The euphoria was palpable. Not just on the streets of Cairo, but across the American political spectrum, the joy that Hosni Mubarak resigned bordered on delirium. On both the left and the right, commentators waxed lyrical about how democracy had finally arrived thanks to the brave Egyptian people.
Everyone seems to have become an advocate of universal human freedom. We are told (today by Barack Obama, but previously by George W. Bush) that this is a basic human desire, no less prevalent in the Middle East than in our own land. But is it?
People seem to forget that it was the Egyptian military that deposed Mubarak. Nor are they distressed that the generals subsequently dismissed the parliament. Free and honest democratic elections have been promised, and they are confident these will occur.
People seem to forget the American Revolution. George Washington was offered the monarchy, but refused. He even persuaded his officers not to march against congress for unpaid salaries. American believed then, and certainly now, that the military should be under civilian control.
Yet is this what the Egyptian generals believe? Remember, Mubarak was a general who once promised free and fair elections. Without a tradition of democracy, people can dance in the streets, mouth the correct words, and yet what they desire never come to fruition.
Democracy has several prerequisites. The first is that when elections occur, the losers step down. No matter how much they despise the winners, they must allow them to take office. In the Untied States this happens every few years, but in the Arab world it almost never does. Politicians like Mubarak routinely rig elections, or, as occurred in Algeria, when they lose they simply declare the results null and void.
Then there is the matter of compromise. Compromise is difficult. Giving up part of what you want so that the other side can get some of what it wants can feel like a defeat. People who fight for a cause can be very stubborn. This is true in America, but is even more true where democracy has never existed.
When the U.S. Democrats won an historic electoral victory two years ago, they were in no mood to compromise. They decided that they had to votes to steamroller through any legislation they desired—irrespective of the opinions of the opposition or the public. And they did, as with the stimulus and ObamaCare.
But then there was another election. In it, the American public expressed its judgment of this lack of compromise. It decided that extremism was not wanted. Moderation may seem wishy-washy; nevertheless it is built into our political DNA.
The same is not true in Egypt. Not long ago a poll asked Egyptians what they thought of apostasy. By a margin of four-to-one, they affirmed their belief that individuals who convert out of Islam deserve the death penalty. If they decide to become Christians, they must be killed.
This is not democratic tolerance. This does not demonstrate a willingness to compromise. In Europe and America, people are free to become Muslims, but the reverse is not possible in the Middle East. In the Middle East, there is only one correct choice, hence Egyptian Copts are right to worry about their future.
Does anyone actually believe that the crowds in Egyptian cities were inclined to tolerate opposing opinions? Does anyone believe that their rock-throwing, chanting, and Molotov cocktails will disappear in favor of reasoned arguments between political parties if there is an election of which they disapprove?
Tolerating a loyal opposition and making compromises are cultural accomplishments that take time to evolve. They did not take root in Germany after World War I with the result that Hitler took power. They are currently having a difficult time taking root in Iraq where home-made bombs continue to take lives—this despite the presence of American troops.
Why then the optimism that democracy has suddenly blossomed in the hearts of millions of Egyptians?
Melvyn L. Fein. Ph.D.
Professor of Sociology
Kennesaw State University
Sunday, February 20, 2011
Sunday, February 13, 2011
The Fein Rule
Universities are liberal places. My college, Kennesaw State University, is no exception. Its classrooms and politics are as dominated by left-wing sensibilities as almost any other institution of higher education in the United States. Just how far this tendency has gone was illustrated by what happened to me when I served as a member of our Faculty Senate.
Let me begin at the beginning. I had myself appointed to the senate after several of its senior members persuaded me that I had something special to offer. They were liberals, and perfectly aware I was not, but they knew me and believed that my perspective might be beneficial—as a minority voice.
At first all went well. But after many months, a quintessential liberal issue rose to prominence. Several gay professors came before the senate to ask its support for a policy they preferred. They wanted university endorsement of gay marriage, and the benefits this implied.
When I argued that this was not something with which an academic body representing the entire faculty should be involved, I got a polite hearing. Note, however, that at no time did I contend that gay marriage was wrong or that gays did not deserve health benefits. I merely suggested that if faculty members favored these policies, they should do so as individuals.
