Analysing Middle Eastern Foreign Policies The Relationship With Europe

ANALYZING MIDDLE EAST FOREIGN POLICIES
AND THE RELATIONSHIP WITH EUROPE
At a time when the Middle East and North Africa – host to most of the world’s oil
and gas reserves – are often identified with threats of instability, ‘rogue states,’
terrorism and migration, Europe has its own particular concerns about the region
that sits on its doorstep. Yet a genuine understanding of what drives the behaviour
of these states remains elusive.
This book provides a conceptual framework for the analysis of Middle Eastern
foreign policies in general, and for understanding these states’ relations with
Europe in particular. It examines the domestic, regional and international
environments that condition these policies, and investigates the actual policy
output through a wide range of country studies drawn from the Maghreb, the
Mashreq, the Gulf and Turkey. Europe is treated here both as a target of these
foreign policies, and as part of the environment that shapes them.
This south-to-north perspective, using the tools of Foreign Policy Analysis, fills a
major gap in the literature on Euro-Middle Eastern relations. It also adds to the
study of International Relations by throwing light on wider questions about ‘Third
World’ foreign policy.
This book is an extensively revised, expanded and updated version of a special

issue of The Review of International Affairs.
Gerd Nonneman is Reader in International Relations and Middle East Politics at

Lancaster University, and a former Executive Director of the British Society for
Middle Eastern Studies.
ANALYZING MIDDLE
EAST FOREIGN POLICIES
AND THE RELATIONSHIP
WITH EUROPE
Edited by
Gerd Nonneman
First published 2005
by Routledge, an imprint of Taylor & Francis
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CONTENTS
Notes on Contributors v
Introduction 1
GERD NONNEMAN
Analyzing the Foreign Policies of the Middle East and North Africa:
A Conceptual Framework 6
GERD NONNEMAN
The Three Environments of Middle East Foreign Policy Making and

Relations with Europe 19
GERD NONNEMAN
Analyzing Moroccan Foreign Policy and Relations with Europe 43

MICHAEL WILLIS AND NIZAR MESSARI
Egyptian–European Relations: From Conflict to Cooperation 64

EMAD GAD
Globalization and Generational Change: Syrian Foreign Policy

between Regional Conflict and European Partnership 81
RAYMOND HINNEBUSCH
Lebanon and Europe: The Foreign Policy of a Penetrated State 100

TOM PIERRE NAJEM
Propaganda versus Pragmatism: Iraqi Foreign Policy in Qasim’s

Years, 1958–63 123
ALBERTO TONINI
Dynamics and Determinants of the GCC States’ Foreign Policy, with

Special Reference to the EU 145
ABDULLA BAABOOD
Revolution, Theocratic Leadership and Iran’s Foreign Policy:

Implications for Iran–EU Relations 174
ZIBA MOSHAVER
The Determinants of Turkish Foreign Policy, and Turkey’s

European Vocation 197
MUSTAFA AYDIN
Shades of Opinion: the Oil Exporting Countries

and International Climate Politics 223
PAUL AARTS AND DENNIS JANSSEN
Explaining International Politics in the Middle East: The Struggle of
Regional Identity and Systemic Structure 243
RAYMOND HINNEBUSCH
Afterword
Small States’ Diplomacy in the Age of Globalization: An Omani
Perspective 257
BADR BIN HAMAD AL BU SAID
Index 263
Notes on Contributors
Gerd Nonneman is Reader in International Relations and Middle East Politics at Lancaster
University (UK), a Council member of the European Association for Middle Eastern Studies and a
former Executive Director of the British Society of Middle Eastern Studies. Educated at Ghent
(Belgium) and Exeter Universities, he lived and worked in Iraq and has conducted research
throughout the Middle East and North Africa. He previously taught at the Universities of Exeter,
Manchester and the International University of Japan. Among his previous books are War & Peace in
the Gulf (Ithaca Press, 1991) (with Anoushiravan Ehteshami) and, as editor, The Middle East and
Europe: the Search for Stability and Integration (Federal Trust/European Commission, 1993), Political
and Economic Liberalization: Dynamics and Linkages in Comparative Perspective (Lynne Rienner,
1996), and Muslim Communities in the New Europe (Ithaca Press, 1997). He has published an extensive
range of articles and policy papers, including Terrorism, Gulf Security and Palestine: Issues for an EU-
GCC Dialogue (Robert Schuman Centre, European University Institute, 2002).
Paul Aarts is Senior Lecturer in International Relations at the Department of Political Science,
University of Amsterdam. He has published widely on Middle East politics and economics, including
five edited volumes (all in Dutch) and numerous contributions to scholarly journals (in Dutch, French,
English and Japanese) and books (in Dutch and English). His recent publications include The Oil Weapon:
a One-Shot Edition? (Abu Dhabi: ECSSR, 1999). He has undertaken consultancy work on the Middle East
for the Dutch Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the European Commission and other institutions.
Sayyid Badr bin Hamad Al Bu Said serves as Undersecretary for the Ministry of Foreign Affairs,
Sultanate of Oman. He joined the Ministry in 1989 as First Secretary, heading the Office of Political
Analysis. In 1990, he received the rank of Counselor in the Office of the Minister of State for Foreign
Affairs. In this capacity, he accompanied the Minister on numerous foreign visits and he represented
Oman in a wide range of international contexts: with the Gulf Cooperation Council, the United
Nations, the United States, the European Union, the Arab League and in the Middle East peace
process. In 1995 he was promoted to rank of Ambassador and appointed Head of the Minister’s
Office. In 1998 he was appointed Undersecretary. Sayyid Badr was educated in Oman and
subsequently at St Catherine’s College, Oxford University, where he obtained an M.Litt. in Politics,
Philosophy, and Economics.
.
Mustafa Aydin is Associate Professor of International Relations at Ankara University and the
Turkish National Security Academy. He was UNESCO Fellow at the Richardson Institute for Peace
Studies, Lancaster University (1999), and Fulbright Scholar at the John F. Kennedy School of
Government, Harvard University (2002). Besides his books and articles on Turkey, its foreign policy
and Caucasian security and geopolitics, he is currently co-editing three volumes on Turkish foreign
policy: Greek-Turkish Relations in the 21st Century: Escaping from the Security Dilemma in the Aegean
(with K. Ifantis); Turkey’s Foreign Policy in the 21st Century: A Changing Role in World Politics (with
T. Y. Ismael); and Turkish-American Relations: 200 Years of Divergence and Convergence (with C.
Erhan).
Abdulla Baabood is an Omani analyst with over 15 years of international business experience and a
keen interest in GCC economic and political development, an area on which he has presented papers
at international seminars and workshops. He is a member of a number of academic and professional
bodies and institutions and has been called on for expert briefings and brainstorming sessions at the
Royal Institute of International Affairs and the UK Foreign & Commonwealth Office. He holds an
MBA and an MA in International Relations and has just completed a PhD thesis on EU–GCC Inter-
Regional Dialogue at the University of Cambridge.
Emad Gad is a Senior Researcher at the International Relations Unit of the Center for Political and
Strategic Studies (CPSS), Al Ahram Foundation, in Cairo. He holds a PhD in Political Science, with a
thesis on ‘The Impact of World Order on International Alliances’. His research interests encompass
alliance theory, regional conflicts, the Middle East Peace Process, security dialogue in the
Mediterranean and the Middle East, European Affairs and future studies in World Order. Among
his books (in Arabic) are Palestine: The Land and the People from 1948 to Oslo Agreement (CPSS, 1999)
and, as editor, European Union: from Economic Cooperation to Common Foreign and Security Policy
(CPSS, 2001), European Union and Middle East, the Experience of the Past and Perspectives of the Future
(CPSS, 2001), The Israeli election 2001 (CPSS, 2001) and International Intervention between the Political
and the Humanitarian (CPSS, 2000).
Raymond Hinnebusch is Professor of International Relations and Middle East Politics at the
University of St Andrews in Scotland. His most recent publications include The International Relations of
the Middle East (Manchester University Press, 2003) and, co-edited with Anoushiravan Ehteshami, The
Foreign Policies of Middle East States (Lynne Rienner, 2001). He has also published widely on Syrian
politics and foreign policy, including Syria: Revolution from Above (Routledge, 2000), Syria and Iran:
Middle Powers in a Penetrated Regional System (with Anoushiravan Ehteshami) (Routledge, 1997), ‘The
Politics of Economic Liberalization in Syria’, in Third World Quarterly, Vol.18, no.2, 1997, ‘Pax Syriana?
The Origins, Causes and Consequences of Syria’s Role in Lebanon’, in Mediterranean Politics, Vol.3,
no.1, 1998, and Syria and the Middle East Peace Process (with Alastair Drysdale) (Council on Foreign
Relations Press, 1991).
Dennis Janssen is completing postgraduate studies in International Relations at the University of

Amsterdam.
Nizar Messari is an Assistant Professor at Pontifı́cia Universidade Católica in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil.
Until 2001 he taught International Relations at Al Akhawayn University in Ifrane, Morocco. Among
his recent publications are ‘Identity and Foreign Policy – The Case of Islam in US Foreign Policy’, in
Vendulka Kubalkova (ed.) Foreign Policy in a Constructed World (New York: ME Sharpe, 2001),
‘National Security, the Political Space and Citizenship: The Case of Morocco and the Western
Sahara’, Journal of North African Studies, Vol.6, no.4, and ‘The State and Dilemmas of Security’,
Security Dialogue, Vol.33, no.4, December 2002.
Ziba Moshaver is a Research Associate at the Centre of Near and Middle Eastern Studies, at the
School of Oriental and African Studies in London. She obtained an MA from the University of
Tehran and a DPhil from Oxford University. She specializes and has taught on the politics and
international relations of the Middle East. She has published, among other works, The State and
Global Change: The Political Economy of Transition in the Middle East and North Africa (Curzon, 2001)
(edited with Hasan Hakimian).
Tom Pierre Najem is Associate Professor and Head of the Department of Politics at the University of
Windsor, Canada. He previously taught political economy at the universities of Al-Akhawayn
(Morocco) and Durham (UK). His publications include Lebanon: The Politics of a Penetrated Society
(London: Routledge, 2003), Lebanon’s Renaissance: The Political Economy of Reconstruction (London:
Ithaca Press, 2000) and, as editor, Good Governance in the Middle Eastern Oil Monarchies (Curzon-
Routledge, 2002). Among recent articles are ‘Privatisation and the State in Morocco: Nominal Objectives
and Problematic Realities’, Mediterranean Politics, Vol.6, no.2, 2001 and ‘Human Rights Development in
Morocco: A New Era?’, Mediterranean Journal for Human Rights, Vol.4, no.1, 2000.
Alberto Tonini obtained his PhD in the History of International Relations from the University of
Florence, Italy, with a published thesis on The Western Countries and the Arab-Israeli Conflict (in
Italian). He was then granted a post-PhD fellowship and he is now completing a new book on Italy
and the quest for oil during the era of Mattei’s stewardship of Italy’s state energy company, ENI.
From November 1995 to March 2003 he was National Secretary of Sesamo, the Italian Society for
Middle Eastern Studies.
Michael Willis is King Mohammed IV Fellow in Moroccan and Mediterranean Studies at St.
Antony’s College, Oxford University. He previously taught North African politics and International
Relations at Al Akhawaya University (Ifrane, Morocco). His previous publications include The
Islamist Challenge in Algeria: A Political History (Reading: Ithaca Press, 1996) and ‘The Arab Maghreb
Union’ (with Nizar Mesari) in David Lesch (ed.) History in Dispute: The Middle East Since 1945,
Vol.14 (Manly, 2003). He is currently writing a book on the comparative politics of North Africa.
Introduction
GERD NONNEMAN
This study is the outcome of a two-year project, sponsored by the Mediterranean

Program of the European University Institute’s Robert Schuman Centre for
Advanced Studies, which aimed to bring a new perspective to the study both of
Middle Eastern–European relations and of Foreign Policy Analysis of
developing states – hoping to contribute, in order words, both to the discipline
of International Relations and to Middle East Area Studies. The ‘Middle East’ is
used here as encompassing the Arab world plus Iran, Turkey and Israel
(although Israeli policy itself is not part of our enquiry, as it is not a developing
state, features quite different dynamics, and has, in any case, received
considerably more attention already). An alternative label spells out the
inclusion of the Maghreb by specifying the region of interest as ‘The Middle
East and North Africa’, or ‘MENA’ region – the latter acronym having become
familiar in a number of policy fora and initiatives.
While Euro-Arab and Euro-Middle Eastern relations have received a fair
degree of academic attention over the past decade, most of this attention has
taken one or more of five forms:
1. Overviews of a presumed Mediterranean system – whether as a security

complex, or as a merely geographically defined theatre within which
economic and security interests are played out.1
2. Studies of Europe’s interests in the MENA region.
3. Reviews of European policy.2
4. Policy recommendations for Europe.
5. Explorations of the causes of cultural misunderstanding.
Amid all this, an obvious lens through which to view one half of the equation
has been left strikingly underused: namely, Foreign Policy Analysis (FPA)
focusing on the determinants of the foreign policies of the MENA states
themselves – which would allow the South-to-North perspective to be placed in
its proper context.
This reflects a similar bias in the study of International Relations and Foreign
Policy Analysis: by and large, ‘North–South relations’ have been studied in a
fashion that reflects the ordering of those labels more generally – either because,
in most cases, the focus was on the policies and interests of the ‘Northern’ end of
the equation; or, from a more critical perspective, because of an assumption that
the key determinant was the straightjacket of Northern-imposed dependency
within which Southern states have found themselves. It is hoped that the
analytical framework suggested in the editor’s own contribution – honed
through discussion with the other members of the group – together with the case
2 ANALYZING MIDDLE EASTERN FOREIGN POLICIES
studies that follow it, may help enrich the theoretical debate on the context and
determinants of the foreign policies of states of the South – or indeed the
multifarious category of ‘small’ states.
Nine of the 13 contributions to this volume began as papers presented in a
workshop on ‘The Determinants of Middle Eastern and North African States’
Foreign Policies: with Special Reference to their Relations with Europe’,
directed by the editor, at the Third Mediterranean Social and Political Research
Meeting, Florence and Montecatini Terme, March 20–24, 2002, which was
organized by the Mediterranean Program of the Robert Schuman Centre for
Advanced Studies at the European University Institute. The workshop
participants were selected on the basis of a large number of responses to an
international call for papers, based on an early version of the editor’s
‘Framework for Analysis’ (which became the first two chapters in this study).
Intensive discussion at the workshop was followed up over the following year,
and all contributions which were eventually selected for inclusion in this study
were substantially rewritten. In addition, two further contributions, on Egypt and
Morocco, were brought in shortly after the workshop; these authors, too, became
integral members of the project and based their work on a consideration of the
framework put forward.
This book was developed from a Special Issue of the journal Review of
International Affairs, which included a book reviews section. While the latter has
no place in the book, a review article by Raymond Hinnebusch that appeared in
the Special Issue (‘Identity in International Relations: Constructivism versus
Materialism and the Case of the Middle East’) was felt to be of such importance
in deepening the exploration of some conceptual issues introduced in the volume,
that the author was asked, and gracefully agreed, to turn this paper into a proper
final chapter for the purpose of the book. The first chapter was significantly
amended for the book version, to bring greater clarity and comprehensiveness to
the conceptual framework, hopefully furthering more effectively our aim of
integrating the study of International Relations (IR) with that of the Middle East.
The second chapter was extensively updated. Minor corrections were also
introduced in a number of other chapters. In a sense, therefore, the book is
already in its ‘revised and expanded second edition’ from the start.
The common starting framework and subsequent exchange and coordination,
however, did not mean that the contributors were wholly constrained: where
variations on, departures from, or even clear disagreements with the original
framework were judged appropriate, either in conceptual terms or because
authors felt particular emphases and formats of presentation better brought out
the salient points of their argument, this was encouraged. We hope the reader
will agree the result is all the more enriching for it.
The first chapter suggests an analytical framework for studying the foreign
policies of MENA states both in general and with special reference to their
relations with Europe. It argues for an approach to studying MENA states’
foreign policy that is rooted in an eclectic (or ‘theoretically pluralist’) ‘complex
model of international politics’. Explanations in Foreign Policy Analysis, it is
argued, must be multi-level and multi-causal, as well as contextual.
INTRODUCTION 3
The levels on which MENA states’ foreign policy determinants must be

examined are domestic, regional, and international. At the domestic level, the
key categories of determinants are:
1. The nature of the state (secure/insecure, extent of ‘national’ identity

consolidation, authoritarian/liberalizing, rentier/non-rentier).
2. The nature and interests of the regime.
3. Capabilities (especially economic and technological).
4. The decision-making system.
5. Decision-makers’ perceptions and role conception.
The regional level combines, on the one hand, these states’ immediate
strategic environment; and, on the other, the transnational ideological issues of
(pan)Arabism and Islam. These latter issues retain some force as a constraint on
regimes’ foreign policy behavior, and in some cases as a resource to be deployed
in the pursuit of the maintenance of a domestic or regional constituency, against
domestic, regional or international threats. But it is suggested that their salience
has diminished relative to interests defined within the context of the territorial
state, as states and associated identities have become consolidated.
The international environment presents a range of resources (economic,
military, political) as well as challenges and constraints (threats, dependence).
The composition of this environment will vary from state to state, depending
among other things on the state’s location. The increasing hold of the
‘globalizing’ trend in economics and politics also changes the environment
within which regimes have to make their domestic and foreign policy choices.
Europe, and European policy, are part of this international environment
In ‘omnibalancing’ between the pressures and opportunities in these three
environments, foreign policy orientation and behavior has increasingly focused
on the pragmatic pursuit of regime and state interests, rather than ideology,
especially since the 1970s. These interests are essentially those of regime
survival and consolidation, and state consolidation, and the acquisition of the
political and economic means to ensure them.
In this pursuit, the chapter argues, the extent of autonomy MENA states have,
or can carve out, from ‘core’ actors in the international political economy is
greater than dependency thinking has allowed for, because, among other things,
there has been competition between core actors themselves, and core powers’
interests tend to lie in different areas and are much more globally scattered than
is the case for those of MENA states. This, it is suggested, creates potential room
for maneuver for adept leaders. The higher the level of state formation already
achieved, the greater the autonomy from domestic pressures, and hence the
easier the omnibalancing game and the attendant ‘polygamy’ (or ‘managed
multi-dependence’) are likely to become.
The second chapter homes in more specifically on the three environments
(domestic, regional, and international) that shape MENA states’ foreign
policies. Since Europe, and European policies, are a crucial part of the
external environment (regional/international) which contributes to shaping
MENA states’ own policies, not least towards Europe itself, the study also
provides a brief overview of the evolution of European policy towards the
region and its component parts. It ends with some preliminary conclusions
about MENA states’ policies towards Europe. Nine salient features are
suggested:
1. They are by and large pragmatic rather than ideological.

2. They are based in the first place on a view of Europe as a source of
economic resources and technology.
3. Nevertheless, some constraint continues to be imposed by the Palestine
issue and nationalist motifs.
4. Policies are also in some measure based on a view of Europe as a
counterweight to the US.
5. There is a residual but strongly varying effect of colonial/imperial relations.
6. MENA states differentiate between European states also because of existing
levels of economic links and interests, and because of perceived differences
in European states’ foreign policy stances.
7. There are large variations flowing from the nature, needs and location of the
MENA state/regime in question – variables that encompass both ‘material’
and ‘ideational’ factors.
8. Two significant irritants are European reluctance genuinely to open up its
own market in key sectors, such as agriculture and petrochemicals, and
European political pressure over political reform.
9. Finally, MENA policies towards Europe are individual (state) at least as
much as collective (Arab/Muslim/Gulf/Maghreb), as a consequence both of
the intra-MENA differences listed above, and Europe’s own approach,
which has been predominantly bilateral (albeit masked by a wider
framework in the case of the Mediterranean).
In subsequent chapters, a range of case studies covering the region from

Morocco to Iran engage with this framework in more detail (although, as already
indicated, it was left to authors’ judgement how explicit this should be made – or
indeed whether they wished to diverge from it – to achieve the most effective
analysis). The cases of Morocco (Michael Willis and Nizar Messari), Egypt
(Emad Gad), Syria (Raymond Hinnebusch), Lebanon (Tom Pierre Najem), the
states of the Gulf Cooperation Council (Abdulla Baabood), Iran (Ziba
Moshaver) and Turkey (Mustafa Aydın) are examined systematically, drawing
attention to the specificities of each while also allowing the reader to discover
the parallels. With Iraq in post-Saddam flux, any treatment of that country’s
foreign policy must of necessity be historical; rather than offer a survey of the
much-analyzed Saddam era, Alberto Tonini offers a useful historical
comparative case, considering the reign of Abdulkarim Qasim, the country’s
first republican president, whose foreign policy was driven and constrained by
many of the same factors. Paul Aarts and Dennis Janssen examine one
illuminating aspect of foreign policy of special importance both to the MENA
region and to Europe – viz. the positions taken by key Middle East oil producers
INTRODUCTION 5
on the question of climate change, in particular vis-à-vis the European Union.

Here, they specifically bring to bear the insights of the constructivist approach in
IR – insights which, alongside ‘materialist’ realist and systemic foci, are
introduced in the first chapter and also feature implicitly or explicity throughout
much of the text. This wider conceptual debate, and the question of regional
specificity versus universal rules in the study of International Relations, is then
finally taken up again in a second contribution by Hinnebusch, through a focus
on the struggle between regional identity and systemic structure in the Middle
East (taking his case material from across the whole region but also contrasting
the Jordanian case in particular – not represented among the country chapters –
with that of Syria).
We were fortunate in being able to also include an afterword by Sayyid
Badr bin Hamad Al Bu Said, Oman’s Under-Secretary for Foreign Affairs, on
the diplomacy of small states. Based on a lecture delivered to Belgium’s Royal
Institute for International Affairs, on the occasion of the first formal Omani-
Belgian bilateral negotiations in September 2003 not long after the initial
version of our project was completed, this presents quite independently a
senior practitioner’s view of many of the issues at the heart of this volume. A
thoughtful contribution in its own right, both in general and with regard to
Oman’s foreign policy, it links with a number of academic debates in the field
of international relations, meshing rather strikingly with some of the insights
emerging from our project. At the same time, as a view by one well-placed
actor in the making and implementation of the very policies under
examination, it can serve as a valuable ‘primary source’, illustrating some
of the themes explored in the essays that follow.
NOTES
1. The most recent is Dimitris Xenakis and Dimitris Chryssochoou, The Emerging Euro-
Mediterranean System (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001).
2. The most recent of these is Søren Dosenrode and Anders Stubkjær, The European Union and the
Middle East (London/New York: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002).
Analyzing the Foreign Policies of
the Middle East and North Africa:
A Conceptual Framework
GERD NONNEMAN
INTRODUCTION
This chapter sets out a suggested framework for looking at Middle Eastern–
European relations from the perspective of MENA states’ foreign policies. This
adds an important dimension to the usual approach which views those relations
as part of a global ‘Mediterranean’ relationship and largely from the perspective
of European policy. An obvious lens through which to view one half of the
equation has been left strikingly underused, viz. Foreign Policy Analysis (FPA)
focusing on the determinants of the foreign policies of the MENA states
themselves – which would allow the South-to-North perspective to be placed in
its proper context.
This reflects a similar ‘Northern’ bias in the study of International Relations
and Foreign Policy Analysis more generally.1 It can also be explained partly by
the predominance of European interests in this academic equation; partly by the
relatively less developed Foreign Policy Analysis discipline in the MENA
region; and partly by the relative dearth of analytical work on Middle Eastern
foreign policies tout court. With the exception of a limited number of case
studies, and a few works on the Middle East’s position in the international
political economy, there was no recent systematic attempt to study Arab foreign
policies until the publication of the collective work directed by Korany and
Dessouki in 1984. This was followed only by a second edition of the same work
in 1991,2 and then another contribution on an aspect relating to foreign policy, in
the shape of the collective volume on national security in the Arab world edited
by Korany, Brynen and Dessouki (1993).3 Only very recently has there appeared
a comparable new contribution on Middle Eastern foreign policies in the shape
of an edited volume by Hinnebusch and Ehteshami.4
There is a need, then, to develop further the systematic comparative study of
Middle Eastern foreign policy(ies) in general, and an even more glaring need to
consider Euro-Middle Eastern (or rather, ‘Middle Eastern-European’) relations
through that prism. Only thus can one hope to arrive at a genuine understanding
of what underlies MENA states’ policy orientations and behavior towards
Europe, and therefore how they might develop in the future.
THE FOREIGN POLICIES OF THE MENA STATES 7
AN APPROACH TO FOREIGN POLICY ANALYSIS ROOTED IN A

COMPLEX MODEL OF INTERNATIONAL POLITICS
In viewing the relationship instead as one part of the MENA states’ overall
foreign policy orientation, this chapter argues for an approach to studying
MENA states’ foreign policy that is rooted in an eclectic ‘complex model of
international politics’. Explanations in Foreign Policy Analysis, it is argued,
must be multi-level and multi-causal, as well as contextual.
The analysis of any country’s foreign policy is necessarily rooted in a number
of assumptions. In explaining the dynamics of International Relations (IR), and
by extension in the analysis of foreign policy, Realist thinking has focused
largely on the ‘power’ impulse and has usually taken states as monolithic actors
rationally calculating costs and benefits in a power-balancing game, the rules of
which, in the ‘anarchic society’ of world politics, are presumed as given. For
neo-realists such as Waltz, it is the international system, rather than the state-
level desire for power in its own right, that should be the prime focus of analysis,
as its anarchic structure (with different varieties of polarity) drives states to
adopt the behavioural patterns of ‘power politics’, in order to ensure survival.
Although Waltz admits that changes in the international system itself may result
from structural factors within states, he has little or no interest in descending
below the system level.5
Other schools, more usually self-defined as part of the ‘Foreign Policy
Analysis’ (FPA) discipline, do delve into the inner workings of these states,
focusing on decision-making, the bureaucracy, and/or the elites and personalities
making policy. So-called ‘neotraditional realism’ from the late 1990s, too, re-
focused on the role of leaders’ perceptions and other state-level factors, while
retaining the structural insights of neorealism.6
A relatively recent contribution that stands out, as it conceptually links the
state and system levels, comes in the shape of the so-called ‘constructivist’
approach (with Wendt as its most prominent figure), which stresses cultural and
ideational factors as co-determining both state behaviour and the structure of the
international system. For state actors, in the constructivist conception, it is the
(socially constructed) meanings of facts and objects they encounter in their
domestic and external environments, that inspires their actions. Wendt argues
that the state and the structures in which it sits shape each other, as a result of a
web of ‘intersubjective understandings’. Or, as he puts it, ‘anarchy is what states
make of it’.7
But constructivism’s equal weighting of the domestic and the system level,
and of the ideational and the material (let alone the prioritising of the domestic
in the other FPA approaches briefly referred to) runs counter (as does straight
realism) to a final set of approaches: although structuralist/materialist like neo-
realism, this set is broadly Marxian-derived (even if not all its authors would
consider themselves Marxist). Here, as in neo-realism, states’ interaction and
foreign policy are seen as shaped largely by structures beyond the state level, but
particular emphasis is given to the persistent dominance of some states – those
of the ‘rich’, ‘developed’, ‘core’ – over a group of poorer, ‘peripheral’,
‘dependent’ ones, in a capitalist international political economy. In these latter

approaches, what transpires within states may be of relatively little importance,
nor are so-called ‘dependent’ actors (a category usually covering all developing
states, as well as, in some interpretations, ‘small’ states) usually seen as having
any significant autonomy. Some versions of dependency thinking, admittedly,
see developing states’ policy as constrained, rather than simply determined,
from without. It has also been suggested that there may be coincidence of
interests between elites in ‘periphery’ and ‘core,’ while there may be conflict
between the interests of elites and populations within the periphery. There is
certainly an element of such ‘coincidence’ in the case of several MENA elites,
who are linked to the ‘core’ economies through education, leisure, commercial
interest, and the revenues they derive from the sale of hydrocarbons or aid.
There is a potential conflict also between these elites and the nationalist and
Islamist aspirations of some of the population – necessitating a careful balance
in policy so as to maintain legitimacy. But this conflict should not be
exaggerated. It is true that at particular junctures of regional/domestic crisis it
may take on special significance (imagine for instance a further worsening of the
Palestine conflict combined with an uncertain aftermath of the war on Iraq and
economic downturn in countries such as Saudi Arabia and Egypt). But such
popular aspirations are, taken separately, by no means supreme: they compete
for attention with other themes, and themselves fluctuate in importance. There
also is not the level of ‘comprador’ exploitation in the case of the Middle East
that inspired the analyses of some dependencia thinkers. Finally, partial
coincidence in such elite interests at a very general level, does not explain
specific variations in policy towards different outside actors. What this caveat
does already indicate, however, is the variations that particular kinds of
developing states may present on the usual patterns of explanation of foreign
policy (mainly related to developed states) – indeed the dependency school itself
of course focused on developing states.
In any case, it must be clear that reference to structures, even structures in
which states are seen as ‘dependent’, can never be sufficient on its own to
explain their foreign policy behavior. One would be left without explanation
for the sudden U-turn in policy of states following a domestic regime change
(such as in the case of Iran after the fall of the Shah), or policy changes that
occurred even without such a regime shift – as in the case of Egyptian
president Sadat’s sudden switch from pro-Soviet to pro-US policies in 1972.
Neither of these can be understood without taking into account a combination
of domestic forces and changes, regional linkages, and developments at the
international level, together with the role played by particular personalities and
their particular choices.
The assumptions that should guide any attempt to understand the foreign
policies of any state or group of states, then, would seem to be:8
1. The search for ‘power’ is indeed an important impetus for states and
regimes, as is that for ‘security’ – related but distinct, and in many cases the
object of the former.
2. There is, however, no single ‘national interest’ but a range of ‘national

interests’.
3. States are not monoliths but involve various groups and individuals, with
the concomitant variety of interests that may or may not be clothed as
‘national’.
4. Between interests and policy intervenes a decision-making process which
depends, inter alia, on the nature of the state, the administrative machinery
involved, the ‘bureaucratic politics’ within it,9 and the personalities and
perceptions of those involved.10
5. Foreign policy is often domestically oriented: indeed, the search for ‘power’
and ‘security’ may well in the first place be domestic (as argued by
Ayoob11).
6. The importance of decision-makers’ perceptions relates not only to such
material or political interests. Their perceptions of the nature of regional
and/or international policies, and of their own identity and role as well as
those of their state (and of how these may be related to transnational
identities), also feed into policy-making. Indeed, as the constructivist school
in IR holds, such perceptions, at a collective as well as individual level, are
likely themselves in turn to help shape the nature of the regional and inter-
national systems these states operate in.
7. States and decision makers do have to face objective external challenges
and opportunities, whether in their immediate environment or in the pattern
of global political and economic relations. These range from the more
specific and one-off – such as a military threat emerging next door after a
revolution – to broader, longer-term influences. The latter comprise the
‘structural’ context focused on by ‘structuralists’ – but such structures do
not determine outcomes, rather they constrain and enable.
In other words, my approach follows such diverse writers as Keohane,12

Gilpin,13 Snyder,14 and Siverson and Starr,15 in insisting on integrating domestic
political factors and dynamics into IR thinking – in essence opting for ‘complex
models of international politics’.16 Explanation, consequently, must inevitably
be multi-level and multi-causal. At the same time, it is difficult, at the very least,
to generalize about the precise effects of particular types of states and regimes
on foreign policy, in any one-dimensional way. Instead, ‘political effects [of
particular kinds of states and regimes] vary across different issues, situations,
and leaders’.17 Explanation, therefore, must incorporate contextuality. Hence the
crucial importance of empirical work, and of bringing area specialization and in-
depth case studies to the study of IR.
FOREIGN POLICY ANALYSIS AND DEVELOPING STATES
The extent to which foreign policy determinants in ‘developing states’ differ

from those in other states varies widely from case to case – quite apart from the
difficulty in drawing sharp boundaries between the categories in the first place.
Apart from these states’ arguably ‘dependent’ position, the causes of their
divergence from the ‘developed’ pattern would include their relative lack of
resources (here the Gulf states are atypical), lower levels of state formation (and
hence legitimacy), and – in part linked with this latter point – their susceptibility
to trans-state identities and loyalties. Arguably, too, they will often find
themselves in relatively less stable regional environments.
Third World foreign policy studies have often overplayed some factors
deemed to differentiate the two groups, at the expense of others. Thus an over-
emphasis on the role of a leader’s personality can obscure the domestic and
external environmental determinants without which the foreign policy pattern
cannot be properly interpreted; at the other extreme, an excessive focus on a
country’s ‘structural’ position obscures variations in foreign policy that may
result from particular domestic configurations and policy choices.18
I suggested elsewhere19 that the most appropriate FPA approach for
developing states – including those of the MENA region – would be:
1. Start an interpretation from the domestic environment and the survival

imperative of regime and state.20
2. View this in the context of the regional environment and transnational
ideological factors.
3. Appreciate the overall limiting and enabling effects of the international
environment.
4. Take into account decision-making structures and decision makers’
perceptions, since particular policy choices are indeed capable of making
the sort of difference that cannot be explained by structural factors alone.
MENA STATES’ FOREIGN POLICY DETERMINANTS
The foreign policy ‘role’21 of MENA states (as that of many other developing
states), must be seen as defined through the lens of the leaderships’ perceptions
about the security of their regime, about the opportunities and challenges
presented by both their domestic and their external environments; and, to
varying extents, about their own identities. These various perceptions are, of
course, interlinked. Holsti has observed that regimes’ role conceptions, often in
part built on domestic political culture, can, over time, in turn ‘become a more
pervasive part of the political culture of a nation [and thus become] more likely
to set limits on perceived or politically feasible policy alternatives’.22 Yet it is
misleading to think of a single role: foreign policy roles are plural, depending on
the issue and the arena in question. They are also changeable: as Hill has pointed
out, ‘The ‘‘belief system’’ of the practitioner is a deep-rooted legacy of
experience and political culture, but it is also an organic set of attitudes which is
capable, within limits, of self-transformation’.23 While the foreign policies of
MENA states do show long-term patterns, one of them is precisely that they also
show the adaptability that this analysis suggests.
Explanations of the foreign policies of MENA states, as those of other states,
therefore, should avoid the conceptual extremes of both realism and Marxian/
dependencia structuralism, without at the same time falling into the trap of over-
privileging purely domestic factors. Instead the enquiry should be open to the
range of possible determinants that different schools in IR theory and Foreign
Policy Analysis have drawn attention to, and systematically address them. Key
questions that need to be addressed concern the relative importance of the
following factors:
. The domestic versus the external environment.

. Personalities/leaders versus environmental factors.
. Economic versus political interests.
. The role of the decision-making process versus other factors.
. Autonomy versus dependence (or the debate over ‘agency’ versus
‘structure’).
. The relative importance of the regional system(s), especially in terms of its
(their) transnational ideational/ideological/identity features. In the MENA
case the Arab and Islamic themes are especially pertinent factors at a
regional level. Contrasting approaches towards the MENA case are adopted
in this respect by Barnett,24 who insists on the persisting importance of the
theme of Arabism, and Walt,25 who paints a Realist picture of alliance
politics; Korany and Dessouki’s edited volume adopts an intermediate
position tending towards the Barnett end of the spectrum; a decade later (and
perhaps this explains the difference), Hinnebusch and Ehteshami edge away
from this, adopting an ‘adjusted realist’ approach.26
MENA states’ foreign policies, I suggest, have in varying ways been

determined by the needs of the regimes at home, the changing availability of
resources, and the international strategic and economic framework within
which these countries have played a subordinate but not necessarily powerless
role. They have also been influenced and circumscribed by the regional
ideological and political context (with especially Islamic and Arab themes),
both because this links into the domestic security imperative, and because it
has been a genuine element among the various role conceptions of at least
some of these leaderships.
MENA countries’ policies towards, and relations with, Europe should be
examined in this light. Clearly Europe’s presence on the northern shores of the
Mediterranean will, itself, be part of the explanatory mosaic, as will be European
policies. But the explanation should go beyond the assumption that the
relationship is determined simply by the ‘Mediterranean system’ – if indeed
such a system can be thought to exist. The EU and European states are, for
MENA states, merely one part of a much wider, and complex, external
environment determining foreign policy; by the same token, even the external
environment as a whole, with its regional and global components, must be joined
to the domestic environment if any credible explanation of foreign policy – and
therefore also of policy towards Europe – is to emerge.
The levels on which MENA states’ FP determinants must be examined,
therefore, are domestic, regional, and international. At the domestic level, the
key categories of determinants are:
1. The nature of the state (secure/insecure, extent of ‘national’ identity

consolidation; authoritarian/liberalizing, rentier/non-rentier).
2. The nature and interests of the regime.
3. Capabilities – in particular economic and technological as well as
demographic resources.
4. The decision-making system.
5. Decision-makers’ perceptions and role conception.
The central aim of the regime is likely to be its own consolidation and
survival, along with the two sets of aims that enable this: the acquisition of
resources, and the state- and nation-building exercise.
The regional level combines, on the one hand, these states’ immediate
strategic environment; and, on the other, the transnational ideological issues
of (pan-)Arabism and Islam. These latter issues retain some force as a
constraint on regimes’ FP behavior, and in some cases as a resource to be
deployed in the pursuit of the maintenance of a domestic or regional
constituency, against domestic, regional or international threats. But it is
suggested that their salience has diminished relative to interests defined within
the context of the territorial state, as states and associated identities have
become consolidated. Nevertheless, they may become more problematic in
times of crisis, not least because of popular pressure (e.g. over combined
crises in Iraq and Palestine).
The international environment presents a range of resources (economic,
military, political) as well as challenges and constraints (threats, dependence).
The composition of this environment will vary from state to state, depending,
among other things, on the state’s location. The increasing hold of the
‘globalizing’ trend in economics and politics also changes the environment
within which regimes have to make their domestic and foreign policy choices. It
is worth noting at this point that Europe, and particular European states, do have
particular importance in this international environment, because of:
1. Europe’s very proximity.

2. The former colonial or semi-colonial ties between many of the countries of
the region and European states, and their continuing impact.
3. Europe’s own position in the international system. I will return to this in the
following chapter.
The three levels – or three environments – that Middle Eastern states find
themselves in, need to be managed, or responded to, simultaneously. The ways
in which they do this will change over time, as the relative weight of the three
levels in shaping foreign policy may change along with changes taking place at
the state, regional and global levels.27 One should add to this a fourth possible
environment, or a ‘sub-environment’ within the regional system: that of their
immediate surroundings, for example the Gulf sub-system, the Maghreb, or the
Nile Valley. Here, too, transnational issues compete with ‘realist’ power
calculations.
The interrelated domestic and regional environments impose a host of

potential constraints, then, on the presumed raison d’état calculations the realist
school would posit. Indeed, it makes the foreign policy calculations of Middle
Eastern regimes arguably more fraught than those of other states.
They are a good case study, therefore, of Steven David’s concept of
‘omnibalancing’ – which suggests that policy makers must balance between
internal and external pressures, in a decision context shaped by the main location
of threats and opportunities.28 In other words, policy makers not only balance
different elements (threats and opportunities) in the different parts of the
external environment (the traditional view), they also need to balance these with
the variable pressures at home. The precise ‘package’ that results will depend on
the importance and location of these threats and opportunities. This mirrors
Ikenberry’s view of the way in which states and the elites that staff them must
engage in a constant bargaining relationship with their societies, balancing this
with strategies to adjust to pressures and changes in the international
environment – with the particular choices made varying according to the
relative costs and benefits of these interrelated domestic and external strategies:
Adjustment may be directed outward at international regimes, or inward at

transforming domestic structures, or somewhere in between in order to
maintain existing relationships. Which strategy is chosen will depend in
large part on the gross structural circumstances within which the state
finds itself – defined in terms of state–society relations on the one hand,
and position within the international system on the other.29
Inherent in this analysis is that a strong, domestically secure leader will have
much greater room for manoeuvre in his external bargaining, than is likely to be
the case for a regime that is under serious pressure at home – an observation
directly relevant to the question of ‘relative autonomy’ which I deal with later.
The shifting relative importance of the three levels which was referred to
earlier, may, of course, mean that particular theoretical models may be more
appropriate for understanding the dynamics of particular periods. Thus,
Hinnebusch30 has suggested that Rosenau’s view of the most important
determinants of Third World foreign policies – the global level (including
military intervention), and the Leader – might be most appropriate for the early
post-independent period. The 1950s and 1960s, by contrast, arguably were a
period where the external factor became relatively less dominant given the Cold
War context, while the domestic scene became commensurably more important
– making David’s omnibalancing model especially relevant. During the 1970s
and 1980s, war became more pervasive in the region and the threat from
neighbors much more important; at the same time, states were beginning to
master the domestic environment. Consequently, here the Realist model might
become a better approximation of the dynamics observed (the exception would
be Iran, with its 1979 revolution, which would be comparable with the 1950s to
1960s period in the Arab world). Finally, Hinnebusch suggests, the 1990s might
be viewed as ushering in a new era, where decision makers are sandwiched
between much increased pressures from the global level, and growing pressures
domestically. In this new context, the hegemon’s ability to intervene militarily is
back on the agenda (possibly making it less likely that MENA states will opt for
military action), while economic asymmetry is perceived to be on the increase.
The combined effect of these factors, and attempts to resist them, may be one
explanation for a re-emergence of transnational ideology as a salient factor in
the politics of the region. At the same time, ‘bandwaggoning’, as opposed to
‘balancing’ by MENA states may become more likely.
While the jury is still out on the latter assessment, it is clear that, over the
period since the 1950s, the foreign policy orientation and behavior of MENA
states have increasingly focused on the pragmatic pursuit of regime and state
interests, rather than ideology, especially since the 1970s. This holds also for
supposed ‘rogue’ states such as Libya, Iraq and Iran (save for exceptional periods
such as the aftermath of revolution in the latter), and is especially clear in their
relations with Europe.31 These interests are essentially those of regime survival
and consolidation, and state consolidation, and the acquisition of the political and
economic means to ensure them. In this, the dynamics at work are reminiscent of
(albeit less extreme than) the foreign policy aims that Clapham attributes to the
‘monopoly states’ of Africa – with their negative (juridical) sovereignty, their
personalist rule, and their clientelist domestic and international relations.32
THE QUESTION OF (RELATIVE) AUTONOMY
A central question raised in the above debate concerns the extent to which
policies are determined by the ‘dependency’ of these ‘developing’ or ‘peripheral’
states on the ‘core’ or ‘hegemonic’ actors in the international political economy –
including on former colonial masters. The obverse of this question is what level of
autonomy MENA and other states of the South have, or can carve out – including
how and under what conditions they can do so. While recognizing that the answer
may vary – for instance due to the varying global/regional contexts as suggested
by Hinnebusch – I suggest that, overall, this potential for relative autonomy is
greater than dependency thinking has allowed for. Pragmatic adaptation to
changing circumstances in all three environments (domestic, regional, global)
and adjusting policy accordingly, will often be necessary if they are to be dealt
with effectively simultaneously. This need not mean that these states are
necessarily at the whim of greater powers. I have presented some evidence
elsewhere for the case of the Gulf states, showing that they have often been able to
carve out a very significant relative autonomy from the main ‘hegemon’ of the
day – the Ottoman Empire, Britain and the US.33 I would argue, moreover, that
this can be combined even by a very small and vulnerable state such as Qatar,
with simultaneous relative autonomy from its vastly larger regional would-be
hegemon, Saudi Arabia.34 While allowing for the fluctuations suggested by
Hinnebusch, I would interpret the available evidence as showing that states are
rarely totally without at least the potential for some such relative autonomy.
A different way of approaching this question is to ask whether they find
themselves forced to align their foreign policy with that of larger powers,
whether in the region or beyond: what patterns of alliance emerge. The

traditional assumption is that the smaller, weaker, and more ‘dependent’ a state
is, the smaller the chance that it can do anything but align with a major outside
power. Even here, it theoretically could, during the Cold War, choose between
two camps – although other domestic factors and agendas would often make the
choice almost inevitable. For the case of sub-Saharan Africa, Clapham has
shown that domestic insecurity and dearth of resources have combined there
with small size to predispose a state towards alignment, while only the larger
and domestically better established states and regimes had more of a chance to
opt for non-alignment, or for aligning with one power while cultivating links
with its rival, thus pre-empting any challenge from this rival through domestic or
regional opponents of the regime.35 A domestically secure leader, argues
Clapham, will have a freer choice between an alignment (bandwaggoning, or
clientelist) strategy, and a non-aligned, balancing strategy – both offering
benefits and disadvantages. By contrast, ‘[w]hen leaders faced appreciable
domestic threats, the demands of omnibalancing became considerably more
intricate, and their scope for independent action was correspondingly reduced’.36
The usual assumption is that the end of the Cold War has reduced that room
for maneuver. In fact, opportunities for pragmatic balancing and ‘polygamy’
persist – not least in the case of the MENA region, although I will argue that
here too, the factor of domestic strength is and remains important.
What is clear is that this balancing game may require gradual adaptation in
general foreign policy roles. In turn, such pragmatic adaptation both in role
conceptions and performance requires a degree of autonomy from the domestic and
regional constraints already referred to. Indeed, while it is the very interlocking of
the different levels in their foreign policies that helps give regimes room for
maneuver, at the same time it is precisely by flexibly activating this degree of
autonomy at one or more levels relative to one or more other levels (domestic,
regional, international), that it can ultimately be maintained most securely.
The room for maneuver which adept local leaders may be able to turn into the
required relative autonomy at the three levels, emerges from the combination of
two sets of circumstances, domestic and external. The domestic factors are, in
essence, the availability of material and political resources. Material resources
come in many forms, including most prominently that of hydrocarbon riches.
With political resources I mean first and foremost the already established level
of political legitimacy for state and regime, alongside those tools that allow
further consolidation. Or as Hinnebusch and Ehteshami put it: ‘the higher the
level of state formation, the lower the level of constraints on the pursuit of
reason of state from international dependency and trans-state penetration’.37
The external circumstances include limitations on, and competition between,
great powers – a factor which will significantly fluctuate over time. Crucially,
they also include the global scattering of great power interests, as opposed to
local actors’ ability and propensity to concentrate on their immediate region –
often compensating to some extent for the absolute power differential.
Moreover, some states’ possession of a valued resource, whether in strategic
position, in oil, in wealth, or otherwise, may afford it some leverage with greater
powers. By contrast, the very insignificance of a state may mean that it does not
command the level of external powers’ attention and resources needed to
constrain its autonomy.38
Indeed, the question of the relative power and influence of ‘developed’ and
‘developing’ states needs to be considered not in overall absolute terms, but by
considering what, for the supposedly weaker party, is most relevant in terms of
its foreign policy aims. For most developing states, this is unlikely to be the
battle with the great powers. Even if in a direct trial of strength at the global
level, they would probably lose out, that sort of trial of strength is not where
their main attention is likely to be focused. Rather, they are likely to direct their
attention and energy towards the regional arena – in addition to those global
issues that directly affect their interests, such as negotiations over trade regimes
and, for the Gulf states, the world energy markets. Within their region there are
many dynamics over which outside powers have little or no control, and which
they cannot predict. In the case of the MENA states, a partial exception may be
policy on Israel. Even this, however, arguably is rarely the top concern for these
states, unless the domestic position of the regime is in question. Another
possible exception would be the Gulf arena, as here such vital interests for
outside powers are concentrated. In fact, the evidence shows that having such
interests does not equate with ability to direct things at will – indeed quite the
contrary: Turkey’s and Saudi Arabia’s refusal to give the US the assistance it
wanted in the Iraq operation of 2003 and, indeed, the Qatari government’s
refusal to rein in the satellite TV channel Al-Jazeera, are telling examples.
To sum up the argument: the international-level constellation of factors
referred to above (which will vary from period to period and from case to case)
provides the fluctuating room for maneuver within which the pragmatic multi-
level balancing game becomes possible. The long-term foreign policy patterns
of managed multi-dependence and pragmatism which I suggest can be observed
in a number of MENA states are a crucial part of this. Indeed, the pragmatic
adaptation in role conception and performance displayed by these regimes in
playing off outside powers against each other and avoiding ‘mono-dependence’,
is necessary to take advantage of this constellation of factors. Yet this in turn
will at times require a degree of regime autonomy from domestic and regional
ideological pressures or constraints. Such autonomy can be acquired through the
judicious use of resources available from outside powers and at home, and is
itself potentially reinforced as an outcome of the overall ‘game’. On the one
hand, as already suggested, a key domestic resource in this game is domestic
legitimacy; the further advanced the level of state formation, the easier it will be
to transcend regional constraints. On the other, successful deployment of the
omni-balancing strategy may ultimately help the process of state formation and
increase regime legitimacy. In other words, if this game is played successfully, it
may in turn lead to greater autonomy at all levels – not only international, but
also domestic and regional, creating a positive feedback loop.
None of this is to claim that such autonomy is anything but relative. Indeed,
while the states benefiting from the most helpful combination of the factors
above are in a position of asymmetrical interdependence rather than dependence
tout court, they remain vulnerable and the weaker part of the asymmetry.
Similarly, my conclusions about the predominance of pragmatism certainly do
not mean that transnational issues would lose their importance altogether as a
factor in foreign policy; yet it does mean that, against the background of state
consolidation and under the conditions outlined, their impact lessens relative to
other concerns, as merely one influence among many. While astute policy
making, as displayed for instance by the Gulf ruling families, has been important
in making the most of this potential virtuous circle, it seems plausible that the
underlying dynamic applies more generally to small states – indeed perhaps
even more so: most states face less powerful transnational ideological pressures
and constraints than do those of the Middle East.
In the following contribution, the specific domestic, regional, and interna-
tional environments that impact on MENA states’ foreign policy making, are
analyzed in greater detail, before offering some preliminary conclusions about
the defining features of MENA states’ foreign policies towards Europe.
NOTES
1. This was particularly so during the period of the Cold War. As Clapham puts it: ‘the dominant
focus was on the relationship between the superpowers, with a secondary but still important
emphasis on relations between other industrial states such as those of Western Europe. Even the
study of ‘‘North–South’’ relations characteristically had a heavy emphasis on North–South
relations, . . . rather than on South–North ones’. Christopher Clapham, Africa and the
International System: the Politics of State Survival (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1996), p. 3.
2. Bahgat Korany and Ali Dessouki (eds.), The Foreign Policies of Arab States (Boulder:
Westview, 1991 – 2nd edition).
3. Bahgat Korany et al., (eds.), The Many Faces of National Security in the Arab World (London:
Macmillan, 1993).
4. Raymond Hinnebusch and Anoushiravan Ehteshami (eds.), The Foreign Policies of Middle
Eastern States (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 2002).
5. Kenneth Waltz, Theory of International Politics (Reading, Mass.: Addison Wesley, 1979).
6. For the latter, see for instance John Vazquez, The Power of Power Politics: From Classical
Realism to Neotraditionalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998).
7. Alexander Wendt, ‘Anarchy is what States Make of it: the Social Construction of Power
Politics’, International Organization, Vol. 46 (1992), no. 2, pp. 391 – 425.
8. This list draws on an earlier version in Gerd Nonneman, ‘Saudi–European Relations, 1902–
2001: a Pragmatic Quest for Relative Autonomy’, International Affairs, Vol. 77, no. 3 (July
2001), pp. 631–61: at p. 633.
9. Graham Allison, Essence of Decision (Boston: Little, Brown, 1971).
10. Michael Brecher, Crisis Decision–Making: Israel 1967 and 1973 (Berkeley: University of
California Press, 1980).
11. Mohammed Ayoob, The Third World Security Predicament (Boulder: Lynne Rienner); and see J.
Hagan, ‘Domestic Political Explanations in the Analysis of Foreign Policy’, in Laura Neack et
al. (eds.), Foreign Policy Analysis: Continuity and Change in its Second Generation (Englewood
Cliffs: Prentice–Hall, 1995), pp. 117–44.
12. Robert Keohane, After Hegemony: Cooperation and Discord in the World Political Economy
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984).
13. Robert Gilpin, War and Change in World Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1981).
14. J. Snyder, Myths of Empire: Domestic Politics and International Ambition (Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 1991).
15. R. Siverson and H. Starr, ‘Regime Change and the Restructuring of Alliances’, in American
Journal of Political Science, Vol. 38 (1994), pp. 145–61.
16. H. Müller and T. Risse–Kappen, ‘From the Outside In and from the Inside Out: International
Relations, Domestic Politics and Foreign Policy’, in D Skidmore and V Hudson (eds.), The
Limits of State Autonomy: Societal Groups and Foreign Policy Formulation (Boulder:
Westview, 1993).
17. Joe Hagan, ‘Domestic Political Explanations in the Analysis of Foreign Policy’, p. 120.
18. Bahgat Korany, ‘Foreign Policy in the Third World: an Introduction’, in International Political
Science Review, Vol. 5 (1984), no. 1, pp. 7–20.
19. Nonneman, ‘Saudi–European Relations, 1902–2001’.
20. See for instance Bruce Moon, ‘The State in Foreign and Domestic Policy’, in Laura Neack et al.
(eds.), Foreign Policy Analysis: Continuity and Change in its Second Generation, pp. 187–200.
21. A term much used but variously defined in the literature. In essence, it is meant to be a state’s
characteristic patterns of behavior – whether seen as the result of the state’s position in a system
of balance of power (James Rosenau, Turbulence in World Politics (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 1990), or, as rightly observed by Holsti, as also driven by policy makers’ own
perceptions and definitions, and thus as much domestically as externally generated (K.J. Holsti,
‘National Role Conceptions in the Study of Foreign Policy’, in Stephen Walker (ed.) Role
Theory and Foreign Policy Analysis (Durham: Duke UP, 1987), pp. 5–43. For a good review see
Lisbeth Aggestam, ‘Role Conceptions and the Politics of Identity in Foreign Policy’, ARENA
Working Papers 99/8, available on 5 http://www.arena.uio.no/ publications/wp99_8.htm 4 .
22. K. Holsti, ‘National Role Conceptions in the Study of Foreign Policy’, in Stephen Walker (ed.)
Role Theory and Foreign Policy Analysis (Durham: Duke University Press, 1987), pp. 5–43: at
pp. 38–9.
23. Christopher Hill, ‘The Historical Background: Past and Present in British Foreign Policy’, in
Michael Smith et al. (eds.), British Foreign Policy: Tradition, Change and Transformation
(London: Unwin Hyman, 1988), pp. 25–49: at p. 30.
24. Michael Barnett, Dialogues in Arab Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998).
25. Stephen Walt, The Origin of Alliances (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987).
26. Korany and Dessouki (eds.), The Foreign Policies of Arab States; Hinnebusch and Ehteshami
(eds.), The Foreign Policies of Middle Eastern States.
27. A point suggested by Raymond Hinnebusch, at the Workshop on ‘The Determinants of Middle
Eastern and North African States’ Foreign Policies: With Special Reference to Their Relations
with Europe’, at the Third Mediterranean Social and Political Research Meeting, Florence and
Montecatini Terme, March 20–24, 2002.
28. Steven David, ‘Explaining Third World Alignment’, in World Politics, Vol. 43, no. 2 (1991), pp.
233–56.
29. John Ikenberry, ‘The State and Strategies of International Adjustment’, in World Politics, Vol.
39 (1986), no. 1, pp. 53–77.
30. Discussion paper at Workshop on ‘The Determinants of Middle Eastern and North African
States’ Foreign Policies: With Special Reference to Their Relations with Europe’, at the Third
Mediterranean Social and Political Research Meeting, Florence and Montecatini Terme, March
20–24, 2002. Subsequently elaborated also in the new chapter added to this book (pp. 243 – 256)
(developed from his review article in the original version of this volume in the Special Issue of
Review of International Affairs (vol. 2, no. 3 (Winter 2003/04)).
31. This is notwithstanding the stress laid on the ideological factor in Moshaver’s contribution on
Iran, in this volume: indeed, in the final analysis, the ‘average’ of Iran’s policy output since the
late 1980s does in fact conform to the pattern I outline.
32. Clapham, Africa and the International System.
33. Gerd Nonneman, ‘Constants and Variations in Gulf–British Relations’, in J. Kechichian (ed.),
Iran, Iraq and the Arab Gulf States (London: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 315–50.
34. Gerd Nonneman, ‘The Autonomy of ‘‘Dependent’’ States: the Case of the Arab Gulf States’,
paper presented at the MESA Conference, San Francisco, Nov. 2001 (available from the MESA
[Middle East Studies Association of North America] secretariat).
35. Clapham, Africa and the International System, p. 64 and passim.
36. Ibid., p. 65.
37. Raymond Hinnebusch, ‘Introduction and Framework of Analysis’, in Hinnebusch and Ehteshami
(eds.), The Foreign Policies of Middle Eastern States, pp. 1–27.
38. Morgenthau made a similar point with reference to the independence of small states:
Morgenthau, Politics among Nations (New York: Knopf, 1964 – 3rd ed.), p. 177, where he refers
to ‘their lack of attractiveness for imperialistic aspirations’. Morgenthau also already recognized
the factor of great power competition.
The Three Environments of Middle East
Foreign Policy Making and Relations with
Europe
GERD NONNEMAN
Given the framework for analysis presented in the previous chapter, which
proposed that MENA states’ foreign policy needs to be analyzed as shaped by
three inter-linked and interacting environments – domestic, regional and
international – this contribution takes a closer look at each of these specific
environments for the states and policy makers of the Middle East and North
Africa. At the domestic level, the evolving questions of state and regime
consolidation and legitimacy are central, with the related issues of political
economy and political development. At the regional level, the salient features,
with respect to foreign policy, of the Arab and Middle East region as a whole are
considered, before looking at each of the region’s component sub-regions: the
Gulf, the Mashreq, and the Maghreb. Attention is also drawn to the impact of
states’ immediate environment. Europe, and European policy towards the
region, are a key part of the external environment, straddling the regional and
international categories. The significance of this European factor is assessed, and
an outline given of the evolution of European policy towards the region. Finally,
a number of preliminary conclusions are offered about the defining features of
MENA states’ foreign policies towards Europe.
THE DOMESTIC ENVIRONMENT
The central pursuit of most MENA regimes remains that of domestic survival –
and the search for legitimacy, acquiescence and control to assure this, in turn
supported by a search for resources to deploy in this domestic quest. The root of
these dynamics remains in the inadequate ‘stateness’ of many of the countries in
question, combined with a failure to ‘perform’ either politically or economic-
ally. After the bankruptcy of quasi-socialist experiments from the 1950s to the
early 1980s, there has been no real economic take-off under the half-hearted
economic reforms introduced since the mid-1980s (and since the 1970s in
Egypt). The oil revenues which aided the rich oil producers directly, and the rest
of the Middle East indirectly through aid and opportunities for migrant
employment, lost their luster even in the Gulf with the 1986 slump in prices that
badly affected the regional economy as a whole. Indeed, after the temporary
boom of the 1970s and early 1980s, came a decade in which the countries south
of the Mediterranean suffered the sharpest decline in real wealth (GNP per
capita) of any region in the developing world, amounting to some 2 percent per
year.1 At the political level, the prevailing pattern remained one of autocratic
rule – albeit with some variations. By and large, governments have reacted with
clamp-downs to the challenges posed by these economic difficulties (including
large-scale unemployment), even in places where there had been some evidence
of liberalization previously – such as Tunisia, Egypt, and Jordan.
It is interesting to note that it is in the monarchies of the Gulf that some
contrary dynamics appear to emerge: parliamentary politics remains as lively as
ever in Kuwait (though still constrained in its influence), while Qatar and
Bahrain appear to be moving in the same direction at the beginning of the
twenty-first century. Following the adoption of its new constitution, turning the
country into a Kingdom, Bahrain held the first elections for its new parliament in
October 2002 (although the elected lower chamber is balanced by an appointed
second chamber); the elections brought a respectable turn-out even though
boycotted by some, and were free and fair. The political reforms brought the
King and Crown Prince unprecedented popularity (and strengthened their
position relative to rival voices within the royal family). In Qatar, a new
constitution was approved by referendum in April 2003, stipulating a parliament
that will be two-thirds elected, one-third appointed, and that will have legislative
power; elections are expected in 2004. In both cases the move appeared to be a
conscious policy by the ruler to strengthen domestic legitimacy. In the case of
Qatar the announcement of the referendum coincided with the winding down of
the Qatar-based but domestically unpopular US–UK operation against Saddam’s
Iraq – a policy which the key decision makers felt was in Qatar’s best raison
d’état interests given its immediate regional environment (not least Saudi
Arabia): in sum, a perfect example of omni-balancing, while also still
maintaining some distance from the US by contrary policies on other issues
(for example, al-Jazeera).2
Iran remains a case apart, with the most lively of parliamentary political
dynamics combined with a determined battle to contain it by the Supreme
Leader and the political conservatives.
There is no space here to delve deeply into the debates on democratization
and its problems in the Middle East. Yet very worthwhile work has been
undertaken in the past decade or so, in which it possible to discern an implicit
consensus on a number of points:3
1. The discourse of democracy and pluralism has become more widespread.

Yet Arab commentators have pointed out that while ta‘addudiya (which can
mean anything from multipartyism to pluralism) has become somewhat
more prevalent, dimuqratiyya is still some considerable way off.
2. It has been shown that there is no such thing as an overarching Arab–
Islamic political culture which might provide an explanation, and that
political behavior and attitudes are to a large extent adaptive to social
settings and shaped by political context.4 ‘The self-described Islamist
THE THREE ENVIRONMENTS OF MENA FOREIGN POLICY 21
character of a movement tells us nothing useful about its behaviour unless

placed in the appropriate political and social context’.5
3. Different types of impulses towards liberalization can be identified – from
mass pressures (caused by changes in the implicit ‘social contract’ driven by
state failure, financial crisis, and the effects of globalization-induced
economic reform); to external pressures; and, thirdly, voluntary limited
reform from above. The latter type has been most in evidence, with regimes
taking pre-emptive action to maintain a constituency or create new ones.
The effects of regime change in Iraq will be multifarious and by no means
uni-directional.
4. The limitations to liberalization so visible in much of the MENA region are
explained in terms of two main structural factors. The first lies in the
dynamics of rentierism, where the state has a large degree of autonomy from
society by virtue of external revenue; it delivers ‘goods’ to the population,
demanding little in return except acquiescence. Yet, as recognized by one of
the concept’s most prominent advocates,6 the rentier dynamic proved to
have its limits: on the one hand, state resources were declining relative to
demands; on the other, it appeared that other factors could cut across the
presumed ‘no taxation, no representation’ implications. The second type of
structural explanation contradicts the optimistic assumption found in some
strands of democratization studies, that with economic liberalization comes
an expansion of the bourgeoisie, which in turn becomes an increasingly
significant pressure group for political liberalization. Work by Hinnebusch
and others showed that in many cases, the new bourgeoisie was created by,
and allied with, the state, and thus did not have an interest in any political
opening up beyond that which safeguarded their own economic position and
influence.7 Economically, domestic freedom to exploit opportunities is
welcomed, as is ability to import – but the threat of real international
competition that would result from lifting protection is not.8
Murphy presents a related and compelling argument, based in part on an in-

depth study of Tunisia, with implications for foreign policy.9 On the one hand,
internal economic weaknesses combine with the pressure of the international
political economy to undercut the regime’s existing tools to build legitimacy.
Two key tasks in which the state is seen as performing deficiently – and which
were central to the state–society bargain – are the role of provider and that of
defending the ‘Arab cause’. The falling away of these pillars of legitimacy,
combined with the painful effects of economic liberalization, force regimes to
adapt. At the same time, however, the corporatist structures in society and
politics upon which the system relied, are directly affected by economic
liberalization: the latter ‘reinforces horizontal stratification at the expense of the
vertically stratified interest group articulation which provides the political
structures of corporatism’. The tactical, limited political liberalization that may
be adopted as a policy response, tends to ‘become unstuck when the state is
forced to choose between its own survival and the emerging popular political
demands . . . [and] between limited political openings for its potential allies in
economic reform . . ., and its desire to prevent challenges to its own

supremacy’.10
Clearly, this has implications for regime strategies of getting access to
resources from the external environment: on the one hand, they often need such
resources; on the other, the 1990s have also seen an increasing trend in political
conditionality being imposed on economic (or indeed wider) agreements. A
striking example, of course, is the Barcelona process. This inevitably means
further pressure to loosen the reins adding to the already existing pressure
coming from the economic liberalization agendas that form the other side of
such outside agreements. It is likely that regimes in such cases will at least
temporarily try to insulate themselves from the political consequences of these
pressures. This may take the form of stalling on the most sensitive ‘governance’
elements of such agreements (which would become visible in protracted or
stalled negotiations); shelving implementation of the domestic commitments
made in such agreements, or emasculating them in other ways; and possibly, an
eventual willingness to forego active pursuit of such resources where the
conditions are politically unpalatable. The case of Tunisian policy towards
Europe, for instance, would seem to include all three strategies.
Moreover, the economic liberalization strategy being urged on the southern
Mediterranean countries – not least in the context of the Euro-Mediterranean
Partnership initiative (EMP) – may itself be problematic. Several economists
and political economists working on the issue have recently argued that these
measures are likely to bring hardship.11 Indeed, ‘it may not be possible to fully
offset any decline in existing manufacturing production and employment by
attracting new investment’, as one economist puts it.12 In addition, trade
diversion may become larger than trade creation, and because tariffs still vary so
widely within the region, additional ‘shifting’ effects would be added to this.13
One of the most damning criticisms, perhaps, is that EMP is in any case not to be
a consistent application of the Washington consensus principles for the
developing world – both because geographically selective trade liberalization
may introduce welfare-reducing distortions and because EMP goes against the
key assumption that resources will be moved into agriculture.14 Indeed, the EU’s
southern ‘partners’ complain with justification that agriculture has been virtually
excluded from EMP, in order to protect Europe’s own agricultural sector.
As already suggested, there are, of course, considerable differences among
MENA states that mean the above cannot simply be applied across the board as
implying one undifferentiated dynamic. Some states, such as Egypt and
Morocco, have a stronger historical pedigree as political entities than the recent
constructions of, for instance, Iraq, Jordan, or Libya. In some, such as Jordan,
Kuwait, and today perhaps Qatar and Bahrain, the regimes have managed to
establish a certain level of legitimacy in part through astute inclusive policies
and the provision of outlets for grievances. Some, such as Jordan and Yemen,
suffer from extremely precarious economies – in contrast to, for instance, Qatar
and the United Arab Emirates with their small populations and large
hydrocarbon revenue sources. All of this tends to be reflected in greater or
lesser degrees of security – and ultimately levels of stateness. In turn this will
affect the basic ‘average’ dynamic described earlier and consequently its impact
on foreign policy. It can also affect foreign policy in other ways. For instance,
even within the group of oil producers different needs may lead to different
policies. Iran has relatively lower oil reserves and a very large population, and
will therefore be relatively less interested in the very-long-term future of the oil
market. Moreover, it faces higher immediate needs than Saudi Arabia, Kuwait
and the UAE, where the opposite applies. Iraq falls in between these two ends of
the spectrum, although its reconstruction and eventual rearmament needs (or
desires) nudged it towards a higher-price stance (a new, Western-friendly regime
might slant somewhat in the other direction, but this is not a foregone
conclusion).
Finally, a word on the decision-making structures. Clearly, they vary from
state to state, along with the particular make-up of the regime – a subject which
is the task of individual case studies rather than a general analysis such as this
one. With the exception of Lebanon and Iran, however, where the decision-
making picture is complex and conflicting domestic factions need to be satisfied
and are themselves involved, the general pattern is one of the total domination
by the very top of the executive – be it the figure of the ruler alone, or a very
small oligarchy (as, for instance, in the case of the senior princes of the Al-Saud,
or the Syrian leadership under Bashar al-Asad).
THE REGIONAL ENVIRONMENT
As indicated above, the ‘regional’ category in MENA states’ external

environment can itself be subdivided. First there is the widest, ‘Middle East’
system, which includes all the themes and complexities of ethnic and religious
rivalries, ‘Arabism’, and Islam, as well as the stresses caused by protracted
conflicts – most prominently the Palestinian issue. This category, of course, is
influenced by both the domestic and the international environment. Within this,
the largest sub-category is the ‘Arab system’. There are in addition a number of
recognizable sub-systems, with differentiating consequences for the foreign
policies of the states of the Middle East region, and all of them influenced by the
domestic, regional, and international environments. Finally one could also argue
that Europe itself also forms part of the ‘regional’ environment by virtue of its
proximity.
The Arab World and the Middle East

The ‘Arab system’ has become gradually less dominant as a policy determinant
since the 1970s. Pan-Arabism as an ideology has virtually vanished from the
scene. Arab themes in general no longer have the force they had between the
1940s and the use of the oil weapon in 1973. State and regime interests have
become predominant, in a context of interdependence both within the region and
with the world beyond it – even if this interdependence is skewed in favor of the
industrialized economies. Yet an Arab dimension persists. In part this is true
because of residual convictions among ruling elites, but probably more so
because many perceive the danger of ignoring what remains a potent, albeit no
longer the dominant, value among their populations.15 The Palestine question is
still an issue to be reckoned with in this respect. It also has its Islamic resonance,
focusing in particular on Jerusalem. This not only reinforces its relevance in the
Arab world, but extends it to non-Arab Iran (and the Islamic world at large).
Together, lingering memories of outside domination, grievances over Palestine
and the perception of the USA as Israel’s uncritical supporter, continue to fuel
the persistence of nationalist motifs in popular feelings. Consequently, close
collaboration with the USA retains elements of political risk. That is the main
reason why most Arab regimes sharply limited even their de facto collaboration
with the US–UK operation against Iraq in 2003, while adopting an anti-war
declaratory foreign policy.
Moreover, the relative eclipsing of Arab and Islamic ideological themes is not
necessarily irreversible. As Hinnebusch suggests,16 it is at least conceivable that
the combined increasing pressures on regimes from above (the attempted
assertion of US hegemony plus globalization/economic liberalization) and
below (due to government failure and economic liberalization, together with
restiveness over Western and regime policy in the region), could result in a
return to greater prominence of regional themes. But this would most likely be a
shift in degree rather than in kind, could itself prove temporary, and would not
affect all of the region equally. Regimes’ omni-balancing strategies are both an
illustration of, and further reinforce, a trend that reduces the salience of such
transnational themes relative to others in determining foreign policy, leaving
them as just one influence among many.
The Middle East system also contains straightforward strategic features, quite
separate from Arab or Islamic values. One of these is Israel’s regional
superpower status and nuclear capability, which remain a central concern. It is at
least part of the reason for feelings of insecurity on the part of other states and
attempts to ameliorate this. By the same token, one may note that Israeli
objections to other states’ acquisitions of sophisticated weaponry have long
bedeviled US–Gulf relations, for instance, hence giving opportunities to
European competitors.17 The other factor consists of the implications of the
rich–poor divide in the region – with the Gulf states, and the GCC in particular,
falling in the rich camp. This has long been a source of potential insecurity for
the latter, again feeding into their foreign policies towards the Middle East, the
Muslim world, and potential protectors elsewhere.
The region also features a number of sub-regional environments, or ‘systems’,
viz. the Gulf, the Eastern Arab world, the Western Arab world and the Arab–
Israeli theatre. The latter can also be seen both as part of general Middle Eastern
environment already discussed, and as a sub-set of the Mashreq dynamics.
The Gulf
The dynamics of regional relations in the Gulf since the 1970s have been driven
mainly by four factors:18
1. Ideological clashes.
2. Differential attitudes to outside powers.
3. National security interests/raison d’état – in economic, military security,

and territorial terms.
4. The interests of rulers/ruling families (including dynastic rivalries).
For the GCC states in particular, the two key driving concerns in their regional
foreign policy have been external and domestic security. For the former, three
means have been pursued: external protectors; collective security within the
GCC; and the ‘management’ of regional relations through cautious diplomacy
(including ‘riyal-politik’). The maintenance of domestic security has meant the
need to keep revenues flowing; to avoid being seen as totally dependent; and to
collaborate in the GCC. Moreover, in contrast to the smaller Gulf states, Saudi
Arabia has also seen itself as rightfully dominant on the Arabian peninsula.
The sub-system of the Gulf has featured several types of clashes. The most
obvious ones have been the ideological ones between Arab-nationalist, secular
republican Iraq, revolutionary-Islamic republican Iran, and the neo-traditionalist
conservative pro-Western GCC monarchies. It goes without saying that this
forms a large part of the explanation for the monarchies’ continued desire for
outside protection. It also helps explain the support Western powers gave Iraq
during the 1980s against the perceived threat emanating from Iran’s revolution.
Yet by the 1990s, Iran had matured into essentially a status-quo power and was
increasingly being perceived as such, even if concerns about radical factions
(and, for the UAE, about territorial claims) remained.19 Instead, a common
concern and wariness about Iraq united Iran and most of the GCC states – and
arguably helped bring Iran closer to the West as well.
The issue of Palestine continues to link non-Arab Iran with the Arab world.
Genuine concern with the asymmetrical nature of the Israeli–Palestinian peace
process is reflected in Iran’s foreign policy stances. Although these perceptions
are no longer translated in official support for the eradication of the Jewish State,
Iran (and not merely that country’s ‘conservative’ factions) still reserves the
right to disagree with the nature of the process, outside pressure notwithstand-
ing. This, just like the whole question of outside involvement in the first place,
ties in to the nationalist reflex. Tehran has also reserved the right to support, for
instance, Hizbullah, as a Lebanese movement resisting foreign occupation.
Iranians reasonably argue this is quite different from ‘sponsoring terrorism’. In
contrast to the US and Israel, European governments have generally recognized
this distinction, which in turn has facilitated Iranian relations with Europe (even
if there remain concerns over actions by radical factions in Iran, and over WMD
questions).
Yet clearly, such trans-national causes and ideological differences have been
only one factor in Gulf tensions, as plain geostrategic and economic interests
were also at stake. With the gradual disappearance of the ideological causes of
threat in the region (Iraq’s since the mid-1970s, and Iran since the mid-1980s),
the remaining potential causes for clashes in the Gulf include:
1. Attitudes to outside powers (with the GCC states on one side of the fence,
Iran on the other, and Iraq as yet undetermined).
2. Hegemonic clashes between Iran versus Iraq versus Saudi Arabia.

