals of the state of play, even though two years earlier, in 2019, the media had identified a Second Arab Spring, potential or actual, represented by the popular uprisings that unfolded in that year in four of the region’s other countries: Sudan, Algeria, Iraq and Lebanon. To these four could also be added the massive popular protests that brought down the cabinet in Jordan in the spring of 2018.

The overall result is that, within less than ten years, ten or eleven of the twenty-two member-countries of the League of Arab States,1 between them representing the vast majority of the region’s population, have reached the point of full-fledged uprisings. Except for the highly peculiar Gulf states of Qatar and the United Arab Emirates, close to 90% of whose populations are made up of migrants, all other countries have witnessed waves of social protest at some point since 2011, recurrently in some cases. Thus, a key contention of this book – namely, that what occurred in 2011 was but the opening salvo of a long-term revolutionary process affecting the whole Arabic-speaking region – has been amply confirmed.

This contention is closely related to the book’s core thesis about the root cause of this social and political explosion. I argue that it was provoked by a developmental blockage that had been hampering the region’s economic growth for several decades, producing dire consequences in social inequality and the underemployment of human resources. The MENA region had long been suffering from the highest rates of youth unemployment of any world region – a situation that has only deteriorated since 2011. These crucial factors generated huge social frustration, which inevitably translated into political discontent: the region’s populations, especially its youth, could no longer endure a hopeless social condition enforced by various types of undemocratic regimes, all of them deeply corrupt.

The book’s second core thesis is that the developmental blockage described above is determined in turn by a particular inadequacy of the neoliberal paradigm, which had prevailed in the Arabic-speaking region, as in most of the rest of the world, since the 1980s. The neoliberal orientation of economic policy is predicated on the centrality of the private sector as the driving engine of development. It stems from a highly idealised view of capitalism as an economic system propelled by fair competition, whereas actually-existing capitalism is routinely very remote from this ideal-type. Indeed, there is hardly a region of the world where capitalism is more remote from its ideal type than the Arabic-speaking region, where crony capitalism, closely intertwined with the state, prevails under conditions of long-term unpredictability, determining a take-the-money-and-run attitude among the owners of capital.

In these countries, the sharp decline in public investment induced by neoliberal imperatives has not been offset by an increase in private investment, especially of the kind conducive to development. Leaving aside sectors related to the exploitation of natural resources – especially hydrocarbons – private investment has mostly been directed towards speculative activities: real estate, and the connected sectors of construction and tourism; nepotistic state-licenced activities, especially in the telecoms industry, that facilitate speedy accumulation of capital under quasi-monopolistic conditions. The bulk of private investment in the region has been of a kind that creates very limited long-term job opportunities. Such investment cannot compensate for the drastic reduction in public employment that has accompanied the neoliberal shift, often pushed through by the global enforcers of the neoliberal economic order – the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank.

The book’s third core thesis is that this dysfunctional economic system is shaped by the regional prevalence of state rentierism and patrimonialism. A distinctive feature of the region is that it includes several states where these characteristics find their highest expression, each of them bolstering the other. Due to the MENA region’s rich hydrocarbon resources, it includes more states that are overwhelmingly dependent on rent than any other part of the world. This in turn leads to some states benefiting, due to strategic and security considerations, from rents drawn on richer states’ hydrocarbon rents, or determined by foreign powers’ eagerness to maintain a regional system of hegemony whose key motivation is narrowly linked to the region’s resources. Intimately related to this is the fact that the region has long included a number of fully patrimonial states – an oddity in the modern world. These are states where any separation between the ruling families and the institutions of government is simply a polite fiction: the former regard the latter as their private property, and the elite sections of the armed forces as their private guard.

The high degrees of rentierism and patrimonialism that characterise several of the region’s states have a strong gravitational effect on the rest of them, which display the same two features – albeit at lesser degrees. All of them depend on various types of rent to sustain or complement their expenditure, and all of them exhibit highly corrupt forms of neopatrimonialism.2 These basic characteristics of states in the MENA region create an environment that is the opposite of ideal-typical capitalism, in which development is led by the private sector – an environment poisoned by the arbitrary and predatory nature of government power, and by political and economic unpredictability.

A corollary of the above is that there can be no way out of the crisis that erupted in 2011 without a structural alteration of these debilitating features of the state; in short, putting the region back on the path of development will require radical sociopolitical change. Viewed from this perspective, the Arab Spring was only the beginning of a long-term revolutionary process – one whose goals cannot be achieved by a merely procedural shift towards electoral democracy: in the absence of radical sociopolitical change, democratisation would remain precarious and doomed to fail. The immediate aftermath of the 2011 uprisings saw the advent of democratic experiences in Tunisia, Egypt, Libya, and Yemen. At the time of writing, they have all failed: a military coup brought the Egyptian episode to an end in 2013; Libya and Yemen sunk into civil war, starting from 2014; and the longest-standing democratic experience in Tunisia was abruptly ended in 2021. A similar fate threatens the limited democratic gains achieved in 2019 by Sudan’s uprising.

And yet, the Arab Spring is neither “dead” nor forever transformed into “winter”, as so many commentators have asserted. The euphoria of 2011 gave way to gloomy assessments during the reactionary backlash that followed, signalled most of all by the 2013 coup in Egypt. The second revolutionary wave, in 2019, led to some revival of positive views, albeit much more sober and cautious than those of 2011. Soon after, however, the Tunisian presidential coup of 25 July 2021, followed by the Sudanese military coup of 25 October, prompted new obituaries for the prospect of democratic change in the Arabic-speaking region. Orientalist tropes about the incompatibility of Islam or of Arab culture with democracy have reasserted themselves since their first apparent refutation in 2011. Such tropes completely disregard the fact that Europe’s own transition from absolutism to democracy was neither rapid nor smooth, and that, unlike Western Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth century, the Middle East and North Africa must contend with both a history and a present of foreign domination that is fundamentally inimical to genuine democratisation.