At first, this tack made no visible waves. Nevertheless, when I repeated its essence after the advocates of gay marriage intensified their campaign, the annoyance of many of my fellow senators became palpable. Their disapproval was written on their faces and the way they peremptorily dismissed my arguments. They were especially exasperated when I was at my most articulate.
And then the shoe dropped. Out of nowhere a new policy was proposed for the senate. This was a rule that had never before been operative and one that I subsequently learned was directed expressly at me. But let me digress. I am not merely articulate. I am very assertive. When I have something to say, I am never shy about seeking the floor. Nor am I easily intimidated. When I am told I am wrong, I do not timidly fold my tent, but seek to demonstrate why I might be right. While I realize I am sometimes mistaken, and can be persuaded of this, I do not back down simply because others disagree.
To return to the matter at hand, this new speaking policy was simple. From now on no senator would be allowed to talk for more than two minutes and for no more than twice on any given subject. Statements would be timed and monitored, and violators no longer recognized irrespective of what was at stake.
For my own part, I did not mind the two-minute limitation on particular assertions. I am fairly succinct. While I can be dramatic, I rarely require much time to make my points. No, it was the limitation of two statements on any subject that struck a nerve.
Consider what this meant. If I offered a minority opinion—and bear in mind that as a non-liberal I was often apt to be in the minority—and then someone rose to differ with me, I could present a rebuttal. But then if another senator presented a second counter-argument, I was obliged to remain silent. The other side, of course, if it had many subscribers, could continue to bombard the forum with its beliefs.
The upshot of this Fein Rule was that genuine dialogues were forbidden. No longer could the senate operate as a deliberative body. It now became the captive of any well-organized majority. Minority rights and unpopular perspectives became a relic of the past. If it happened that the majority was wrong, the odds were that this would not be discovered until the policy failed.
Liberals are fond of describing themselves as democratic. Indeed, they did so when I objected to this procedure. Their rebuttal was that it allowed more people to speak before the body. When I responded that it was up to the chair to recognize speakers; that I could not just rise as the spirit moved me, this argument was cut off. I had my two bites of the apple and was declared out of order.
Liberals believe in democracy—for liberals. We saw this in the U.S. House of Representatives when Nancy Pelosi repeatedly refused to allow Republicans to offer competing legislation. Her attitude was, “We won the election. We’ll do as we want.” Of course, when the Democrats lost control of the House, they suddenly became advocates of bipartisanship.
Democracy, if it is to exist, must be defended. This is true even on college campuses. But do not expect liberals to join in this campaign if they perceive it to be detrimental to even a momentary desire of their own. It is up to the rest of us to be on the alert.
Melvyn L. Fein. Ph.D.
Professor of Sociology
Kennesaw State University
Let me begin at the beginning. I had myself appointed to the senate after several of its senior members persuaded me that I had something special to offer. They were liberals, and perfectly aware I was not, but they knew me and believed that my perspective might be beneficial—as a minority voice.
At first all went well. But after many months, a quintessential liberal issue rose to prominence. Several gay professors came before the senate to ask its support for a policy they preferred. They wanted university endorsement of gay marriage, and the benefits this implied.
When I argued that this was not something with which an academic body representing the entire faculty should be involved, I got a polite hearing. Note, however, that at no time did I contend that gay marriage was wrong or that gays did not deserve health benefits. I merely suggested that if faculty members favored these policies, they should do so as individuals.
At first, this tack made no visible waves. Nevertheless, when I repeated its essence after the advocates of gay marriage intensified their campaign, the annoyance of many of my fellow senators became palpable. Their disapproval was written on their faces and the way they peremptorily dismissed my arguments. They were especially exasperated when I was at my most articulate.
And then the shoe dropped. Out of nowhere a new policy was proposed for the senate. This was a rule that had never before been operative and one that I subsequently learned was directed expressly at me. But let me digress. I am not merely articulate. I am very assertive. When I have something to say, I am never shy about seeking the floor. Nor am I easily intimidated. When I am told I am wrong, I do not timidly fold my tent, but seek to demonstrate why I might be right. While I realize I am sometimes mistaken, and can be persuaded of this, I do not back down simply because others disagree.