3. Economic policy, given the different interests of the various states.
4. The question of access to the sea, between Iraq and Kuwait.
5. Other boundary and dynastic disputes – although these are now being
contained, the most problematic issue being the Iran–UAE dispute over Abu
Musa and the Tunbs.
The first of these needs little further comment, except to note the modest gradual
readjustment in Saudi security policy from 2001, towards a less visible reliance
on the US presence and greater cooperation with Iran. This will only be
reinforced following the Iraq war of 2003. As regards the second point, both Iran
and Iraq have traditionally viewed themselves as meriting a leading role in the
region. Saudi Arabia has, pragmatically, not aimed to eclipse either of the two,
but has rather played a balancing game whenever possible. With regard to the
smaller Arab Gulf states and Yemen, however, the Saudi leadership maintained
a hegemonic ambition.
It is worth noting, finally, the growing influence of non-Gulf powers in the
expanding Middle East on the Gulf states themselves. Turkey and Syria present
threats and opportunities for Iraq and Iran, while Iran faces a range of potential
threats along its Northern and Eastern borders. In turn, such factors inevitably
influence perceptions in the Gulf, and beyond.
The Mashreq, or Eastern Arab World

The Mashreq presents a complex foreign policy environment because of its
direct and close inter-linkage with those of the Gulf (Iraq, Iran, aid) and the
Arab–Israeli theatre, and the domestic effects which both have had in Mashreq
states, combined with the ideological and historical rivalries that have long riven
it. This sub-region is also, through Syria, Iraq and Israel, linked to Turkey and
that country’s domestic politics (regarding secularism and the Kurdish issue)
and foreign policies (with regard to water, NATO and the EU in particular). A
subset of this environment comprises the Israel–frontline states encounter: the
local expression of the wider regional Arab–Israeli theme. These states, albeit in
varying ways and employing different ideological frameworks and ‘patrons’,
inevitably always needed to devote a significant amount of attention and
resources to this theatre, balancing the Israeli threat with the resources available
from the Arab world on the one hand and the international environment on the
other, and with the pressures from their domestic audience. Indeed, for the
Mashreq as a whole, it is clear that the theme of Arabism has been significantly
stronger than in either the Maghreb or the Gulf.
The Maghreb, or Western Arab World

Factors characterizing the Maghreb sub-region include the Algerian domestic
troubles and their spill-over effects; the partial exclusion of Libya from outside
powers’ relations with the region (Libya remains outside the Barcelona
framework at the time of writing, for instance); the proximity of Europe, and
a European colonial past; and these countries’ borderline and interaction with
black Africa. They share a common history of attempts at North African unity,
culminating in the creation of the Arab Maghreb Union (AMU or, in its French
acronym, UMA). Sharp disagreement over the Western Sahara between
Morocco on the one hand and Tunisia and Algeria on the other continues to
obstruct the effectiveness of such attempts. As Joffé has observed, the fate of
moves towards regional integration in North Africa has also depended to a
significant extent on the region’s relations with Europe.20 Indeed, the very
dependence of these countries’ economies on the link with Europe, alongside the
European policy of fostering integration in North Africa since the start of the
1990s – but at Europe’s own pace and in accordance with European choices
(witness the exclusion of Libya) – did have a huge impact on the regional
politics and economics of the Western Arab world. Indeed, contrary to the
Mashreq and the Gulf, it has been Europe, not the US, that has been the
dominant outside power here: Washington has evinced much less interest –
although it is conceivable that energy concerns might yet change this.21
The Immediate Environment

As will already have become clear from some of the above, much of the foreign
policy calculations of MENA states’ regimes derive simply from their
immediate environment, quite apart from wider regional or subregional factors
– even if the latter often influence the former, and vice versa. Yemen’s
relationship with Saudi Arabia has long been one of mutual suspicion and
rivalry, mixed with Yemen’s economic need for aid from, and labor markets in,
its large neighbor: part of the country’s, and the regime’s, general need for
access to resources. Yemen’s relationship with the GCC as a whole and its
attempts to gain a closer association with the grouping is similarly predicated on
Yemeni economic needs, but suffers from lingering resentment over Yemen’s
position during the Gulf war, and, more fundamentally, from the country’s very
poverty, the state’s incomplete political control and its size as a potential threat.
In turn, the five small GCC states’ foreign relations are shaped to a significant
extent by their proximity to their vastly larger and more powerful Saudi
neighbor – bringing a mix of opportunities and constraints (the latter in turn
giving rise to strategies to overcome them, by looking beyond the Gulf: Qatar is
perhaps the prime example).
Iraq’s and Iran’s strategic rivalry looms large in both countries’ foreign policy
calculations. Iraq (regardless of regime change) also has a specific concern over
the water link with Turkey, as does Syria. Damascus, moreover, has two other
immediate environmental concerns (apart from that of Israel): the persistent
rivalry with Iraq and the historical–nationalist theme of Lebanon. By the same
token, Lebanese foreign policy cannot be understood without taking into
account the large influence of the Syrian factor.
Egypt’s particular local environment encompasses the Nile valley and
attendant questions, as well as relations with its troubled southern neighbor,
Sudan. For Libya, the presence of large and influential Egypt – long the heart of
Arabism – next door, has long had a particular influence. In addition, Libyan oil
wealth and its small population offered a natural market for Egyptian migrant
labor. For Tunisia, the presence of turbulent Algeria on one side, and maverick
Libya on the other, has inevitably posed major concerns. And for Morocco, a
similar concern over Algeria has been combined with the local dispute over the
Spanish Sahara (which also became one of the obstacles to North African
integration).
THE INTERNATIONAL ENVIRONMENT
The end of the Cold War remains a watershed also for the foreign policy
environment of the MENA states. Prior to this, states in the region (as elsewhere
in the developing world) had the option of aligning with either of the two
superpowers, or balancing between the two – as indeed many did. The usual
assumption is that the falling away of the Soviet Union, leaving a single
superpower dominant in world politics, has meant a concomitant reduction in
states’ ability to maneuver. I have already argued that this fails to acknowledge
the various other mechanisms through which states can carve out a measure of
autonomy. Moreover, the disappearance of the Soviet Union did not mean there
were not other significant actors to be turned to, or resources to be had, for
regimes that cared to look. The evidence is that, while there was indeed a
reassessment of their options, leading to a partial Syrian alignment with the
West in the 1990–91 Gulf War, for instance, this re-ordering of foreign policy
patterns was neither universal nor permanent. Nor was the US always able or
willing to enforce compliance where it was not forthcoming. September 11,
2001, did put further pressure on foreign policy elites in the region and beyond,
but again subsequent developments showed that regimes were, once more,
omnibalancing – leading, for instance, to considerable friction in the Saudi–US
relationship. States resisting forced compliance with US policy preferences
could also derive succor from the existence of other poles of influence in the
world system – including Russia, China, India, and Europe – and of other
sources of aid, trade and military supplies. The fate of the Iraqi regime of
Saddam Hussein is sui generis: the combination of factors which caused and
enabled massive military action here in 2003, is not present for any of the other
states – even if some in the neo-conservative camp in the US might wish it
otherwise.
Indeed, it can be argued that the disappearance of bi-polar clarity in world
politics brought a less predictable pattern which in some ways increased states’
options.
Nevertheless, one major source of balancing did disappear. Equally
importantly, perhaps, was the change in international assumptions on
governance and good economic management that coincided with the end of
the Cold War, and the increasing hold of ‘globalization’. ‘Good governance’
became the new hegemonic discourse both of the West and international
organizations. At the same time principles of economic restructuring and
liberalization became increasingly forcefully propagated. Combined with the
declining economies and domestic resources of the vast majority of the MENA
regimes, and their consequent need for aid and full integration in the world
trading system via membership of the WTO, this has meant that they have come
under increasing pressure to adjust at home (see above). In turn, the combination
of these external and internal pressures may be reflected in adjustments in
foreign policy, if regime legitimacy is at stake.
It is also undeniable that changes at the global level have influenced
developments within the region and its sub-regions. Without such changes, the
course of the Iran–Iraq war might have been somewhat different and the Kuwait
crisis might not have occurred. When it did, its outcome would certainly have
been different. Nor is it likely that without the combined effects of these
developments, alongside the internal dynamics of the intifada in Palestine, there
would have been a ‘peace process’, however flawed, that in its turn drastically
affected the policy options of regional states. Similarly, the combined effects of
the election of George W. Bush as US President, and September 11, leading to a
different US policy stance in general and to the military overthrow of Saddam
Hussein in particular, brought both new strains to MENA governments (US
pressure in one direction, domestic and regional pressures in another), as well as
offering some opportunities – even if the question of whether or how to make
use of such opportunities needed careful weighing up against the multi-level
balance of other threats and resources.
EUROPE
Europe, and particular European states, have particular importance in this

external environment of the MENA states. It straddles, and interacts with, their
‘regional’ and ‘international’ environments. One reason is its very proximity and
thus the inevitably close interaction at the economic, security and political
levels, both in substance and in (mutual) perception. A second is the former
colonial or semi-colonial ties between many of the countries of the region and
European states – mainly Britain and France, and to a lesser extent Italy. While
such ties have in some cases left a strong nationalist reflex, they also left a
legacy of personal, linguistic and economic links that continue to play a role
today. A third reason is Europe’s own position in the international system, as a
set of relatively important actors in their (and to a lesser extent, its) own right
and both ally and rival to the one remaining superpower.
The Europe–US–MENA Triangle

US–European relations have a significant impact on the region and its foreign
policy options and choices. Europe does, on the one hand, provide an alternative
– one that has been vigorously pursued by many MENA states. This ties in with
the divergence in interests between Europe and the US in different parts of the
Middle East. On the other, it, or some of its Member States, have also retained
their close security relationship with Washington, which in turn impacts on their
policy towards the Middle East. By the same token, European influence has on
occasions had an effect on US policy output. It is important to note, also, that the
respective impact of the US and Europe varies depending on the particular sub-
region involved. As Aliboni has put it, on the one hand there is ‘the Mashreq,
where the US is strongly committed both politically and militarily, with the EU
playing only a secondary role in the economic field; on the other, the Maghreb,
where the EU is the dominant, if not sole, actor’.22 In other words, when
assessing the impact of the international environment on the foreign policies of
MENA states, it is essential to differentiate sharply within the overall MENA
category: the relevant external environment varies very significantly not only at
the immediate and sub-regional level, but at the international level as well.
A number of further sets of observations can be made with specific reference
to the European aspect of the MENA states’ external environment. The first
relates to the contrasts and tensions between the southern and northern shores of
the Mediterranean; the second to the economic links, based on proximity and
colonial history; and the third to the evolving European Mediterranean and
Middle East policy.
Contrasts and Tensions

Historical and cultural tensions are perhaps the most commonly commented
upon, having developed a mythological quality all their own quite apart from the
underlying facts. Their current impact can only be understood, however, in the
context of specific modern political and economic tensions. The political
category comprises domestic as well as regional issues in the MENA region.
Domestic, in that Europe (in particular France and Britain) are often perceived
locally as helping to shore up regimes of dubious legitimacy (quite apart from
the role they played in bringing these regimes into being in the first place).
Regional, in the conflation of the memory of colonial or imperial domination
with the contemporary issues of Palestine and Iraq. Here the picture is complex,
however, with Britain being singled out for criticism over its support for US
policy on Iraq and contrasted against other European states, and with Europe
generally being positively contrasted with the USA.
The economic tension inherent in the Mediterranean space comes in the
obvious form of the huge disparity in wealth between the northern and
southern shores, and the opposite direction in which they have seen their
economic fortunes move since the mid-1980s. As has been observed
elsewhere, ‘such a widening gap causes dramatic structural instability in
Europe’s international system, while projecting images of instability to the
rest of the world’.23 By the same token, it helps shape the foreign policies of
states on both sides. It must be recognized, of course, that these tensions are
yet again anything but uniform across the MENA region, given the huge
disparities with that region itself, setting apart the rich oil producing states
from the rest.
Finally, the structural political difference between MENA and Europe must be
stressed as a factor in relations past, present and future: as shown in the above
section on the Domestic Environment, the ‘actors’ on the northern and southern
sides are fundamentally different, even if both wear the label ‘state’. Although in
European states too, foreign policy is to a large extent the domain of the
executive, this executive can be considered to be a reasonably true
representative of the society; there is, in other words, some sense in which
the ‘state’ as a whole can be seen to be engaged (although the caveats listed in
the previous contribution (p. 120) must still be borne in mind). By contrast, the
MENA ‘state’ that engages in foreign policy and relations with Europe is, for
most purposes, the regime. That is not, of course, to say that only the regimes are
significant in foreign relations (as opposed to policy): one example of this would
be the migration pressures from the south.
Links
The importance of Europe’s colonial and imperial involvement in the region can
hardly be overstated. Virtually all of the MENA states came under the direct or
indirect rule of European powers and in many cases were in fact created by
them. Leaving aside Turkey, the main exceptions are Saudi Arabia and North
Yemen – but here too the influence of Britain in particular was strongly felt and,
in the Saudi case, effectively used by the local regime. This history has led to
persisting linkages in a number of ways, mirroring the experience of former
colonies in other parts of the world. At an elite level, a pattern of personal,
educational, and social connections emerged that in many cases persists today.
Politically, in those states where these elites remained in power, strong links
with the former metropolitan power have been maintained – as evidenced by
British relations with the monarchical Gulf states.24 Even where nationalist
struggles had swept away the former colonizer, the regimes that ended up
running the state have retained strong connections – witness relations between
France on the one hand, and Algeria and Tunisia on the other (this again mirrors
the situation elsewhere, for instance in the former colonies of sub-Saharan
Africa, including those where nationalist leaders took over at independence). A
particular case is that of Lebanon, where there had long been a Christian
population that looked to Europe. Following the French construction of ‘Greater
Lebanon’, and the consequent complication of the domestic confessional make-
up of that country, the European outlook of part of the population and the elite
has continued to play a role in the Lebanese foreign policy role, in an uneasy
compromise with the Arab orientation of the majority.
The economic links between MENA and Europe are self-evident if varied. For
MENA states, Europe offers actual and potential markets (for oil, gas and
petrochemicals in the case of the oil producers, and mainly for textiles and
agricultural produce for the remainder) and, in the case of North Africa, labor
markets. Viewed from the European side, it is the secure supply of predictably
priced energy resources – mainly from Algeria, Libya and the Gulf – that is the
key economic concern, along with access to the markets of the Gulf. Europe’s
dependence on MENA energy exports (running at about 30 percent) is in itself a
potential resource for the MENA exporters, either passive or active – although
its active deployment has been shown to be highly problematic.
European Policy
The evolution of European policy towards the Middle East and North Africa up
to 2000 has been adequately covered in a few recent studies, and there is a
somewhat more extensive literature on the overlapping subject of Europe’s
‘Mediterranean policy’.25 Here, an interpretive survey and update is offered.

Europe’s relations with the MENA region fall into five categories:
1. Early bilateral agreements between the EC and individual MENA states.

2. The multilateral Euro-Arab relationship through the Euro–Arab Dialogue
since 1973.
3. The ‘multi-bilateral’ relations in the context of a series of Mediterranean
policy frameworks since 1972.
4. The more recent EU-to-subregion agreements, since the late 1980s.
5. Subgroup-to-subgroup relations such as the ‘Five-plus-Five’ cooperation
among the states of the western Mediterranean.
Early Bilateral Agreements

The EC’s formal relations with the MENA region started out with a number of
bilateral agreements, beginning with preferential trade agreements with Lebanon
and Israel in 1964, followed by an early form of association agreements with
Morocco and Tunisia in 1969 and a trade agreement with Egypt in 1972. At this
time, the European intention was increasingly aimed at developing a region-
wide network of bilateral agreements. This would soon be followed up also in
the Euro-Arab Dialogue and the development of the early Mediterranean policy.
In parallel with those new directions, it also led to ‘cooperation agreements’
with Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia in 1976, and Egypt, Jordan, Syria and
Lebanon in 1977 and 1978. These included trade preferences as well as aid
(financial protocols) that were renewed every five years. The motivation for
these agreements was essentially economic and cannot simply be explained by
the 1973–74 oil crisis: they had after all, begun before. It is worth noting that the
EC for political reasons excluded Syria from the third and fourth of these
protocols.26 The evolution of the Mediterranean policy would eventually attempt
to bring all these bilateral agreements within a common framework.
The Euro-Arab Dialogue

Initiated in 1973, in the context of the Yom Kippur war and its aftermath, and
formalized from 31 July 1974, the Euro-Arab Dialogue27 suffered from the
outset from the basic fact that the two sides had ‘fundamentally different
perceptions of the nature and purpose of the dialogue’:28 The Arab side wished it
to be primarily political, the Europeans economic and technical. A working
compromise led to the highest-level meetings being mainly concerned with the
political aspects (including the Arab–Israeli theatre) and the specialist working
groups with technical and economic matters.29 The EC made a major move on
the Palestine issue in the form of the Venice declaration of 1980, which, issued
in reaction to the Camp David agreements of 1979, codified existing policies and
became the basis for European policy ever since: insisting on a comprehensive
solution, the return of occupied land, the ending of settlement, and the need to
refrain from changing the status of Jerusalem. Yet the subsequent deterioration
in the Palestine question, and the related labeling of Syria and Libya as ‘terrorist
states’, virtually paralyzed the political dialogue and thus, in effect, scuppered
any real overall Euro-Arab Dialogue. Arguably, the failed Athens summit of
1989 sounded the Dialogue’s death knell.30
The ‘Multi-Bilateral’ Mediterranean Policies

From 1972, the series of bilateral agreements between the EC and the southern
Mediterranean countries began to be turned into a ‘Global Mediterranean
Policy’. This ‘overall’ policy rather masked the contrast between the agreements
offered to the northern Mediterranean non-EC countries (Spain, Greece,
Portugal), Israel and Turkey, and those in the South: agreements with the
former were significantly more far-reaching in the envisaged level of economic
cooperation and free trade. Also, agreements with the southern Mediterranean
states were ‘still . . . more to do with the idea of development aid than with trade
in the proper sense’, the new collective-bilateral approach being in some way a
reflection of the EC’s Lomé agreements with the ACP (Africa, Caribbean and
Pacific) countries.31 After the political crisis of 1973 when the Arab states told
the Community that they wanted to end all cooperation, the existing agreements
had to be re-negotiated; it was, of course, also the trigger for the institution of
the Euro-Arab Dialogue. By 1977, new trade and financial agreements were
reached with the Maghreb and Mashreq countries. While financial flows were
increased, and small, incremental advances were made in opening the EC’s
market in terms of tariffs, at the same time the looming accession of Greece,
Spain and Portugal led to protectionist constraints on agricultural imports being
put in place, in the form of various non-tariff barriers. This would remain a
source of frustration for the southern Mediterranean ‘partners’.
Until the end of the 1980s, the Global Mediterranean Policy remained little
more than a haphazardly coordinated set of bilateral agreements on trade
concessions and financial cooperation – the only common threads being that
they comprised a framework for the EC’s relationships with those Mediterra-
nean states not eligible for EC membership, and the common (but largely unmet)
demand by these states for a stronger political dialogue.
Awareness on both sides of the various shortcomings combined with the
changing international environment to lead to the institution of a ‘Renewed
Mediterranean Policy’ (RMP) in December 1990.32 This continued the system
of bilateral agreements and financial protocols (the third of which was about to
expire), but brought, first, a significant increase in the funds allocated to over
five billion ECU over its first five-year period (1992–96); and second, for the
first time specifically allocated funds for regional projects, thus aiming at
fostering regional integration within parts of the MENA region (‘horizontal
funding’). Other significant features were a greater emphasis on environmental
issues, improved market access for agricultural produce from the southern
Mediterranean countries, and the establishment of a fund for compensation of
the painful effects of economic adjustment programs in the region.
Within the RMP, the Community also began to explore sub-regional
cooperation arrangements more actively. The idea of fostering sub-regional
integration in the MENA region, and cooperating with such sub-regional
groupings, had been raised in 1990, in part in recognition of the failure of the
more broad-based attempts until then. Indeed, the Commission found that the
southern Mediterranean states had ‘not made any use of the regional facility
available through the financial protocols for the 1986–91 period and, as a result,
not a single project involving two or more countries of the region has been
financed by the Community’.33 As part of this new impetus, the Commission’s
Directorate for External Relations commissioned an independent study group
report in 1991, which focused on the related issues of stability, economic
development and regional and sub-regional integration in the MENA region, and
the implications for EC policy.34 The report chimed with, and highlighted the
possibilities of, the incipient EC sub-regional focus (while stressing the
importance of still maintaining an overall focus alongside it). The new line was
reflected in, among other things, a new approach towards the Maghreb, with the
new Euro-Maghreb Document being agreed at the June 1992 Lisbon summit,
and the Maghreb being agreed on as an ‘area of common interest’ under the
EU’s new Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP). Yet the possibility of
extending the new framework beyond the Maghreb was held out. Such extension
became more plausible with the 1993 Oslo agreements between Israel and the
PLO, the EU’s involvement in the subsequent peace process, and the détente in
Arab–Israeli relations that followed: a global Mediterranean framework now
seemed somewhat more feasible.35
This new trend in turn led to the holding of the Euro-Mediterranean
Conference in Barcelona in November 1995, which ushered in the ‘Barcelona
Process’, and its Euro-Mediterranean Partnership initiative (EMP). In the
underlying Commission paper, the rationale was clearly set out. Peace and
stability in the region was recognized as of ‘the highest priority’ for Europe, and
the key means to achieve this were:
. To support political reform, respect for human rights and freedom of

expression as a means to contain extremism.
. To promote economic reform, leading to sustained growth and improved
living standards, a consequent diminution of violence and an easing of
migratory pressures.36
By this stage, the Maghreb had been joined by the Eastern Mediterranean as an
‘area of joint action’ for the EU. It seemed to make sense, therefore, to consider
a common EU policy towards the Mediterranean as a whole. The EMP claimed
to establish a comprehensive partnership among the participants, involving three
‘baskets’: a strengthened political dialogue; improved economic and financial
cooperation; and a more extensive and intensive socio-cultural basket.37 Yet the
process remained troubled by several factors: Libya’s exclusion, thus
complicating integration efforts even within the Maghreb; the continuation of
the ‘multi-bilateral’ nature of the framework, in effect (at least in trade) working
against rather than in favor of MENA integration; the continuing reluctance of
the EU genuinely to open its markets to textiles and agricultural produce in
particular;38 the persisting vagueness over the implementation of the political
basket, in particular over the papered-over democratic deficit in the MENA
region; and the worsening of the Arab–Israeli conflict since the accession of
Likud Prime Minister Netanyahu in 1996 (only partially alleviated by the Barak
interregnum, which was followed by a seemingly terminal downward spiral
under Ariel Sharon’s stewardship in Israel since 2001). In addition, there were
the MENA regimes’ fears, already indicated above, of the domestic political and
economic implications of the reforms envisaged in the EMP principles.
European attention for some of these difficulties was heightened in the
aftermath of 9/11 and the Iraq War, not least in the context of the ‘war on
terrorism’. At the same time, the EU itself was entering a new era, with the
expansion from 15 to 25 members, and the changes in political geography this
brought with it: extending its borders to Russia in the East, bringing two of the
three non-Arab EMP partner countries into the EU itself (Malta and Cyprus),
while Turkey’s entry seemed to inch closer. These developments brought a
number of policy responses from the EU, three of which are of particular
relevance for our discussion.
The first was the adoption of a ‘New Neighbourhood Policy’, or the ‘Wider
Europe’ policy framework, first introduced in a communication from the
Commission in March 2003. This aimed
to develop a zone of prosperity and a friendly neighbourhood – a ‘ring of

friends’ – . . . In return for concrete progress demonstrating shared values
and effective implementation of political, economic and institutional
reforms, . . . [these countries] should be offered the prospect of a stake in
the EU’s internal market and further integration and liberalisation to
promote the free movement of persons, goods, services and capital.
The Commission document explicitly recommended consideration of how the

EU ‘could incorporate Libya into the neighbourhood policy’. Yet it still left the
Gulf and the Arabian Peninsula outside its remit.39
The European Council of Thessaloniki in June, however, specificially
requested the Commission and the High Representative for CFSP (Javier
Solana) to formulate a policy framework and working plan to strengthen
relations with the whole Arab world (building on existing frameworks including
the New Neighbourhood context). The resulting policy document, Strengthening
EU’s Relations with the Arab World, was presented to the Brussels Council
meeting in December 2003. Notwithstanding its title, it calls in fact for
complementing the EMP with a regional strategy for the ‘Wider Middle East’,
i.e. including Iran. Its key foci are (1) linking the EMP (and indeed the ‘Wider
Europe’ framework) with the ‘Wider Middle East’ – i.e. bringing in the Gulf and
Arabian Peninsula region, not least by ‘the linking of EU-MED and EU-GCC
free trade agreements, [and] including Yemen’; (2) fostering reforms; (3)
making the EU’s policies and policy instruments towards the MENA region
more coherent; and (4) the need to resolve the Palestine issue. On the latter,
strikingly, the document states: ‘the solution of the Arab-Israeli conflict is
essential. There will be little chance of dealing fully with the other problems in
the Middle East until this conflict is resolved; such a solution is therefore a
strategic priority for Europe’.40 Indeed, this ties in with the new European
security strategy (A Secure Europe in a Better World) adopted at the December
2003 Council meeting (but originally presented by Javier Solana to the June
Council meeting that commissioned the Arab strategy paper): this uses an almost
identical form of words.41
An important part of the context for this evolving European policy was the
evolution of US policy, not least the Greater Middle East Initiative (GMEI) put
forward in 2003 and 2004, which could be (and was) construed as potentially
duplicating or cutting across some of the EU’s existing initiatives. Not
surprisingly, EU responses combined a concern for maintaining trans-Atlantic
cooperation and coordination, with clear, if diplomatic, indications of concern.
Thus, a follow-up report on the progress of work towards an ‘EU Strategic
Partnership with the Mediterranean and the Middle East’ in 2004 stipulated that
the Union should define a role that was complementary to, ‘but distinct’ from,
that of the US.42
Meanwhile, it remained to be seen whether the renewed emphasis on political
reform in the MENA states, and the stated intention to make policies in this
regard more coherent, would be given tangible and effective form. Unsurpris-
ingly, the context of the ‘war on terror’ brought both a recognition of the
desirability of such reform and a reluctance to pressure friendly regimes too hard,
while there was also a strong awareness of the complexity of democratisation
dynamics. The previous pattern, featuring declaratory policy combined with
hesitant and inconsistent political pressure, may well in effect persist, shifting in
degree only. Formally, the 2003 EU guidelines for democracy and human rights
promotion commit the EU to put together agreed national plans for human rights
with the Arab states in the EMP, while there has been greater pressure on the
GCC to begin a dialogue on human rights. At the national level, since 2002
several EU states (Germany, the UK, France, Sweden, Denmark, The Nether-
lands, and most recently Finland) established or expanded government
programmes, initiatives or sections related to the MENA region and to reform
in particular. As of 2004, though, actual follow-through remained very limited.43
Any attempt to understand the limitations of EU policy towards the MENA
region must also take into account a number of internal institutional constraints
that are sometimes overlooked (not least by critics in the MENA region itself).
Monar has shown how the dualistic nature of the EU system with regard to
foreign policy (the EC having competence for external economic relations, the
CFSP for foreign and security policy), has shaped the Union’s external
representation, decision-making procedures, instruments and implementation –
as well as being evident in the system of democratic control. This, he argues, has
had a threefold impact on the EU’s MENA policy. First, the EU remains ‘a
clearing house of different interests rather than a unitary actor’ – the Barcelona
process itself, for instance, flowing largely from the interests of southern
Member States. Second, there is ‘an in-built tilt towards the economic domain’,
since ‘CFSP is by far the weaker structure of the EU’s dual system of foreign
affairs’. And third, this dualism has created difficulties for the MENA partners in
terms of transparency and predictability. In addition, Monar exposes serious
problems of management, arising not least because the administration of EMP

has been shifted to the Commission without any new posts being created to cope
with this. The dualism also exacerbates the institutional problem of financing
initiatives, while, finally, causing problems in the conduct of negotiations.
Monar concludes: ‘Its partners have to accept that . . . the Union has in-built
limitations to its capacity to act and a considerable potential for blockages in the
decision making and policy implementation process’.44
A final observation is the imbalance which has been inherent in the
‘Partnership’. Instead, EU agendas and structures have remained central, with
southern Mediterranean states essentially acceding to, modestly amending, or
rejecting EU initiatives and formats. The recognition shown in EU policy
documents since 2003 (from the New Neighbourhood policy to the paper on
strengthening relations with the Arab world) of the need to address this and
foster a greater sense of ‘ownership’ on the part of the southern partner
countries, seems unlikely to reverse the underlying situation. Even so, the
enhanced focus on the Arab world as a whole, the strong emphasis placed
publicly on a resolution of the Palestine issue, and the attention for establishing
linkages between the EMP and EU relations with the GCC and Yemen, are
beginning to address some of the concerns felt on the Arab side about the nature
of the relationship.45
Sub-regional Approaches
For reasons of space I will not comment further here on the sub-regional
European initiatives towards the Maghreb, Mashreq and Arab–Israeli theatre,
already mentioned earlier, beyond pointing out the increased attention given to
them from the 1980s, and the subsequent revival of the more global approach;
this revival did not, however, mean the end of sub-regional initiatives. It is worth
briefly pausing in particular with the case of the Gulf Cooperation Council
(GCC), which, together with Iran, Iraq and Yemen, was left outside the RMP
and EMP.
Both sides had long-established interests that could be served by group-to-
group cooperation. From the Gulf point of view, these lay in access to Europe’s
market for petrochemicals and, generally, trade concessions similar at least to
those enjoyed by Israel. Europe’s interest was in domestic and regional stability
in the Gulf; the creation of a framework for petroleum imports from the Gulf;
and the fact that they had no formal cooperation agreements with any of the
countries concerned (nor were any of the members of the GATT). The
establishment of the GCC in 1981 appeared to hold out an opportunity to create
effective group-to-group cooperation – especially attractive given the contrast of
the faltering Euro-Arab Dialogue. In 1985, EC and GCC ministers agreed to
work towards a comprehensive trade and cooperation agreement. Yet is was not
until 1988 that the resulting framework cooperation accord was complete, and
1990 before it went into effect. The agreement followed the model of the EC’s
agreements with the ASEAN countries, laying the emphasis on economic
cooperation, and putting in place a joint council. Later in 1990, under the added
spur of the Gulf crisis, negotiations began on the full-fledged preferential trade
accord that the GCC states wanted to see. For some years, however, the process
remained essentially deadlocked. The initial EC mandate was rejected by the
GCC as too restrictive (implying protection for Europe’s petrochemical
industries) and a new round began in 1992. GCC access to the EC market
remained a stumbling bloc, and the European Energy Charter (December 1991)
seemingly aiming at reducing Europe’s dependence on oil, and the idea of a
‘carbon tax’ became further points of disagreement. Nevertheless, some
cooperation was progressing in other fields – including on environmental issues
in the Gulf, and in the form of a working party on energy cooperation.46
The hold of the European petrochemical producers’ lobby appeared gradually
to wane as the 1990s wore on, and the EC stance softened. But the EU pointed to
the GCC’s own failure to establish a customs union, as a major factor in
blocking a free trade agreement. With the GCC’s sudden acceleration in the
direction of just such a customs union (it was formally declared in January 2003
although practical implementation progressed more slowly) and an August 2003
EU-Saudi agreement regarding the Kingdom’s accession to the WTO (Saudi
WTO negotiations with some other countries remained to be completed), the
conclusion of an EU-GCC free trade agreement now seems a real possibility. It
remains the case, however, that gradual progress on the trade aspects of the
relationship have continued to be accompanied by frustration on the GCC side
over the lack of a political component and the grievance over being outside the
EMP orbit.47 This has been partly addressed by attempts to expand cooperation
in other areas – including the 1995 decision to include instruments of
‘decentralized cooperation’ (eventually encompassing such cooperation in
business, media and university/higher education – none of which had advanced
very far by 2004). As shown above, the gap was also recognised in a number of
policy documents in 2003 and 2004, which stressed the need to broaden and
deepen the EU-GCC dialogue, and link the EU-GCC and EU-MED frameworks
in some way, while also tying in Yemen. This fits into the second of the two
lines of action that appear to guide EU policy towards the MENA region as of
2004: one pursuing a deepening of EMP in the Wider Europe framework; one
working to develop a strategy for the ‘Wider Middle East’.48
MENA STATES’ FOREIGN POLICY TOWARDS EUROPE: SUMMARY

FEATURES
The results of the factors and environments discussed above, for MENA states’
policies towards Europe, are several. I would suggest they can be summarized as
follows:
1. They are pragmatic rather than ideological.

2. They are based in the first place on a view of Europe as a source of
economic resources (markets, aid, investment) and technology.
3. Nevertheless, some constraint continues to be imposed by the Palestine
issue and its ‘Arab’ and ‘Muslim’ echoes; this is heightened when
perceptions of increasing US hegemony combine with crisis in the Israeli–
Palestinian equation and a sense of government failure. The Iraq crisis of

2003 reinforced this.
4. Policies are also in some measure based on a view of Europe as a
counterweight to US. The experience of the Iraq conflict of 2003 may have
added some weight to this.
5. There is a residual effect of colonial/imperial relations, varying strongly
between different states.
6. MENA states differentiate between European states not only because of the
above factor, but also because of existing levels of economic links and
interests, and because of perceived differences in European states’ foreign
policy stances: differing reactions to France and Britain during the Iraq
crisis and war of 2002–03 are one instance that may have lingering effects,
although Britain continues to be judged as clearly on a ‘European’ trajectory
over the Palestine question.
7. There are large variations flowing from the nature, needs, and location of
the MENA state/regime in question. Those factors may be ‘material’ –
such as domestic political structure and interests, economic profile, and
strategic position – as well as ‘ideational’, in the perceptions and world
views of the leaderships (the latter in turn shaped by the interplay
between the regional, domestic and international ideational and material
environments).
8. Two significant irritants are European reluctance genuinely to open up its
own market in key sectors such as agriculture and petrochemicals and
European political pressure over political reform (made more problematic
albeit perhaps more necessary in a context of painful economic adjustment).
9. MENA policies towards Europe are individual (state) at least as much as
collective (Arab/Muslim/Gulf/Maghreb), as a consequence both of the
intra–MENA differences listed above, and Europe’s own approach, which
has been predominantly bilateral (albeit masked by a wider framework in
the case of the Mediterranean).
Detailed case studies should allow us to illustrate and/or test these preliminary
conclusions. The remainder of this volume hopes to constitute a first step in this
direction; to add more generally to our understanding of the dynamics of the
international relations of the Middle East; and to help feed back these insights
from the case of the Middle East into the wider field of foreign policy analysis
and IR.
NOTES
1. World Bank Data Series 1985–95.
2. Observation and confidential discussions in Doha, Qatar, April 2003.
3. The summary which follows is drawn from my ‘Rentiers and Autocrats, Monarchs and
Democrats, State and Society: the Middle East between Globalisation, Human ‘‘Agency’’ and
Europe’, in International Affairs, Vol. 77, no. 1 (Jan. 2001), pp. 175–95.
4. Bahgat Korany, Rex Brynen and Paul Noble (eds.), Political Liberalization and Democratization
in the Arab World. Vol. 2: Comparative Experiences (Boulder: Lynne Rienner: 1998), pp. 269–
71.
5. Ibid., p. 271 – an assessment based in large measure on the work of Gudrun Krämer (especially
her ‘Islam and Pluralism’, in Rex Brynen, Bahgat Korany and Paul Noble (eds.), Political
Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab World. Vol. 1: Theoretical Experiences
(Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1995, pp. 113–28) along with other case studies.
6. Giacomo Luciani, ‘Resources, Revenues and Authoritarianism in the Arab World: Beyond the
Rentier State?’, in Brynen, Korany and Noble, Political Liberalization and Democratization in
the Arab World. Volume 1: Theoretical Experiences, pp. 211–28. For his and some others’
earlier work on rentier states in the Middle East, see Luciani (ed.), The Arab State (London:
Routledge, 1990).
7. See, for example, Raymond Hinnebusch, ‘Democratization in the Middle East: The Evidence
from the Syrian Case’, in Gerd Nonneman (ed.), Political and Economic Liberalization:
Dynamics and Linkages in Comparative Perspective (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1996), pp. 153–
68; and Hinnebusch, ‘Calculated Decompression as a Substitute for Democratization’, in
Korany, Brynen and Noble (eds.), Political Liberalization and Democratization in the Arab
World. Volume 2: Comparative Experiences, pp. 223–40.
8. See Tim Niblock and Emma Murphy (eds.), Political and Economic Liberalisation in the Middle
East (London: British Academic Press, 1993); and Nonneman (ed.), Political and Economic
Liberalization.
9. Emma Murphy, Economic and Political Change in Tunisia: From Bourguiba to Ben Ali
(London: Macmillan, 1999). Also her ‘Legitimacy and Economic Reform in the Arab World’, in
Sven Behrendt and Christian-Peter Hanelt (eds.), Bound to Cooperate – Europe and the Middle
East (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann Foundation Publishers, 2000), pp. 311–41.
10. Murphy, Economic and Political Change in Tunisia, p. 8.
11. See especially the collection by George Joffé (ed.), Perspectives on Development: The Euro-
Mediterranean Partnership (London: Frank Cass, 1999).
12. Diana Hunt, ‘Development Economics, the Washington Consensus, and the European–
Mediterranean Partnership Initiative’, in ibid., pp. 16–38: p. 17. This is a useful review of the
‘Washington Consensus’ and critiques of it, along with a careful examination of the case of the
southern Mediterranean countries.
13. See especially the chapter by Alfred Tovias, ‘Regionalisation and the Mediterranean’ in Joffé
(ed.), Perspectives on Development, pp. 75–88, as well as the contributions from Jon Marks,
Grahame Thompson and Bernard Hoekman in the same volume.
14. Hunt, ‘Development Economics, the Washington Consensus, and the European–Mediterranean
Partnership Initiative’, p. 30.
15. See Michael Barnett, Dialogues in Arab Politics (New York: Columbia University Press, 1998);
Stephen Walt, The Origin of Alliances (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987); F. Gregory
Gause III, ‘Systemic Approaches to Middle East International Relations,’ in International
Studies Review 1:1, Spring 1999, pp. 11–31; and Hinnebusch and Ehteshami (eds.), The Foreign
Policies of Middle Eastern States.
16. See the discussion in the previous chapter pp.13–14.
17. For the case of Saudi Arabia, see Anthony Cordesman, The Gulf and the West (London: Mansell
Publishing, 1988), and id., Saudi Arabia: Guarding the Desert Kingdom (Boulder: Westview,
1997).
18. This section draws on an earlier analysis in Nonneman, ‘Constants and Variations in British–
Gulf Relations’, in J. Kechichian (ed.), Iran, Iraq and the Arab Gulf States (London: Palgrave,
2001), pp. 315–50, at p. 339.
19. As illustrated in Iran’s posture during the Kuwait crisis and the 2001 campaign against Al-Qa’ida
and the Taliban in Afghanistan. For analysis underpinning this assessment see also Anoushiravan
Ehteshami and Raymond Hinnebusch, Syria and Iran: Middle Powers in a Penetrated Regional
System (London: Routledge, 1997), pp. 43–6; Gerd Nonneman, Terrorism, Gulf Security and
Palestine (Robert Schuman Centre, Policy Paper no. 2002–02) (Florence: European University
Institute, 2002) (obtainable from the EUI, 5 www.iue.it 4 ). I recognize this assessment is
somewhat at variance with the analysis of Moshaver in this volume.
20. George Joffé, ‘The Western Arab World: Background Assessment’, in Gerd Nonneman (ed.),
The Middle East and Europe: the Search for Stability and Integration (London: Federal Trust,
1993), pp. 197–201: at p. 200.
21. That is at least the view of Sid Ahmad Ghozali, former Prime Minister of Algeria, as expressed
at the Vème Forum International de Réalités: Le Maghreb et l’Europe une vue à moyen terme
(Tunis, April 24–26, 2002).
22. Roberto Aliboni, ‘Collective Political Cooperation in the Mediterranean’, in Roberto Aliboni,
George Joffé and Tim Niblock (eds.), Security Challenges in the Mediterranean Region
(London: Frank Cass, 1996), p. 57.
23. Dimitris Xenakis and Dimitris Chryssochoou, The Emerging Euro-Mediterranean System
(Manchester: Manchester University Press, 2001), p. 17.
24. See Nonneman, ‘Constants and Variations in British–Gulf Relations’.
25. Some of the most useful include Christopher Piening, Global Europe: The European Union in
World Affairs (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1997), Chapter 4; Xenakis and Chrysochoou, The
Emerging Mediterranean System, part II; and Søren Dosenrode and Anders Stubkjær, The
European Union and the Middle East (London: Sheffield Academic Press, 2002), Chapters 3–5.
26. Piening, Global Europe, pp. 72–3.
27. Haifaa Jawad, The Euro-Arab Dialogue: a Study in Collective Diplomacy (London: Ithaca Press,
1986).
28. Gary Miller, ‘An Integrated Communities Approach’, in Gerd Nonneman (ed.), The Middle East
and Europe: The Search for Stability and Integration, pp. 3–26: at p. 7.
29. Piening, Global Europe, p. 74.
30. Ibid., p. 90.
31. E. Grilli, The EC and Developing Countries (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p.
198.
32. See the ‘Rome II’ European Council decisions of December 14–15, 1990, and the Commission
review that underlay it, ‘Re-directing the Community’s Mediterranean Policy’ (23 November
1989); EC Commission, Bulletin of the European Community, November 1989, paragraph
2.2.29. Also Commission Document SEC (90) 812, 1 June 1990.
33. EC Commission, DG External Relations, ‘Internal Paper on Regional Integration’ (mimeo) of
April 9, 1991, p. 4.
34. The report was first published in 1992, and, in its 1993 edition, as Gerd Nonneman (ed.), The
Middle East and Europe: the Search for Stability and Integration.
35. See Commission document COM (93) 375, September 8, 1993, laying out a new direction for
EU cooperation with the Middle East; and Commission Document COM (93) 458, 29 September
1993, on Europe’s possible role in the peace process.
36. ‘Strengthening the Mediterranean Policy of the European Union: Establishing a Euro-
Mediterranean Partnership’: COM (94) 427, October 19, 1994 (quote taken from p. 5).
37. For a recent review of the Barcelona Process, see Xenakis and Chrysochoou, The Emerging
Euro-Mediterranean System, Chapter 4: ‘The Barcelona Process: Structure and Evolution’ (pp.
74–94).
38. Wolf observes that the EU’s approach to the EMP combines ‘liberalism within and mercantilism
without’. See his ‘Co-operation or Conflict? The European Union in a Global Economy’, in
International Affairs, Vol. 71 (1995), no. 3, p. 333. See also the analyses in the edited collection
by Joffé (ed.), Perspectives on Development.
39. ‘Wider Europe – Neighbourhood: A New Framework for Relations with our Eastern and
Southern Neighbours’, Communication from the Commission to the Council and the European
Parliament, COM (2003) 104, Brussels, 11 March 2003.
40. ‘Strengthening EU’s Relations with the Arab World’, document presented by Romano Prodi,
Javier Solana, and Chris Patten to the President of the Council, 12 December 2003. Available at
http://ue.eu.int/ueDocs/cms_Data/docs/pressdata/EN/reports/78372.pdf.
41. Council of the European Union, ‘A Secure Europe in a Better World. European Security
Strategy’ Brussels, 12 December 2003. Available on http://ue.eu.int/ueDocs/cms_Data/docs/
pressdata/EN/reports/78367.pdf.
42. ‘Interim Report on an ‘‘EU Strategic Partnership with the Meditteranean and the Middle East.’’ ‘
Note from the Council Secretariat to the Council (7498/1/04 REV1, 19 March 2004). Available
on http://ue.eu.nit/ueDocs/cms_Data/docs/pressdata/EN/reports/79886.pdf.
43. See also Richard Youngs, ‘Europe’s Uncertain Pursuit of Middle East Reform’ (Carnegie
Papers, Middle East Series, No. 45, June 2004).
44. Jörg Monar, ‘Institutional Constraints on the EU’s Middle East and North Africa Policy’, in
Behrendt and Hanelt, Bound to Cooperate, pp. 209–43.
45. For a good southern perspective see Mohammad El-Sayed Selim, Arab Perceptions of the Euro-
Mediterranean Partnership (Abu Dhabi: Emirates Center for Strategic Studies and Research,
2001) (The Emirates Occasional Papers, no. 42). See also the chapter by Emad Gad on Eygpt in
this volume.
46. Gerd Nonneman: ‘The Gulf: A Background Assessment’, in Nonneman (ed.), The Middle East
and Europe, pp. 55–62: see pp. 60–61; and Miller, ‘An Integrated Communities Approach’, p.
11.
47. These assessments are based in part on informal conversations with EU Commission officials
and GCC officials and academics, in a number of meetings in Brussels, Riyadh, Kuwait, Abu
Dhabi, and other locations over the period 1995–2003.
48. This was the explicit proposal in ‘Strengthening the EU’s Partnership with the Arab World’.
Analyzing Moroccan Foreign Policy
and Relations with Europe
MICHAEL WILLIS and NIZAR MESSARI
ANALYTICAL FRAMEWORK
As the Arab state closest geographically to Europe, Morocco has long had
extensive ties and interactions with the European continent. These extend back
in history to the Muslim Kingdoms of the Iberian peninsula (Al-Andalus) in the
medieval period and stretch into the twentieth century and beyond with the
European colonization of North Africa.
The central place Europe has come to hold in Moroccan foreign policy since it
achieved its independence from French and Spanish colonial control in 1956 is
demonstrated by several factors. There are the high level of European trade with
Morocco and the extent of Moroccan emigration towards European countries.
Over two thirds of Morocco’s trade is with Europe, and around two million
Moroccans live in Europe. At the level of individual European states, France
plays a particularly crucial role in this relationship.
But beside the economic and social interests that link Morocco to Europe,
Morocco also defines itself as part of the Arab, Islamic and African worlds.
These different dimensions of identity have all been fairly clearly expressed in
aspects of Moroccan foreign policy. The country’s Arab and Islamic identity has
been expressed through Morocco’s engagement in Middle Eastern issues. Its
African dimension has been demonstrated through the support Morocco gave in
the 1950s to several sub-Saharan African independence movements, and through
the fact that Morocco was one of the founding countries of the (now defunct)
Organization of African Unity.
However, limiting the study of Moroccan foreign policy to these dimensions
would miss the full picture. To obtain this picture, it is necessary to add two
further dimensions: the wider Maghreb and the United States. The Maghreb has
played a part in the dynamics of Moroccan policy since the early years of the
country’s independence, whereas the US was present in the agenda of Moroccan
foreign policy even prior to independence. For the Maghreb, the fact that
Morocco, Algeria and Tunisia were not only immediate neighbors, but were also
French colonies, thus sharing similar political agendas in the 1950s (to obtain
independence from France), led their political leaders to articulate the vision of a
unified Maghreb in the tripartite Tangiers conference of April 1958 and ensured
that relations among the states would continue to be a major feature of each
state’s foreign relations. Regarding the US, the Atlantic Charter signed by US
President Roosevelt and British Prime Minister Churchill, together with the
meeting between the then Sultan Mohammed Ibn Youssef and his son Moulay
Hassan with President Roosevelt at the allied war conference in Anfa,
Casablanca in 1943, convinced Moroccan political leaders of US support for
independence movements after the end of World War II. The fact that that did
not materialize – the US privileged its relationship with its main allies, Britain
and France, to an eventual and elusive support of newly independent states –
was more a disappointment than a motive for a Moroccan rupture with the US
and indeed Morocco developed a good relationship with the US after the
eventual achievement of its independence.
In this perspective, and fitting perfectly Steven David’s concept of
‘omnibalancing’, Moroccan foreign policy following independence established
several complex equilibria among all these different dimensions, and between
these dimensions on the one hand and the Moroccan domestic environment on
the other.1 In a nutshell, Morocco’s alignment with the West, its relationships
with Spain, and its open links with Israel can only be explained if mutual
considerations and influences from one dimension to the other are taken into
consideration. Hence, Morocco’s alignment with the West was due to domestic
politics and domestic preferences, as will be briefly explained in the following
pages. Spain’s relationship with Morocco was mediated by the US more than
once (the most prominent examples being the issue of the Western Sahara in the
mid-1970s and the crisis of Leila/Perejil in 2002). And, whether under correct
assumptions or not, one of the reasons why Morocco tried to befriend Israel was
to attract US support on the Western Sahara issue. In all three instances,
domestic, regional and international factors were played simultaneously in order
to obtain some advantage at another level.
The international environment served the domestic environment in the first
case, the international environment served to obtain results at the regional level
in the second case, and the reverse situation took place in the third case: the
regional environment serving Morocco at an international level. Instead of
realism, and since it lacked the power dimension of mainstream realism,
Morocco demonstrated pragmatism in its foreign policy. However, without the
liberal input of ‘opening the black box’ of the state and understanding the
mechanisms of decision making in Moroccan foreign policy, very little can be
understood about the dynamics of Moroccan foreign policy. By the same token,
Morocco took advantage of its geographic location and of its international and
regional environments to score points that would have been harder to make had
dependency been the only prism through which Morocco dealt with the world.
Nevertheless, removing dependency totally from the spectrum of explanation
would also be unwarranted.
Morocco’s political system and domestic environment mark it out from its
neighbors in being the only monarchy in North Africa amongst a sea of
republics. However, unlike the monarchies of the Gulf region it does not have
access to the hydrocarbons resources that condition the domestic environment
MOROCCAN FOREIGN POLICY 45
of these states. The economy of scarcity that characterizes Morocco has in a

way marked its politics, both domestically and internationally. Instead of the
abundance that allows the Gulf monarchies to ask for obedience from their
domestic populations in exchange for welfare, in Morocco, legitimacy is the
product of a permanent conquest in which politics plays a central role. In this
way, the other MENA state Morocco perhaps most resembles is Jordan even if
Morocco’s history and geographical position make it rather different from
Jordan in most other ways. In this sense, Morocco is influenced by events in
the Middle East, but not as much as Jordan or any other Arab country of the
region is. Simultaneously, and in an attitude that is only apparently
contradictory, Moroccans look at themselves in the mirror of Europe, and
try/hope to imitate Europe, while at the same time remaining faithful to their
Arab heritage. In sum Morocco is both Arab ma non troppo and European ma
non troppo.
The argument of this article follows the general framework of the volume.
Three environments are emphasized: the domestic, the regional and the
international. At all three levels, the intricate intertwining between them is
stressed. Hence, Europe is both part of the regional and the international
environments, and on some issues, Morocco also deals with the US both at the
regional and the international levels. As a good example of this, it should be
noted that requests by leftist and Islamist groups to hold a march protesting
against US-led attacks on Afghanistan in October and November 2001 were
denied and successfully prevented by the authorities from occurring. The
concern of the Moroccan authorities was not with the demonstrations per se,
although these were of some concern too. The main concern was with the strong
likelihood of US flags being publicly burnt during the demonstrations at a time
the US and former US State Secretary James Baker, now UN Secretary General
representative for the Western Sahara, was making crucial decisions relative to
the future of the Western Sahara. In other words, it was not the right time to
anger the Americans by burning their flag.
In constructing our analysis of Moroccan foreign policy, we begin by
enlarging upon the constraints and resources deriving from the domestic, the
regional and the international environments. We stress the overlap and
interaction between these levels both as determinants and as arenas of policy,
using the concept of ‘omnibalancing’ as a useful definition of the dynamics at
work. On this basis, and as an integral part of these observations, we offer an
analysis of Moroccan policy towards the EU.
THE DOMESTIC ENVIRONMENT
The influence of the Moroccan domestic environment in the country’s foreign

policy making is certain but complex. Morocco identifies itself as an Arab
country although a large part of the population would identify itself as being
Berber. This other, Berber, component of national identity does not appear in
foreign policy making, but is still part of Moroccan identity construction.
Decision making also reflects a high level of complexity, since the monarchy
concentrates more decision-making powers in the Palace, although it has

constantly taken into consideration domestic factors while making foreign
policy. The decision making process in Moroccan foreign policy is a very
singular one since institutions do not function the same way they do in liberal
Western democracies. The dominating logic in Moroccan foreign policy
decision making is bandwaggoning rather than balancing, since none of the
actors openly dares to oppose the monarch, and all of them try to take advantage
of the policies and decisions the monarch takes. The issues of the Western
Sahara, the relationship with Europe and support to the Arab cause in the Middle
East are clear indications of this dominating yet concerted policy-making role of
the monarchy in Morocco.
Unlike most other MENA states, Morocco enjoys a historical identity going
back many centuries and, some would argue, more than a millennium. More
importantly, this historical identity has been linked politically to the existence of
a national monarchy stretching back nearly eight hundred years. More
importantly still, the current ruling Alawite dynasty in Morocco has ruled over
the territory covered by modern Morocco since the middle of the seventeenth
century. This historical continuity, both in terms of geography and in terms of
political structures, has served to give the contemporary Moroccan state a sense
of identity and basic legitimacy lacked by many of its neighbors. Nevertheless,
the turbulent nature of the Kingdom’s domestic politics, most notably in the first
two decades of the country’s independence from European colonial rule, has
worked to counter-balance the otherwise stabilizing effects of the country’s
historical and territorial inheritance. This period of turbulence significantly
underpins understanding of Morocco’s current political development and thus its
foreign policy.
Morocco’s post-independence politics and political structures were shaped by
the political power struggle that took place between the two actors that had
successfully led the campaign for independence from French and Spanish
colonial rule: the traditional Alawite Monarchy on the one hand and the
nationalist movement, headed by the Istiqlal (Independence) party on the other.
In the aftermath of independence, the Monarchy, in the person of the Sultan
(after independence, King) Mohammed V, out-maneuvered the nationalist
movement in general, and the Istiqlal party in particular, to take the pre-eminent
political position in the state. Significantly, though, because of the Istiqlal’s
strength, historical legitimacy and previous partnership with the Monarch in the
independence struggle, the Monarchy did not seek to fully eliminate it,
preferring to allow it a carefully circumscribed place in the new royally crafted
political system and institutions in the Kingdom. The smooth succession to the
throne of Hassan II upon the death of Mohammed V in 1961 opened the way for
the full domination of the monarchy and the near total exclusion of the Istiqlal
and its political allies and offshoots from decision making in the 1960s. In 1965
both the Moroccan constitution and the parliament (in which the Istiqlal and its
leftist offshoot the Union Nationale des Forces Populaires – UNFP – were
strongly represented) were suspended and Hassan assumed full political power –
ruling by decree and by reliance on the Kingdom’s military (Royal Armed
Forces or FAR) with whom he had build up a close relationship as Chief-of-Staff

since his time as Crown Prince.
The fact that the most serious challenge to the Moroccan monarchy since
independence was to come from the hitherto trusted military through two
narrowly unsuccessful coup d’états in 1971 and 1972 shook the Monarchy and
Morocco to the core. A third, albeit less serious, attempt to violently seize power
by leftist elements linked to the UNFP in 1973 not only further demonstrated the
vulnerability of the Monarchy but also showed that the political opposition was
far from being cowed and marginalized.
In a perfect illustration of omnibalancing, a foreign policy objective was used
in the domestic political struggle in Morocco: the campaign to ‘reintegrate’ the
formerly Spanish Sahara in 1976 served to give a renewed legitimacy and
strength to the monarchy. It attracted the enthusiastic support of both the
opposition parties and the Moroccan military.2 By adroitly placing himself
symbolically and politically at the head of the Saharan campaign, Hassan II saw
both his own legitimacy and that of the Monarchy as an institution rise
substantially by the late 1970s. Political and military opposition to Morocco’s
claim on the Western Sahara on the part of the Polisario Front, backed by
Algeria and initially Libya, served only to strengthen Moroccan resolve at both
the popular as well as elite level to take full legal and political control of the
territory.
The political unity and stability the Sahara issue brought to the domestic
Moroccan political scene largely explains the tenacity with which Morocco has
pursued its claim on the territory. Indeed, since the mid 1970s every other
domestic and foreign objective of the Moroccan state has been officially placed
below that of the Sahara in terms of priority. In fact, Hassan II was apt to stress
the importance of a given issue by stating that it was the second most important
issue facing the country after that of the priority of ‘territorial integrity’.
Although the Sahara remained a hugely popular cause for most Moroccans, the
Monarchy was very aware of the extent to which it had tied its own legitimacy
and prestige to the issue. It thus feared that should the Sahara issue fail to be
resolved in Morocco’s favor or even fade from the national consciousness, the
Monarchy could itself be threatened. In other words, there was a concern that
Morocco could return to the instability of the early 1970s. Any analysis that fails
to take into account the importance of the issue of the Western Sahara to the
Moroccan state leadership, treating it as just one policy objective among others,
is therefore seriously flawed. The regime has shown itself willing to make
virtually any sacrifice necessary to achieve its objectives in the Sahara.3 As John
Damis has observed, Morocco was even willing to damage its close and long-
standing relationship with the US to avoid compromising its claim on the
territory.4
The greater stability Morocco has experienced over recent decades explains in
part the steps taken by the Kingdom towards greater political liberalization. Two
sets of constitutional reforms in 1992 and 1996 established more settled political
institutions and electoral calendars and gave some extra new powers to
parliament and the government. These fairly modest institutional reforms have
been accompanied by substantial changes in the human rights policy in

Morocco. The release of most ‘prisoners of conscience’, the closure of sites like
the infamous prison of Tazmamart and the expansion in freedom of expression
that has occurred since the mid-1990s are clear examples of this political
liberalization.5 An independent and diverse press in particular has been willing
to subject Morocco’s governing assumptions, structures and elites to a degree of
critique unimaginable in earlier decades. These liberalizing reforms were not
solely due to the more stable political climate that Morocco began to enjoy but
were also due to a clutch of other factors. These included concerns about a
smooth and peaceful royal succession (which duly occurred in 1999 with
Mohammed VI succeeding Hassan II), eagerness to avoid the disastrous path
taken by neighboring Algeria as well as gentle pressures from abroad to
democratize. Political opposition to the monarchy has historically been located
in the parties of the historic opposition – mainly the Istiqlal and the USFP –
which whilst criticizing the nature of constitutional arrangements no longer
question the pre-eminence of the Monarchy in the Moroccan system.6 More
radical opposition to the regime came from the radical left in the 1960s and
1970s but its challenge was defeated by a combination of ruthless repression by
the state and the consensus on the Western Sahara. As in other MENA states the
mantle of radical opposition to the state has been assumed since the 1980s by the
Islamists. However, Morocco’s Islamists have not exhibited either the same
strength or radicalism seen in other countries. This is partly due to the religious
dimension the Moroccan Monarchy has accrued to itself, but also due to the
rather diverse nature of the main Islamist organizations in the Kingdom that
have stood in the way of the creation of one mass movement as occurred
elsewhere. One of the two main Islamist groups has chosen to enter into the
official political arena and has been allowed to contest elections and is now the
third largest party in the national parliament. However, in being permitted by the
authorities to do so, the movement has had to explicitly commit itself to
respecting the existing political system and the dominance of the Monarchy. The
other main Islamist organization has refused to endorse the system in this way
and has thus been excluded from formal politics. However, despite the radical
nature of its critique of the political system and even the Monarchy, it has
committed itself to an explicitly peaceful and gradualist path.7 Nevertheless,
growing levels of poverty and inequality within the Kingdom indicate for some a
growing popular constituency for an even more radical opposition force that
could launch a far more direct challenge to the political status quo.
Decision-making structures in Morocco have remained, as in nearly all other
MENA states, in the hands of the head of state. In spite of reforms that have
strengthened the role of the parliament and the prime minister, all the key
decisions of the state are taken in the royal palace. Decisions relating to foreign
policy are no exception. Indeed, the Palace has shown a particular interest in
retaining control of this domain. In 1998 when the King made the ground-
breaking decision to appoint a new government based mainly on parties from the
long-time opposition (including the Istiqlal and the successor to the UNFP – the
Union Socialiste des Forces Populaires or USFP) the Foreign Ministry was
excluded from this arrangement – the Foreign Minister remaining a direct

appointee from the Palace. Decisions are not taken by the King alone but in
concert with a team of advisors whose opinions and influence are of far greater
weight than the official government ministers. In some ministries a deputy
minister (secretary of state) reports directly to the King himself thus wielding far
greater power than the actual Minister. This is even true in the Foreign Ministry
where despite being directly appointed by the Palace, the Minister often finds
himself cut out of key decisions. This was said to be the case during the Leila/
Perejil crisis with Spain in the summer of 2002 when key decisions were taken
by the Secretary of State in the Foreign Ministry, Taib Fassi Fihri, in direct
consultation with the King and without the involvement of the actual Foreign
Minister, Mohammed Benaissa.
In the early years of independence, the Palace was obliged to take into
consideration the views of the Istiqlal and the UNFP given the strength these
parties had during this period. But with the Monarchy gradually exerting full
control over the political system, decisions came to be taken by the Palace alone.
As one Moroccan academic euphemistically put it, the final triumph of Hassan II
over the nationalist parties ‘liberated [the King] from the pressures of currents of
opinion’ and gave him much greater freedom of maneuver. This concentration
of decision making in the hands of the King then allowed for a number of
surprise initiatives in foreign policy – notably the famous ‘Green March’ into the
Sahara in November 1975 – which would not have been possible with a more
pluralistic and time-consuming decision-making process.8
Although in institutional terms, all the key decisions on foreign policy are
taken within the walls of the Palace this process is not isolated from outside
influence. Government ministers may be consulted but two other forces have
also increasingly made their influence felt. First, Morocco’s independent press
has increasingly shown itself willing to address the subject of foreign policy and
has not been afraid to criticize what it sees as the mishandling of issues such as
the Western Sahara issue and more recently the Leila/Perejil crisis. Certain
newspapers have indeed taken the daring step of broaching the subject of the
Western Sahara – a topic once seen as off limits to any press coverage except
propagandist assertions of Moroccan ownership. Although no journalist has yet
dared to question the objectives of Moroccan policy on the Sahara, many have
been critical of the strategy and tactics adopted by the Moroccan government
towards regaining the territory.9 Although it is clearly difficult to gauge the
impact of this press coverage and comment on the policy-making process, it is
likely that it has had an impact on the second new force that has had increasing
influence on foreign policy: public opinion. The 1990s have witnessed two clear
incidences where ordinary public opinion could be seen to have had a direct
effect on decisions on foreign policy. The first occurred in early 1991 during the
Gulf war when public hostility to the war against Iraq obliged King Hassan to
curb his support for the anti-Iraq coalition.10 The second occurred in October
2000 when public pressure pushed King Mohammed to close the Israeli liaison
bureau in Rabat and its Moroccan counterpart in Tel Aviv following the start of
the second Palestinian Intifada. Significantly, in both cases public opinion made
itself felt not through the media or the fragmented political parties, but through
mass rallies in Rabat attended by hundreds of thousands of people. It was
significant also, that in the case of the 1991 rally (and perhaps even that of 2000)
the public demonstration took place against the initial wishes of the Palace – the
authorities only allowing it to occur out of concern that they were not in a
position to prevent it. These two events demonstrated the growing relevance of
popular feeling to decision-making processes. Such developments have
potentially wider and more profound potential implications for not just the
foreign but also the domestic policies of Morocco and possibly other MENA
states.
THE REGIONAL ENVIRONMENT
The list of Morocco’s regional environments should contain, besides the Middle
East and Europe, the sub-region of the Maghreb since this – through the conflict
over the Western Sahara and the Kingdom’s troubled relations with Algeria –
has arguably been Morocco’s most important foreign policy arena. Morocco’s
foreign relations with Africa have been largely limited to promoting full
decolonization of the continent in the 1950s and, from the 1970s, to soliciting
support for its claim on the Western Sahara in bodies such as the Organization of
African Unity (OAU). The OAU’s vote to admit as a full member the Polisario
state in exile – the Saharan Arab Democratic Republic (SADR) – in 1984 led to
Morocco’s withdrawal from the Union (and its successor body, the African
Union, created in 2001), thus largely isolating Morocco from the politics of the
wider continent from that point on. To compensate for that isolation, Morocco
has been active in the substantially smaller Franco-African annual meetings,
which represent an opportunity for Morocco’s diplomacy to remain in touch
with parts of sub Saharan Africa.
The Maghreb
Morocco’s relations with the neighboring states in the Maghreb have been
largely governed by its commitment to regaining what it terms as its full
‘territorial integrity’. Morocco has traditionally believed that its formal
independence from France and Spain in 1956 was only a partial independence
given that much of the territory it believed to belong rightly to the Kingdom
remained in the hands of its neighbors after 1956, the most prominent example
of this being the territory of the Western Sahara.11 As a result, Morocco’s
relations with its neighbors have frequently been conflictual although it has also
regularly sought more consensual and cooperative means of resolving its
differences with the surrounding states as a means of regaining territory.
Morocco’s difficult relations with its eastern neighbor, Algeria, have been well
documented.12 In short, they relate to arguments over territory, clashes of
personalities between leaders and, most importantly, differences in view over
the future of the Western Sahara. In broader perspective, the very different
origins of the two states, with Algeria being essentially born out of its long and
bitter colonial experience and liberation struggle and Morocco being a product
of a much longer political and historical evolution, has created two very
different states with very different political systems and ideological outlooks.
The two states fought a short war in the Autumn of 1963 over the disputed
mutual border demarcated by the departing French. Their armed forces clashed
again directly and very briefly in 1976 at the beginning of the Saharan conflict –
whereafter Algeria confined its role to the sheltering and supply of the Polisario
Front in its struggle against the Moroccans. Algeria maintained that its support
for the Polisario was based on support for the principle of self-determination for
the Saharan people which it has equated with its own liberation struggle against
the French. However, as the dispute has worn on, more basic geopolitical
considerations based on regional rivalry and a desire not to lose face have
arguably also played their part. Relations between the two countries remain
strained with mutual recriminations over alleged support for subversives within
each other’s borders (Islamists in Algeria and Polisario in Morocco) ensuring
that the land border between the two countries has remained shut since 1994.
One period during which Morocco and Algeria enjoyed relatively good
relations was that surrounding the creation of the Arab Maghreb Union (AMU)
in February 1989. The Union brought together the Maghrebi states of Libya,
Tunisia and Mauritania as well as Morocco and Algeria in an attempt to create a
regional grouping that would combat regional problems such as unemployment,
debt and the relationship with the deepening and expanding European
Community to the north.13 Morocco has traditionally enjoyed good relations
with moderate and pro-Western Tunisia, but had had more difficult relations
with Libya and Mauritania. Muammar Qadhafi’s ideological hostility to the
‘feudal’ monarchy of Morocco had led to Libya becoming one of Polisario’s
earliest and most enthusiastic backers. However, relations improved markedly in
the 1980s culminating in the two states forming a brief treaty of union in 1984.
Despite lofty rhetoric and grand plans of common markets and open frontiers the
Arab Maghreb Union failed to deliver on its promises – its progress foundering
and then finally stalling on the issue of the Western Sahara.14
Europe
By virtue of geographical proximity alone, the European continent is clearly part
of Morocco’s regional environment. Long-standing historical contact, not least
the 44 years Morocco spent under French and Spanish colonial control from
1912 to 1956, ties Morocco to Europe. More importantly and tangibly is the
commercial relationship that exists between them. Morocco’s trade with Europe
dwarfs that with any other state or region. In 1999, 74 percent of Morocco’s
exports went to the states of the EU whilst 66 percent of its total imports came
from the EU.15 However, the fact that Morocco’s trade with the EU accounts for
less than one percent of the EU’s total trade indicates the severe asymmetry in
the economic relationship. Although the EU is far and away Morocco’s largest
trading partner, Morocco ranks only thirty-fourth in the Union’s list of trading
partners.16
Morocco achieved independence just one year before the signing of the Treaty
of Rome in 1957 and thus has seen its relations with the European continent
become increasingly synonymous with its relationship with the European

Community and then the EU as the regional body expanded its membership and
deepened its integration. The importance of commercial links with Europe led to
Morocco seeking to gain special trading concessions from the EC which it
secured in an Association Agreement in 1969 and then a Cooperation
Agreement in 1976. The 1976 Agreement was finally succeeded by a new
Association Agreement signed in 1995 as part of the broader Euro-
Mediterranean Partnership Initiative (EMP) or Barcelona process. However, in
all of these agreements Morocco remained unhappy about the commercial
concessions it was granted. Significant restrictions were imposed on Morocco’s
ability to export agricultural produce – one of its main exports to Europe. These
were the result of pressure from Mediterranean members of the EC/EU
concerned that cheap Moroccan agricultural produce would undercut their own
farmers’ ability to sell within Europe.17
Morocco has accepted the restrictions imposed on its trade with Europe
largely because it has no choice. Trade with other regions or states nowhere near
approaches – or is likely to approach – the levels of that with the EU, and thus
Morocco is in no position to reject the conditions set by Brussels. Morocco had
held to the hope that changes to the EU’s protectionist policies towards
European agriculture might occur – particularly with the likely strains put on the
policy with the Union’s planned expansion to include new members from
eastern Europe in 2004. However, deals in October 2002 between key EU
member states to essentially preserve the protectionist Common Agricultural
Policy (CAP) have stymied this hope.
Morocco’s acceptance of disadvantageous trading agreements can also be
explained in terms of wanting to preserve relations with Europe that are beneficial
in other ways. Europe has long been Morocco’s main source of external finance,
as well as of bilateral and private commercial loans and aid. Morocco’s
development needs as well as its substantial external debt ($20.7 billion in 1998
with a debt-service ratio of roughly 20 percent)18 has made it very dependent on
Europe in this regard. Direct aid from the EC/EU has increased over time and
particularly within the framework of the EMP where some $576 million worth of
aid was made available under the MEDA program to support social and economic
development and aid the process of transition to the projected free trade
agreement. This together with a further $705 million worth of loans from the
European Investment Bank is likely, in the view of Damis, to ‘have a meaningful
impact on Morocco’s development needs’.19 Europe is also an important source
of foreign exchange through the large number of Moroccans who work in EU
countries and send home remittances that in 1999 were annually worth roughly
$2 billion.20 Indeed, the presence of expatriate workers in Europe has cemented
the relationship in other ways by providing much needed labor in certain key
economic sectors in a number of European countries. However, domestic
political pressures within European states produced by unemployment cycles and
fears of the spread of radical Islamism from North Africa have produced periodic
counter pressures to reduce the number of Moroccan and other North African
nationals living and working in Europe.
Although Morocco has increasingly been forced to deal with the EU as a

collective body, it has maintained important and differentiated bilateral relations
within individual European states. First and foremost of these is France. As the
former dominant colonial power, France has maintained its dominant trading
position being the destination of 36 percent of total Moroccan exports in 1999
and the source of 26 percent of its imports – totals unmatched by any other
individual state.21 France is also the source of over half the total value of
Moroccan workers’ remittances sent back to Morocco.22 France has also been
able to maintain a dominant role in diplomatic terms. Its diplomatic
representation in the Kingdom dwarfs that of any other foreign country both
in terms of size and numbers of personnel. Most other states, even within the
EU, have long recognized that Morocco, along with the rest of former
Francophone North Africa, remains a ‘chasse gardée’ of the French. In turn,
Morocco clearly regards its relationship with France as its most important
foreign bilateral relationship. Colonial and commercial links have ensured, for
example, that the French language retains a strong place in Morocco’s political,
educational and especially business life. Morocco’s political and business elite
follows events in France closely – not least French views of Morocco – and
frequently sends its children to French run schools and universities often in
metropolitan France itself.
One European state that has sought to possibly challenge France’s privileged
relationship with Morocco has been Spain. As Morocco’s closest European
neighbor, Spain sought from the late 1980s on to strengthen its ties with its
southern neighbor with particular focus on the economic dimension of the
relationship. Substantial economic growth prompted by Spain’s membership of
the EC from 1986 has enabled Spain to increase exchanges with Morocco to the
point where it became Morocco’s second largest trading partner (after France)
by the late 1990s.23 However, relations between the states have long had a
number of points of potential conflict that saw Morocco withdraw its
Ambassador in Madrid in October 2001 and Spain do the same in July of the
following year and engage in a war of words. Spanish unhappiness with
Morocco related to Morocco’s failure to agree a new fishing agreement with the
EU (an existing one expired in 1999) and upon which large numbers of Spanish
fishermen who traditionally fished in Moroccan waters depended. Spain has also
consistently complained about drug trafficking originating in Morocco and
affecting Spain’s main urban areas. More substantially, Spain was concerned by
the growth in illegal emigration from Morocco to Spain which had – in its view
– grown to unmanageable proportions and which it accused the Moroccans of
doing little to stem. From Morocco’s side, Spain’s refusal to support proposals at
the UN relating to the Western Sahara and favorable to Morocco provoked anger
as did pro-Polisario sentiments expressed by sections of the Spanish media and
certain regional governments which Morocco (mistakenly) believed were the
responsibility of the central government in Madrid. More at the level of ideas
than substance, Morocco constantly complains about the contemptuous Spanish
attitude towards Morocco. Spain’s ambivalent policy towards Morocco reflects
divisions within Spain between a traditional and European oriented elite that is
wont to see Moroccans as the threatening Moors coming from the south and a
more open and less ideological section of the Spanish leadership that sees
Morocco as just a partner among many others. The dispute over the islet of
Leila/Perejil that came to the fore in July 2002 was only a symptom – not a
cause – of these broader tensions and differences.
The relationship with Europe remains a priority for Morocco’s foreign policy
makers, perhaps second only in importance to that of the issue of the Western
Sahara. Beyond the overarching economic significance of the relationship, the
Palace’s close personal and educational ties with the continent – particularly
France – ensures that Europe will remain the primary focus of Moroccan
diplomacy. The importance attached by the Palace to the relationship with
Europe was most graphically illustrated by the fact that King Mohamed VI,
when Crown Prince, not only performed a stage (internship) in the office of the
President of the then European Commission, Jacques Delors but also chose to
write his PhD dissertation on the subject of relations between the EU and the
states of the Maghreb.24 The choice of this area of study was a clear indication
of where the monarchy felt Morocco’s future interests lay.
The Middle East (Mashreq)

