The Self-Immolation Protests in Arab Spring: Why and Why Now?

This post is meant to raise questions about an aspect of the Arab Spring that has confused me since the very beginning. I must state right at the beginning that I do not have the answers, or even the inklings of an answer. I am hoping to get a discussion started so I can begin to understand this phenomenon, so apologies in advance if you are disappointed!

As is well-known now, the uprising in Tunisia began with a young street vendor, Mohamed Bouazizi, setting himself on fire in protest against the humiliations and hardships he faced daily.  The act triggered off mass protests, leading to the removal of the country's long time dictator, Zine el Abidine Ben Ali, which in turn ignited mass protests across the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region, bringing down two more dictators in 2011 and rattling the regimes of pretty much every other despot.

During the same period, a strange and disturbing pattern has emerged in the region: protest by self-immolations.

In Tunisia, there were 107 incidents in the first six months of 2011. Algeria reported multiple incidents as well through 2011, with at least four deaths.  In the immediate aftermath of the Tunisian uprising, there were similar incidents reported in Egypt as well, although these seemed to dwindle once Mubarak stepped down. A scan of these incidents in Egypt seems to place them in the days soon after the Tunisian revolution with a marked decline once the January 25th movement kicked off (perhaps closest to copycat acts as discussed later).  In the first three weeks of 2012 alone, there have been the cases of a man in Jordan and a depressed mother of a prisoner in Bahrain, both of whom died, as well as five protesters in Morocco, two  of whom remain in serious condition in the hospital.  In 2011, there were cases of self-immolation reported in Saudi Arabia, Mauritania, Ethiopia and Syria, so covering a rather large range of geography and conditions.

One aspect of these incidents are that many of these involve people protesting quite small yet significant acts of injustice: trouble in claiming pensions, electricity being cut off, protesting the right to food or shelter, or simple dignity as in case of Bouazizi.  Much of the press both in the region, as well overseas, has attributed self-immolation protests to the despair felt by the people and their anger at quotidian humiliations. No doubt, both of these play a significant part in these acts, although they are by no means sufficient as explanation.

However, what escapes understanding is the emergence of this specific act of protest in a region where there is no tradition of self-immolation for any reason.  First of all, suicide is unacceptable under Islam, which is one reason that suicide attacks have been so heatedly debated in the region and have only a grudging acceptance by most mainstream Islamic scholars (this is not to say that there are not ample supporters of the tactic in both religious and political circles). The point is that even suicide attacks can be justified only thinly on theological grounds and by specific schools of Islamist thought; most groups - including (in)famously the Palestinians ones - use the practice for a range of strategic and tactical purposes, especially political/societal survival, retaliation and competition.  More importantly, suicide attacks build on earlier historical memories and ideals, and are often explained as the latest manifestations of militant heroic martyrdom, and thus within - albeit on the margins - of older martial traditions of jihad. It is precisely this final reasoning that is employed by contemporary theologians to make sense of this tactic.

However, the case of self-immolation is quite different. It clearly violates the Islamic principle of not violating the body and/or corpse, especially one's own. It cannot be fit into any militant heroic martyrdom tradition as it is an act of protest turned entirely upon oneself.

Indeed, it may only vaguely fit Durkheim's concept of 'altruistic suicide', despite the attempts by the media to fit these acts into a 'martyrdom' narrative. Much of the media and activist narrative around self-immolations is that some how they were acts of protest, motivated by defiance or a Durkheim-ian 'over-integration into the society' and therefore a sense of responsibility towards the larger collective. Instead, if anything, these acts, at least on a closer look seem to be closer to Durkheim's definition of the 'fatalistic suicide,' one that he had even in 1897 dismissed as of little consequence to modern societies (how premature that was!!).  However, it is fatalistic suicide that Durkheim had associated most with 'over-regulation' or moral or physical despotic excess, noting that it occurred amongst populations who felt their futures were blocked and their natural passions oppressed.

However, self-immolation is not simply an act of fatalistic suicide. It is a particularly public way to self-destruct, holding within the act itself incredible expressive, symbolic potential, which is the primary reason for its longevity in certain societies. As an act of protest, and perhaps more closely linked to Durkheim's notion of altruistic suicide, it is deeply rooted within the Indic traditions as well amongst various Buddhist societies of Asia. After all, it was the monks of South Vietnam immolating themselves in protest in 1963 that brought the term into common usage in western media.  Again in India, it has been used in protests, with the Mandal protests seeing some of the most prominent incidents.  In the past few years, Tibetan monks have continued the practice as a form of protest against Chinese occupation.