To return to the matter at hand, this new speaking policy was simple. From now on no senator would be allowed to talk for more than two minutes and for no more than twice on any given subject. Statements would be timed and monitored, and violators no longer recognized irrespective of what was at stake.
For my own part, I did not mind the two-minute limitation on particular assertions. I am fairly succinct. While I can be dramatic, I rarely require much time to make my points. No, it was the limitation of two statements on any subject that struck a nerve.
Consider what this meant. If I offered a minority opinion—and bear in mind that as a non-liberal I was often apt to be in the minority—and then someone rose to differ with me, I could present a rebuttal. But then if another senator presented a second counter-argument, I was obliged to remain silent. The other side, of course, if it had many subscribers, could continue to bombard the forum with its beliefs.
The upshot of this Fein Rule was that genuine dialogues were forbidden. No longer could the senate operate as a deliberative body. It now became the captive of any well-organized majority. Minority rights and unpopular perspectives became a relic of the past. If it happened that the majority was wrong, the odds were that this would not be discovered until the policy failed.
Liberals are fond of describing themselves as democratic. Indeed, they did so when I objected to this procedure. Their rebuttal was that it allowed more people to speak before the body. When I responded that it was up to the chair to recognize speakers; that I could not just rise as the spirit moved me, this argument was cut off. I had my two bites of the apple and was declared out of order.
Liberals believe in democracy—for liberals. We saw this in the U.S. House of Representatives when Nancy Pelosi repeatedly refused to allow Republicans to offer competing legislation. Her attitude was, “We won the election. We’ll do as we want.” Of course, when the Democrats lost control of the House, they suddenly became advocates of bipartisanship.
Democracy, if it is to exist, must be defended. This is true even on college campuses. But do not expect liberals to join in this campaign if they perceive it to be detrimental to even a momentary desire of their own. It is up to the rest of us to be on the alert.
Melvyn L. Fein. Ph.D.
Professor of Sociology
Kennesaw State University
Sunday, February 6, 2011
A Democratic Egypt?
Some people have gotten their hopes up. They view the recent disturbances in Egypt as an opportunity to plant democracy in the heart of a truly ancient part of the world. Nevertheless, the Obama administration has been appropriately cautious. It sensibly fears that things might go drastically awry.
And they may! The Middle East has not been fertile ground for Western style democracies. Time and again, we have seen tyrants arise, even as they promise to be champions of the people. Not long ago, Hosni Mubarak was himself one of these “reformers.”
The difficulty is that the Middle East is not like us. We live in a techno-commercial society, whereas nations in that part of the world cling to an agrarian-military tradition. As a result, democracy is integral to our history, but not theirs.
True, some non-Western nations have in recent years made enormous strides toward democratic institutions. Japan and South Korea immediately come to mind. But these countries have also moved toward techno-commercial institutions. Both have roaring market economies grounded in technological sophistication.
The Middle East is different. Most of it (save Israel) is still grounded in a medieval mindset. Its people’s have neither the skills, the attitudes, nor the economic resources to sustain governments over which they are allowed veto power.
Consequently, when ordinary people rise against oppressive regimes, the outcome is usually the imposition of an equally repressive government. The outstanding contemporary example, of course, is Iran. But this tradition also existed in medieval Europe. Back then, popular insurrections, called Jacqueries, invariably gave way to the re-imposition of aristocratic rule.
The reason was simple. The ordinary people were not organized to rule. However optimistic their hopes, they did not have the staying power to implement these. We may well be witnessing the same sort of deterioration in Iraq. Despite American encouragement—and the horrendous example of Saddam Hussein—Iraqi politicians are by habit intransigent and its average citizens are given to violence when frustrated.
Into this sort of vacuum generally rides the military or the clergy. Either the army takes over and re-imposes order or the clerics do the same and impose a theocracy. Sometimes—as was the case in the Middle Ages—religious and military power is combined in a single source. Then, as occurred in Iran, the repression becomes truly draconian.