Morocco’s relationships with the Middle East proper have been complex and
often subject to conflicting influences and pressures. Despite being the Arab
state most geographically removed from the Levant and the Gulf, Morocco has
long paid a close interest to developments in the region and has played a far
more active role diplomatically in Middle Eastern politics than either Tunisia or
even, arguably, Algeria. Like the other states of the Maghreb, Morocco’s
historical, cultural and religious links with the Middle East are strong. The
religious dimension of the Moroccan Monarchy’s position and legitimacy, not
least its claim to descent from the Prophet Mohammed link Morocco even closer
to the region. However, in formulating policy towards the region, Morocco has
been forced to consider a range of more specific and contemporary factors
beyond the ties of history, culture, language and religion that link it to the
region.
First, Morocco’s status as a traditional monarchy with close ties to Europe
and the West have generally set it against the more radical trends that have
emerged over the last 50 years in the Middle East. This was particularly the case
with the rise of Arab nationalism. Although Mohammed V enjoyed good
relations with Jamal Abd-al-Nasser in Egypt and benefited from Egyptian
support for Morocco’s anti-colonial struggle, relations between Hassan II and
the Egyptian leader were much cooler. Hassan’s closer relations with the West
and his belief in a negotiated settlement to the Arab–Israeli dispute set him at
odds with Nasser and other prominent Arab nationalists such as Muammar
Qadhafi. In this way, during the so-called ‘Arab Cold War’ of the 1960s –
Hassan found himself having much more in common with the similarly
conservative and pro-Western traditional monarchies of the Gulf than those
states that espoused forms of radical Arab nationalism. Morocco’s good
relations with states such as Saudi Arabia allowed it to benefit from substantial
amounts of aid from the Gulf states which was of particular help during the
height of the war in the Western Sahara.
Morocco’s close relationship with the West was a second factor that
influenced its policy towards the Middle East. Following his accession to the
throne in 1961, Hassan II had taken the strategic decision to ally himself much
more closely to the states of the Western World and this led him to try and align
Moroccan policy much more closely with that of Europe and the US. Hassan II’s
moderate perspective and commitment to dialogue in the region drew praise and
support from the US in particular which sought to recruit allies in a region that
was frequently hostile to the US.
The third and most particular factor in Morocco’s foreign policy towards the
Middle East was the Kingdom’s unusually good relationship with the state of
Israel. Although Morocco has never actually established full relations with Israel
(‘liaison offices’ were established in Rabat and Tel Aviv between 1994 and
2000) it has maintained unbroken links with senior Israeli leaders, many of
whom visited Morocco (both openly and covertly) from the 1970s. Morocco has
also been an early and enthusiastic supporter of most attempts to reach a peace
settlement in the Arab–Israeli dispute. There are two principal reasons for this
state of affairs. First, there is the fact that Morocco has traditionally had (and
continues to have) the largest Jewish community in the Arab world. Indeed,
Morocco is unique in the Arab world in having Jewish members of parliament,
having had Jewish cabinet ministers and, most importantly of all, a senior
advisor to the King who is Jewish. Morocco has also maintained close links with
the several hundred thousand Moroccan Jews who emigrated to Israel following
its creation. Second, Moroccan policy towards Israel was greatly influenced by
Hassan II’s personal perspective on Israel’s role in the Middle East. He was one
of the very first Arab leaders to argue that the Arab states would ultimately have
to make peace with the Jewish state. From the mid-1970s he began to meet
covertly with Israeli leaders and helped facilitate early meetings between Israeli
and Egyptian officials in negotiations that ultimately culminated in the Camp
David Accords and the peace treaty between the two states. Hassan’s view of the
relationship between the Arabs and the Israelis was shaped by what Maddy-
Weitzman has described as ‘a particular view of renewed Semitic brotherhood
based on an idyllic Jewish–Arab past in Morocco and Muslim Spain, which
could contribute to an economic and human renaissance in the contemporary
Middle East’.25 Unlike many other Arab and Muslim leaders, Hassan believed
Arab and Jew could not only live together but could flourish together as they had
during the period of Al-Andalus in Muslim Spain, and this explains his
continued commitment in searching for a negotiated solution to the Arab–Israeli
dispute. Parallel to this policy, however, King Hassan maintained strong support
for the Palestinians. Morocco has never normalized relations with Israel and
refused to endorse the eventual peace accord between Egypt and Israel on the
grounds that too little had been done for the Palestinians. Both Hassan II and
Mohamed VI chaired the Al-Quds (Jerusalem) committee of the Organization of
the Islamic Conference of Muslim states that is charged with protecting Muslim
interests and sites in Jerusalem.
THE INTERNATIONAL ENVIRONMENT
Moroccan foreign policy can safely be described as solidly pro-Western. Within

the West, Morocco has established privileged links with its former colonial
power, France, and is also considered a solid US ally in the region. This
alignment to the West was symbolically demonstrated at the funeral of Hassan II
in 1999. Besides US President Bill Clinton and French President Jacques Chirac,
the most noted presence at the funeral was that of the Israeli Prime Minister
Ehud Barak as well as that of King Juan Carlos of Spain and the Spanish Prime
Minister José Maria Aznar. These four countries (the US, France, Spain and
Israel) have played a major role in Moroccan foreign policy since independence.
The conduct of Moroccan foreign policy since the country’s independence
provides a clear example of the limitations of overstating the weight of
dependency in the conduct of Third World countries’ foreign policies. In order
to compensate for its lack of power resources and inability to pressure its
partners, Morocco’s foreign policy has played with different diplomatic triangles
throughout its recent history: between the US and the Soviet Union, between
France and the US, between Israel and the US, and between Spain and the US. In
all these different triangles, Morocco usually tried to obtain results from side A
either by drawing closer to side B (with the objective of pushing side A to react
and respond positively to Morocco’s demands) or by using side B to pressure or
mediate for it with side A. In all these triangles, Morocco represents one point,
and each other partner represented the two remaining points of the triangle.
Morocco has not always been successful at playing this game, but it has played it
heavily time and again. The end of the Cold War did not significantly change
this framework and this mode of action, neither did the events of September 11,
2001 in the US. In this part of the article, these triangles will be analyzed, and
the effect of the end of the Cold War as well as of the terrorist attacks on the US
will also be discussed.
A brief but necessary explanation of Morocco’s identification with the West is
important at this stage. Two factors contributed to Morocco aligning itself with
the West: ideological tendencies and business interests. On the one hand, the
monarchy and several key political players leaned ideologically towards the
West during the Cold War. This political elite either favored the private
ownership of land and the means of production, and/or rejected the materialist
(that is atheist) view of the world held by communism. While this view did not
enjoy full consensus among all political players (for instance the large socialist
party the USFP, and Mehdi Ben Barka, then a young and dynamic left wing
activist, clearly leaned towards a more collectivist view of the economy) it
represented the dominating tendency of those at the helm of power both within
the palace and within government. On the other hand, business, factory and land
owners were highly dependent on their link with both the former colonial power,
France, and Europe in general, since the market for their exports was France and
its EC partners. Therefore, provoking a rupture with the former colonial power
and its EC partners was clearly not beneficial to their economic interest.26 A
further explanation is needed in order to bring the US into this picture. As we
mentioned in the introduction to this article, the US was viewed positively by the
Moroccan political elite even before independence. The fact that the US was a
key player which consistently and clearly defended the right for self
determination encouraged the Moroccan political elite to consider it a potential
ally in its struggle for independence. The key role President Eisenhower played
in the Suez crisis when he publicly requested French, British and Israeli armies
to withdraw from the Suez Canal, siding thus with Egypt, reinforced this
perception. There is also a widespread belief in Morocco that strong bonds link
Morocco to the US because Morocco was the first state to formally recognize US
independence. All of this together explains Morocco’s attempt in the early years
of its independence to establish optimal relations with the US.27
The poles of the first triangle put together by Moroccan diplomacy were
Morocco, the US and the Soviet Union. In the late 1950s,28 Morocco was still
without clear links to either superpower. It associated itself with the emerging
non-aligned movement which sought neutrality in the superpower conflict with
the possible benefit of being able to play the two superpowers off against each
other to secure certain benefits. One government dominated by left wing leaning
forces from the recently created UNFP tried to link Morocco to the Soviet Union
by seeking expanded commercial relations both for ideological reasons as well
as a means of exerting pressure on the US and the other Western countries. The
Western leaning forces in Morocco (headed by the monarchy) resisted the move,
and received the support of the US. As a result, Morocco became securely
anchored in the West, a fact recognized by both the US and the Soviet Union. In
the mid-1960s, when Morocco’s relations with France were at their lowest ebb
because of the Ben Barka affair, Hassan II tried again to revive the Soviet
‘card’.29 Concerned with the lack of support he was receiving from France
following the latter’s decision to cut diplomatic relations with Morocco in 1966
over the Ben Barka affair, Hassan sought US support, which he could only have
by threatening to lean towards the Soviet Union. Berramdane affirms that this
new attempt was not as successful as the first one for two reasons. On the one
hand, Morocco was seen by the Soviet Union as clearly part of the Western
camp, and not worth any serious effort to attract. On the other hand, Morocco
was seen by the US as bluffing, and the threat was not taken seriously.
Morocco also tried to play the US against France. In order to obtain benefits
from France, Morocco threatened in the early years of independence to draw
closer to the US. As shown, Morocco tried that same approach again in the mid-
1960s, after the Ben Barka affair and the consequent cooling of France’s
relations with Morocco. But, both times, the US considered Morocco to be part
of France’s backyard, or chasse gardée (to use the appropriate French term) and
privileged its links to France over those with Morocco, whom it already
considered an ally. This triangle eventually worked to Morocco’s favor in the
early years of the Reagan administration.30 With the revival of the Cold War by
US president Ronald Reagan, Hassan II successfully placed the Western Sahara
within the framework of the Cold War (which he had unsuccessfully tried to do
with the Carter administration) and obtained some material support from the
Reagan administration in the Western Sahara conflict.31 He succeeded in doing
so at a time when France was under the first years of the long presidential
mandates of the socialist François Mitterand which witnessed Moroccan–French
relations decline to new lows, particularly during the early 1990s. These years
were also the years of the consolidation of Moroccan–American links.
Morocco’s relations with Spain have been mostly tense. López Garcia and
Larramendi argue that it was not until the early 1980s that Spain finally gave up
its old colonial view of Morocco.32 Until then, Spain was continuously
suspicious of Morocco regarding its territorial claims in the Sahara and in
relation to the Spanish North African enclaves of Ceuta and Melilla. In contrast
to the socialists in France, Spain’s socialist governments of the 1980s and 1990s
developed relatively good relations with Morocco. Nevertheless, in the 1970s
Spanish withdrawal from the Western Sahara was only achieved following US
pressure on Spain,33 and more recently in 2002, the US had to intervene and
mediate in the conflict between Morocco and Spain regarding the islet of Leila/
Perejil. On both occasions, the US did not want to see two of its main regional
allies fighting over relatively easily solved issues. The other triangle Morocco
has played towards Spain is with Algeria. When Hassan II felt encircled by an
alliance between Spain and Algeria (supported by Mauritania) in the early
1970s,34 he did all he could to strike individual deals with each one of them in
order to break the alliance. In 2002, the Moroccan press seemed to suspect that
the same kind of alliance between Spain and Algeria was again emerging
prompting the question as to whether Morocco will respond in the same way
again.
The last, but certainly not least, important triangle to discuss is the one which
is composed of Morocco, Israel and the US. In common with the triangle with
Spain and the US, and as opposed to the two other triangles (Morocco–US–
USSR and Morocco–US–France), this triangle was established by Moroccan
policy makers not as a balancing act, but in an effort to attract US sympathy
through befriending Israel. As we mentioned earlier, Hassan II believed in the
possibility of coexistence and cooperation between Muslims and Jews. The
existence of a sizeable community of Jewish Sefaradis of Moroccan descent was
hence perceived by Hassan II as an opportunity for Morocco to play a role in any
eventual rapprochement between Israel and its Arab neighbors. Morocco could,
in sum, be a bridge builder between Arabs and Jews. Hassan II was also
consistently careful to engage the Moroccan Jewish community in national
political life. As we observed earlier, besides the fact that Moroccan Jews have
participated in the legislative as well as the executive branches of the Moroccan
political system, there is also a world wide association of Jews of Moroccan
descent, allowing them thus to maintain symbolic links with their country of
origin. Within this perspective, Morocco played the role of intermediaries/
emissaries on several occasions between Arab states and Israel. For instance,
Moshe Dayan secretly visited Morocco prior to and in preparation for Sadat’s
visit to Jerusalem in 1977, and in 1986, one of Shimon Perez’s first acts when he
became Israel’s Prime Minister in a national unity government between Labor
and the Likud, was to publicly pay a visit to Hassan II. But Hassan II’s intentions
were not as disinterested as they might appear to be. Through being a bridge
between the Arabs and Israel, Morocco intended to play a positive role in the
conflict in the Middle East, but Morocco also intended to serve its own ends
through this. Hassan II wanted these particular links with Israel to cultivate US
good will with regards to Morocco’s first and most urgent priority: the Western
Sahara. By playing – in US eyes – a positive role in the Middle East, Morocco
hoped for some US support in its regional struggle with Polisario and Algeria.
Although this did not materialize as strongly as Morocco had hoped for, it
remained part of Morocco’s calculation in formulating its policy towards the
Middle East.
The Cold War had only a passing influence on Moroccan foreign policy. As
we already argued, Morocco was solidly aligned with the West from its early
post-independence years. But as we also argued, Hassan II tried twice to portray
the conflict in the Western Sahara as a Cold War conflict in order to obtain US
support. He was successful in his second attempt with the Reagan administra-
tion. Other than that, the Cold War did not really affect Moroccan foreign
policy. The end of the Cold War had a clearer effect on domestic politics than on
foreign policy. Indeed, with the collapse of the Soviet Union, Hassan was an
enthusiastic adept of Fukuyama’s concept of the end of history. According to
Hassan II, the end of the Cold War indicated the end of the ideological conflict
and the victory of liberalism.35 That was translated domestically by the end of
any meaningful conflict between his way and the opposition way of leading the
economy. Consequently, he spent the 1990s inviting the socialist opposition into
the government and offering it the Finance ministry – an invitation that was only
finally accepted in 1998.
The end of the Cold War could have had a negative effect on Moroccan
foreign policy by weakening US support in terms of weapons and credits.
However, the important role Hassan II played in efforts to resolve the conflict in
the Middle East allowed him to keep a prominent position in US policy in the
region. This was due to the new priorities of the US government under President
Clinton. Indeed, Clinton engaged himself in what started to be called the Middle
East peace process as early as 1993 and the signing of the Oslo agreement at the
White House in September of that year. In a world where the US was the only
remaining superpower, and within what Krauthammer called the ‘unipolar
moment’,36 the Clinton administration adopted a discourse of multilateralism
and strengthening of the existing international organizations. The expansion of
trade, democracy and peace were considered to be crucial within that
perspective. The success of the peace process in the Middle East was a central
piece in that framework. As Morocco was solidly anchored in the West even
before the end of the Cold War, this newly found relevance of the Middle East in
US foreign policy during the 1990s played to Morocco’s favor in this decade.
Clinton’s presence at the funeral of Hassan II was hence a clear testimony of that
relevance.
More than the end of the Cold War, the events of September 11 could have
posed a more troubling threat to Morocco. At that point Mohammed VI had only
recently become king, and his hold on power might have still been somewhat
shaky. But the King smoothly moved to show the US its sympathy in its moment
of grief, and to support it in ‘the war against terror’. He considered that any other
move would harm Morocco’s interest in the Western Sahara at a moment when
the US was playing an increasingly major role in mediating the conflict.
Mohammed VI did not ignore the risk that supporting the US meant. Islamist
groups could condemn his move and weaken him domestically. But he took the
risk, confirming that the highest priority of the Moroccan state is the Western
Sahara issue. The equation of stability depended much more on the issue of the
Western Sahara than on an eventual Islamist mobilization that could be
controlled and which was far less potentially threatening than the risk of losing
the Western Sahara. This scale of priority has remained unchanged over the last
quarter of a decade in Moroccan foreign policy.
CONCLUSION
Morocco has long promoted the idea of it being part of a number of different
worlds. Hassan II himself somewhat poetically argued that:
Morocco is like a tree nourished by roots deep in the soil of Africa, which
breathes through foliage rustling to the winds of Europe. Yet Morocco’s
existence is not only vertical. Horizontally, it looks to the East, with which
it is bound by ties of religion and culture.37
These different worlds do not necessarily coexist in space and time. From time
to time, parts of the ‘tree’ can be developed more acutely, making it look
dominant. However, this does not mean that the other parts have ceased to be
part of the expression of Moroccan identity. More importantly, these different
parts of the tree feed each other, and provide the necessary resources for each
other’s continuation. Morocco is hence the representation of all this complexity,
and not only of parts of it.
What Moroccan foreign policy analysis teaches us is that different
environments and different ways of thinking dominate policy making at
different moments. Power is not the only resource available for foreign policy
makers and several other tools are there to be used. In this sense, politics is not
all about local issues, or at least, not only about them. Morocco’s symbolic (and
sometimes more than symbolic) alignment with the US after September 11 runs
the risk of energizing domestic Islamist groups. The regime took this path
because of the broader picture that included the regional environment of
Morocco. This illustrates the concept of omnibalancing.
Moroccan foreign policy towards the EU fits within this framework. Morocco
depends largely on its economic, financial and trade links with the EU. But once
again, Morocco is trying to create a new triangle, this time at the economic level.
In order to try to get a better deal with the EU, Morocco is accelerating the pace
of its negotiations with the US towards creating a free trade zone with that
country. But the credibility of this triangle is dubious. Nobody in the US or in
the EU really believes Morocco can swap America for Europe. But the
establishment of a free trade zone between the US and Morocco is undoubtedly a
card Morocco wants to play with in its negotiations with the EU.38 However, it
is a card Morocco must play with care. Following a visit to Morocco in January
2003, the French Foreign Trade Minister, François Loos warned Morocco that
‘You cannot say you want a closer partnership with the EU and at the same time
sign a free trade agreement with the US’.39
The lack of credibility of this triangle is compensated by yet another triangle,
this time strictly Morocco–European. Morocco relies on its privileged links with
France to make up for its chronically bad relations with Spain. A Spanish
initiative (supported by the UK) at the Seville European summit in June 2002,
which sought to penalize countries who do not do enough to control immigration
fluxes towards Europe, through the reduction of EU’s financial assistance to
them, was clearly aimed partly at Morocco. Significantly it was the intervention
of France that stopped it from being approved.
In other words, the EU is too important for Morocco to neglect, but it is too
powerful to be dealt with on a one-to-fifteen basis. Morocco relies on its
privileged relationship with France, and on its current good relations with the
US to try to strike better deals with the EU. The international context, with
pressures put on the EU to reform its agricultural policy coming from the US,
the World Trade Organization (WTO) and Mercosur, and suggestions from
within the EU to reform its immigration policies could represent opportunities
for Morocco to establish better – and more balanced – relations with the EU. But
it remains crucial for Morocco to try to achieve better negotiating positions with
the EU. In the absence of any positive perspective for the AMU, establishing a
free trade zone with the US is the only remaining – but very weak and unlikely –
card for Morocco in this highly unbalanced game.
NOTES
1. Steven R. David, ‘Explaining Third World Alignment’, World Politics, Vol. LXIII, no. 2
(January 1991), pp. 233–56.
2. For the Istiqlal and the UNFP, the claim on the Sahara was part of the historic agenda of the
nationalist movement of which they had been an integral and historic part. For the military, the
Sahara presented an opportunity to display both their readiness and ability to defend the
Kingdom as well as confront their adversaries in the Algerian military with whom they had
clashed in the brief border war of 1963.
3. Morocco had been willing to make concessions on fishing rights with Spain in order to secure
Spain’s withdrawal from the Sahara. It had similarly agreed to fully recognize Algeria’s claim on
disputed border territories in 1969 in order to tacitly pave the way for Algeria’s recognition of
Morocco’s claim on the Western Sahara.
4. See John Damis, ‘The Impact of the Saharan Dispute on Moroccan Foreign and Domestic
Policy’ in I.W. Zartman (ed.), The Political Economy of Morocco (New York: Praeger, 1987), p.
198.
5. The jail of Tazmamart in Southern Morocco was the prison where the soldiers who had
attempted a coup d’état against King Hassan in the early 1970s were jailed in inhuman
conditions.
6. The Istiqlal gave up questioning the monarchy’s legitimacy in the 1970s whereas the USFP did
so effectively and definitely only in the 1990s.
7. For details on Morocco’s Islamist movements see Mohamed Tozy, Monarchie et Islam Politique
au Maroc (Paris: Presses de Sciences Po, 1999) and Michael J. Willis, ‘Between Alternance and
the Makhzen: At-Tawhid wa Al-Islah’s Entry into Moroccan Politics’ The Journal of North
African Studies Vol. 4, no. 3 (Autumn 1999).
8. Hammad Zoutini, ‘Les Interets Nationaux: Entre la pratique de la Politique Exterieure du Maroc
el les Besoins d’une Redefinition par Rapport au Nouveau Systeme international’ in Mohamed
Jari (ed.), Rapport Annuel sur l’Evolution du Systeme International (RAESI) 1997 (Rabat:
GERSI [Groupes d’Etudes et Recherches sur le Système International], 1997), p. 321.
9. There are, however, still limits to press coverage of the Sahara. In 1999 an edition of the Le
Journal newspaper was banned for carrying an interview with the leader of the Polisario Front,
Mohammed Abdelaziz Marrakechi.
10. See Yahia H. Zoubir, ‘Reactions in the Maghreb to the Gulf War’, Arab Studies Quarterly Vol.
15, no. 1 (Winter 1993).
11. King Mohammmed VI has argued that Morocco had been ‘literally carved up’ during the course
of the twentieth century. Mohamed Ben El Hassan Alaoui [King Mohamed VI]: La Coopération
entre l’Union Européenne et les Pays du Maghreb (Paris: Editions Nathan, 1994), p. 102.
12. See particularly John Damis, ‘The Western Sahara Dispute as a Source of Regional Conflict in
North Africa’ in Halim Barakat (ed.), Contemporary North Africa: Issues of Development and
Integration (Kent: Croom Helm, 1985) and Yahia H. Zoubir, ‘Algerian–Moroccan Relations and
their Impact on Maghribi Integration’, The Journal of North African Studies, Vol. 5, no. 3,
(Autumn 2000).
13. On the origins of the Arab Maghreb Union see Mary-Jane Deeb, ‘The Arab–Maghribi Union and
the Prospects for North African Unity’, in I. William Zartman and William Mark Habeeb (eds.),
Polity and Society in Contemporary North Africa (Boulder: Westview, 1993).
14. On the problems encountered by the Arab Maghreb Union see Robert A. Mortimer, ‘The Arab
Maghreb Union: Myth and Reality’ in Yahia H. Zoubir (ed.), North Africa in Transition (Florida:
University Press of Florida, 1999).
15. The Economist Intelligence Unit: Morocco: Country Profile 2001 (London: The Economist
Intelligence Unit, 2001) pp. 63–4.
16. Imports from Morocco to the EU constituted just 0.6 percent of total EU imports in 2001, whilst
EU exports to Morocco made up 0.8 percent of the Union’s total exports in the same year.
European Commission: Bilateral Trade Relations: Morocco (http://europa.eu.int/comm/trade/
bilateral/ mor.htm).
17. For details on the agreements signed between the EC/EU and Morocco and the restrictions
placed on Morocco’s export capabilities see Alaoui, La Coopération entre l’Union Europeenne
et les Pays du Maghreb, pp. 34–40; and John Damis, ‘Morocco’s 1995 Association Agreement
with the European Union’, The Journal of North African Studies Vol. 3, no.4 (Winter 1998).
18. Economist Intelligence Unit, Morocco: Country Profile 2001, p. 43.
19. Damis: ‘Morocco’s 1995 Association Agreement with the European Union’, p. 106.
21. Economist Intelligence Unit, Morocco: Country Profile 2001, pp. 63–4.
24. Mohamed VI performed his internship in the office of Jacques Delors in the period 1988–89 and
obtained his Doctorate of Law from Sophia Antipolis University in Nice in 1993. His doctoral
thesis was published in 1994: Mohamed Ben El Hassan Alaoui [King Mohamed VI], La
Coopération entre l’Union Européenne et les Pays du Maghreb (Paris: Editions Nathan, 1994).
25. Bruce Maddy-Weitzman, ‘Israel and Morocco: A Special Relationship’, The Maghreb Review
Vol. 21, 1–2, (1996), p. 37.
26. See Abdelkhaleq Berramdane, Le Maroc et l’Occident (Paris: Karthala, 1987).
27. See: Miguel Hernando de Larramendi, La Polı́tica Exterior de Marruecos (Madrid: Mapfre,
1997).
28. See Berramdane, Le Maroc et l’Occident.
29. Mehdi Ben Barka was the main leader of the UNFP and a key figure of the Moroccan left. He
was in exile in Paris when he was kidnapped – and later assassinated – by Moroccan security
forces. His kidnapping and disappearance provoked the ire of French authorities in general, and
General De Gaulle in particular. French Moroccan relations were cool for a long period of time
after the event.
30. See Yahia H. Zoubir ‘The Geopolitics of the Western Sahara Conflict’ in Yahia H. Zoubir (ed.)
North Africa in Transition (Talahasse: University Press of Florida, 1999).
31. See M. Larramendi, La Polı́tica Exterior de Marruecos.
32. Bernabé López Garcia and Miguel H. de Larramendi, ‘Spain and North Africa: Towards a
‘‘Dynamic Stability’’’ Democratization, Vol. 9, no. 1 (Spring 2002), pp. 170–91.
33. See Larramendi, La Polı́tica Exterior de Marruecos.
34. See A. Berramdane, Le Maroc et l’Occident.
35. Francis Fukuyama, The End of History and the Last Man, (London: Penguin, 1993).
36. Charles Krauthammer, ‘The Unipolar Moment’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 70, no. 1 (Winter 1990–
91).
37. Hassan II, The Challenge (London: Macmillan, 1978), p. 169.
38. Maghrebi states could also have tried to negotiate with the EU in unified ranks. This would have
strengthened their hands in the negotiating process. However, the current state of the AMU does
not allow for any hope of possible co-ordination in that direction.
39. BBC News: Business: ‘Morocco Warned Over EU–US Trade Deals’ (http://news.bbc.co.uk/ go/
em/fr/–/2/hi/business/2661081.stm).
Egyptian–European Relations: From Conflict
to Cooperation
EMAD GAD
INTRODUCTION: FIVE KEY FACTORS
Although Egypt’s relations with Europe have always fluctuated between conflict
and cooperation, the policy consensus in Egypt today is that relations with
Europe are vitally important and that any enterprise to reinvigorate Egypt must
rely on expanded relations with that continent. These relations have always
occupied an important place in Egypt’s foreign policy agenda, regardless of the
ideology adopted by the Egyptian regime. Their contours have been shaped to a
large extent by five factors.
The first of these factors in Egyptian–European relations is the historical
legacy of colonialism and the era when Europe held sway over the international
order; this had a lasting negative impact on Egyptian perceptions of Europe.
Without delving into details, modern history holds for Egyptians the experience
of the French campaign in Egypt, led by Napoleon Bonaparte in 1798; the 1830
abortion of Mohammed Ali’s experiment by a coalition of major European
powers; the British occupation of Egypt in 1882; and the 1956 Tripartite
Aggression of France, Britain, and Israel. All of these historical experiences
created a strong association in the minds of Egyptians between Europe, on the
one hand, and colonialism and the exploitation of Egypt on the other. Indeed,
many felt that Europe did not allow Egypt to develop as a nation that could play
an effective role as a major power in the southern Mediterranean.
Yet these historical experiences should not be seen in a completely negative
light; there were some positive aspects to this contact, even if they were
unintentional. The debate among Egyptian intellectuals and writers occasioned
by the bicentennial anniversary of the 1798 French campaign is a good example.
While one camp felt there should be no commemoration of what was essentially
a colonialist military campaign, others felt that Napoleon’s expedition,
regardless of the subsequent French occupation, had extremely important
consequences for Egypt, lifting it out of its isolation and setting it on the path of
modernization.
In short, historical relations between Egypt and Europe are filled with
contrasting experiences, both positive and negative, which allow this legacy to
be interpreted in various ways. Those who prefer to speak of the negative
EGYPTIAN–EUROPEAN RELATIONS 65
dimensions of Egyptian–European relations can easily point to the colonial past,

to Europe’s abortion of Mohammed Ali’s experiment, and to the participation of
France and Britain with Israel in the October 1956 attack on Egypt. At the same
time, those who prefer to highlight the positive aspects of Egyptian–European
relations can find much to support their point of view, citing Europe’s political,
economic, social, and scientific achievements and the desire to latch onto these
as reason enough to further relations with Europe.
The second factor influencing the course of Egyptian–European relations is
the ideology of the ruling Egyptian elite, which defines the sphere of Egyptian
foreign policy, usually in one of two directions: the Mediterranean or the Red
Sea. The first outlook tends to view Egypt as a Mediterranean nation, seeing
Europe as the favored sphere of action. Relations with Europe and the West in
general have evolved within this framework. The second outlook seeks to bind
Egypt to the Arab and Islamic worlds, turning foreign policy to the sphere of
action delineated by the 1952 revolution: the Arab, African, and Islamic worlds
and the international non-aligned movement. This shift in direction came at the
expense of Mediterranean nations, which ultimately means Europe, though in
this context Egypt showed interest in Eastern Europe, which was part of the
socialist camp.
Egyptian–European relations were in large part defined according to the
nature of Egypt’s ideological vision. In those periods in which Egypt subscribed
to Arab nationalism, putting politics before the economy and pan-Arab interests
over strictly national interests, relations with Europe were stormy. Yet as
Egyptian nationalism took the forefront, with the economy taking precedence
over politics and the national over the pan-Arab, relations between the two
parties witnessed positive developments. After the 1952 revolution, Egyptian
foreign policy focused on three areas: the Arab, the African, and members of the
non-aligned movement. The Mediterranean only came into play after the 1975
Helsinki Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe.1 Nor did the
European Community (EC) raise the matter until 1972.
The third factor that will aid our understanding of the course of Egyptian–
European relations is the Arab–Israeli conflict and the Palestinian issue. The
Palestinian cause is a vital part of Egyptian strategic thought. The issue is not
only linked to the question of Egypt’s Arab ties, but, more importantly, it has
significant security and geo-strategic dimensions. Egypt views a powerful state
on its north-eastern border as a major threat to its national security, particularly
as these borders have always been the entry point for foreign invaders.
Moreover, that this nation is armed with weapons of mass destruction represents
an additional source of anxiety, compounding the sense of threat. This is, of
course, in addition to Israel’s occupation of territory belonging to a number of
Arab countries, including Egypt, after the 1967 war.
This factor has had a substantial impact on Egyptian–European relations due
to the role Europe played in establishing, supporting, and arming Israel with
both conventional weapons and weapons of mass destruction. Britain bears
primary responsibility for establishing Israel, laying the basis through the
Balfour Declaration and handing over part of Palestine for the project, which
was at that time under the British Mandate. France also supplied Israel with the
materials necessary to develop nuclear weapons, and both countries joined Israel
in attacking Egypt in 1956.
With time, however, the Arab–Israeli conflict came to be a positive factor in
European–Egyptian relations. As the US began backing Israel, European
countries started to support certain aspects of Arab rights, particularly after the
October 1973 war. A European role in resolving the Arab–Israeli conflict is
viewed with much esteem, and Egypt is currently urging Europe to play a more
important role, hoping European even-handedness will counterbalance Amer-
ica’s absolute bias towards Israel.
The fourth factor affecting Egyptian–European relations is the US. The US
was extremely important to Egypt as the country started opening up to the West
after the October war. Especially during the presidency of Anwar al-Sadat
(1970–81), the US represented a budding ally and hopes for economic aid that
would relieve the hardships created as Egypt sought to rid itself of its socialist
system. Egypt gave priority to relations with the US, viewing it as the only party
that could truly support it by offering assistance and aid, as indeed occurred after
the peace treaty with Israel was signed in 1979. Yet with the end of the Cold
War, Egyptian–American relations began to witness tension, while relations
with Europe continued to evolve, until ultimately the Partnership Agreement
was signed, to the great interest of both parties.
The final factor in Egyptian–European relations is the economic or
developmental element, which, since the end of the Cold War, has become
the most prominent part of Egyptian foreign policy. The European Union is now
Egypt’s largest trading partner and the most readily prepared to embark on new
fields of economic cooperation.
Europe has thus come to occupy a prominent spot on Egypt’s foreign policy
agenda. A shared vision between the parties on a number of international issues
has also encouraged closer ties. Together, these different factors have shaped the
general course of relations between Egypt and Europe. These relations have
witnessed their ups and downs, fluctuating between conflict and peace, before
settling most recently into a state of general cooperation due to the coincidence
of a number of considerations that will be discussed below.
THE HISTORICAL BACKGROUND
Ever since ancient times, geographic proximity has been an important factor in
weaving ties and forging a shared history between Europe and the Middle East.
We have the example of the Phoenicians, originally from modern-day Lebanon,
who spread as far as southern Spain and the shores of Morocco. Control of the
Eastern Mediterranean later passed to the Greeks, followed by the Romans from
the first century BCE, who controlled most of the Mediterranean basin in
Europe, Africa, and Asia.
From 750–1453, the Islamic Empire extended to include most of the territory
of the Roman Empire, with the exception of France and Italy. With the eclipse of
the Ottoman Empire, most Arab countries, both Mediterranean and non-
Mediterranean, were part of European protectorates or mandates, which gave

way to colonial rule from the end of the nineteenth century to the mid-twentieth
century. Several important battles between the Allied and Axis powers during
World War II were fought on Arab lands.2
European–Egyptian relations go back to the most ancient times, always
fluctuating between integration and conflict.3 Before the emergence of the
modern state, relations were characterized by conflict, as the ancient Egyptians
extended their power or influence over much of the civilized Mediterranean. As
ancient Egypt weakened, control passed to the Asian Persians, then on to the
Greeks, who established most of the ports in Egypt. The Romans spread
European influence in the area for a long period, but with the appearance of
Islam, things changed once more, as that empire became the primary power in
the Middle East and parts of Europe up to France.4
The Crusades exemplify the period of conflict between the Middle East and
Europe, as Egypt was exposed to three Crusader campaigns in the twelfth
century. The Mamluk period and Turkish colonization came close behind,
followed by the reign of Mohammed Ali, at which point the conflict between
Egypt and European powers began anew. Ultimately, European powers put an
end to Mohammed Ali’s experiments with reform, considered to be the first true
attempt to modernize Egypt.5 Egypt’s geopolitical and strategic importance
increased with the establishment of the Suez Canal, and with the eclipse of the
Ottoman Empire, European powers set in motion a new conflict to gain control
of Egypt, which ended with the British occupation of Egypt in 1882.6 With the
end of World War I, nationalist movements appeared in the Middle East; the
1952 revolution achieved Egypt’s independence, which brought a new stage in
Egyptian–European relations.
From the end of World War II, the states of the region gradually won their
independence from European colonial regimes, including Britain, France, and
Italy. No sooner had World War II drawn to a close than tension began to
permeate Arab–European relations, as European colonial powers resisted
independence movements in the Arab world and established the state of Israel
on part of Palestine. Strains in relations reached a peak when France and Britain
joined with Israel to attack Egypt in October 1956. The Tripartite Aggression
represented the beginning of the end of European influence in the Arab world,
particularly given the strong position taken by US President Eisenhower, which
led to the withdrawal of the attacking forces.
Despite the withdrawal, Egyptian–European relations – and Egypt’s dealings
with the West in general – continued to be rocky in the mid-1950s and the 1960s
due to Egypt’s close relations with the socialist camp. Egypt’s adherence to the
non-aligned movement and its rejection of Western regional pacts, such as the
Baghdad Pact of 1955, CENTO, and the Eisenhower Doctrine of 1957, led to
increased tension in Egypt’s relations with the West in general. At the same
time, Egypt’s close ties to the countries of the socialist camp headed off further
development of Egyptian relations with countries of the Western camp.7
Notwithstanding Moscow’s initial reservations about the non-aligned
movement, which it considered ‘morally corrupt’, it was faster than
Washington in responding to the movement and dealing with it as a non-

hostile power.8 While Egypt’s relations with the West were growing more
distant, the foundation was being laid for an objective encounter between
Egypt and Eastern Europe. Relations first developed between Egypt and the
Soviet Union before extending to the rest of the Eastern camp. Even so,
Egypt’s relations with Eastern European countries were often no more than
dealings with Moscow in another guise, as in the Czech arms deal of
September 1955. Although Egypt’s relations with Eastern Europe began and
developed in the context of its relations with the Soviets, Yugoslavia and
Romania were exceptions to this rule. Both enjoyed political independence
from Moscow, and Yugoslavia joined with Egypt and India in drawing up the
foundation of the non-aligned movement. Romania, meanwhile, enjoyed
special relations with Israel, the consequences of which were clear when all
Eastern European nations except for Romania decided to cut diplomatic ties
with Israel after the June 1967 war.
At the same time, the general Western (and especially American) support of
Israel created tensions in Egypt’s relations with the West. When the US
supported Israel in the 1967 war, Egypt and the US cut diplomatic ties.9 Indeed,
there was a general deterioration of Arab–European relations in the 1950s and
1960s, which reached its peak with the June 1967 war when most European
nations supported Israel – with the exception of De Gaulle’s France, which
announced its condemnation of nations initiating aggression.10
From June 1967 until the October 1973 war, Arab relations with Europe
continued to deteriorate. With the exception of the meeting of foreign
ministers held in Munich in November 1970, the EC did not put the Middle
East question and the issue of occupied Arab lands on its agenda. The 1970
convention produced the so-called Schumann Document, which remained
classified until French Foreign Minister Maurice Schumann released it himself
a year later. The most important point in the document was a proposal to
adjust the borders between Israel and its Arab neighbors, to the detriment of
the Arabs.11
Although this document coincided in many ways with US policy, Washington
was quick to reject it, refusing any independent European action in the Middle
East on issues that it viewed as being the sole province of the US. The US
refused to allow the EC to put forth initiatives or to adopt independent positions,
even if they were in perfect accord with US views. Rather, the US wanted
Europe to act solely through US policy, proposing no action that might appear to
be an independent European initiative.
The October 1973 war marks the transitional point in Egypt’s relations with
the capitalist camp, and particularly with the countries of Western Europe.
President Anwar al-Sadat was certain that the US possessed the means to resolve
the Arab–Israeli conflict, and he believed that Egypt’s future lay with the West,
which could lead Egypt to economic development and a total rebirth. The EC
also inaugurated the Euro-Arab Dialogue and began taking positions that were
more cognizant of Arab grievances. This marked the beginning of the thaw in
THE OCTOBER 1973 WAR AND A REVISION OF THE EUROPEAN

POSITION
The October 1973 war saw a fundamental shift in Europe’s stance towards
Middle Eastern issues of and its relations with Egypt and the Arab world. For
Europe, the war was significant for four reasons:
1. It threatened Europe’s southern boundaries.

2. Arabs used the oil weapon to support their position, with oil-producing Arab
countries implementing a selective embargo on European countries
according to their stance on the conflict.
3. The US supplied Israel with weapons and spare parts from its military bases
in Western Europe.
4. The US announced a massive mobilization on its strategic bases in Western
Europe as a response to the Soviet threat to send troops to the Middle East to
impose UN resolutions. This represented a grave threat to the security of
Western Europe, which feared a confrontation between the two superpowers
on its territory.12
The October war impelled the nations of Europe to take rapid steps
independent of US policy, and the EC issued a statement on October 13, 1973,
calling for a cease-fire and the initiation of negotiations to resolve the conflict in
the framework of UN Security Council Resolution 242.13 This was followed by
another statement issued on November 7, 1973, in which Europe recognized for
the first time two important principles. First, it acknowledged that the Israeli
occupation of Arab lands must end and it condemned the acquisition of land
through force. The proposal in the Schumann Document to make ‘minor’
adjustments to international borders to the detriment of the Arabs was dropped.
Second, it mentioned the necessity of taking the legitimate rights of Palestinians
into consideration. Previously, Europe had viewed the Palestinian issues merely
as a matter of refugees who required either resettlement or compensation.14
When the war had come to an end, Arab governments sought to use this
evolution of the European stance to reach a peaceful settlement to the conflict.
They thus pushed Europe to support Arab demands for an Israeli withdrawal
from all Arab lands occupied in the June 1967 war. The Sixth Arab Summit,
held in Algeria in late November 1973, resolved to intensify talks with the EC
and ask it take a clear stance on the conflict while pressuring Israel to withdraw
from occupied Arab land.15 The European response came in the Copenhagen
Conference held in December 1974, attended by four Arab foreign ministers
representing the Algeria summit. The conference adopted the aforementioned
declaration to support UN Resolution 242 in its entirety, in addition to a French
proposal for a Euro-Arab Dialogue to define political and economic relations
between Europe and the Arab world.16
This is the first appearance of the idea of the Euro-Arab Dialogue, which saw
periods of both vitality and atrophy depending on the interplay of several
factors, including the nature of Arab stances and their degree of cohesion,
Europe’s ability to resist Arab pressure, and the ability of the US to dissuade
Europe from adopting independent policies on the Arab–Israeli conflict. Soon
enough, however, the initiative faded away, coming to naught. This was due to
the following factors:
1 The waning of Arab pressure on Europe

The European Community’s stance as it appeared in the declaration of
November 6, 1973, was taken under the pressure of the oil crisis and in the midst
of fears of a nuclear confrontation between the US and the Soviet Union on
European soil. Thus, Europe had to act fast, taking more objective stances to
convince Arab states to lift the oil embargo and put an end to the war, thus
avoiding the threat of a nuclear clash between the two superpowers. With the
end of the war, however, Arab nations began gradually to lift the embargo,
allowing Europe to catch its breath. Egypt, too, began to show its willingness to
settle the conflict, and the Arab consensus began to unravel. Thus, Europe no
longer found any reason to continue with its independent policy, which had led
to conflicts with the US.17
2 The disintegration of the Arab consensus

Undoubtedly, the unprecedented Arab consensus to use the oil weapon in the
service of the Arab military machine in its confrontation with Israel bears the
primary responsibility for forcing Europe to take a more objective stance
towards the conflict. When this consensus unraveled and the Arabs splintered, it
took the pressure off Europe to continue with its independent policies. From
Europe’s point of view, there was no longer any justification for continuing on
an independent course that created difficulties with the US.
3 US pressures on Europe
The statement issued on November 6, 1973, and the Euro-Arab Dialogue that
ensued, disquieted the US, which viewed it as a challenge to Washington’s role
in the Middle East and to its vision of the nature of the conflict and the means to
resolve it. Washington took the statement as an assault on its working
framework that put Europe in the shade of the US umbrella. Thus, the US put
enormous pressure on Europe, making it clear that Europe’s newly found
independence was hindering US efforts at a political settlement of the Arab–
Israeli conflict. The US succeeded completely in its efforts, as reflected in the
series of statements on the conflict released by the EC (see Table 1).
Given this context, the US did not hesitate to threaten to abandon Europe to
the Soviet menace if it persisted in pursuing its independent course towards the
Arab–Israeli conflict. When the Euro-Arab Dialogue was inaugurated in March
1974, the US accused Europe of hindering its efforts to resolve the settlement,
and Washington asked European policy makers to consult it before making any
decisions. Washington added that European unilateral actions had offered
concessions to the Arabs which had only encouraged them to hold to their
position, thus hindering political efforts at a settlement.
TABLE 1
T H E E VO L U T I ON O F T H E E U R OP E A N S T A NC E T O W A R D S T H E A R A B – I S R A E L I C O N F L I C T
Schumann Document EC Declaration of European Council London European Council Venice Brussels Declaration,
(1971) November 6, 1973 Declaration, June 9, 1977 Declaration, June 13, 1980 November 23, 1987 EC Declaration of 1989
1. A call for Israel to 1. The illegality of 1. Reiteration of previous 1. Justice for all peoples which 1. A call to convene an 1. Reiteration of
withdraw from Arab lands acquiring land through principles plus the need to requires recognizing the international conference previous principles plus
occupied in the June 1967 war. establish a home for the legitimate rights of the for peace in the Middle the need to include the
war; minor adjustments to Palestinian people; no Palestinian people. East under the auspices Palestinian Liberation
the borders to the benefit 2. Putting an end to the mention of the nature of of the UN. Organization in the
of Israel. Israeli occupation in this home. 2. Recognition that the Middle East peace
effect since June 1967. Palestinian issue is not a 2. The need for process.
2. Making Jerusalem an 2. The need for participation problem of refugees. participation by all
international city. 3. Respecting the by representatives of the Palestinians must be allowed concerned parties in
sovereignty and Palestinian people in any to determine own destiny. the conference
EGYPTIAN–EUROPEAN RELATIONS
3. Resolving the Palestinian independence of negotiations; representatives

refugee issue by giving countries in the region to be selected in 3. Need for participation of
refugees the choice and their right to live in consultation with relevant representatives of the Palestinian
between returning or peace within secure, parties; no mention of the people and the Palestinian
settling in other states. internationally Palestinian Liberation Liberation Organization in peace
recognized borders. Organization. negotiations.
4. A recognition that the 4. A rejection of any unilateral

legitimate rights of the initiative that aims to change the
Palestinian people must be status quo in Jerusalem, which
taken into account in any must remain open to followers of
final settlement of the all religions.
conflict.
5. Israeli settlements in the
occupied territories represent a
dangerous obstacle to the pursuit
of peace in the Middle East.
71
The extent to which the US was successful in putting an end to Europe’s

independent course of action in the Arab–Israeli conflict was made clear when
the EC convened in West Germany, in April 1974. The meeting produced a
declaration stipulating that the US must be included in some form in the
Community’s political deliberations. The resolution, proposed by Britain, stated:
‘If any of the nine member countries of the community wish to discuss an issue,
the head of the community, in concert with the other eight nations, will consult
the US before taking any final political decision. If the member states do not
agree to these consultations, they may conduct these consultations bilaterally’.
With this resolution, Europe’s independent stance towards the Arab–Israeli
conflict gradually faded, and its policies fell in line with US policies. When the
EC tried to produce another Middle East declaration in 1977, Washington
quickly buried the attempt, claiming that it would impede the efforts of US
Secretary of State Cyrus Vance. Britain, West Germany and the Netherlands
supported the American view, which subsequently transformed the declaration
into a call for the parties of the conflict to respond to US diplomatic efforts.
When Europe started once more to act according to US policy, the united
Arab stance began to unravel. Europe subsequently decided to avoid politics in
its dialogue with the Arab world. This became abundantly clear in the second
meeting of the general committee of the Euro-Arab Dialogue in Tunisia in
February 1977. When Arab states condemned the European refusal to
recognize the Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) and its desire to
strengthen ties with Israel, the head of the European delegation replied: ‘I am
certain that you will realize that the European Community cannot allow others
to define the course of European–Israeli relations’. He added that since the
council had taken a united stance on the Arab–Israeli conflict, Arabs must also
unite, while the Palestinians must accommodate new developments on the
international stage.18
Thus, the Euro-Arab Dialogue ended in futility, coming to a standstill in 1978.
When it began anew in 1983, it was completely paralyzed by Europe’s
insistence on conforming to US policy, which sought to keep European actions
subordinate to its own.
Europe continued to work in the shadow of the US throughout the 1970s and
1980s. The evolution of Europe’s position, the initiatives it proposed, and its
drift away from the general framework of US policy only came about as a result
of the oil crisis, when Arab oil-producing states caught Europe off guard by
imposing a selective oil embargo that gave preferential treatment to nations
according to their stance on the Arab–Israeli conflict.
Europe’s fledgling attempt at developing a stance of its own towards the
conflict and settlement efforts came as policy makers feared an interruption of
oil supplies and a nuclear clash between the two superpowers with disastrous
consequences for Europe. The stimulus for the EC’s new position was not in the
first place its conviction of the justice of the Arab cause or its belief in the right
of the Palestinian people to obtain their legitimate rights; nor was it the product
of a comprehensive vision that sought to maintain security and stability in the
southern Mediterranean. The newly found independence of European declara-
tions and actions at the end of the October war emerged essentially out of a
sense of a fear – a fear of the lack of Arab oil or of nuclear holocaust between
the two superpowers. Thus, when the sense of danger subsided, Europe once
more began pursuing its policies within the general framework of US policy,
surrendering to Washington its ability to take the initiative.
The decline of independent European action coincided with a transformation
in Egypt’s vision as well, as the focus shifted from the political to the economic,
and from the pan-Arab to the Egyptian. As a result, a new stage in European–
Egyptian relations began, which ultimately ended in the signing of the EU–
Egypt Partnership Agreement.
We must stress, however, that this transition in Egyptian policy did not mean
that Egypt no longer placed any value on the political or wider Arab concerns in
its foreign dealings. Rather, it meant that the economic was no longer a prisoner
to the political and that national interests were no longer subsidiary to an all-
encompassing Arab nationalism. Each of these issues now had its own course,
which should not be allowed to interfere with progress in another sphere. Egypt
continued to be interested in Arab issues, particularly the Palestinian cause. It
also continued to adopt Arab causes, but without sacrificing its national interests
or holding them hostage to political or wider Arab constraints.
The new separation between the economic and political, and between the
national and the supra-national, was particularly strong in the second half of the
1970s, after Sadat led Egypt to improve relations with the US and resolve its
conflict with Israel first by visiting Jerusalem in November 1977 and later by
signing a peace treaty with Israel in 1979. As a result most Arab states cut their
ties with Egypt, and the Arab League moved its headquarters from Cairo to
Tunis.
The reinstatement of Arab–Egyptian ties and Egypt’s resumption of its Arab
role in the 1980s have once again raised the profile of the political and the pan-
Arab in Egypt’s policy, but it has not been at the expense of the economic, or of
Egypt’s national interests generally. This has freed Egypt from bearing the
burden of pan-Arabism, which might influence its foreign relations and
international ties. Certainly, Egypt has attempted to use its international
relations to achieve Arab higher interests, but this has been in large part due to
its desire for the regional security and stability that will allow it to continue on
the road of development. Egypt has thus strengthened its ties to Europe, at the
same time using these ties to demand an active European role in resolving the
Palestinian issue and the Arab–Israeli conflict.
A POLITICAL SETTLEMENT IN THE MIDDLE EAST
Once the oil crisis ended, and despite Europe’s vital interests in the Middle East
and the relationship between security in both regions, EC policymakers turned
over the affairs of the region to the US. This tendency was reinforced by
Europe’s lack of a clear, joint stance on matters of foreign policy and security
through the 1980s and much of the 1990s. Regional cooperation among
countries of the EC was still largely limited to the social and economic spheres,
or what is termed ‘low politics’, rather than issues of ‘high politics’, which
includes foreign affairs and security.
The Madrid Peace Conference of October 1991 revealed the degree to which
the EC had retreated from political involvement in Middle Eastern regional
affairs, even as the group was on its way to becoming the European Union.
Europe did not participate at all in the direct bilateral negotiations that discussed
the issue of occupied Arab lands, the heart of the conflict, limiting itself to
attending the signing ceremonies held by Washington for agreements that grew
out of the negotiations. The same thing occurred in the ceremony held at the
signing of the Oslo Agreement in the White House Garden on September 13,
1993, and the signing of the Israeli–Jordanian treaty on October 14, 1994.
Europe, however, did provide economic and technical aid to the parties involved
to strengthen the agreements and increase their chances for success, but played
no tangible role in the bilateral negotiations that led to the final agreements.
At the same time, however, the EU Member States have played a tangible role
in multilateral regional negotiations, hosting several conferences and overseeing
talks on its five main issues of concern: water, refugees, the environment,
economic cooperation and arms control. Although European efforts produced
positive results, particularly in the fields of refugees, environment and water, the
Arab parties involved have not necessarily viewed them positively – and this
because of a number of factors:
1. The Arabs have tended to see multilateral regional negotiations as an

attempt to undermine the Arab boycott of Israel and inaugurate a state of
normalization. Arabs have thus linked progress on the multilateral front
with progress in direct bilateral negotiations that deal with the heart of the
conflict: the Israeli occupation of Arab lands. In turn, Europe’s focus on
multilateral negotiations has created the impression among Arab parties that
Europe is seeking to separate the two paths of negotiations. In other words,
Arab parties have viewed Europe’s role as a contributing factor in regional
divisions, not a priority among Arab states.
2. The Arabs believe that the EU has the ability to play a political role in direct
bilateral negotiations, using its relations with Israel and the US. Never-
theless, the EU Member States have made no real effort to involve
themselves in these negotiations, leaving them completely to the super-
vision of the US.
3. The EU has preferred to distance itself from any political role in the Middle
East, using Israel’s rejection of a European role in the peace process as its
justification. Europe has repeatedly stated that if it is to play a role in the
peace process, it must be accepted by all parties to the conflict – a remote
possibility given Israel’s continued rejection of any role save that of the US.
With time, it has become clear that the EU will limit its actions to the economic
sphere. In addition to attending signing ceremonies, the most the EU can do to
resolve the Arab–Israeli conflict is to pump in various forms of economic aid to
the concerned parties and supervise multilateral regional talks. Europe’s
surrender in this regard dovetails perfectly with US and Israeli policies, but it
conflicts with the Arab view, which would like to see an active European role
given the continent’s substantial interests in the region and the strong ties
between security in Europe and the Middle East.
THE BARCELONA PROCESS: A ONE-SIDED EUROPEAN VISION
Though the Barcelona process has been extremely important in cementing ties
between the EU and Mediterranean Arab nations, the process faces a major
problem in the EU’s insistence on maintaining a one-sided vision. Despite its
substantial interests in the region, its role as the main source of aid to the
countries of the region, and the objective links between the two regions, the EU
has maintained an extremely narrow vision in its dealings with the area. In short,
it has consistently sought to preserve its interests and guarantee its security by
trying to avert dangers that may originate in the south, such as an armed conflict
or a regional war, a serious economic crisis, political instability, illegal
immigration, or fundamentalist activity. Its vision has not yet evolved to include
the possibility of achieving these same objectives through cooperative means, by
adopting shared Mediterranean policies that can preserve the interests of both
parties to the relationship.
Just as Mediterranean Arab countries have a number of criticisms of the
political role of the EU in the Arab–Israeli conflict, they are also critical of the
Barcelona Process. Their criticisms can be summarized as follows:
1. The primary motive behind the EU’s proposal of the Barcelona process is its
desire to minimize the sources of instability and head off any potentially
harmful ramifications for Europe. That is, the EU is seeking to avoid
problems rather than reap the fruits of joint cooperation.
2. Security and political concerns dominate the dealings of the EU with the
countries of the southern Mediterranean. Through the Barcelona Agree-
ment, the EU is striving to achieve a number of security and political
objectives that will minimize its exposure to crises stemming from southern
rim Mediterranean countries. The primary objective is not to help the
countries of the south overcome their problems, but to help them in crisis
management, thus containing the problem within a confined geographic area
and preventing their export northwards. The economic programs of the EU,
including aid, grants, and the partnership initiative, are all part of this
framework that seeks to use economic means to achieve political and
security objectives.
3. The EU has thus far controlled the course of interactions between southern
and northern Mediterranean countries. Despite the various terms used to
describe the relationship – labeled as cooperative, participatory, or a
partnership – the EU has the upper hand. The EU approaches the
relationship as one bloc yet it wants to deal with states of the southern
rim on an individual basis. While it is true that the EU is not responsible for
the lack of an effective regional framework among southern Mediterranean
countries themselves since the inauguration of the Euro-Arab Dialogue,

Europe has willfully shot down any framework for joint action suggested by
southern rim countries. It appears to continue believing that it can only
secure its interests by dealing with these states individually. Even when the
EU began to impress on its southern peers the need to forge some sort of
regional cooperation framework, it appeared to many in the south that this
was used as a justification for its own tendency to deal with these nations
unilaterally. Moreover, latent in the European proposal was the EU’s desire
to stimulate the process of normalization between Arab nations and Israel.
4. The EU is undoubtedly the stronger, wealthier, and more developed party in
the relationship. It has thus sought to maintain the unidirectional nature of
its interaction with the south: economic aid, ideas, and even theoretical
frameworks flow only from the north to the south. Thus far, the EU has not
allowed the relationship to flourish into one of true interaction, and it does
not take into consideration the economic, social, and cultural differences
between the two sides. The EU Member States, most of which are advanced
economies and long-standing democracies, tend to deal with the countries of
the southern Mediterranean as backward and needing to accustom
themselves to playing the role of recipient, whether it is of financial aid,
ideas, or theoretical frameworks. In general, the EU presents its own
experiences and concepts to southern rim nations as a package deal, without
bothering too much with the domestic state of affairs in these countries or
the significant cultural differences between the north and south. This vision
has created difficulties on a number of common issues, including, for
example, the issue of human rights. While there is no disagreement over the
general issue, the south has taken issue with various details on the human
rights agenda of the West. Thus, the EU must reconsider the package it
offers to southern rim nations to protect the cultural particularities of these
societies. This cannot happen until Europe sees the relationship as one
between true partners, rather than that between donor and recipient.
5. The EU does not distinguish between, on the one hand, European states
aspiring to join the EU and, on the other, countries that only wish to forge
partnerships or cooperative relations. Neither the EU nor the Arab states of
the southern Mediterranean want the latter to join the EU. It is true that the
political, economic, and cultural packages offered by the EU to each set of
countries does differ, but the nature of the relationship between the EU and
southern Mediterranean countries needs to be further clarified and the
distinction, at least in the cultural sphere, must be acknowledged.
6. This lack of differentiation is clearly illustrated in a number of ideas
proffered by the EU to the countries of the southern Mediterranean rim. For
example, at an early stage in the peace process, the EU proposed that
Middle Eastern states create a body similar to Organization for Security and
Cooperation in Europe without stopping to consider the differences between
Europe and the Middle East, the requirements for creating such an
organization, or the general nature of relations in the region. Latent in this
proposal is one of the most criticized aspects of Europe’s view of regional
security issues: Europe focuses on preventing conflict rather than giving the
priority to resolving already existing conflicts. Thus, Europe believes it is
necessary to implement defined projects to prevent conflicts and resolve
them in the early stages; while this is no doubt important, it is even more
important from the Arabs’ point of view to reach a comprehensive
settlement to the Arab–Israeli conflict. As long as this conflict is not
resolved, they cannot imagine initiating any other program for conflict
avoidance, since the Arab–Israeli conflict is itself the source of so many
other conflicts in the region. Moreover, conflict prevention of the European
sort necessitates creating an organization that cooperates fully in political,
security, military, and intelligence affairs, none of which is possible until a
comprehensive, just settlement of the Arab–Israeli conflict is reached.
The sum of these shortcomings was crystallized in Europe’s inability to play any
effective role in putting a stop to the rapid deterioration of the situation in the
occupied territories seen since late 2000. As the situation deteriorates not only
between Palestinians and Israelis, but also between Israel and all its Arab
neighbors, including those with which it has signed peace agreements – Egypt in
particular – the EU has not been able to defuse the situation or demand that
Israel abide by its international agreements. Indeed, the EU is still a prisoner of
US policy in the region.
EGYPT, THE EU AND THE PARTNERSHIP AGREEMENT: A LOOK TO

THE FUTURE
Despite the importance of economic relations between Egypt and Europe and the
positive impact these relations can have on both parties, a number of factors
delayed formalizing these relations in the framework of an accord:
1. The end of the 1950s and the 1960s was a period of confrontation rising out
of negative historical experiences, as has been previously explained.
2. This period did not allow for the crystallization of any economic
cooperative framework, as Egypt gave precedence to the political over
the economic and the pan-Arab over the national.
3. The EC/EU Member States themselves did not have a shared vision towards
the countries of the Mediterranean and particularly the nations of the
southern rim, Egypt included. The 1957 Treaty of Rome, which established
the European Economic Community, did not define a Mediterranean policy.
Indeed the outlines of this policy only began to come into focus in June
1973.19
Egypt began negotiations to achieve favored-nation trade status with the EC in

1969. The first agreement was signed in December 1972, effective in 1973. A
wider-ranging agreement replaced this accord in January 1977, in the context of
the community’s collective Mediterranean policy. These accords stipulated trade
privileges, financial cooperation, and the establishment of joint organizations
between the parties. Egypt was the first country to received food aid from the EC
in 1986 and 1987.20
Despite the cooperation, Europe’s Mediterranean policy did not live up to
Egypt’s expectations. The two continued to be unequal trading partners, and by
1988 Egypt had a trade deficit with the EC of $2.4 billion. Moreover, Egyptian
exports to the EC were largely primary commodities, with petroleum
representing 68 percent of the value of Egyptian exports to EC members, or
$2 billion. Egypt received the largest share of aid allocated to Mediterranean
countries by the EC, receiving 29 percent of the total guaranteed in the three
financial protocols.21
Egypt sought to further its relations with the EU within the framework of an
EU–Egyptian Partnership Agreement, which policymakers hoped would raise
the competitiveness of Egyptian products and grant Egypt trade privileges with
the EU – particularly important after the EU became Egypt’s biggest trade
partner. In 1998, the EU received about 42 percent of all Egyptian exports and
accounted for 46 percent of its imports.22
Egypt first embarked on its Partnership Agreement with the EU in September
1993, when the Union invited Egypt to draw up a new framework for relations
that would include all possible spheres of cooperation. Egypt decided to begin
negotiations when President Mubarak gave a speech before the European
Parliament in April 1994 asking it to cancel the 1977 accords. The executive
resolution was passed in October 1994.
An agreement to start preliminary negotiations was concluded in a meeting of
the EU–Egypt Cooperation Council in Brussels. Soon after, on December 19,
1994, the ministerial council issued its negotiation instructions to the European
committee, and negotiations between Egypt and the EU began. The first round
was held in Brussels on January 23–24, 1995, followed by a round in Cairo on
April 1–2, 1995. Further sessions followed, with the final session in Brussels on
June 14–18, 1999. The foreign ministers of the EU approved the agreement on
June 21, 1999.23 The Partnership Agreement between Egypt and the EU was
signed in Brussels on June 25, 2001. The agreement must now be ratified by the
parliaments of the parties involved, including Egypt and the 15 members of the
EU.24
In general, Egypt views the Partnership Agreement as more than simply an
economic accord, expecting it to have a positive impact on economic, political,
and cultural life in Egypt.25
CONCLUSION
It is clear from the previous discussion that the five factors mentioned at the
outset of this study have undergone tangible changes:
1. Both Europe and Egypt have completely overcome the negative legacy left
by their past association, as the last four decades have seen an accumulation
of positive experiences. At the same time, the various forms the relationship
has taken have added further positive dimensions to their relations. Indeed,
the most recent developments in European–Egyptian relations have begun

to cement a positive legacy to replace the negative experiences of the past.
2. In terms of the ideology adopted by the Egyptian elite, it is clear that
ideological considerations have receded, and the current elite gives priority
to the Mediterranean and its relations with Europe. This is reflected in
Egypt’s balance of trade, where Europe is Egypt’s largest trade partner.
Moreover, Egypt’s expectations for economic and scientific development
are pinned firmly on Europe, which poses further opportunities to develop
relations in the coming years.
3. As for the Arab–Israeli conflict and the Palestinian issue, Europe’s stance
has evolved greatly from the Egyptian point of view, and it is now much
more cognizant of the rights of the Palestinian people and more actively
supportive of the idea of establishing an independent Palestinian state. It is
also less biased towards Israel than is the US. The EU has become the
largest economic donor to the Palestinian Authority, and Europe, on both
the official and popular levels, has taken stances supportive of Palestinian
national rights. All of this has relieved certain historical tensions in
4. The US factor has actually driven Egypt to further its relations with Europe.
Despite the importance of its political, economic, and military relations with
the US, the US dealings with Egypt and other Arab countries in the post-
Cold War period, and particularly after September 11, have led the Egyptian
government to fear future pressure from the US. It has also raised the fear
that the US will use the issue of economic aid to extract political stances and
force Egypt to adopt policies that it feels are inimical to its own interests
and in conflict with its Arab and international ties. At the same time both
popular and official opinion in Egypt sees Europe as more sympathetic to
the Arab point of view. Thus, Egypt can work in harmony with Europe in a
number of fields. Even as the Egyptian government increasingly believes
that Europe is more cognizant of the nature of the region and more sensitive
to issues of stability, public opinion has been moving in the same direction.
5. That leaves the economic or development factor. Here, as Egypt has
switched its focus from the political to the economic, the EU is in the
vanguard of those states with which Egypt hopes to further relations and
build ties that can benefit the country on all levels.
For all these reasons, it is clear that Egyptian–European ties have the potential to
develop further, particularly since Egypt has not raised the issue of joining the
EU, but rather seeks to build strong ties and benefit from Europe’s technological
and scientific capabilities to enact a true rebirth in Egypt.
While there are some disagreements within the Egyptian private sector over
the Partnership Agreement with the EU arising from conflicting interests, in
general, Egypt’s relations with the EU are ripe for improvement. Indeed, the
possibilities are even greater given new US pressures on both Europe and the
Arab world, clearly illustrated in the Iraqi crisis of late 2002 and early 2003. The
US management of the crisis and the growing influence of conservatives in
Washington has reinforced Egypt’s turn towards Europe, a shift enacted with the
support of public opinion, which sees Europe as more objective, rational and
understanding.
NOTES
1. Muhammad Abd al-Wahhab, ‘al-‘Alaqat al-Misriya al-Urubiya’ [Egyptian–European Relations],
paper presented in a panel discussion on The Middle East in light of Globalization, the National
Center for Middle East Studies, Cairo, Feb. 22–23, 1999, p. 1.
2. Hana Ebeid, ‘al-Siyasa al-Urubiya tujah al-Sharq al-Awsat’ [European Policy toward Middle
East], in Emad Gad (ed.), al-Ittihad al-Urubi wa al-Sharq al-Awsat: Khibra al-Madi wa Afaq al-
Mustaqbal, [The European Union and the Middle East: The Experience of the Past and the
Prospects of the Future] (Cairo: Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 2002).
3. Muhammad Abd al-Wahhab, ‘al-‘Alaqat al-Misriya al-Urubiya’, p. 2.
4. Ibid.
5. Ibid., p. 3.
6. Ibid.
7. See Emad Gad, ‘al-Ittihad al-Urubi wa al-Sharq al-Awsat’ [The European Union and the Middle
East], in Gad (ed.), al-Ittihad al-Urubi wa al-Sharq al-Awsat.
8. Moqbool Ahmed Bhatty, ‘Great Powers and South Asia: Post Cold-War Trends’, South Asian
Studies (Institute of Regional Studies, Islamabad), Vol. 5, 1996, p. 103.
9. Muhammad Abd al-Wahhab, ‘al-‘Alaqat al-Misriya al-Urubiya’, p. 4.
10. Emad Gad, ‘Uruba 1992 wa al-‘Arab Siyasiyan wa ‘Askariyan’ [Europe 1992 and the Arabs
Politically and Militarily], in Al-Siyasa al-Duwaliya, no. 99, Jan. 1990, p. 137.
11. Ibid., p. 138.
12. Abd al-Meneim Said, Al-Hiwar al-‘Arabi al-Urubi: Dirasa lil-Nahj al-Urubi idha al-Hiwar
[Arab European Dialogue] (Cairo: Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1977), p. 49.
13. Ibrahim Abd al-Hamid, ‘al-Jama‘a al-Urubiya wa al-Siraa al-Arabi al-Israili: 1970–85’ [The
European Community and the Arab–Israeli conflict], in Al-Siyasa al-Duwaliya, no. 83, Jan.
1986, p. 36.
14. Sami Mansur (ed.), al-Hiwar al-‘Arabi al-Urubi: Bahth ‘an Bidaya Jadida, [Arab European
Dialogue] (Cairo: Ahram Center for Political and Strategic Studies, 1984), pp. 18–19.
15. Adnan al-Hamd, ‘La Hiwar bidun al-Filistin’, [No Dialogue without Palestinians], in Al-Siyasa
al-Duwaliya, no. 27, July 1974, p. 62.
16. Ibid., p. 63.
17. Emad Gad, ‘Uruba 1992 wa al-‘Arab Siyasiyan wa ‘Askariyan’, pp. 138–9.
18. Al-Ahram, Nov. 18, 1977.
19. Duriya Shafiq Basyuni, ‘al-‘Alaqat al-Misriya al-Urubiya’ [Egyptian–European Relations],
paper presented in a panel discussion on The Middle East in Light of Globalization, the National
Center for Middle East Studies, Cairo, Feb. 22–23, 1999, p. 2.
20. Ibid., p. 2.
21. Ibid., p. 3.
22. Ibid., p. 15.
23. Al-Taqrir al-Istratiji al-‘Arabi [Arab Strategic Report] 2000 (Cairo: Ahram Center for Political
and Strategic Studies, 2001), pp. 31–324.
24. Hasan Abu Talib, ‘Ittifaqiyat al-Musharaka al-Misriya al-Urubiya’, Malaff al-Ahram al-Istratij
[Al-Ahram Strategic File] 79, July 2001, pp. 61–2.
25. Al-Taqrir al-Istratiji al-‘Arabi 2000, p. 317.
Globalization and Generational Change:
Syrian Foreign Policy between Regional
Conflict and European Partnership
RAYMOND HINNEBUSCH*
The Middle East is in the process of a generational change in leadership and

nowhere is this more striking than in Syria where the long-serving leader, Hafiz
al-Asad, has passed on power to his son, Bashar, arguably representative of a new
generation more attuned to the norms of globalization. This change follows
profound international transformations accompanying the end of the Cold War,
including the emergence of US hegemony and the drive to incorporate the
‘periphery’ into a West-centric and liberal ‘New World Order’. A major
manifestation of globalization is the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership (EMP) that
seeks, among other things, to bring Middle Eastern states into conformity with
international economic norms. It has been widely anticipated that the conjunction
of globalization from without and the succession of a new generation of leaders
from within could produce sea changes in Middle East states such as Syria.
Expectations of the inevitable transformation of the region under globaliza-
tion are consistent with structuralist theories giving priority to the systemic
level, including realism’s belief that great powers dictate the rules of the
international system and the dependency school’s view that economic
dependency turns Third World leaders into clients of the core. Moreover,
globalization, for its enthusiasts, brings only good things – economic growth,
government accountability and zones of peace in place of regional conflicts –
which Middle Eastern states ought, in their own interests, to embrace.1
Yet, it is indisputable that the Middle East has shown the greatest resistance to
globalization of any ‘periphery’ region: economic liberalization is far less
advanced, conflict resolution has broken down and democratization experiments
have been reversed. Globalization enthusiasts might argue that this resistance
reflects a merely temporary blocking by ‘gerontocratic’ authoritarian regimes of
pent-up pressures for change. Others, however, see it as symptomatic of a deep-
rooted cultural ‘exceptionalism’ expressive of a ‘clash of civilizations’ with the
West. Though exaggerated, this view is compatible with the constructivist view
that states, far from responding uniformly to systemic constraints, do so
*The author wishes to acknowledge the support given to the research for this article by the US
Institute of Peace.
82 ANALYZING MIDDLE EASTERN POLICIES
according to the way their identity shapes particular conceptions of their

interests. In Halliday’s view, moreover, globalization is merely the latest phase
in an uneven incorporation of the region into the world capitalist order which,
being frequently damaging, is naturally viewed warily by regional opinion.2 To
this must be added L. Carl Brown’s view that local actors seek to use the
penetration of the region by external powers for their own purposes.3
What casts doubt on both the inevitability of the region’s homogeneous
globalization and its supposedly unrelenting exceptionalism is the variation in
responses to globalization by different states within the Middle East. This
contribution will argue that the specific response of any given Middle East state is
a function of a changing interaction between the systemic (inter-state) and state
(domestic) levels. At the systemic level, globalization is a complex process
constituting both threats and opportunities for regional states. It has gone through
several phases in which the balance of threat and opportunity has differed:
1. Western imperialism’s reduction of the area to an economic periphery of the

core and its imposition of a Western-style regional states system (1800–
1940).
2. The Cold War period (1945–90), in which regional states consolidated
themselves by exploiting superpower rivalries to access arms, economic
resources and political technology.
3. The current phase, in which a more united core displays both benign (EU)
and malign (US) faces to the region.
The balance of opportunities and threats at the system level inevitably shapes
regional responses to globalization, but whether policy-makers perceive the
latter or the former to dominate is partly determined by domestic-level factors:
1. The relative satisfaction or frustration of the interests and identities of the

social forces incorporated into regimes during state formation locks them
into either more system-resistant or system-adaptive orientations; these can,
however, be altered by changes over time in the composition of these social
forces.
2. Whether a state is able effectively to defend its interests in the international
system instead of remaining a victim of it; this, in turn, depends on whether
the state attains the requisites – cohesion and leadership autonomy – of a
‘rational actor’.4
Syria, for its part, has been profoundly shaped by the international system in
its three phases of differential impact on the region. First, the frustration of
Syria’s Arab identity institutionalized at the founding of the regional states
system generated a profound irredentism that put Syria on a revisionist system-
challenging tangent. Second, the wars that this helped unleash reshaped Syria
into a national security state. Finally, the current phase of globalization
combined with leadership change has initiated a new effort to negotiate Syria’s
inclusion in the world order but in a way that preserves its identity and interests.
SYRIAN FOREIGN POLICY 83
In this transition period, Syria has wavered between two contrary orientations:
first, an older strategy of power-balancing against perceived external threats
(chiefly, Israel and, to a lesser extent, its US ally) through regional alliances and
the rent-seeking that provides resources to sustain the ruling coalition; and
second, a new liberalizing strategy which would move Syria away from rent-
seeking and power politics toward a developmental state through a cautious
integration into the world system; this is being pursued chiefly via a strategic
alliance with the EU which would access economic resources while buffering
the country from US hostility. Syria’s course exposes how regional states are
threatened by globalization yet, can also resist, adapt to and try to exploit these
forces for their own ends.
SYSTEMIC IMPACT, STATE FORMATION AND FOREIGN POLICY
The Imposition of the Regional System and the Frustration of Identity

Syria was set on a relatively durable foreign policy tangent by the frustration of
its identity at its very birth amidst imperialism’s imposition of a fragmented
regional states system. The resulting radical dismemberment of historic Syria
created a deep-seated irredentism, expressed in the impulse to merge the Syrian
state, seen as an artificial creation of imperialism, in a wider Arab nation. The
Zionist colonization of Palestine, viewed as a lost portion of historic Syria,
together with subsequent border conflicts with Israel, deepened Syrian rejection
of the status quo. While, in consequence, no Syrian politician could hope to gain
or keep power without demonstrating commitment to pan-Arabism and to the
rejection of Israel, the Syrian state was initially too weak to be an actor rather
than a victim of the regional power struggle and foreign policy amounted to a
largely rhetorical expression of radical nationalism.
The 1950s political mobilization of the middle class reinforced Syria’s
revisionist tangent. The failure of oligarchic-dominated political institutions to
absorb the middle class and to address the growing agrarian unrest from the
country’s extremely unequal land tenure structure destabilized the post-
independence state. Simultaneously, the West’s backing of Israel and its
attempt to sustain its influence in the region through alliance systems against the
pan-Arab alternative promoted by Egypt’s Nasser, de-legitimized pro-Western
politicians and the Western economic ties of the landed-commercial oligarchy. It
fuelled the rise of radical parties – notably the Ba’th Party – which infiltrated the
army and ruled the schools and streets.5 The military, expanding to meet the
Israeli threat and recruited from middle class and peasant youth, became a
hotbed of nationalist and populist dissent.
This ferment culminated in the Ba’thist coup of March 1963. The new regime
faced opposition, not just from the oligarchy it had overthrown, but also from
rivals such as Nasserites and the Muslim Brotherhood, and hence initially rested
on a very narrow support base. On top of this, the regime itself was wracked by a
power struggle along sectarian, generational and ideological lines in which ‘ex-
peasant’ radicals, in particular Alawis, assumed power at the expense of middle
class (usually Sunni) moderates. Foreign policy was an issue in this struggle,
with the Ba’thi radicals seeking nationalist legitimacy by sponsoring Palestinian

fedayeen raids into Israel. This, however, ignoring Israeli military superiority,
brought on the 1967 defeat, the Israeli occupation of the Syrian Golan Heights,
and the discrediting of the radical Ba’thists.
War and State Consolidation

The occupation of the Golan made Syria a permanently dissatisfied and insecure
state and further locked it into the struggle with Israel; yet, Syria had learned the
hard way the costs of ignoring the systemic power balance. This dilemma provoked
the rise to power of a new ‘realist’ wing of the Ba’th under Hafiz al-Asad who was
determined to pursue the struggle with Israel within the bounds of realistic goals
and strategies.6 This required the consolidation of a national security state.
The consolidation of the Ba’th state had begun under the radicals who, facing
powerful urban opposition, launched a revolution from above which, through land
reform and nationalizations, secured the socio-economic bases of power. Syria’s
turn to ‘socialism’ was also driven by the belief that a nationalist foreign policy
could not be pursued without cutting the webs of shared interests between the
Syrian bourgeoisie and the West. The regime also forged a strong ideological
party which mobilized a largely rural base of support and which institutionalized
the Ba’th’s socialist and Arab nationalist ideology. The other pillar of the regime
was the army, already radicalized by the conflict with Israel, which increasingly
became the preserve of initially property-less peasant minorities, especially
Alawis, who had to prove their commitment to the Arab identity they shared with
the majority Sunni community.7 After his 1970 seizure of power within the Ba’th,
Hafiz al-Asad added two other legs to the regime, a security apparatus recruited
from Alawi kin and a regime-dependent segment of the Sunni bourgeoisie
appeased by economic liberalization and state patronage. Crucial to Asad’s
consolidation of the regime was rent – oil revenues and aid from Arab oil states –
that allowed him to service clientele networks within and alongside state
institutions and helped fund construction of a huge national security state
buttressed by Soviet arms and designed to confront Israel over the Golan Heights.8
The regime’s Arab nationalist role as the most steadfast defender of the Arab
cause in the battle with Israel became the basis of its domestic legitimacy and of
the regional stature that entitled it to the financial backing of other Arab states,
further locking the state into the struggle with Israel. Yet the stake in the state
acquired by the newly privileged interests incorporated during its consolidation
resulted in a recasting of Arab nationalism in a form compatible with Syrian
sovereignty. It was now taken to mean not the unification of the Arab states at the
expense of Syrian sovereignty, but their mere cooperation against outside threats
and, specifically, the obligation of other states to support Syria against Israel.
Parallel to state consolidation, power was concentrated in a ‘presidential
monarchy’ from which Asad commanded and ‘balanced above’ the rival pillars
of the state. This power concentration was accepted within the political elite as
necessary to confront the gravest threat the country had ever faced, the 1967
defeat and occupation brought on by the recklessness of the previous
factionalized leadership. Indeed, his power consolidation enabled Asad to
pursue a rational strategy toward Israel: it gave him the autonomy of domestic
pressures to discard Syria’s impotent irredentism and mobilize the country
behind the more realistic, if still very ambitious, goals of recovering the Golan
Heights and achieving a Palestinian state in the West Bank/Gaza. The tenacity
with which he refused for a quarter century to settle for less than a full Israeli
withdrawal from the Golan or to accept a separate settlement with Israel at the
expense of the Palestinians reflected the persisting power of Syria’s Arab
identity. But it also depended on Asad’s ability to manipulate for his own ends
the international and regional systems of which Syria had hitherto been a victim.
Thus, while he took advantage of every opportunity presented by US attempts to
broker an Arab–Israeli settlement to reach his goals by diplomacy, he
simultaneously struck the ideologically disparate alliances – with both the
Soviet Union and the conservative Gulf oil states – needed to enhance Syria’s
military capability. This enabled him to challenge Israel’s hold on the Golan in
1973, to resist its 1982 attempt to expel Syria from Lebanon, to avoid bargaining
from weakness in the periodic peace negotiations, and even to apply military
pressure on Israel in southern Lebanon at reasonable risk.9
LEADERSHIP SUCCESSION AND THE DETERMINANTS OF FOREIGN

POLICY CHANGE
Hafiz’s Final Legacy: The Failure of The Peace Negotiations

Perhaps the single most important factor constraining Bashar al-Asad’s foreign
policy options was Syria’s failure under his father to reach a peace settlement
with Israel. This was by no means inevitable as Hafiz had made a ‘strategic
decision’ to exploit Washington’s post-Gulf War reach for regional hegemony
through sponsorship of an Arab–Israeli peace in order to get an acceptable
settlement for Syria. This was made much easier after the Oslo accord relieved
Damascus of the responsibility to make its own recovery of the Golan contingent
on the satisfaction of Palestinian rights. While Hafiz aimed to maximize
territorial recovery and minimize the ‘normalization of relations’ and security
concessions Israel expected in return, once Israel signaled its willingness to
return the Golan, Syria made several concessions, such as its willingness to open
diplomatic relations after a settlement and its acceptance of de-militarized zones
on the border which would favor Israel. In fact, the two sides came very close to
a settlement but Israel’s demands to keep its surveillance station on Mt Hermon
and its insistence on adjusting the pre-1967 boundary around Lake Tiberias to its
advantage fell short of Hafiz’s insistence on complete withdrawal; in the last
failed negotiations at the March 26, 2000 Clinton–Asad Summit, the Americans
mistakenly believed that Hafiz, anxious to settle the conflict before his son’s
succession, would agree to Israel’s terms. In the end, both Syria and Israel,
having played realist hardball throughout the protracted negotiations, missed the
chance for a settlement.
The failure of the peace negotiations had important consequences inside
Syria. At the end of the 1990s Syria was, in the expectation of imminent peace,
seemingly gearing up for a protracted transition from a national security state
living off strategic rents to a developmental state. Hafiz, with Bashar as his chief
lieutenant, was preparing or initiating major liberalizing and anti-corruption
reforms needed to take advantage of a hoped-for major influx of (mostly Arab
and expatriate) investment. But with the failure of the peace process, these
initiatives were truncated.
Leadership Change: Bashar as ‘Modernizer’?