Here we arrive at two major complications identified in this book. The first derives from the division of the Arab region’s states into a hard core of fully patrimonial states and a larger set of neopatrimonial states afflicted by various degrees of corruption and repressiveness. After the fall of Mubarak in Egypt, in the wake of Tunisia’s Ben Ali in early 2011, euphoric expectations of a domino effect taking down leaders in the other countries affected by the regional shockwave were widespread. Two illusions were at work in this belief. The first was that nonviolent popular uprisings would be capable of inducing state apparatuses everywhere to ditch their rulers, as they did in the two countries that were the first to succumb to the Arab Spring. The second was that the abandonment and removal of the head of state by those apparatuses was tantamount to the “overthrow of the regime” that “the people want”, as per the most famous and ubiquitous slogan of the uprisings.

The scenario in which the state apparatuses would distance themselves from the head of state, ultimately pushing him (certainly not “her” in the regional political system) out of power was much less likely in the patrimonial states than in their neopatrimonial neighbours. In the former, there is no separation between the state and the ruling family, who own it as their patrimony. They therefore make sure to weave strong organic links between themselves and the institutions of the state, beginning with the most crucial of them: the military and security forces, which are the ruling dynasty’s ultimate shield. These forces are therefore led by members of the ruling family or by members of their kinship and tribal clans. Elite troops are recruited among the tribal, sectarian or regional communities most loyal to the regime. Under such conditions, short of a split within the ruling family itself, the armed forces’ hard core is most likely to remain wedded to the regime and willing to fight in its defence, which is synonymous with the defence of its own privileged position. Peaceful wholesale removal from power of the ruling clan is therefore highly unlikely: if the popular uprising manages to survive an initial phase of bloody repression, civil war becomes inevitable.

In the neopatrimonial states, on the other hand, state apparatuses are much more likely to abandon the head of state to preserve the state when the former becomes a source of concern about the future of the latter. In all three neopatrimonial states of the region where the armed forces constitute the central political institution – Egypt, Algeria and Sudan – the military deposed the president by means of what I referred to, in relation to Mubarak’s removal in Egypt in 2011, as a “conservative coup”. In 2019, the militaries in both Algeria and Sudan followed suit. Sadly, these three cases of the straightforward overthrow of the regime’s head by the military – going way beyond the usual tinkering with the governmental fuse-box – have now amply demonstrated the falsity of the second of the two illusions mentioned above. The removal of the head of state in neopatrimonial states should not be confused with the overthrow of the regime: it is much more often a measure aimed at rescuing the regime, enabling it to catch its breath before it can find an opportune moment to crack down on the popular movement.

Beyond this distinction between the likely turn of events in patrimonial and neopatrimonial states, the stubborn fact remains that the structures underlying the region’s regimes are hugely difficult obstacles to surmount. All over the Arabic-speaking region, highly corrupt regimes are firmly entrenched behind an iron wall of repressive military and security forces. The only way for revolutionary movements to bring down such regimes and dismantle the repressive apparatuses that protect them without too much bloodshed is by managing to build up such a massive popular counter-hegemony that they succeed in winning over the bulk of the rank and file within the military and security forces.

The second complication confronting the regional revolutionary process in its initial phase was the nature of the region’s political landscape, whose three contending camps permitted complex political triangulations. Ranged against the traditional counter-revolutionary camp, represented by the incumbent powers whose rule is contested, is the revolutionary camp consisting of a motley coalition of political persuasions from secular or moderately religious liberals and reformists to left-wing nationalists and socialists. But this picture is complicated by the existence throughout the MENA region of a powerful current of Islamic fundamentalists. It comprises three major factions: among Sunnis, the Muslim Brotherhood and associated political movements, on the one hand, and the Salafis on the other (excluding the relatively minor violent force referred to as Salafi jihadism); and, among Shias, the Iran-led Khomeinists.

Whereas mainstream Salafis, who are mostly linked to the Saudi kingdom, usually stand by the existing regime, entrenched in the reactionary camp, they can occasionally join the protest movement as a Trojan horse – as they did in Egypt in 2011, while maintaining their allegiance to the military. For its part, the Muslim Brotherhood – consisting of formal branches in some countries and like-minded forces in others, all of them backed by the Emirate of Qatar – was in the political opposition in most countries before the upheaval, harshly repressed in some countries, such as Libya, Syria or Tunisia, tolerated as a more or less loyal opposition in others, such as Egypt, Jordan and Morocco. In Sudan and Algeria, by contrast, forces belonging to the Muslim Brotherhood current were periodically accommodated within government.

When the Arab Spring unfolded, political organisations associated with the Muslim Brotherhood stepped forward in all of the countries where they were in opposition, joining the uprisings with a view to hijacking them. Being much stronger than the motley assortment of groups that had initiated the protests, they were able to take the helm, sailing into power through 2011 elections in Tunisia, Egypt, Morocco (where they were co-opted into government by the monarchy to defuse the protest movement) and Libya (despite their initial electoral failure there); meanwhile, they secured a share of power in Yemen. At the time, all of this looked very much like an Islamic tsunami engulfing the whole region, inciting many commentators into impressionistic Orientalist statements about “Islamism” being the region’s natural inclination. This book warned against such simplistic views.