So what is to be done? The first step is to realize that our ability to control events is limited. We can encourage democratic elements, as well as provide limited assistance in organizing, but as outsiders with an alien tradition we are liable to spark opposition merely because we are different. From the point of view of the indigenous people, we will appear to be invaders bent on conquest. Moreover, our very successes will remind them of their own failures.
This means that sometimes our only option is to do nothing, while hoping for the best. We can mouth words intended to offend none of the participants and cross our fingers that those who hate us are not provided with an excuse to impose a regime hostile to our interests.
But we can do something more. We can turn to a “containment” policy, much as we did with Stalinist Russia. Our goal then was to protect ourselves by limiting the ability of a potential opponent to harm us. We did not actively attempt to control the Soviet Union, but sought to limit the contagion.
If a similar policy is followed with respect to the Middle East, it is doubtful there will be meaningful reforms for the foreseeable future—by which I mean at least a century. Samuel Huntington was correct in describing this as a clash of civilizations and further implying that civilizations do not change quickly.
If so, our best hope is to become less dependent on foreign oil. If this resource ceases to be a source of wealth for those who hate us, they may sink back into an impotent poverty. And if they do, we may not need to worry about how they choose to govern themselves.
Melvyn L. Fein. Ph.D.
Professor of Sociology
Kennesaw State University
And they may! The Middle East has not been fertile ground for Western style democracies. Time and again, we have seen tyrants arise, even as they promise to be champions of the people. Not long ago, Hosni Mubarak was himself one of these “reformers.”
The difficulty is that the Middle East is not like us. We live in a techno-commercial society, whereas nations in that part of the world cling to an agrarian-military tradition. As a result, democracy is integral to our history, but not theirs.
True, some non-Western nations have in recent years made enormous strides toward democratic institutions. Japan and South Korea immediately come to mind. But these countries have also moved toward techno-commercial institutions. Both have roaring market economies grounded in technological sophistication.
The Middle East is different. Most of it (save Israel) is still grounded in a medieval mindset. Its people’s have neither the skills, the attitudes, nor the economic resources to sustain governments over which they are allowed veto power.
Consequently, when ordinary people rise against oppressive regimes, the outcome is usually the imposition of an equally repressive government. The outstanding contemporary example, of course, is Iran. But this tradition also existed in medieval Europe. Back then, popular insurrections, called Jacqueries, invariably gave way to the re-imposition of aristocratic rule.
The reason was simple. The ordinary people were not organized to rule. However optimistic their hopes, they did not have the staying power to implement these. We may well be witnessing the same sort of deterioration in Iraq. Despite American encouragement—and the horrendous example of Saddam Hussein—Iraqi politicians are by habit intransigent and its average citizens are given to violence when frustrated.
Into this sort of vacuum generally rides the military or the clergy. Either the army takes over and re-imposes order or the clerics do the same and impose a theocracy. Sometimes—as was the case in the Middle Ages—religious and military power is combined in a single source. Then, as occurred in Iran, the repression becomes truly draconian.
So what is to be done? The first step is to realize that our ability to control events is limited. We can encourage democratic elements, as well as provide limited assistance in organizing, but as outsiders with an alien tradition we are liable to spark opposition merely because we are different. From the point of view of the indigenous people, we will appear to be invaders bent on conquest. Moreover, our very successes will remind them of their own failures.
This means that sometimes our only option is to do nothing, while hoping for the best. We can mouth words intended to offend none of the participants and cross our fingers that those who hate us are not provided with an excuse to impose a regime hostile to our interests.
But we can do something more. We can turn to a “containment” policy, much as we did with Stalinist Russia. Our goal then was to protect ourselves by limiting the ability of a potential opponent to harm us. We did not actively attempt to control the Soviet Union, but sought to limit the contagion.
If a similar policy is followed with respect to the Middle East, it is doubtful there will be meaningful reforms for the foreseeable future—by which I mean at least a century. Samuel Huntington was correct in describing this as a clash of civilizations and further implying that civilizations do not change quickly.
If so, our best hope is to become less dependent on foreign oil. If this resource ceases to be a source of wealth for those who hate us, they may sink back into an impotent poverty. And if they do, we may not need to worry about how they choose to govern themselves.
Melvyn L. Fein. Ph.D.
Professor of Sociology
Kennesaw State University
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