Bashar’s succession to the presidency in June 2000 nevertheless brought to
power a leader widely described as a ‘modernizer’ representative of the new
generation and committed to reform. Indeed, Bashar’s political socialization
took place in a radically different environment from that of his father and the
regime ‘old guard’. While the latter were socialized in the era of Arab
nationalism, war with Israel, and non-alignment, their sons came of age in an era
in which state-centric identities were fragmenting the Arabs, US hegemony had
become a fact of life in the region, a peace agreement with Israel seemed
attainable and economic globalization and democratization had started to impact
on public opinion. While his father had remained hunkered down in Damascus
and had little direct experience of the outside world, Bashar had acquired
education in the liberal environment of the UK, married a British citizen of
Syrian descent and, as president, traveled widely in Europe. Evidence of
Bashar’s modernizing worldview was his persuasion of his father to start
opening Syria to the internet on the grounds that a closed society was
handicapped in the competitive world of globalization. It is worth cautioning,
however, that Bashar’s exposure to the West does not compare with that of most
other Middle Eastern leaders. Moreover, the father–son relation, a presumably
powerful socialization mechanism, would have committed him to the
preservation of his father’s Arab nationalist legacy while the apprenticeship
he served under his father, including time within the military, would have
socialized him into the code of operation of the establishment.
Bashar’s vision of ‘modernization’ (as articulated, for example, in his
inauguration speech)10 was not necessarily incompatible with major parts of his
father’s heritage. It entailed, first of all, economic liberalization, reduction of
rent-seeking corruption and a controlled opening to the world market while still
preserving the public sector. Bashar also hoped to expand political liberalization,
albeit limited to the extent that it could be made to support rather than
undermine regime legitimacy, economic reform and his own power position.
Good relations with the West and an equitable settlement of the conflict with
Israel were understood to be essential to the deepening and consolidation of
internal reforms.
However, new leaders cannot simply translate their personal preferences into
policy. In adapting Syria to globalization, Bashar’s challenge was to give
momentum to domestic reform without so threatening the establishment that
vested interests combined against him; and to reconstruct Syria’s foreign
relations in a way still compatible with the Arab identity of his people.
Substantial change depends on leaders’ calculations of its costs and benefits:
while in the long term the status quo is probably unsustainable for Syria, the
opportunities and benefits of change remain uncertain, the risks are high and
short-term alternatives exist.
Economic Pressures for Globalization

Syria has suffered from a chronic economic crises, rooted in the exhaustion of
statist import substitute industrialization from at least the 1980s, exacerbated by
the decline of petroleum rent after 1986, but interspersed with recoveries when
new resources, mostly rent, have been accessed. Thus, in the half decade (1990–
95) following Syria’s receipt of rent for its stand in the Gulf War and the influx
of investment stimulated by its 1991 liberalization of investment laws, the
economy grew 7 percent per year and GNP per capita at 4.3 percent; but when
these inflows were exhausted, in part because no follow-up economic
liberalization measures (e.g. allowing the operation of private banks and a
stock market) were taken to sustain a favorable investment climate, GNP growth
fell to 2.2 percent in 1996, 0.5 percent in 1997 and 71.5 percent in 1998.11
Economic troubles – stagnant growth, combined with a burgeoning population
resulting in unemployment rates reputedly reaching 25 percent – were likely to
deepen as revenues from oil exports seemed set to decline. There may be no
long-term solution except a sustained take-off of private investment which
depends on Syria’s conformity to the standards of the global market.
Its economic difficulties did force the regime to experiment with increasing
economic liberalization, to revive the private sector, and to encourage exports
and foreign investment. There were, however, formidable obstacles to the
deepening economic liberalization needed to attract significant investment: the
main constituencies of the regime, in particular the politically dominant Alawis,
were dependent on the state sector and extracted rent from state regulation of the
economy, while their rivals – the Sunni business class – dominated the private
sector. To be sure, business and marriage alliances are amalgamating parts of
these groups into a new bourgeoisie profiting from private business; but this
class continues to be rent seeking, exploiting state-granted import monopolies
and contracts that would be threatened by the competition unleashed by a more
open and transparent market. Other obstacles to integration into the global
economy include a residue of socialist ideology, the ‘social contract’ – under
which regime legitimacy is contingent on state provision of subsidized food,
jobs and farm support prices – and a refusal to conform, on nationalist principle,
to externally dictated (IMF) structural change. The ability of the regime to
dispense patronage, on which the whole ‘loyalty system’ supporting it depends,
would be put at risk by withdrawal of the state from the economy. Moreover,
private investment depends on a stable, pacific investment climate, but without a
settlement with Israel, this could not be established or the rent-dependent
national security state dismantled.
The consequent bureaucratic obstacles, lack of rule of law, and the continued
ability of privileged rent seekers to monopolize opportunities, inevitably
deterred investment. Inflows of foreign financing were a mere $217 million in
1997–99. The accumulated stock of FDI in 1998 was only 8 percent of Syria’s
total GNP while foreign trade as a proportion of GDP actually fell in the
nineties.12 The incremental liberalization Bashar sponsored after his succession

was not enough to encourage the significant new private investment needed to
kick-start the economy. Traditionally, when faced with similar economic
dilemmas, the regime used foreign policy to extract the strategic rent to sustain
itself; but with the oil bust of 1986, the end of the Cold War, and the erosion of
pan-Arab solidarity behind Syria’s struggle with Israel during the 1990s peace
process, this resource dried up. In this period of vulnerability, suspended
between security and developmental priorities, the opening to Iraq in the late
1990s promised to give the regime a substitute lifeline with which to negotiate
the transition at its own pace.
Political Obstacles to Change

The smooth June 2000 presidential succession engineered by the state
establishment, in spite of the regime’s seeming dependence on the personality
of the deceased top leader, was evidence that Syria’s state structures were, to a
degree, institutionalized and hence constrained how the new leader dealt with
the outside world. Indeed, Bashar’s inheritance of a state constructed by his
predecessor meant the Presidency was much reduced in power and surrounded
by several centers of power – the party politburo, the cabinet, the army high
command and the security forces – dominated by the old guard with whom the
new President had to consult and share power. Bashar also inherited an
experienced foreign policy team from his father.
Bashar was able to begin efforts to adapt the statist system to the age of
globalization – launching an anti-corruption purge, placing reforming techno-
crats in government, restricting the interference of the party and security forces
in economic administration, and passing legislation creating the framework for a
more market oriented economy – including the approval of private banks. But he
made no direct assault on the new class of ‘crony capitalists’ – the rent-seeking
alliances of Alawi political brokers (now led by his own mother’s family, the
Makhloufs) and the regime-supportive Sunni bourgeoisie – whose corrupt
stranglehold on the economy deterred productive investment.
While Bashar initially encouraged civil society to express constructive
criticism, seemingly in an effort to foster forces which would strengthen his own
position and reformist agenda, when this threatened to snowball into a wider
critique of the regime – including the legacy of his father (from which he
derived his own legitimacy) and when it threatened to put the spotlight on the
corrupt activities of regime barons, the old guard and security forces insisted
Bashar rein in the opposition. This shut off a potential route by which Bashar
might have restored the regime’s faltering legitimacy and consolidated his
power on behalf of reform. Inevitably, therefore, Bashar’s strategy was one of
incrementalism: retiring the old guard as it aged and promoting a younger
generation in the army and security forces which was personally beholden to
him. It was, however, unclear whether these ‘young Turks’ were more friendly
to the reforms he wanted than were the old guard.
The regime’s unwillingness to make the internal break with the past which
might have permitted a more radical move toward Syria’s integration into the
world capitalist economy corresponded to a foreign policy equally positioned

between the old and the new.
SYRIAN FOREIGN POLICY UNDER BASHAR
Bashar’s main foreign policy challenge was to access the resources, support,
and protection to cope with Israel and the US while sustaining the regime in its
period of transition. However, the world order Syria faces today is very
different from that which Hafiz manipulated so astutely. Syria under Bashar can
no longer maneuver between Soviet and American superpowers. The
fragmentation of the Arab world makes it harder to mobilize pan-Arab political
support or financing. Bashar has, nevertheless, attempted to defend Syria’s
position by constructing multiple alliances, at both the regional and the
international levels, through which he seeks to dilute and use the diverse
pressures Syria faces. This policy of ambiguity without corresponds to Syria’s
ambiguous transition within.
Israel
The failure of the Syrian–Israeli peace process was the watershed event
constraining Bashar’s foreign policy. To be sure, even after the breakdown of
the Geneva Summit, he affirmed that Syria was willing to resume peace
negotiations on condition that Israel acknowledged what Syria took to be the
commitment made under Yitzhak Rabin to a full withdrawal from the Golan.
This was defined, as his father had done, as withdrawal to the June 4, 1967
borders, leaving Syria access to Lake Tiberias. The major constraint on Bashar’s
flexibility in this regard was the need to preserve the legitimacy that Hafiz’s
demand for total Israeli withdrawal had conferred on the regime. But thereafter
the rise of Sharon to power pushed a Golan settlement off the agenda while his
repression of the Palestinian intifada inflamed public opinion against Israel
creating a situation in which Bashar had an incentive to assert his own Arab
nationalist credentials.
As a result, Bashar’s policy actually became less accommodating toward
Israel than that of his father in the late 1990s. Syria returned to its earlier
insistence that a Syrian–Israeli settlement had to be part of a comprehensive
settlement which included a Palestinian state with Jerusalem as its capital and
preservation of the Palestinian right, under UN resolutions, of return or
compensation.13 Bashar’s rhetoric, far from seeking to appeal to the Israeli
public ‘over the head’ of its hard–line leader, castigated Israelis for their
repeated rejection of leaders who were prepared to make concessions in peace
negotiations. At the October 2000 Arab summit immediately after the outbreak
of the intifada, Bashar’s first appearance on the Arab stage, he advocated
renewed support for the rejectionist Palestinian factions based in Damascus and
demanded, against the resistance of Jordan and Egypt, that Arab relations with
Israel be cut and the economic boycott reinstated. In line with his father’s
traditional posture, Bashar insisted that Arab states should aim for the ‘peace of
the strong’ based on a balance of power between the Arabs and Israel rather than
a ‘peace of the weak’, such as the Oslo agreement, which had allowed Israel to
evade a just settlement.14 Nor did Syria bend before the increased US threat after
September 11; at the post-September 11 Cairo Arab summit, while the
Egyptians, Saudis and Jordanians all wanted to dampen down the intifada to
appease the US, Syria, Lebanon and Iraq called for keeping it going as a way of
making the costs of Israeli occupation prohibitive.
If Syria had reverted to its previous policy of ‘steadfastness’ against Israel,
it now had, however, fewer means of inflicting costs on Israel for its retention
of occupied territories, especially after the Israeli withdrawal from south
Lebanon. South Lebanon had hitherto served as a surrogate battlefield in a
proxy war in which Syria was able to exert military pressure on Israel, at
minimal risk, through Hizbollah attacks on Israel’s so-called ‘security zone’.
Through its support for continued Hizbollah operations against the disputed
Shebaa Farms enclave still occupied by Israel, Syria sought to ensure there
would be no separate Israeli–Lebanese peace and to send the message that
Israel could not have peace without a settlement with Syria. But this was a
risky policy. By contrast to the conflict over Israel’s so-called ‘security zone’
in south Lebanon, Hizbollah operations against the Shebaa farms enjoyed no
international legitimacy. The UN and the Western powers rejected Lebanon’s
claim to the area and wanted the Lebanese army to pacify the southern zone
now wholly in Hizbollah hands. Following several Hizbollah operations that
killed Israeli soldiers in April 2001, Israel bombed a Syrian radar station in
Lebanon, killing three Syrian soldiers and wounding six, the heaviest Israeli
military attack on Syrian forces in nearly 20 years. Syria refrained from
retaliation but failed to get Washington to restrain Israel and, after another
Hizbollah attack in June 2001, Israel launched a second attack on Syrian
positions: Syria again refrained from retaliation. Hizbollah was thereafter
restrained and, after the September 11 events, Syria reputedly agreed to a
European request to maintain calm in south Lebanon. By ending Syria’s ability
to sponsor attacks against Israeli forces in south Lebanon with impunity, Israel
seemed to deprive Damascus of a relatively cost-free means of pressuring it to
return to the negotiating table.15 To be sure, when Israel’s Spring 2002 drive
against the Palestinian Authority inflamed the Arab world, Syria evidently was
unprepared to restrain Hizbollah’s brief opening of a ‘second front’ in south
Lebanon; however, this was not sustained despite continued Israeli repression
on the West Bank.
Mending Regional Fences

Bashar inherited a deteriorating strategic situation from the late Hafiz period,
including an emerging Turkish–Israeli–Jordanian alliance threatening to put
Damascus in a pincer. He seized the opportunity of his succession to neutralize
this threat by mending fences with Turkey and Jordan. Relations with Turkey,
with which Syria had been on the brink of war in the 1990s, rapidly warmed.
While Euphrates water remained a main bone of contention, Syria, having
forfeited the PKK card (support for anti-Turkish Kurdish guerillas) that it had
used against Turkey in this conflict, could only fall back on establishing the
friendly relations that would appease Ankara. Several high level Syrian
delegations to Turkey forged a series of economic agreements. Bashar’s
relations with Jordan’s King Abdullah II also grew close (although Abdullah
rejected his call to sever ties with Israel). For example, Syria helped ease
Jordan’s water crisis. Bashar also attempted to improve the dismal Syrian–PLO
relations he inherited from his father. He personally intervened to ensure Yasir
Arafat was invited to his father’s funeral and, after the eruption of the al-Aqsa
intifada, Syria recognized the legitimacy of the Palestinian Authority; however
Arafat’s unwillingness to be bound by Syria in any bargaining with Israel
obstructed any genuine détente.16
The loose alliance with Saudi Arabia and Egypt that Bashar inherited
remained the centerpiece of Syria’s regional strategy. As the al-Aqsa intifada
began and tension mounted with Israel in southern Lebanon, Bashar made his
first trip as president to Cairo and Egypt declared it would reconsider its
relations with Israel if it attacked Syria. Saudi Arabia, which had welcomed and
supported Bashar’s accession, also warned against Israeli attacks on Syria or
Lebanon. After September 11, Syria needed more than ever to be part of an
Egyptian–Saudi triangle to protect itself from US pressures. Yet, unlike them,
Syria remained (as long as the Golan was occupied) a dissatisfied power and this
inclined it to an opposing alignment with Iran and Iraq. Syria was, thus, trying to
position itself to manipulate two opposing regional alliance networks, the
traditional pro-Western one that tied it to Cairo and Riyadh and what at times
looked like a potential new anti-Western one with Iraq and Iran.
Relations with Iraq: Strategic Relation or Tactical Card?

One of the most strategic shifts in Syria’s policy under Bashar was the
deepening rapprochement with Iraq, although this was already on the cards
under Hafiz. With the failure of the peace process, Hafiz had decided to set aside
his enmity toward Saddam Hussein in order to confront the Israel–Turkish axis,
to send a message to the US that Syria had other options than peace with Israel,
and to find solutions to Syria’s economic stagnation. Relations did not progress
far until Bashar’s succession when the outbreak of the intifada, demolishing
remaining peace hopes, gave the relation a new urgency. To woo Syria to its side
against the UN sanctions regime, Iraq began re-routing trade and switching
import contracts from Jordan to Syria. In October 2000, following talks between
Bashar and Tariq Aziz, a Syrian plane took humanitarian aid to Iraq and Bashar
later assured Saddam of the ‘support of the Syrian people for Iraq and its
solidarity with the fight to lift the unjust embargo’.17
The Iraq relation was primarily a matter of geo-economics. Its centerpiece
was the reopening at the end of 2000 of the oil pipeline from Iraq to Syria’s
Mediterranean port of Banias that had been closed during the Iran–Iraq war.
Damascus was said to receive about 200,000 bpd of Basra Light crude from Iraq
at below market prices (thought to be around $10–15 per barrel), enabling it to
then export an equivalent amount of Syrian Light crude at much higher
international prices. The pipeline had the potential to produce as much as $1
billion per year in revenue for the government, about 5 percent of Syria’s gross
domestic product. There were also plans to build a new pipeline to Iraq and
Syria received contracts to exploit gas fields on the Iraqi side of the border.
In addition, Syria hoped to take advantage of the Iraqi market, a critical
element in reviving its stagnant economy. Syrian business which coveted the
prospects of monopolies over the Iraqi market, sought to establish a foothold
there at a time when an end to the sanctions seemed to be on the horizon. The
gradual elimination of most trade restrictions between the two countries was
expected to double or even triple the 2000 figure for annual trade of $500
million. Indeed, a huge informal commerce subsequently developed across the
border. All this, in helping to stabilize the troubled Syrian economy while
replenishing the regime’s coffers and reviving its patronage networks, relieved
pressures on Syria to conform to the neo-liberal demands of ‘globalization’. This
was less a personal preference of Bashar’s – indeed it went against his longer-
term vision of modernization and offered no permanent solution to Syria’s
economic dead-end; but the failure of the peace process and regime survival
interests made it unavoidable.
The new alignment also had potential geo-political significance. Syrian
leaders spoke of Iraq as Syria’s strategic, economic and scientific depth. Syrian–
Iraqi military cooperation was also reputedly discussed when Qusay Hussein
visited Damascus in October 2000. Were Syrian–Iraqi hostility, a regional
constant for decades, to have been replaced by a new strategic alignment, this,
together with the Syrian–Iranian alliance, held the potential to transform the
region’s power balance to Israel’s detriment. Nevertheless, a true Iraqi–Syrian
alliance did not mature, indicated by the fact that Syria did not (by contrast with
Jordan) actually establish full diplomatic relations with Iraq. Overt alignment
with Iraq was deterred by the risk that it would draw US accusations of UN
sanctions busting. Then, Washington’s post September 11 determination on
regime change in Iraq increased the risk that the alignment would focus US
hostility on Syria. Syria feared the installation of a pro-US regime in Iraq,
encircling it with unfriendly regimes and it was outspoken in its opposition to an
US attack on Iraq, going so far as to announce that it would be considered an
attack on all the Arabs. But, as insurance against a regime change, Syria
cultivated its traditional ties to the Iraqi opposition, notably the communists and
Kurdish factions, hoping thereby to be in a position to retain or increase its
influence in a post-Saddam Iraq, together with Iran, which had close ties to the
Shia opposition. Damascus also sought to forestall any move toward an
independent Kurdistan that could threaten its own partly Kurdish-populated and
oil-rich northeast. It appeared that for Damascus, Iraq was viewed as a geo-
political card that Syria could play, perhaps in return for concessions from the
US in a post-Saddam Iraq or in renewed peace negotiations with Israel. This
impression was reinforced by Syria’s vote for the November 2002 Security
Council Resolution 1441 calling on Iraq to readmit weapons inspectors: while
Syria insisted this resolution would spare Iraq a war if it complied, and while
voting against it could have isolated Syria from its European and Russian allies
on the issue, in fact, the resolution may well have added legitimacy to a US
attack.18
Uneasy Syrian–US Relations

In realist thinking, foreign policy change responds, first of all, to shifts in the
external power balance. With the collapse of bi-polarity and the emergence of
American hegemony in the region, Syria came under severe pressure to
‘bandwagon’ with (that is, sacrifice elements of its Arab nationalist foreign
policy) to appease the US hegemon, partly in order to divert the greater threat
from Israel. Indeed Syria’s entry into the Gulf war coalition and the Madrid
peace process can be seen in this light. Yet, if for Damascus, the US was the one
state in the post-Cold War period which could restrain Israel and conceivably
broker an acceptable Syrian–Israeli settlement, because the US remained, at the
same time, Israel’s main backer and little sympathetic to Syrian interests, Syria
had every incentive to simultaneously seek the alliances needed to balance
against Washington.
Multiple issues bedeviled Syrian relations with Washington. President Clinton
blamed Syria for the failure of the Syrian–Israeli negotiations. In a brief
discussion in October 2000 with Secretary of State Madeline Albright, Bashar
reportedly rejected US requests to rein in Hizbollah and to cease flights to
Baghdad. The Iraqi pipeline became a bone of contention with the US after
reports that Syria was receiving Iraqi oil outside the oil-for-food regime. US
Secretary of State Colin Powell visited Damascus; his claim to have won
Bashar’s agreement to refrain from violating international sanctions on Iraqi oil
and to put proceeds from Iraqi oil in UN escrow accounts was disputed by Syria.
The Syrians also made cooperation with Washington’s proposed ‘smart
sanctions’ contingent on ‘firm positions regarding the Israeli aggression against
the Arabs’. Syria did not want to defy the US, which it needed to contain and
deal with Israel, and it could not afford to be outside ‘international legitimacy’.
But it hoped to make the price of cooperation in keeping Iraq isolated, at the
expense of its own economic interests in Iraqi ties, significant.19
Especially after September 11, leaders and interest groups hostile to Syria
achieved dominance in Washington. Washington’s deeply pro-Israeli bias
during the intifada in Palestine precluded the role of third-party mediator needed
to revive the peace process while the US campaign against terrorism raised
regional tensions. Worse, hostile forces in the US were trying to use the old
image of Syria as a terrorist state to advance an aggressive agenda against
Damascus. Particularly after September 11, the US was insistent that the offices
of Hamas and Islamic Jihad, responsible for suicide bombings in Israel, be
closed; but Syria resisted on the grounds that these were not operational bases
and that the radical Palestinian groups represented Palestinian diaspora opinion
with a legitimate right to be heard.20 Bashar told US officials that its war in
Afghanistan was simply revenge and that an effective war on terrorism meant
dealing with the injustice that breeds it. Syria was threatened by US attempts to
pressure the Lebanese government to freeze Hizbollah’s assets. Syria was also
alarmed by US threats to invade Iraq while the US was antagonized by Syria’s
role in facilitating arms transfers to Baghdad. Pro-Israeli congressmen tabled a
so-called ‘Syria Accountability Act’ which mandated sanctions against
Damascus because of its ‘occupation of Lebanon’, possession of ‘Weapons of

Mass Destruction’ (that is, its chemically armed missile deterrent against Israel),
and its purported sponsorship of Hamas and Hizbollah. As long as Syria and
Israel were not at peace and as long as Syria backed radical Palestinians, Syria
could expect Washington to keep it on its terrorism list, threaten economic
sanctions, refrain from restraint of Israel in southern Lebanon and conceivably
even target Syria militarily.
Syria sought to neutralize these threats by tightening its inter-Arab, Iranian,
Russian and European links. Information Minister Adnan Omran argued that the
Arab states had to raise with the US the ‘unbalanced relationship’ wherein Arab
friendship was met by US support for Israel’s violations of international law.21
At the same time, Damascus sought to appease the US by ‘assisting’ its war on
terrorism through intelligence exchanges and by acceding to UNSC Resolution
1441. While some in the regime believed Washington was pursuing deeply
hostile efforts to literally redraw the regional map, others, putting their hopes in
State Department moderates, were more optimistic that Syria could avoid being
brought into direct conflict with US ambitions; they took heart from Bush’s
stand against the Syria Accountability Act, Washington’s seeming tolerance of
Syria’s Iraqi oil imports and a semi-official ‘dialogue’ organized by the Baker
Institute. Syria was caught between the impulse to balance against and the need
to bandwagon with the US hegemon.
Bashar’s Opening to Europe

A major alteration in Syria’s policy under Bashar was the strategic priority given
to relations with Europe. The attendance by French president Jacques Chirac at
Hafiz’s funeral (the only western head of state to do so) indicated that France
was committed to Bashar’s succession and to the alliance forged with his father
as part of a traditional policy of promoting French influence in the Middle East.
Significantly, Bashar’s first state visits outside the Arab world were not to
Moscow, the old ally, but to Western Europe – France, Spain, Germany and
Britain. Bashar viewed alignment with Europe as crucial to Syria’s economic
regeneration and as providing a political shield against US hostility. Never-
theless the deepening of relations was obstructed by several factors.
The Europeans were somewhat impatient with Syria’s slowness to embrace
Western foreign policy positions. For example, after the September 11 events,
the EU representative disagreed with Syria’s insistence that national liberation
against occupation must not be conflated with terrorism and rejected Syria’s
support for the hard-line Palestinian factions in the intifada. On the other hand,
Europe and Syria were on the same side in trying to restrain US aggression
against Iraq. Relations with the EU were strained by human rights concerns, not
least by the arrests of leading dissidents after the reversal of Bashar’s brief
political liberalization experiment. Syria complained that the EU was trying to
use the partnership negotiations to force political changes in Syria, although EU
representative Marc Perini insisted that it was merely engaged in a ‘constructive
dialogue’. However, European pressures to observe human rights arguably
strengthened Bashar’s hand in constraining the old guard and the security forces.
Ultimately, the depth of Syrian–European alignment depended on the

institutionalization of their economic relations through an agreement under the
EMP that was under negotiation by the two sides beginning in 2000. Syria’s
approach to the partnership had, at first, been dictated by political objectives: at
the 1995 Barcelona meeting, which launched the partnership, Syria tried to
obtain European pressure on Israel to return occupied territories and it boycotted
the later Marseilles conference on the grounds that Israel would be there.
However, Syria had an increasing economic incentive to participate in the
partnership since, after the collapse of the East Bloc, its trade had shifted
significantly westward, making the EU Syria’s main trading partner. The EU
took 60 percent of Syria’s exports and provided 30 percent of its imports in
2000.22 With its huge market and potential as a source of investment and
tourism, the EU was a potential engine of growth for Syria.
Within the Syrian regime, opponents were nevertheless skeptical of the
partnership, arguing that it would impose a neo-liberal framework on what was a
statist-dominated economy. It would require Syria’s economic legislation to be
brought in line with EU practice, including adoption of EU law on foreign
property rights and full freedom of movement of investment capital and
repatriation of profits. The opening of Syria’s markets would expose its
industries to unequal competition, leading to unemployment and trade deficits.
The price controls that kept inflation down would be considered a restraint on
trade by the EU. The agreement had, as well, built in inequities. While the EU
Council and national parliaments had the right to amend the agreement, the
southern Mediterranean countries did not. The end result would be free
industrial exchange advantaging EU exporters, but the maintenance of mutual
quotas on agricultural exports that would protect the EU’s subsidized
agriculture. While the EU claimed that agriculture, having a social function,
had to be treated differently, it refused to acknowledge that in Syria industry had
a social function or that the differences in levels of development between the EU
and Syria justified Syria indefinitely retaining some, perhaps reduced, level of
tariff protection.
Liberals within the regime nevertheless argued that short-term losses from the
agreement would be greatly outweighed by long-term gains, notably direct
investment, technology transfer and the creation of productive enterprises. The
decision to negotiate the partnership was a strategic one taken at the highest
level. The regime also applied to the WTO which was likely to impose even
more demanding conditions for membership. These initiatives by the liberal
wing of the regime – Bashar and his economy ministers – were perhaps weapons
to move entrenched interests toward the market economy. For example, the
import licenses which gave crony capitalists lucrative monopolies would have to
be suppressed under the Euro-Med agreement.
That even Syria’s modernizers had objections to the terms of the partnership
agreement was, however, clear from a policy paper23 which argued that Syria
would not allow its policies to be imposed by foreign economists biased by the
ideology of Western ‘economic schools’ and ‘far removed from the dynamic
situation of life in Syria’. Development had to promote social balance, rights of
employees had to be protected, and privatization for its own sake was not in
Syria’s interest. Syria’s ability to bilaterally reschedule debts with European
states in 2000, avoiding IMF imposed conditionality, may have given the regime
the confidence that it could negotiate adjustments and exceptions that would
allow it to tailor the pace and extent of conformity to EU standards to its own
needs.
As such, Bashar’s negotiators sought EU tolerance of Syrian restrictions on
investment and currency freedom of movement; a transition period for
application of intellectual property rights laws; and tariff protection and the
right to prohibit certain imports. They also argued that partnership could not be
reached just by changes in Syria and that the EU would have do adopt certain
measures as well. While the EU insisted that adhesion to the partnership would
force economic discipline on the government and provide the security needed to
attract investors, Syria argued that this would also require that the EU provide
increased and subsidized credit for potential investors, while lowering Syria’s
risk designation and insurance costs; Syria also wanted loan repayments
reinvested in Syria and more compensation for the loss in state tariff revenues
than the EU was offering. It wanted the EU to bear half the cost of adapting
European technology to Syrian conditions and to sponsor joint industrial
companies to assist in training and technology transfer. Syria complained that
MENA countries were being offered only 20 percent of the aid given to East
Europe to make the adjustment to the free market.
Given the gap in the positions of the two sides, the negotiations have been
protracted. In December 2000, Planning Minister Issam al-Zaim affirmed that
Syria was committed to the partnership but that the negotiations would be
shaped by the debate over reform in Syria. He objected to Europe’s effort to
force the pace: EU Commission head Romano Prodi wanted agreement to be
reached by the summer of 2002 while Syria insisted its firms were not ready for
rapid change, wanted first to concentrate on building the infrastructure and
legislative framework for private investment before any opening, and wanted a
gradual opening to avoid financial and social shocks.24
However, after the EU sent a tough signal that negotiations could not continue
unless Syria accepted the basic principle of the partnership – an open economy –
Syria began to fall in line. By the autumn of 2002, Damascus had made
fundamental concessions, namely accepting that prohibitions on industrial
imports would be replaced by tariffs which would themselves be phased out
after 12 years. Syria’s position was perhaps softened by the adhesion to the
partnership of Lebanon, with which Syria’s economy was increasingly
integrated and by the need, after September 11, to solidify Syria’s protective
alliance with the EU. Thereafter, negotiations focused on such specifics as the
amount of assistance Syria would get and agricultural quotas for each side. Syria
wanted substantial compensation for its loss of tariff revenues and to prepare its
industry to compete which the EU negotiators rejected. The EU wanted Syria’s
agricultural export quotas to be based on its very limited ‘traditional flows’ to
Europe while Syria, now enjoying a large exportable surplus, wanted much
larger quotas. Symptomatic of trade tensions were EU complaints of increased
Syrian cotton yarn exports, which it claimed were subsidized, and demands that
Syria lift these or face quotas on such exports.
The regime was caught in a bind. It needed deeper ties with Europe but the
Euro-Med agreement potentially threatened Syrian public industry, the
monopolies and rent opportunities enjoyed by regime-connected entrepreneurs,
and protection for Syria’s agricultural producers – in a word all the regime’s
main constituencies, its very social base.25 Yet the agreement by no means
guaranteed an influx of investment and, indeed, might well facilitate capital
export. The root of the problem was the power imbalance built into the process.
Instead of the EU and Arab states collectively negotiating a mutually acceptable
framework allowing some level of protection to make up for the competitive
advantage of EU industries, the EU sets the terms unilaterally and the Arab
states individually negotiate accession. Nevertheless, the regime continued to
hope it could negotiate, at the highest political level, greater tolerance than that
shown by EU negotiators for a middle way between full conformity with EU
standards and its own interests and practices.
CONCLUSIONS
Syria has been profoundly affected by systemic-level forces, both core–

periphery inequality and inter-state insecurity, as predicted by the various
(Marxist and realist) forms of structuralism. But its responses to these forces
have been anything but passive or fully determined by systemic structures.
Rather, Syria has consistently tried to challenge, revise and re-negotiate its
position in the systemic structures that constrain it.
In the first wave of global intrusion into the Middle East, imperialism imposed
a states system that fragmented the region into rival, insecure and economically
dependent states and deeply frustrated Syria’s identity. The weak, dependent
Syrian state should, in structuralist thinking, have become a client of the core
and appeased (bandwagoned with) the powerful or threatening Western and
Israeli states. However, as constructivism suggests, identity shapes perceptions
of interests and the frustration of Syrian identity put Syria on a revisionist
foreign policy tangent rejecting the status quo.
To be sure, the resulting (1967) war and the post-defeat rise of the pragmatic
Hafiz al-Asad is compatible with neo-realism’s expectation that survival
imperatives amidst systemic insecurity force states, via elite socialization and
‘selection’, to subordinate identity and ideology to realist power politics. But, far
from passively accepting systemic constraints, Asad manipulated both global bi-
polarity and regional (Arab) identity in order to maximize autonomy and
diversify the resources that allowed him to sustain a struggle with Israel. This
struggle expressed a notion of the national interest shaped, as constructivism
suggests, not by purely state survival interests or economic gain, which indeed
were risked by or sacrificed to this endeavor, but also by Syria’s Arab identity.
In the post-bi-polar age of globalization, the restoration of systemic
constraints, briefly eased under bi-polarity, combined with the accumulated
economic costs of the national security state, vastly reduced the regime’s
maneuverability and put the post-Hafiz leadership under renewed pressure to

subordinate identity to external demands. While the US hegemon (and Israel)
deployed military threat against Syria’s nationalist foreign policy, the EU sought
to impose its neo-liberal economic practices as the price of the partnership Syria
needed. Appeasing such superior power would seem, from a realist perspective,
to be dictated by regime survival needs. However, Bashar attempted to balance
against Israel and exploit divisions in the ‘systemic core’ to preserve a measure
of economic and foreign policy autonomy. Hence, he sought to use Europe to
contain US threats while also trying to use the opening to Iraq to ease EU
pressures for liberalization.
Analysts of globalization are divided between enthusiasts who believe it is
weakening, bypassing or actually transforming states from buffers against global
pressures into transmission belts for them, and skeptics who argue that
globalization must still be mediated through states which retain considerable
ability to tailor its impact to their own interests.26 Syria’s record to date would
seem to support the skeptics, but should the resistance of this fiercely
independent state succumb to the globalization deluge, what other state is long
likely to stand against it?
NOTES
1. Etel Solingen, Regional Orders at Century’s Dawn: Global and Domestic Influence on Grand
Strategy (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1998).
2. Fred Halliday, ‘The Middle East and the Politics of Differential Integration’, in Toby Dodge and
Richard Higgott (eds.), Globalization and the Middle East (London: Royal Institute of
International Affairs, 2002), pp. 36–56.
3. Leon Carl Brown, International Politics and the Middle East: Old Rules, Dangerous Game
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1984), pp. 3–18.
4. Specifically the autonomy of external constraints and internal pressures needed to adapt to the
exigencies of the changing power balance in order to minimize costs and maximize benefits. See
Raymond Hinnebusch and Anoushiravan Ehteshami (eds.), The Foreign Policies of Middle East
States (Boulder CO and London: Lynne Rienner, 2002), pp. 10–11, 20.
5. Patrick Seale, The Struggle for Syria (London and Oxford: RIIA, Oxford University Press,
1965).
6. Raymond Hinnebusch, Syria: Revolution from Above (London: Routledge, 2001), pp. 52–7;
Avner Yaniv, ‘Syria and Israel: The Politics of Escalation’, in Moshe Ma’oz and Avner Yaniv
(eds.), Syria under Assad: Domestic Constraints and Regional Risks (London: Croom-Helm,
1986, pp. 157–78.
7. Hinnebusch, Syria: Revolution from Above, pp. 67–88.
8. Patrick Clawson, Unaffordable Ambitions: Syria’s Military Buildup and Economic Crisis
(Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy, 1989).
9. Patrick Seale, Asad: The Struggle for the Middle East (Berkeley, CA: University of California
Press, 1988), pp. 226–66, 267–315, 344–9, 366–420; Moshe Ma’oz, Asad: the Sphinx of
Damascus: a Political Biography (New York: Grove Weidenfeld, 1988), pp. 113–24, 135–48;
Hinnebusch, Syria: Revolution from Above, pp. 151–5.
10. Bashar’s acceptance speech, The Syrian Arab News Agency website, July 21, 2000, ‘http://
www:basharassad.org/english.htm’.
11. The Middle East, March 1999, p. 35; Sept. 1999, p. 27.
12. UNCTAD, World Investment Report (New York: UN, 1999); World Bank, The Little Data Book
(New York: World Bank, 2001), pp. 9–12.
13. Middle East International, April 6, 2001, pp. 7–8; 13 July 2001, p. 5; David Makovsky ‘Syria’s
Foreign Policy Challenges US Interests’, Policywatch, No. 513, The Washington Institute for
Near East Policy, Jan. 19, 2001.
14. Patrick Seale, lecture, London, 2001.
15. Rachel Bronson, ‘Syria: Hanging Together or Hanging Separately’, The Washington Quarterly,
v. 23, Autumn, 2000; Yotam Feldner, ‘Escalation Games: Syria’s Deterrence Policy, Part I:
Brinkmanship’, MEMRI. (Middle East Media Research Institute), May 24,2001 www.mem-
ri.org; Middle East International, July 13, 2001, pp. 10–11.
16. Middle East International, June 16, 2000, pp. 21–2.
17. Middle East International, July 28, 2000, p. 14; Stratfor.com, ‘Global Intelligence Update’,
February 29, 2000.
18. Gary C. Gambill, ‘Syria’s Foreign Relations: Iraq’, Middle East Intelligence Bulletin, March,
2001, www.meib.org; Ibrahim Hamidi, Daily Star, Dec., 14, 2001.
19. Makovsky, ‘Syria’s Foreign Policy Challenges US Interests’; Middle East International, Feb. 9,
2001, p. 12; Yotam Feldner, ‘Escalation Games: Part II: Regional and International Factors
Between Washington and Damascus: Iraq’, MEMRI, May 25, 2001.
20. Al-Hayat, Sept., 28, 2001.
21. BBC Summary of World Broadcasts, Middle East and North Africa, Jan. 7, 2002.
22. ‘Joining the European Trade Club’, in Oxford Business Group, Emerging Syria 2002, London,
2002, p. 45.
23. Ayman Abdul Nour, ‘Syria: Economic Reform and European Partnership’, unpublished policy
paper, Damascus, June 12, 2001.
24. Middle East International, March 23, 2001, pp. 14–15.
25. The EU claims that it is not demanding an end to support prices in agriculture or of subsidies to
the public sector. Its insistence is on transparency of trade rules and suppression of charges and
barriers that distort import and export prices and flows. However, subsidizing products which
could not compete with imports would be very costly for Syria.
26. Skeptics include Michael Mann (1997), ‘Has Globalization ended the rise and rise of the Nation-
state?’ Review of International Political Economy, v. 4, n. 3, Autumn, 1997, pp. 472–96; see also
Toby Dodge and Richard Higgott, ‘Globalization and its Discontents’, in Dodge and Higgott
(eds.), Globalization and the Middle East, pp. 13–35. Enthusiasts include K. Ohmae, The
Borderless World (London: Collins, 1990) and The end of the Nation-State (New York: Free
Press, 1995).
Lebanon and Europe: The Foreign Policy
of a Penetrated State
TOM PIERRE NAJEM
INTRODUCTION
Although a great deal of literature has been produced on Lebanon in the last two
decades, the vast majority of it has focused almost exclusively on various
aspects of the protracted and disastrous Lebanese ‘civil war’ (1975–90). Very
little has been written on post-war Lebanese affairs, and almost nothing has been
written on Lebanon’s foreign policy.1 In fact, even if one looks at studies which
examined Lebanese society prior to the civil war, one would be hard pressed to
find a good account of the forces that have historically shaped the country’s
foreign policy. With respect to the contemporary situation, a crucial problem is
that many scholars and policy makers look at the dominant role which the
Syrians now play in Lebanese politics and tend to assume that Lebanon really
has no authentic foreign policy of its own. In short, it is assumed that, if one
wishes to understand the reasoning and processes which underlie Lebanon’s
actions on the regional and international stages, one simply needs to understand
Syria’s national interests.
It must be acknowledged that Syria has undoubtedly been the dominant player
in Lebanese politics since the end of the civil war and that effective Syrian
hegemony in Lebanon seems likely to continue.2 Consequently, there might be
considerable merit in an approach to examining contemporary Lebanese foreign
policy that stresses Syrian involvement and Syrian interests. However, such an
approach does have significant limitations in the sense that it ignores:
1. The fact that the internal forces which have historically shaped Lebanese
foreign policy are still present, and strongly relevant, in Lebanese society.
2. The desire of the vast majority of the Lebanese people to pursue a foreign
policy based on Lebanese interests.
3. Contemporary political and economic circumstances which have generated
Lebanese foreign policy imperatives that are separate from, and in some
cases contrary to, Syria’s interests.
THE FOREIGN POLICY OF LEBANON 101
Indeed, I would argue that forces opposed to Syrian domination might well have
pursued, and might yet pursue, more aggressive opposition to the Syrian
presence if given a green light by Washington.
Consequently, it is important to consider in detail not only Syria’s influence,
but also these three areas, in order to arrive at a more developed understanding
of Lebanon’s post-war foreign policy, both generally, and with respect to
Lebanese relations with Europe. I will argue that, although Lebanon has been
and remains a heavily penetrated state with a limited capacity to define and
pursue its own foreign policy, it would be wholly mistaken to disregard the
indigenous determinants. Indeed, even among elements that tend to support
Syria’s position in Lebanon, there have been indications of a desire to pursue
policies which accord more with Lebanon’s independent interests than with
Syria’s interests. For example, quite a few Lebanese policy makers would
clearly welcome an increase in European influence in Lebanon. On the one hand,
this would counterbalance Syrian influence to some extent and, on the other, it
would serve some of Lebanon’s pressing economic concerns.
This contribution is divided into two main sections. In the first section I will
identify and examine in some detail the major determinants of Lebanese foreign
policy. The purpose of the section is to consider the interplay of Syrian and
Lebanese national interests in order to understand how the dynamic relationship
between the two has shaped Lebanese foreign policy generally since the end of
the civil war. In the second section, I will apply the observations and conclusions
established in the first, to a more specific examination of Lebanon’s relations
with Europe from 1990 to the present.
THE DETERMINANTS OF LEBANESE FOREIGN POLICY
Lebanese Foreign Policy in Historical Context

Before proceeding to consider various contemporary interests and circumstances
that, for the most part, trace their genesis to developments during the civil war, I
think it is crucially important briefly to consider four key factors that have had
an extremely significant bearing on Lebanese foreign policy since the foundation
of the modern state in the early 1940s. Although present circumstances,
particularly Syrian hegemony in post-war Lebanon, have tended to blunt the
influence of these factors to some extent, I would argue that they remain largely
unchanged and continue to constitute the basic imperatives and restraints that
give rise to an authentic Lebanese foreign policy.
The first factor is the relative weakness of the Lebanese state throughout the
country’s history. Essentially, the state structures created in the context of the
1943 National Pact were not designed to impose a well defined national vision or
any kind of ideological or religious/cultural uniformity on Lebanon’s sharply
divided confessional communities. On the contrary, the purpose of the pact was
to create a political order that embraced Lebanon’s religious/cultural diversity
and enabled the various sectarian elite to come together, to negotiate with each
other and to resolve disputes, while at the same time maintaining effectively
autonomous control within their traditional spheres of influence. In short, the
fundamental pillar of the Lebanese state was compromise among the sectarian
elite, and its function was simply to provide a forum for the representatives of
the different confessions to resolve disputes arising in the sphere of national
politics. Consequently, the state was never in a position to dictate policy to the
sectarian elite. Rather, national policy was consistently dictated by the need to
ensure that none of the major sects was alienated to the extent that it would opt
out of the system and disrupt the national compromise.3
Inevitably, the nature of the state had major implications with respect to
defining the parameters of Lebanon’s foreign policy, and this is strongly related
to the second major factor that has historically characterized Lebanese foreign
policy: the necessity of maintaining a neutral orientation vis-à-vis the West on
the one hand and the Arab/Islamic world on the other. This imperative is the
consequence of a longstanding rift between the Christian and Muslim sects
concerning what Lebanon’s basic international alignment should be. While
Christian elements, particularly the Maronite community, have historically
tended to favor strong ties with the West (I will return to the particular role of
France in the second part of this contribution), the Muslim elements have
favored close ties with the Arab/Islamic world. The National Pact sought to
defuse potential conflict over this issue once and for all by committing the nation
to a neutral foreign policy orientation. Ostensibly, Lebanon would remain
somewhat detached politically and ideologically, while at the same time
retaining functional relations with both the West and its Arab/Muslim neighbors.
Hence, during the 1950s and 1960s Lebanon avoided engagement in the pan-
Arab movement and limited its participation in the Arab–Israeli conflict to the
extent that it was possible to do so (successfully staying out of the 1967 and
1973 Arab–Israeli wars.
The need to maintain non-alignment accounts to a very great extent for the
third key factor, the traditional primacy of economic interests with respect to
defining Lebanon’s foreign relations, at least in so far as these relations were
conducted within the formal state context. Since issues of political and cultural
relations were extremely sensitive, and generally downplayed, the over-
whelming preoccupation of formal Lebanese foreign policy for most of the
period prior to the civil war was economic relations, especially the promotion
and maintenance of Lebanon’s status as the key financial and commercial center
of the Eastern Mediterranean. Obviously, the health of Lebanon’s economy has
always been a common interest that transcended confessional divisions, and
indeed, it may be no exaggeration to say that many Lebanese have historically
viewed it as the one truly national interest that the state exists to serve.
However, the relative weakness of the state structures coupled with the
continuing importance of sectarian divisions, also accounts for the fourth factor
that has historically characterized the Lebanese system and impacted
significantly upon its foreign relations: a high level of susceptibility to
penetration by external actors. The fact that the Lebanese as a nation officially
adopted a neutral foreign policy did not mean that the different sectarian
communities completely abandoned their traditional aspirations with respect to
shaping the future direction of Lebanese society as a whole. Furthermore,
although policy in the state context remained neutral for the most part, it should
be remembered that the sectarian elite continued to be effectively autonomous
actors and to wield most of the real power in Lebanese society. This meant that
the different communities historically tended to continue developing informal
relations with their preferred international partners in the West and in the Arab
world respectively. Consequently, foreign elements probably always had a
greater influence on the Lebanese system than the officially neutral foreign
policy of the state would have suggested. Certainly, the actual or perceived
existence of sectarian foreign agendas generated considerable inter-communal
mistrust and greatly increased tensions in Lebanese society. Undoubtedly this
became a critical problem in the years leading up to the civil war. Lebanese
Muslim support for the PLO presence in Lebanon during the early 1970s had
two catastrophically destabilizing consequences:
1. It dramatically inflamed internal tensions between the Maronites and the

Muslim communities.
2. It opened Lebanon to much more extensive, and more visible, penetration
by the international actors engaged in the Arab–Israeli conflict.4
Syrian Penetration of the Lebanese System: 1990–Present

Because the focus of this contribution is on contemporary Lebanese foreign
policy, I will not comment in detail on the significance of developments during
the civil war period. At this point, it will suffice to observe that probably the
most important lasting development, not just in terms of Lebanon’s foreign
policy but with respect to the political order as a whole, was that the country
became exposed to overwhelming penetration by Syria, to the extent that
Lebanon’s existence as a truly independent national entity may now be
legitimately questioned.5
The Ta’if Accord which brought an end to the civil war in 1989–90 actually
also established the preconditions for effective Syrian hegemony in the
Lebanese context. While the accord called for the reassertion of central
authority, the disarmament of the sectarian militias and the withdrawal of
external forces from the country, it did not set a date for the withdrawal of the
Syrian forces which had, by this point, become the most powerful military
presence in the country. In fact, the accord specifically empowered the Syrians
to assist the restored Lebanese government with its implementation and thereby
left Syria in a strong position to interpret and enforce the agreement in such a
way as to secure its own interests and its long-term control of the country.6
One very important consequence of Syrian involvement in the implementa-
tion of the accord was that, in defiance of the actual specifications of the accord,
some of the sectarian militias, most notably, the Shi’ite Hizbollah, were not
ultimately disarmed. The official reason given was that Hizbollah had the right
to continue its attempts to liberate territory illegally occupied by the Israelis, but
this explanation clearly made very little sense in relation to the interests of the
Lebanese state or the people as a whole. Even if one assumes that there was a
compelling need to take forcible action against the Israelis at this time, which is
not at all clear given an already war-devastated Lebanon’s other critical

priorities, it is still difficult to understand why it was deemed necessary to
involve paramilitary irregular troops rather than employing the reconstituted
state forces. As events developed, and as any informed observer of the Lebanese
scene surely would have anticipated, continuing Hizbollah operations against the
Israelis merely served to give Israel a pretext to maintain its occupied ‘security
zone’ in South Lebanon indefinitely and to launch reprisal attacks against
whatever Lebanese targets it could justify in terms of its leaders’ prevailing
objectives at any given time. In short, the main result of the decision not to
disarm Hizbollah was to establish that a high level of potential instability and
conflict would continue to be a long-term feature of the Lebanese context.
Needless to say, this was not at all helpful with respect to the country’s attempts
to reconstruct itself and rehabilitate its image on the international stage.
The situation did, however, give the Syrians a bargaining chip in their
ongoing dispute with Israel, as it enabled them to successfully represent
themselves, to the Israelis and the international community as a whole, as the
only force capable of reining in Hizbollah and securing the Lebanese–Israeli
border. It is by no means incidental that the possibility of a major resurgence in
the border conflict also supplied Damascus with an effective pretext for
continuing its own indefinite occupation of Lebanon. And indeed, given these
considerations, it is hardly surprising that Hizbollah’s continuing armed-status
can almost certainly be traced in the first instance, not to the Lebanese
government or even to Lebanese–Syrian deliberations on the issue, but rather to
an agreement negotiated by Syria and Iran in April 1991.
The Ta’if Accord also called for a normalization of relations between
Lebanon and Syria, a process that was meant to entail equal negotiations
between the two countries on a whole range of bilateral issues. As it happened,
the most prominent result of these provisions was ‘The Treaty of Brotherhood,
Cooperation and Coordination’ signed in Damascus on May 22, 1991 by the
Lebanese and Syrian heads of state. This document stipulated that the two states
agreed to work for the highest possible level of coordination in all matters of
political, economic, security and cultural policy, and established a joint
institutional framework to achieve that end. The chief institution was a
‘Supreme Council’ chaired by the heads of state and empowered to make
‘mandatory and enforceable’ decisions in virtually all policy areas. Additional
coordination committees were established for specific areas, including, to cite
only the most significant examples, a Foreign Affairs Committee and a Defense
and Security Affairs Committee. In effect, these developments established a
quasi-legal framework for Syrian domination of the Lebanese political order as a
whole and its foreign and security policies particularly. This was widely
recognized, and protested, both in Lebanon and in the international community,
but was essentially a fait accompli given Syria’s continuing military occupation
and the general unwillingness of all actors to risk the possibility of a new and
potentially even more devastating escalation of the Lebanese/regional conflict.7
Obviously, it is extremely important to examine the interests that led Syria to
push for long-term control of the Lebanese system. Simply put, the fundamental
reasons for Syria’s continuing refusal to withdraw its forces from Lebanon and
its interest in exerting almost complete control over the country, especially in the
areas of defense and security policy, were grounded initially, and continue to be
grounded to a great extent, in Syria’s long-term objectives vis-à-vis the Arab–
Israeli conflict. Subsequently, other factors, particularly Syrian economic
interests and internal politics, have also become increasingly important.
The recovery of the Israeli-occupied Golan Heights, irrespective of any over-
arching peace settlement, has been a major pillar of Syrian foreign policy since
the end of the 1967 Arab–Israeli War.8 However, short of either threatening a
direct military conflict over the issue or offering the Israelis a unilateral peace
settlement, both of which Damascus was unable or unwilling to countenance
throughout the 1980s and early-1990s, Syria had very little that it could use to
influence the Israelis in negotiations. As I indicated previously, the ongoing
conflict between Hizbollah and Israel along the South Lebanese border presented
the Syrians with a new bargaining chip. They were able to assert convincingly to
the Israelis that only they were able to effectively rein in Hizbollah and resolve
the conflict. It was generally understood that the return of the Golan Heights
would be their asking price for this favor. Consequently, most observers and
involved parties came to see the resolution of the South Lebanon conflict, and the
broader issue of Lebanese relations with Israel, as inextricably intertwined with
the resolution of Syria’s territorial claims.
The sweeping geo-political changes of the early 1990s had a strong impact on
regional politics, and affected Syrian policy accordingly. The decline and
eventual dissolution of the Soviet Union, their long-time superpower patron, left
them in a weaker position strategically, but their support for the anti-Iraqi
alliance in the Gulf War of 1991 improved their relations with Washington
somewhat and also defused much of the tension that had characterized their
relations with other key Arab states like Egypt and Saudi Arabia throughout the
previous decade. The Israeli–Palestinian Oslo Accords and the Israeli–Jordanian
peace settlement in 1993 apparently paved the way for Syria to negotiate its own
peace agreement with Israel. Although the practical obstacles to a settlement
were more difficult than those that had figured in the Israeli–Jordanian
negotiations, many observers hoped that an agreement could be concluded fairly
quickly. Yitzhak Rabin’s Israeli government and the Clinton administration in
Washington anticipated that the ‘final status’ negotiations of the Oslo process
would be difficult, and they wanted to neutralize Syria as soon as possible to
secure the peace process for the long term.
With respect to Lebanon, these developments simply made the continuation
of the South Lebanon conflict an even more urgent priority from the Syrian
perspective, as Damascus clearly intended to use the issue as a lever to extract
concessions from the Israelis. It should be remembered, of course, that even as
late as 1992 no one would have been particularly optimistic about the prospect
of serious peace negotiations between Syria and Israel. The Syrian government
under Hafiz al-Asad had long been adamant in its ideological refusal to negotiate
a separate peace until the grievances of the Palestinians had been addressed. The
Oslo Accords took the world by surprise and apparently removed this obstacle.
If an Israeli–Syrian peace deal had been successfully negotiated shortly

thereafter, an Israeli–Lebanese agreement would almost certainly have followed,
and the South Lebanon conflict would have ended much more quickly than
anyone would have expected the previous year.
As events developed throughout the 1990s, the initial Israeli–Syrian
negotiations were inconclusive, and the Oslo process developed into a long
and frustrating war of wills between the Israelis and the Palestinians. Leaders in
the region and in Washington became preoccupied with the stalled and
increasingly tense Israeli–Palestinian process and the Israeli–Syrian negotiations
became a background priority that was pursued only sporadically, and that never
bore substantial fruit. Consequently, the South Lebanon conflict continued
unabated as Asad’s government waited for a confluence of circumstances that
would allow Syria to use the issue to its advantage.
In the meantime, due largely to internal political considerations, the Israeli
governments of the mid-1990s became increasingly obsessed with security and
launched occasional reprisal attacks against Lebanon to demonstrate to the
Israeli people that they were willing and able to take action to protect the
northern Israeli border. The reprisals included two large-scale military
operations, one in 1993 and another in 1996. The 1996 attack, which was
dubbed ‘The Grapes of Wrath’, was a major component of Shimon Peres’
unsuccessful attempt to win that year’s Israeli elections by demonstrating his
competence in the security domain. It was, however, successful in the respect
that it inflicted substantial damage on the South Lebanon infrastructure, led to a
significant number of civilian Lebanese casualties and seriously undermined the
Lebanese government’s vital economic reconstruction program.
The ‘Peace with Security’ platform of Peres’ successor Binyamin Netanyahu
did not allow for any substantive change in the Lebanese situation during the
next few years. However, the election of Ehud Barak did inaugurate some
significant developments that raised hopes both in Lebanon and in the
international context, and that complicated matters from the Syrian perspective.
Barak was elected with a mandate to push ahead vigorously with the peace
process, and part of his platform included withdrawing Israeli forces from South
Lebanon and attempting to negotiate a definitive peace settlement with Syria.
And indeed, Israeli forces did withdraw from their security zone in South
Lebanon in May 2000, in a move which many Lebanese and international
observers hoped would mark the final end of Israeli–Lebanese border disputes.
Yet it was not in the interest of either Syria or Hizbollah to let the matter rest at
that and the relatively minor issue of Israel’s continued retention of the Shebaa
Farms was seized on as pretext for Hizbollah to retain its arms and its belligerent
stance against Israel. The continuing potential for a conflict over this issue was,
in turn, used to justify the continued presence of Syrian troops in Lebanon. The
Israeli–Syrian negotiations were once again inconclusive despite real pressure
from Washington and the complete collapse of the Oslo process and a renewal of
the Palestinian intifada ensured that additional negotiations would have to be
postponed until the crisis in Israeli–Palestinian relations could be resolved. At
the time of writing, this remains a distant prospect. 9
The death of Hafiz al-Asad in 2000 and the accession of his son Bashar al-
Asad to the leadership in Damascus further complicated matters, because it was
not clear, and to some extent remains unclear, that Bashar would be able to exert
the same kind of dominance within the Syrian context that his father did. There
was little question that Hafiz was in a strong enough position vis-à-vis the Syrian
political elite to make the difficult decisions that a settlement with Israel might
require and push through with their implementation. Bashar may face stiffer
opposition.
As time has passed, Syria’s interests in Lebanon, quite independent of its
desire for leverage in the Arab–Israeli dispute, have been steadily increasing.
One might certainly make a case that these interests alone have become
sufficiently important that Syria would be very reluctant to cede any of its
present influence in Lebanese affairs even if the dispute with Israel were to be
resolved to their satisfaction with immediate effect.
To begin with, it must be recognized that the Lebanese and Syrian economies
have become increasingly tied together over the course of the past decade. For
example, in the autumn of 1994 the Syrian and Lebanese leaders signed a Labor
Accord that essentially served to legitimize the penetration of the Lebanese
labor market by Syrian workers. Estimates of the number of Syrian workers in
Lebanon vary from 500,000 to around one million, contributing something like
$1 billion to the Syrian economy. Naturally, given consistently high domestic
unemployment levels, Lebanese workers strongly resent the Syrian presence and
a number of mass demonstrations and strikes have been held over the years in
protest about this and the penetration of other Syrian economic and business
interests. The continued occupation by Syrian military forces is probably the
most effective lever Syria has to prevent such protests from escalating into a
more damaging form of opposition.
In addition to this sort of macro-economic tie, it should also be noted that the
individual members of the Syrian political elite have developed extensive
personal business interests in Lebanon throughout the period, which they will no
doubt wish to use every means at their disposal to protect. Indeed, it would
probably be no exaggeration to say that continuing economic and political
control of Lebanon has become a vital component of internal Syrian politics, as
access to the country represents a vast source of patronage which the leadership
can use to placate powerful individuals who might oppose them. This has
perhaps been particularly significant since Bashar al-Asad has assumed the
leadership, given his need to secure his dominant position in the Syrian context.
Depending on the extent to which this kind of patronage arrangement has been
developed, even a partial withdrawal from the Lebanese context may now be
practically unthinkable from the Syrian political standpoint.
The Residuum of Authentic Lebanese Foreign Policy: 1990–present

Clearly, it is impossible firmly to establish what contemporary Lebanese foreign
policy would be like in the absence of overwhelming Syrian influence. However,
I would suggest that it is possible to make some very defensible educated
guesses. For example, it seems likely that an independent Lebanese government
would have disarmed Hizbollah along with the other sectarian militias in the
early 1990s, and would have proceeded to work for a negotiated resolution of
the border dispute with Israel.10
With respect to the disarmament issue, it is not clear that any of the sectarian
communities really would have supported continuing Hizbollah military
operations. On the contrary, there was a fairly apparent consensus across the
confessions that it was time to end hostilities and concentrate on rebuilding the
country. Moreover, it is probable that strong Maronite feelings about the issue,
and the specific disarmament provisions of the Ta’if Accord, would have forced
the state to take action even if the other sects were not broadly supportive
concerning the disarmament of Hizbollah.
Having carried out the complete disarmament of the militias, the next
compelling priority would have been the resolution of other security issues,
particularly the settlement of the Southern border. The stability that would have
followed from this was, after all, viewed by most Lebanese and outside
observers at the time as critically important because it would have created the
most favorable environment for carrying out the reconstruction of the country’s
shattered infrastructure and economy. In the sphere of foreign policy, it would
have advanced two important objectives related to the recovery process:
1. Attracting foreign aid and investment to support the recovery process.

2. Facilitating the positive involvement, and even partial reintegration, of
Lebanon’s significant expatriate communities.
In the absence of Syrian involvement, and assuming that Lebanon and Israel
could have come to a mutually satisfactory settlement, these two priorities
would almost certainly have become the fundamental basis of Lebanese foreign
relations throughout most of the 1990s. Even as events actually developed, the
Lebanese government attempted to pursue these objectives, but, as I will shortly
explain in more detail, their efforts to do so were severely hampered by the
continuing conflict in the South and by Syrian interference whenever they
attempted to engage any foreign actor that Syria feared might pose a challenge
to its interests in Lebanon.
This last point is particularly significant, because the purpose of the above
speculation about what the shape of a truly independent Lebanese foreign policy
might have looked like over the last decade is to clarify the nature of the
relationship between Lebanon and Syria with respect to defining the country’s
foreign policy. I would suggest that the key fact one needs to bear in mind is that
Syria does not control Lebanon to the extent that authentic Lebanese interests
have been effectively subsumed by Syrian interests. On the contrary, a clear
distinction can still be made between the two, and it seems likely that the nature
of Lebanese interests throughout the 1990s would have been virtually identical
irrespective of Syrian involvement. That is to say, the settlement of the South
Lebanon conflict, the attraction of foreign aid and investment for the recovery
process and the establishment of closer relations with Lebanese expatriate
communities would have been Lebanon’s key foreign policy objectives one way
or the other. Syria’s influence in Lebanon, in the pursuit of Syrian foreign policy
objectives such as the continuation of the South Lebanon conflict, has clearly
compromised the Lebanese government’s ability to effectively pursue these
objectives, but at least to the extent that the government has attempted to pursue
them, the residuum of an authentic Lebanese foreign policy may still be said to
exist.
In order fully to understand the imperatives and constraints that have shaped
authentic Lebanese foreign policy initiatives since the end of the civil war, it is
necessary to assess the continuing influence of the four major factors that have
historically helped to shape Lebanese foreign policy. Although Syrian
dominance of the Lebanese political order has affected all of these factors to
some extent, I would argue that they are all still present, and still strongly
relevant in Lebanese society.
With respect to the first factor, the traditional weakness of the Lebanese state,
the post-Ta’if political order was intended to create a more even balance of
power between the Christian and Muslim sects, but otherwise did not envisage
major changes with respect to the role and/or the power of the state institutions.
The Lebanese state is still fairly weak and its function is still, at least ostensibly,
dependent on the voluntary cooperation of the sectarian elites. These elites
continue to wield much of the real political power and influence within
Lebanese society through their control of communal patronage networks. An
extremely important point which must be made with respect to this observation,
however, is that Syrian hegemony has actually disrupted the sectarian balance
and led to the effective marginalization of the Maronite community from the
formal political process.
Most Maronites strongly opposed the Ta’if Accord, largely because of Syria’s
role in its implementation, and substantially detached themselves from the state
institutions by boycotting the 1992 parliamentary elections. From that point
forward, the Syrians have worked to keep influential Maronite leaders out of the
state set-up in order to avoid further legal challenges to their ongoing role in the
country. They have maintained the illusion of Maronite participation in the state
institutions by cultivating their own Maronite clients and inserting them into the
Presidency and the Chamber of Deputies. While a small number of these figures,
like the current President, Emile Lahoud, do apparently enjoy genuine
popularity in the Maronite community, even they are not representatives of
the traditional Maronite elite, and their influence outside the state context is very
limited. These developments have severely undermined the legitimacy of the
restored state institutions and have made it almost impossible for the state to
engage in constructive relations with expatriate Maronite elements. This was a
fairly significant blow to economic reconstruction efforts, since the expatriate
Maronite communities potentially had much to contribute.
Clearly, the ‘Treaty of Brotherhood, Cooperation and Coordination’ with
Syria was a critical departure from the historic neutrality of Lebanese foreign
policy vis-à-vis the West and the Arab/Islamic world. One may certainly
question, however, the extent to which the Lebanese people at the mass level
have ever viewed such a close alignment with Syria as legitimate. It is not
surprising that the Maronites have been strongly opposed from the beginning,
but there is evidence to suggest that the majority of Lebanese Muslims have also
been deeply concerned about the nature and extent of Syria’s continuing role in
Lebanon throughout the last decade. Rhetorical support for greater Islamic
solidarity and Arab brotherhood aside, the Muslim communities have frequently
joined with Christians in mass protests about:
1. Syria’s continuing occupation of Lebanon.

2. Syrian penetration of the Lebanese labor market and other segments of the
economy.
3. Policies that have threatened the economic recovery or the stability of the
post-war political order.
4. The great extent to which Syrian interference in the electoral process and
the formation of governments has limited the public accountability of the
state institutions.
The third major historical factor, the primacy of Lebanese economic interests
in the foreign policy sphere, continues to be crucially significant. In fact, the
international climate of the 1990s has helped to shift the balance of Lebanon’s
post-war foreign policy orientation back towards the West despite the
unprecedented alignment with the Arab world that Syrian influence has
imposed. In short, since much of the Arab/Muslim world, including Syria to
some extent, has been attempting to cultivate closer relations to the Western
powers in order to attract aid, to improve trade relations, and to become more
engaged in the economic globalization process generally, Lebanon has also been
free to attempt to cultivate closer relations.
Furthermore, for most of the post-war period, Syria has been quite happy to
allow the Lebanese government substantial autonomy in the economic sphere,
provided that its basic foreign policy and security interests were not threatened.11
In due course, this created opportunities for the Lebanese government to pursue
some more or less independent foreign policy initiatives designed to support the
economic recovery. There were several reasons for Syria’s willingness to cede
control to the Lebanese government in the economic sphere.
First, protests over worsening economic conditions brought down the first two
post-war Lebanese governments, which had concentrated on implementing the
Ta’if Accord and pushing through the 1992 parliamentary elections respectively.
The implementation process and the elections had enabled Syria to strongly
secure its long-term dominance of the Lebanese system, but by this point the
pressing need to do something about the economy had begun to threaten the
viability of the post-war order as whole. As Syria did not have a particularly
strong interest in becoming engaged in an economic recovery process that was
bound to be fraught with difficulties, it was content to allow a new, primarily
economically motivated, Lebanese government under Rafiq Hariri to direct the
reconstruction efforts.
Second, allowing the Lebanese government substantial autonomy in the
economic sphere reduced both international and internal Lebanese protests at
Syria’s dominance of the country, both of which had become very significant
after the 1992 elections. Recognizing the traditional importance accorded to
economic matters in the Lebanese context, the Syrians clearly hoped that
granting the Lebanese substantial autonomy in this area would placate many
Lebanese opponents of the post-war order. And, indeed, in retrospect it must be
conceded that this policy was fairly effective. It encouraged many Lebanese, not
so much to accept the legitimacy of the Syrian presence, as to accept that, since
the political situation could not be effectively addressed in the short term, they
should make the best of things and start to re-engage in fairly normal economic
and social relations.
Finally, by placing substantial control of the economy in Lebanese hands, it
seems likely that the Syrians were hoping to immunize themselves to some
extent from ultimate responsibility in the case of economic crisis. In the 1992
protests, many Lebanese made little distinction between their discontent at
economic conditions and their discontent at the Syrian presence because the
Lebanese governments up to that the time were clearly perceived to be working
for Syria’s interests and neglecting the economy. A similar problem was
rendered much less likely by the new arrangement in which the Lebanese
government would be more directly responsible for economic affairs.
And, in fact, when the reconstruction process stalled and the economy went
into recession in the late 1990s, Hariri and his government did take most of the
blame, even though Syrian policies and priorities had caused some serious
problems. One of these problems was related to Syria’s tendency to play major
Lebanese political figures off against each other to keep any one Lebanese
leader from becoming too powerful: for example, opposing Hariri to Speaker of
the House Nabih Birri, or bringing in Lahoud to further erode Hariri’s influence.
This produced frequent political deadlock within the Lebanese state context and
certainly negatively affected the recovery process. Other problems were located
more properly in the foreign policy sphere.
For example, Syria’s need to maintain the conflict in South Lebanon had
serious economic consequences. The periodic Israeli reprisal attacks against
Hizbollah, particularly the two major operations in 1993 and 1996, not only
inflicted substantial material damage but also had an incalculable negative
impact on the Lebanese government’s abilities to enlist much needed foreign aid
and investment to support the recovery process. Additional damage of the same
kind was caused by Syria’s constant efforts to limit Lebanese government
contacts with major powers like France and the US that could potentially
organize greater international pressure for a Syrian withdrawal from Lebanon, a
resolution of the South Lebanon conflict and so on.
The overriding point that must be stressed concerning Syria’s foreign policy
and security interests on the one hand and Lebanon’s economic interests on the
other is that the two have never been particularly compatible. In fact, it is
difficult to escape the conclusion that they are almost diametrically opposed.
Syria needs a certain amount of instability in the Lebanese context in order
both to justify its own military presence in the country, and retain the Lebanese
situation as a useful bargaining chip in its ongoing negotiations with Israel.
Furthermore, in order to protect against Lebanese state challenges to its

dominant role in Lebanon, it needs to continue to play Lebanese government
leaders off against each other. By doing so, Syria is able to pursue three aims of
its own:
1. Keep any one leader from becoming too strong.