Briefly sketched, what has happened since 2011 is that the clash between the pillars of the old regimes and the Muslim Brotherhood factions prevailed over the confrontation with the third, progressive pole that had in every case initiated the protests, only to find itself relegated to the margins. This clash eventually led to the ousting of Muslim Brotherhood factions from government, or else degenerated into what became a regional pattern of civil war. Its main theatres and stages have been as follows: the Libyan civil war broke out in 2011, followed by the Syrian civil war, the Muslim Brotherhood playing a key role in opposition coalitions in both cases; in Egypt, the military overthrew a Muslim Brotherhood president, launching a bloody crackdown on the movement in 2013; in Tunisia, the Muslim Brotherhood-associated movement was forced out of its commanding government and parliamentary positions in 2014, though it managed to remain as a junior partner in a ruling coalition with sections of the old regime’s power elite; a second Libyan civil war began in 2014, and Yemen’s civil war began in that same year – although the role of the Muslim Brotherhood was less central and the overall situation more complex in the latter country.

These events represented the key moments of the counter-revolutionary backlash against the first shockwave of a long-term regional revolutionary process. The backlash started with the rescue of the Syrian regime by the direct military intervention of Iran and its regional auxiliaries in the spring of 2013, and was boosted by the military coup that occurred in Egypt in July of the same year. In 2016 I published a book-length analytical account of that first counter-revolutionary phase, with a special focus on Syria and Egypt.3 It includes a detailed discussion of the shortcomings of the progressive factions in both countries.

Since then, a second regional revolutionary wave was initiated in Sudan in December 2018, followed by similar events in Algeria in February 2019, and in Iraq and Lebanon in October of the same year. A key characteristic of this second wave was that, unlike in the first wave, Islamic fundamentalists were almost exclusively on the side of the ruling powers, against the uprisings. In Sudan the fundamentalists, including the local Muslim Brotherhood affiliates, had been partners of the military dictatorship from its inception in 1989, and fundamentally remained so, even though factions within them were intermittently at odds with the military. In Algeria, the radical wing of the Islamic fundamentalist movement had been brutally crushed and politically discredited as a result of the country’s bloody civil war of the 1990s. During the following twenty years, local Muslim Brotherhood associates became intermittent participants in Abdelaziz Bouteflika’s regime. In both Iraq and Lebanon, Iran-backed Shia Islamic fundamentalists have constituted the main political and armed pillars of the existing regimes – in Lebanon, Hezbollah; in Iraq, various militias regrouped within the Popular Mobilisation coalition.

This should have laid to rest the Orientalist idea of the ineluctable domination by religious forces of every popular protest movement in the MENA region. Soon after, in 2021, the two remaining instances of participation of Muslim Brotherhood parties in government – Tunisia and Morocco – were brought to an end, respectively, by a Bonapartist presidential coup in July and a monarchy-fomented electoral wipeout in September. Thus ended the ten-year-long window of opportunity opened by the Arab Spring for the Muslim Brotherhood and its associates. This is not to say that this current has been consigned to the dustbin of history: it remains a significant component of the regional political landscape that must be reckoned with. But it has been largely discredited by its failure to show a way out of the structural socioeconomic crisis that underlies the regional revolutionary process.

And this process is far from having expended itself. Anyone expecting the MENA region to return to the kind of stability, sustained by despotism, that prevailed within it for most of the four decades before the Arab Spring is gravely delusional. The real question is not whether the region will revert to despotic stabilisation, but whether new progressive forces will manage to emerge from among the new generations – forces capable of leading the popular movements towards a true overthrow of the region’s regimes. This will require nothing less than the wholesale replacement of the existing rotten states with truly democratic states, and a radical shift away from neoliberal-inspired policies towards a socially progressive, gender-emancipatory and environmentally sustainable future.

In the absence of such a best-case scenario, there is a high risk of the continuation of what I have described as a clash of barbarisms, in which the barbarism of the old regimes and their foreign backers – global powers such as the United States and Russia or regional ones such as Iran and Saudi Arabia – fuels the emergence of a counter-barbarism on the opposite side. The most hideous manifestation of the latter has been the so-called Islamic State, born in reaction against the barbaric US occupation of Iraq in 2003. This in turn followed the destruction of Iraq’s infrastructure by the US and its allies in 1991, and then twelve years of a criminal embargo that chiefly affected the poorest, their children most of all. Eventually defeated in Iraq, Islamic State moved into Syria, entering into a civil war that had been provoked by the regime’s barbaric repression of what had started as a peaceful uprising in 2011. The extreme barbarity of the Syrian regime found its reflection in that of Islamic State: the latter is more infamous only because it deliberately publicised its most horrendous acts for propaganda purposes, and because it targeted Westerners. In 2014, Islamic State spectacularly swept back into Iraq, provoking a debacle for the US-built government troops that would be matched only by the debacle of their Afghan equivalent in August 2021.

Islamic State has been defeated once again, largely through a major US contribution consisting mainly of remote warfare. But it remains able to rise again from its ashes as long as the historical impasse endures. Like any other avatar of extremely violent Islamic fundamentalism, Islamic State is but a “morbid symptom” resulting from the putrefaction of conditions in which “the old is dying and the new cannot be born”, to use Antonio Gramsci’s well-known formulation. In this instance, morbidity prevails on both sides, and in the most extreme forms. Only the development of a progressive alternative to the regional old order stands any real chance of interrupting the infernal spiral of this clash of barbarisms. It was widely noted in 2011 how the hopes initially inspired by the Arab Spring had marginalised Al-Qaeda and its avatars. When Osama bin Laden was killed by US forces in May 2011, widespread commentary asserted that he had already been killed politically by the Arab Spring.4 Conversely, the frustration of the expectations created by the Arab Spring undoubtedly played an important role in facilitating Islamic State’s recruitment of young people in the region.