Yet none of this makes sense why this act has emerged in the MENA region, in cultures as diverse as Tunisia, Bahrain and Egypt? Or indeed why it has emerged in the region at this particular time. There is little by way of influence or motivation or trajectories that I can find for self-immolations as a form of protest in these countries. Moreover, the region, as far as I can see, does not have any historical tradition of self-immolation, not only for protest but for any reason at all.  Even if we took a misplaced essentialist stance that the region is tied by Islam as a binding factor (a fallacy in itself), we would be left wondering why then a significant amount of the population would choose to defy the religion's crucial precepts.

Again, if we attempt to write these off as fatalistic suicides, we are left wondering why the people across an extraordinary range of backgrounds, cultures, genders, and ages would choose the same method?  If these are to be considered copy-cat acts, and we may well agree that the immolations in Egypt in January 2011 could well count as such, we are left wondering at the gaps of time or indeed the complications in the cluster contagion that create reasoning anomalies (I could be wrong here so expert dissent is very welcome).  How would we explain Bouazizi self-immolation in Tunisia in December 2010 as a point of contagion for Badriya Ali's act in Bahrain in January 2012. The copy cat explanation begins to seem a little too pat to hold water, at least for me.

Furthermore, there is the aspect of media narrative and attention. It is true that Bouazizi's act was immediately declared an act of martyrdom by political activists, but there is little evidence that he had acted out of political principles. Moreover, if we consider the acts following his as copycats, then what triggered his own choice of self-immolation as the method of self-destructive protest?

Self-immolation is a particularly horrific and public act of suicide, but it is also primarily an act of expressive violence. It has few instrumental goals that can be served, beyond the self-destruction of the individual. In contrast to the Buddhist monks of Vietnam or Tibet, whose social and moral status imbues them with greater symbolic potency, or the students in India where a long tradition of self-immolation provides a moral legitimacy to the act, in MENA region, these are in some ways lone acts, excised from the theology of the dominant religion and alien to the cultural ethos of the societies of the actors.  As far as I have been able to research, there have been no fatwas or other theological support from Islamic clerics or schools for these acts (not a surprise!).  The declarations of martyrdom have been generated primarily from the activists, who in many countries listed above are still battling for not only political space but also legitimacy, so their impact can be queried.

The question of why self-immolation and why now remains thus unanswered.  The press may call it a result of daily humiliations, or attribute it it lack of jobs; political activists may declare these political acts of martyrdom,  but these are justifications not explanations of the phenomenon. I can only hope we don't need many more of these for that explanation to emerge.

Full disclosure: I explored the concepts of heroic martyrdom, self-immolation and altruistic suicide in my last novel so this is a topic that I have long attempted to understand.

Final note: I asked on twitter about the topic and want to thank the following for their insights and thoughts: @FouadMD, @princeofthenile @Thabet_UAE for their generosity in discussing the topic with me.

Osama bin Laden: What Next for Pakistan

Osama bin Laden was killed earlier this week, a result inevitably determined and irrevocably scheduled on 9/11, although there are many who insist he was on USA's radar well before the destruction of the iconic towers; he may well have been, but on that September morning, his fate was ensured.  That he was killed in Pakistan, in the heart of the country's military establishment, may surprise the naive but seems equally inevitable to someone who not only spent a few years growing up in General Zia's Islamabad but has followed that country closely in the past two decades.

I do not want to go over again over the numerous bits of rumour, political spin and misinformation about the operation that resulted bin Laden's death. Instead, I want to reflect on some of the country's past and perhaps try to glimpse a bit of its immediate future. And for that I go back to a blistering hot summer day in 1980 when we arrived in that country.

For a family used to the rough living of forward camps in India's north-east (one of our homes was a bamboo hut with dirt floors), Islamabad seemed gleamingly modern: wide avenues that seemed to echo Lutyen's Delhi with more than a dash of scenes from American movies.  Rawalpindi and Lahore, however, were similar to crowded, untidy towns from our own side of the border, except that people were either exaggeratedly friendly (something that discomfited me) or erupted into mysterious aggression.  Peshawar was chaotic but friendly and once past the Jamrud Fort - where national government writ did not apply - we felt as safe amongst the Pathan warlords as we would in Indian territory.