2. Insure against the possibility of an inter-confessional anti-Syrian coalition in
the Lebanese government.
3. Secure its own position as the arbiter through which individual Lebanese
leaders must work if they wish to advance any kind of policy agenda.
Conversely, the long-term interests of the Lebanese economy would require

(or would at least be greatly facilitated by):
1. A greater level of systemic stability to secure the benefits of reconstruction

and enhance the country’s economic relations with external elements.
2. A higher level of consensus and cooperation within the government so that
economic policy can be smoothly and effectively drawn up and
implemented.
3. A more satisfactory resolution of internal sectarian tensions to achieve and
safeguard both of the above.
4. Some effort to get the expatriate communities involved once again in the
economic life of the country.
It is worth noting, at this point, that the increasing intertwining of the Syrian
and Lebanese economies may have already begun to generate a significant
conflict of economic versus security interests for Syria. In short, if the Lebanese
economy continues to perform poorly, it will not be good for the Syrian
economy, and furthermore, it will almost certainly eventually lead to even
greater public protest in Lebanon about Syria’s continuing restrictions on
Lebanese foreign policy. These considerations may compel the Syrians to allow
the Lebanese government to pursue freer relations with major international
economic powers, even if this does hold some risk that the major powers will
become more closely involved in the politics of Syrian–Lebanese relations. Of
course, it is also possible that, as Syria becomes more and more invested in the
health of Lebanon’s economy, the Syrian leadership may rethink its willingness
to let the Lebanese exercise so much autonomy in the economic sphere. The
practical difficulties of reasserting economic control would, however, probably
be very significant. Lebanese public opposition would certainly be difficult to
manage, and Syria would also have to consider its own need to cultivate closer
relations with major Western actors who would be very likely to strongly oppose
such a move.
A new complication in terms of Lebanon’s international standing and the
government’s ability to promote better relations with potential trading partners
and international aid donors has been introduced by September 11 and the
ensuing war on terrorism. These events have resulted in a considerable amount
of negative world attention towards Lebanon as a hot-bed of international

terrorism, and the major Western powers have urged the Lebanese government
to do something about Hizbollah and Islamic radicalism within the Lebanese
context. Of course, the Lebanese government in and of itself is not really in a
position to do very much about the situation. Syria, for its part, has been taking a
very ambiguous line, openly condemning terrorism in principle but also taking
every possible opportunity to highlight the grievances of the Islamic world and,
above all, pointing to the absolute lack of progress with respect to the Israeli–
Palestinian dispute as a justification for the sort of hard-line rhetoric Hizbollah
continues to espouse. Because there is some awareness among Western policy
makers that Syrian compliance will be required before the Lebanese government
can take any effective action against Hizbollah, it is unclear how this situation
will affect Lebanon’s foreign relations in either the short or long term.
This developing situation brings us directly to a consideration of the fourth
factor that has historically played a crucial role in shaping Lebanon’s foreign
policy: the country’s high level of susceptibility to penetration by foreign actors.
Obviously, with respect to the whole issue of foreign penetration the post-war
period has been the worst in Lebanese history even if one only considers Syrian
penetration of the Lebanese system. Israeli penetration has also been significant
for much of the period, although this has been less of a factor since Israel’s
withdrawal from South Lebanon. Other foreign actors like Iran have also
continued to exert influence via ties with Hizbollah and other Shi’ite Lebanese
elements. Meanwhile, the Maronites, marginalized from the formal political
process, have attempted to use their traditional connections and expatriate
communities to raise Western awareness about the continuing disenfranchise-
ment of the Lebanese people.12
I would suggest that something very interesting, and basically unprecedented,
is also happening with respect to the fourth factor. As indicated previously, the
main reasons underlying Lebanon’s traditional susceptibility to foreign
penetration have been the weakness of the state and the existence of strong
sectarian tensions about the country’s political alignment vis-à-vis the West and
the Arab/Muslim world. The weakness of the state continues to be significant,
particularly since the critically important Maronite community now has very
little involvement in the formal institutions, and therefore must, to a very great
extent, pursue its interests outside the state context. However, there are some
indications that sectarian tensions about the country’s foreign policy alignment
have been significantly defused by developing circumstances throughout the last
decade or so.
The important policy shift which has led many Arab/Muslim states to pursue
closer relations with the West has already been cited. This means that, for the
time being at least, closer relations with the West and with Lebanon’s Arab/
Muslim neighbors are not mutually exclusive. A second, and probably even
more significant development, is the existence of a fairly stable consensus across
confessional lines, and at both the elite and popular levels, that Syria must
eventually withdraw from Lebanon. Although Syria continues to exert almost
complete dominance over the state institutions, it must be noted once again that
Lebanon has a fairly weak state and that the sectarian elites still exercise
massive influence in Lebanese political life, even if much of this is informal and
difficult to explore in detail.
It is probably no exaggeration to say that, for most Lebanese operating outside
the formal state context, the most important foreign policy objective of the
Lebanese nation at present is to work for a Syrian withdrawal and a reassertion
of Lebanese autonomy both domestically and with respect to foreign affairs.
Popular opposition to the continuing Syrian presence has increased steadily
throughout the last decade and has become particularly pronounced since
Israel’s withdrawal from South Lebanon in May of 2000.13 The Syrians’
repressive response to this increasing pressure has not really helped their cause
as far as the Lebanese people are concerned, and it has also raised some
concerns internationally.
LEBANON AND EUROPE
The purpose of this section is to apply the observations and conclusions

established in the previous section to a more specific examination of Lebanon’s
relations with Europe from 1990 to the present time. The overriding conclusion
one must draw here is that Lebanese–European relations during this period have
been rather limited.
Partly, of course, this is attributable to the fact that Syria, unquestionably the
dominant player in the Lebanese context, has strongly opposed close Lebanese
relations with any external actors who might potentially pose a challenge to its
long-term interests in Lebanon. Needless to say, this certainly includes
permanent UN Security Council members like Britain and France and also
influential economic powers like the EU collectively and many European
countries individually. Potentially, adjustments may be needed in this strategy as
a result of increased US pressure in the context of the Iraq crisis of 2003: in an
effort to counter such pressure, Syria may turn for support to France and other
members of the EU and the international community. In such a situation, the
leadership may have to compromise on the Lebanese front.
Even in the absence of Syrian objections however, it is not clear that
Lebanese–European relations would have been developed to a significantly
greater degree. There are three major points that one must consider here.
The first point is that European influence in the Middle Eastern region as a
whole is not particularly great, even though the EU is the region’s largest trading
partner and one of its main sources of financial assistance. However, Europe has
never been able to translate these economic factors into particularly significant
political influence. This would seem to be partly a result of great resistance to
outside influences by many key regimes in the region. It is also partly explained
by the importance attached to the region by the US, and its consequently quite
high level of involvement in regional affairs. The nature of European–US
relations is such that the EU is reluctant to act contrary to US policy initiatives,
as these are often seen to be beneficial to Western interests taken as a whole. A
final factor is the nature of inter-European relations. Although there is some
policy coordination within the auspices of the EU, this does not generally extend
into the political dimension of foreign policy. Furthermore, as the EU currently
lacks an effective common security mechanism of its own, its ability to apply
coercive force in the region is very limited.
The second major point is that the continuation of the Arab–Israeli conflict
has led most major global actors to treat those states actively engaged in the
conflict with a great deal of sensitivity. The common international interest in
resolving the conflict and securing regional stability is generally perceived as a
higher priority than individual countries’ policy initiatives and preferences with
respect to economic relations and issues such as political reform. In short, there
is no desire at present to potentially antagonize any of the participants in the
conflict by pressing them to resolve urgently what are perceived as lesser
political and economic differences. With respect to the Lebanese situation, this
means that most of the major global actors are very wary about pressing for an
immediate Syrian withdrawal, since this issue will presumably be addressed as
part of a Syrian–Israeli and/or Lebanese–Israeli peace settlement.
The third, and to some extent related, point is that international actors,
including most European countries, are also reluctant to press for a Syrian
withdrawal from Lebanon due to fears about internal Lebanese stability in the
absence of a strong external presence. No one wants to risk a new eruption of
sectarian conflict in the country, particularly as this might escalate once again
into a regional conflict and thereby critically destabilize an already precarious
situation.
The remainder of this section is divided into four parts. In the first, I will
briefly look at the history of European involvement in Lebanon up to the end of
the civil war. In the second I will consider the nature and extent of European
responses to Syrian hegemony in the Lebanese context over the past decade. In
the third part, I examine European involvement in Lebanon in the context of
authentic Lebanese foreign policy initiatives designed to support the economic
recovery. In the fourth and final part, I turn to the potential influence of
Lebanese expatriate communities living within European countries.
Lebanese–European Relations in Historical Context

The significant involvement of the Europeans in modern Lebanese affairs can be
traced to 1860, when the five European powers (France, Prussia, Russia, Britain
and Austria) intervened in a Lebanese sectarian conflict and helped to establish a
largely Christian autonomous entity in Mount Lebanon. From this point,
Lebanon’s Christians looked to the Europeans, particularly the French, for
support with security issues, as well as assistance with economic and cultural
development. 14
The relationship with France obviously became more strongly developed after
World War I, when the French established a political mandate over Lebanon.
The French proceeded to solidify their relationship with the Christians,
particularly the Maronites. Essentially on their behalf, France initiated the
expansion of Lebanese territory to encompass the nation’s modern borders,
which became known as Le Grand Liban (Greater Lebanon). After this point,
Lebanon’s Christians looked increasingly to France to help them secure their

political and economic influence in relation to the other sectarian communities
within Lebanese territory. Additionally, they relied on France to support them in
their relations with neighboring Arab/Muslim countries.
By the early 1940s, with French influence in the region declining as a result of
World War II, the elites of the two leading sectarian communities, the Maronite
Christians and the Sunni Muslims, agreed to divide political power and create an
independent Lebanese state, thereby ending French rule. As part of this
arrangement, which became known as the National Pact, the Christians and
Muslims established a compromise whereby the new state would have a neutral
foreign policy orientation with respect to France and other European powers on
the one hand, and the Arab world on the other. At least in theory, this principle
of neutrality guided Lebanese foreign policy from 1943 to the early 1970s.
Although Christian elements continued to look to Europe for support even
after this point, the Suez Crisis of 1956 basically brought an end to European
power in the region. For example, two years later, when civil conflict erupted in
Lebanon between pro-government and pro-Nasserist factions, it was not the
Europeans but the US that intervened militarily to support the government.
Subsequently, Western intervention in Lebanese affairs was quite limited, even
when the introduction of the PLO into Lebanon in the early 1970s dramatically
increased sectarian tensions and set the stage for the outbreak of the civil war in
1975.
Although Europe was greatly concerned by developments within Lebanon,
such as the violence of the conflict, intervention by regional powers such as
Israel and Syria, the taking of Western hostages, and other terrorist activities,
their actual involvement in attempting to end the civil war was quite limited.
Ultimately, the European powers supported the Ta’if Accord, even if they did
not actively promote it. This was partly because the US was pushing for it and
partly because they felt it would bring an end to the conflict and restore much
needed regional stability, even if the proposed peace arrangements were
problematic in some important respects.
The European Response to Syrian Penetration: 1990–Present

European support for the Ta’if Accord became increasingly muted as the
implementation process proceeded and it became clear that Syria was using its
status as external guarantor of the accord in order to effectively take long-term
control of the Lebanese political system. The European Commission and some
individual countries, France particularly, were outspoken in their criticism of
developments in the early 1990s, particularly the ‘Treaty of Brotherhood’ and the
1992 elections, which many external observers perceived to have been rigged by
Syria in order to produce a compliant Lebanese parliament. There were
additional sporadic protests throughout the balance of the decade about the extent
of Syrian influence and the increasingly repressive policies used to secure it.
The fundamental point that must be stressed here, however, is that apart from
making occasional vocal protests about the situation, Europe has done very little
in terms of pressuring Syria to rethink its policy with respect to Lebanon. It is
telling that Syria has not even been subjected to economic sanctions or other
mild forms of practical coercion as a means of encouraging it to withdraw its
forces from the country and/or to allow for greater Lebanese autonomy.
I would suggest that this lack of European activity is almost certainly wholly
attributable to the three factors I cited in the introduction of this section:
1. Europe’s relatively low ability to exert influence due to Syrian resistance,

the predominance of US policy initiatives, and the EU’s lack of policy
coordination and enforcement mechanisms.
2. The international community’s reluctance to adopt policies that might
potentially antagonize Syria and thereby jeopardize the possibility of a
Syrian–Israeli peace settlement.
3. Widespread concerns about internal Lebanese stability, and ultimately even
regional stability, in the event of a Syrian withdrawal.
The latter two points are probably particularly significant, and it seems
unlikely that European actors will adopt more forceful measures in support of
indigenous Lebanese national aspirations until greater regional stability is
achieved. Obviously a viable Arab–Israeli peace settlement would be the
cornerstone of such stability. Since, at the time of writing, this seems a rather
distant prospect, one must assume that the Lebanese opponents of the Syrian-
dominated political order will be waiting for more effective European help for a
very long time to come.
European Involvement via Authentic Lebanese Foreign Policy Initiatives:

1990–Present
As I have indicated previously, economic interests have been at the core of most
of Lebanon’s more or less independent foreign policy initiatives throughout the
post-war period. And in this context, Lebanon has enjoyed considerably more
European support for its authentic national interests than it has received with
respect to the more purely political issue of continuing Syrian hegemony.
However, it is worth noting at this point that all of the observations in the first
section of the contribution about the conflict of Syrian and Lebanese interests
apply. In short, continuing instability, particularly in the context of the South
Lebanon conflict, and Syrian interference in Lebanese negotiations with
powerful external actors, have made it extremely difficult for Lebanon to
attract the amount of foreign aid and investment it has really needed to secure an
effective economic recovery.
With respect to funding for the Hariri government’s ambitious economic
reconstruction program, European donors were very important. Of the $3.1
billion of foreign funding (including grants and loans) that the Lebanese
government raised between 1992 and 1996, 13 percent came from the European
Investment Bank, 11 percent from Italy, 9 percent from France, and 3 percent
from the Commission of European Communities. Additionally, around $800
million was raised from a series of very well received Eurobond issues from
1994 to 1996.15
However, it should probably also be observed that this level of support did not
meet the Lebanese government’s (perhaps unrealistic) external fundraising
targets for the first stage of the program. Furthermore, a large part of the
program was supposed to be funded by projected Lebanese budget surpluses
that, as events developed, never actually materialized. Consequently, the
reconstruction program was dogged by financial difficulties. In any case, it is
clear that the European financing was not necessarily based on the most altruistic
of motives. Only about 13 percent of the money came from outright grants, and
it has also been suggested that much of the aid supplied by Italy and France was
tied to guarantees that lucrative infrastructure reconstruction projects would be
awarded to Italian and French companies.16
Apart from financial aid ear-marked specifically for the reconstruction
program, various EU actors have contributed close to $2 billion since 1978 for
various purposes, including humanitarian aid and EU-funded projects designed
to foster economic development and structural adjustment. Since 1995, Lebanon
has been among the leading percapita beneficiaries of EU assistance to Euro-
Mediterranean partners.
In the area of attracting foreign private sector investment into the Lebanese
economy, also a crucial imperative for a successful post-war recovery,
continuing systemic instability and a range of other problems have seriously
undermined Lebanon’s efforts. Although there was some investment in banking
and property development, much of this was either short-term investment or
yielded only short-term benefits in terms of providing jobs and other stimulation
for the economy. Investment in key long-term sectors such as the stock market,
tourism and industry was very limited.17
Lebanon’s post-war efforts to restore traditionally good trade relations with
Europe, and to achieve closer trade integration, have generally met with greater
success. Europe has long been Lebanon’s leading trade partner, although it
should be recognized that the balance of trade has always heavily favored
Europe, with the value of Lebanese imports vis-à-vis Europe far outweighing
that of their exports. From 1978 until early this year Lebanese–European trade
relations were governed by a Cooperation Agreement under which Lebanese
industrial goods enjoyed duty and quota free access to EC/EU markets.
In January of 2002, as part of the Euro-Mediterranean Partnership Initiative
(EMPI), the EU and Lebanon concluded a new Association Agreement which
provides for the further liberalization of bilateral trade. European duties on most
Lebanese agricultural products were immediately removed, and, in turn,
Lebanon has committed itself to the reduction of tariff barriers on EU industrial
and agricultural products over periods of time specified in the agreement. The
agreement also entails, at least in principle, intensified political dialogue and
cooperation across a wide range of fields from education and culture to
international law enforcement and improvements in human rights and
democratization.18
Particularly given these final provisions calling for closer political relations, it
may seem somewhat surprising that Syria actually allowed Lebanon to conclude
the Association Agreement. In the past, the Syrian leadership has tended to veto
any agreement that raises even the possibility of greater European involvement
in Lebanese affairs outside the strictly economic sphere. Their willingness to
allow more latitude in this case may be partly explained by the agreement’s
economic importance, and Syria’s own increasing stake in the Lebanese
economy. Additionally, it should be noted that Syria itself is also involved in the
EMPI and may elect to enter into a similar agreement at some stage.
A final point worth making concerning authentic Lebanese foreign policy
initiatives and the EU is that the types of mostly economic interaction examined
above have generally helped Lebanon to greatly rehabilitate its image on the
international stage. As recently as the early 1990s, Lebanon was effectively a
pariah state, shunned by much of the international community due to the
intensity of its sectarian conflicts and its, admittedly somewhat deserved,
reputation as a hot-bed of anti-Western terrorism. It reflects great credit on the
efforts of the Lebanese governments of the last decade that the country now
enjoys a much-improved international standing. However, it should also be
recognized that this improvement would have been much more difficult, if not
impossible, if European and other Western actors had not welcomed and
fostered Lebanon’s return to the international fold. It may be a significant
indicator of European support for Lebanon that the negotiations for the new
EMPI Association Agreement were concluded some months after September 11,
at a time when some Western actors, most notably the US, are heavily criticizing
the Lebanese government for its failure to deal with Hizbollah and other alleged
terrorist elements in the country.
Lebanese Expatriate Communities in The EU

A final issue that merits some consideration in the context of Lebanese–
European relations is the presence of Lebanese expatriate communities in some
EU states. The expatriate Maronite community in France is probably the most
significant example in terms of size and influence. It includes some of the most
prominent Lebanese political exiles and opponents of the Syrian dominated
post-war order, such as General Michel Aoun, and works tirelessly to call
Western attention to Syrian abuses of Lebanese sovereignty, and to lobby the
French government and the EU to give more support to authentic Lebanese
interests and to impose greater pressure on Syria to withdraw from the country.
Although these efforts have certainly done the Lebanese cause no harm, and
have probably helped to raise the general level of French and Western awareness
of and sympathy for continuing problems in Lebanon, it is clear that, as already
shown, they have not translated into much practical support from European
actors.
CONCLUSION
In spite of the fact that a great deal has been written on Lebanon, particularly
with respect to the civil war period, very little attention has been given to
Lebanese foreign policy and the underlying forces that define it. A crucial
problem is that many observers of the contemporary Lebanese scene look at
Syria’s almost complete dominance of the political order and tend to assume that
Syrian foreign policy and security interests are so predominant that Lebanon
effectively has no foreign policy of its own.
In the first section of this contribution, I attempted to demonstrate that this
impression of post-war Lebanese foreign policy, while not entirely incorrect, is
somewhat overstated. Certainly, Syrian interests are strongly established,
particularly with respect to the South Lebanon conflict, continued Hizbollah
military activity, Syria’s own military occupation of Lebanon and the increasing
linkage of the Lebanese and Syrian economies. Moreover, all of these interests
undoubtedly have a great impact in terms of limiting what the Lebanese
government is able to accomplish in the sphere of foreign relations.
However, Lebanon does have authentic foreign policy interests of its own and
has been able to pursue them to some extent over the course of the last decade. It
is important not to lose sight of:
1. The fact that the internal forces which have historically shaped Lebanese
foreign policy are still present, and strongly relevant, in Lebanese society.
2. The desire of the vast majority of the Lebanese people to pursue a foreign
policy based on Lebanese interests.
3. Contemporary political and economic circumstances which have generated
Lebanese foreign policy imperatives that are separate from, and in some
cases contrary to, Syria’s interests.
As was the case for most of the period prior to the civil war, economic
interests have been at the heart of Lebanese foreign policy objectives since 1990.
Yet, despite the fact that Syria has allowed the Lebanese government at least
some freedom to try advancing independent foreign policy initiatives in support
of the economic recovery, Syrian security and foreign policy imperatives have
generally been almost directly opposed to core economic interests. Obviously
this has made it very difficult for the Lebanese government to achieve its
objectives. Ironically, as the Lebanese and Syrian economies are steadily
becoming more intertwined, it is possible that Syria will be confronted by a
serious conflict between its own foreign policy and economic interests.
These observations and conclusions were incorporated in the second section,
in an analysis of Lebanon’s contemporary relations with Europe. Although
Europe has expressed some protest at Syria’s thorough penetration of the
Lebanese political order and has engaged in some economic relations broadly
supportive of Lebanon’s authentic foreign policy interests, I would argue that,
on the whole, truly significant relations between Lebanon and Europe in the
post-war period have been rather limited. I think it would be very difficult to
argue that these relations have had much of a practical impact with respect either
to improving Lebanon’s prospects for greater autonomy vis-à-vis Syria; or
providing the kind of external economic assistance and investment that Lebanon
needs to really regenerate its economy.
A final caveat is in order with respect to both Syrian and EU interest in
Lebanon. Although overwhelming Syrian dominance of Lebanon continues as of
this writing, it is possible that it may weaken in the near future. Syria is currently
under greater US pressure to change its policies in Lebanon (and elsewhere in
the region). Whether or not this pressure is sustained or even intensified very
much depends on developments elsewhere in the region and in Washington
itself. However, it is certainly likely that in the meantime, Syria will need to turn
to the EU to counterbalance US pressure, thereby giving the latter increasing
leverage in its relations with both Syria and Lebanon.
NOTES
1. Even works which focus on the foreign policies of Middle East states tend simply to ignore
Lebanon. In the first systematic study of Arab foreign policies – Bahgat Korany and Ali
Dessouki (eds.), The Foreign Policies of Arab States (Boulder: Westview Press, 1984) – the
editors found not a single ‘systematic study of Lebanon’s foreign policy’ (p. 10); even in the
period leading up to the volume’s second edition in 1991, they note that among the plethora of
writings on Lebanon, the country is mostly ‘discussed as a battlefield for various forces, whereas
Lebanon itself as well as its foreign policy is not discussed’. (p. 15). This is replicated in the
otherwise excellent volume by Raymond Hinnebusch and Anoushiravan Ehteshami (eds.) The
Foreign Policies of Middle East States (London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002).
2. Of course, a more aggressive US foreign policy towards Syria by the current US administration
may affect Syrian capabilities to control the situation in Lebanon.
3. See Helena Cobban, The Making of Modern Lebanon (London: Hutchinson, 1985); David
Gilmour, Lebanon: The Fractured Country (London: Sphere Books, 1984); and Tabitha Petran,
The Struggle over Lebanon (New York: Monthly Review Press, 1987).
4. For an examination of the period leading to the war, see: Farid el Khazen, The Breakdown of the
State in Lebanon, 1967–1976 (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 2000); Walid
Khalidi, Conflict and Violence in Lebanon: Confrontation in the Middle East (Cambridge, Mass:
Centre for International Affairs, Harvard, 1979); Roger Owen, Essays on the Crisis in Lebanon
(London: Ithaca Press, 1976).
5. See in particular, Tom Pierre Najem, Lebanon’s Renaissance: The Political Economy of
Reconstruction (London: Ithaca Press, 2000); Habib Malik, Between Damascus and Jerusalem:
Lebanon and the Middle East Peace Process. (Washington: Washington Institute for Near East
Policy, 1997); Habib Malik, ‘Lebanon in the 1990s: Stability Without Freedom?’ Global Affairs,
Part 7 (Winter 1992).
6. For various analyses of the Ta’if Accord, see: Augustus Richard Norton, ‘Lebanon after Ta’if: Is
the Civil War Over?’ Middle East Journal 45, no.3 (1991), pp. 457–73; Augustus Richard
Norton and Jillian Schwedler, ‘Swiss Soldiers, Ta’if Clocks, and Early Elections: Toward a
Happy Ending in Lebanon?’ Middle East Insight 10, no.1 (1993), pp. 46–7; Habib Malik,
‘Lebanon in the 1990s: Stability without Freedom?’; Najem, Lebanon’s Renaissance, pp. 23–49.
7. A detailed discussion of this can be found in Najem, Lebanon’s Renaissance, pp. 23–49.
8. For detailed studies on Syrian foreign policy, see Patrick Seale, Asad: The Struggle for the
Middle East (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1988); Neil Quilliam, Syria and the New
World Order (London: Ithaca Press, 1999); and Hinnebusch’s chapter in Hinnebusch and
Ehteshami (eds.) The Foreign Policies of Middle East States. See also Hinnebusch’s contribution
in this volume.
9. However, as noted earlier, an aggressive US policy toward Syria with respect to disarming
Hizbollah may force Syria’s hand in this regard.
10. For an analysis of state/resistance dynamics in Lebanon, see: Ilya Harik, ‘Syrian Foreign Policy
and State/Resistance Dynamics in Lebanon’. Studies in Conflict and Terrorism 20, no. 3 (1997),
pp. 249–65.
11. For a detailed examination of this dynamic, see Najem, Lebanon’s Renaissance.
12. One may also expect to see a growing and increasingly vocal alliance between right wing
Maronites and Israelis in order to lobby Washington to pressure Syria on Lebanese and other
matters.
13. Although press censorship in Lebanon exists, especially with respect to Syria’s role in the
country, the Lebanese press has nevertheless reported on opposition against Syria.
14. The role of France is of course of particular importance. See Cobban, The making of Modern
Lebanon, on the French–Lebanese Treaty of 1936: pp. 66, 69 and 72; and on France’s role more
generally in the pre-1943 period: pp. 43–75, passim. On France’s early role also see Petran, The
Struggle over Lebanon, pp. 13–16, 24, 28–33. A good overview of the context of the emergence
of modern Lebanon and the French role can be found in William Cleveland, A History of the
Modern Middle East, 2nd edition (Boulder: Westview, 2000), pp. 213–24.
15. For extensive data and analysis on the EU role in the reconstruction of Lebanon, see Najem,
Lebanon’s Renaissance, Chapter 5.
16. Ibid.
17. Ibid., Chapter 6. It should be noted that the Lebanese government under P.M. Hariri did much to
advertise opportunities for Europe in Lebanon’s reconstruction.
18. For an official EU view on the Agreement, see the official EU website: http://europa.eu.int/
comm/external_relations/lebanon/intro/index.htm. The website also covers other forms of
cooperation between the EU and Lebanon.
Propaganda versus Pragmatism:
Iraqi Foreign Policy in Qasim’s Years,
1958–63
ALBERTO TONINI
Abdulkarim Qasim was Iraq’s first republican Prime Minister, following the
overthrow of the pro-Western Hashemite monarchy in 1958. This revolution set
in motion the sequence of nationalist republican and more or less authoritarian
regimes that have ruled Iraq until the demise of Saddam Hussein’s regime in
April 2003. Saddam’s Iraq was in many ways only an extreme example of the
dynamics that shaped the country’s politics under his predecessors. Iraqi foreign
policy under Saddam, too, in several ways reflected the challenges and
determinants that had shaped Iraqi foreign policy since 1958 – indeed in some
respects since the days of the monarchy. The fragility of state cohesion and
legitimacy; the largely futile and often counter-productive means which the
leadership employed to shape Iraq according to their vision – cracking down
hard on any dissenting voices; the domestic and trans-border identity questions
of the Kurds and the Shia; the external vulnerabilities deriving from these
questions as well as from the looming presence of Persian Iran and the problem
of secure access to the Gulf’s shipping lanes; and the historical/nationalist
grievance over the British-imposed border with Kuwait which underlay that
access question: all of these help explain the Iraqi foreign policy environment.
Iraq also, of course, was part of the Arab world, themes from which strongly
impacted on this environment; indeed, Qasim ruled at a time when Arab
nationalism and pan-Arabism were reaching their most potent form, swept along
by Gamal Abdul-Nasser’s charismatic leadership.
Perhaps the best-known instance of foreign policy flowing from this
combination of factors also pre-figured more recent events – viz Qasim’s
1961 claim on Kuwait and the threat to invade the emirate shortly after its
independence from Britain. Equally important, though, was Qasim’s role in the
establishment of OPEC a year earlier. As an illustration of Iraqi foreign policy
dynamics, then, his time in power offers a particularly interesting comparative
case which allows parallels to be drawn not only with other Iraqi periods, but
also with the patterns suggested in the framework underlying this volume.
The evidence of Qasim’s regime demonstrates how the foreign policy of Iraq
was determined by a combination of domestic and regional factors: Qasim’s
need to weaken the old dominant elites led to the withdrawal of the country from
the Baghdad Pact, which had been the main expression of the collusion among
Britain and the monarchy. The desire of keeping down the Iraqi Communist
Party restrained the Iraqi leader from further developing relations with the
Soviet Union. The never-ending rivalry with Egypt left Iraq completely isolated
in the region, as Nasser was not amenable to sharing his prestige with Qasim,
while Saudi Arabia, the other regional power, looked with suspicion to the Iraqi
revolutionary regime and firmly condemned its rupture with the Western world.
Qasim’s foreign policy led to a collision with the other regional powers, to the
point that on the Kuwait issue the Arab League, dominated by Nasser, chose a
position in conflict with the Iraqi claim. Qasim’s reply was the withdrawal from
the Arab League and the increasing isolation of his country, that helped bring
about the end of his rule.
T H E J U L Y 1 9 5 8 C O U P D ’ É T A T
‘Baghdadi lawyers and politicians seem to regard it as almost a matter of honor

to have a coup d’état. It has happened in Egypt and Syria, and even in the
despised Lebanon. The Baghdadis are hanging their heads in shame: they have
not yet murdered a Prime Minister’. This was the opinion of Sir John Troutbeck,
British ambassador in Iraq in the early 1950s.
In expressing this opinion, Troutbeck, who was a quintessential British
official, shared the view that in 1932 Iraq achieved its independence too soon.
This situation meant that the Royal House of Iraq might be in danger, and that
‘the moment has come when we must make a real effort to move things in the
right direction, both in our interests and in those of Iraq’. The right direction, in
Troutbeck’s view, would have been taken if the British had forced the pace of
reform and modernization.1
One of the issues that preoccupied British officials just before the Revolution
was the ethnic and religious fragmentation of Iraq. British rule during the
Mandate imposed a fragile unity over the six and a half million people, and the
outcome was an artificial state. To use Hanna Batatu’s words, ‘the national or
patriotic idea was in 1958 still very weak’.2
The overthrow of the monarchy in the military coup d’état of July 14, 1958,
brought to an end one important and ambiguous phase in the history of Iraq, but
it did not solve the basic contradictions of the Iraqi state and society. That phase
had been largely shaped by Great Britain, the Hashemites, the landowners, and
the elites of the many communities that constituted Iraqi society.
They had relied on their economic power and on their network of patronage to
secure their privileges and to advance their interests. At the same time, they had
shown little compunction about relying on coercion when these interests were
seriously threatened. Ruthless and effective as this strategy was in the short
term, it did little to address the structural causes of grievance. Above all, the
strategy adopted by Great Britain and the Iraqi government assumed the loyalty
of the major disciplinary instrument – the armed forces – which neither the brief
history of the Iraqi officer corps nor the circumstances of its creation could
justify.
IRAQI FOREIGN POLICY UNDER QASIM, 1958–63 125
As General Qasim and his cohorts seized the reins of government on July 14,
1958, army detachments surrounded the royal palace. Before order was restored,
they had murdered king Faisal II, his cousin, the regent ‘Abd al-Ilah, and Iraq’s
strongman Nuri al-Said, who for more than a quarter of a century dominated
political life in the country, and who to Arab nationalists had become a tool of
‘Western imperialism’.
The seizure of power by Qasim and his military allies in 1958 was relatively
quick and easy, as they found themselves almost immediately in command of all
the financial and administrative resources of the state. The very easy transfer of
power made the Iraqis believe that the political life would be refounded on a
more liberal basis, through a radical assault on the system of privilege which
characterized Iraq’s inegalitarian society.
However, the seductions of office worked on the victors as they had on the
previous rulers during the monarchy: in seeking to master the state and to stay in
command, Qasim followed a logic suggested both by the distinctive politics of
Iraq and by the way he had come to power. In the first place, conspiracy and the
use of violence within the officer corps and beyond became the practical norm
and a general rule of the political game; secondly, the tendency to centralize and
to dominate negated any attempts to create autonomy, frustrating efforts to
represent the plurality of Iraq’s society.
As a consequence, the genuine and widespread hopes for a radical break with
the past and for the creation of a more open society were gradually
disappointed. Iraqis found themselves subject to the command of individuals,
preoccupied with the immediate struggle for power, and whose various claims
of ‘revolution’ would never challenge an order from which they derived so
much strength. Their interests were essentially those of regime survival and
consolidation, and the acquisition of the political and economic means to ensure
them.3
Iraqi politics after the coup soon became characterized by fragmentation of
political forces and high level of politicization of the social groups. The coalition
of political parties, which had cooperated with the armed forces to overthrow the
monarchy, soon ended in a power struggle. Not all the contenders survived the
political upheaval. The traditional parties – populists, liberals and national
socialists – lost their popular support, as they were identified with the interests of
the previous regime. They were dislodged by the militant parties – the
Communists and the Ba’th.
Both these parties shared common characteristics which contributed to their
success in capturing power. First, both the Ba’thists and the Communists were
ideological parties. Their ideologies, although they varied in consistency and
content, were action-oriented, which aroused the zeal and emotions of their
activists. Second, they were mass-mobilizing parties calling for revolutionary
change. Finally, both parties were trans-national: their organizations in Iraq were
linked to outside structures, one to the international Communist movement, the
other to the Ba’th branches throughout the Arab world.
The two parties competed for the loyalty of the same social groups: thus,
workers, peasants, and middle class professionals were divided ideologically
between the two. The result was not only political fragmentation, but also
fragmentation of ‘social identity’, which retarded the development of social
class consciousness.4
This outcome was also due to the fragile and evanescent ‘identity’ of the July
revolution: the revolution was a revolution without a philosophy and initially
without a program. It was essentially a revolt against a Western-oriented regime,
a regime remote from the people and intolerant of their liberties, a regime that,
despite the relative abundance of its oil revenues, had done little to improve the
lot of the great majority of its citizens, who lived close to a subsistence level,
impoverished, illiterate, and diseased.
The July 1958 revolution’s aims were not precisely articulated nor clearly
defined. Although they ran largely in terms of symbols and slogans, they can be
grouped into three categories:
1. Eliminating all traces of Western imperialism, freeing the country from the
influence of the West in all its aspects.
2. Improving the living conditions of the people, ensuring them social justice.
3. Unifying the Iraqi people and achieving a closer political cooperation with
all Arab states, for the sake of the Arab world’s unification.
These aims temporarily captured the loyalty of the masses, but they afforded a
poor amalgam with which to bind the revolution’s leaders, who lacked a
community of ideals and were united only by a common hatred of the old
regime.5
QASIM, THE WEST, AND THE OIL COMPANIES
Of its three broad aims, the revolution clearly realized only the first, but even
this was more the result of events than a resolute decision of the Iraqi leaders. At
the outset even the break with the West was not clear-cut. In a Baghdad
broadcast on the day of the revolution, the new government made known its
intention to honor all the foreign commitments consistent with the interests of
the country. This declaration had a special significance for the oil industry, long
the symbol of imperialism throughout the Arab world, and for the consuming
countries dependent on it.
The new leader, recognizing the importance of oil revenues to the revolution’s
political success and the country’s economic stability, and perhaps influenced by
the landing of the US Marines in Lebanon and the British troops in Jordan,
endeavored to reassure Western Europe over the continuity of oil supplies. In a
radio broadcast on July 18 he stated:
In view of the importance of oil for the Iraqi national wealth and the world
economy, the Iraqi government announces its wishes for continued
production and export of oil to world markets. It also upholds its
obligations to all parties concerned. The government has taken the
necessary measures to preserve the oil fields and installations. It hopes the
parties concerned will respond to the attitude taken by it toward the
development of this vital source of wealth.6
On July 19, Sir Michael Wright, the British ambassador in Baghdad, could
write to the Foreign Office:
I have received a communication from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs

enclosing the text of Prime Minister’s statement saying that Iraq
government do not intend nationalise the production of oil, which is of
economical importance and the subject of national and international
agreements.7
The following day he wrote:
Among decisions taken and announced by the Administration are the

following:
a [. . .]
b Iraq desires friendly relations with all countries including the West.
c At least for the time being Iraq will maintain existing international
agreements.
d At least for the time being Iraq retains her membership in the Baghdad
Pact.
e The production of oil will not be nationalized
f Prime Minister and Minister of Finance have said to me that Iraq and
Britain have always been friends and allies and they wished this to
continue.8
Other reassurances were soon forthcoming. On July 21, spokesmen for the
Iraqi government in London and New York asserted that their government did
not intend to nationalize the oil industry. The London spokesman, senior
assistant military attache at the Iraqi embassy, was particularly comforting when
he said: ‘It is not the intention of the Republic to think about this, because we
believe that if the oil flow continues to the usual markets, it will be for the
benefit of both parties – you get your oil and we get our pounds’.9
On July 23, Sir Michael Wright met the Prime Minister, Foreign Minister and
Minister of Finance. Among other things, the Iraqi leaders declared to the
ambassador that ‘as regard British and Iraqis, who have always been friends and
allies, it was our wish that the same relationship should continue, if you wished
it’. They also said that ‘it was not our wish to alter any existing agreements
except by negotiation’.10
This was language that businessmen understood. Following this announce-
ment Western officials breathed more easily, and shares of British Petroleum
and Shell, which on news of revolution had declined on the London market, rose
briskly.
The British government did not cut its relations with the new regime in
Baghdad, and tried to find a ‘modus vivendi’ with Qasim, who did not reject this
attempt.
The British Ministry of Defence circulated a note stating that Her Majesty’s
government agreed that for the time being there should be no interference with
the movement to Iraq of arms consignments. The British Foreign Office
informed the other departments that they agreed to the lifting of the
administrative measures by which shipments have been delayed immediately
after the coup, and that the US had raised no objection to Britain’s continuing to
send arms and equipment to Iraq.11
The new Iraqi government obtained British and American recognition at the
end of July; this move was reported by Baghdad radios and press with a friendly
commentary. Iraqi government members were clearly pleased about recognition
and expressed the usual sentiments about close cooperation with those two
countries on the basis of friendship and mutual interests.12 As noted by the
British ambassador in early August:
it would be unwise for us to press the new government on bilateral Anglo-

Iraqi questions, e.g. special agreements or institutions such as the Baghdad
Pact. Our efforts at the moment should be concentrated on showing that
we desire the welfare and prosperity of Iraq and are prepared to contribute
to it, if the Iraqis so wish, within a relationship of general friendship and
cooperation. There seems to be every advantage in playing our hand very
quietly, carefully and cautiously.13
Ten days after the revolution another British senior official, Mr Crawford of
the British Embassy in Baghdad, wrote:
in very many ways the revolution in Iraq has not changed the basic facts of
Iraq’s position in the world. If we can satisfy the new government that we
are sincere when we express our sympathy with Arab nationalism in its
aspiration for unity and our friendship for those manifestations of it which
do not lend themselves to Soviet manipulation, we may have a better
chance to win the cold war in the Middle East than we had in the past. [. . .]
There are fairly solid grounds for thinking that the protestations of the new
Iraqi leaders are sincere and that they genuinely desire friendship with
Britain and America. If such friendship could be built (or rather continued)
it might prove a lead-in to improved relations with Nasser, by showing
him that we are not opposed to Arab nationalism.14
Looking for support in consolidating its international prestige, the new Iraqi
government tried to recover its relations even with France, the colonial power
that was occupying Algeria and that colluded with Israel during the Suez
crisis. No diplomatic relations had been maintained between the two countries
since 1956 and the Swiss diplomatic representatives in Baghdad were acting
also on behalf of France. Speaking to the Swiss Chargé d’Affaires, the Iraqi
Minister for Foreign Affairs affirmed that the French citizens were welcome in
Iraq: ‘They will be treated as friends, just are the citizens of other friendly
countries. The policy of the previous regime in regard to France can be
regarded as out of date. The Iraqi republic and people have nothing against the
French people’.15
In addition, the Paris daily Le Monde reproduced an appeal for French support
from a number of Iraqi intellectuals who had studied in France:
Les intellectuels irakiens, qui ont fait leurs études en France et qui sont
profondément attachés aux traditions glorieuses de la Révolution
française, vous annoncent grande joie pour la naissance de la République
irakienne. Notre révolution du 14 juillet a détruit la grande bastille
irakienne qui conservait notre pays pendant des dizaines d’années dans la
misère, l’esclavage et l’humiliation.
Nous nous adressons [. . .] à tous les républicaines de France pour qu’ils
soutiennent notre jeune République qui accueille l’approbation de notre
people unanime.
Nous vous appellerions pour déjouer toute intervention étrangère dans
les affaires intérieures du Moyen-Orient qui pourrait dégénérer en guerre
totale et destructrice de toute l’humanité.16
Another Western European country was prepared to be friendly toward the

new Iraqi regime: immediately after the coup in Baghdad, the Federal German
government declared that everything pointed to the new Iraqi government being
genuinely disposed to be friendly toward the West. The German ambassador in
London expressed the opinion that the Western government should do
everything possible to encourage this friendly tendency and keep Iraq from
falling into the Nasserite fold. The authorities in Bonn in fact implied that there
was a lot to be said for very early recognition of the new regime by the Western
governments. The German ambassador also spoke of the anxiety of his
government lest Her Majesty’s government were contemplating some move to
upset the new Iraqi government: he was referring to the statement by King
Hussein that he regarded himself as Head of the Arab Union, created in March
1958 by Jordan and Iraq, and said that Bonn was worried that this meant the king
was going to try to enforce his authority on Baghdad with British support.17
But the following weeks showed that the British government had not, at the
moment, any intention of jeopardizing the position of Qasim. On the contrary,
during the Autumn of 1958, when it was necessary to stand against the attempts
to take power by some pro-Nasser officials in Baghdad, the Iraqi Prime Minister
was glad to discover that he could count on the discreet support of the British.18
Iraq’s prosperity depended on selling oil and the experience of Mossadeq in
Iran showed that there was no alternative to the major Western companies for
marketing it. The Iraqis were well aware of the market surplus in those years, and
they also knew that Western Europe could do without Iraqi oil, if necessary. The
new government was bound to see that they needed the good offices of the Iraq
Petroleum Company (IPC) and of its shareholders, as clearly Nuri al-Said did.
Although continuing to deny any intention of nationalizing the oil industry,

various government officials, including Qasim himself, made it clear from the
outset that to carry out the aims of the revolution – one of which was to improve
the standard of living of its citizens – Iraq would need and expected to receive
larger oil revenues.
Qasim’s government could not afford to see the execution of the development
program interrupted, for the effect would have been immediately felt in the
standard of living and level of employment. Yet the program could only be kept
going if oil continued to flow.19
Aware that the country needed technical cooperation by the Western
companies involved in the IPC, once again the Iraqi government preferred
pragmatism to ideology. Beginning in August 1958 Qasim entered long
negotiations with IPC over a range of issues, from the price of oil to the desire
by the Iraqi government for equity participation in the company. But he never
looked for a show-down nor pushed for a rupture of the negotiations, until the
second half of 1961.
Convinced that nationalization was of no immediate threat, IPC reaffirmed its
intention to carry through an expansion program designed to increase
substantially its Iraq production and exports over the long run. Specifically,
in January 1959, it announced investment plans that would increase Iraq’s
annual export capacity within two years from 34 million tons to 57 million tons.
Occurring in a period of world oil surplus, this announcement may be
reasonably interpreted not merely as an expression of confidence in the
revolutionary government but as a strategic move in negotiations on demands
that had not yet been formally presented, but about which rumors continued to
circulate.
In the same weeks, the European governments were adjusting their attitude
toward Iraq and Qasim’s regime: one of their most important objectives was to
remove Qasim’s suspicion that the Western powers were acting against him: it
was not an easy task, as at the same time Allen Dulles, the director of the Central
Intelligence Agency, described the situation in Iraq as ‘the most dangerous in the
world’.20 In addition, there was the consideration that it would be more of a
liability than a help to Qasim if it were known that the European governments
were backing him: therefore, any help they could give must be very discreet and
largely confined to avoiding action which might embarrass him. They were
available, when possible, to respond to any particular request for military and
technical help, but they did not intend to take the initiative in offering help
which had not been asked for.21
In the Spring of 1959 informal talks were conducted between representatives
of the oil company and the government, in which Lord Moncton, chairman of
IPC, and Prime Minister Qasim participated. These talks put the rumors to rest
and confirmed the companies’ conviction that the issues in dispute could be
resolved within the framework of the existing agreements and that nationaliza-
tion was not Qasim’s aim.
Following these talks, Ibrahim Kubbah, Minister of National Economy, stated
on April 8:
the question of oil nationalization was never discussed between the oil
companies and the Iraqi government. In fact, the government still adheres
to the oil policy declared on the first day of the Iraqi revolution. This
policy is based on upholding the oil agreements with the oil companies
operating in Iraq and the possibility of amending them only with the full
consent of these companies.22
Lord Moncton on his return to London, in declaring that he saw no immediate

danger of nationalization, stated: ‘I do not remember any discussion conducted
in a more amicable spirit, and they were continually saying that they wanted to
work with us to our mutual advantage’.23
This was all the more striking since only one month earlier, the Iraqi
government had announced its withdrawal from the Baghdad Pact, after signing
an economic aid agreement with the Soviet Union. Thereafter, in quick
succession, Iraq withdrew from the sterling area, ordered British air force units
out of Habbaniya base, and cancelled the Point Four Agreement with the USA.
Yet the search for ‘power’ and ‘security’ was pragmatic rather than ideological:
Qasim reached an agreement with Moscow for Soviet military and economic
assistance, but he did not see the Soviet model of economic development as
being relevant to Iraq. The two major obstacles to making USSR a relevant ally
of Iraq were domestic and regional ones: at the domestic level, Qasim was
worried by the growing strength of the Iraqi Communist Party and its possible
challenge to his leadership; at the regional level, he was disturbed by the close
relations between the USSR and Egypt, which strengthened Nasser’s evident
project to take the lead of the Arab world.24
In April 1959 the British government informed the Iraqis of its willingness to
sell them certain heavy arms for which they had asked: this decision was taken
in full awareness that it was a calculated risk. It seemed the only way to bolster
Qasim and the Army, which London thought might prove the only possible
defense against the Communists.25 The British ambassador was convinced that:
the situation is still fluid and it would be a great mistake to take premature
action which might influence it to our disadvantage. We should try and
avoid adopting firm policies until we can see more clearly which way
things are going. [. . .] The arms question is crucial. I still believe that we
should agree to sell [Iraq] and that if we refuse we may find an atmosphere
here much more hostile to our interests and a further swing to the other
side. [. . .] This is our chance. If we don’t take it, Qasim will presumably
go to the Russians and will not come to us for anything again.26
On another occasion, Sir Humphrey wrote about Qasim:
we don’t like the thesis that Qasim is the best Prime Minister we have got.
It rather suggests that we have the pick of a number and, having run
through the candidates, we choose him. The point surely is that he is there,
and so long as he is there, we had better try and make the best of him and
not the worst of him. We are not in a position to knock him over and put
somebody else in his place, even if we think that there are other candidates
who would suit us a great deal better.27
In 1960 the British continued to supply the Iraqis with small quantities of
military equipment which they needed for spares and maintenance for their forces
and eight Iraqi Army officers were training in Britain; the Iraqi armed forces had
been entirely equipped and trained by the UK (and the US). It would have been a
lengthy and expensive task to replace this entirely with Russian equipment.28
Furthermore, a small number of British technicians and experts were working
in Iraq for the Iraqi government, while two British professors were being
subsidized by the British authorities to teach at the Medical College of Baghdad
University. British and American professional training of Iraqis and knowledge
of the English language were so widespread that a reversal of the Western-linked
education programs would have been a major undertaking. At the beginning of
1960 there were about 1,500 Iraqi students in Britain, undergoing academic
training throughout the country.29
The European governments’ friendly attitude toward Qasim was dictated by
the consideration that the Iraqi Prime Minister was to be regarded as the main
obstacle to the Soviet penetration in the country: the Iraqi Communists had a
real fear that Qasim might be able to carry out his declared policy of neutrality
and independence and that, in their terms, the revolution could be stopped in its
tracks. In the European view, the only likely alternatives to a regime carrying
out a policy of independence and neutralism were regimes subservient to either
Cairo or Moscow. Consequently, the British and the other European
governments were trying to adjust their position to a neutralist Iraq and their
support of Qasim’s policy which was interpreted as opposed to Russian interests.
Their policy had to be very cautious, because they wanted to avoid the
impression that Qasim’s new line was in any sense pro-West. The suspension of
all political activities in Iraq, decided by the Iraqi government in May 1959, was
a major setback for the Communists, who represented the biggest party and
occupied important positions in the administration.30
After the clash between Qasim and the Communists, the latter lost some
positions and changed their tactics: they switched from the seizure of power to
the consolidation of their base and the building up of their strength when party
life would be resumed, in the hope of gradually pulling a neutralist Iraq more
and more to the left. This strategy was to some extent confirmed by the line
taken by the Soviet representative in Baghdad: he declared that Iraq was not in a
condition fit for the establishment of socialism, and that in the Soviet opinion
what was needed was internal stability and an improvement of relations between
Iraq and the United Arab Republic (UAR).31
INTER-ARAB RIVALRY AND THE INTERNATIONAL CONTEXT
The regional environment was a determinant of Iraqi foreign policy much more
than the wider international context. Although Qasim proclaimed his support for
Arab solidarity, he had no desire to become subordinate to Nasser. Iraq might

have appeared to desire close cooperation with the United Arab Republic – the
Egyptian–Syrian union of 1958 which was in effect dominated by the Egyptian
leader – but not membership. It is true that for several years Nasser had done his
utmost to produce the collapse of the monarchy. Through Cairo broadcasts the
Egyptian president persistently inflamed the Iraqi currents of discontent, which
might otherwise have worked themselves out without an explosion. But when
the change eventually came, the general impression was that Nasser did not
directly inspire nor was involved with the coup d’état. Immediately after,
however, full pressure was exerted for union between Iraq and the UAR. Nasser
specifically assured the Iraqis that there would be no interruption of the Syrian
pipeline (transporting Iraqi oil to the Mediterranean) and offered the UAR’s
cooperation in the construction of an additional one.32
But the new Baghdad government preferred to play for time, as no firm
decisions had been reached on the matter. The movement against union was
fuelled by a strong reluctance that Iraqi revenues could be diverted to Egypt and
a dislike of the prospect of rule by a rigid military government in Cairo.33
This uncertainty produced a rupture with the Nasser regime, which had staked
so much on the achievement of Arab unity. During Qasim’s years of rule, Iraq
and Egypt, two reformist states that shared many of the same goals, again
became rivals in the struggle for the leadership in the Middle East.
On the first anniversary of the revolution Qasim ordered a cabinet
reorganization, dismissing some of the Arab nationalist ministers. These
developments reflected the struggle for power among the revolutionary leaders:
the Mosul revolt in March 1959 (which ended with the intervention of the Army)
was led by some Arab Nationalist Army officers who were sympathetic to
Nasser and alleged that Qasim had been unfaithful to the revolution. The attempt
on his life in October that year was also believed to have been inspired by
Nasser-sympathizers.
In his first interview following the attempt on his life, Qasim revived the idea
of the union of Iraq, Jordan and Syria. The ‘Fertile Crescent’ scheme, touted by
Nuri al-Said prior to the revolution: from being considered an imperialistic
project during the monarchy, it now became a patriotic one. In Qasim’s words:
‘this project was an imperialistic project when Iraq was a strong imperialist base
but now that Iraq has become a free, liberated, fully sovereign and independent
country, this project does not constitute a danger. [. . .] Also the Syrian people
had the right to decide their destiny’.34 This idea was anathema to president
Nasser, who described it as the ‘Futile Crescent’: two days later he spoke on
Cairo Radio and said the project was ‘the utterance of a sick man who has lost
control of his nerves. General Qasim is repeating exactly what Nuri al-Said used
to say’.35
The increasingly hostile relations with Egypt shaped the Iraqi leadership’s
attitude toward Syria. Qasim could not acknowledge the permanence of the
United Arab Republic, dominated by Nasser. Accordingly he revived the Fertile
Crescent scheme, embracing Jordan, Syria, Lebanon, and Iraq. But in the
aftermath of the breaking up of the United Arab Republic in 1961, he was
extremely guarded. In his first public statement after the September 28 coup in
Damascus, he avoided the main issue and confined himself to threatening
military actions against any ‘foreigners’ who might intervene in Syrian internal
affairs, leaving the others to decide whether ‘foreigners’ included Egyptians.
Qasim then warned the press against any strongly anti-Syrian or pro-Nasser line,
but did not attempt to humiliate Nasser publicly. However, he reaffirmed on
October 3, 1961 that when Iraq found Syria free, liberated, independent and
sovereign, there would be nothing to prevent solidarity with it on a basis of
fraternity. When Iraq recognized Syria’s independence on October 9, the Iraqi
Prime Minister invited a delegation from the new Syrian government to visit
Iraq and indulged in a show of great cordiality towards the visitors.
Much as he welcomed the deflation of Nasser in Syria, Qasim had also to
think of the less attractive consequences of the coup in Damascus. The ease and
smoothness with which the coup was carried out showed that it was possible for
the Syrians to turn the Egyptians out with little effort. The implications of this
would not be missed by Qasim’s enemies. Nor could Qasim feel his position
strengthened by the way in which the Syrian military, after achieving their goal,
promptly handed over a good measure of power to a civilian government and
announced elections for December 1961.
In this connection, the Iraqi Prime Minister was also obsessed by the question
of Britain: in his opinion, his tenure of power as a counterweight of Nasser was
in British interests. Once Nasser had been reduced in stature by the failure of the
UAR, he might no longer be of use to the United Kingdom in this respect. Qasim
feared that this might have removed any reason which might in the past have
stopped the British from removing him from power.36
Such considerations brought Qasim to rethink his attitude toward Egypt (and
induced Nasser to reshape his attitude toward Iraq): from his point of view,
better terms with the UAR (now really only including Egypt itself), with the
object of getting Nasser’s support to secure the withdrawal of the Arab League’s
contingents from Kuwait, could help Iraq to strengthen its position in the Arab
world and vis-à-vis Great Britain. The Iraqi Prime Minister may have thought
that he could eventually make a deal with Nasser, under which he might get
support in the Gulf in return for supporting Nasser in the Levant. The UAR’s
acquiescence to the Soviet veto of Kuwait’s membership of the United Nations,
their decision to proceed with the withdrawal of the Egyptian contingent from
Kuwait, the delay in sending a UAR ambassador to Kuwait and the Cairo
propaganda being delivered against Jordan, Saudi Arabia and Syria, all made
Qasim feel that he could expect a favorable response from an approach to
Cairo.37
Indeed, in the same weeks Nasser’s thesis was that a reactionary bloc was
being formed by Syria, Jordan and Saudi Arabia to resist the spread of Arab
socialism. The way was therefore open for Nasser to make a tactical move
towards a rapprochement with Iraq. The isolation of the UAR increased the
attraction of such a move. But, according to the British ambassador in Cairo,
‘the rivalry between Egypt and Iraq is so fundamental that no rapprochement
between them would be likely to last long’.38
The Iraqi position in the regional context was weakened not only by the long-
lasting rivalry with Egypt, but also by the fundamental difficulties in
maintaining cordial relations with the other Arab countries. The other opponent
of Nasser in the Fertile Crescent, King Hussein of Jordan, did not welcome the
July 14 revolution, during which his Hashemite relatives, King Faisal II and the
former regent Abd al-Ilah, were killed. It was not until October 1960 that King
Hussein officially recognized the Iraqi republic. The Iraqi press gave a cautious
welcome to the improvement in relations between Iraq and Jordan, on the lines
that Iraq wanted good relations with its Arab brothers. King Hussein was, of
course, still classed as a servant of imperialism, but hopes were expressed that
his new relations with Iraq might help to bring him back to the path of true
Arabism. This development gave rise to talk of a revival of the Arab Union of
1958, but Qasim denied expressly in a public intervention that there was any
question of this.
The Iraqi Nationalists, of course, regarded the possible rapprochement with
Jordan as straight anti-Nasser, inspired by the British in Amman and Baghdad,
and regarded it as another cause of strong complaint against Qasim. But there
were many moderates in Iraq who welcomed the move as reducing tension
between two Arab countries and as a return towards normality. There were also
quite a number of people who benefited from the revival of trade and of
restoration of communications with Jordan. It seems doubtful, however, that it
did Qasim much good internally: according to the British ambassador, ‘we seem
to have got to the stage when, even when Qasim does something sensible, people
of varying political persuasions find some reasons for holding it to his
discredit’.39
King Saud of Saudi Arabia, although never friendly with the Hashemite
family, could scarcely view with equanimity the revolutionary overthrow of a
neighboring kingdom. Notwithstanding the common antagonism with Egypt, the
Iraqi claims on Kuwait and its active policy in the Persian Gulf did not help to
improve relations with Riyadh. In June 1960 the Iraqi Minister for Foreign
Affairs could only state that the relations with Saudi Arabia were ‘good’.40
The eastern flank offered no better scenario for Iraqi diplomacy: after its
withdrawal from the Baghdad Pact, Iraq was challenged by Iran, its former ally,
demanding a new drawing of the border line along the Shatt al-Arab – into
which Tigris and Euphrates merge to form what long constituted Iraq’s primary
access to the Gulf.
Virulent press campaigns were exchanged between the two countries. In mid-
1959 the Iranians stopped the Shiite pilgrim traffic to Iraq and introduced a ban
on the import of Iraqi dates, in reprisal for the Iraqi ban on imports of Iranian
carpets and pistachios. Tehran asked Baghdad to withdraw the Iraqi Chargé
d’Affaires, failing which he would be declared ‘persona non grata’. The charges
against him were that he had constantly made mischief in the relations between
the two countries and that he had Communist affiliations. In the following
months, relations deteriorated to such an extent that shots were exchanged
across the Shatt, and ships were prevented from using the ports of Basra and
Abadan.41
In June 1960 the Iraqi authorities welcomed the arrival of the new Iranian
ambassador in Baghdad and they hoped he could recognize the strength of Iraqi
feeling about the ‘comparatively minor’ matters which were in dispute between
the two countries. They hoped that the ‘artificially created’ problem of the Shatt
could be resolved amicably, now that Ambassadors had been exchanged
between Baghdad and Tehran.42
Consequently, in the spring of 1961, an agreement between Iran and Iraq
allowed shipping to use the waterway once again, even if it did not solve the
fundamental differences over the question.
In mid-December 1961 the Iranian government lifted the ban on exit visas for
Iranian pilgrims who wished to visit the Shiite Holy Places in Iraq;43
commenting on this move, the Iranian ambassador in Baghdad outlined his
government’s desire to come to an understanding about all questions ‘in a spirit
of neighborliness’. A few days later Qasim received the Iraqi military delegation
to the Iranian Army Day celebration in Tehran; he told the delegation to take his
good wishes to the friendly people of Iran and to the officers of the Iranian Army
and added that Iraq was ‘a neutral, peaceful republic which established relations
with all countries on a basis of mutual interests and equality, and was bound to
its neighbour Iran by bonds of Islamic brotherhood’.44
Notwithstanding these exchange of courtesies (the Iranians sent a delegation
to the July 14 celebrations that year), the Iranian ambassador had little hope of
progress over any of the subjects at issue between Iraq and Iran. In the
assessment of British diplomats, he was very pessimistic and seemed to harbor
considerable apprehension in regard to Iraqi designs in the Gulf. In the
ambassador’s view, the cordiality towards Iran was probably nothing more than
another instance of Qasim seeking to mend his fences.45
Generally speaking, the Iranians subscribed to the policy of non-intervention
which the British, the Americans and the Turks favored, but at the same time
they cultivated the relations with the conservative elements among the Iraqi
Kurds, not with a view to immediate trouble, but as an insurance for the time
being.46 Relations between the two countries worsened again in 1962, when
Qasim accused the Iranian government of supporting the Kurds in Iraq in their
struggle against Baghdad; they would never recover while Qasim was in power.
THE BIRTH OF OPEC
In the summer of 1960, Standard Oil of New Jersey did something which united
the oil countries of the Middle East as nothing before: when Jersey cut the
posted price of its Middle East oil by 14 cents a barrel, news of the company’s
unilateral action shocked all the Arab world. Soon the other major companies
began cutting their prices, too. Within a few weeks, the leaders of the oil
producing countries decided to take joint action against the cuts, to save the
posted-price system upon which Middle East oil production was then based.47
The significance of the posted-price system for the oil industry should be
noted. Except for the new independents, all the oil companies operating in the
Arab countries and Iran were subsidiaries of the Anglo-American majors.48
These subsidiaries were producers of oil and had no hand in marketing it outside
the producing countries. They sold their oil to their parent companies, whose
responsibility it was, in turn, to sell it to the world. In the old days the
subsidiaries sold crude oil to their parent companies at low prices, and paid a
royalty based on these deliberately low prices to the governments of the
countries in which they operated. Their parent companies would then sell this
bargain-rate crude at the prevailing world prices, which were based on more
expensive US oil.
When the system of payment was changed from royalties to the so-called 50–
50 deals in 1950–51 and then to joint ventures, the producing countries became
involved in the sale of their oil; their revenues now depended, as never before,
on how much their oil was sold for, and they wanted assurance about this price.
The companies answered this point by agreeing to formally posting a price for
Middle Eastern oil, and to promising that anyone could buy their crude oil at that
price.
Since henceforth the formally posted prices were high – although not so high as
the more expensive US oil – the solution was generally accepted by Middle East
governments, and the posted-price system was welcomed. Things changed in
August 1960 when, without informing any of the governments concerned, Jersey
Standard dropped the posted price of a barrel of oil by 14 cents. From a
commercial standpoint, Jersey had good argument for the cut: Russian petroleum
was flooding Europe, the emergency situation caused by the Suez crisis was over,
and Libyan and Algerian oil was beginning to enter the market. It would have had
a better argument if it had cut not only the posted prices at which its subsidiaries
were prepared to sell Middle East crude, but also the price at which it sold the
refined petroleum in its gasoline pumps in Europe. But this, it did not do.
At that time, it was suggested by some Arabs that Standard’s action was part
of the Anglo-American pressure on General Qasim for the forthcoming round of
negotiations with IPC. If so, Jersey Standard did not appear to have informed its
British partners of its decision, and BP, in fact, protested against the reduction
before reluctantly dropping down its own prices.
Whatever the case may be, at once Sheikh Abdullah Tariki, the Saudi Minister
of Petroleum, rushed to Baghdad to announce his solidarity with Qasim in face
of the pressure the Anglo-Americans were exerting. Other Middle East oil
ministers followed him to the Iraqi capital, where they were joined by Juan
Perez Alfonzo, minister of hydrocarbons in the Venezuelan government.49
From this accidental congress in Baghdad emerged a body called the
Organization of Petroleum Exporting Countries, consisting of Iraq, Iran, Saudi
Arabia, Kuwait, and Venezuela. Interestingly enough, the co-founders with Iraq
were Iran and Saudi Arabia, two regional rivals that, for their own practical
reasons, decided to enter cooperation with Iraq in the search for a better
distribution of oil wealth.
The secret of the OPEC success, that in the following years would have
emerged as the main counterpart of the oil companies, was to a large extent due
to the Arab oil experts’ ability in preventing oil affairs being drawn into the
maelstrom of ordinary politics. The non-political ambitions of the oil
technocrats created an atmosphere in which OPEC could come into being in

isolation from everyday Arab politics. Since the technocrats had no political
commitment, they inevitably found themselves moving closer and closer to their
colleagues and fellows in other Arab countries, whose problems and aims were
essentially the same: thus the unification of Arab oil policies was a technocrat’s
ambition, not a political target.50
At this point it is interesting to note how, in the months preceding the
formation of OPEC, the unification of the Arab oil policies became more and
more a concern of the producers at the expense of the Arab countries in general.
A unified Arab oil policy in the framework of the Arab League would have
introduced interests alien to the one common objective of all oil producers – to
increase their benefits from the oil industry. The main aim of the oil-poor Arab
countries, on the other hand, was to ensure that the oil revenues were distributed
more equally through the Arab world as a whole – an objective that would have
brought oil into the arena of inter-Arab politics.
To the non-producers the main premise for a unified Arab oil policy was that
Arab oil belongs to the Arab nation as a whole. This meant that oil revenues
should be distributed among the Arab countries according to individual needs.
This was clearly a non-producer’s view. Iraq, an important producer, was the
first country to put forward an official proposal for the coordination of the Arab
oil policies, but this turned out to be far from the ‘regional’ concept of oil policy.
Convinced that, in the subject of oil exploitation, diplomatic isolation
corresponded to a weakened leverage, from 1959 the Iraqi government actively
encouraged the creation of trust among the oil producers. The Iraqi proposal was
submitted to the Arab League Economic Council in January 1959. What the
Iraqi government had in mind was that the producers should confront the
international oil companies with a solid front of their own. This implied a power
relationship in which Arab non-producers had no part; their place was to be
taken by non-Arab producers. Among the steps envisaged under this proposal
were the following:
1. The formulation of a unified petroleum law regulating the relations with the
oil companies.
2. Conservation of Arab oil reserves and maintenance of oil prices through
production controls and the coordination of the policies of the Arab
producers with those of other producing countries.
3. Arrangements for Arab states to exchange information, technicians and
other experts and to standardize oil accounting methods.
4. Ensuring that oil is transported exclusively through Arab territory (this
being the only provision to be included for the special benefit of the non-
producers).
5. The establishment of an Institute of Petroleum Studies, which would be
attached to the Arab League.51
This proposal clashed with the idea Nasser had of the future of oil when he
convened in Cairo the First Arab Petroleum Congress in April 1959. During the
congress, a basic idea was presented to the 500 participants: the idea that a great
deal of the social and political tension in the Middle East arose from the unequal
distribution of oil wealth among the several territories. Only a high degree of
economic cooperation among the Arab countries could remedy this inequality
and grant stability and security, as well as economic development.52
The idea of improved cooperation among the Arab states, which emerged
during the Congress and was sponsored by the oil-poor countries, was so
divergent from the Iraqi project that only the intervention of an external factor –
the oil companies’ unilateral decision to cut the posted price in August 1960 –
eventually gave one of the two contenders the necessary strength to achieve its
aim.
IRAQ’S CLAIM ON KUWAIT AND THE COLLAPSE OF THE

NEGOTIATIONS WITH IPC
On June 19, 1961 Great Britain cancelled its protectorate agreement with the
Sheikh of Kuwait and recognized Kuwait as a sovereign state. On June 25,
Qasim demanded that Kuwait be returned to Iraq, on the assertion that Kuwait
had been a district of the Ottoman province of Basra, unjustly severed by the
British from the main body of the Iraqi state when it had been created in the
1920s. At a press conference in Baghdad, Qasim announced that Kuwait was
and always had been a part of Iraq. He proclaimed that ‘the Iraqi republic will
never cede a single inch of this land’.53
Within days of Qasim’s voicing of the Iraqi claim, Kuwait requested British
protection, Great Britain sent forces to Kuwait and introduced a resolution in the
Security Council of the United Nations demanding that all states respect
Kuwait’s sovereignty and promised to withdraw its troops at Kuwait’s request.
Iraq introduced a counter resolution affirming its peaceful intentions toward
Kuwait and demanding that Great Britain immediately withdraw its troops.
When the Security Council failed to approve either resolution, the Arab
League took up the issue: they admitted Kuwait as a member state, promised to
safeguard its independence and asked the ruler to request the withdrawal of
British troops. In August 1961, the British forces were replaced by an Arab
League force, composed largely of Egyptian troops.
It eventually adopted, over Iraq’s protest, a resolution providing that the
British troops be withdrawn and that the Arab countries preserve Kuwait’s
independence by dispatching an Arab military force to its assistance. In
response, Iraq withdrew its representative from the Arab League and froze
diplomatic relations with a number of countries which had recognized Kuwait.54
In the eyes of the pan-Arab faction in Iraq, the crisis was a further indictment
of Qasim’s regime, victim of his own logic that had isolated Iraq in the Arab
world and had led to a climb-down in the face of Britain.
During the Kuwait crisis rumors were current that Qasim was contemplating
the nationalization of the oil industry in an effort to distract attention from his
reverses over Kuwait. General Qasim was more than ever in need of a
resounding propaganda victory: his failure to annex Kuwait, after proclaiming it
to be an integral part of Iraq, had been one more blow to his battered prestige.
The Iraqi government approached the Italian state-owned oil corporation ENI,
with a view to hiring technicians to replace all non-Iraqi technicians employed
by IPC. The President of ENI, Mattei, replied favorably to this approach, and
some Italian engineers arrived in Baghdad to evaluate the concrete feasibility of
such project.
When the news was published by some prominent British newspapers, the
Italian government asked Mattei to deny any involvement in Iraq’s oil industry,
while London let it be known that any help given to Qasim would be interpreted
as an act of hostility against the UK. Eventually, in mid-July, Mattei reluctantly
accepted the Italian government’s dictate, observing that ENI’s setback in Iraq
was likely to have opened the gates of Mesopotamia to the Soviet Union.55
On September 28 the talks between IPC and the Iraqi government resumed
for the last time, but the deadlock was complete. Predictably, the Iraqi press
greeted the news of breakdown with unanimous expressions of support for the
government and the Prime Minister. In order to gain in popularity and to obtain
more revenues from the oil concessions, in December 1961 the Iraqi
government issued Law no. 80, defining the areas of exploration permitted
of each oil companies: it allowed IPC to retain only 1,937 square kilometers
(out of 435,780), approximately 0.5 percent of the original concessions, this
being the closely confined areas of producing oilfields. Having hitherto failed
to exploit the vast concessions granted to it, IPC was effectively frozen out of
further development in Iraq, having to content itself with the nevertheless
substantial fields it already operated in the remaining 0.5 percent. Some of
Qasim’s supporters, indeed, had expected this portion to be nationalized as
well.56
In the explanatory statement that accompanied Law 80, the government
alleged that IPC, concerned with its own, not Iraq’s, interests, was slow to
develop its concessions until the July revolution and that it speeded up
operations only when confronted with the demand that they relinquished the
unexploited area. The areas now returned to the full control of the Iraqi
authorities would be offered to other oil companies, interested in developing
new activities for the benefit of all the Iraqi people.57
The rupture of the negotiations with IPC and the consequent cancellation of
almost all of its concessions were the real turning point in the relations between
Iraq and the Western countries: after the approval of Law 80, both the US and
the British government dispatched diplomatic notes to Qasim, urging him to
accept the companies’ arbitration proposal. In early January, Qasim alleged that
the British had accompanied their note by pressure of troop movements and
belligerently characterized such move as ‘aggression that will be destroyed by
lightning blows from us and the nations that support us’.58
From the propaganda point of view, the law was ideal. It was simple, clear-
cut, symbolic. The ordinary man in the street could not fail to be impressed by
what he could immediately understand: the government had asserted its
sovereignty, taking over almost all of the companies’ concessions (almost the
whole territory of Iraq).
The government was anxious that the law should make an impact
throughout the Arab world as a whole, not just in Iraq. But the Arab press
outside Iraq deliberately paid it a minimum of attention. Iraq’s political
rivals, of whom Egypt was the most important, could not concede Qasim the
merits of any achievements. The attitude of the rest of the Arab world was
strongly resented by the Iraqi leaders, who suggested that the Arab countries
should at least lay aside their differences in confronting a common
adversary.59
During the next several months Qasim ignored the companies’ request for
arbitration. Meanwhile the government was preparing a new law, designed to
bring the confiscated areas under active exploitation. In September 1962, at a
press conference, Qasim submitted the draft of a proposed law to the journalists.
This unique procedure, he explained, would give politicians, journalists and the
public in general an opportunity to suggest improvements in a law of vital
significance. The records indicate only a limited response to this unique
opportunity in law-making and the draft was still in abeyance when the February
1963 revolution brought the Ba’thists to power.60
CONCLUSION
The inability to get more wealth from oil, the too slow process of welfare
building and the country’s cut-off from the Arab world were at the root of
the growing discontent among the military units and the Ba’thist national
leaders, who in February 1963 organized the rebellion against Qasim and his
regime.
The deep fragmentation and the high level of politicization of the Iraqi society
were major factors of the domestic environment that constantly endangered
Qasim’s regime. Entrapped by his own propaganda, as time passed the Iraqi
Prime Minister was more and more unable to hide the failure of his policy. The
decision-making structure of his regime was so identified with his personal role
that it was impossible to pin the blame indefinitely on other factors or actors,
were they domestic or external. Qasim’s unwillingness to devolve power meant
that he focused all animosity on himself: the absence of any devolution of power
left untouched the already privileged elites, who could continue to decide the
fate of the governments.
His foreign policy was effective when dealing with the Western countries,
particularly with Great Britain: Qasim managed to maintain a good degree of
cooperation with the former mandatory power and the other Western European
states on a wide range of issues. At the same time he was able not to appear as an
Imperialism-backed puppet. But foreign policy proved totally disastrous at the
regional level, driving Iraq towards complete isolation, and embroiling it in
quarrels with almost all its neighbors.
Qasim behaved, ruled, and died as an autocrat, reinforcing the authoritarian
structures of Iraqi politics that remained unaltered until the armed overthrow of
Saddam Hussein in April 2003.
NOTES
1. W. Roger Louis, ‘The British and the Origins of the Iraqi Revolution’, in Robert Fernea and W.
Roger Louis (eds.), The Iraqi Revolution of 1958: the Old Social Classes Revisited (London: I.B.
Tauris, 1991), p. 35.
2. Hanna Batatu, The Old Social Classes and the Revolutionary Movements of Iraq (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1978), p. 764.
3. Charles Tripp, A History of Iraq (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), pp. 147–9.
4. Russel Stone, OPEC and the Middle East: the Impact of Oil on Societal Development (New
York: Praeger Publishers, 1977), p. 214.
5. George Stocking, Middle East Oil: A Study in Political and Economic Controversy (Nashville:
Vanderbilt University Press, 1970), pp. 230–31.
6. Middle East Economic Survey, July 25, 1958.
7. Telegram 11 from Wright to Foreign Office, July 19, 1958, in Public Record Office, Kew,
London (hereafter PRO, London), FO371/134205, V531/91.
8. Telegram 15 from Wright to Foreign Office, July 20, 1958, in PRO, London, FO371/134205,
VQ1015/112.
9. Financial Times, July 22, 1958.
10. Telegram 24 from Wright to Foreign Office, July 23, 1958, in PRO, London, FO371/134205,
VQ1015/137.
11. Letter 624/58 from Mr Powell, British Ministry of Defence, to Board of Trade, July 24, 1958, in
PRO, London, AIR20/10317, VQ1015/137.
12. Telegram unnumbered from Wright to Foreign Office, Aug. 3, 1958, in PRO, London, FO371/
134205, VQ1022/12.
13. Telegram 72 from Wright to Foreign Office, Aug. 12, 1958, in PRO, London, FO371/134205,
VQ1022/13.
14. Memorandum on ‘Policy towards Iraq’ by Mr Crawford, Baghdad, July 23, 1958, in PRO,
London, FO371/134220, VQ1051/33.
15. Letter 10615/42/58 from British Embassy in Paris to Foreign Office, July 29, 1958, in PRO,
London, FO371/134207, VQ10317/2.
16. Le Monde, July 27, 1958. The relations with France deteriorated rapidly, due to the worsening of
the Algerian crisis. In Dec., 1958, the Iraqi government severed all economic relations with
France, stopped all imports from that country and asked the Development Board to refrain from
concluding any new contracts with French firms. Letter 1038/1/59 from British Embassy in
Baghdad to Foreign Office, Jan. 21, 1959, in PRO, London, FO371/140975, EQ11317/2.
17. The Foreign Office replied that Her Majesty’s Government had no such intentions, that they
would not support king Hussein in any ventures and that the sole purpose of their intervention in
Jordan was to prevent that country from falling a victim of subversion. Telegram 1465, unsigned,
from Foreign Office to British Embassy in Bonn, July 20, 1958, in PRO, London, FO371/
134220, VQ1051/2G. In April 1959 the German Minister for Foreign Affairs accepted an
invitation by the Iraqi authorities for a visit to Baghdad. That invitation was later postponed.
Letter 10229 from the British Embassy in Bonn to Foreign Office, May 19, 1959, in PRO,
London, FO371/140942, EQ10318/2.
18. Letter from the British ambassador in Ankara to the Foreign Office, Jan. 10, 1959, in PRO,
London, FO371/140956, EQ1071/1.
19. David Lesch, Syria and the United States: Eisenhower’s Cold War in the Middle East, (Boulder:
Westview, 1992), p. 173.
20. The New York Times, April 29, 1959, cited in Batatu, The Old Social Classes and the
Revolutionary Movements of Iraq, p. 899.
21. Telegram 51 from Sir Bernard Burrows, British ambassador in Ankara, to Foreign Office, Jan. 9,
1959, in PRO, London, FO371/140956, EQ1071/8.
22. Iraq Times, April 9, 1959, cited in Stocking, Middle East Oil: A Study in Political and Economic
Controversy, p. 216.
23. The Times, April 24, 1959.
24. Only in 1962 did Qasim ask for and obtain relevant Soviet technical and military support: in
1962 a total of 168 Soviet advisers were attached to the Iraqi armed forces, and about 500
technicians from the Eastern bloc were active in the civilian sector. The role of the military
experts appeared to be to give instructions on technical matters, such as maintenance of aircrafts
and radar systems, training of pilots, etc. (Letter unnumbered from the UK Delegation to Nato, to
Foreign Office, Jan. 5, 1962, in PRO, London, FO371/164251, EQ1071/1).
25. No orders were placed, and it rather looked as though the Iraqis had second thoughts about the
cost or the political implications. Memorandum on ‘The Anglo-Iraqi Relations’ by Mr Le
Quesne, Foreign Office’s Eastern Department, Jan. 26, 1960, in PRO, London, FO371/149875,
EQ1051/6.
26. Letter 1041 from Trevelyan to Foreign Office, March 24, 1959, in PRO, London, FO371/140952,
EQ1051/13.
27. Letter 1013 from Trevelyan to Foreign Office, Oct. 24, 1959, in PRO, London, FO371/140953,
EQ1051/38.
28. Memorandum on ‘Policy towards Iraq’ by Mr Crawford, Baghdad, July 23, 1958, in PRO,
London, FO371/134220, VQ1051/33.
29. Memorandum on ‘The Anglo-Iraqi Relations’ by Mr Le Quesne, Foreign Office’s Eastern
Department, Jan. 26, 1960, in PRO, London, FO371/149875, EQ1051/6. But in a subsequent
letter the British Council’s representative in Baghdad complained about the fact that only two
Iraqi students benefited of a British scholarship, while in the US 93 Iraqi students were on
scholarships (out of 928), and in Soviet Union 101 out of 779. Letter 680/2 from Mr. Frean,
Baghdad, to the British Council’s Overseas Division, March 22, 1961, in PRO, London, FO371/
157737, EQ1746/1.
30. The Ministers of Defense and Economics were Communists, as was Qasim’s Chief of Staff and
the Head of Broadcasting System. According to the British, trade unions, universities and
schools were also alive with Communists, who received their support mainly from the Christian
and the Kurdish elements of the population. The armed forces had been purged in the senior
ranks and penetrated by Communists in the junior ranks, but the British did not think that the
Army would go Communist: it was determined to hold on to its gains and could be relied on to
resist efforts from any quarter to take away from them what they had won with the July
revolution. See the memorandum of Mr Nutting’s visit to Baghdad, June 12, 1959, in PRO,
London, FO371/140953, EQ1051/24.
31. Letter 1041/87/59 from Trevelyan to Foreign Office, Nov. 25, 1959, in PRO, London, FO371/
140953, EQ1051/42.
32. Telegram 432 from Hood, British ambassador in Washington, to Foreign Office, Aug. 4, 1958, in
PRO, London, FO371/134213, VQ10345/1.
33. Some politicians were thinking of a possible compromise in the form of a federation, with Nasser
as president, under which Iraq would be solely responsible for its own internal affairs, while
having a common foreign and defense policy with the UAR.
34. The interview with Qasim was published by the Baghdad daily newspaper Al-Thawra on Nov.
16, 1959 and it is quoted in the Telegram 1633 from Sir Humphrey Trevelyan, British
ambassador in Baghdad, to Foreign Office, Nov. 17, 1959, in PRO, London, FO371/140933,
EQ1021/25. See also Benjamin Shwadran, The Power Struggle in Iraq, (New York: Council on
Foreign Relations Press, 1960), p. 50.
35. Daily Telegraph, Nov. 19, 1959, in PRO, London, FO371/140933, EQ1021/26B. The tension
between the two countries lowered at the beginning of 1960: Cairo press and radio stopped their
propaganda campaign and many Iraqi broadcasts about the UAR had been left unanswered.
Nasser told the Pakistani President that he had accepted that Qasim was the only alternative to
Communism in Iraq and that he had no intention of meddling further. According to some British
officials, the Egyptians did not want to see Qasim overthrown in that phase: the time was not ripe
for Iraq federation or union with UAR, because of the chaotic situation in Iraq. If the Iraqis were
left alone – observed some close collaborators of Nasser – they might come to their senses in the
long run and some stable relationship with UAR might emerge. Letter 1035/60 from Trevelyan,
British diplomatic mission in Cairo, to Foreign Office, May 4, 1960, in PRO, London, FO371/
149863, EQ10316/1.
36. Letter 10319/1/61 from Mr Robey, British Embassy in Baghdad, to Foreign Office, Nov. 20,
37. Telegram 2192 from Foreign Office to the British Embassy in Baghdad, unsigned, Dec. 11,
38. Telegram 1245 from Sir Harold Beeley, Cairo, to Foreign Office, Dec. 27, 1961, in PRO,
London, FO371/157677, EQ103116/7.
39. Letter 1031/18/60 from Trevelyan to Foreign Office, Oct. 18, 1960, in PRO, London, FO371/
149873, EQ10380/2.
40. Letter 10717/1/60 from Mr Hayman, British Embassy in Baghdad, to Foreign Office, July 5,
41. Tripp, A History of Modern Iraq, p. 164.
42. Letter 10717/1/60 from Mr Hayman, British Embassy in Baghdad, to Foreign Office, July 5,
43. Amongst the first pilgrims to Iraq there was Mrs Amini, the wife of the Iranian Prime Minister.
Letter 10310/61 from the British Embassy in Tehran to the Foreign Office, Dec. 20, 1961, in
PRO, London, FO371/157678, EQ103134/7.
44. Letter 10313/6/61 from the British Embassy in Baghdad to the Foreign Office, Dec. 13, 1961, in
PRO, London, FO371/157678, EQ103134/5.
45. Letter 10313/9/61 from the British Embassy in Baghdad to the Foreign Office, Dec. 20, 1961, in
PRO, London, FO371/157678, EQ103134/6.
46. Letter 10310 from Hiller, British ambassador in Tehran, to Foreign Office, Jan. 15, 1959, in
PRO, London, FO371/140945, EQ10334/5.
47. Leonard Mosley, Power Play: Oil in the Middle East (New York: Random House, 1973), p. 289.
48. Aramco of Saudi Arabia was divided between Standard of California, Standard of New Jersey,
Texaco and Mobil. Kuwait Oil Company was a condominium of British Petroleum and Gulf. IPC
of Iraq belong to BP, Shell, Compagnie Française des Pétroles, and Shell. The Iranian
consortium was owned by BP, CPF, Shell, and a quintet of American oil giants (Standard of
California, Standard of New Jersey, Mobil, Gulf and Texaco).
49. As chief supplier of oil to the US domestic market, Venezuela had a vested interest in persuading
the Middle East to maintain high prices for its oil. Venezuela charged the US companies
operating inside its territories a 60 percent tax on their profits, and could not afford to be
undercut by exports from the Persian Gulf. Leonard Mosley, Power Play: Oil in the Middle East,
p. 292.
50. David Hirst, Oil and Public Opinion in the Middle East (London, 1966), pp. 105–6.
51. Middle East Economic Survey, Sept. 16, 1960.
52. A contribution from a business man from Lebanon sought to grapple with the problem of oil
wealth’s maldistribution: his proposal, supported by the Lebanese government, was an Arab
Development Bank, to which governments and oil companies in Arab producing countries
should each contributing, as capital, 5 percent of their oil revenues or profits. The Bank would
lend its funds, at 2.5 percent, for development projects, initially in the transit countries, Jordan,
Lebanon, and the UAR. This would give them a real stake in continuance of the flow of the oil to
the West. About 35 million pounds a year would be available in the early years, but this would
gradually rise. As a corollary, this project would induce the transit countries to enter into
international treaties with the oil-producing states, to guarantee the use of the pipelines crossing
their territories. A project of this kind clearly postulated a high degree of Arab unity to be
achieved, the champion of which was the Congress organizer. The Congress took note of the
scheme at its final session and recognized the advisability of referring it to the Arab League.
Petroleum Press Service, May 1959, pp. 168–70.
53. B. Shwadran, ‘The Kuwait Incident’, Middle Eastern Affairs, Jan. 2, 1962.
54. A year after the break-up of the crisis, Iraq had asked for and obtained the departure from
Baghdad of the ambassadors from Saudi Arabia, Tunisia, Iran, Japan and the US (and, from long
past, the UAR). Richard Schofield, Kuwait and Iraq: Historical Claims and Territorial Disputes
(London: Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1991).
55. Financial Times, July 7, 1961; The New York Times, July 8, 1961; Corriere della Sera, July 9,
1961; Financial Times, July 10 and July 26, 1961.
56. Charles Tripp, A History of Modern Iraq, p. 167.
57. G. Stocking, Middle East Oil: A Study in Political and Economic Controversy, p. 251.
58. Qasim’s speech at the reception on the anniversary of the Iraqi Army’s creation, quoted in ibid.,
p. 252.
59. David Hirst, Oil and Public Opinion in the Middle East, p. 98.
60. Middle East Economic Survey, Oct. 5, 1962. It would fall to the Ba’th government in June 1972
to nationalize the IPC, removing the last element of Western control from Iraq’s national life. To
secure the continued flow of oil from its wells, Iraq had signed an agreement with the Soviet
Union in July 1969, whereby the USSR would help Iraq to exploit its oil fields, while in April
1972 a new trade agreement guaranteed that the USSR would purchase Iraq’s oil.
Dynamics and Determinants
of the GCC States’ Foreign Policy,
with Special Reference to the EU
ABDULLA BAABOOD
INTRODUCTION
The Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), which encompasses the monarchical

systems of Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates
(UAE), and Oman, is a relatively successful attempt at regional integration in
the Arab world. Born in 1981, at the height of the Iran–Iraq war, the GCC has
been viewed by many observers as an answer to the perennial dilemma of
maintaining stability and security in this oil-rich strategic region. Given these
small states’ vulnerabilities and inherent weaknesses, the GCC forum offered
them the politics of scale. The declared ambitions of the GCC are to create a
cohesive regional group and to effect deeper integration and closer cooperation
between its member states. Indeed, since the inception of the GCC, its member
states have moved closer to each other in several ways in the economic, social
and political spheres. A free trade area has been created and an agreement on a
customs union entered into force in January 2003. A monetary union has been
mooted for 2005, to be followed by a single currency in 2010. There is already
free movement of people, goods and capital between its member states and there
are discussions aimed at achieving a common Gulf citizenship. Along with
integration in these ‘soft’ areas there has been some limited cooperation in the
security and political ‘hard’ issues. On political cooperation, for example, the
GCC states created a platform for their foreign ministries to coordinate their
foreign policies. Close consultations and regular foreign ministers’ meetings
take place to arrive at a common position and act as a collective group in
regional and international fora. However, despite their declared attempt at
political cooperation and some signs of foreign policy coordination, the GCC
states have not exhibited much joint foreign policy making, let alone arrived at a
common foreign and security policy (CFSP).
Scholarly interest in the GCC states’ politics has for the most part approached
the subject from the perspective of foreign and regional power interests and of
geopolitics and oil security.1 Studies of GCC foreign policy have most often
focused on the region’s (and the states’) small size and geographical location –
and consequently external and material factors – as constraining and shaping