Is the MENA region doomed to remain stuck in this dreadful vicious circle? In response to this question, I can only reiterate the distinction between optimism and hope that I emphasised in 2015:

I’m still hopeful, even though I wouldn’t describe myself as optimistic. There’s a qualitative difference here. Hope is the belief that there is still a progressive potential. Optimism is the belief that this potential will win.

I’m not betting on its winning because I know how difficult the task is, all the more in that building alternative progressive leaderships has to start almost from scratch in many countries. The task is daunting, it’s huge, but it’s not impossible. No one expected such an impressive progressive uprising as that of 2011.

The long-term revolutionary process in the region will be measured in decades rather than years. From a historical perspective, we are still in its initial stages. This should be a major incentive for intensive action to build progressive movements able to take the lead. The alternative is further descent into barbarism and a general collapse of the regional order into the kind of terrible chaos that we see developing already in quite a few countries.5

There is indeed no reasonable ground for much progressive optimism in the MENA region, given the extreme difficulty and complexity of the prevailing conditions. But there are nonetheless real grounds for hope in the political maturation of a new generation that has been awaking to politics in a context of upheaval and global information that is radically different from what their parents and grandparents knew. In our highly interconnected world, the future of this political maturation will also be very much conditioned by the evolution of political trends at the global level, especially among young people.

I completed this book in October 2012, and it first came out in 2013. Since then, it has been published in Arabic, English, French, Persian and Turkish, and recently in Mexico in its first Spanish-language edition. This is the second English-language edition. The publishers and I believe that the book has lost none of its relevance ten years after its composition. Even Chapter 5, which offers a “provisional balance sheet” of the uprisings at the end of 2012, should remain useful in pointing to the problems encountered in each of the six countries of the 2011 Arab Spring. But readers will be able to judge for themselves: this edition reproduces the text of the first edition unaltered, except for the few minor corrections that are usual in second editions.6 A selected list of freely available readings complementing this book or assessing recent developments is provided at the end.

London, 30 October 2021

Acknowledgements

This book is the outcome of intensive work that started shortly after the beginning of the revolutionary wave engulfing the Arabic-speaking region. It is based, however, on the course on Problems of Development of the Middle East and North Africa that I have taught at the School of Oriental and African Studies (SOAS, University of London) since the academic year 2007–8. This means that I owe much to my institution, which offers an ideal environment and one of the richest libraries for the research on the region that is the object of this study. The students who attended my lectures and who will remember them when they read the following pages have contributed with their questions to forming the answers this book provides.

Yet scholarly teaching and research are but two of the sources of this work. My major debt is toward the great number of those whom I met and with whom I had a chance to discuss during my travels in different countries of the region over decades, and most particularly since the beginning of the uprising. I clearly cannot name them all. Four key stages in this experience occurred in 2011, when I was honoured to be invited to take part in the “Spring University” of ATTAC Morocco in Casablanca, in April; the “Socialist Days” organised in Cairo after the uprising by the Egyptian Center for Socialist Studies, in May; the meeting of prominent members of the Syrian opposition, many of whom came directly from Syria to the place near Stockholm where it was held, in October; and the festivities celebrating the first anniversary of the beginning of the uprising in Sidi Bouzid, the Tunisian town where it all started, in December. I thank here one more time the organisers of these meetings, as well as the team of the Haus der Kulturen der Welt in Berlin which gave me the opportunity to take part in a gathering of persons involved in cultural activities in the Arab region in January 2012.

I am also grateful to all those who invited me to submit some of this book’s theses to the critical attention of audiences including people knowledgeable about the region in various academic institutions – in particular Henry Laurens at the Collège de France, Robert Wade at the London School of Economics, Rashid Khalidi and Bashir Abu-Manneh at Columbia University in New York, Joel Beinin at Stanford University, Ronit Lentin at Trinity College in Dublin, Haideh Moghissi and Saeed Rahnema at York University in Toronto, Farid al-Alibi at the University of Kairouan, Tunisia, Tullo Vigevani at the Universidade Estadual Paulista (UNESP) in São Paulo, and the Brazilian National Social Science Postgraduate and Research Association (ANPOCS) at its annual convention in Caxambu.

The friends whose names follow have read the manuscript of this book in part or in whole and given me the benefit of their comments in finalising it: Henry Bernstein, Ray Bush, Franck Mermier, Saleh Mosbah, Alfredo Saad-Filho, Fawwaz Traboulsi and Lisa Wedeen. Very acute remarks by Omar El Shafei, who translated this book into Arabic, were most useful. My collaboration for the second time with Geoff Michael Goshgarian, who translated this book into English most elegantly after my previous one, The Arabs and the Holocaust, was equally an opportunity for useful exchanges between us. I beg those whom I failed to mention in these acknowledgements to excuse me. None of the above-mentioned persons can in any way be held responsible for the theses of this book and the errors that it may include.