Strangely, for a country with two of its neighbours engaged in bloody wars (Afghanistan and Iran) through out the 1980s, with seemingly unending train of refugees pouring into its own impoverished villages and towns, Pakistan seemed single-mindedly focussed on one issue: India. 

It took a long time for me to understand that India posed an existential threat to Pakistan in a way that war on its other borders could not: cleaved from India, the country desperately needed a national  identity that would not only distinguish it clearly from its eastern neighbour but also confirm a sense of self that would not need no reference to India. Unlike most Indians who feel that our shared features are grounds for friendly relations, I learned - thanks to years in Pakistani schools - that those very commonalities threaten the ongoing national project of Pakistani self-hood. 

To ensure this distinct identity, General Zia had, not long before, embarked on a national "Islamisation" programme. The extent and impact of this decades-long national programme is perhaps little understood: with ample Saudi financial support, the programme was meant to steadily construct an "Islamic" national identity, replacing the various streams of the faith and ancient local cultural traditions with the austere Wahhabi version imported from the Gulf.  Over time (and as 30 years of the programme bear fruit now), army and other government institutions were to be populated by these new "true Muslims," with recruitment, promotions, assignments all geared to ensure the gradual cleansing of the old guard who were seen as weak and non-Islamic (and under the new definition, therefore, un-Pakistani enough). 

At the same time, a vast change was brought to the educational curriculum: Pakistan's history was rewritten to highlight its Islamic identity and cleanse it of its Hindu, Buddhist, Jain past. We found a stark example of this at the Takshashila monastery ruins where the government guide insisted that the monks' living quarters were prison cells and the abbotts' rooms - slightly larger than the rest - were the torture and execution chambers. You see, there was no room for Buddhist glory in Zia's newly Islamising nation! None of us who had heard that guide on that day in 1983 were surprised by the destruction of the Bamiyan Buddhas in 2001: Zia's tree was bearing fruit!

Even Urdu - that wondrously hybrid linguistic miracle - suffered the same fate as it was steadily "purified" and words from Sanskrit, Prakrit and other Indic languages were replaced with Arab ones. 

What does all this have to do with Osama bin Laden, you may well ask? Well, this was also the time when Pakistan's Directorate of Inter-Services Intelligence (ISI) was increasingly empowered (it had existed since 1948) and with the long-running campaign in Afghanistan - with US support in terms of training and weaponry and Saudi funds - grew in stature. Over time, it also became increasingly strident and a powerful cell within the army, and began to establish itself as a separate centre of power, with vast funds and resources but also able to call on an unofficial cadre of ideologically driven footsoldiers from the jihadist groups it supported, funded, trained and ran. By early 1990s, the ISI was often acting against the wishes and without the knowledge of the main army brass.  At this time, army and civilian governments were often all too happy to claim ISI's successes as their own, even as some expressed reservations in private (Benazir Bhutto was one of these). It is also important to note that over time and given its involvement in Afghanistan, the ISI also became far more imbued with fundamentalist ideology than many other parts of the Pakistan state and populace. 

However, to believe that the army is some how "liberal" is a mistake: three decades of Zia's "Islamisation" have ensured that it also fully partakes of the fundamentalist ideology. There is, however, a basic difference: Pakistan's army also has impressive economic assets and political power; it also is cognizant of the need for working with the rest of the government - even the much-derided politicians - and is circumspect about maintaining its status quo.  This leads the Pakistan army to often make what may seem like "compromises" in the national and international arena, although it must be noted that the institution has been very effective in ensuring that civilians and politicians take the fall for these necessary "compromises." One notable exception to this has been Gen. Musharraf who was eased out with a gentleness that Pakistan's army can only extend to  its own.

With this backdrop in mind, it is worth looking back at the past ten years (although the Kargil fiasco is also a factor in these internal power games). Pakistan's army and civilian government have attempted to walk a very fine line: unable to check the ISI-jihadi bloc, it has attempted to maintain a facade of "alliance" with US and others in the post-9/11 "war on terror," while trying to curtail some of ISI's influence. Unfortunately, ISI (and some parts of the larger army) have shown little interest in the longer term, economic and political interests of the nation. Instead, still convinced that it - not geopolitics - defeated Soviet Union with the fabled "death-of-a-thousand-cuts," it believes it can continue unchecked: the various attacks in India, including the 2008 Mumbai ones as well as its continued machinations in Afghanistan and the country's own tribal areas, are an evidence of its convictions.