GCC states’ foreign policy.2 While this approach is certainly valid, it has also
led to neglect of the domestic political, economic, or personal components of
GCC foreign policy. The aim, here, is to redress the balance.
To this end, the broad aim of this contribution is to provide an analysis of the
dynamics of foreign policy in the GCC and examine its determinants. The nature
of domestic politics, as well as the GCC’s historical and long-standing domestic
concerns are examined. This is followed by a consideration of the GCC states’
regional environment, where traditional security and foreign interests and
policies impinge on these states’ foreign policy output. The nature of foreign
policy decision making and the main foreign policy orientations followed by
these states is examined, before deriving from this analysis a number of
observations on the content and future of the GCC–EU relationship.
THE INSTITUTIONAL FRAMEWORK IN GCC JOINT FOREIGN POLICY

MAKING
Foreign policy analysis usually focuses on the policies of individual nation-

states. The Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC), like other regional groups, does
not lend itself to such traditional study.
It has been recognized that the search for theory or a conceptual framework to
provide formulae for explaining foreign policy actions is fraught with
difficulties. Most foreign policy theories or concepts are formed with the
nation-state in mind. Joint foreign behavior of a group of states is so unorthodox
in international relations that it defies traditional political science theories. The
GCC’s multidimensional nature – six sets of national interests sometimes
converging and sometimes diverging, with the added complication that one of
the states, the UAE, is itself a confederation of seven emirates – means no one
conceptual perspective can fully describe and explain its foreign policy
behavior. As political scientists cannot agree on policy theory at state level, it
is not surprising that there is no consensus on a theory of regional foreign policy;
this is certainly true for the case of the GCC.
The way regional groups approach their collective foreign policy and external
relations depends, to a large extent, on the level, intensity, and the process of
their integration and the institutional structures created. Collective policy
making does not imply an automatic transfer of competencies from the national
to the regional level, as the neo-functionalist theory would suggest, but it implies
rather a convergence of interests when the ‘benefits’ of joint policy making are
greater than the ‘costs’. Convergence of interests sometimes enables diverse
states to act as one in a number of international areas, but equally divergence of
interests encourages them to deal alone at the expense of collective action. A
collective approach, especially for smaller states, offers a better bargaining
position from which to gain economic benefits and political leverage. In most
cases, member states of a given group may pursue quite different goals, but
positions seem to converge at a given stage without anyone obstructing the
approach completely.
FOREIGN POLICY OF THE GCC STATES 147
The integrative formula chosen for the GCC as a legal political framework, is
that of a comprehensive regional inter-governmental organization. Unlike the
EU, which has intergovernmental and supranational elements of integration, the
GCC does not aim to create a ‘supranational’ institution (like the European
Commission) or a decision-making process in which aspects of sovereignty are
shared through, for example, qualified majority voting. It is simply a loose
arrangement of sovereign/independent states cooperating within an organization
for a common purpose. The organization is presided over by the Supreme
Council, which is the highest authority of the GCC and comprises the six Heads
of State. Its presidency rotates according to the Arabic alphabetical order of the
names of the member states. It convenes for at least one regular session every
year. However, extraordinary sessions may be convened at the request of any
member state seconded by another. On international affairs, the Supreme
Council approves and ratifies the basis for dealing with other states and
international organizations. The GCC Charter states that the Supreme Council is
the authority entitled to ‘approve the bases for dealing with other states and
international organizations’. The Basic Statute of the GCC used broad language
when dealing with the powers and functions of the Supreme Council, especially
in provision 1 of Article 8, thus making no limitations or restrictions as to what
the Council can review during its meetings. The Supreme Council is not
accountable for its actions to anyone: it is an extension of the centralized
political structures that exist in the member states, where power is concentrated
in the hands of the rulers with little organized popular input (see below).
It should be noted, however, that GCC decisions are more like a
recommendation, akin to those in the Arab League or the UN. Most of the
organization’s joint decisions are deliberated and reached at the Ministerial
Council. The Ministerial Council is the executive power and the second highest
authority in the GCC. It consists of the Foreign Ministers, or other delegated
ministers, of the six member governments and supports the function of the
Supreme Council. The Ministerial Council’s basic function is to study issues and
make recommendations to the Supreme Council for decisions and to develop
and propose the various means by which greater cooperation can be effected: the
Ministerial Council proposes and the Supreme Council disposes. The Council
Presidency is exercised by the Member State that presided over the last ordinary
session of the Supreme Council on a rotating basis. The Ministerial Council
convenes every three months, and may hold extraordinary meetings at the
request of one Member State seconded by another.
The Secretariat-General, based in Riyadh, is charged, among other functions,
with preparing studies and programs for joint work. It is also entrusted with the
preparation of periodic reports, follow-up implementation of the resolutions, and
preparation for meetings, agendas and draft resolutions for the Ministerial
Council. The Supreme Council appoints a Secretary-General for a period of
three years, renewable only once. There are three Assistant Secretaries-General
for political, economic and military affairs, as well as the head of the GCC
delegation to Brussels, who are appointed by the Ministerial Council for three
renewable years, as well as other staff appointed by the Secretary-General.
In 1997 a new body was added; known as the Consultative Commission it is

formed of 30 GCC citizens (five from each Member State) chosen according to
their experience and qualifications for a period of three years. The Consultative
Commission is charged with studying matters referred to it by the Supreme
Council. As a new body its role in decision making is still not clear.
Resolutions on substantive matters are issued by unanimous approval of the
members present, while a majority is enough to approve those of a procedural
nature. Hence, GCC decision making is carried out through consensus and
incrementalism.
However, while the organization is somewhat handicapped by internal
decision-making requirements, the dynamics of the GCC regional organization
and its decision making, especially in the areas of political cooperation and
foreign policy making, have been so constructed as to allow member states both
the option of working in a collective group or acting individually. The GCC has
no explicit treaty-based foreign policy powers in a strictly political sense. Its
Charter only calls for a coordination of foreign policy and political cooperation.
Member governments retain sovereignty in most aspects of political and
economic foreign policy. Any limitation on their sovereignty would have been
fiercely resisted by these relatively newly formed states and would have, most
likely, stymied their regional cooperation.3
THE DOMESTIC POLITICS OF THE GCC STATES
It has become more accepted within the literature that foreign policy is an
extension of domestic politics and that it is a reflection of domestic reality.4 In
recent years, the classical distinction between foreign and domestic policy has
been broken.5 James Rosenau asserts that ‘domestic and foreign affairs have
always formed a seamless web and the need to treat them as such is urgent in
this time of enormous transformation’.6 In line with the analytical framework
proposed by Nonneman in this volume, the present analysis also proceeds from
this realization.
The GCC states easily fit in the ‘small state’ category – even if Saudi Arabia
stands somewhat apart in terms of geographical size and its unique leverage as
the only major ‘swing producer’ in the oil market. At least some of these states
have also been characterized as ‘accidental’ states, owing their survival to
regional upheavals, British policy, and political convenience. Yet they also have
clear local roots, with the link between state and ruling family in some cases
going back two-and-a-half centuries. They are shaped in part also by aspects of
Islam and tribalism, which are central concepts for understanding the origins of
these regimes and are important markers of their personal and social identity.
The GCC states are an integral part of the Arab world and are members of the
Arab League and its many different institutions.7 They are also members of
Islamic international organizations, like the Organization of Islamic Conference
(OIC), which was set up 1969 with it headquarters in Jeddah, and the Muslim
World League, a non-governmental organization based in Mecca and founded in
1962 to promote Islamic unity. More important, however, is that Saudi Arabia is
the home of the two most Holy Places of Islam (Mecca and Medina) and the
birthplace of Islam. Indeed, one of the claimed objectives of the GCC, as a sub-
regional organization, is to complement more general Arab aspirations, such as
Arab unity, as expressed in the Charter of the Arab League, and to channel their
efforts to reinforce and serve the higher goals of Arab nationalism and Islamic
causes.8 The preamble of the GCC Charter provides that ‘Having the conviction
that coordination, cooperation and integration between them serve the sublime
objectives of the Arab Nation; . . . and in order to channel their efforts to
reinforce and serve Arab and Islamic causes, the Member States agreed to
establish the Gulf Cooperation Council’.
Thus the GCC states’ basic political tenets and their foreign policy objectives
can be seen within the overall framework of their Arab and Muslim identity and
heritage, which sometimes are not co-incident with those of other political and
economic power blocs. The evolution of the modern nation states had been
shaped among other things, by Islamic history and tradition. A fundamental
practice in the political history of Islam has been the connection between
religion and policy. Islamic institutions do not recognize a strict separation
between church and state. Islam permeates every aspect of Muslims’ lives and,
as such, also permeates every aspect of their states and society. That is not to say
that there has not, in practice, often been a conventional distinction between
temporal or state power on the one hand and that of religious scholars and
imams on the other; indeed a central tenet in Sunni Islamic political thought
became that only the most egregious breaches of Islamic rule could justify
disobeying the ruler, while in Shia Islam, Khomeini’s concept of rule by the top
Islamic jurisconsult (the Faqih) was quite revolutionary. Yet, while there is no
detailed blueprint for ‘Islamic politics’, there are certainly basic principles
which Islamically acceptable rule must observe; and a collective memory of the
early Islamic community ruled by the Prophet Muhammad pervades the
perceptions of many Muslims. At the same time, there is a long-standing pattern
of the state appropriating religion for its own purposes. Finally, critics and
opponents of regimes have always had the option of using Islamic themes to
challenge their rulers – an option perhaps reaching a period of particular potency
in the context of the stresses and opportunities of globalization. In various ways,
then, the linkages between Islam and politics remain highly salient – not least in
the original heartlands of Islam themselves.9
Moreover, Gulf society remains largely tribal in nature, and sovereignty and
citizenship are closely guarded by the predominantly tribal population that has
its roots in the Arabian Peninsula. ‘Tribal,’ of course, does not equal bedu or
pastoral: the Peninsula has always featured an interplay between the settled and
the nomadic, and today the latter has dwindled to a minority. The existence of
the ruling families is perhaps the most obvious manifestation of Arab tribalism;
these families’ fundamental legitimacy for roughly the past two hundred years
has derived from a combination of tribal authority and Islamic precepts.
Peterson has observed that the lack of established rules for succession among the
ruling families, as in Kuwait, leads to uncertainty and even malaise while
reliance on primogeniture may eliminate uncertainty but may also on occasion
result in unsuitable leaders, as happened in Saudi Arabia.10 It is worth noting, of

course, that the very conventions responsible for this also allowed the king in
question to be replaced by the exceptionally able King Faysal. More recently,
moreover, some of the monarchies have begun to institute more formal rules of
succession.
Until recently, the tribal structure of the population dominated political and
social life. The modern institutions which have been established since
independence, have been adapted to the traditional forms. The way in which
government officials are appointed reflects the importance of tribal connections.
Generally, members of the ruling family are accommodated first, followed by
families and tribes with whom the rulers have been traditionally allied. The
ruling family also participates in shaping the various consultative bodies that
exist to advise the leader. Such bodies, which include figures outside the ruling
family, arguably help to institutionalize the more or less authoritarian, male-
dominated, hierarchical and patriarchal system in these states.11 Here again,
though, a fledgling opening-up can be observed in recent years, with the Kuwaiti
parliament often flexing its muscles, an elected lower chamber now in place in
Bahrain, a two-thirds elected parliament due in Qatar in 2004, and an elected
Majlis al-Shura in Oman, though without legislative powers, increasingly
pushing for a greater role (as well as including a number of women). The causes
of this change will be discussed in the following section.
Recent signs of tentative reform notwithstanding, the pattern in these states in
the twentieth century, retaining much of its potency today, has been one where
the institutions of tribalism and Islam have developed into significant supports
for the existing political systems in the Gulf monarchies, while losing much of
the ability they had in the earlier past to challenge those systems. Ideological
constructs based on interpretations of tribalism and Islam have been used to
legitimize those systems to their citizens.12 The regimes, empowered by oil
wealth, have been largely successful at taming and using Islam and tribalism as
institutional and ideological supports.
The oil revolution of the 1970s profoundly affected politics in the Gulf States.
Unprecedented oil income gave GCC governments access to enormous
resources, particularly in light of their relatively small populations, without
having to tax their societies. The nature of the GCC oil-based economy is such
that it concentrates great power and wealth in the hands of the governments, and
its effect on the rest of the economy as a whole is mediated through the
governments, in their decisions on how to spend oil revenues.
The relationship between state and society in such an economy is much
different from the models best known in the West. Because of the oil boom, the
rulers of these states have been concerned with how to spend money rather than
how to extract it from society through taxation. Oil revenues enabled the rulers
to build large bureaucratic apparatuses, to distribute benefits to society and to
control political behavior. Oil proceeds coming directly into the hands of the
state, unmediated by the local economy, meant that the personal interests of
many more people came to be vested directly in the state and the ruling family.
The state became stronger relative to its potential domestic competitors and
constituencies than it had ever been in the past. That strength, however, was of a
particular nature.13 Citizens did not have to pay for these increased services
through taxation. The state did not have to engage in the kinds of political
bargains with society, worked out over centuries and with no small amount of
violence, which produced representative governments in the West. The terms of
the exchange, from the point of view of the rulers, were simple: citizens would
receive substantial material benefits in exchange for political loyalty, or at least
political quiescence. The states became detached from the their local socio-
economic realm by virtue of rent and they acquired relative autonomy from
society, which gave them the ability to pursue national goals without
accountability. The connections between state and society in this situation are
unidirectional and they all run from the top down. This historical anomaly has
given rise in the literature to a new category to describe these states: the
‘distributive,’ ‘allocation,’ or ‘rentier’ state.14
The Challenges to the Rentier State and the Evolution of Civil Society
It must be remembered that the region as a whole was one of the poorest in the
world before the advent of oil.15 After a slow start, the region’s share of world
production rose substantially after World War II, which made it one of the most
globally important sources for energy exports. All other traditional economic
activities gave way to the oil industry and its revenues, creating what is known
in the literature as the ‘Dutch Disease’. The post-World War II period can
rightly be termed the oil era. Paradoxically, although these revenues and the new
‘rentier’ dynamics strengthened the states and the position of the ruling
dynasties, the oil boom also brought oil-dependence, as well as social and
economic upheavals. The latter’s longer-term effects began to upset the
‘traditional’ political order, calling into question its survival – especially once
oil revenues no longer kept pace with expanding populations and growing
expectations.16
The GCC states are major oil producers. Their combined oil production is
over 20 percent of the world total and their oil and gas reserves are around 40
and 15 percent respectively. Oil and gas revenues account on average for
about 75 percent of total government revenue and such exports comprise 65
percent of total exports. While there are variations among countries, these
shares are nevertheless significant in all countries. As all six GCC states rely
almost exclusively on oil revenues as the main source for public funds,
fluctuation of oil prices has complicated their efforts at long term planning. Oil
is not only the main source of national income in the six GCC states but it is
also the main motor for the transformation of the region. Besides the obvious
impact on government finances and the balance of payments, changes in oil
earnings have broader implications for domestic economic activity in the GCC
countries. Non-oil economic activity is heavily influenced by domestic
government expenditure, which itself is dependent on oil revenue. Moreover,
most large-scale economic activities in the public domain (petrochemicals and
oil-based basic manufacturing) are closely linked to developments in the oil
sector.
This has important consequences for foreign policy. Clearly, the long-term
security of oil (and gas) exports and markets is of crucial importance for these
regimes. This has clear foreign policy implications, both in terms of economic
foreign policy and in terms of maintaining Gulf security and outside powers’
goodwill. Aside from export volumes, both the rise and fall of oil prices have
significant impact on Gulf societies and economies. It is not surprising,
therefore, that the GCC states would favor stability of the oil price and an
expansion (or at the very least the maintenance) of oil consumption and markets.
More broadly, this also affects their views on questions of international climate
change politics, and fosters a concern with the health of the wider world
economy.
The era of abundance, however, came to end in the mid 1980s with the fall in
the oil price, mainly due to a rise in non-OPEC production, diversification and
conservation policies of industrial states and advances in technology. This,
coupled with a diminishing value of the US dollar, dealt a blow to the GCC
economies.17
In addition, two more developments presented challenges and contributed to
the relative decline in their financial resources: high population growth and
rising military expenditure. Indeed, the Gulf welfare state was built in the 1970s,
when populations were small and money seemed limitless. Now the reverse is
true. Population growth in some Gulf States – which has averaged an almost 4
percent annual growth in the last two decades – has been among the highest in
the world and has created a large and restive youth population.18 Each of these
countries is projected, at current growth rates, to double its current population in
about 20 years. Some of this growth has come from immigration, but the lion’s
share is accounted for by high birth rates and longer life expectancies for
citizens. The age pyramids in these societies are heavily weighted toward the
younger end, and this population growth is occurring at a time when oil prices
are declining.
On the other hand, huge military expenditure since the early 1980s has
transferred declining wealth to arms purchases instead of investments in the
socio-economic infrastructure. According to the Stockholm International Peace
Research Institute, Saudi Arabia was the world’s largest recipient of major
conventional weapons in the first half of the 1990s.19 The London-based
International Institute of Strategic Studies forecast defense expenditure in the
Gulf as increasing by 10 percent in 2001, from $59 billion in 2000. Despite the
weakening oil price, defense spending was thought likely to increase further into
2002. Furthermore, the Gulf States’ support of Iraq in its long war against Iran
and the expenses of the Gulf War added more heavy financial burdens to their
struggling economies. The liberation of Kuwait added yet another burden, with a
total cost in excess of $200 billion.20 In fact, the fiscal impact of Desert Storm
upon the well-being of Saudi Arabia was as significant as its geopolitical
counterparts.21
The almost ideal-type distribution state, thus, came to an end by the late 1980s
and the GCC states began considering the need for the introduction of economic,
political and social reforms, although they were initially mainly cosmetic and
carried out half-heartedly.22 Concepts like economic liberalization and

diversification as well as privatization, opening up for foreign investments and
political participation were on the agenda. The Gulf Crisis accelerated the
process as the GCC states’ leaderships, willingly or unwillingly, had to deal with
the new realities brought about by the economic and political impact of its
aftermath.23 This, of course, coincided with the end of the Cold War in 1989, the
collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the subsequent democratic wave in
Central and Eastern Europe, which did not go entirely unnoticed in the region.
These sweeping changes, coupled with the unavoidable impact of globaliza-
tion, and especially in communication and media, encouraged the GCC citizens
to call for more genuine reforms and pushed the GCC leaders to open up more
of their political space for the public. GCC leaders also realized that economic
rationalization would need political reform to make it successful. As a
consequence, the GCC States have instituted further reforms, especially in
Kuwait, Bahrain and Qatar, and have since come a long way from the days in
which these countries were famous for their political stagnation.24 Such reforms
being implemented at different rates and with different intensity are, however,
some way short of creating democracies and representative governments.
Kuwait is still the only country in the Gulf to have a parliament with a genuine
popular mandate and a proven track record, a proper division of powers, free
speech (with some restrictions) and a written constitution – even though the
government-appointed cabinet (always including royals in key positions) are ex
officio members of the parliament.25 The effects of September 11 and the war on
Iraq on the GCC states and their reforms are still too early to contemplate but it
is clear that the US and Europe, which used to favor the status quo, have begun
pressing GCC governments for more liberalization of their systems. The US and
its coalition partners have long claimed that post-Saddam Iraq is to be a beacon
for human rights and democracy in the area. Meanwhile, in any case, the new
Bahraini parliament, with its fully elected lower chamber and its appointed
second chamber, has functioned since 2002 on the basis of the new constitution
brought in, which turned the emirate in to a constitutional kingdom, and much
increased popular support for the King and Crown Prince in the process. In
Qatar a new constitution was approved by referendum in April 2003, as the
Qatar-based operation against Saddam’s Iraq was being wound down,
stipulating free elections for a national parliament which will have real powers.
Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi Arabia, too, appears to favor some gradual
political reform, but remains hemmed in by other factions within the royal
family.
These various intertwining dynamics all shape the ways in which these
regimes, in the ‘omnibalancing’ act suggested in Nonneman’s analytical
framework for this volume, respond to the challenges and opportunities which
their regional and international environments present. The resources and
strengths they possess (wealth, a degree of traditional and performance
legitimacy), even if under strain, may offer them a window of opportunity for
domestic adjustment while maintaining some room for maneuver in foreign
policy; at the same time, these strains do necessitate careful treading.
TRADITIONAL GULF SECURITY AND DEFENSE CHALLENGES
The state, although not the only player, is the principal foreign policy actor.26
This is particularly the case in the Middle East and North Africa (MENA) region
where the state role is most prevalent and state elites have an interest in
maximizing the autonomy and security of the state. The MENA region arguably
exemplifies the realist claim that a built-in feature of a state system, anarchy, has
generated profound insecurity and a pervasive struggle for power.27 On the other
hand, we should not ignore the fact that the Middle East is also a dependent,
fragmented and penetrated system, with various levels of stateness and multiple
identities that inspire trans-state movements and constrain purely state-centric
behavior.28
The GCC states’ security challenge remains the all too common one of
seeking to maintain regional security and a credible defense against significant
regional and internal threats within the constraints of continuing budgetary
shortfalls. The fiscal strains precipitated by the dramatic mid-1980s decline in
global oil prices and exacerbated by the costs of the two Gulf conflicts, together
with the fast-growing population, will add even more constraints on the GCC’s
quest for regional security and internal stability.
The new challenge now is that external threats could emerge in a social
environment that is, at the same time, rife with seeds of potential internal
political destabilization. Future domestic turbulence, intertwined with the rising
trend of ‘political Islam’ and increased resentment against the Western presence
in the aftermath of the 1990–91 Gulf War, can be seen as coalescing to produce
political and socio-economic climates more complex than those confronted in
the past. The new economic realities will inhibit future GCC efforts to build
effective deterrent capabilities against both larger armies, such as Iraq and Iran,
and face the challenge of internal instability. The six countries all face economic
problems to one degree or another, which limits the extent of defense
expenditures – although the UAE and Qatar remain better placed given generous
reserves of oil and gas, respectively, relative to their indigenous populations.29
The GCC region is now more deeply embedded in an increasingly
interconnected wider region, than it was during the 1970s. In terms of security,
connections include an increase in both conventional and non-conventional
weapons; nuclear weapons and missile proliferation (Israel, Pakistan, and India);
the Israel–Palestine conflict; Israel’s growing strategic ambitions; Iranian–
Saudi–Pakistani rivalries in Afghanistan and Central Asia; and spillover from
international radical Islam. A strategy of self-reliance for defense and security is
both inadequate and politically troublesome for the Gulf leaders.30 There are
societal and structural reasons why this potential in unlikely to be realized. As
they continue to spend heavily on modern, high-tech defense equipment,
particularly air force and navy, the GCC states could, together, theoretically be a
match for Iran and Iraq in any high-intensity conflict scenario.31 However,
technological superiority and air and naval power can provide deterrence, but
only up to a point. Iran and, in future potential, Iraq, both have enormous armies
compared to the small ground forces in most of the GCC states. Their inability to
utilize fully the human resources that they have compounds those complications.
The GCC states’ ability to mobilize their population for defense is limited by
their small size and the ethos of the rentier state, but also because of government
policies.
Their small populations, relative to potentially threatening neighbors,
complicate their defense planning. Oil-age Gulf society has no tradition of
military service. Ironically, moreover, suspicion of the military still exists,
especially from the perspective of rulers who remember the prevalence of Arab
military coups in the 1950s and 1960s. Historically, demands by the state upon
citizens such as military service have been avoided because such demands could
bring forth pressures from the latter to have a say in state policy. The ruling
elites in the Gulf want to avoid exacerbating the already growing demands from
their societies for greater participation. The argument that the GCC states simply
do not have the population to support a large army is only partly true. The GCC
States’ population is comparable to Switzerland’s and larger than Israel’s, and
both of those countries have built credible defense forces.32
Another major stumbling block to effective self-defense in the Gulf States is
their inability to forge a unified defense and security posture among themselves.
The creation of the GCC itself in 1981 was a response to the Iranian revolution
and the Iran–Iraq war (being, at the same time, made possible by the elimination
of Iraq’s earlier opposition to the formation of a regional bloc that excluded it).
In an attempt to forestall Arab and Iranian criticism, the new organization was
portrayed as a collaborative step in the wider ambition of Arab integration and
not aimed against anyone – hence it did not have an explicit security component.
Soon, however, after the discovery of the 1981 coup plot in Bahrain later that
year, security cooperation was added to the GCC’s brief. Yet more than two
decades on, there is very little to show for the discussions on security and
military cooperation under the aegis of the GCC which have taken place since
then. The most important achievements cited in the military field are: the
creation of the joint 15,000 Peninsula Shield Force in 1982; the resolution taken
during the Kuwait summit in 1997, which entailed the linking of the GCC
member states with a military communication network for early warning; and
the formation of a Joint Defense Council endorsed by the Muscat summit in
December 2001.33 The GCC has, in other words, done little in real terms to
promote collective defense; hopes that it would evolve into a real security
alliance have not been realized.
Indeed, after the Gulf War the GCC states looked at two options to bolster
their defense. The first one was contemplated when the GCC states met with two
of their Arab coalition partners, Egypt and Syria, and issued the ‘Damascus
Declaration’, which envisioned a long-term partnership to provide for security
for the GCC states. However, the ambitious Damascus Declaration, for all
practical purposes, is dead.34 Second, the GCC states pledged to increase their
mutual defense cooperation. At successive meetings of the GCC, Oman pushed
for a genuine, quantitative and qualitative upgrade of the joint defense force
‘Peninsula Shield’, including an eventual 100,000-man joint force. The other
Gulf States were reluctant as there were misgivings about command and control
of the joint GCC force, its location, and individual member states’ manpower
contributions. The Omani proposal was shelved at the December 1991 summit,
and is effectively dead.35
Another fault line in the GCC separates Saudi Arabia from the others. The
smaller GCC states resent what they regard as Saudi hegemony. As the largest
country – with 55 percent of GCC oil reserves, over 50 percent of GDP, and 75
percent of its population – it is hard for Saudi Arabia not to dominate the GCC,
and it has thrown its weight around in dealing with its neighbors in the past.
Each of the member states is extremely hesitant to give up any aspect of its
sovereignty, and the smaller states remain wary of Saudi dominance. Historic
and border disputes and dynastic rivalries add to the smaller states’ suspicions of
Saudi designs and intentions.36 The Saudis have never been very comfortable
when their neighbors hold elections, though until recently that has been mostly a
Kuwaiti idiosyncrasy.37
Self-reliance in defense and security matters is a difficult, if not unachievable,
goal for the GCC States. Their narrow demographic bases, political constraints,
and problems in cooperating among themselves all work against real self-
defense and make them dependent on external support.
Due to the lack of consensus on security issues, the GCC states opted for an
outside guarantee for their security. Following the Gulf Crisis, the GCC states
put themselves under the umbrella of the US and some European powers. It
should be noted that the absence of an EU common foreign and security policy
meant that the GCC states had to contract with individual EU Members States,
like the UK and France, and not with the EU as such. Even here, it can be seen
that each GCC member state has been forging its own defense agreements with
outside powers, rather than negotiating overall GCC deals with them.38 Indeed,
each state maintains its own procurement policies, without real coordination to
promote compatibility or economies of scale. At an individual level, however,
there has been evidence of these states’ attempting to keep some room for
maneuver by diversifying their external understandings and procurement.39
DECISION MAKING AND STYLE IN GCC STATES’ FOREIGN POLICY
Given the nature of these states, regime and dynastic interests are the focus of
the GCC states’ foreign policy. The core foreign policy goal is regime security,
which conflates with state interest. Regime security is the paradigm through
which policy is defined and the prism through which events are analyzed, and at
the top is how they will affect the future of the ruling family.
For the GCC regimes, the objectives of survival and security have required
neutrality, secret diplomacy, reliance upon international powers and interna-
tional legal norms and negotiation, and attempts to balance protection by the
main great power with channels to others; these foreign policy calculations and
means also always had to be conceived as part of the wider omnibalancing
strategy that takes in the domestic challenges and resources. This has been
conducted through a particular style of diplomacy and on the basis of a
particular type of decision-making system.
Studies abound in the literature of the decision-making process in foreign

policy. Foreign policy making, even in democratic societies, is normally the
preserve of the elites. The actual choices of policy-making elites are shaped by
their values and interests within the constraints of the framework of the state’s
governing institutions and influential interest groups. As discussed earlier, the
absence of organized, popular and effective opposition, the paucity of
institutionalized channels of participation, the family basis of rule, and the
power that oil wealth concentrates in the hands of the rulers all coalesce to
limit even further the circle of policy makers in the GCC.40 In developing
countries, the number and relative influence of the policy-making process
varies according to the type of political regime, the nature of the civil society
and issue areas. In the GCC states, the trend has been that most of the policy
makers are from the ruling families or from the most trusted ruling class. This
is particularly so in foreign policy making and in the post of their foreign
ministers. Ambassadorships and top diplomatic posts are usually used as
rewards to the most trusted individuals and, in most cases, have a tribal, or
family basis.41
Al-Alkim has observed that GCC foreign policy decisions involve three
concentric circles.42 The first circle exclusively comprises the head of state, key
members of the royal families, and their close associates from the political elites
who hold senior posts such as foreign minister or advisor to the head of state.
The second circle includes other members of the executive authority, namely the
Council of Ministers. The third circle encompasses bureaucrats involved in the
formation and execution of the policies. Naturally, standard decisions are taken
on a hierarchical basis, while in crisis the inner circle or the Head of State takes
decisions. Input into foreign policy making from outside the governing
establishment is typically very limited. Business and commercial interests,
which in some countries play a central role in foreign policy, have only very
limited access to decision makers.43 Media, except to some extent in Kuwait and
Qatar, are subject to government censorship and scrutiny. Satellite stations (like
Al-Jazeera) and the Internet have lessened government control on information
but have not greatly empowered the public. Public political space still remains
limited. Despite the growth of some parliamentary or semi-parliamentary
activities, like the majlis and consultative councils, few areas of public life are
legitimate objects of public scrutiny, and acceptable formal means to express
specific concerns remain few.
Foreign policy is broadly speaking an acceptable topic for the population to
comment upon, perhaps more so than issues rather closer to home. When allied
with existing pressures – such as adverse demographics, lower personal income
and rising levels of unemployment – the foreign policies of the Gulf states act as
vehicle to express discontent not simply with the way a state conducts itself in
relations with other countries, but also with the way in which the elite deals with
domestic issues. Foreign policy often serves as the litmus test for a regime’s
popularity at home. However, broader public opinion has only an indirect impact
on foreign policy if leaders must defend their legitimacy under attack from rivals
or if the mass public is aroused by crisis. In normal times and when the public is
divided, for example, by class or ethnicity, elites enjoy more autonomy for
action.44
The effects of geography and demography – small populations, vulnerable
borders and territories, valuable natural resources – combine with the domestic
features of societies and regimes to create a special Gulf political culture and
diplomatic style. That style can be characterized as a highly personal, subtle
approach conducted mainly through quiet, personal and secretive diplomacy,
avoiding, where possible, headlines and publicity. In such a diplomatic personal
style, informal political understandings and personal relationships mean more
than formal agreements.
In the personalized authoritarian regimes typical of the GCC states, the choice
and the style of the leader are decisive, particularly in a crisis or critical
bargaining situation.45 The leader’s experience plays a critical role. Policy
makers in these states are, for the great part, extremely sophisticated players in
the international arena, in many cases with decades of experience in dealing with
foreign leaders. In fact, despite the obituaries regularly written for the Gulf
States’ regimes, their rulers have shown great resilience and have survived the
arrival and departure of Britain, the trial of independence, the challenge of
populist pan-Arabism and radical Islam and, finally, the demands of oil wealth.
Their durability and their success in building international alliances to protect
them from their neighbors stand as evidence of their skills. However, this was
achieved at the cost of forgoing the institutionalized bureaucratic decision-
making bodies with clear rules and procedures and professional diplomatic
services found in neighboring states like Egypt, Iran or even Jordan.
The GCC’s diplomacy, then, remains highly personal; authority and lines of
responsibility for decision making are often blurred and muddled by the
informal but central role played by leading family members. The dominance of
the ruling families in foreign policy making means that the decision-making
process will not follow neatly constructed rational bureaucratic lines. There is a
fluidity in the decision-making process that depends more upon the dynamics of
intra-family politics than upon neatly defined bureaucratic lines of responsi-
bility.46
FOREIGN POLICY PATTERNS
The GCC states have always been viewed as not being strong enough to direct
regional or international politics on their own. In fact, their vulnerability has
often been cited as the key to understanding their foreign policies. As has
already been made clear, these vulnerabilities can be found in both internal and
external sources. Susceptible to the wishes of their more powerful neighbors and
allies, the GCC states have usually followed a cautious, conservative and
pragmatic foreign policy, including reliance on international allies, to maintain
their independence and avoid involvement in destructive wars and outright
invasion. GCC diplomacy has aimed wherever possible at preserving the status
quo through maintaining a delicate regional balance.47 GCC policy makers have
always exhibited a desire for accommodative diplomacy, conciliation and
evasion of direct confrontation. They try to appease potential foreign adversaries

with non-controversial foreign policies, generous aid (‘Riyal-Politik’), and,
especially in the case of Saudi Arabia, symbolic policies to shore up Islamic
legitimacy at home and abroad.48
They have tried to avoid, whenever possible, over-close identification with
any regional power, both out of fear of offending other regional players and in
order to hedge against the possibility that today’s friend will be tomorrow’s
enemy. They have learned that developing a close relationship with a major
Arab or Muslim power means giving that power an entry point into their
domestic societies, which could come to be used against the regimes. The cold
water thrown on the Damascus Declaration is a case in point. When faced by a
confrontation, the GCC states will pick sides and declare themselves only after
much internal and external consultation. That was true against Iran during the re-
flagging of the Kuwaiti ships by the United States in 1987–88, and against Iraq
after the invasion of Kuwait. But when the crisis passes, they once again seek
some regional middle ground, avoiding, if at all possible, friendships that are too
close and enmities that are too intense.
Their survival instinct has led these regimes to finding room to maneuver
between the competing domestic, regional and international pressures and
opportunities – creating ‘wriggle room’ which they have used to try to maintain
relative autonomy at all three levels. They have attempted to make the most of
particular configurations in the external environment that facilitated the
acquisition of such autonomy, and have been helped in the pragmatic pursuit
of what Nonneman has called ‘managed multi-dependence’ by the domestic
material and political resources they have had available to them, as these
resources allowed them a measure of autonomy from domestic constraints on
their freedom of action. Part of this ‘game’, of course, has been to avoid
depleting, and if possible augmenting, these domestic resources by their external
policy.49 Of course the domestic and international constraints on the menu of
their foreign policy choices remain very real – no GCC state is ever likely to
adopt a wholly US-unfriendly stance, for instance; none will ever abandon
reference to the Palestinian cause; and the Al-Saud are particularly sensitive to
Islamist critiques given their Islamic claim to legitimacy – but careful
omnibalancing has allowed greater room for maneuver than has usually been
appreciated.50
In terms of collective policy making, the GCC states have displayed both
the ability to work together on some issues, especially ones related to regional,
Arab and Islamic causes. The GCC states through the Arab League and the
Organization of Islamic States displayed group solidarity with the many
Arabic and Islamic concerns. For example, this was clearly demonstrated on
the Arab–Israeli conflict and the Palestinian plight (see below) as well as in
the cases of Afghanistan in 1980s and Bosnia and Kosovo in the 1990s.
Sometimes, of course, collective fora such as the GCC itself have been used to
subscribe to alternative declaratory policies than the policies being pursued
individually – a trait not unique to the Gulf states or the Middle East. Policy
on Iran and Iraq during the Iran–Iraq war of 1980–88 provides several
examples of this.51 Indeed, this can be seen as yet another aspect of the
omnibalancing strategy.
Given their economic vulnerability there have been many efforts to coordinate
oil production and pricing policy. It is instructive to note that not all the GCC
states are members of the Organization of the Arab Oil Exporting Countries
(OAPEC) or the Organization of the Oil Exporting Countries (OPEC).52 Saudi
Arabia, given its central role in OPEC and its fiscal and budgetary deficits,
especially following the Gulf Crisis, has tended to coordinate the GCC states’ oil
policy before the OPEC oil meetings. In fact, Saudi efforts with non-OPEC
producers like Oman, Mexico and Russia for production cuts have yielded some
stabilization to the oil price. The GCC states have also acted as one group in
trade negotiations with their major trade partners, as in their negotiations and
dialogues with the EU, Japan and the US.
However, it has been clear also that on many occasions narrow national
interests prevailed over collective interests. This is reflected in differences in
their intra-GCC relations and their relations with regional and international
powers, as well as in their voting patterns in international organizations.53 The
lack of long-term planning meant that GCC states policies have usually been
based on a short-term reactive strategy and, given their small size, they have
tended to respond rather than initiate policies. This is not a blanket rule,
however: the Fahd peace plan for the Palestine question was one contrary
example in the 1980s, Crown Prince Abdullah’s peace plan of 2002 is another.
Qatar, of course, since the mid-1990s has on occasion exhibited a rather striking
and more proactive policy pattern (often riling others in the GCC) – much of
which can be attributed to the personal convictions and calculations of the Emir
and the Foreign Minister about the best way to play the omnibalancing game
given their changing domestic, regional and international environments (Shaikh
Hamad ousted his father in 1995).
The current period is an interesting test of the resilience of the style of GCC
diplomacy outlined above. Regional and international upheavals, at a time of
mounting internal socio-economic and political pressures, will still add still
further dimensions to the foreign policy challenges they face.
THE ARAB–ISRAELI DIMENSION
The linkage between the Gulf and the Arab–Israeli conflict is not new. On the
one hand, there is the perceived Israeli threat to the vital installations of the Gulf
States due to its conventional and unconventional military superiority and
especially the fear of its nuclear capability. That imbalance between the Arab
and Israeli military powers encourages regional arms build up and increases
tension. There is also the remote, but not unimaginable, possibility of the
outbreak of another Arab–Israeli war, which by its nature would be different and
would have serious security repercussions on the area including the GCC states.
On the other hand, there is the fear that a deadlock on the Palestinian issue could
cause more popular unrest and incite violence, which could spread into the GCC
states themselves.54 The failure of the peace process could lead to a
radicalization of Arab politics through the Islamist tendency currently sweeping

the region. Several public demonstrations have taken place in GCC capitals in
support of the Palestinian intifada. GCC governments and their security allies
could become targets due to their inability to help resolve the conflict, and in
particular to US support for Israel.55 Al-Alkim has argued that it might lead to
‘geometric progression’ through unity between the Islamists and the residual
pan-Arab nationalists in one front against their political regimes.56 Regional
domestic stability is strongly connected to the progress achieved in the Middle
East peace process and the GCC states will not be immune from such political
turmoil if such a scenario materializes.
Hence, the GCC states have continuously supported Arab positions on the
Palestinian question and strongly endorsed Arab and Muslim claims in the old
city of Jerusalem, which is the third-holiest site in Islam. They recognize the
Palestinian Liberation Organization (PLO) as the legitimate representative of the
Palestinian people, despite the PLO’s support for Iraq in 1991, and they continue
to contribute financially to support the Palestinians in the form of aid and
donations.57 GCC states have obviously favored a peaceful solution to the Arab–
Israeli conflict and have encouraged their international partners, especially the
US and Europe, to help towards this end.
GCC decision makers realize that the EU has a potentially significant role as a
major global political and economic actor in the Israeli–Arab Peace Process.
Indeed, the EU’s basic position on the Middle East Peace Process was expressed
in its Venice Declaration at the June 1980s European Council and was
repeatedly reaffirmed by subsequent European Councils of Heads of State and
Government as well as by General Affairs Councils of Foreign Ministers.
However, the EU role has only been supplementary to that of the US, despite its
being the largest donor to the Palestinians.58 Throughout the EU–GCC dialogue
(see below), the GCC states have pressed the EU to go beyond the declaratory
and aid policy in finding a tangible solution to the intractable problems of the
Middle East.
In agreement with the various Arab summit resolutions, and taking pains to
stress consistently their support for the realization of a just, comprehensive and
durable peace in accordance with the principle of land-for-peace and UN
Security Council resolutions 242, 338 and 425, the GCC states have continued to
promote the Middle East peace process.59 However, they lack the power to make
much difference, which subjects them to both domestic and Arab criticisms. The
Saudi Fahd Plan in the early 1980s and Crown Prince Abdullah’s initiative in
March 2002 were constructive attempts by a GCC state’s leader to overcome
some of the impasses on this front and to avoid criticism of impotence.
THE US CONUNDRUM
The Arab–Israeli factor, together with those that produce the Gulf regional
diplomatic style, also complicate these states’ relations with the United States,
their international security guarantor. Their fear of external threat and the
necessity of a supplementary power to make up for their inherent weakness
prompted closer cooperation between the GCC countries and the US and, to
varying degrees, placed a number of constraints on their foreign policy.
However, given the domestic and regional sensitivities discussed earlier, GCC
regimes worry that an excessive identification with the US will create problems
for them at home with publics that resent many aspects of America’s Middle
East policy and oppose any relationship that appears to compromise national
independence. Indeed, given the public perception of unfair and one-sided US
support for Israel and its ‘double standards’ in the region, there is an
increasingly negative public attitude towards US policies; US forces on Gulf soil
have become targets for some subversive action.60 The GCC states’ traditional
desire to keep US forces ‘over the horizon’ encapsulates these tensions – they
want the US to be close enough to protect them, but not so close as to create
problems. The presence of US forces in the region also has created tension with
neighboring states (Iran and Iraq in particular) and adds to the potential for a
regional arms race.
The effect of the New World Order and Iraq’s invasion of Kuwait on the GCC
states’ foreign policy was striking. Since 1991, each of the six Gulf Cooperation
Council (GCC) concluded security agreements with the US; Saudi Arabia was
the only one not to turn this into a formal defense pact, given domestic
sensitivities. Yet, having provided the main base for the allied operation against
Iraq in 1991, the Kingdom continued to host over 5000 US troops until 2003,
engaged in enforcing the no-fly zones in Iraq and monitoring ‘Dual Contain-
ment’. With the Kuwait Crisis, in other words, the US changed its ‘over the
horizon’ policy to one involving extensive forward basing and regular military
engagements, sometimes escalating into large-scale deployments (for example,
in 1990, 1992, 1994, 1998, 2002, and 2003).
The EU as a civilian power, while a desired security partner and a required
balance to US preponderance, cannot in its current shape substitute for US
security, despite the involvement and aspirations of some of its member states.
The GCC states, however, did what they could to keep other powers engaged in
the region and water down US prevalence. Most GCC states, thus, signed
defense agreements with the UK, France, Russia, China and other regional
powers. They hoped to keep some options open for security and defense
cooperation with other powers as well as to avert domestic and regional criticism
with over identifying with the US. However, they also realize that only the US,
and to some extent the UK and France, can credibly project power in the area.
There are, of course, variations among the GCC states in how closely they fit
the pattern described above, with Kuwait and Qatar being ahead of their GCC
neighbors in their military cooperation with the US. Having suffered from
military occupation, Kuwait has conducted a radical rethinking of foreign policy
and enjoys a strong public consensus on the need for close military ties with the
United States and other foreign powers, setting it apart from its neighbors and
setting the trend for the rest of the GCC states.61 Qatar too, has adopted a policy
of military alliance with the US – culminating in providing the headquarters for
CENTCOM in the 2003 war against Saddam’s Iraq. Here, though, public
opinion is more equivocal.
It is instructive to see that the GCC states did not always follow the wishes of
their security guarantor in their foreign policy. They have shown independent
thinking, especially in regional politics where, as discussed earlier, domestic
interest is strong. For example, the GCC states not only disagree with US policy
on the Arab–Israeli conflict, but also disagreed and openly criticized its
unilateral policies on Iran and Iraq and its ‘axis of evil’ statement. Most of the
GCC countries refused in February 1998 to grant permission for US forces to
use their facilities to launch air strikes against Iraq.62
Continuing in this vein, the post-9/11 era has proved a hard test for US–GCC,
and especially US–Saudi relations. The GCC states, while condemning the
atrocities and carnage in New York and Washington, qualified their
condemnation of ‘terrorism’ by condemning all kinds of terrorism including
state terrorism (for which one can read Israeli terrorism). The GCC states’
support for the US war on ‘terrorism’ in Afghanistan remained less than
fulsome, and they qualified it by pointing out that there are other ways of
fighting terrorism by fighting its roots and causes, rather than just military
action. Given the record and mistrust of US policies in the region people
remained highly skeptical about how the war on terrorism would end. This has
made it impossible for many Arabs, even those who would accept that the US
cause is just, to give the US unconditional support.63 It is also at least partly for
this reason that there was no public support in the GCC for an expansion of the
war on terrorism into Iraq or elsewhere. The fear was that any military action
inside Iraq would simply leave a bigger mess behind. The US suffers from a
major credibility gap in convincing the region that it is truly going after
terrorism, and not just doing the bidding of Israel through domestic political
pressure. A more immediate concern regarding military action in Iraq was the
lack of confidence in the US’s ability and will to ‘solve’ the Iraqi problem by
replacing Saddam’s regime with a system that would allow for Iraq’s
rehabilitation, both in the region and globally.
Apart from Kuwait, all the GCC governments heeded their populations’
fierce opposition against the US-led coalition against Iraq in 2003, by publicly
declaring their reservations or opposition to a military operation and, with the
striking exception of Qatar, limiting the extent of military cooperation. That
did not, of course, preclude a significant level of quiet cooperation. Even
Qatar, however, remained a critical voice on aspects of US policy in the Gulf
and on Palestine, continuing its earlier record of independent policy on Iran
and the question of sanctions on Iraq. It also, of course, refused to rein in Al-
Jazeera even when pressed to do so during the Iraq war by the US
Administration.
In late April 2003, it was mutually agreed between the US and Saudi Arabia
that most of the troops based in the Kingdom would be withdraw over the
summer:64 with the disappearance of Saddam Hussein’s regime, both the no-fly
zones and the Iraqi threat were removed, and the presence of the US troops in
the Muslim holy land, which had been the first of Osama bin Ladin’s grievances,
could be removed as a spark to political stability. For the same reason, Saudi
Arabia had not provided bases as major launch platforms for the assault on Iraq
in 2003. Even so, it provided lower-profile access to command-and-control and

intelligence facilities, as well as covert access for limited numbers of forces.
Following the agreed withdrawal, cooperation in training and technical
assistance and maintenance will continue (400 troops were scheduled to
remain), as will arms supplies and, no doubt, an understanding on safeguarding
Saudi security.
Nevertheless, the attitude of Saudi Arabia in particular proved a major irritant
to the US guarantors of their security, especially since a large number of the
culprits on September 11 are of GCC (Saudi) origin, and large-scale US public
and official criticism of the GCC states, and Saudi Arabia in particular, has
ensued. At the same time, other policy differences – not least over the Palestine
question – remain between most GCC capitals and Washington, most acutely so
at the popular level, and they remain a significant challenge to stability and to
future US interests in the region.
GCC opposition to some of the US policies in the Middle East is shared with
the EU.65 The GCC states, while aware of the weight of the US, have found here
an opportunity to try and find some room to maneuver and to escape some of the
US’s pressure.
RELATIONS WITH THE EU
The GCC states have both bilateral and collective relations with the EU and its
Member States. Although there is a growing trend towards inter-regional
diplomacy and group-to-group dialogue, security issues have remained, by and
large, bilateral. The GCC states have signed a number of defense and security
agreements with the UK and France and some of the EU Member States are
major defense equipment exporters to the region. This offers the GCC states an
alternative to the US. The EU is not only seen by the GCC as a counterbalance
to the dominant US position but it is their closest international trade partner.
Trade between the EU and the GCC is very significant. In 2000, GCC imports
from the EU were e29 billion whereas EU imports from the GCC amounted to
e22 billion, giving a trade balance in favor of the EU. Since the mid-1980s, the
GCC states have been trying to address this trade imbalance with the EU through
the EU–GCC dialogue.
In fact, since 1988 the EU and the GCC have been formally linked by a
Cooperation Agreement. The 1988 Agreement, which entered into force on
January 1, 1990, provided a framework for inter-regional cooperation and
included a provision for establishing a free trade area (FTA). To complement the
agreement, the two parties also initiated a political dialogue aimed at fostering
their relations. The Agreement institutionalized the special relationship between
the EU and the GCC with, among other things, annual Joint Ministerial Councils
and provided for cooperation in the fields of economic relations, agriculture,
energy, investment promotion and technology. Its principal aims were to
improve economic relations between the two groups, intensify EU–GCC trade
and investment exchange, strengthen inter-regional interdependence, and initiate
a close political dialogue.
However, since 1988, EU–GCC relations have traveled a rocky road.

Negotiations for the FTA are still without issue. In large part, this has been
because of several long-standing reasons for reluctance to conclude a free trade
agreement on the part of the EU. These have included the effectiveness of the
European chemicals and petrochemicals industry in warning against the negative
effects of the FTA.66 Another obstacle was the proposed 1992 carbon tax
(CO2).67 Such a tax if implemented could threaten the oil revenues of the GCC
states given its intended effect of reducing oil consumption. It is, therefore, not
too surprising that the GCC states should have reacted with disapproval to the
EU environmental tax proposals.
However, the EU must not carry sole blame for the lackluster results. The
GCC states themselves failed to organize properly. They had very little
experience in collective diplomacy and inter-regional dialogue and their
negotiation team did not have a proper mandate. Indeed, in part this may be
due to divergent interests among the six: the petrochemicals issue, for instance,
is generally recognized to be mainly pushed by Saudi Arabia. Most importantly,
however, they had not yet formed a custom union, an economically logical
precondition laid down by the EU for forming a bloc-to-bloc FTA with the GCC.
Still, the GCC states were disheartened by the slow progress towards an FTA,
given their economic weight and prominent position in world energy. After all,
given its size of oil reserves and production, the region plays a decisive role in
the energy policy of both the EU and the world. Indeed, the GCC states will
become a critical supply source in meeting Europe’s future growing need for
imported energy. Moreover, the GCC represents the third most important export
market for the EU, accounting for 4 percent of extra-EU exports, larger than
China and even the Commonwealth of Independent States. The GCC is the only
one of the top five trade partners with which the EU consistently has a trade
surplus and is an important source of an enormous amount of investment capital
in financial and real estate markets.
GCC states have felt slighted by the fact that the Barcelona process, which
envisaged the creation of a Euro-Mediterranean Partnership and a free trade
zone between signatory states, included several Arab countries but excluded the
GCC states.68 They view the hoped-for FTA with the EU not only as a
significant political achievement, but one with obvious economic benefits. Free
trade with the EU will guarantee free and unfettered access for their oil and oil
products, the lifeline of their economy, which are threatened by environmental
taxes. The high level of domestic taxation on oil in Europe has worried the GCC
states. The broad issue of various levels of domestic taxation in the EU on oil
has generally been both a sore and a moot point in EU–GCC energy relations but
the issue has only been dealt with passively, ephemerally and at a low level.
Another economic benefit to the GCC of the FTA would be that it would
eliminate EU taxation of their petrochemical products exported to the union.
Petrochemical production in the Gulf region is considered by the GCC states as a
means of industrialization and economic diversification away from oil exports,
and they clearly enjoy a comparative advantage. Finally, the EU, as the GCC’s
largest, closest region for investment, trade, industry and technology, has a
special attraction for the GCC states’ attempt to attract foreign direct investment
with the associated know-how to diversify their production base.
The recognition by the European side of these grievances and of the interests
at stake, together with the GCC states’ own wish to upgrade the relationship, led
to an initiative to make up for some of the perceived earlier neglect.69 The
scheduled Joint Ministerial Council for 1995 was postponed until the following
year and instead a Ministerial meeting between the GCC and the EU ‘Troika’
was held in Granada to set the relationship on a new footing.70 The Troika
Ministers made three recommendations, which have since become the the
central basis for all joint initiatives:
. To step up political dialogue between the EU and the GCC.

. To increase clear economic cooperation and propose solutions for unlocking
the ongoing free trade negotiations.
. To draw up cooperation instruments to promote and achieve greater
knowledge and understanding of each party by the other, particularly in the
fields of culture and science.71
The three ‘baskets’ in which cooperation between the two regions could be
strengthened were identified as:
1. Economic and trade relations.

2. Cultural and scientific cooperation.
3. Political and security matters.
An expert group was to be established to recommend solutions for the

conclusion of a free trade agreement, the GCC was to be able to participate in
EC horizontal programmes, on a co-financing basis, and regular meetings at a
senior level were to be established to reinforce the political dialogue. These
recommendations were approved by the Sixth Joint Ministerial Council in
Luxembourg in April 1996, following a European Commission ‘Communication
to the Council’ in November 1995, encouraged by the January 1996 EU General
Affairs Council, on improving relations, and in particular recommending
‘decentralized cooperation’ with the GCC.72 The opening of an EU delegation in
Riyadh was also proposed.
The year 1995, therefore, was something of a turning point in the EU–GCC
relationship. Contacts between the two sides intensified, bringing with it, over
the next few years, frequent meetings and conferences on issues such as energy
cooperation, environment, free trade, the private sector, technology cooperation,
and education. In addition, the political dialogue between the EU and the GCC
did result in a partial meeting of minds and interests, evidenced in declaratory
policy. Indeed, the political issues make up the bulk of their joint communiqués
after each of their Joint Ministerial Council meetings. EU and GCC positions
converged, for example, on the solution for the Arab–Israeli problem and the
protection of Palestinian human rights and their right to an independent state, as
well as on a range of global security issues.
Perhaps the most innovative element introduced by the 1995 Troika meeting,
was to add ‘decentralized’, horizontal cooperation between civil societies and
non-governmental organizations to the official-level cooperation carried out
under the agreement. The idea, which had been tested already in the EU’s
Mediterranean policy and elsewhere, aimed to increase non-governmental
contacts, and assumes co-financing, with each side covering the cost of its
participation. At subsequent meetings it was agreed to establish decentralized
cooperation in three areas: business, media and universities/higher education. In
each area there would be initial workshops where experts should identify a
number of possible projects for a pilot phase of three years. A universities
project aiming to expand Gulf Studies in Europe and European Studies in the
Gulf was the first to move towards realisation, but it eventually fell by the
wayside due to unintentional internal mishaps within the EU.73 The results in the
other two areas also remained extremely modest.
This was perhaps symbolic for the overall progress of relations: heightened
interaction notwithstanding, major tangible achievements remained elusive, with
the various irritants mentioned continuing to put sand in the works (Although
decided on in principle, the opening of the EU delegation in Riyadh mooted for
2002, only finally happened in November 2004). The sense of continued lagging
would only be breached, at least in part, as a result of an internal GCC
development in 2003, and a fledgling new direction in EU policy thinking in the
same year – of which more below.
The GCC states will remain, for the foreseeable future, an important partner
for the EU both in energy and trade relations. A Saudi oil minister has summed
up the tenets of his country’s oil strategy as: ‘ensuring market stability and
transparency, maintaining the relative share of oil in world energy mix and
realizing a fair return per barrel of oil’.74 The GCC states are highly unlikely to
pursue their oil policies in a political vacuum, without taking into consideration
the consequences of such policies on the economies of their war allies and
business partners.75 In an interdependent and highly integrated world economy,
where the economic well-being of the GCC states is dependent on world
economic growth and continued oil demand, it is virtually inconceivable that the
GCC states would pursue oil policies that will harm the world economy in the
short, medium or long term. Given EU needs for imported energy and the GCC’s
large reserves and production there is a strong case for energy interdependence
between the two regions. Indeed, Saudi Arabia has proposed to establish a
Permanent Secretariat for International Energy Forum in Riyadh, which among
other things, would enhance producer–consumer dialogue.
Europe cannot afford to ignore this strategically important region and should
assist further in ensuring its security and stability. There are several areas where
the EU and its Member States can help the region to achieve stability by
anchoring the Gulf States to Europe through their inclusion in a re-fashioned
‘Mediterranean partnership’ – although it would then presumably have to be
renamed. Although the EU is already involved in Middle East politics and is a
major contributor to the peace process, the EU could push further for a fair and
comprehensive resolution of the Israeli–Palestinian and the Arab–Israeli
disputes. A peaceful resolution of the Arab–Israeli conflict is bound to add much

needed stability to the region. The EU could also help GCC states, through its
various instruments, to implement further economic, social and political
reforms, which would help assure long-term domestic stability.76
The events of September 11, 2001 could yet have a profound effect on the
EU–GCC political relationship, given that there has been somewhat of a cooling
down in the US–GCC relationship. Europe could have the opportunity to play a
major role in the region, to the benefit of both sides.
The GCC’s announcement in 2001 that the formation of a customs union
would be moved forward from 2005 to 2003, already led the EU to change its
negotiating directives. The formal start of the customs union in January 2003,
even though many locally protected products were temporarily excluded and full
implementation appeared unlikely until 2005,77 removed perhaps the key
obstacle to the FTA negotiations. Indeed, a conclusion of that particular question,
with the establishment of an EU–GCC FTA, was mooted for 2005. In 2003, the
EU also began to put a new emphasis on strengthening the EU-GCC dialogue,
and to explore ways of linking the EU-GCC framework more into the Union’s
relationship with the rest of the MENA region.78 Together, these developments
may well lead to a reinvigoration of the wider EU–GCC relationship.
This would reflect a continuation of a longer-established pattern, noted by
Nonneman, in force for a century or more, of local Gulf rulers’ seeking
protection from the most powerful external player while cultivating partially
balancing relations with lesser, but still important powers. Since the emergence
of the US as the main superpower, the Gulf states – both before and since the
formation of the GCC – appear to have continued with such a strategy, including
in particular the cultivation of political, security, and economic relations with
European states. This arguably found expression also in the fields of defense and
arms supplies, with several Gulf states diversifying their military procurement
early on, Saudi Arabia itself turning to British supplies for its airforce in the
1980s when the US proved unwilling to override Israeli objections to US arms
deliveries, or the UK and France being attracted as secondary defense partners in
the post-Kuwait Crisis agreements.79 Even if the implications of the 2003
operation in Iraq still await clarification, the pattern, fitting well with the
omnibalancing strategy and the pursuit of managed multi-dependence outlined
earlier, is likely to persist in some way.
NOTES
1. See, for example, Nazar Alaolmolki, ‘The Struggle for Dominance in the Persian Gulf, Past,
Present and Future Prospects’ in Bruce Kuniholm, The Persian Gulf and United States Policy: A
Guide to Issues and References (Claremont, California: Regina Books. 1984, New York: Peter
Lang, 1991); Robert Litwak, Security in the Persian Gulf, Sources of Inter-State Conflict, Vol. 2,
Security in the Persian Gulf (London: IISS, Gower, 1981); Alvin Z. Rubinstein (ed.), The Great
Game, Rivalry in the Persian and South Asia, Praeger, 1983); Herman Eilts, ‘The Persian Gulf
Crisis: Perspectives and Prospects’, Middle East Journal, 45, (1), 1991, (Winter), pp. 7–22;
Graham Fuller and Ian Lesser, ‘Persian Gulf Myths’ Foreign Affairs, Vol. 76, (no. 3), (May/
June), 1997, pp. 42–52; Zalmay Khalilzad, ‘The United States and the Persian Gulf: Preventing
Regional Hegemony’, Survival, 37, (2), 1995, pp. 95–120; Ralph Magnus, ‘The GCC and
Security: The Enemy Without and Enemy Within’, Journal of South Asian and Middle Eastern
Studies, Vol. XX, (no. 3), (Spring), 1997, pp. 72–94.
2. See Richard Hermann and R. William Ayers, ‘The New Geo-Politics of the Gulf: Forces for
Change and Stability’, in Gary Sick and Lawrence Potter (eds.), The Persian Gulf at the
Millennium, Essays in Politics, Economy Security and Religion (New York: St. Martin’s Press,
1997), pp. 31–60.
3. The question of pooling or ceding sovereignty would conceivably create a problem under the
constitutions of some Gulf States, e.g. Kuwait, Article 1; Qatar, Article 2; UAE, Article 4;
Bahrain, Article 1(A).
4. For discussions on the internal–external debate see Ronald Rogoswski ‘Internal vs. External
Factors in Political Development: An Evaluation of Recent Historical Research’ PS: Political
Science and Politics, Vol. 18, no. 4 (Fall) 1985; Bruce Russet, ‘International Interactions and
Processes: The Internal External Debate Revisited’, in Ada Finifter (ed.), Political Science: The
States of the Discipline, (Washington, DC: American Political Science Association, 1983).
5. Edward Morse argues that the process of modernization has altered the character of foreign
policy in three ways. It has effectively broken down the classical distinction between foreign and
domestic policy; it has changed the balance between ‘high’ and ‘low’ politics in favor of the
latter; and it has significantly reduced the level of control that any state can exercise in the
domestic or the international arena. Edward Morse, ‘The Transformation of Foreign Policies:
Modernization, Interdependence and Externalities’, in Richard Little and Michael Smith, (eds.)
Perspectives on World Politics, Second Edition (London and New York: Routledge, 1991), pp.
169–81.
6. Furthermore, he adds, ‘Border guards may check passports and custom officials may impose
duties, but to conceive of the foreign–domestic distinction in this simple way is to mislead, to
mistake surface appearances for underlying patterns’. James Rosenau, Along the Domestic–
Foreign Frontier, Exploring Governance in a Turbulent World (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1997), p. 4.
7. The Arab League (officially, the League of Arab States) was formed in 1945. The founder
members were the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Jordan (then Transjordan), Lebanon, Iraq,
Syria and Yemen. The purpose of the League was to foster Arab cooperation and unity. Since its
formation, another 14 Arab states have joined the League.
8. Mohammed Saud Al-Sayari, ‘The GCC as a Regional Organisation and its Relations with the
UN and the Arab League (in Arabic)’, At-Ta’awun, (3), (July 1986), pp. 121–35; Joseph
Kechichian, Security Efforts in the Arab World: A Brief Examination of Four Regional
Organizations, (Santa Monica: Rand, 1992).
9. John Esposito, Islam and Civil Society (Badia Fiesolana: Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced
Studies, European University Institute), Working Paper, RSC No. 2000/57, 2000; Nazih Ayubi,
Political Islam (London: Routledge, 1991).
10. John E Peterson, ‘Succession in the States of the Gulf Cooperation Council’, Washington
Quarterly 24, no. 4 (Autumn, 2001): 173–86.
11. Ibid.
12. See for example, Gregory Gause, Oil Monarchies: Domestic and Security Challenges in the
Arab Gulf States (New York: Council on Foreign Relations Press, 1994); Jill Crystal, Oil and
Politics in the Gulf: Rulers and Merchants in Kuwait and Qatar (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1995); Rosemarie Said Zahlan, The Making of the Modern Gulf States, Kuwait,
Bahrain, Qatar, the United Arab Emirates and Oman (Reading: Ithaca Press, 1998).
13. See for example, Crystal, Oil and Politics in the Gulf; Gause, Oil Monarchies.
14. The rentier state is one where government relies for the lion’s share of its revenues (certainly
over 50 percent, in the GCC cases usually over 75 percent) on direct transfers from the
international economy, in the form of oil revenues, investment income, foreign aid, or other
kinds of direct payments.
15. Oil was discovered on a commercial basis first in Bahrain in 1932 and then in the rest of the
region. Significant production did not take off until after World War II.
16. For good discussions on this subject see the various contributions in Abbas Abdelkarim (ed.),
Change and Development in the Gulf (St Martins Press, 1999); Jill Crystal, ‘Social
Transformation, Changing Expectations and the Gulf Security’, in David Long and Christian
Koch (eds.), Gulf Security in the Twenty-First Century (Abu Dhabi: The Emirates Centre for
Strategic Studies and Research, 1997), pp. 208–25. For a recent assessment see Gerd Nonneman,
Governance, Human Rights, and the Case for Political Adaptation in the Gulf (RSC Policy
Paper 01/3) (Badia Fiesolana: European University Institute, 2001).
17. Middle East Economic Digest, ‘MEED Special Report: Oil and Gas’, Vol. 39, no. 14, 7 (April
1995), p. 24.
18. In Oman and Saudi Arabia, in particular, the youth population is large. In these two countries the
percentage of the population under 14 in 1997 was over 40. CIA Fact Book 1997. 5 http://
www.odci.gov/cia/publications/factbook/country-frame.html 4 Accessed on Oct. 19, 1998.
19. The Stockholm International Peace Research Institute, SIPRI Yearbook 1995: Armaments,
Disagreements and International Security, (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 21.
20. SIPRI has estimated the Saudi cost of assisting Iraq at $25bn and that of the Gulf War at $55bn.
The cost to Kuwait was even higher.
21. Its costs in military operations, operations reimbursements, and regional aid commitments are
estimated at $64 billion; in an economy whose 1991 GDP was just over $100 billion. See , C.A.
Woodson, Saudi Arabian Force Structure Development in a Post Gulf War World (Fort
Leavenworth, KS: Foreign Military Studies Office, June 1998).
22. Vahan Zanoyan, ‘After the Oil Boom: The Holiday Ends in the Gulf’, Foreign Affairs, (Nov./
Dec. 1995), pp. 2–7.
23. Roger Hardy, Arabia After the Storm: Internal Stability of the Gulf Arab States (London, RIIA,
1992).
24. Anoushiravan Ehteshami, ‘Reform from Above’, International Affairs, 79, 1, (2003), pp. 53–75.
25. While Kuwait is often presented as a model for development in the Gulf-region, democracy in
Kuwait faces many obstacles and rests on a precarious balance between inclusion and exclusion.
See Democracy in the Arab world: the case of Kuwait, 5 http://www.opendemocracy.net/
debates/article-2-95-1097.jsp 4 ; and ‘WE DON’T WANT TO BOX ISLAM IN’ Kuwait’s
Islamists, officially unofficial’, 5 http://mondediplo.com/ 2002/06/04kuwait 4 , both sites
accessed April 13, 2003.
26. For a discussion of the topic see Chris Brown, Understanding International Relations, Second
Edition (Basingstoke: Palgrave, 2001), especially ‘The State and Foreign Policy’, Chapter 4.
27. As Hinnebusch puts it: ‘The Middle East is one of the regional subsystems where this anarchy
appears most in evidence: it holds two of the world’s most durable and intense conflict centers,
the Arab–Israeli and the Gulf arenas; its states are still contesting borders and rank among
themselves; and there is not a single one that does not feel threatened by one or more of its
neighbours’. Raymond Hinnebusch, ‘Introduction: The Analytical Framework’ in Raymond
Hinnebusch and Anoushiravan Ehteshami (eds.), Foreign Policies Middle East States (Boulder
and London: Lynne Rienner Publishers, 2002), pp. 1–27.
28. See for example, Abbas Alnasrawi, Arab Nationalism, Oil and the Political Economy of
Dependency (New York and London: Greenwood Press, 1991); Samir Amin, The Arab Nation:
Nationalism and Class Struggle (London: Zed Press, 1978); Simon Bromley, Rethinking Middle
East Politics, (Oxford: Polity Press, 1990); Simon Bromley, American Hegemony and the World
Oil: The Industry, the State System and the World Economy, (Oxford: Polity Press, 1990); L.
Carl Brown, International Politics and the Middle East: Old Rules, Dangerous Game (Princeton,
NJ: Princeton University Press, 1984), pp. 3–5; Barry Buzan, ‘New Patterns of Global Security
in the Twenty-First Century’, International Affairs 67, no. 3, (July) 1991, pp. 246–47.
29. In Kuwait’s case, defense procurement has come under fire from the elected parliament.
30. John Peterson, Saudi Arabia and the Illusion of Security, Adelphi Paper 348, IISS, 2002.
31. Andrew Rathmell, The Changing Military Balance in the Gulf, London: RUSI, 1996.
32. Of the six GCC states, the four smaller Gulf States – Kuwait, Bahrain, Qatar and the UAE – have
small populations and cannot hope to build up large armies. Saudi Arabia has a larger population
but its army has always been small and deployed on the periphery of its vast territory. The
separate National Guard, traditionally recruited from tribes close to the ruling family, is used for
internal security and is in effect a counterweight to the formal military. Oman lacks the funds for
keeping a large force. Only in Kuwait is there obligatory service, and before the Iraqi invasion
such service was easily avoidable.
33. See GCC Muscat Summit, Final Communiqué, 31 Dec., 2001.
34. Rosemary Hollis, ‘Whatever Happened to the Damascus Declaration?’ in M. Jane Davis, (ed.)
Politics and International Relations in the Middle East (Aldershot: Edward Elgar, 1995).
35. For a report on the summit’s resolutions, see al-Hayat, Dec. 27, 1991, pp. 1, 3, and 4.
36. Qatar, Oman and the UAE, for example, sometimes follow policies designed solely to thwart
Saudi power. It is no exaggeration to say that both Bahrain and Qatar are also always looking
over their shoulder at their big brother, Saudi Arabia, next door. For regional disputes see, for
example, Richard Schofield, ‘Down to the Usual Suspects’, in Joseph Kechichian (ed.), Iran,
Iraq and the Arab Gulf States, (New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 213–36.
37. The Estimate, Volume XI, no. 6, 12 April 1999. 5 http://www.theestimate.com/ public/
031299a.html 4 .
38. Rosemary Hollis, ‘Gulf Security: No Consensus’. Whitehall Paper Series, (London: Royal
United Services Institute, 1993).
39. See Gerd Nonneman, ‘Constants and Variations in Gulf–British Relations’, in J. Kechichian
(ed.), Iran, Iraq and the Arab Gulf States (London/New York: Palgrave, 2001), pp. 315–50.
40. Gause, Oil Monarchies: Domestic and Security Challenges in the Arab Gulf States, pp. 120–1.
41. Both Saudi Arabia and Kuwait, for example, have as their ambassadors in Washington – their
most important foreign relationship – members of their ruling families. In 2003, Saudi Arabia’s
ambassadorship in the UK pass to the former head of Saudi intelligence, Prince Turki al-Faysal
(the son of the former King Faysal, and brother of the foreign minister, Prince Saud al-Faysal).
42. Hassan Hamdan Al-Alkim, The GCC States in an Unstable World, Foreign Policy Dilemma of
Small States, (London: Saqi Books, 1994), pp. 154–5.
43. For a discussion of the role of business in foreign policy see Jeffrey Garton, ‘Business and
Foreign Policy’, Foreign Policy, 76, 3, (May/June 1997), pp. 67–79
44. Hinnebusch, ‘Introduction: The Analytical Framework’, p. 17.
45. Tariq Y. Ismael, International Relations of the Contemporary Middle East: A Study in World
Politics (Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1986), pp. 35–37
46. See for instance, Bahgat Korany, ‘Defending the Faith Amid Change: The Foreign Policy of
Saudi Arabia’, in Bahgat Korany and Ali E. Hillal Dessouki, The Foreign Policy of Arab States:
The Challenges of Change, Second edition, (Westview Press, 1994), pp. 310–53; Gause, ‘The
Foreign Policy of Saudi Arabia’, in Hinnebusch and Ehteshami, Foreign Policies Middle East
States, pp. 193–211.
47. Nadav Safran, Saudi Arabia: The Ceaseless Quest for Security, Boston: The Belknap Press of
Harvard University Press, 1985; David Long, ‘Saudi Arabia and its Neighbors: Preoccupied
Paternalism’, in Crosscurrents in the Gulf, (eds.) Richard Sindelar and John E. Peterson, New
York: Routledge, 1988, p. 190
48. For example, though in the 1960s and 1970s, the Gulf States funded Palestinian groups and
‘front-line’ states – Syria, Egypt, and Jordan – in their fight against Israel in order to insulate
themselves from criticism, they did little to advance the Arab nation’s cause. They also initiated
the oil embargoes of 1967 and 1973 to offset criticism that they were not on the side of Arab
nationalism. Kuwait, in the 1970s, bought Soviet arms in an effort to appease Iraq, and all the
Gulf leaders have at times made token gestures related to Iran’s importance in regional security,
even as they have carefully avoided any substantial Iranian role. Similarly, when political Islam
rose, the Gulf States aided some radical Islamist groups and burnished their international Islamic
credentials to pre-empt any criticism. Saudi Arabia founded the Islamic Conference in the mid-
1960s and has kept it strong as a way of demonstrating its commitment to international Islamic
causes. In response to the seizure of the Grand Mosque in Mecca by Islamic radicals in 1979,
Riyadh tried to become the champion of Islamic opposition to the Soviet Union, which had just
invaded Afghanistan. In the 1990s, the Gulf regimes publicly pressed the West on the peace
process, Bosnia and resolution of other conflicts in the Islamic world to demonstrate their Islamic
solidarity.
49. Nonneman, ‘Analyzing the Foreign Policies of the Middle East and North Africa’, in this
volume, p. 16.
50. The evidence from the Saudi case is laid out in Gerd Nonneman, ‘Saudi–European Relations
1902–2001: a pragmatic quest for relative autonomy’, International Affairs, Vol. 77, no. 3 (July
2001), pp. 631–61; for the GCC states more generally, see id., ‘Constants and Variations in
British–Gulf Relations’.
51. Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Gerd Nonneman, War and Peace in the Gulf: Domestic Politics
and Regional Relations into the 1990s (Reading: Ithaca Press, 1991), pp. 45–8.
52. Oman is not a member of either body, while Bahrain is only a member of OAPEC.
53. Al-Alkim, The GCC States in an Unstable World, pp. 75–100.
54. Hassan Hamdan al-Alkim, The Foreign Policy of the United Arab Emirates (London: Al-Saqi
Books, 1989), p.175.
55. The al-Khobar bombing in 1996 and the September 11 attack on the US cannot be far removed
from these undercurrents of resentment and the sense of helplessness of some of these radical
groups.
56. Hassan Hamdan al-Alkim ‘The Gulf Subregion in the Twenty-First Century: US Involvement
and Sources of Instability’, American Studies International, XXXVIII, 172, (Feb. 2000).
57. For example, at an Arab League meeting on October 22, 2000, Crown Prince Abdullah of Saudi
Arabia took the lead in creating a $1 billion fund: $800 million to help preserve the ‘Arab and
Islamic identity of Jerusalem’ and $200 million to help the families of Palestinians killed in the
unrest. Saudi Arabia pledged a total of $250 million to these two funds, providing an additional
$30 million to the Palestinian Authority as a separate donation. At an informal international
donors’ conference in Stockholm in April 2001, Saudi Arabia pledged $225 million in direct
monetary support to the Palestinian Authority over a six-month period to cover emergency
expenses.
58. Philip Robins, ‘Always the Bridesmaid: Europe and the Middle East Peace Process’. Cambridge
Review of International Affairs, Vol. 10. no. 2, Winter/Spring 1997, pp. 69–83.
59. For example, at their Supreme Council Meeting in Muscat in December 2001, the GCC heads of
state accused the Israeli government of causing a serious deterioration in the situation in the
West Bank and Gaza Strip, called on the international community to help resolve the impasse
and welcomed the statement by President George W. Bush at the United Nations, in which he
defined the US vision of a viable Palestinian state and of ending the Israeli occupation of
Palestinian territories in accordance with UN Security Council Resolutions 242 and 338.
60. Even in Kuwait, where the US military remains most welcome at the popular level, questions are
being raised about the long-term consequences of the US role in the country.
61. Kuwait, which used to oppose any form of foreign military bases in the region, was the first GCC
country to sign to sign an official defense pact with the US, on September 18, 1991, and followed
it up by pacts with Britain and France. Kuwait and Qatar agreed to pre-position US equipment to
support one brigade each, and the UAE may follow suit, giving the US enough equipment on the
ground to support a division. For a commentary from a GCC analyst, see Mohammad Al
Rumaihi, ‘The Gulf Monarchies, Testing Time’, Middle East Quarterly, (Dec. 1996), pp. 45–61.
62. See Al-Alkim, The GCC States in an Unstable World, pp. 75–100
63. There remains a perception that a lack of stamina to see things through makes the US an
unreliable and dangerous ally. People are very quick to point out that the Taliban itself is a type
of ‘unfinished’ American business – as is Iraq, Lebanon, Somalia and the Peace Process. These
are all operations in which the US has been heavily involved, and some that it started, but none
of which were properly finished.
64. Announcement by US Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld, in Riyadh on April 29. See Oliver
Burkeman, ‘America signals withdrawal of troops from Saudi Arabia’, The Guardian, 30 April
2003 (also via http://www.guardian.co.uk/Iraq/Story/0,2763,946237,00.html).
65. See Martin Ortega, ‘Euro-American Relations and the Gulf Region’. In: Christian Hanelt, Felix
Neugart and Matthias Peitz, (eds.) Future Perspectives for European Gulf Relations, (Munich:
Bertelsmann Group for Policy Research, 2000), pp. 41–53; see also the individual contributions
of Phebe Marr and Rosemary Hollis in Sven Behrendt and Christian Hanelt (eds.), Bound to
Cooperate – Europe and the Middle East (Gütersloh: Bertelsmann Foundation Publishers, 2000),
pp. 263–86.
66. The European petrochemicals lobby has argued that since the FTA, in its final stage, would
eliminate tariff barriers, the import of low-cost GCC petrochemical products into Europe could
decimate the European domestic industries in this sector, which has already suffered from
overcapacity. European petrochemicals producers have fiercely lobbied against the FTA with the
GCC to protect their industry; the petrochemicals issue became a stumbling block in EU–GCC
negotiations towards further economic integration.
67. To make matters worse, the EU, in response to global environmental concerns proposed in the
early 1990s the introduction of a global carbon tax (CO2) in addition to the taxes already levied
nationally. The objective of the Community carbon tax proposal was to stabilize CO2 emissions
by year 2000 by reducing carbon dioxide emission. Although the idea was eventually moved to
the backburner, it remains ‘live’.
68. Out of the 11 Mediterranean partners that have entered the Barcelona process, eight are Arab:
Morocco, Algeria, Tunisia, Egypt, Jordan, Lebanon, Syria, and the Palestinian Authority.
69. Commission of the European Communities, ‘Improving Relations Between the European Union
and the Countries of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC)’, CEC, Com (95) 541 final, Brussels,
Nov. 1995.
70. ‘The GCC–EU Dialogue’, Gulf Report, no. 69, March 1997, pp. 3–7.
71. European Parliament, ‘The Gulf Cooperation Council and its Relations with the European
Union’, Directorate-General for Research, European parliament, Luxembourg, Nov. 1995, p. 31.
72. Commission of the European Communities, ‘Improving Relations Between the European Union
and the Countries of the Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC)’.
73. See the account by the Leader of the EU’s group of experts for the project: Gerd Nonneman, ‘An
Experiment in Decentralised Cooperation: the EU–GCC Project in Regional Studies’, in
Giacomo Luciani et al., EU–GCC Cooperation in the Field of Education (Badia Fiesolana:
Robert Schuman Centre, European University Institute, 2002) ( = RSC Policy Paper 02/1).
74. Hisham M. Nazer, ‘The Role of Saudi Arabian Oil Industry in the National Economy and
Worldwide’, Paper presented as The Inaugural Euro-Arab Lecture, at The Arab British Chamber
of Commerce, London, Oct. 1,1993.
75. Peter Bild, ‘How Much Influence will the US and Its Allies have on Oil Policy?’ Paper presented
at RIIA Conference on The Gulf in the 1990s, at Chatham House, London, May 9 and 10, 1991.
76. For some specific recommendations on how the EU could help the GCC states in the areas of
governance, human rights and political adaptation, see a recent policy paper prepared for an
informal task force of European officials and academics on this subject: Nonneman, Governance,
Human Rights and the Case for Political Adaptation in the Gulf: Issues in the EU–GCC Political
Dialogue (Badia Fiesolana: Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced Studies, European University
Institute, Nov. 2001) Policy Paper RSC No. 01/3.
77. Statement by GCC customs officials, Agence France Press dispatch March 5, 2003.
78. See the discussion on pp. 35–36 in this volume.
79. The phenomenon was noted for the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries by Frederick
Anscombe, The Ottoman Gulf (New York: Columbia University Press, 1997). Nonneman traces
the long-term foreign policy patterns confirming this for the case of Saudi Arabia in ‘Saudi–
European Relations 1902–2001’, and for the GCC states more generally in ‘Constants and
Variations in British–Gulf Relations’.
Revolution, Theocratic Leadership
and Iran’s Foreign Policy: Implications
for Iran–EU Relations
ZIBA MOSHAVER
INTRODUCTION
Iran’s post-revolutionary theocracy provides a unique case for the study of