Preliminary Notes

On the Arab countries and “the Middle East and North Africa” (MENA)

In the following pages, “Arab” refers to the member states of the Arab League (with the exception of the Union of the Comoros, Djibouti and Somalia). These countries are called “Arab” because Arabic is their main language of administration, communication and instruction. Thus “Arab” and “Arabic” are, here, geopolitical and linguistic terms (whence also the occasional reference to the “Arabic-speaking region”); neither is in any sense an “ethnic” description. Non-Arab groups comprise a significant segment of the populations of these countries, notably the Amazigh in North Africa (Maghreb) and the Kurds in the Middle East (Mashriq). They have taken an active part in the uprisings in the region.

Several international institutions whose studies and statistics are copiously cited in the present book focus on a group of countries they call “Middle East and North Africa” (MENA or the MENA region). In addition to the countries identified above, MENA includes Iran. When data limited to the Arab states are lacking, data for the MENA region have been used.

All the figures published in this book are original; the sources of the data used in making them are indicated.

On Transliteration of Arabic

The method adopted for the transcription of Arabic words and names in the Latin alphabet is a simplified version of the transliteration system in use in specialised literature; the aim is to make it easier for non-specialists to read the text, while allowing the knowledgeable to recognise the original Arabic. Special characters and diacritical marks have been avoided, except for the inverted apostrophe representing the Arabic letter ‘ayn. The common spellings of the names of the best-known individuals have been retained. Finally, when Arabs have published in European languages, their own transliteration of their names in Latin letters has been respected, as has, in the citations, the transliteration of Arabic names in the form in which it occurs in the original.

INTRODUCTION

Uprisings and Revolutions

“The people want!” This proclamation has been and still is omnipresent in the protracted uprising that has been rocking the Arabic-speaking region since the Tunisian episode began in Sidi Bouzid on 17 December 2010. In every imaginable variant and every imaginable tone, it has served as the prelude to all sorts of demands, from the now famous revolutionary slogan “The people want to overthrow the regime!”, to highly diverse calls of a comic nature – exemplified by the demonstrator in Cairo’s Tahrir Square who held high a sign reading: “The people want a president who doesn’t dye his hair!”

“The people want ...” first emerged as a slogan in Tunisia. It echoes two famous lines by Tunisian poet Abul-Qacem al-Shebbi (1909–34) inserted in the country’s national anthem:

If the people want life some day, fate will surely grant their wish

Their shackles will surely be shattered and their night surely vanish.1

The coming of the day of reckoning expressed in this collective affirmation that the people want, in the present tense – that they want here and now – illustrates in the clearest possible way the irruption of the popular will onto the Arab political stage. Such an irruption is the primary characteristic of every democratic uprising. In contrast to the proclamations adopted by representative assemblies, such as the “We the people” in the Preamble to the Constitution of the United States of America, here, the will of the people is expressed without intermediary, chanted at lung-splitting volumes by immense throngs such as those that the world has seen packing the streets of Tunisia, Egypt, Yemen, Bahrain, Libya, Syria and many other countries besides.

The use of the term “revolution” to qualify the upheavals underway in the Arab region has nevertheless been, and continues to be, hotly debated and stoutly contested, even in those victorious cases in which the people have succeeded in ridding themselves of an oppressive tyrant. The more neutral term “uprising” has been used in this book’s subtitle not only to avoid settling the debate on the cover, but also because the word “revolution” has more than one sense.

The Arab region has unquestionably witnessed uprisings. Indeed, it has witnessed the whole gamut of what that word designates, from outpourings of demonstrators to armed insurrections. The Arabic term intifada, which the Palestinian population of the territories occupied by Israel in 1967 has added to the international lexicon, covers the same semantic range. The Arabic term thawra also has a broad range of meanings: derived from the verb thara (to revolt), it originally corresponded more closely to the idea of revolt than to that of revolution. Thus thawra is accurately translated in the familiar English names of other events that have shaken the Arab region: the Great Arab Revolt of 1916–18, the 1920 Revolt in Iraq, the Great Syrian Revolt of 1925, and the Great Palestinian Revolt of 1936. For the same reason, insurgents, rebels and revolutionaries alike are called thuwwar in Arabic.

Farsi, together with the languages it has most deeply influenced, has for good reason settled on the Arabic term inqilab (overturning) to translate the Western concept of revolution. In Arabic itself, however, inqilab has come to mean “coup d’état”, whereas thawra means not just revolt, but also revolution – in the sense of a radical upheaval including, at the very least, a change in the political regime accomplished in ways that violate existing legality. These diverse semantic developments can help us bring out the imprecision of the terms in our own ordinary lexicon.2

The concept of revolution generally evokes, in Western languages, a movement in which the people seek to overthrow the government from below, although a “revolution” need not lead to the use of arms. A coup d’état, in contrast, is the work of a faction, usually originating in the army, which seizes power at the pinnacle of society, always by force of arms. It so happens that the history of the Arab region is dotted with coups d’état that were unquestionably revolutionary, in that they culminated in profound transformations of political institutions and social structures. To cite just one example, the 23 July 1952 coup of the Free Officers led by Gamal Abdel-Nasser unquestionably led to a transformation of Egypt much more radical than anything that has so far resulted from the Revolution of 25 January 2011.

The 1952 coup led to the overthrow of a dynasty, the abolition of the monarchy and parliamentary regime, the creation of a republican military dictatorship, the nationalisation of foreign assets, the subversion of the old regime’s property-holding classes (big landed property, commercial and financial capital), a major drive to industrialise and far-reaching progressive social reforms. These changes certainly better deserve to be called a “revolution” than do the results of the uprising set in motion in January 2011, which so far (at the time of writing) has led only to the overthrow of the small clan that dominated the state, and the democratisation of the semi-presidential regime, pending a change in the constitution by means that seek to maintain juridical continuity with the old institutions.