Sadly, Pakistan's policies of the past thirty years are ripping it apart today: army with its collaborating wing of civilian polity is increasingly facing a network of terrorist groups backed, funded, armed and often manned by direct and indirect members of the ISI.  This is one answer to the mystery of who the US informed (and didn't inform) and who all in Pakistan government establishment knew about bin Laden's whereabouts!  Given the situation in the country, it is likely that various parts of Pakistan's army, ISI and other goverment agencies knew different bits of information and received varying briefings. Unfortunately for Pakistan (also ultimately for bin Laden), although fortunately for the US, these various Pakistani factions are acting against each other!  

So what happens now? Terror attack warnings have already gone out across the world. There is little doubt that various groups ideologically linked to Al-Qaida will attempt to avenge his death. There is also the issue of succession to bin Laden, although he was - at time of his death - more of a symbol than a major leader of any jihadist terrorist group. However, the top spot is now available to whole array of successors and succession wars will mean that each heir-apparent will attempt to stake his claim by staging competitively spectacular attacks. 

Another aspect to consider is the timing of the operation: by most reliable accounts suggest that US had suspicions about bin Laden's location at least as far back as 2008. It also appears that they knew "almost certainly" by middle 2010 that he was at Abbottabad. It is worth keeping in mind that operations of this kind require a few months of planning, which means they would only ready by the first quarter of 2011. 

However, killing bin Laden would have yielded greater electoral benefit for Barack Obama later in the year, once the campaign had begun to heat up.  So why now? Did US fear that bin Laden would be tipped off by one side in Pakistan's internecine rivalry and escape again? But then given that last three presidents have failed, that would hardly have been a major disaster. Or did the US feel it was being rendered irrelevant to the Middle East by the events of the Arab Spring and killing bin Laden would symbolically help them assert a military, if not political, power that most of the world believes is waning? No doubt there shall be more answers in the next few weeks as more information emerges. 

However, here are my some of my predictions:  in the next eighteen months, we shall see increased violence within Pakistan as the army-civilian establishment goes up against the ISI-jihadi alliance.  The former will be attempting to salvage what is possible of the national cause while the latter will not only be driven by revenge but an increasing threat to their very survival (The Arab Spring also impacts financing and support of Islamist groups by regimes who are increasingly fighting fires on their own home-fronts).  I do not envy the average Pakistani citizen who will be caught in the cross-fire of this "informal" warfare. 

Arab Spring: Shifting Sands, Convulsing History

During the Egypt uprising, one reporter after another repeated the same mantra: the barrier of fear had been broken. And yet, once Mubarak stepped down and the media eye moved elsewhere, that mantra has not been heard nearly as often.

However in the month since Mubarak's downfall, there is ample evidence that the barrier of fear has indeed been broken. Along with that loss of fear, other walls have come tumbling down: of shame, false pride, hypocrisy: as Egyptians stormed the offices of secret police, people re-lived their torture, keen to explain and share.  They stepped inside torture devices to demonstrate the pain and humiliation they had experienced.  Men who had been raped as part of the ritual shaming by secret police spoke of their ordeals, often with heart-breaking humour mingled with awe-inspiring strength.  Young women detained, sexually assaulted and tortured by the Egyptian army have recorded and publicized their testimony in the past month, a cultural shift that is nearly cataclysmic in its symbolic and narrative worth: the shame is not of the victims but of the torturers who thought that rape and sexual assault can brand women as whores!  This is a courage of no small order!

The barrier of fear has also been broken in other parts of the region: Yemen, Bahrain, Libya, Iraq, even the brutally oppressive Saudi Arabia and Syria are seeing unrest by ordinary people with extraordinary courage. The penalty for demanding basic human dignity by these young protesters is the use of tear gas, nerve gas, and even live ammunition at the demonstrations.  Moreover, the regimes are institutionally well-entrenched, identifying the key protesters and leaders, hunting them down, arresting, torturing and killing them beyond the eyes of the cameras.  That makes even the reporting of these protests and human rights abuses by the regimes acts of courage that few of us can begin to imagine.

As an aside, and once again, it is important to point to the involvement of women in these movements. And no, none of them fit the western feminist paradigms although they do echo many of the earlier (pre-colonial) traditions of women warriors and leaders in the region itself.  They are indicators that  it is time for new paradigms, and not only for nonwhite, non-western feminisms!

New paradigms are needed not only for feminism, but also for definitions of statehood, political franchise, strategic relations, political and cultural narratives.  We are in the midst of historic times where none of the old models and certainties can hold.