international politics of the developing states as it challenges many of the
paradigms traditionally prevalent in the discipline. It challenges the view that
developing states in general, and Middle Eastern states in particular, are merely
subordinate actors in an international system dominated by ‘core’ powers. Iran
also challenges the notion of a ‘global society’ that is based on rules and norms
of behavior that all actors need to accommodate. And finally, Iran’s international
relations challenge many of the established definitions of ‘national interest’. The
approach adopted here assumes that Iran’s foreign policy and its decision-
making processes over the last quarter century can only be usefully examined
through an understanding of its internal policy in interaction with regional and
international levels.
In a first section, the sources of Iran’s foreign policy are examined by looking
at the impact of revolution and establishment of the theocratic state under the
guidance of its religious leadership. It is argued that Iran’s foreign policy is
closely connected to, and indeed an extension of, policies and priorities of the
theocratic regime and its dominant elite. What has been reformed in the past
quarter a century is not the basic structure of the theocratic regime: instead, what
we have seen is policy changes to meet internal challenges in view of regional
and international opportunities and constraints. This is because fundamental
reform of foreign policy requires reform of the theocratic state as a whole and of
its basic hierarchical structure. This has not yet been initiated, as the prime
objective of foreign policy, as of domestic policy, remains regime survival.
Three phases in foreign policy are examined: 1979–89 or Ayatollah’s
Khomeini’s era; 1989–97, identified with the presidency of Hashemi Rafsanjani;
and 1997 to the present, associated with president Khatami’s project to reform
the Republic.
In a second section, the implications of Iran’s foreign policy for its
relationship with the EU are explored. It is argued that this relationship, summed
up as functional accommodation, is more a by-product of transformation in the
Islamic Republic’s internal and international circumstances than a deliberate
REVOLUTION, THEOCRACY AND IRAN’S FOREIGN POLICY 175
political/strategic change in favor of Iran–Europe relations. It is suggested that

the Iran–EU functional accommodation is not based on the kind of long-term
strategic, political and security considerations that underpinned Iran’s pre-
revolutionary relations with the US. Europe–Iran relations have been functional,
based on common economic interests and on Iran’s continued estrangement
from the US.
Apart from economic relations, the other area where some understanding has
been reached in the past was Iran’s recognition of European interests in the
Middle East and of European home security interests affected by Tehran’s fight
against Iranian dissidents. As a result, a number of important issues have been
given much lip-service, but little serious effective attention. They include,
among others, differences over democratic, civil and human rights and over
views over proliferation of weapons of mass destruction (WMD), including in
particular the issue of nuclear weapons and delivery capacity.
While regional ‘order’, ‘disorder’, or US influence in the region have not been
central to the EU–Iran relationship, they have nevertheless entered into policy
makers’ calculations since the end of the Cold War and have been once again
brought to the fore during the 2003 Iraq crisis. Iran and some EU countries –
France and Germany in particular – seem to have forged a partnership to
challenge US attempts at implementing the Bush doctrine that regards regime
change as a legitimate foreign policy goal. Their post-September 11 relationship
shows an increased diplomatic collaboration to challenge what Iran’s leadership
and at least some in the EU see as the US’s desire to change the Middle East
regional order to achieve regional hegemony.
GENESIS OF IRAN’S POST-REVOLUTIONARY FOREIGN POLICY
Post-World War II international relations thinking, dominated primarily by the

realist and neo-realist paradigms, has largely overlooked the impact of internal
changes in the making of foreign policy.1 According to these paradigms the
international system creates rules and norms that all states need to
accommodate: internal changes, even changes of revolutionary magnitude, are
not, by and large, expected radically to alter a state’s behavior in the
international arena, except perhaps for initial disruptions. But it is safe to argue
that while in the long run post-revolutionary states may conform to international
rules and norms, in the shorter run, however, revolutions do influence foreign
policy, since the successful revolutionaries’ ideology is used for legitimation
and consolidation of the regime.
Post-revolutionary Iran, especially in its first phase to 1989, when the main
foreign policy guidelines were formulated, provides a good example of the
impact of an ideologically-based revolution on foreign policy. It shows how
revolution has transformed the country’s foreign policy as a result of
transforming key elements of the basic structure of the state and society.
Political Islam and the ‘regime clergy’ (not all clerics agreed or agree with the
concept of the Khomeini-style Islamic republic – indeed a majority may not)
came to play an important role as the Iranian revolution transformed the state
and society by a ‘class-based revolt from below’ as Theda Skocpol notes. This
transformation had a number of consequences:
1. It brought to power a new ruling elite whose ideology was the main source
of legitimacy.
2. It accentuated the role of Islamic ideology in the country’s internal and
international politics – this is what Skocpol calls the combination of societal
structural change with class upheaval, and of political with social
transformation.2
3. Closely related, the Islamic revolutionaries had a vision of a new and
‘perfect world, the beginning of an age when all would be different’.3
In view of this theoretical analysis, the Iranian revolution – as against other

social and political changes in the Middle East (including Nasser’s coup in 1952
or the Ba’thist coups in Syria and Iraq) – influenced the country’s foreign policy
in three important ways:
1. It brought to power a new ruling elite that had felt excluded from the
privileges of the old ‘westernized’ elite, and viewed Islam as a true and
authentic path for the salvation of both Iranian Muslims as well as Muslims
around the world.
2. It gave the new leadership reigns of power and state institutions to
implement the ideal of a better world (at least for Iranian and other
Muslims).
3. It carried an in-built antagonism towards Iran’s traditional foreign policy.
The new leaders regarded the pre-revolutionary policy as serving the interest
of the old state and its privileged classes and not that of the new Islamic state,
its new ruling elite, and the ‘oppressed’ masses they represented.
The new configuration incorporating those beliefs challenged the realist

paradigm in three areas.
. The notion of national interest – the realist maxims of states acting in their
national interest – becomes highly ambiguous. ‘The national interest’ of the
Islamic state was closely connected to, and, identified with, the interests and
ideological priorities of the theocratic regime and their perception of Islam
as the source of elite legitimacy.
. Such beliefs did not show a decline or ‘loss’ of sovereignty as suggested by
the ‘globalization’ paradigm. This has not necessarily enabled the country to
defend its territorial interest more effectively, nor has it enhanced its
autonomy vis-à-vis the international system, but it has helped to maintain the
theocratic regime.
. The regional and international systems played a role as arenas where
opportunities and constraints influenced the elite’s ability to pursue its
foreign policy, rather than simply forcing it to conform with international
rules and norms.
These beliefs – based on the interpretation of Islam by the regime clerics as the
representatives of what Barrington Moore termed an ideological class – as the
source of state and elite legitimacy, have largely remained unchanged in the
quarter-century of the Islamic Republic’s existence. Reforms that have taken
place over this period consisted in essence of:
1. Controlling radicalism by a section of the elite (largely the executive

branch).
2. Emphasizing diplomacy in the face of regional and international isolation.
3. Maintaining, nevertheless, fundamental guidelines in domestic as well as
foreign policy.
In other words, it would be misguided to interpret categories such as

‘reformists versus conservatives’ or ‘pragmatists versus radicals’ as indicating
the existence of groups within the policy elite that stand for fundamental
change in the underlying principles of the Islamic Republic. These categories
are only useful in so far as they reflect different trends, interpretations and
strategies, all of which operate within the parameters of the Islamic theocracy,
its institutional arrangement, and its fundamental guidelines. That is not to say,
of course, that there are not significant sections of informed opinion –
including among non-regime clergy – that do question those fundamentals; but
such voices have not yet had much impact on the structures and policies of the
regime.
TRENDS IN FOREIGN POLICY
As far as trends in foreign policy are concerned, three distinct phases may be
recognized. The first phase, 1979–89, was shaped primarily by Ayatollah
Khomeini’s vision of Islamic theocracy (Velayat-e-Faqih) and overshadowed by
the eight-year war with Iraq. The second phase, 1989–97, identified with the
presidency of Hashemi Rafsanjani and the post-war program of economic and
diplomatic reconstruction. The third phase, 1997 to the present, has been
associated with the attempt at reforming the political, socio-economic and
diplomatic system by president Khatami and his supporters.
Foreign Policy Priorities, 1979–89

Domestic politics preoccupied the emerging clerical leadership in the first few
years and foreign affairs took a back seat – although some incendiary statements
along with the fearful assumptions of regimes in the region at times made it
seem otherwise. The prime task of the new theocratic elite was to take over the
reins of state power and state institutions against competing forces including the
left and the nationalists. The revolution had succeeded by way of a coalition of
diverse and competing forces within the society. Clerical domination based on
Khomeini’s particular interpretation of Islamic ideology was by no means a
‘natural’ outcome of the revolution, even though clerics were the most
prominent and organized of the revolutionary forces.
Moreover, the political system envisaged by the clerics under Ayatollah

Khomeini was inherently problematic. It had to satisfy two diverse and at times
contradictory objectives. On the one hand, the aim was to create a new political
system that addressed the popular movement against the monarchical dictator-
ship: hence, a republic based on the sovereignty of the people. On the other
hand, the system had to respond to the ideological preferences of the
revolutionary clerical elite: hence an Islamic system based on the sovereignty
of God. Such a novel political system had to be invented as there was no model
to emulate. A further task was to create institutions that would accommodate this
political system and safeguard it against internal and external enemies. Initially,
the new leadership had no choice but to operate within the existing bureaucracy
as the theocratic elite and their followers had been marginalized from the old
bureaucracy.
This novel system had, and has, both elected bodies and non-elected ones.
The main institutions of the Islamic Republic are: The Vali-ye-Faqih or
Supreme Leader (appointed by the Assembly of Experts); the President (elected
every four years); the Majlis or Parliament (elected every four years); the
Cabinet; the Assembly of Experts (in principle elected from a limited pool every
eight years, with the specific responsibility of agreeing on a successor to the
Vali-ye-Faqih); the Council of Guardians (which vets legislation by the Majlis,
as well as candidates for Presidential and Parliamentary elections); the
Expediency Council (established in 1988 to adjudicate between the Majlis and
the Council of Guardians); the Judiciary (whose head is appointed by the
Supreme Leader); the Armed Forces; and the Revolutionary Guards corps. In
addition there are several powerful para-statal or non-state Foundations, or
Bonyads, that have formal or informal links to the revolutionary clerical elite,
including the Supreme Leader.
In sum, the President and Parliament are fully elected but the rest are either
non-elected or controlled by the non-elected organs. Moreover, President and
Parliament are elected only after candidates are vetted by the powerful but non-
elected Council of Guardians. Constitutionally, both of these institutions have
far less executive and legislative powers than in any other democratic system.
The non-elected Supreme Leader and Council of Guardians are the most
powerful decision-making institutions. As will be discussed later, this political
structure has considerable bearing on both domestic and foreign policies, and
will continue to do so for as long as the basic theocratic state structure remains
in place. As a result, foreign policy turned at least in part into an instrument of
legitimation of theocratic control and, effectively, into an extension of domestic
policy. The seizure of the US embassy on November 4, 1979 was a turning point
in this legitimation process. This went hand in hand with the strong anti-
imperialist sentiment of the revolutionaries.
Certain foreign policy guidelines were accordingly established that had a
strong tier-mondisme orientation, reminiscent of the post-colonial era:
1. The first guideline could be captured in the slogan: ‘Neither West nor East
but only the Islamic Republic’. This was also justified in ideological
terms: ‘Islam is not the path of either East or West, but it is the straight
path and the Islamic Republic is based on Islam and is not following
either’.4
2. The second guideline was based on Khomeini’s perception of Islamic Iran
as a vanguard state that was not territorially bound. Islam, in his words,
‘does not regard the various Islamic countries differently’. The Islamic
Republic was ‘the supporter of all the oppressed people of the world’. This
position included struggling to ‘uproot’ Zionism, capitalism and commun-
ism although he noted that ‘we do not want to export it [the revolution] with
the sword’.5
3. The third guideline was anti-Americanism and an anti-status quo approach,
especially in the Middle East. The American hostage crisis of November
1979 effectively excluded the moderate nationalists from power and
contributed to political radicalization. The nationalist Prime Minister Mehdi
Bazargan tried to regain control of the streets after the event, but had to
resign two days later. The slogan ‘neither West nor East’ came to be
incorporated in the Constitution of the Islamic Republic ratified in
December 1979. For the radicals, the US, perceived as the leader of an
unjust hierarchical international system, had to be challenged by the post-
revolutionary Islamic model.6
These guidelines transformed Iran’s post-revolutionary foreign policy in several

important ways:
. Close ties with the US turned into an open hostility.

. The regional alliance pattern shifted away from a pro-Israel, to an anti-status
quo and pro-Palestinian policy: an important outcome of this radicalization
was support for militant Islamic groups in the Middle East.
. Pro-US/West foreign policy changed into active participation at the UN,
the non-aligned movement, the Islamic Conference and other international
fora.
. Finally, these trends forced Iran to explore possible links with the Soviet
bloc as well as with EU countries.
This radicalization, coupled with Western and in particular US diplomatic and

military pressures, and the economic sanctions following the hostage crisis, all
contributed to isolating Iran regionally and internationally. Indeed, the anti-US,
anti-Israel, and anti-status quo thrust of the new revolutionary system, made
explicit in the constitution and in Khomeini’s own statements, not only shunted
Iranian foreign policy in a sharply different direction in the short term, but
arguably has constrained the country’s foreign policy choices ever since;
relations with the US or Israel should be looked at in this context. Anti-
American radicalism proved particularly harmful to Iran’s economic, military,
diplomatic and strategic interests during the war with Iraq that began shortly
after in 1980 – a war that would force a number of adjustments on the policy
elite in the course of the next decade.
1989–97: Post-War, Post-Khomeini Foreign Policy

The passing of the first decade, and the international isolation and economic,
military and diplomatic exhaustion from a costly eight-year war, demonstrated
the difficulties of being revolutionary and anti-status quo, forcing the Islamic
Republic to suppress its revolutionary, ideological aspirations. The Islamic
Republic’s failure to achieve its war aim of ‘liberating Jerusalem via Baghdad’,
forced Ayatollah Khomeini to make the long-delayed decision of accepting the
ceasefire resolution put forward by the United Nations, as urged by the then
Speaker of Parliament and acting Commander-in-Chief of the Armed Forces,
Hashemi Rafsanjani.7 The decision to end the war (which Khomeini said felt
worse than drinking poison) could be made by none other than the Supreme
Leader.
However, the one-sided ceasefire and international isolation brought home
hard realities about the working of international diplomacy and the damage to
Iran of advocating radical revolutionary foreign policy. Khomeini’s death in
1989 cleared the path to what amounted to a policy of reform with Rafsanjani’s
presidency. Within weeks following his death, power was turned over to a team
headed by Rafsanjani, the new President, and the new supreme leader,
Ayatollah Khamenei (who had only been elevated from the rank of
Hojatolislam to that of Ayatollah when made President in 1989 – to the
irritation of many senior Shia scholars). The constitution was reformed to
strengthen the executive but not at the expense of other centers of power.
Ayatollah Khamenei, like his predecessor Ayatollah Khomeini, as the supreme
leader remained, and remains today, the ultimate decision maker and arbiter in
the Islamic Republic. This dominant position, sanctioned in the Constitution,
makes the elected executive and legislative effectively subordinate to the non-
elected supreme leader.
With the new executive power, Rafsanjani’s government initiated two reform
programs: to change Iran’s regional and international isolation by reducing the
fallout of revolutionary radicalism; and to change economic policies by
introducing a program of economic reconstruction. As a first step in foreign
policy reform, the government tried to mend fences with the Gulf monarchies
and re-established diplomatic ties with countries such as Egypt, Jordan and
Tunisia among others. The Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in August 1990 gave
Rafsanjani an opportunity to pursue the process of normalization with the Gulf
states. With the invasion, Iraq replaced Iran as the immediate threat to security
and integrity of these countries. The improvement in Iran–Gulf relations was
shown by the Gulf Cooperation Council’s (GCC) declaration in its December
1990 summit in Qatar, whereby they welcomed the prospect of future
cooperation and Iranian participation in regional security arrangement.8 As will
be shown later, this also marked the beginning of a new phase in Iran’s relations
with Europe.
The second policy reform of the Rafsanjani presidency was economic
reconstruction. The First Five-Year Economic Plan was introduced in 1989.
The Plan’s main aim was to revive the national economy that had been
suffering from widespread unemployment, reduced industrial productivity,
high inflation and an increasing gap between the new rich and the poor. By
1991 the Islamic Republic had reached the same volume of GDP as in 1977;
given population growth over the period, this meant per-capita income had
been cut by half.9
However, by the end of Rafsanjani’s second term in 1997, neither his
diplomatic nor his economic reconstruction had produced the hoped-for results.
Diplomatically, Iran’s relations with the US remained unchanged. While the
Clinton Administration showed some flexibility, US policy towards Iran did not
change in any major ways.10 For any normalization of relations, Washington
required that Iran publicly and categorically change policy on three contending
issues:
1. Efforts to build weapons of mass destruction (WMD).

2. Support for terrorism.
3. Opposition to the Israel–Palestinian peace initiative.
In the absence of such a public policy change, the US continued to keep

sanctions in place, block Iran’s access to international financial institutions, and
put pressure on Europe, Russia and others to sever ties with Iran. Facing US–
Western opposition during the first decade, Iran had tried to forge ties with the
Soviet Union. Indeed, playing one major power against the other had been Iran’s
defensive strategy since the nineteenth century. But the end of the Cold War and
the subsequent implosion of the Soviet Union made Iranian policy makers’
calculations far more difficult.
Economically, restructuring did not deliver the improvements that were hoped
for. The first five-year plan had introduced a set of structural adjustment policies
recommended by the IMF that emphasized privatization of large industries,
ending multiple exchange rates, encouraging direct and indirect foreign
investment, establishing free trade zones, inviting skilled Iranian immigrants,
etc. To finance these, Iran had to borrow from international monetary
institutions. This changed two important tenets of post-revolution foreign
policy: taking up international loans, and looking for foreign investments. The
$250 million loan from the World Bank in 1990 marked Iran’s return to the
international capital market after a decade. Rafsanjani emphasized, however,
that his government remained ‘true to the ideals of the revolution’ by creating a
successful model of an Islamic state that would be independent, economically
prosperous and politically progressive.11
In practice, however, these economic aims were not fulfilled and more
problems were created than solutions. In the context of unresolved political
struggles over what were the ‘right’ Islamic economic policies both at home and
towards the outside world, and ineffectual, contradictory implementation, the
overall effect was a large deficit with foreign debt reaching alarming levels,
massive inflation and economic stagnation. But the diplomatic opening that
started with Rafsanjani continued into the third phase.
1997–2003: the Reform Movement and the Khatami Presidency

Due to the constitutional two-term limit, Rafsanjani could not run for President a
third time. The Iranian public, especially the young and women, showed
increasing dissatisfaction with the political, social and economic performance of
the theocratic regime. Dissatisfaction had been also mounting among the Islamic
revolutionaries, ‘the children of the revolution’ that felt increasingly margin-
alized from the center of power during Rafsanjani’s presidency.
The pressure from below was felt at the top with the approaching presidential
election in 1997. In response, the Council of Guardians in charge of vetting
Presidential candidates approved three candidates out of over 270 volunteers,
including Hojatolislam Mohammad Khatami, a minister in Rafsanjani’s first-
term cabinet, who had resigned in disagreement over restrictive cultural
policies.
The dissatisfied ‘children of the revolution’ and large numbers of
predominantly young women, students, and intellectuals, later known as the
Second Khordad movement (named after the date of Khatami’s election)
organized an effective campaign in support of Khatami. Khatami’s campaign
had three main themes: political reform, empowerment of civil society, and the
rule of law. Khatami’s landslide victory (with nearly 70 percent of the popular
vote) gave hope to the voters who had decided to use the limited democratic
opening to express their preference for change.
The non-reformist faction, represented primarily by non-elected institutions
seemed also willing to experiment with controlled reform led by Khatami. He
was an insider, respectful of all the components of the Islamic Republic. The
experiment could take pressure off the system both at the national and
international level and give a more appealing face to the Islamic Republic. The
EU proved most willing to embrace the promise of reform by Khatami’s
election and encourage Iran’s integration as an economic and, in part,
diplomatic partner. Over the following years, hardline conservative factions
entrenched in the judiciary, the Revolutionary Guards, and elsewhere in the
non-elected parts of the system, began a fight-back, with fluctuating levels of
harshness and success – and effectively using the courts and the Council of
Guardians to emasculate reformist media and other actors, such as students, and
parliament itself. Yet, especially after Khatami’s second election four years
later, with an even larger majority, an awareness remained that the old-style
system struggled with a legitimacy problem, and that Khatami and a measure of
reform could be useful tools to keep mass opposition to the system as a whole
contained – as well maintaining economic and diplomatic links abroad which
were needed for domestic economic reasons and to help circumvent US
pressure.
IRANIAN–WESTERN EUROPEAN RELATIONS
Iran’s relations with Europe (bilateral and multilateral) reflected closely the
changes in the country’s foreign policy trends discussed above. Relations,
strained during the first decade, picked up during the second phase under
Rafsanjani, and reached its heights in the 1990s. The relationship could be
described as one of functional accommodation, and has been mainly a by-
product of economic, political, and diplomatic necessities.
EU–Iran Relations During the First Phase: 1979–89

During the first phase of the revolution, Western Europe’s relations with Iran
followed a trans-Atlantic solidarity pattern despite Europe’s interest in the
Iranian market and oil. There was an overall atmosphere of what might be
categorized as Cold Peace with sporadic strains revolving around Tehran’s
support for militant Shia groups responsible for taking Western hostages, and
Tehran’s involvement in assassinations of Iranian dissidents in Europe. Several
factors contributed to this cold peace.
1. There were European fears of revolutionary Islamic Iran destabilizing the

region, especially the Gulf states, on which Europe was heavily dependent
for oil, in addition to having significant markets.
2. The Iran–Iraq war divided the region between Shia Iranians and the Arabs,
as Iraq claimed to be defending Arab integrity against the Persian threat.12
European governments were, therefore, not prepared to get close to Iran at
the expense of undermining their standing among the Arab countries.
3. Trans-Atlantic solidarity with the US required keeping a distance from Iran.
The EC followed the US arms embargo after the hostage crisis and declared
neutrality in the Iran–Iraq war, while, like the US, quietly supporting Iraq.
(Iran, indeed, blamed the Iraqi attack in September 1980 on the US and its
Western allies.) Only Germany, among major EC Member States, remained
engaged by keeping both its trade links with Iran and by taking its neutrality
more seriously. As such, Germany became Iran’s biggest European trade
partner by the 1980s, followed by Britain. France, by contrast, was still
heavily engaged with Iraq and other Arab states.
4. Interest in the Iranian market was not all that great during the first phase.13
Pursuit of national sovereignty in line with the slogan ‘neither West nor
East’, coupled with anti-Americanism, forced Iran to explore diplomatic and
economic ties with the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe as well as the Far
East. One area where this policy left Europe out in the cold was in arms
purchases: these mainly went to Eastern bloc countries.
5. Iran’s links with and support for the Lebanese militant Shia was another
factor contributing to strained relations between Iran and Western Europe.
During the 1980s, direct or indirect support for hostage taking in Lebanon
had effectively become an instrument of the Islamic Republic’s foreign
policy – or perhaps more accurately the policy of certain hardline groups
within and on the edges of the government, not always entirely under the
control of the formal executive branch but often well connected, directly or
indirectly, to the Supreme Leader.14 While increasing Iran’s leverage vis-à-
vis the EC countries, this made it difficult for the EC and its Member States
themselves to develop links with Iran.
Moreover, one of Khomeini’s last interventions further disturbed relations, when

he issued a fatwa, on February 14, 1989, calling for the death sentence of British
writer Salman Rushdie, over his book The Satanic Verses. When the UK
government refused to condemn Rushdie, Iran broke off diplomatic relations.
The other EC Member States withdrew their heads of mission from Tehran.
While this produced a sharp setback, and while its effects would be felt for
several years to come, the edge would soon be taken off it by Khomeini’s death
and the accession of Hashemi Rafsanjani to the Presidency. Europe’s own
reluctance to damage other interests was already illustrated by the announce-
ment one month after the withdrawal of the ambassadors, that they would be
returning – even if a ban on high-level contacts remained in place for another
seven months.
Iran’s Relations with Western Europe During the Second Phase: 1989–97
The second phase, marked by diplomatic and economic reform in Iran, cleared
the way for a new phase in Iran–Europe relations whereby exploring mutual
functional interests took an upper hand over differences. At the same time, the
changing international context provided an added impetus.
As noted before, the Islamic Republic tried to suppress its revolutionary,
ideological aspirations during this phase. Efforts to normalize relations with the
Arab states helped to clear one of the obstacles in the way of European
rapprochement with Iran. Similarly, the end of the Cold War and the collapse of
the Soviet Union meant that Iran could not bank too much on that counterweight
to the US.
During this phase, therefore, Iran and Western Europe saw in each other
potentials to be explored. Iran viewed the EC (and, as it now became, the EU) as
a source of foreign loans, credit and investment that economic restructuring
needed. Moreover, as US–Iran relations remained frosty and sanctions stayed in
place, the EU was the second best choice as trade and diplomatic partner. The
EU, on the other hand, saw Iran as an important source of oil and gas in a
strategically important area with a population of over 60 million that offered
trade and investment opportunities. Iran was the only major market in the
Middle East that had not already been dominated by the EU’s competitors, the
US in particular. In addition, the EU needed to accommodate Iran to help free its
hostages and to avoid subversive activities on European territory – such as the
assassination of Iranian political dissidents in France, Germany and Switzerland,
including former Iranian Prime Minister Bakhtiar in Paris, and that of the
leading members of the Kurdish opposition in Berlin, known as the Mykonos
affair (after the restaurant where the assassination took place).
The new trend in the relationship was reflected in increased diplomatic ties
with all the EU countries and with France in particular. One result of this was
Iran’s assistance in freeing Western hostages held by the Lebanese Shia
militants. Economically, by the mid-1990s Iranian–European relations had taken
a fundamentally new turn with increased trade between Iran and, especially,
Germany, France, Britain and Italy. Indeed, diplomatic relations had been re-
established with Britain in 1990, albeit only at the level of chargé d’affaires.
In order to promote this functional accommodation, Europe needed to ignore

US sanctions and separate economic interests from other issues. There was also
quite clearly a different analysis in European capitals of the nature of the
evolution in Iranian politics, to that prevailing in Washington. This meant a
decline in the trans-Atlantic solidarity characteristic of the earlier phase and a
growing gap between Europe and the US.
Indeed, in addition to earlier-established US sanctions against Iran, and the
inclusion of Iran in the so-called ‘Dual-Containment Policy’ announced in 1993,
1995 saw the introduction of a new sanctions regime under Executive Order
12959, banning virtually all US trade and investment with Iran. Later the same
year, a new Iran Oil Sanctions Act was introduced according to which any US or
foreign trading company that invested more than $40 million per year in oil and
gas development in Iran would be penalized by boycotting their imports and
denying them loans and government contracts. Although the House initially
accepted some of the White House’s requested moderating provisions in what
became known as the Iran–Libya Sanctions Act (ILSA), the bill that was finally
approved by the Senate, and again by the House, re-introduced the full measures
first intended. Once signed into force by the President in August 1996, the
‘secondary boycott’ became an uncomfortable fact of international diplomacy.15
The bill was intended to put pressure on Europe (and others) to follow the
American line over sanctions. From this point diverging US and European views
led to different policies towards Iran. The EU chose engagement plus trade, the
US isolation plus sanctions.
The Europeans responded to the secondary boycott by categorically labeling it
illegal in international law. At the same time, they developed the so-called
‘Critical Dialogue’ with Iran, which had begun after its announcement at the
December 1992 Edinburgh Council of Ministers.16
The Critical Dialogue was meant to acknowledge US concerns in principle
and at the same time allow improved relations with Iran. The argument was that
engagement rather than isolation would encourage Iran to moderate its
radicalism. In practice, however, engagement proved more effective in
facilitating trade and economic links than in moderating policies on WMD,
on the Middle East peace process, or on human rights (as will be discussed later,
the EU would use the same argument in its increased economic ties during the
later phase under Khatami’s presidency).
Difficulties of course remained – including over human rights and the
concerns of the US, as well as the unresolved Rushdie case and developments
such as the Mykonos case. On the matter of Rushdie, Rafsanjani produced a
significant goodwill gesture by maintaining the line, from the early 1990s, that
the edict would not be carried out or supported by the government, although it
could not formally be changed on religious grounds.17 That did not fully
‘liberate’ British–Iranian relations in particular, but it did enable the EU’s
Critical Dialogue to proceed. More problematic proved the trial in Berlin on the
Mykonos case. The tensions, raised to a height in 1996, finally erupted in a crisis
when the verdict in April 1997 judged several high-level Iranian officials,
including Rafsanjani, as having been involved in the case. All EU ambassadors
were withdrawn from Tehran, and the Critical Dialogue was suspended. As had
happened with the original Rushdie fatwa, however, another changing of the
guard in Iranian politics would soon allow the pattern of functional
accommodation to be resumed – and indeed the Rushdie case itself to be
removed as an irritant in Iranian–British relations.
Iranian policies and relations with Europe in this period were by no means
problem free; yet running through it all was nevertheless an awareness of the
interests to be served by mutual functional accommodation.
Iran’s policy output in this period also arguably shows a pattern in the
working of Iranian diplomacy that indicates a tacit distribution of tasks – a
pattern that had been established and practiced much earlier. In this pattern, the
government announces policies that are meant to show progress and moderation,
while the non-elected political–religious elite, mainly in their Friday sermons,
confirm the fundamental guidelines of the theocracy. Neither can be taken
wholly at face value. In part they are evidence of intra-Iranian dissension, in part
of a systemic, implicit or explicit, understanding. This is not quite the same as
pluralism.
In any case, Europe’s trade and financing of development projects in Iran
increased further during the second phase. France became a prime beneficiary of
improved relations with Iran. An important and controversial oil deal between
the French company Total for the development of offshore oil and gas fields in
Sirri was concluded in July 1995.18 This was the same contract that had been
previously given to the US company Conoco but withdrawn after the US’s ILSA
Act. In addition, Iran and France concluded contracts to develop airport, rail,
land and sea facilities for the transit of French goods to Central Asia. Germany
also remained a leading partner with considerable oil imports and exports.
Relations were also improved with Italy, the UK, Norway, and the Netherlands.
As a result, the EU became Iran’s largest trading partner by 1995 with over 40
percent of total Iranian imports. Iran’s exports to the EU represented 36 percent
of the country’s total exports, and were dominated by petroleum (over 75
percent of the total). Iran’s external debt to the EU (rescheduled in 1996–99)
amounted to $10 billion by 2001.19
Iran–EU Relations since 1997: The Khatami Era

The improved EU–Iranian relationship of the Rafsanjani period continued with
the election of President Khatami in 1997. His landslide victory on the back of a
campaign for political reform, civil society, and the rule of law appealed to both
the Iranian electorate and the EU. Seeing Khatami’s election as a victory for the
forces of reform and modernization of theocracy was clearly in line with the
EU’s policy, validating the Critical Dialogue. The realists, or pragmatists, on
both sides found in Khatami a more appealing and defensible face of the Islamic
Republic. Khatami’s mandate and his emphasis on the need for a ‘dialogue of
civilizations’ cleared the way for increased political, economic, and diplomatic
ties without appearing indifferent to US concerns. The change of climate was
marked by the return of EU ambassadors (except for Britain’s) six months after
they were withdrawn. This was followed by the first high-profile visit by the
Italian Prime Minister in 1997, and a visit by Khatami in 1999 to Italy, France
and Germany. British–Iranian relations were also unblocked in September 1998
when the President confirmed during his visit to the United Nations in New
York, that he considered Rushdie controversy settled, and that his government
would make no effort to carry out the fatwa. This confirmed assurances to
Britain by Iran’s foreign minister Kamal Kharrazi. That is not to say that there
were not dissident voices on the matter in Iran; indeed, the Chairman of the
Council of Guardians, Ayatollah Jannati, declared on the occasion of the
anniversary of the Revolution in February 1990 that the fatwa remained ‘valid,
regardless of what has been said’.20 Yet this could not alter the basic trend, and
Iran and Britain finally exchanged ambassadors in mid-1999.
With Khatami, the EU’s critical dialogue gave way to the ‘Comprehensive
Dialogue’.21 The argument was, as with the critical dialogue, that closer
relations with Iran would help the reform movement. On the occasion of a Trade
and Cooperation Agreement signed in February 2001, Chris Patten, Commis-
sioner for External Relations, noted: ‘This proposal makes the case for
developing relations with Iran in order to support and reinforce the reform
movement process there’.22
The Comprehensive Dialogue, replacing the critical dialogue of the earlier
phase, allowed discussions on a range of issues, including:
. Areas of cooperation, trade and investment, energy, drugs, refugees.

. International issues, terrorism, human rights and proliferation.
. Regional issues, Iraq, Gulf, Central Asia, the Middle East Peace Process.23
Of these, trade and energy were the most prominent. As Table 9.1 shows, EU
imports from Iran, primarily oil, nearly doubled in one year from 1999 to 2000
and the trade deficit increased more than six-fold from 1998 to 2000.
The Commission and the Iranian government also established a number of
working groups in 1998 to further mutual cooperation. These include:
. Working Group on Energy. This meets roughly annually, alternating

between Tehran and Brussels; the first meeting was held in Tehran in May
1999. Iran also became an observer of the Commission-funded INOGATE
(Inter-state Oil and Gas Transport to Europe) program with the possibility
of becoming a full member.24
TABLE 1
E U – IR AN T R A DE ( IN e M I L L I ON )
1998 1999 2000

Imports* 3711 4720 8462
Exports 4323 3869 5238
Balance 613 7851 73244
* More than 75 percent are oil products ‘EU–Iran: commission proposes mandate for negotiating
trade and cooperation agreement, IP/01/1611’ (Brussels, November 19, 2001), p. 2.
. Working Group on Trade and Investment, which met for the first time in
Tehran in November 2000.
. The Experts’ Meeting on Drugs, which first met in December 1999.
. The Experts’ Meeting on Refugees, which first met in April 2000 to discuss
Afghan and Iraqi refugees and common projects with UNHCR and NGOs
involved with refugees.
However, while both sides have been anxious to increase economic ties, there is
a limit to long-term development in the overall EU–Iran relationship as
uncertainties remain. These limits are shown by the fact that despite over a
decade of increased economic contacts, the two sides remain far apart over a
range of key issues: the Arab–Israeli conflict; WMD and long-range delivery
systems; terrorism; and legal and social systems relating to human rights,
minorities, women and civil rights etc.25
Assessment of the EU–Iran Partnership

Despite the EU’s considerable effort at giving Khatami’s reform movement
credence and talking up EU’s ability to influence that trend, ultimately the EU
appears to have only limited leverage over reform in Iran. As a result, the EU–
Iran relationship has been and remains functional, based on economic and short-
term diplomatic interests – although from the European side there is also a
concern to avoid ostracizing Iran and giving succor to the hardliners. Iranian
economic aims under Khatami, like his predecessor Rafsanjani, coincide with
the EU’s trade interests. The 2000–2005 Five-Year Plan aims at removing trade
restrictions, modification of the economic structure, and harmonizing the rules
and regulations governing production and investment. The plan expects an
average of 16 percent growth per year with exports increasing by 18 percent.26
In its own words, the plan ‘pursues two important aims’: Institutionalization of
the required structures; and ‘Employment of political, economic and cultural
obligations’ and essential works, which would make the achievement of stable
growth possible.27
Such economic reforms are also in line with EU policies. In its General
Affairs Council of 20 November 2000, discussing bilateral relations and closer
ties with Iran, the Commission recommended:
1. Promotion of bilateral economic relations through negotiation of a Trade

and Cooperation Agreement and continuation of working groups on energy,
trade and investment.
2. Encouragement of political and economic reform through official and
unofficial bilateral contracts; cooperation in areas of mutual interests and
concerns such as drugs, rule of law, refugees, etc; dialogue on human rights;
improving dialogue on regional security, weapons of mass destruction and
nuclear proliferation.28
Yet Iran remains to a large extent a rentier state, and thus is likely to maintain
significant structural resistance to the EU’s encouragement to reform its
economy: indeed, the difficulty Iran’s own fledgling reform ideas have had in
finding coherent translation into actual policy, is a domestic illustration of the
problem. This has arguably been not simply the result of differing interpretations
over what a ‘proper’ Islamic economic system should look like, but also of these
rentier dynamics, both directly in the realm of economic policy, and indirectly in
that of the political dynamics that rest on the availability of rent.29 Indeed, the
Islamic Republic displays many of the characteristics of a rentier state that are
usually held to work against democratization of the political system. These
include a set of patrimonial processes and institutionalized relationships between
state actors and the source of revenue. The clerical elite in Iran, like its
counterparts in the region, collects the oil rent which it uses to dispense
patronage to social and political groups that back its power position – rather than
responding to broad-based civil society and its needs. One might even argue that
the EU, like interest groups within Iran, has been sharing the rent that is
controlled and distributed by the ruling elite and, therefore, is not in a good
position to have much leverage over elite politics. There is a plausible case to be
made that the EU, as a beneficiary, is only in a position to keep those links by
supporting the ruling elite irrespective of reform, and thanks to the absence of
US as the EU’s main competitor.
If one adopts that position, it plausibly follows that the EU may have lent the
reform movement, at least temporarily, greater credibility than its chance of
success warranted. The evidence of President Khatami’s two terms in office
shows how little his government or elected bodies as a whole have been able to
reform the theocratic system either politically or socio-economically. This is in
spite of his reform project having enjoyed huge support both from the Iranian
public and the EU. The public expressed its support for change through repeated
endorsement of reformers through democratic channels.30 But those with
ultimate power appear to have tolerated political divisions only insofar as they
steered clear of the fundamentals and the basic ethos of the Islamic Republic and
its constitution. Ayatollah Khamenei has reminded Iranians that ‘all three
branches [of government] – the legislative, the judiciary, and the executive – are
the pillars of the system . . . the solution is that the three branches work together
in unity’.31 He has also complained about ‘baseless disagreements’ and
threatened to apply a ‘remedy’.32
The modest attempt by the President and Parliament in 2002 and 2003 to
whittle down the hold of the Council of Guardians over legislation and the
executive by two key bills passed by the Majlis, proved futile. One of the bills
aimed to increase the executive’s power and reduce that of the Council of
Guardians. Khatami explained that his program and priorities had been
encountering ‘obstacles’, saying that ‘although the president is responsible for
implementing the constitution’, he does not possess the ‘minimum’ powers
needed to do so.33 The second bill, aimed at limiting the power of the Council of
Guardians to vet candidates for elections, was passed by the Majlis in September
2002. Predictably, the Council of Guardians rejected both bills. Khatami
forcefully expressed his disagreement with the Council’s decision and vowed
that the bills would be modified but not fundamentally changed. Key figures
such as Khamenei and Rafsanjani (now the head of the Expediency Council)
attempted to engineer a compromise to avoid a further, possibly dangerous drop
in the already low popular legitimacy of the system, without undermining the
fundamental structures of the theocratic state. Yet an offer that the bill to
enhance the President’s power could be accepted if the other bill was withdrawn,
was rejected by Khatami in September 2003. But his threat to resign unless the
bills became law, was never carried out. In April 2004, he formally withdrew
both bills from further parliamentary consideration.34
In practice, then, Khatami’s reform policy, a ‘belief in democracy, pluralism
and the dialogue among civilizations’,35 has been more successful in introducing
an intellectual and theoretical debate, along with a modest relaxation of social
life (albeit fluctuating and insecure), rather than tangible political, economic,
social and legal reform of the system. Public disillusionment was clearly
demonstrated by a stunningly low turnout in the municipal elections of February
2003 – with the side effect that the conservatives ended up the victors by
default.36
Any reform of foreign policy remains a function of reform of the internal
politics of the theocratic regime. The most important obstacle on the way of
fundamental reform continues to be the nature of the Islamic Republic’s political
structure with its multiple and parallel centers of power. The most powerful of
these centers remain the Supreme Leader (currently Ayatollah Khamenei), the
Council of Guardians, the Expediency Council, and the judiciary – the latter
controlled by the Supreme Leader and frequently used to suppress reformist
challenges. None of these centers are elected but they have a considerable hold
over political, economic, legal and social affairs. These non-elected institutions
and their supporters have a vested interest to hold on to the system, structures
and policies that bring them political power and economic resources.37
Given this power structure, policies can only change if supported by the non-
elected institutions. In 2003, this resulted in another episode of tension not
merely between Tehran and Washington, but also between Iran and the EU –
viz. over the issue of Iran’s nuclear program. At the same time, the episode also
confirmed once again the importance of the key non-elected figures. Against the
background of increased US pressure and of findings by the International
Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) of discrepancies in Iran’s declarations (after it
admitted in February, after years of denials, that it had been enriching uranium),
the IAEA pressed for more comprehensive information from Iran to demonstrate
its adherence to the constraints on its nuclear program that the country’s
membership of the IAEA required. Iran continued to insist that its program was
entirely for peaceful purposes, but worries and suspicions were mounting, as was
pressure from the EU and the IAEA, as well as Russia and the other G8, for Iran
to sign the additional IAEA protocol that requires signatories to permit short-
notice inspections. This time, Iranian tactics of evasion, limited cooperation and
delay while relying on divisions between the EU and the US to stave off
effective sanctions, failed – or, as The Economist put it, ‘backfired
spectacularly.’38 Indeed, the EU had already adopted a clear common position
demanding evidence of compliance, European policy-makers having come to
the conclusion that the reassurances from reformist members of the government,
who were no longer believed to have the final say on nuclear issues in Tehran,
could no longer be seen as credible in the absence of other evidence. After all,
earlier in the year, President Khatami had indicated he was willing to allow
greater access to IAEA inspectors, only to be overruled by the non-elected
establishment. It is telling that when Ayatollah Khamenei in the same year
tasked the National Security Council, chaired by President Khatami, with
defining Iran’s nuclear policy, it was the Council’s Secretary, Khamenei’s
representative Hassan Rohani, who was put in charge.
Against the Iranian negotiators’ expectations, the other 34 members of the
IAEA Board in September in a collective statement strongly criticized Iran’s for
failing to provide adequate reassurance and information, and presented it with an
October 31 deadline to come up with a satisfactory response on the outstanding
issues: the Board asked the Agency to prepare a comprehensive report by that
date that would ascertain whether Iran was in compliance with its obligations
under the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT). Non-compliance, under the
NPT’s rules, would mean referral of the matter to the UN Security Council.
The pressure appeared to pay off, when, with the deadline approaching, it was
announced that three EU foreign ministers (of France, Germany and the UK)
would visit Iran on October 21, 2003: the assumption was that an agreement was
in the offing, resulting from direct European negotiations with Tehran. Indeed,
the visit did bring an Iranian announcement of its intention to sign the additional
protocol and to cooperate with the IAEA. Strikingly, it was Hassan Rohani who
stated Iran’s commitment to accepting the short-notice inspections that were
implicit in the protocol, to suspending Iran’s program of uranium enrichment,
and to hand over a comprehensive list of past and current nuclear activities. This
could be seen as confirmation that, while the non-elected conservative elements
had to adjust to the building pressure, it was only they who could deliver the
necessary policy decision. European diplomats and policy makers clearly
recognized this throughout their negotiations leading up to the 21 October result.
Arguably, therefore, it was the pre-eminence of the non-elected rather than the
elected part of the regime that was highlighted by this apparent Iranian climb-
down.
At any rate, the move was welcomed internationally as a positive step. Yet
views differed both on where the credit for it should lie, and how reassuring
Iran’s pledges are given the country’s past record of concealment, the
‘suspension’ rather than definitive ending of enrichment, and the future
possibility of short-notice withdrawal from the NPT. EU diplomats claimed
credit for Europe’s policy of engagement, while in the US the stress was put on
the effect of international pressure and the threat of Security Council action.
Europeans too point to the importance of the strong common stance of the EU
and the other key international actors; at the same time, it is clear that European
mediation did play a role in helping to avoid an international crisis that no-one
seemed to want – at least for the time being. In exchange, the EU put forward a
milder resolution to the IAEA’s Board of Governors that prevented the matter
from being referred to the UN Security Council, by avoiding use of the term
‘non-compliance’ and reference to Iran’s past record of concealment. The EU, in

other words, continued to believe in the power of engagement. The view from
the US remains quite different; as Secretary of State Colin Powell phrased it:
‘The fact of the matter is that Iran has been in non-compliance’.39
CONCLUSION
Iran’s foreign policy, like its domestic politics, follows certain patterns that
suggest the Islamic Republic has not yet fully passed its revolutionary phase.
The main reason for the slow transition, it has been argued here, is the complex
hierarchical structure of the Islamic Republic and its institutional arrangement,
along with the interests that have accreted to these. The question remains
unresolved as to whether post-revolutionary Iran is a republic based on the
sovereignty of the people or a theocracy based on the sovereignty of God as
interpreted by the religious hierarchy. This duality remains integral to the
institutional arrangement of the Islamic Republic, affecting both internal and
foreign policy.
Accordingly, thorough reform of foreign policy requires reform of the
theocratic system and its inherent duality. Two types of institutions exist side by
side: those dealing with day-to-day administrative issues, namely the executive
led by an elected president, and those deciding political trends in the Islamic
Republic, namely the Supreme Leader, the Council of Guardians and the
Expediency Council, along with the security services and the judiciary. They do
not really form a system of checks and balances essential to a democratic
republic, and they are non-elected, chosen through consensus among the
religious elite. The elected executive and legislature are both subordinate to
these non-elected centers of power.
The foreign policy implication of this system is that Iran, at times, follows
policies that appear more ideological than justifiable in terms of the interests of
the territorial state, even though at other times pragmatic policies predominate.
One possible explanation would query the usefulness in this respect of
categories such as ‘pragmatists’ or ‘reformers’ versus ‘conservatives’ or
‘hardliners,’ and instead argue that what appears to be the working of a
pluralist system should be looked at as a tacit division of labor between the
political/religious elite that decide policy issues, and the administrative elite that
implements them. The first level, in this interpretation, would then be policy
issues being presented by the non-elected but supreme institutions, while the
second-level policies are presented by the government including the ministry of
foreign affairs. Even if one accepts that some of the personnel of the latter level
(the executive and parliament) may at times disagree with aspects of higher-
level policies, they remain ultimately unable to reverse them.
It is, therefore, increasingly clear that the success of the reform project has
less to do with the Iranian voters or foreign supporters such as the EU but has to
do with the willingness of the non-elected centers to decide whether to withdraw
their control over the political, economic and socio-cultural arenas. This poses
the question common to all post-revolutionary regimes: whether the system can
be reformed from within. The reform project associated with President Khatami
as the agent of change from within, has so far failed to change the structural
contours of the Islamic Republic, nor has it been successful in altering the
balance of power in its favor.
This remains at the heart not only of domestic politics but also of foreign
policy in general, and therefore must affect our understanding of, and the
prospects for, Iran–EU relations. This contribution has argued that these
relations remain primarily functional. The EU and its Member States have
argued that engagement and economic ties with Iran would help encourage the
reform movement and help nudge Iran’s policies on contending issues such as
WMD, the Middle East peace process, support for radicalism, human rights etc.,
in the desired direction. But this may well be to overstate both the power of the
reformists and the EU’s ability to make much difference.40 It is argued that Iran,
as a rentier state, is in the position to choose with whom to share its rent and the
EU’s interest in the Iranian market does not place it in a position to exert much
influence.
Apart from Iran’s financial resources and the economic interests of both
sides, the other key reason for EU–Iran functional accommodation has been
the continued freeze in the US–Iran relationship. Europe became a focus of
Iran’s foreign policy since the 1980s, as an economic and diplomatic partner to
replace Iran’s pre-revolutionary ties with the US. Initially there was a very
limited European response, given, chiefly, the Iran–Iraq war and the demands
of the trans-Atlantic relationship in a Cold War context. Yet this changed from
the late 1980s, as both those factors disappeared and Iran itself intensified its
charm offensive in the Gulf and internationally. Some European states proved
more willing than others to accommodate Iran – France being the most
prominent, followed by Germany, Italy and others. The EU as a whole then
adopted its common dialogue with Iran, which, in the shape of the
Comprehensive Dialogue, continues today. Nevertheless, bilateral relations
with EU Member States have in many respects remained more important. For
the Iranian policy makers and European governments alike, the relationship
has continued to revolve around the benefits to be derived from trade on the
one hand and diplomatic relations on the other – the latter in turn serving a
number of aims: from both sides, such relations help to safeguard the
economic interest; from the Iranian side, they provide a means to demonstrate
their international acceptance and circumvent US sanctions and pressure; from
the European side, they are viewed as serving the aim of avoiding a
radicalization of Iranian politics and policy in the Gulf and the wider region,
instead preserving what is seen as the cooperative, status quo role Iran has
played in areas such as the 1990–91 Gulf War, Afghanistan, and the 2003 Iraq
war.
Yet the EU–Iran relationship is likely to remain rather limited in scope. The
internal political scene does not make it possible to judge with any confidence
that Iran can become the long-term partner the EU hopes to have, nor the EU
quite the kind of ally Iran needs given its huge socio-economic problems. Under
the present circumstances, the EU has sufficient interests in Iran to make it
worthwhile cultivating the relationship even without thorough reform of the

theocratic regime, while the benefits from the Iranian regime’s vantage point are
obvious. But it is not certain that this close partnership will continue in the long-
run. The EU benefits from the breakdown in the US–Iran relationship. From the
mid-2000s, Iran may well need to adjust its relations with Washington in view of
the Bush doctrine that allows for regime change if necessary. This
interventionist policy – having already been applied to Iraq – coupled with
Iran’s inclusion in the ‘axis of evil’ for its alleged nuclear weapons program, its
stance on the Arab–Israeli dispute, and the support given by at least some
sections of the regime to radical Islamist movements, is bound to create
uncertainty over the regime’s future.
Arguably this also helps explain the apparent Iranian climb-down over
nuclear policy in October 2003 – although that occasion at the same time
highlighted both the centrality of the non-elected element of the regime and the
role of the EU, albeit less as a factor in major policy change than as a mediator
and channel of communication. The EU’s subsequent crucial role in
negotiating US acquiescence in an IAEA resolution that avoided labeling Iran
as being in ‘non-compliance’ with its obligations (which would have brought
referral to the Security Council for action), once more illustrated the usefulness
for Iran of its European policy.
Admittedly, the multiple and parallel decision-making centers characterizing
Iranian policy making make a clear and radical change of policy difficult.
Nevertheless, Tehran would appear to be considering two parallel strategies.
One is to bank on the EU–Iran partnership to contain US freedom of action in
the region: an approach shared by some EU members that opposed the Iraq
war.41 The other is to indicate the regime’s willingness to improve relations with
Washington, which would inevitably include having to accommodate
Washington’s demands.42
Whether Washington accepts Tehran’s olive branch or continues with its
attempt at re-ordering the region’s political landscape and in confronting Iran as
a member of the ‘axis of evil’ remains to be seen. Given the Iranian public’s
disillusionment with the theocratic regime, the hawks in Washington may
prevail and decide not to accept the branch that is offered at a time when the
theocratic regime is seen to be at its least popular. There is of course, in that
case, also a danger of some nationalist backlash, as happened when President
Bush first listed Iran as part of the ‘axis’, just as Tehran saw itself as having been
helpful over the question of Afghanistan. Alternatively, Washington may this
time decide to accept Tehran’s offer of friendship and improve relations with the
regime. Either way, Washington is likely to have greater influence on Iranian
foreign relations in the future, and this inevitably makes the future of the EU–
Iran partnership less certain.
NOTES
1. As Fred Halliday suggests, International Relations theory has neglected revolution as a subject of
enquiry: see his Rethinking International Relations (London: Macmillan, 1994), in particular
‘The Sixth Power: Revolutions and the International System’, pp. 124–43. On the implications of
revolution see also Henry Kissinger, A World Restored (Gloucester, MA: Peter Smith, 1973);
James Rosenau (ed.), International Aspects of Civil Strife (Princeton: Princeton University Press,
1964); and Peter Calvert, Revolution and International Politics (London: Francis Pinter, 1984).
2. Theda Skocpol, State and Social Revolution (Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 4 and
introduction.
3. Halliday, Rethinking International Relations, p. 130.
4. Quoted in Ali Mohammadi and Anoushiravan Ehteshami, Iran and Eurasia (Reading: Ithaca
Press, 2000), pp. 60–61.
5. Ibid.
6. Article 154 of the Constitution reads: ‘[Iran] supports the rightful struggle of the oppressed
people against their oppressors anywhere in the world’.
7. UN Security Council Resolution 598 demanded a ceasefire that effectively required nothing
other than a return to the pre-war status quo – understandably long seen as one sided by Iranians
given that they viewed Iraq as the original invader.
8. See R.K. Ramazani, ‘Iran’s Foreign Policy: both North and South’, The Middle East Journal,
Vol. 46, no. 3 (Summer 1992).
9. Kaveh Ehsani, ‘‘‘Tilt but don’t spill’’: Iran’s Development and Reconstruction Dilemma’,
Middle East Report, Nov.–Dec. 1994.
10. The US under the Clinton administration allowed some minor trade concessions such as import
of Iranian pistachio nuts and carpets, and US Secretary of State Madeline Albright
acknowledged US involvement in the 1953 US inspired military coup in Iran to topple the
democratically elected nationalist Prime Minister Mohammad Mosaddeq.
11. For this Islamic model see Farhang Rajaee, ‘Iranian ideology and worldview: the cultural export
of revolution’, in John Esposito (ed.), The Iranian Revolution: Its Global Impact (Miami: Florida
12. This fear was one of the main reasons behind the creation of the Gulf Cooperation Council in
1981. See Anoushiravan and Gerd Nonneman, War and Peace in the Gulf (Reading: Ithaca
Press, 1991), Chapter 3.
13. On the financial and trade factor see Anoushiravan Ehteshami, ‘Iran and the European
Community’, in Anoushiravan Ehteshami and Manshour Varasteh (eds.), Iran and the
International Community (London: Routledge, 1991), pp. 60–72.
14. Some state institutions identified as supporting terrorist groups, that are not entirely under the
control of the executive branch, include the Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps (IRGC) and the
Ministry of Intelligence and Security (MOIS). See US Department of State, Patterns of Global
Terrorism Reports for 1999, 2000, and 2001 (also on 5 http://www.usis.usemb.se/ terror/ 4).
15. For a detailed examination of US sanctions on Iran, see Hossein Alikhani, Sanctioning Iran
(London and New York: IB Tauris, 2000).
16. See V. Matthias Struwe, The Policy of ‘Critical Dialogue’ (Durham Middle East Papers no. 60,
Durham University, Nov. 1998).
17. Foreign Minister Ali Akbar Velayati announced, for instance, that ‘our government is not going
to dispatch anybody, any commandos, to kill anybody in Europe’, although the Speaker of
Parliament said that the it was an ‘irrevocable edict’. Quoted in Mohammadi and Ehteshami,
Iran and Eurasia, p. 71.
18. Total has won many large oil and gas development contracts since then. But since early January
2002, the Iranian government has complained about France’s breach of the oil contract by not
providing investment funds.
19. ‘Communication from the Commission, Brussels, 7.2.2001, COM (2001) 71.’
20. Al Hayat, Feb. 20, 1999.
21. ‘EU–Iran: Commission proposes mandate for negotiating Trade and Cooperation Agreement, IP/
01/1611’ (Brussels, Nov. 19, 2001), p. 1. Iranian–European relations were discussed in a
conference in Tehran organized by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. See monthly bulletin no. 125,
Political and International Research Office (Tehran: Ministry of Foreign Affairs, 2000), pp. 61–4.
22. ‘Communication from the Commission to the European Parliament and the Council: EU
relations with the Islamic Republic of Iran, Brussels, 7.2.2001, COM, (2001) 71.’
23. Ibid.
24. See INOGATE’s website on 5 http://www.inogate.org/ 4. This was part of the Commission’s
framework of Producer–Consumer Dialogue to create closer relations with energy-producing
countries in order to increase market transparency and price stability.
25. Iran is not a member of the EU–Mediterranean Partnership, or Barcelona Initiative, where these
issues are discussed collectively. For an overview of that initiative see Richard Gillespie (ed.),
The Europe–Mediterranean Partnership (London: Frank Cass, 1997) and Gerd Nonneman, ‘The
Three Environments of Middle Eastern Foreign Policy Making and Relations with Europe’, in
this volume.
26. Iran Trade Yellow Pages 2001–2002, ‘The New Millennium: the Dialogue among Civilizations’,
(available from iranecommerce.net, or email info@iranyellowpages.net).
27. Ibid.
28. ‘Communication from the Commission to the European Parliament and the Council, Brussels,
7.2.2001, COM (2001) 71.’
29. On the phenomenon of the rentier state, see Giacomo Luciani (ed.), The Arab State (London:
Routledge, 1990). The term was, in fact, first suggested for the case of Iran (under the Shah)
itself: Hossein Mahdavi, ‘The Pattern and Problems of Economic Development in Rentier States:
the Case of Iran’, in M. Cook (ed.), Studies in the Economic History of the Middle East (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 1970).
30. Iranian voters expressed their support for Khatami and the reform project through the ballot box
on several occasions: first in the 1997 presidential election, giving Khatami nearly 70 percent of
the popular vote; second in the 1998 municipal elections by overwhelming participation (63.4
percent) that resulted in the election of predominantly reformist candidates; third, in the 1999
parliamentary elections where reformers won most seats; and fourth, in the June 2001
presidential election, when they reelected Khatami with an even larger majority.
31. The CNN World News, Jan.2, 2002.
32. RFE/RL Iran Report, Dec. 31, 2001.
33. RFE/RL Iran Report, Sept. 30, 2002.
34. RFE/RL Iran Report, Sept. 3, 2003 and April 19, 2004; Arab News, June 2, 2003.
35. Quoted in Iran Trade Yellow Pages 2001–2002, ‘The New Millennium: the Dialogue among
Civilizations’, part 1.
36. In this election on Feb. 28, the turnout was as low as 12 percent according to official sources and
as low as 5 percent in the capital Tehran. This is compared with over 63 percent in the 1999
municipal election. Not only was the turnout was low but, with most of the reformists’ supporters
staying at home in disillusionment, conservatives won most seats – indeed in Tehran all council
seats went to conservatives.
37. The regime relies heavily on interests such as the Bonyads (foundations) that control over a
quarter of the economy, the traditional Bazaari merchants, the informal networks sometimes
referred to as ‘the Islamic mafia’, and so on.
38. ‘Iran’s Nuclear Diplomacy’, The Economist, Dec. 20, 2003, p. 73.
39. Financial Times, Nov. 19, 2003.
40. The EU’s limited ability to influence reform has been illustrated even in matters of principle that
are at the heart of stated EU values. For example in an EU–Iran meeting on Dec. 16, 2002 to
discuss human rights, delegates from Amnesty International and Human Rights Watch were
excluded despite having prepared the expert documents for that occasion. These documents
outline many of the key problems and make specific suggestions (information from Gulf2000
website, Dec. 14, 2002). Another example came in the understanding reached between the EU
and Iran’s reformist executive, over the issue of stoning as a form of punishment. Although this
understanding indicated that the implementation of stoning punishments would be suspended, a
member of the Council of Guardians, the body responsible for confirming constitutional and
religious compatibility commented that Islamic rulings do not depend on societal tastes: ‘stoning
is a sanction for ethical problems . . . no other punishment could be suggested as a replacement
for stoning’. Report by William Samii, Gulf2000, Jan. 2, 2003.
41. Foreign Minister Kharrazi stressed the common EU and Iranian concern over US policies in the
region, in a meeting in London on Dec. 10, 2002.
42. The powerful head of the Expediency Council, Hashemi Rafsanjani, expressed this view in a
low-key interview published in Rahbar, the formal journal of Strategic Research Center of the
Council. This Center, headed by the former Foreign Minister Ali Akbar Velayati, advises the
Council on foreign affairs. 5 http://www.csr.ir/pr/index.htm 4.
The Determinants of Turkish Foreign Policy,
and Turkey’s European Vocation
MUSTAFA AYDIN
INTRODUCTION
Although not one of the great powers of the twentieth century, its geopolitical
location has enabled Turkey to play a potentially higher role in world politics
than otherwise would have been possible.1 It not only holds the key to the
Turkish Straits but sits astride the roads from the Balkans to the Middle East and
from the Caucasus to the Persian Gulf. It is a member of the largest surviving
military bloc, that is, NATO, as well as an associate member of the European
Union (EU). Its political involvement and exposed position assign an importance
hardly matched by any other middle power. Further, it successfully expanded its
strategic importance in general amidst the dust created by the important
systemic changes in world politics since the end of the Cold War in 1989. Thus
Turkey has, once more, emerged as an important actor, poised to play a leading
role across a vast region extending ‘from eastern Europe to western China’.2
Yet Turkey lives in a perennial ‘insecurity complex’, or a ‘national security
syndrome’ as phrased by the former Prime Minister Mesut Yılmaz, not suited to
its position and influence in regional and international politics.3 Moreover, a
sense of confusion dominates the discussion both abroad and within the country
about the exact nature of Turkey, its people and foreign policy priorities.4
This is only too natural as it is very difficult to place Turkey into any neat
geographical, cultural, political or economic category. About 97 percent of its
land mass lies in Asia, yet Turkey’s progressive elite consider their country as
part of Europe. About 98 percent of its population is Muslim, and yet Turkey is a
secular state by choice and its religious development has taken a different path
from that of other Muslim countries. Culturally, most of the country reflects the
peculiarities of wider Middle Eastern culture, and yet it participates, with an
equal persistency, in European cultural events. It professes to have a liberal
economic system, but the remnants of the planned economy hamper the
country’s development. In the religious, historical and geographical senses it is a
Middle Eastern country, yet any development impinging upon the status quo of
the Balkans, the Caucasus, Caspian and Black Sea regions, and the
Mediterranean directly affects Turkey just as much.
Isolated by Ottoman history, language and culture from the West, and by its
Republican history and political choices from the East, Turkey thus stands as a
unique case, which has rarely appeared to be of great interest to scholars of the
general field of international relations. As there is, in the early twenty-first
century, a new surge of argument and speculation about Turkey’s options and
possible ‘Turkish moves’ after the events of September 11, 2001, the time seems
right to reassess the Turkish experience to uncover what the key drivers of
Turkish foreign policy are. This will have implications also for our under-
standing of Turkey’s relations with Europe into the future.
It is generally assumed that there are patterns in the foreign policy of nations,
and not just single acts.5 But there is a danger that such generalisations may
prevent us from recognising the diversity of forms which foreign policy can
actually take. Although there is a temptation among foreign policy scholars to
generalise when evidence of apparently similar experiences and development
processes is readily at hand, it is also clear that ‘the foreign policy of every
single state is an integral part of its peculiar system of government’ and reflects
its special circumstances.6 Indeed, each case needs to be located in its specific
conditions within the international system. Clearly, foreign policies are not made
in a vacuum. Foreign policy making bodies of any state receive inputs (demands
for action, values, threats, feedback) from the outside world and respond to
them. To make sense of the foreign policy process we need to look at these
inputs and their interrelationships. However, what makes it difficult to use these
factors (inputs and outputs) as a useful tool of analysis is their elastic character,
which needs to be adjusted and changed to fit a given historical and concrete
situation. Hence it becomes virtually impossible to specify a precise number of
factors that affect the foreign policy making of all countries in the same way
across time.
Nevertheless, experience and tradition over time – in combination with basic
values and norms – create a set of relatively inflexible principles. What affects
the process of formation of these principles varies from state to state. Yet, while
looking at the elements that shape the foreign policy of any country, one can see,
with some degree of over-simplification, the interplay of two kinds of variables.
One kind, which may be called structural variables, are continuous, fairly static
and not directly related to the international political medium and the daily events
of foreign politics. They can exert a long-term influence over the determination
of foreign policy goals. Geographical position, historical experiences, cultural
background together with national stereotypes and images of other nations, and
long-term economic necessities would fall into this category of structural
variables. The other group, which may be termed conjunctural variables, are
dynamic, made up of a web of interrelated developments in domestic politics
and international relations, and subject to change under the influence of
domestic and foreign developments.7
In this context, it can be argued that Turkey’s foreign policy is shaped, to a
large extent, by:
1. Its historical experiences.