Indeed, we might go so far as to say that the passive counter-revolution led by Anwar al-Sadat after Nasser’s death on 28 September 1970 also brought about deeper socio-economic changes than those seen in Egypt since the downfall of Hosni Mubarak on 11 February 2011. Yet the immense uprising that began on 25 January 2011 constitutes a bursting of the masses onto the political stage that had no precedent in the very long history of the land of the pyramids. Hence it has, beyond the shadow of a doubt, set a revolutionary dynamic in motion. It is too soon to pronounce on the consequences. The most radical results of the 1952 coup appeared only many years later. We would do well to bear that in mind.

In this sense, it takes no extraordinary acumen to identify, from the outset – from the very first hours of its existence – a revolutionary dynamic, like the Duke of La Rochefoucauld-Liancourt, who, “during the night of July 14–15, 1789” – according to a story that became famous after Hyppolite Taine retold it – “caused Louis XVI to be aroused to inform him of the taking of the Bastille. ‘It is a revolt, then?’ exclaimed the King. ‘Sire!’ replied the Duke; ‘it is a revolution!’”3 If the duke really did make this remark, he could only have been referring to the rioters’ intentions; they had indeed set out, not to vent their disgruntlement in an ephemeral revolt, but to have done with Absolutism once and for all. They plainly had revolutionary aims, identifiable as such from the moment they took the Bastille.4

Yet, the intentions of those who rioted on 14 July aside, no one could then have predicted the ultimate consequences of the event: whether it would culminate in radical change or, instead, join the long list of abortive revolutions demoted to the rank of revolts. We should, moreover, read the rest of Taine’s narrative and his description of the uprising, a description typical of the conservative historian he was:

The event was even more serious. Not only had power slipped from the hands of the King, but also it had not fallen into those of the Assembly. It now lay on the ground, ready to the hands of the unchained populace, the violent and overexcited crowd, the mobs, which picked it up like some weapon that had been thrown away in the street. In fact, there was no longer any government; the artificial structure of human society was giving way entirely; things were returning to a state of nature. This was not a revolution, but a dissolution.5

This is how conservatives of all stripes (some of those in the region discussed in this book even proclaim themselves “progressives” and “anti-imperialists”) defame uprisings against the despotic regimes with which they identify, dismissing them as “pure mayhem” when they do not see them as the fruit of a conspiracy. This does not in the least alter the fact that the emergence of the people freed from the shackles of servitude (voluntary or involuntary), the assertion of collective will in public squares, and success in overthrowing tyrannical oppressors are the unmistakable marks of a political revolution.

Beyond the shadow of a doubt, this description applies to the uprisings in Tunisia, Egypt and Libya, whereas the one in Yemen has, so far, yielded only a sorry compromise. The Tunisian and Egyptian political revolutions have, nevertheless, left the state apparatuses of the fallen regimes essentially intact; only in Libya was the old state machine largely dismantled by a civil war. However, none of these countries has yet experienced a social revolution, in the sense of a thorough transformation of its social structure. Only factions at the pinnacle of the social hierarchy – big or small, depending on the case – have been affected. Nowhere has that hierarchy itself been modified.

I myself have, from the first months of 2011, described the ongoing uprisings as a protracted or long-term revolutionary process. Such a formulation reconciles the revolutionary nature of the event with its incompleteness. It is motivated by two major considerations:

• first, the fact that the revolutionary shock wave has shaken virtually all the countries in the Arab region; although it has so far (at the time of writing) led to a general uprising in only six, it is highly likely others will follow their example in the months and years ahead.

• second, the fact that the political revolutions in the three aforementioned countries cannot by themselves eliminate the profound causes of the explosion that has set the region ablaze; only profound socio-economic transformations can do that.

The very fact that the revolutionary wave that arose in Tunisia has swept through the entire Arabic-speaking region shows that its causes are not confined to the political dimension. They run deeper. This sweep cannot be due to the linguistic factor alone: where revolution is concerned, contagion by example occurs only when there is favourable ground. For a spark to start a conflagration that spreads from one end of a geopolitical and cultural zone to the other, there must be a predisposition to revolution. Given the diversity of the region’s political regimes, logic suggests we search for underlying socioeconomic factors which may have laid the common ground for the regional shock wave. Despotism by itself, moreover, can hardly be sufficient cause for the outbreak and subsequent success of a democratic revolution. Otherwise, there would be no explaining why it triumphed when it did: why 2011, after decades of despotism in the Arab region? Why 1789 in France, after a long history of Absolutism and peasant revolts? Why 1989 in Eastern Europe, rather than, say, 1953–56?

If socioeconomic factors are at the very heart of the Arab uprising, it follows that there are still radical changes to come. At the very least, they will bring in their wake new episodes of revolution and counter-revolution in the countries that have already experienced upheavals, and in others as well; and they will do so over a protracted period. After all, while there is a consensus that 14 July 1789 is the day the French Revolution began, the debate as to when it ended is still raging (1799, 1830, 1851, or even 1870–75). The French Revolution lasted, by the most conservative estimate, more than ten years. The revolutionary process in the Arab region will soon pass the two year mark. It is highly likely that it will go on for many years to come.