So what next?

It is obvious that the Arab Spring is not about to come to a standstill.  Despite media warnings and ponderous, well-paid analysts from big name think-tanks, these movements do not look to be dying down. Yes, Bahrain is being brutally crushed by a combination of sectarian political tactics, Saudi and GCC troops, and the regime's own mercenaries from Sunni majority countries. Yes, Libya has gone into armed conflict and international (some would call it western as if the UNSC resolutions and Gaddafi's killings of civilians never happened) intervention. Yes, Saudi and Syria appear to be brutally suppressing their own uprisings.  And yes, Yemen at the time of writing this has lived through a Bloody Friday and moving towards a coup or regime change (only time will tell).

Yet none of the events unfolding fit the currently existing theoretical and political models: Hamas and PL both cracked down on the youth demanding a united Palestinian front. Syrians are out in their thousands to demand change even as Vogue writes glowing articles about the dictator's "democratic" home and fashion plate wife (Hang on to that issue: it will be the equivalent of a praise piece for Marie Antoinette for our times; a true historic artefact!)  Morocco's king seems to be trying to outrun the breezes of Arab spring while Oman seems to be veering madly between reform and deep regime freeze.  Saudi kingdom has once again tried to buy off its population, a measure that seems almost sure to fail.

However, despite the specificities of history, culture and circumstance, the region is tied by a crucial commonality: the fear of regimes seems to have melted. The youth - often educated, disenfranchised, yet politically focussed, are stepping up to demand all the same privileges many in the western world take for granted: security, rule of law, a voice in their own lives and future, opportunity and human dignity.

Of course, many are facing apparently unsurmountable difficulties: the regimes are heavily armed by western weapons, often supported politically and economically by western powers.  Many have deep financial links with the "new global elite" who have little interest in welfare or even fate of the common people. Moreover, for decades, financial and geo-strategic interests have generally trumped human rights. That - I have said before - has been a short-sighted strategy especially on part of the western nations who at least talk of human rights. It is understandably a product of centuries of colonial thinking on part of Europe and by extension the US (and in a limited way, Russia).  Now, with the first breeze of Arab Spring, the lacunae in that policy lie exposed.

There is no stopping the change occurring in the region. Although there may be setbacks, brutal crackdowns, even temporary freezes in the uprisings, we stand at the beginning of a long process of historic change. Most importantly, none of it is really controllable by foreign powers, regardless of their financial, political and military interests. Just as Egypt and Tunisia threw off their dictators by themselves, and are continuing to stumble and struggle on the path to political growth on their own, the rest of the countries shall do the same.

An intervention - as in Libya - may be of temporary help but it is necessary to note that even the opposition council there has insisted that they be allowed to make the change for themselves. This is a key factor to keep in mind: assistance will be welcome (as has been the case in Libya) but the old colonialist paradigm of "saving people from themselves" is a long buried ideal.

It is also worth noting that it is not only western states who are unable to grasp, manage and react to these historic shifts. As the UN resolution on Libya demonstrated, India and Brazil are too tied their own postcolonial histories to be able to see into the future.  Russia and China have also reverted to knee-jerk "west vs rest" divisions, driven of course by their own business and political interests, although these seem shortsighted.

Unfortunately, in not too far future, all nations will have to choose whether their strategic goals match the new realities emerging in the region.  This means emerging powers like Brazil and India will need to decide whether an instinctive anti-western, postcolonial reaction still holds strategic value, or should they attempt to bring their decisions in line with the emerging realities of the region.  Both will have to decide whether they want to play postcolonial victims or take their rightful place in the future as political and economic powerhouses, especially as the latter comes with great responsibility.

As Libya shows, international lines are increasingly blurred and the only real way out is to actually LISTEN to the people: this is a lesson not only for the dictators in the region but also the international community that has long listened to dictators, tyrants and tottering monarchies instead of the people.

In the long term, these convulsions of history are unescapable. They will continue - not on media schedules and not for the next few weeks - but into the next couple of decades as historic changes do!  At the end, those who put short term interests over long term paradigm shifts will find themselves on the wrong side of history.

What the international community needs to do is to find a fragment of the courage displayed by the common people of the region and just learn to let go of old prejudices and paradigms.  It is a brave new world coming our way and while those in the region must live through the convulsions of history at great cost to themselves, the least the rest of us can do is to face them and the changing reality with new models of culture, power, and narratives.