These are the things that this book tries to explain. It does not seek to recount the histories of particular uprisings; there are several accounts about each of them already. In the years ahead, these accounts will surely be joined by innumerable other works written with the benefit of hindsight, after the dust of events has settled and the archives have been sifted through. Because the revolutionary process in the Arab region is still underway, and long will be, any chronicle that strives to be up-to-date risks being outstripped by events even before it comes off the press. This book proposes, rather, to analyse the dynamics informing events, to scan their horizon and to draw their significant lessons. It is a radical exploration of the Arab uprising in both senses of the word. It aims to identify the deep roots of the uprising; but it is also written with the conviction that there can be no lasting solution to the crisis unless those roots are transformed.

London, 30 October 2012

CHAPTER ONE

Fettered Development

At a certain stage of development, the material productive forces of society come into conflict with the existing relations of production ... From forms of development of the productive forces these relations turn into their fetters. Then begins an era of social revolution.

Karl Marx, Preface to A Contribution to the Critique of Political Economy, 1859

When a revolutionary upheaval is not an isolated phenomenon attributable to specific political conditions in a particular country, but constitutes a shock wave that goes beyond the merely episodic to initiate a veritable sociopolitical transformation in a whole group of countries with similar socioeconomic structures, Marx’s thesis cited above takes on its full significance. From this perspective, the “bourgeois” revolutions at the heart of the Age of Revolution – from the sixteenth-century Dutch War of Independence and the seventeenth-century English Revolution through the long process comprising the French Revolution to the 1848 European Revolutions sometimes called the Spring of Nations – appear as a series of earthquakes triggered by the collision of the two tectonic plates Marx identified as developing productive forces and existing relations of production. The latter are represented by what the author of Das Kapital calls the “legal and political superstructure”, with the state at its core. These revolutions accelerated the transformation of the predominantly agrarian societies of the late feudal period into societies dominated by the urban bourgeoisie. They thus paved the way for capitalist industrialisation.

A comparable instance of the existing relations of production blocking the development of the forces of production was at the origin of the shock wave that, beginning with Poland in 1980, overturned all the Central and Eastern European “communist” regimes and culminated in the 1991 collapse of the Soviet Union (USSR). This shock wave put an end to the bureaucratic mode of production of the USSR and Eastern Europe, undermined by stagnation at its very centre, and put a “market economy” in its place. With that, the process of capitalist globalisation was essentially completed. It has not been sufficiently stressed just how striking an illustration of Marx’s thesis this historic turn provides – a new irony of history, since the overturned regimes claimed to take their inspiration from his “doctrine”. Yet it was a Marxist critic of the Soviet regime, Leon Trotsky, who was the first to predict – in 1936, at a time when the “socialist fatherland” was posting record growth rates – that the bureaucratic command economy would ultimately founder on the “problem of quality”.1 Trotsky thus anticipated the period beginning in the early 1970s, later named the Era of Stagnation, which culminated in the collapse of the regimes descended from Stalinism.

Is what we have been witnessing in the Arab region since 2011 an “era of social revolution” brought on by a blockage impeding the development of productive forces? If so, is this blockage due to factors common to the countries of the region and specific to them, as in the two historical cases just mentioned? The question is worth asking, if only because the tremor running through the region has affected the whole of it, from Mauritania and Morocco to the Arab-Iranian Gulf. That, moreover, is why observers have compared the upheaval underway in the Arab countries with the shock wave that traversed Eastern Europe in the 1980s. Yet this upheaval has not – at any rate, not yet – brought about a radical change in the mode of production. There seems to be no change on the horizon of the revolutionary process unfolding today in the Arabic-speaking region profound enough to invite comparison with the great upheaval that ultimately integrated the “communist” countries into globalised capitalism.

Whereas the European upheaval of the 1980s resulted from a crisis at the very heart of the bureaucratic mode of production, the crisis in the Arab region affects only one of the peripheral zones of today’s globalised capitalist mode of production. Hence it cannot, by itself, be regarded as a manifestation of a general blockage of this mode of production, nor even – since capitalism continues to generate development in other peripheral zones – a blockage confined to the capitalist periphery. Indeed, even if the crisis currently besetting the highly developed economies central to the world system (the European economies, above all) eventually proves to be the expression of an insurmountable blockage leading to sociopolitical upheaval, the coincidence of this crisis with that rocking the Arabic-speaking region can hardly be interpreted in terms of cause and effect.

The fact that the crisis in Arab countries is clearly limited to them as far as its peculiar modalities are concerned plainly shows that specific factors are at work. It is neither a symptom of the general crisis of globalised capitalism, nor even a symptom of the crisis of “neoliberalism”, the dominant management mode in the current phase of capitalist globalisation. To identify the specific factors at work, we must compare the Arabic-speaking region with others on the periphery of the world economic system – particularly the countries of the Afro-Asian group of which the Arab region is a part.

Nevertheless, Marx’s paradigmatic thesis on revolution should not be ignored when explaining the ongoing upheaval in the Arab world. Simply, we have to derive variants that are less sweeping in historical scope: the development of productive forces can be stalled, not by the relations of production constitutive of a generic mode of production (such as the relation between capital and wage-labour in the capitalist mode of production), but, rather, by a specific modality of that generic mode of production. In such cases, it is not always necessary to replace the basic mode of production in order to overcome the blockage. A change in modality or “mode of regulation” does, however, have to occur.

Such changes do not necessarily presuppose social or even political revolutions. They can result from economic crises that induce the economically dominant class to change tack. Capital has negotiated more than one such turn in the course of its history. Both the 1930s Great Depression, followed by World War II, and the generalised recession of the 1970s precipitated sharp changes of tack, leading in two diametrically opposed directions. Certainly, the social balance of forces entered into the equation in both cases: the workers’ movement was strengthened by the first crisis, weakened by the second. But these were not periods of social revolution or counter-revolution in the proper sense.

These changes in the management mode occurring within a basic continuity of capitalist relations of production illustrate, in some sense, another of Marx’s theses. He presents it shortly after the passage in the 1859 Preface that serves as the epigraph to this chapter:

No social formation is ever destroyed before all the productive forces for which it is sufficient have been developed, and new superior relations of production never replace older ones before the material conditions for their existence have matured within the framework of the old society.2

Yet there also exist situations in which the development of productive forces is held back, not by a “simple” crisis in regulation or management mode, but by a particular type of social domination, one sustaining a specific variant of the generic mode of production. In such cases, the blockage can be overcome only if the dominant social group is overthrown, that is, only by a social revolution. Yet that revolution will not necessarily precipitate a radical change in the mode of production. We may here make use of Albert Soboul’s definition of “revolution” as a “radical transformation of social relations and political structures on the basis of a renewed mode of production”,3 as long as we admit that such renewal may be limited to a profound change in the modalities of a mode of production, with no accompanying change in the generic mode itself.

For capitalist development can be blocked by a distinct configuration of dominant social groups sustaining one particular modality of capitalism, rather than by the general relations of production between wage labourers and capitalists and the attendant property relations (private ownership of the social means of production). Later we will discuss the conditions under which such a blockage can be overcome, as well as the social dynamics that may accompany that process. What matters for present purposes is the blockage itself. We must therefore first determine whether, in the case at hand, such a blockage exists.

The Facts

The most frequently cited indicator of economic development – in the sense of growth, considered without regard to other aspects of human development – is an increase in gross domestic product (GDP), both in absolute terms and also relative to the size of the population. This indicator is, of course, very much open to discussion (a point to which we will return), but it does provide some idea of the relative development of the production of goods and services: its growth over time as well as variations in the pace of development in the various countries and regions of the world.

It so happens that, of all the regions still referred to as the Third World, the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region is the one facing the most severe developmental crisis. After the 1960s, when most of this region’s economies were dominated by the public sector in line with a state-led developmentalist perspective, the 1970s saw the inauguration and gradual extension of policies of infitah (opening), the name then given to economic liberalisation in the Arabic-speaking region. Infitah went hand-in-hand with public sector privatisation and an erosion of social gains. Certain MENA countries, notably Egypt, thus prefigured the “structural adjustment programmes” that would be imposed on the whole planet from the 1980s onwards in the framework of neoliberal deregulation.4

The available data plainly show that the two decades between 1970 and 1990 saw stagnation in per capita GDP in MENA: the GDP’s per capita average annual growth rate (at constant prices in local currencies) was even slightly less than nil. Although that growth rate became positive again in the two following decades, it remained at levels well below – 50% below – the average rate of increase in developing countries (Figure 1.1).

Figure 1.1 (Source: UNICEF)

It goes without saying that the regional average masks disparities between individual cases. But the fact remains that most of the positive performances in the 1970–90 period were inferior, or at best equal, to the average performance in developing countries. Egypt was set apart from the other countries in the region with an average annual rate of 4.1% in 1970–90; this growth rate, substantially higher than that posted by the other MENA countries, was fuelled by Egypt’s rising oil revenues, remittances from migrant Egyptians working abroad, aid grants from oil monarchies and Western powers and the expansion of tourism. (All these factors, combined with compensation for the nadir due to the October 1973 war, explain the 1976 apogee.) In 1990–2010, however, Egypt’s growth rate fell to 2.7%, despite exceptional performance from 2006 to 2008 (to which we will return).5 For the forty years under consideration, Egypt’s per capita GDP exhibited a declining trend line (Fig. 1.2).

Figure 1.2 (Source: World Bank)

It is not unreasonable to suppose, of course, that MENA’s poor results in per capita GDP find their explanation less in exceptionally slow economic growth than in exceptionally rapid demographic growth. It is indeed true that the region’s average population growth rate was the world’s highest in the 1970–90 period, thanks to the growth spurt in the population owing to 1960s’ social reforms and health care sector investment. Population growth was, however, stabilised in 1990–2010 at a level lower than sub-Saharan Africa’s (Fig. 1.3).6 It was still 17% higher than in Southern Asia in the same period. However, GDP per capita growth was 47% lower in MENA than in Southern Asia (Fig. 1.3).

Figure 1.3 (Source: UNICEF)

Let us also point out that the average annual population growth rate in Arab countries – 2.2% in 2010, according to the World Bank’s World Databank – has been driven upwards by the unusually high figures of certain oil monarchies whose population growth is to a great extent due to the importation of migrant labour. In 2010, all the countries represented in the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) showed average population growth rates above the Arab average; they ran from 2.4% for the Saudi kingdom to 9.6% for Qatar, with 2.6% for Oman, 3.4% for Kuwait, 7.6% for Bahrain, and 7.9% for the United Arab Emirates (UAE). For the other MENA countries, again in 2010, the rates were, according to the same source: Lebanon, 0.7%; Morocco and Tunisia, 1%; Algeria and Libya, 1.5%; Egypt, 1.7%; Syria, 2%; Jordan, 2.2%; Mauritania, 2.4%; Sudan, 2.5%; Iraq, 3%; and Yemen, 3.1%.7

It should also be noted that MENA GDP growth figures over the four decades in question have in large measure been determined by the sharp fluctuations in oil prices during this time,