2. Its geopolitical and geo-strategic location which provide a unique position
in world politics.
THE DETERMINANTS OF TURKISH FOREIGN POLICY 199
3. A number of vulnerabilities.
4. The political ideology of its governing elite (i.e. Kemalism).
5. The demands of systemic, regional and domestic changes on the country’s
external relations at any given period.
Due to the strong influence of these underlying determinants upon Turkey, it

has displayed a remarkable degree of continuity in its foreign policy, in contrast
to the frequent internal changes. It is largely due to these factors that Turkish
foreign policy has been praised for its high degree of rationality, sense of
responsibility, long-term perspective, and ‘realism found in few developing
nations and far from universal even among the democracies of the West’.8
Accordingly, this contribution first looks at the historical context of foreign
policy making in Turkey, before turning to the geopolitics of foreign and
security policies. Following an evaluation of the place of official ideology in
foreign policy making, the changing nature of Turkish foreign policy after the
end of the Cold War, and the effects of systemic changes, will be assessed.
HISTORICAL CONTEXT OF TURKISH FOREIGN POLICY MAKING
It is clear that Turkey’s contemporary foreign and security policies can only
be understood within a unique historical and cultural context, since ‘the
legacy of history is heavily discernible in [Turkey’s] relations with [its
neighbours] as well as its Western allies’.9 The fact that Turkey both inherited
the heartland of the Ottoman Empire, and thus its advantages as well as
complications, and the legacy of its problematic relations, affects its foreign
policy in a fundamental way. The effects can be divided into ‘constructive’
and ‘problematic’ legacies.
Among the constructive legacies are: established traditions in state
governance, importance given to territory and its continuity, and well-
thought-out and carefully articulated foreign and security policies, benefiting
from the hindsight gained from a long experience. More important for our
purposes are the negative or ‘problematic’ legacies, including the bitter
memories of neighbouring countries, misleading images about the country and
the people, and remembrance of past misdeeds of foreign states, all of which
create a sense of continual harassment and thus a ‘security syndrome’ within the
country.
The Turkish Republic was born out of the Ottoman Empire, but bore little
resemblance to its forerunner. The new Turkey was not an empire, but a
relatively small nation-state; not an autocracy or theocracy, but a parliamentary
democracy; not a state founded on expansionist principles, but one dedicated to
the existing status quo; not the kind of multinational, multiracial, and multi-
religious state the Empire had been, but a more ‘homogenous’ society.10 Its aims
were not to create and expand an empire, but to build and perpetuate a strong,
stable nation within the boundaries of its homeland.
Though at one time the Turks formed an important part of the ruling classes,
they were actually one of the smaller nations within the multi-ethnic empire.
Moreover, the Ottoman sultans did not consider themselves Turks as such, but as
Ottomans. Therefore when the Turks fought for their independence after World
War I, they did not fight only against the Entente invaders, but also against the
Ottoman Sultan and the forces of the old system – a point that is usually
overlooked.11 Hence, it is not surprising to see that the leaders of the new
Turkish state sought to break with the Ottoman past which they identified with
ignorance, corruption, backwardness and dogmas. To establish a truly new state,
they had to clear away the ruins of the Empire, disown its legacy and discover
new virtues based on the ‘Turkish nation’. The new Turkey had to have no
relationship with the old.12 Yet this refusal to recognise its past did not mean
that the Turkish Republic did not inherit some of the fundamental features of the
Ottoman Empire; this has created what has often been referred to as an ‘identity
problem’.
The new Turkey was established not only in the very heart of the old Empire’s
geopolitical setting – that of Asia Minor and Thrace, therefore acquiring its
complications – but it also retained most of its ruling elite. Since the
bureaucratic elite of the Empire in its last days was dominated by Turks, the new
Turkish state found itself with an experienced bureaucracy. Nineteenth-century
experiments with Western education had produced an educated official class.
Later this elite group of administrators, within the one-party authoritarian
regime, formed the nucleus of Turkey’s modernizing elite – the Republican
People’s Party – and imposed revolutionary changes from the top.13
One of the fundamental facets of Turkish society and politics that has
developed since the eighteenth century, and grew full-fledged in the last quarter
of the twentieth, is the process of westernization. This was carried to the
Republic by the progressive elite from the Empire, and ‘has greatly motivated
Turkey’s Western-oriented policies and introduced liberal and internationalist
elements’ into foreign and security policies.14 On the other hand, it has also
given a push to the already acute identity problem which dominated the
discussions in the country throughout the 1980s and 1990s, as well as
complicating the understanding of its foreign and security policy behavior for
outsiders.
Throughout history, the Turks have been connected to the West, first as a
conquering superior and enemy, then as a component part, later as an admirer
and unsuccessful imitator, and in the end as a follower and ally. Ottoman
settlement in Anatolia was the beginning of the influence which had such a
profound effect on their subsequent history. Before they had any status in Asia
Minor, the Ottomans were already an empire based largely on south-eastern
Europe:
It is an important historical fact which is not often appreciated that the

Ottoman Turks started their career as a people in the extreme north-west of
Asia Minor, facing Europe; that they founded their Empire not in Asia but
across the Sea of Marmara in Thrace and the Balkans, in other words in
Europe, and that then expanded eastwards into Asia Minor a century after
they had already become a European power.15
Not only did Europe have an effect on the Ottoman Empire, the Turks, from
the time that they first entered the European continent, also played a role in the
destiny of Europe. They were not only the enemy of the European monarchs,
but frequently allied themselves with one or more of the European countries
against the others, and operated within the European system. It is, however,
one of the ironies of history that the Ottoman Empire, whilst it had
progressively become more and more alienated from Europe through the
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries, was ‘officially’ re-admitted to the
European legal system at the Paris Congress of 1856. As Thomas Naff
observed, though the Ottoman Empire ‘for half a millennium, from the
fourteenth century until the nineteenth, . . .occupied, controlled, and adminis-
tered one-quarter to one-third of the European continent’, and ‘the logical
conclusion ought to be that the Ottoman Empire was, empirically, a European
state, the paradox is that it was not. Even though a significant portion of the
Empire was based in Europe, it cannot be said to have been of Europe’.16 This
paradox, ‘being in Europe but not of Europe’, may be taken as the
characteristic feature of Turkish–European relations from the very beginning
to the present day.
Despite the European reluctance to accept the Turks as part of Europe, it is
only natural that the Ottoman rule over one-third of Europe for four hundred
years would have important effects on the Empire’s outlook and consequently
that of the Turks.17 Its adaptation of a somewhat secular state system, especially
in the conduct of foreign affairs and in the administration of the various millets,
was part of this influence. In fact, the Ottoman Empire, in time, had created its
own peculiar understanding of Islam, somewhat ‘secular’ and different from that
of the Arabs.
Given this background, the introduction of the Western-oriented secular state
in the 1920s was not at all contradictory to the overall experience of the Turkish
people. In fact, modernization in terms of the West was started after a series of
Ottoman defeats at the hands of the Western powers.18 Most Ottoman and
Turkish modernizers did agree upon one basic assumption: ‘there is no second
civilization; civilization means European civilization, and it must be imported
with both its roses and thorns’.19 Turkey owed a great deal to the late-Ottoman
intellectuals who advocated most of the reforms that were finally realized under
the guidance of Atatürk in the 1920s and 1930s.
Another point of historical significance has been the realistic outlook of
Ottoman diplomacy, which was shaped during the nineteenth century with
extraordinary success. During the last hundred or so years of its life, the Empire
was weak in comparison to the Western Powers and was forced to pursue its
foreign policy among the tensions between its own interests and those of other
powers. Nonetheless, by playing one great power against another for survival,
the Ottomans were able to maintain the territorial integrity of much of the
Empire for a long time; the Empire’s decline took three hundred years and its
collapse came only with a world war. As students of this remarkable diplomacy,
the Turks later used all the advantages of the international system, such as the
differences between England, France and Italy at the end of World War I, and
the greater antagonism between the Western powers and the Soviet Union after
World War II.
This continuity from the Empire to the Republic has prompted one shrewd
observer of Turkish affairs to argue: ‘Turkey has historically displayed a
relatively consistent security culture of realpolitik which has evolved across the
centuries from a dominant offensive character into a dominant defensive one.
[. . .] The latter continues to affect foreign policymaking in modern Turkey’.20
During the heyday of the Ottoman Empire, its external relations were dominated
by its holistic expansionism and military-offensive character. Thus, ‘the
Ottoman policy until the end of the seventeenth century can be defined as
offensive realpolitik, the objective of which was to maximise power by
acquiring territory, population and wealth’.21
Subsequently, when the Empire first stagnated and then started to crumble
from the seventeenth century onwards vis-à-vis European powers, ‘Ottoman
realpolitik began to acquire a defensive character’ in order to slow down the
retreat;22 its main foreign policy objective became the preservation of the status
quo by military and diplomatic means, of which the latter had had very little
significance until that time.23 Its unavoidable decline and continuous relations
with European powers made the concept of ‘balance of power’ an indispensable
component of its diplomatic–strategic behaviour – an attitude that was inherited
by Turkey. As ‘the Ottoman Empire was reduced to a secondary power and
became increasingly dependent on European powers’ in the nineteenth century,
‘the fear of loss of territory and [. . .] of abandonment became a major aspect of
Turkish security culture’. This was carried over into the Turkish Republic
through the Treaty of Sèvres that marked the partition of the Ottoman territories
among its adversaries.
Turkish imperial history ended with the collapse of the Ottoman Empire at the
end of World War I. The Treaty of Lausanne, signed after three years of
nationalist struggle on July 24, 1923, replaced the dictated Peace Treaty of
Sèvres and established the new Turkish nation-state with complete sovereignty
in almost all the territory included in the present day Turkish Republic.
Lausanne essentially represented international recognition of the demands
expressed in the Turkish National Pact.24 The Sèvres Treaty in contrast was
detrimental to Turkish independence and destructive of its homeland:25 The
Turks were only allowed to keep a small part of desolate central Anatolia under
various restrictions. Although the Treaty of Sèvres remained still-born as the
Nationalists refused to accept it and successfully fought to overturn its terms,26
the fact that the sovereign rights and independence of the Turkish people had
been disregarded by the Entente powers, and that the Turks were forced to fight
to regain their independence and the territory they considered as their
‘homeland’ after rapidly losing an empire, was to have an important effect
both on subsequent Turkish attitudes vis-à-vis foreign powers and on their
nation-building efforts. Moreover, the Treaty of Sèvres formed a basis for
subsequent Armenian claims on Turkish territory and had given form and
inspiration to Kurdish nationalism: Kurdish nationalists still refer to it today as
evidence of international recognition of their aspirations for an independent
Kurdish homeland.27 ‘Inherited by the Republic, these fears continue to haunt

some of the elite and public opinion’ even today.28
Thus, one can argue that Turkey’s national security policy continues to be
influenced by ‘Sèvres-phobia’ or ‘Sèvres Syndrome,’ that is the conviction that
the ‘external world and their internal collaborators are trying to weaken and
divide Turkey’.29 The perceived international, especially European, insensitivity
towards these fears, also exacerbated this conviction. For example, suggestions
by the German and Italian foreign ministers that the future of Turkey’s Kurds be
decided by an international conference, inevitably bring into the minds of large
segments of the Turkish society, the earlier big-power conferences which carved
a new bit of territory from the Ottoman Empire each time they were convened.
Turkey also inherited further complications from its Ottoman past which still
affect Turkish foreign and security policy formulations. The line of foreign
policy pursued by the Ottomans through their last years, of playing powers off
against each other for survival, required them to be extraordinarily wary about
their environment and suspicious about other powers’ intentions. They also
learned, as a result of centuries-long hostilities with their neighbors, not to trust
any state, to rely on nothing but their power, and to be ready to fight at any given
time. This finds reflection in such common Turkish sayings as ‘water sleeps, the
enemy never sleeps’ and ‘prepare for war, if you want peace’.
Consequently, the Turkish diplomatic apparatus is known today, among other
things, for being skeptical and cautious to the extreme. The Foreign Ministry
always takes its time in answering any given foreign statement or memorandum
as if trusted diplomats are searching for the real intentions behind the lines. The
traditional sense of insecurity and suspicion about ever-intriguing foreign
powers thus reigns supreme in modern Turkey as a direct legacy of the Ottoman
Empire, reflected even in statements at the highest level, such as this assessment
by President Kenan Evren in 1984: ‘Turkey’s historical position indicates that
she is obliged to pursue a policy based on being strong and stable within her
region [. . .since] she is surrounded by unfriendly neighbours’.30
When discussing suspicion and skepticism in Turkey about foreign intentions
and possible intervention, one should bear in mind that the Ottoman Empire had
been subjected repeatedly to propaganda attacks, exploitation and outright
aggression by the self-appointed protectors of its minorities. The Empire had
restricted itself to a minimum of interference in the affairs of its subjects, and
granted authority to the head of millets (religious communities) in church
administration, worship, education, tax collecting and supervision of the civil
status of their co-religionists. As the Ottoman rulers did not seek to impose
Turkish language on their subjects and did not oblige conversion of Christians
and Jews but rather used the religious leadership of these communities to
administer their co-religionists, the persistence of strong non-Muslim religious
identities and linguistic differences served as a natural basis for the growth of
nationalism and eventual separatism by the subject peoples in the nineteenth
century. Thus, when the central authority weakened, the millet system, once an
excellent instrument of governing, helped precipitate the self-destruction of the
Empire.
These religious communities, by attracting European attention, also caused

the continued involvement of the ‘West’ in Ottoman affairs. In particular Greek
Orthodox and Armenian communities had been used as a means of interfering in
Ottoman authority throughout the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. The
last days of the Empire even saw some of its minorities used as a ‘fifth column’
during the Great War. Hence, Turkish sensitivity about Greek efforts to
internationalize Orthodox Patriarchy in Istanbul or any possibility of accepting
Armenian genocide claims, have to be seen against this background.
Moreover, conscious that European powers, playing protector to one of its
many minorities, were able to meddle with the internal affairs of the Ottoman
Empire during its declining years due to the societal organization of the Empire
along religious–ethnic lines (the Millet system), Turkey developed an extreme
reluctance, persisiting to this day, to recognize the rights, and even the existence,
of national minorities, lest they, too, be exploited by Dış Mihraklar (external
powers) and create further vulnerabilities for the integrity and survival of the
state.
Another bitter legacy of the late Ottoman Empire for the Turks is the memory
of financial control exercised by European powers through Duyun-u Umumiye
(Public Debt Service) on Turkish soil after the Empire went bankrupt in 1881.
Thus it was not surprising to hear from Atatürk that ‘. . .by complete
independence, we mean of course complete economic, financial, juridical,
military, cultural independence and freedom in all matters. Being deprived of
independence in any of these is equivalent to the nation and country being
deprived of all its independence’.31 Knowing that the Ottoman Empire, in its last
years, had lost its independence, to a large extent due to foreign interventions,
privileges granted to foreigners, and the capitulations, successive Ankara
governments have thus been very sensitive about perceived infringements upon
their sovereignty as well as about foreign economic entanglements. In the
economic sphere, this suspicion showed itself by tight control over foreign
companies operating in Turkey and strict rules governing financial problems
even after the economic liberalization the country has experienced since 1980.
Yet another point of historical significance is that there is a sense of greatness,
in the common Turkish mind, based on belonging to a nation that had
established empires and been master of a world empire, which was only brought
down by a world war. Thus, centuries-old Ottoman supremacy over the Middle
Eastern lands and the Balkans left the Turks with a conviction of their
superiority. But a vicious circle was established as the others react to Turkish
haughtiness.32
Moreover, the long, and in its last days inefficient and unpopular, Ottoman
domination in these countries left ill will against the Turks, and modern Turkey
had to face the legacy of neighbors who have bitter memories of Ottoman rule;
this, too, affects modern-day foreign and security policies. Certainly, the
imperial past is linked to later bitterness between Turkey and Greece. The late
nineteenth century witnessed rising Greek nationalism and the modern Greek
state was the first nation-state in the Balkans to come out of clashes between
nationalism and the Ottoman Empire. After gaining independence in 1832,
Greece’s territorial expansion against the Ottoman Empire continued until 1922,
when its adventure in Asia Minor ended with a catastrophe. On the other side,
the Turkish struggle for independence reached a climax when the Greek army
landed in Izmir in 1915 to attain the Megali Idea (the long-lived Greek dream of
reconstituting the Byzantine Empire), and in the end the Turks had to fight the
Greeks to claim their own independent nation-state.
The frustrated hopes of achieving the Megali Idea on the Greeks’ part, and the
fact of having been forced to fight against their former subjects for their
independence on the part of the Turks, together with the stories about wartime
atrocities on both sides, provided ample reason for the continued bitterness in
the early 1920s and 1930s.33 Implications of this violent past and mutually-
constructed suspicion are clearly discernible in present Turkish–Greek relations,
creating a shared distrust between the two nations and complicating the
settlement of the protracted conflicts over the Aegean and Cyprus. Though some
of the potential for conflict was eliminated by the arrangement of a compulsory
population exchange in the 1920s, past bitterness provided a base for hostility
when differences erupted from the mid-1950s onwards.
Another of the main principles of Turkish security policy, that of its northern
neighbor representing the primary threat to its security, also has its roots deeply
embedded in history.34 Since the seventeenth century, Russia’s expansionist
policies had helped it to become the ‘arch enemy’ of the Ottomans. A succession
of major defeats at Russian hands had consistently confronted the Ottoman
Government with the realities of its declining power. Moreover, it was Tsar
Nicholas I, who described the Ottoman Empire as the ‘sick man of Europe’
when he proposed to the British in 1853 that the Ottoman Empire be
partitioned.35 The last of the thirteen Russian–Turkish wars was World War I,
which ended the Ottoman Empire. This course of conflict over four centuries
had naturally generated a good measure of hostility and distrust between Turks
and Russians. Even during the period of the Treaty of Friendship and Neutrality,
when good neighborly relations were enjoyed mainly as a result of common
opposition to Western imperial policies, the historical Turkish distrust of the
Russians was well evident and the temporary convergence of interests did not
last long. As the history of distrust, hostility and continued wars made the Turks
extraordinarily wary, they did not hesitate to accept American aid when this
state of mind exacerbated Ankara’s perception of the Soviet pressures on Turkey
after World War II for territorial cessions and special privileges in the straits.
THE GEOPOLITICS OF TURKISH FOREIGN AND SECURITY POLICIES
As Rosenau puts it:
The configuration of the land, its fertility and climate, and its location
relative to other land masses and to waterways. . .all contribute both to the
psychological environment through which officials and publics define their
links to the external world and the operational environment out of which
their dependence on other countries is fashioned.36
The Turkish Republic, which has inherited from the Ottoman Empire the
historic role of serving as both a land bridge and a fortress connecting Europe,
Asia and the Middle East, constitutes a very good example of how and to what
degree geography determines a country’s foreign policy. Turkey has undergone
profound changes since the 1920s. But its location and strategic value have not
changed. Even if Turkey’s relative importance to other states has changed, what
Turkish decision makers perceive about their geographical importance and about
threats reasoned from this particular location has not yet radically changed. As
far as the foreign policy making of a country is concerned, the perception of
decision makers about themselves, their country and other countries, is the most
important factor to take into account.37
Thus, modern Turkey, thanks to its geo-strategic location and borders with
Europe, the Middle East, and the Caucasus, has been able to play a role in
world politics far greater than its size, population, and economic strength
would indicate.38 Historically, Turkey is located on one of the most strategic
and traditionally most coveted pieces of territory anywhere. Its particular
geographical position makes Turkey a Balkan, Mediterranean, Caucasian and
Middle Eastern country all at the same time. It also makes Turkey doubly
susceptible to international developments near and far and, therefore, greatly
sensitive to the changes in the international as well as regional political
balance.
Being at the crossroads of land connections between Europe, Asia, and Africa,
has increased the importance of any state established in Anatolia. However,
being also the main channel for migrations from the east, and invasions from
both the east and the west, has created a sense of insecurity as well. The physical
features of a land may make it easy to defend or penetrate from outside. From
the military point of view, the Anatolian peninsula is a ‘strategic region’.39 The
seas on both sides and the fortress-like mountainous terrain in the east are
difficult to penetrate by using force, and make natural boundaries for Turkey.
European Turkey, on the other hand, is difficult to defend and the Straits are also
vulnerable to air attacks. It is true that possession of the Straits conveys political
and military advantages, and raises Turkey from the position of a purely local
power to one having crucial international influence. Simultaneously, however,
the Straits pose one of Turkey’s major security concerns by attracting potential
aggressors. The deployment of Turkey’s most powerful First Army to protect the
Straits and the area surrounding them demonstrates Turkey’s decision makers
have been fully aware of this.40
Another important factor in Turkish security thinking is that the Aegean
islands, if under the control of an enemy power, would deny Turkey the use of
its two principal harbours, Istanbul and Izmir, and could prevent access to the
Straits. In this case, navigation would be safe from the eastern Mediterranean so
long as the island of Cyprus, which could bloc the area, was controlled by a
friendly government. Hence, the scenario that Enosis (union of Cyprus with
Greece) would cut Turkey off from the open sea, has encouraged Turkey’s
resistance to such designs since the 1950s.41 It is the very same fear that is
behind the Turkish declaration of casus belli against the Greek claims about 12-
mile territorial waters in the Aegean, thus putting all open-sea exits from the
Aegean within her territorial seas.42
Another important reason for Turkey’s geographical insecurity is the fact that
it is surrounded by many neighbours with different characteristics, regimes,
ideologies and aims; and that the relations between them and Turkey would not
always be peaceful, and might occasionally take the form of armed clashes. A
country’s borders may be a source of strength or of weakness depending on their
length, the number and intentions of the neighbours, and the relative power
available to the affected parties.43 Turkey’s sense of insecurity is linked in
particular also to the very multiplicity of neighbors: as Most and Starr put it,
‘. . .a nation that borders on a large number of other nations faces a particularly
high risk that it may be threatened or attacked by at least some of its neighbours
[. . .] and confronts its neighbours with uncertainty because it must protect and
defend itself against many potential opponents’.44
A further geographical influence on Turkish security derives from the fact that
Turkey effectively controls the only seaway linking the Black Sea with the
Mediterranean. This intercontinental position has proved an element of strength
as well as of weakness. For five centuries, Istanbul provided a home-base for the
Ottomans ‘from which they were able to exercise control in all directions, in the
Balkans and central Europe, the Black Sea region, the Aegean and
Mediterranean, Mesopotamia and Arabia, Syria and North Africa’.45 The Straits
have also supplied a resource for the Ottoman Empire and its successor, the
Turkish Republic, which could not be duplicated in manpower as a means to
influence the actions of the Russian Empire, later the Soviet Union, and finally
the Russian Federation.46
On the other hand, controlling these vital waterways brought the Ottoman
Empire into perennial conflict with the Russians, beginning in the seventeenth
century. It has always been vitally important for Russia to have its outlet to the
Mediterranean unimpeded, independent of its neighbors’ goodwill. But it has
been equally important for Western powers not to let Russia gain control over
this important passage. Indeed, during the nineteenth century, the struggle for
control of the Ottoman Empire in general, and of the Straits in particular, was
the major part of the exertions of European diplomacy. And in the latter half of
the nineteenth century the fate of the Ottoman Empire became the major factor
in the global balance of power. Consequently, the Ottomans, ‘even though
militarily weak, economically bankrupt and politically anomalous’, were still
able to subsist for another century ‘on the conflict of interests between Russia,
on the one hand, and Austro-Hungary, France, Britain, on the other’.47
While the question of the Turkish Straits and the historic hostility between the
Russians and the Turks has been at the heart of Turkish–Soviet relations for
many years, having a superpower neighbour also had its effects on Turkish
security policy. During the first two decades of the Republic, relations with the
Soviet Union, which supplied political and material support to Turkey, were
good and were strengthened by the Treaty of Neutrality and Non-aggression of
1925. This era of mutual understanding came to end on March 15, 1945, with the
Soviets’ unilateral denunciation of the 1925 Treaty and demands for a new treaty
‘in accord with the new situation’.48 They further demanded territorial
concessions from Turkey and bases on the Bosphorus. These Soviet demands
strongly influenced Turkish foreign policy attitudes and reinforced its Western
orientation. Since Turkey was only able to refuse these demands with US
backing, the Turkish Government sought a formal alliance, and the link with the
Western defence system was formalised with Turkey’s accession to NATO on
February 18, 1952.
Though, after Stalin’s death, the Soviet Government officially declared that its
policy towards Turkey had been wrong and that the Soviet Union had not any
kind of territorial claims on Turkey,49 the time had already passed for the Soviet
Union to revise its relations with Turkey, as the historic Turkish distrust of the
Russians had reappeared on the horizon. The belief that the Soviet Union posed
a primary threat to Turkey’s security dominated relations between the two
countries during the Cold War, and it was only after the blow of Johnson’s letter
in 1964 that Turkey showed interest in Soviet efforts to normalize relations. It
took nearly a decade for Turkey to accept the fact that détente between the
Soviet Union and the West had been started in the 1960s, and a further decade to
improve its relations with the Soviet Union. Nevertheless, having a common
border with the Soviet Union was still a cause of concern and remained one of
the factors contributing to Turkey’s extremely cautious foreign and security
policies.50
Another complication for Turkey’s political and security thinking is the fact
that Turkey is a Middle Eastern country as well as a Balkan and Mediterranean
one.51 The strategic importance of the Middle East region does not need further
elaboration. The single fact that the Middle East owned most of the known oil
resources made the region one of the most important in the strategic thinking of
all parties concerned. Turkey, like most of the West, has been dependent on
Middle Eastern oil. Not only is the functioning of the Turkish economy
dependent on continuous flows of Middle Eastern petrol, but also military
strategy has become increasingly reliant on massive wartime fuel needs, for
mounting a viable conventional defence during international crises and war.52
Therefore, Turkey’s growing political and diplomatic concern in the region has
been, in part, a result of the intensifying economic ties which were forced upon
her by her dependence on Middle Eastern oil.
Apart from oil, there are other reasons why the Middle East occupies an
important place in Turkish security thinking.53 The region has been continuously
unstable since World War I and the breakdown of the Ottoman Empire. Turkish
foreign policy in the Middle East, while depending on status quo, requires
stability, and any destabilizing development in the region creates security
problems for her. Thus, the general insecurity of the region has attracted a great
deal of concern from Turkey. It is sufficient to point out that four Arab–Israeli
wars, the festering Palestinian problem, the Lebanese civil war and foreign
interventions, the Suez crisis, the Iranian revolution, the Iran–Iraq war, and the
two subsequent Gulf Wars, have all occurred within the immediate reach and
security zone of Turkey. Such developments, and the ever-increasing possibility
of international involvement, have inevitably created great concern in Turkey
about its immediate security. This was once again highlighted during the Iraq
crisis and war of 2003. Thus, its position in a highly unstable and insecure region
has meant that a secure place within the main multinational fora has always had
a considerable attraction for Turkey.
THE IDEOLOGY OF TURKISH FOREIGN POLICY: KEMALISM
Mustafa Kemal Atatürk not only completely controlled Turkish foreign policy in
his lifetime, but also put forward the ideological framework that identified the
path Turkish foreign policy would follow. Though the original Kemalist goals of
national foreign policy underwent various mutations, especially under the
relatively free democratic system of the 1961 Constitution, practically all
Turkish governments, regardless of their standpoints, put his ‘indisputable
dogma’ into their programs and have not – indeed could not have – implemented
policies that ran counter to Kemalist principles. His influence over the Turkish
people in general, and Turkish foreign policy in particular, has been so
fundamental that there have been at times warnings that following anything
other than his principles would be disloyal to him and to the country in general.
In particular, Turkey’s foreign policy has been influenced by such Kemalist
principles as the establishment and preservation of a national state with
complete independence conditioned by modern Turkish nationalism; promotion
of Turkey to the level of contemporary civilization, and attachment to a realist
approach in foreign policy actions.
Atatürk’s foreign policy views, like his political views in general, represented
a break with the past. He aimed at a renunciation of three strains which had been
important during Ottoman times: the imperial-Ottomanism, Pan-Islamism, and
Pan-Turanism. Incidentally, policies which could break these strains coincided
with the three of his political principles: Republicanism, Secularism and
Nationalism respectively.
Atatürk’s foreign policy was clearly an extension of his domestic policies. He
realized that a peaceful foreign policy was needed in order to achieve his far-
reaching reforms inside Turkey. However, in order to achieve this, a change was
necessary, apart from in the system of government, ‘in the mental disposition of
the Turkish people’.54 His political reforms were directed toward this aim, and
the ideological guidance necessary to achieve it was formalised at the 1931
Congress of the Republican People’s Party and written into constitution on
1937.55 It was symbolized by the emblem of the RPP: six arrows, each of which
represented one of the key words of Kemalist ideology: Nationalism,
Secularism, Republicanism, Populism, Etatism, and Revolutionism.
As the foundation of Kemalist ideology, Republicanism comprises the notions
of popular sovereignty, freedom and equality before the law. It was against the
totalitarian tendencies and revisionist and imperialist notions of being an
Empire. While accepting the existing status quo as a main foundation of the new
state, Republicanism was not only a change in the governmental system, but also
a turning point in the political philosophy of the Turkish political elite and,
increasingly, of significant sections of the population. The new Turkish
Republic, in contrast to earlier Turkic states, was a nation-state founded by the

Turkish nation. Therefore, the extra stress on republicanism was necessary to
help accustom the Turkish people to the idea that the change in regime after the
War of Independence was non-reversible. From this point of view, republican-
ism constituted a doctrinal barrier against those who still hoped for a return to
the Sultanate and the Caliphate.
Secularism was seen as a necessary component of modernization, covering
not only the political and governmental but the whole social and cultural life.56
From the foreign policy point of view, it has a much more general meaning than
one which refers more narrowly to a specific process of separating religion from
the state.57 Indeed, the main struggle of Kemalist secularists was not over the
question of separating the spiritual and temporal, but over the difference
between democracy and theocracy. A theocratic Islamic state, as a way of
government, was obliged to see Christian powers as infidels and according to
Islamic belief the state of warfare never ended between believers and infidels.
By choosing a democratic system of government and dismissing the idea of the
state as the protector of Islam, the new Turkish state ended centuries of hostility
and established the basis for peaceful relations with Western Christian countries.
Another reflection of Secularism in terms of Turkish foreign policy can be seen
in its rejection of the idea of Pan-Islamism. To unite different Muslim states
under one common name, to give these different elements equal rights and found
a mighty state, was seen as a brilliant and attractive political solution for the
Empire’s problems in its last years. But it was a misleading one. The new state
would not be world-conquering or Islam-protecting any longer. Such claims
could endanger the existence of the state.
Moreover, since the Islamic Ottoman Empire could not try its Christian
subjects with Sharia (Islamic law), it allowed them to be tried before Christian
courts, which in turn resulted in foreign interventions and caused the Ottoman
Empire to become involved in conflicts against the Western powers over the
supremacy of the Millets. Hence, it seemed that the Islamic religious
establishment of the Empire had played a major role in accelerating and
exacerbating the Empire’s decline and decay. Consequently, Atatürk was
determined not to allow the same thing happen to the new Turkish state.58 In
other words, he could not afford to give Western powers a reason to intervene in
Turkish affairs.
Nationalism, as a source of Turkish existence, stood for a Turkish-nation state
in place of Ottomanist or Pan-Turanist ambitions, and was bound up with the
national borders, which were first laid down by the National Pact of 1920 and
later legalized by the Lausanne Treaty of 1923. Nationalism did not become a
real concept for the Turkish people until the early twentieth century. When the
Entente powers started to partition the Empire’s heartland, it became clear that
they were taking advantage of the lack of a unified nationalist movement. It was
obvious that the main requirement for the independence of a nation was the
effort towards a common goal and public awareness of the nation’s historical
consciousness. The creation of nationalism on the European model was essential
for a successful independence struggle against the supremacy of the imperialist
European powers.59 Therefore, the idea of a Turkish nation in Turkey was the
basic innovation in the early days of the Kemalist revolution.
But it was no easy task to accustom a people who had been attached to a
religion and a dynasty, to the new meaning of Turkey. Even the expression
‘Turkey’ (Türkiye) was neither used nor known by the people. The concept of
nationalism, and the establishment of a national state, which had begun in the
West centuries before, was unfamiliar to the Turks. Therefore, with the
Independence War and the following reforms, non-national political and social
values of the state and the society were replaced by what were identified as the
values of ‘the Turkish people’.
Yet the nationalist claims had to be supported by a very strict definition of
national identity in order not to spend the country’s energy on unobtainable
goals. Therefore, the utopian ideas of Pan-Islamism and Pan-Turkism were
rejected out of hand, and Turkish nationalism, like that of Europe (outside
Germany), was based on common citizenship, and did not extend its aims
beyond the national borders.
The population of Turkey consisted, and still does, of ‘individuals from many
different ethnic backgrounds but, according to the Turkish Constitution, all
citizens of Turkey are Turks’.60 This official, legalistic, approach to Turkish
‘national homogeneity’ allowed the early Turkish leaders, in accordance with
the principle of populism, to be representative of all the peoples of Turkey
irrespective of their class, religion, or ethnic origin. The role of nationalism then,
was to ‘form a bond between the people’s collective memories of the past and
adherence to the goals of the future’.61
From this point of view, various ethnic groups within the Turkish state were
accepted as ‘building blocks of the nation’ which ‘joined together to create the
national culture’. Consequently, the demands of ethnic groups for national
status, ‘regardless of the social anxiety causing the demand’, were considered
contradictory to ‘the spirit and law of history’ and thus ‘unrealistic and
wrong’.62 As a result, when faced with different ethnic claims emerging within
the ‘unified Turkish nation’, the Kemalist regime chose to dismiss them as plots
of ‘enemy agents’, an attitude which has continued into the early twenty-first
century.
In the process, however, what started as an attempt to create a homogeneous
Turkish nation through constitutionalism using public consensus, turned into an
attempt to force various elements within the Turkish state into a homogenous
society through demographic homogenization.63 On the one hand, this
contradicted the original claims of the Kemalist ideology, and on the other,
it alienated the masses who felt ethnically distinct from the Sunni Turkish-
speaking majority.64 When coupled with the persistent denial by the Turkish
ruling elite of these other groups’ existence, especially since the mid-1970s
onwards when these groups started to express and demand recognition of their
cultural distinctiveness through organizational structures, the ‘ethnicity’ issue
came to determine the ideological boundaries of Turkish national identity, and
also constrained its constitutional evolution. This aspect of Turkish nation-
building is especially relevant to the discussion of Turkish foreign policy
during the 1980s and 1990s as it interacted with the Kurdish issue which
became an element of Turkey’s domestic and external policies during the
period.65
Turkish national liberation should also be distinguished from the anti-
imperialist movements of the post-1945 period during which the African and
Asian peoples who struggled for their independence came into conflict with the
colonial powers in so far as political, economic and social ideas were concerned.
Nationalism in Turkey, however, was an anti-imperialistic program for
independence on the one hand, but it was also, paradoxically, a program for
cultural and political Westernization. Atatürk himself often reiterated that his
struggle was directed against Western imperialism rather than against the West
itself. Turkey fought the West, but by fighting with the West, entered into the
Western sphere and the Western system of society.
Such Kemalist principles led Turkey to develop good neighborly relations and
to join in with international collaborations for collective security and peace.
Moreover, Turkey’s Western orientation in foreign policy was a natural adjunct
to Atatürk’s overall embracing of the West and rejection of the East. In his view,
expressed at the end of the War of Independence, ‘there are many nations, but
there is only one civilisation. For the advancement of a nation, it must be a part
of this one civilisation. . .We wish to modernise our country. All of our efforts
are directed toward the establishment of a modern, therefore Western,
government’.66 As can be seen, Atatürk identified ‘modernization’ with
‘Westernization’ and used them synonymously.
In the Atatürk period Turkey’s Western-directed foreign policy was carried
out in conjunction with the establishment of cultural ties with the West. The
victories won against the Western states during the National Struggle gave a
psychological boost to the Turkish nationalist movement and thus, as already
stated, enabled swift Westernization to take place. Turkey’s peculiarity of never
having been a colonized country, and the consequent lack of post-colonial
resentments, was also an important factor affecting Turkey’s attitude towards
the West. But above all, the influence of Atatürk, who even during the period of
National Struggle favored a Western style of thinking, was of seminal
importance in this orientation.
As a state which was defeated in World War I, Turkey’s position with regard
to the situation existing in Europe after the war is noteworthy. Had Turkey acted
‘emotionally’ it would have been natural for it to join the bloc of nations
opposed to the status quo. Instead Turkey established closer ties with non-
belligerent states in their opposition to those states which were attempting to
destroy the international peace; in contrast to a good number of other
contemporary states, Turkey showed great willingness to solve its major
problems by legal means without resorting to fait accompli.67
Most and Singer have observed that ‘success may embolden a nation’s
leaders’ notion of confidence and optimism and thereby stimulate their entry into
subsequent conflicts’.68 The Turkish case, however, has proved otherwise: the
victory over the Entente powers decreased the likelihood of subsequent conflicts.
As Edward Weisband has concluded, of all the ‘great socio-political revolutions
in the history of the modern state . . . the Kemalist Revolution in Turkey

represents the only one that has produced an ideology of peace’.69
This line of foreign policy also shows the full realisation, on the part of
Turkish leaders, of the country’s limitations. As Lenczowski puts it, ‘perhaps the
greatest merit of Kemal [Atatürk] and his followers was their sober realization of
limitation and their moderate, realistic foreign policy. There was nothing
romantic or adventurous in Kemal’s foreign policy’.70
THE END OF THE COLD WAR AND THE EFFECTS OF SYSTEMIC

CHANGES ON TURKISH FOREIGN POLICY
Turkey’s geo-politically important location has meant that systemic changes or

any alteration of regional or global balance of power affect Turkey and its
foreign policy substantially. Moreover, as it aims to become part of European
state system, Western European reactions to its domestic and external policies
become more important and influential. Towards the end of the twentieth
century, an important impetus for change, originating in the external
environment, came to dominate Turkish foreign policymaking and forced it to
reconsider its place and standing in the world. This was the transformation of
Eastern Europe and the dismemberment of the Soviet Union, which had
enormous impacts both on Turkish foreign and security policies and on the
Turkish worldview in general.
It has been argued that ‘perhaps no other country outside the former Soviet
block has seen its strategic position more radically transformed by the end of the
Cold War than Turkey’.71 Throughout the Cold War, Turkey was a distant
outpost on the European periphery, a barrier to Soviet ambitions in the Middle
East, and a contributor to the security of Europe. Turkey’s geostrategic value
was largely limited to its role within the Atlantic Alliance and, more narrowly,
its place on NATO’s southern flank.
By the end of the Cold War, however, all these were altered by the appearance
of new zones of conflict on three sides of Turkey which arguably enlarged
Turkey’s role in the world. Although the emergence of six independent Muslim
states to its north-east opened Turkey’s eyes to a vast territory inhabited by
fellow Muslim Turkic-speakers which presented the country with an
unprecedented opportunity, at least potentially, of political, economic and
psychological gains,72 the fact that the new situation also presented challenges
created a lukewarm attitude in Turkey regarding the end of the Cold War.
Mainstream analysts concluded that the collapse of Soviet power and the
disintegration of the Soviet Union were a mixed blessing for Turkey.
While the century-old Soviet/Russian threat to Turkey’s security has
disappeared, the vacuum created by this departure in the Transcaucasia and
the Central Asia has become the breeding ground on Turkey’s borders for
potential risks and threats to regional security because of the deep tensions
between mixed national groups, contested borders, economic difficulties, and
competition of outsiders for influence. Under the prevailing atmosphere of
euphoria following the collapse of the Soviet Union, Turkey’s common cultural,
linguistic, and religious bonds with the newly independent Central Asian and
Caucasian republics were frequently mentioned, both within and without
Turkey, and the country was held up as an economic and political model for
these new states.73 Even limited pan-Turkist ideas were circulated freely. In
return, the Turks and Muslims of the former Soviet Union turned to Turkey to
help them achieve momentum, consolidate their independence, and gain status
and respect in the world.
It was not long, however, before this euphoria became tempered by reality,
and it soon became clear that Turkey’s financial and technological means were
too limited to meet the immense socio-economic needs of the underdeveloped
former Soviet republics as Turkey also gradually discovered that the links
between the Central Asian republics and Russia, in some cases forged over
centuries and reinforced by need and dependency, were far more solid than
originally suspected. While optimism was gradually replaced by disillusion-
ment, there even emerged a suspicion that earlier enthusiasm had been merely an
empty pretence, ‘that in reality Turkey [was] too weak to have more than a
marginal impact on these republics’.74
Moreover, as a country that attributes the utmost importance to stability and
constancy, Turkey has always been sensitive against attempts to change the
existing equilibrium in its surrounding region, to the extent that the preservation
of the current balance is usually considered as part of the Turkish national
interest. In this context, the disintegration of the Soviet Union and the constant
evolution of Eastern Europe in the recent past have affected both Turkey’s
foreign and security polices, and its world-view in general. In a similar pattern,
the three Gulf wars in the Middle East, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Kosovo crises
in the Balkans, and the conflicts over Nagorno-Karabakh, Chechnya and
Abkhazia in the Caucasus, all took place within the immediate vicinity of the
country and accentuated in decision makers’ minds the dangers of involvement
in regional conflicts that do not represent immediate threats to her borders.
The concerns that emerged from the possibility of setting up an independent
Kurdish state in Northern Iraq after the 1990–91 Gulf War, as well as the effects
of Nagorno-Karabakh, Bosnia-Herzegovina and Chechnya conflicts over the
radicalization of certain groups within Turkish society, have brought to light
emergent public pressure within Turkey for a more interventionist policy on
behalf of ethnic minorities within Turkey’s vicinity. The discussion over the
new European security architecture that might leave Turkey out, may
substantially affect Turkey’s orientation and possible openings in her foreign
policy in the near future.
In particular, as a result of discussion especially among western Europeans
about the relevance of NATO in the ‘new world order’ and attempts to move
towards a new defense arrangement without Turkey, the latter suddenly found
itself in a situation where it felt threatened both by the lingering uncertainties
regarding its immediate neighbourhood and by the fact that its Western security
connection, the anchor of her European vocation, was fundamentally damaged
by the end of the Cold War, which hitherto provided her with relative safety and
stability in the region. The realization that it may find itself facing military
threats virtually all around it without the possibility to evoke the Western
security umbrella for protection, shook the very foundations of Turkish security
thinking and policy. The need to reassess its post-Cold War situation vis-à-vis
potential threats was expressed with alarm at the highest levels.
Turkey has traditionally avoided involvement in regional politics and
conflicts. However, international developments, as well as the evolution of
Turkish domestic policies, now compel it to concern itself more with regional
events, and to attempt to acquire greater prominence in international politics and
a higher profile in the Middle East and Muslim/Turkic areas of the former Soviet
Union. It has already been unavoidably drawn into the volatile new politics
within the Caucasus (especially the Nagorno-Karabakh conflict), the Balkans
(Bosnia-Herzegovina and Kosovo), and the Middle East (Kuwait–Northern
Iraq), where it has been forced to take sides and follow an ‘active’ foreign
policy. Mindful of the disruptive impacts of sub-nationalism and ultra-
nationalism, Turkey has been eager to promote the positive aspects of national
formation around its environs. However, the hopes for creating a form of Turkic
Commonwealth able to accommodate most of the new states in Central Asia and
Caucasus, which would have countered more ugly manifestations of nationalism
and related problems, has proved unrealizable, at least in the short or medium
term. It is clear that a transitional arrangement based on Islam or political pan-
Turkism will not materialize either in the foreseeable future, although a Turkic
belt of influence stretching from the Caspian Sea to China may yet emerge.
Accordingly, Turkey has already made clear that such transitional concepts are
not part of her policy in her external relations.
In the meantime, a deepening Turkish rivalry with Iran emerged over
influence in the new states of Central Asia and especially Azerbaijan. If the
independence of the former Soviet Azerbaijan were to stimulate a parallel
separatist movement in northern Iran, it could bring two rivals into a severe
conflict with each other – even if Ankara does not seek to provoke it. On the
other hand, if Russia comes to believe that Turkey’s moves in the region are
aimed at some sort of Central Asian Turkic unity, it will certainly lead to
confrontation in the region between Turkey and Russia, especially if Russia
perceives that Turkey is willingly undermining its territorial integrity by playing
with the existing tendencies in the Northern Caucasus for separation from
Russia.
Moreover, the recent developments in the Russian ‘near abroad’ in general,
and in the southern Caucasian republics of Georgia and Azerbaijan in particular,
have shown that Russia would be both willing and capable to overwhelm buffers
if it resolved to do so. Thus, Russian behavior close to the Turkish border since
the collapse of the Soviet Union, has increased Turkish suspicion about the
future intentions of the Russian Federation, especially if the latter saw Turkey as
an agent of the West or as a barrier to its ambitions in the region. On the other
hand, under the more optimistic scenarios, Turkey, as a moderate secular state,
could help direct the newly independent Turkic states of the former Soviet
Union in a moderate and secular direction, and thus could play a moderating role
in the Muslim regions of the former USSR, support secular government, and
seek closer ties with Russia as well as with the Turkic republics. It should not be
forgotten that mutual Turkish–Russian interest in maintaining peace in the
Caucasus and Central Asia, and in regional cooperation in the Black Sea is
considerable, and that Turkey’s trade relations with Russia are larger than those
with all of the former Soviet republics put together.
Dramatic changes in Turkey’s traditional policy of isolationism from regional
conflicts and the country’s increasingly active participation in regional issues
have, on the one hand, provided it with the potential to fulfil its economic and
political expectations, while at the same time also bringing about new challenges
and security problems. Moreover, the success of its newly emerging posture and
its influence in its region is limited by its own modest economic and industrial
resources, and will depend in part on its success in dealing with ethnic issues
within Turkey.
TURKEY’S FOREIGN POLICY TODAY, AND RELATIONS WITH EUROPE
The end of the Cold War has not brought much of a peace dividend to Turkey.75
The instability and conflicts in the Balkans, Caucasus, Middle East and eastern
Mediterranean have further complicated Turkey’s traditional foreign policy
options with additional security challenges.
While Turkey’s foreign and security policies during the Cold War were
dominated by the country’s place at the periphery of Europe and by its role in
containing the Soviet Union, the 1990s saw extensive changes in the country’s
capabilities and strategic reach. Reflected in its expanded concept of space, this
change affects the current discourse of the foreign and security policy debate in
the country in a fundamental way.76 Moreover, the rise of Turkish nationalism
as a result of the rise of ethnicity and centrifugal forces in World politics since
the end of the Cold War, have led Ankara to pay closer attention to sovereignty
issues within Turkey and to vigorously defend its interests abroad. Recent
examples of Turkey’s enlarged interest abroad include defending the welfare of
Turkish/Ottoman descendants/remnants in the Balkans; attempts for a more
active diplomacy in the Caucasus; the threat to attack Russian-supplied S-300
surface-to-air missile sites if the system was deployed on Cyprus; and the threat
to act against Syria if Damascus did not end its support for the PKK and expel its
leader, Abdullah Öcalan.
Along the way, we have seen the increasing role and influence of public
opinion in the changing foreign and security concerns of the country. As a result
of internal and external pressures, the Turkish security discourse now extends to
a broader range of actors than it did few years ago, to include the media and
public opinion. The nationalist rhetoric which has at times dominated sections of
both, inevitably distorts perceptions regarding external and internal threats
facing the country. Although as a result ‘Turkish foreign and security policy has
become more far ranging and assertive, [. . .demonstrating] a willingness and an
ability to act decisively in its own interests’,77 it has consistently preferred
multilateral approaches to regional issues whether in the Balkans, the Middle
East or the Caucasus. Moreover, as Turkey’s place in the emerging European
structure remains ambiguous to say the least, the bilateral relationship with the
US, the NATO link and the new trend of cooperation with Israel, all within the
traditional security areas, have acquired a new resonance among the Turkish
policy-making elite.
Traditionally, Turkey’s important and sensitive geostrategic position has
meant that national security concerns have always been paramount in foreign
policy considerations. A critical element in these concerns has been Turkey’s
proximity to and traditional distrust of the former Soviet Union. Moreover, the
fact that Turkey has borders with the Balkans and the Middle East, areas of
traditional conflict, makes those who make and influence policy very sensitive to
changes in both the international and regional political balance. This security
vulnerability was further increased after the end of the Cold War as 13 of the 16
most likely security threats to the North Atlantic area identified by NATO, are
within the immediate vicinity of Turkey.
Its sensitive location at the intersection of the ‘West’ and the ‘East’ also
resulted in an identity crisis, both national and international. The tendency of the
Kemalist ruling class to look towards the West for inspiration has not diminished
the cultural and religious affiliation to the Middle Eastern–Islamic world on the
part of the general public. As Turkey moves into the twenty-first century, the
question of religion and secularism on the one hand, and the related issues of
ethnicity, nationhood and the territorial state on the other, are coming to the fore.
Although the old certainties of the ruling class’s self-image as belonging to a
modern, European-oriented, secular Turkey, which has been based almost
exclusively on the territory of Anatolia, is coming under increasing challenges
both from the left and the religious right, the legacy of the Turkish state and
nationalism, embodied in a ruling class or elite with a strong commitment to
Kemalist principles, still greatly affects Turkey’s internal and external policies.
In this context, despite the emergence of a seemingly homogeneous Turkish-
speaking, traditionally Sunni-Muslim, society within Turkey’s borders, the
obvious failure of the Kemalist attempt at homogenizing Turkey on the basis of
a majority language and Western ideals, continues to haunt both the Turkish
identity and the Turkish state, as the ruling elite still refuses to acknowledge the
ethnic and structural pluralism of Turkish society – something ‘which should be
understood as essential to the formation of a modern multiethnic democracy’. 78
This, in turn, has significant implications for relations with Europe.
Europeans and Turks have been in close contact, confrontation or otherwise,
since at least the fifteenth century, which has contributed to the formation of
their modern identities. Although a perception of ‘the Turk’ as one of the others
is more clearly discernable in modern European identity, the modern Turkish
identity, too, has been formed in relation to modern Europe.
During the zenith of the Ottoman Empire, Europe was considered as the
enemy against which the Turkish/Ottoman identity was affirmed. Although
Europe, as a result of its growing power and dominance, has assumed a
somewhat positive connotation in the definition of the modern Turkish identity,
the negative perception, reinforced by the memories of intervention in Ottoman
affairs, also continued in the Turkish mind.
Despite the close contact and mutual influence in each other’s identity, the
Ottomans were not considered as part of Europe until the late eighteenth
century, ‘because Europe was still defined in terms of religion and the Turk had
a different religion’, the heresy of Islam.79 Despite the Treaty of Paris, which
accepted the Ottoman Empire as part of the European state system, the Turks
were still not considered as European since the European identity in the
nineteenth century came to be defined on the basis of being ‘civilized’, which
the Turks were apparently not.80 There is clear evidence that today’s Europeans
still think that the Turks have not yet achieved the ‘standard of civilization’, that
is, the Copenhagen criteria in today’s European Union, and therefore the EU has
not yet contemplated opening accession negotiations with Turkey. The
historically-explained reluctance of the Kemalist policy elite to recognize the
pluralism of Turkish society, and the persistence of some authoritarian responses
to signs of such pluralism, inevitably feed into such European perceptions.
On the other hand, it is clear that Turkey and Europe have been highly
engaged with each other throughout history, and not always in negative terms. A
re-reading of history
reveals that the confrontations between the Turks and the Europeans were
no more belligerent than those among the European nations. The so-called
religious difference, too, reflect a one-sided reading of the texts and
history. . . . Historically, conflicts between the Muslims and the Christians
have not been bloodier than the internal conflicts of these religious
groupings.81
With such a reading of history, presenting a wide range of interaction involving

both cooperation and confrontation, Turks and Europeans may yet come to a
higher level of understanding and move beyond existing prejudices on both
sides. Only then might we see an increase in the level of integrative cooperation
between Turkey and the European Union, and perhaps eventually the fulfillment
of Turkey’s long-standing vocation to become part of ‘European civilization’ as
it is understood today.
Within Turkey, the significant domestic reforms and extensive revisions of the
constitution since the late 1990s, aimed at creating a more conducive
environment for further democratization, respect for human rights and the rule
of law and to give more space to civil society in general, has been in part a by-
product of Turkey’s desire to join the EU. European pressure in terms of the
Copenhagen Criteria has provided the necessary external impetus to overcome,
firstly, existing inertia within the country and, more importantly, resistance
among Turkey’s traditional elite to further reforms.
It still remains to be seen, however, how the reflexes of the traditional
Kemalist elite (including the military) towards both domestic reforms and
Turkey’s place in Europe will develop as the country gradually moves closer to
EU membership: that would undoubtedly raise the need for more domestic
reforms, and for a new interpretation within the country of Turkey’s historically-
shaped security interests and of the very delicate and hotly-debated sovereignty
issue. In this context, the discussion within Turkey about how to deal with the
problem of identity, especially accommodating demands from different ethnic
and religious groups, will be crucial in determining the extent of the reforms in
Turkey, as well as ultimately affecting Turkey’s ability to join the EU.
On the regional front, a solution of Greek–Turkish disputes in the Aegean
and finding a mutually acceptable solution in Cyprus will remain critical for
in the further realization of Turkey’s European vocation. Despite the failure
of the Annan Plan to bring about a speedy solution to the Cyprus problem
before the decision in 2003 on Cyprus’ accession to the EU, subsequent
developments on the island and an apparent softening of tones on both sides,
as well the sudden opening-up of cross-border travel between the Greek and
Turkish sectors, (creating an environment in which Greeks and Turks,
separated since 1974, would be able to ‘get to know’ each other and ‘learn to
live together’), have increased the hope that a solution might be found. Such
a development, together with the significant improvements already achieved
in Greek–Turkish relations in recent years (provided they continue), would
remove one more obstacle to Turkey’s long standing aim truly to become a
part of Europe.
NOTES
1. Mustafa Aydın, ‘Determinants of Turkish Foreign Policy: Historical Framework and Traditional
Inputs’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 35, no 4 (Oct. 1999), p. 152.
2. Mustafa Aydın, ‘Turkey and Central Asia; Challenges of Change’, Central Asian Survey, Vol.
15, no 2 (1996), pp. 157–77; and Sükrü Sina Gürel and Yoshihura Kimura, Turkey in a Changing
World (Tokyo: Institute of Developing Economies, 1993).
3. See Milliyet, August 7, 2001, pp. 1 and 16.
4. For different, and sometimes contradictory, explanations of Turkish foreign policy see David
Barchard, ‘Turkey and Europe’, Turkish Review Quarterly Digest, Vol. 3, no. 17 (1989); Walter
F. Weiker, ‘Turkey, the Middle East and Islam’, Middle East Review, Special Issue on Turkey,
Vol. 17, no. 3 (1985); Dankwart A. Rustow, ‘Turkey’s Liberal Revolution’, Middle East Review,
Vol. 17, no. 3 (1985); Feroz Ahmad, ‘Islamic Reassertion in Turkey’, Third World Quarterly,
Vol. 10, no. 2 (1988); Ola Tunander, ‘A New Ottoman Empire? The Choice for Turkey: Euro-
Asian Center versus National Fortress’, Security Dialogue, Vol. 26, no. 4 (1995); Andrew
Mango, ‘Turkey in Winter’, Middle Eastern Studies, Vol. 31 (1995); S. Hunter, Turkey at the
Crossroads: Islamic Past or European Future?, CEPS Paper no. 63 (Brussels: CEPS, 1995).
5. Kjell Goldman, Change and Stability In Foreign Policy; The Problems and Possibilities of
Détente (New York: Harvester and Wheatsheaf, 1988), p. 3.
6. Joseph Frankel, The Making of Foreign Policy; An Analysis of Decision Making (London:
Oxford University Press, 1963), p. 1.
7. These variables are discussed at greater length within the Turkish context in Mustafa Aydın,
‘Foreign Policy Formation and the Interaction between Domestic and International Environ-
ments: A Study of Change in Turkish Foreign Policy, 1980–1991’, unpublished PhD Thesis,
Lancaster University, UK, 1994.
8. Dankwart Rustow, Turkey, America’s Forgotten Ally (New York, London: Council on Foreign
Relations, 1989), p. 84.
9. Ali Karaosmanoğlu, ‘The Evolution of the National Security Culture and the Military in
Turkey’, Journal of International Affairs, Vol. 54, no. 1 (Fall 2000), p. 199.
10. For definition of ‘homogeneity’ in the Turkish context, see Stephen D. Salamonee, ‘The
Dialectics of Turkish National Identity: Ethnic Boundary Maintenance and State Ideology – Part
Two’, East European Quarterly, Vol. 23, no. 2 (June 1989), pp. 225–48.
11. In early 1920, Sheikh-ul-Islam issued a fetva encouraging the killings of rebels as a religious
duty. Accordingly, Mustafa Kemal and other nationalist leaders were court martialed in Istanbul
and condemned to death, in absentia. Also irregular troops, the ‘Army of the Caliphate’ were
organised to fight the nationalists. For more detailed analysis of the early nationalist struggle
against ‘internal opposition’ see, Mustafa Kemal Atatürk, Nutuk (The Speech, delivered in Oct.
1927), Vol. I (Ankara: TTK, 1981); Doğu Ergil, Social History of the Turkish National Struggle,
1919–22: The Unfinished Revolution (Lahore, Pakistan: Sind Sagar Academy, 1977), pp. 10–95.
12. Atatürk, Nutuk, p. 59.
13. Fredrich Frey, The Turkish Political Elite (Cambridge: MIT Press, 1965); Leslie Ross and
Noralov P. Ross, Managers of Modernisation; Organisations and Elites in Turkey, 1950–1969
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1971).
14. Karaosmanoğlu, ‘The Evolution of the National Security Culture and the Military in Turkey’, pp.
200 and 204–7.
15. Morgan Philips Prise, A History of Turkey; From Empire to Republic (London: Allen & Unwin,
1961), p. 44.
16. Thomas Naff, ‘The Ottoman Empire and the European States System’ in Hedley Bull and Adam
Watson (eds.), The Expansion of International Society (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1984), p. 143.
Emphases added.
17. For analysis of the impact of the West in Ottoman Empire see Arnold Toynbee and Kenneth
Kirkwood, The Modern World; A Survey of Historical Forces, Vol. VI: Turkey (London: Ernest
Benn, 1926), pp. 31–61.
18. For modernisation attempts in the Ottoman Empire see Bernard Lewis, The Emergence of
Modern Turkey (London, New York: Oxford University Press, 1961); Robert Ward and
Dankwart Rustow, Political Modernisation in Japan and Turkey (Princeton, NJ: Princeton
19. Abdullah Cevdet (1869–1932) was one of the co-founders of the Society of Union and Progress,
and a political writer. Quotation taken from Ictihad (Istanbul), No. 89 (1909), by Lewis, The
Emergence of Modern Turkey, p. 236.
20. Karaosmanoğlu, ‘The Evolution of the National Security Culture and the Military in Turkey’, pp.
200–201.
21. Ibid., p. 201.
22. Ibid.
23. For a detailed study of early foreign relations of the Ottoman Empire and the system of the
‘foreign office’ see Lord Kinross, The Ottoman Centuries: The Rise and Fall of the Turkish
Empire (London: Jonathan Cape, 1977); and Stanford Shaw and Ezel Shaw, History of the
Ottoman Empire and Modern Turkey (London: Cambridge University Press, 1977).
24. The only exception was Hatay, the district around Iskenderun (Alexandretta), which remained in
Syria as an autonomous region for the time being, and later in 1939 re-joined Turkey by majority
vote of its parliament. For the text of the Lausanne Peace Treaty see Jacob Hurewitz, Diplomacy
in the Near and Middle East: A Documentary Record, 1535–1956, Vol. II (Princeton, NJ: Van
Nostrand, 1956), pp. 119–27. For text of the National Pact see Atatürk, Nutuk, Vol. 3, Doc. no.
41. Also reprinted in Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East, pp. 74–5.
25. For the text of the Treaty of Sèvres see Hurewitz, Diplomacy in the Near and Middle East, pp.
81–9. For the Entente plans to partition the territories of the Ottoman Empire see Harry Howard,
The Partition of Turkey: A Diplomatic History (New York: Howard Fertig, 1966); Salahi Sonyel,
Turkish Diplomacy, 1918–1923: M. Kemal and the Turkish National Movement (London: Sage,
1975), pp. 1–13; Toynbee and Kirkwood, The Modern World, pp. 61–8 and 136–42.
26. For detailed study of Turkish nationalists’ struggle for independence and its external relations
see Mehmet Gönlübol, et al., Olaylarla Türk Dis Politikası, 6th ed. (Ankara: Siyasal, 1987), pp.
3–48; Sonyel, Turkish Diplomacy, 1918–1923; Edward Reginald Vere-Hodge, Turkish Foreign
Policy, 1918–1948, PhD Thesis, Imprimerie Franco-Swisse, Ambilly-Annemasse, 1950, pp. 23–
50; and Atatürk, Nutuk.
27. Philip Robins, ‘The Overlord State: Turkish Policy and the Kurdish Issue’, International Affairs,
Vol. 69, no. 4 (1993), p. 659; and Richard Sim, ‘Kurdistan: The Search For Recognition’,
Conflict Studies, no. 124, 1980, p. 4. The Treaty itself, although it did not define the exact
territory of proposed autonomous Kurdistan, stipulated that after one year it might ask the
League of Nations for a conformation of its status as an independent state. Conformation of this
status was to be based on the evaluation of mandatory power(s).
28. Karaosmanoğlu, ‘The Evolution of the National Security Culture and the Military in Turkey’,
p. 202.
29. Malik Mufti, ‘Daring and Caution in Turkish Foreign Policy’, Middle East Journal, Vol. 52, no.
1 (1998), p. 43.
30. Statement by Kenan Evren, 7th President of Turkey, Newspot, official weekly, Sep. 7, 1984, p. 1.
31. Atatürk, Nutuk, pp. 135–8.
32. Richard Robinson, The First Turkish Republic (Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press,
1963), p. 170; Philip Robins, ‘Turkey and the Eastern Arab World’, in Gerd Nonneman (ed.),
The Middle East and Europe, 2nd ed. (London: Federal Trust for Education and Research, 1993),
pp. 189–94; Nülüfer Narlı, ‘Civil–Military Relations in Turkey’, Turkish Studies, Vol. 1, no. 1
(Spring 2000), pp. 107–27.
33. Mustafa Aydın, ‘Cacophony in the Aegean: Contemporary Greek–Turkish Relations’, Turkish
Yearbook of International Relations, no. 27 (1997), pp. 111–13.
34. Aydın, ‘Determinants of Turkish Foreign Policy’, p. 164.
35. Shaw and Shaw, History of the Ottoman Empire and Modern Turkey, p. 483.
36. James Rosenau, The Scientific Study of Foreign Policy (New York, Free Press, 1971), pp. 19–20.
37. See Richard Snyder, H. W. Bruck and Burton Sapin, ‘The Decision-Making Approach to the
Study of International Politics’ in James N. Rosenau (ed.), International Politics and Foreign
Policy: A Reader In Search and Theory (New York: Free Press, 1961), pp. 189–90.
38. Aydın, ‘Determinants of Turkish Foreign Policy’, pp. 152 and 165.
39. Ferenc Váli, Bridge Across the Bosphorus; The Foreign Policy of Turkey (Baltimore and
London: John’s Hopkins University Press, 1971), p. 46.
41. Ibid.; and Aydın, ‘Cacophony in the Aegean’, pp. 116–17.
42. Andrew Wilson, The Aegean Dispute, Adelphi Papers, No. 155 (London: International Institute
for Strategic Studies, 1980), pp. 36–7.
43. In the early days of the Republic, Turkey had borders with seven states, including four with
major powers: Greece, Bulgaria, the Soviet Union, Iran, Great Britain (mandate in Iraq and
possession of Cyprus), France (mandate in Syria), and Italy (possession of the Dodecanese
Islands). After World War II, Turkey’s borders dropped to six, leaving Greece, Bulgaria, the
Soviet Union, Iran, Iraq and Syria as neighbours, and the Republic of Cyprus joined them in
1960. At the end of the Cold War, while Soviet Union disappeared, Azerbaijan (Nahichevan),
Armenia and Georgia became independent on Turkey’s north-eastern border, adding further
uncertainties.
44. Benjamin Most and Harvey Starr, ‘Diffusion, Reinforcement, Geopolitics and the Spread of
War’, The American Political Science Review, Vol. 74, no. 4 (1980), p. 935.
45. Váli, Bridge Across the Bosphorus, p. 44.
46. Legg and Morrison, Politics and the International System, p. 101.
47. Nuri Eren, Turkey Today and Tomorrow: An Experiment in Westernization (London: Pall Mall
Press, 1963), p. 227.
48. Nuri Eren, Turkey, NATO and Europe; A Deteriorating Relationship? (Paris: The Atlantic
Institute for International Affairs, 1977), p. 16.
49. Ferenc Váli, Turkish Straits and NATO (Stanford, Calif.: Stanford University Press, 1972), pp.
302–5.
50. Haluk Ülman and Oral Sander, ‘Türk Dış Politikasına Yön Veren Etkenler-II’, Siyasal Bilgiler
Fakültesi Dergisi, Vol. 27, no. 1 (1972), pp. 1–24.
52. Ali Karaosmanoğlu, ‘Turkey’s Security and the Middle East’, Foreign Affairs, Vol. 62, no. 1 Fall
1983), p. 99.
53. Aydın, ‘Determinants of Turkish Foreign Policy’, pp. 169–70.
54. Váli, Bridge Across the Bosporus, p. 55.
55. The 1982 Constitution (as well as the 1961 Constitution) presented a modified version of
Kemalist principles, declaring in Article 2: ‘The Republic of Turkey is a democratic, secular and
social state governed by the rule of law; bearing in mind the concepts of public peace, national
solidarity and justice; respecting human rights; loyal to the nationalism of Atatürk, and based on
the fundamental tenets set forth in the Preamble’. The preamble gave renewed credit to the
Kemalist achievements and ideology by expressing ‘absolute loyalty to. . .the direction of
concept of nationalism as outlined by Atatürk. . .[and] the reforms and principles introduced by
him’. It also expressed ‘desire for, and belief in peace at home, peace in the world’, and its
determination not to protect any ‘thoughts or opinions contrary to Turkish National
interests. . .the nationalism, principles, reform and modernism of Atatürk, and that as required
by the principle of secularism’.
56. Niyazi Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey (Montreal: McGill University, 1964),
pp. 479–503.
57. Berkes, The Development of Secularism in Turkey, p. 6.
58. Turhan Feyzioğlu, ‘Secularism: Cornerstone of Turkish Revolution’ in Turhan Feyzioğlu (ed.),
Atatürk’s Way (Istanbul: Otomarsan, 1982), p. 208. For Nationalist resentment and objections at
the Lausanne Peace Conference to the abuse of the Millet system by Western powers see
Toynbee and Kirkwood, The Modern World, pp. 143–8.
59. Oral Sander, ‘Turkish Foreign Policy; Forces of Continuity and of Change’ in Ahmet Evin (ed.),
Modern Turkey; Continuity and Change (Opladen: Lesle Verlag, 1984), p. 119.
60. Salamone, ‘The Dialectics of Turkish National Identity’, p. 226 quoted from the US Department
of State, Turkey, Post Report: The Host Country (Jan. 1986), p. 1.
61. From a speech delivered at the Fourth National Convention of the RPP by its Chairman and
ideologue, Recep Peker, on May 9, 1935. Cited in Fahir Armaoğlu, CHP Tarihi, Vol. 1 (Ankara:
TTK, 1971), p. 46.
62. Sadri Maksudi Arsal, Milliyet Duygusunun Sosyolojik Esasları (Istanbul: n.p., 1963), p. 103.
63. For further discussion see Salamone, ‘The Dialectics of Turkish National Identity’.
64. The term that Mustafa Kemal used during the War of Independence to refer to the people lived
then in Anatolia was ‘Nation of Turkey’ (Türkiye Milleti), which was replaced after the war by
‘Turkish Nation’ (Türk Milleti). See Baskın Oran, Atatürk Milliyetçiliği; Resmi İdeoloji Dışı Bir
İnceleme (Ankara: Bilgi, 1993), p. 208.
65. Robins, ‘The Overlord State: Turkish Policy and the Kurdish Issue’, p. 658.
66. Atatürk, Nutuk, Vol. 3, pp. 67–8.
67. İsmet İnönü, ‘Negotiations and National Interest’, in Perspectives on Peace, 1919–1960
(London: Stevens, 1960), pp. 137–8.
68. Most and Starr, ‘Diffusion, Reinforcement, Geopolitics and the Spread of War’, p. 934.
69. Edward Weiseband, Turkish Foreign Policy, 1943–1945 (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University
Press, 1973), p. 7.
70. George Lenczowski, The Middle East in World Affairs (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1980),
p. 121.
71. Edward Mortimer, ‘Active in a New World Role’ in Turkey, Europe’s Rising Star; The
Opportunities in Anglo-Turkish Relations (London: Lowe Bell, 1993), p. 44.
72. The then Turkish president Turgut Özal, in his opening speech of the Turkish Grand National
Assembly in Sept. 1, 1991, described the situation created by the end of Cold War and breaking
up of the former Soviet Union as an ‘historic opportunity’ for the Turks to became a ‘regional
power’, and urged the Assembly not to ‘throw away this change which presented itself for the
first time in 400 years’. See Minutes of the TGNA, Term: 19–1, Vol. 1, no. 3 (1992), p. 25.
73. As the then Turkish Prime Minister Süleyman Demirel put it, ‘we share a common history, a
common language, a common religion and a common culture. We are cousins cut off from each
other for over a hundred years, first by the Russians under the Czars, and then by the Communist
regime’. See Mushahid Hussain, ‘Iran and Turkey in Central Asia; Complementary or
Competing Roles?’, Middle East International, 19 February 1993, p. 19. Also see ‘Turkey;
Central Asia’s Dominant Power’, Newsweek, 28 January 1992.
74. See Philip Robins, ‘Between Sentiment and Self Interest: Turkey’s Policy Toward Azerbaijan
and the Central Asian States’, Middle East Journal, Vol. 47, no. 4 (1993), p. 595.
75. Şükrü Elekdağ, ‘2 12 War Strategy’, Perceptions, Vol. 1, no. 1 (March–May 1996), p. 13.
76. Ian O. Lesser, ‘Turkey in a Changing Security Environment’, Journal of International Affairs,
Vol. 54, no. 1 (Fall 2000), pp. 1956.
77. Lesser, ‘Turkey in a Changing Security Environment’, p. 197.
78. Salamone, ‘The Dialectics of Turkish National Identity’, p. 226.
79. For an extended discussion of the relation between Turkish and European identities see Nuri
Yurdusev, ‘Perception and Images in Turkish (Ottoman)–European Relations’ in Tareq Ismael
and Mustafa Aydın (eds), Turkey’s Foreign Policy in the Twenty-First Century; A Changing
Role in World Politics (Aldershot: Ashgate, forthcoming), pp. 69–92.
80. For a discussion of the requirements of the standard of civilization as understood by the
nineteenth century European elite and statesmen see Gerrrit W. Gong, The Standard of
‘Civilization’ in International Society (Oxford: Clarendon, 1984), pp. 14–15.
81. Yurdusev, ‘Perception and Images in Turkish (Ottoman)–European Relations’, p. 88.
Shades of Opinion: The Oil Exporting
Countries and International Climate Politics
PAUL AARTS and DENNIS JANSSEN
INTRODUCTION
At the beginning of the twenty-first century the future role and importance of the
oil exporting countries in the Middle East is rather uncertain. The clear Cold-
War division of the world has disappeared and states are in the process of
redefining their national interests. The major dilemma is the future role of their
primary source of income. Oil is still king, but scientific and industrial
developments tell us that we are in the midst of a transformation process that
indicates a global shift from oil (and other fossil fuels) to alternative sources of
energy. A new energy paradigm is emerging, forged by technological advances,
resource and environmental constraints, and socio-economic demands. The main
fuel for the second half of the twenty-first century could be hydrogen, the
lightest and most abundant resource in the universe. Like the hydrocarbon era
that precedes it, the dawning hydrogen age not only carries with it its own set of
risks and uncertainties, but also its own set of winners and losers. Oil exporting
countries are confronted with this challenge and are reaching varying
conclusions.
One of the most important fora where opinions of the new energy paradigm
are being formed is the United Nations Framework Convention on Climate
Change (UNFCCC). In the climate change debate the oil exporting countries are
usually seen as obstreperous, employing a foot-dragging strategy (occasionally
supported by the US or other OECD countries, though never by any EU member
country). At the meetings of the Conference of Parties, these countries ‘vie’ with
one another for the ‘Fossil-of-the-Day’ award, presented by the Climate Action
Network, an environmental NGO. Although in climate-change-related publica-
tions the oil exporters are usually presented as a bloc – a view that for obvious
reasons is very much supported by the organization itself – different members
have different national circumstances and interests when it comes to climate
change.
In this contribution we will argue that in order to understand the different
positions of oil exporting countries in the climate change debate it is not
sufficient to focus solely on the material costs and benefits that climate change
abatement policies have for oil exporting countries. Material interests matter, of
course, but what matters equally is how interests are thought to be constituted.
Therefore, the ‘politics-of-interest’ approach has to be complemented with a
‘perception-oriented’ approach, based on an analysis of attitudes and views on
climate change in the countries concerned.
In the first section, we will make a case for our constructivist approach and its
relevance as a research methodology within the discipline of International
Relations. The second section sheds light on the international arena itself where
the climate change debate, the focal point of this research, is constituted. We
will explore the role of oil exporting countries within the Kyoto process and the
different degrees of vulnerability to climate change abatement policies. In the
fourth and final section we will examine in particular the positions of two key
players in the Gulf region: the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Islamic
Republic of Iran. We will argue that in these countries, two quite distinct
interpretations of the costs and benefits of abatement policies leads to different
approaches towards the diplomatic process related to this question.
Such approaches clearly have an impact – indeed are an intrisic part of – Gulf
oil producers’ relations with Europe: the EU, after all, is both a key trading
partner and widely regarded as occupying the benchmark position in the climate-
change negotiations.
HOW TO UNDERSTAND INTERNATIONAL CLIMATE CHANGE

POLITICS
International environmental issues pose particular challenges for some of the

dominant approaches in International Relations. Without going into a detailed
survey of IR theories, a simple division can be made between ‘rationalists’ on
the one hand and ‘reflectivists’ on the other hand, with ‘constructivism’ taking
the middle ground.1 The ‘rationalist’ label applies to a wide range of IR
approaches – covering the field of realism, neorealism, and neoliberal
institutionalism – all of which prefer to explain international relations as simple
behavioral responses to the forces of physics that act on material objects from
the outside. The two ‘neo’ variants are increasingly getting closer to each other,
sharing a view of the world of international relations in utilitarian terms: ‘an
atomistic universe of self-regarding units whose identity is assumed given and
fixed, and who are responsive largely if not solely to material interests that are
stipulated by assumption’.2 Clearly, the neo-neo synthesis dominates the
professional literature in the discipline of International Relations. This means
that most studies in the field of climate change politics are also based on rational
choice theory, taking the identities and interests of actors as given. This
established agenda in IR theory – summarily characterized as state-centric,
strongly attached to the ‘Great Divide’ between the domestic and the
international spheres of political activity, and lack of attention to the relationship
between knowledge, power and interests – needs a substantial revision.
One way this has been done is through a reflectivist approach (although it is
difficult to speak of one theory of reflectivism). According to most
postmodernists, poststructuralists, critical theorists and feminist theorists it is
THE OIL EXPORTING COUNTRIES AND INTERNATIONAL POLITICS 225
only – or mainly – ideas that matter. They build on a relativist philosophy of

science and in their own way each is post-positivist. Students of International
Relations who identify themselves as postmodernists and poststructuralists
embrace the constitutive position and propose textual and discourse analysis as
the basis for understanding international politics. In that sense, reality ‘can be
nothing other than a text, a symbolic construction that is itself related to other
texts – not to history or social structure – in arbitrary ways’.3 Not surprisingly,
very few reflectivist studies have been done in the field of climate change
politics.
Trying to understand an individual state’s international policy positions vis-
à-vis the global warming phenomenon makes clear that neither a purely
‘materialist’ nor a purely ‘idealist’ explanation can work. Here the
‘constructivist’ school may have more to offer. This term subsumes writers
from a host of different positions, but all agree on the assumption that material
things acquire meaning only through the structure of shared knowledge in
which they are embedded. In general, constructivists give priority to cultural
over material structures on the grounds that actors act on the basis of the
meanings that objects have for them, and meanings are socially constructed. ‘A
gun in the hands of a friend is a different thing from one in the hands of an
enemy, and enmity is a social, not material, relationship’.4 Reasoning along
this line, a more sociological orientation would lead to the conclusion that
states’ (and other actors’) identities and interests need to be problematized
because these are not exogenous and given. Identities, interests and behavior of
political agents are socially constructed by collective meanings, interpretations
and assumptions about the world. Constructivists hold the view that the
building blocks of international reality are ideational as well as material; that
they express not only individual but also collective intentionality; and that the
meaning and significance of ideational factors are not independent of time and
place.5 While it is accepted that there is a real world out there, it is
nevertheless believed that it is not entirely determined by physical reality and
is socially emergent.
Such an approach looks particularly promising when trying to get a grip on
the ‘the national interest’ of the state. Following constructivism, it must be
emphasized that national interests are not fixed and given; they are equally not
merely the collective interests of a group of people; nor, with rare exceptions,
are they the interests of a single dominant individual.
Rather, national interests are intersubjective understandings about what it

takes to advance power, influence and wealth, that survive the political
process, given the distribution of power and knowledge in a society.
Constructivism is thus conducive to the empirical study of the conditions
that make one particular intersubjective conception of interests prevail
over others. In sum, constructivism is equipped to show how national
interests are born, how they acquire their status of general political
understandings, and how such understandings are politically selected in
and through political processes.6
In a constructivist research agenda in the field of international environmental

policy the concept of ‘sustainable development’ becomes one such inter-
subjective understanding, on the basis of which problems and solutions
regarding the environment and development are analyzed and repertoires for
action formulated. ‘Sustainable development’ is a new collective understanding,
which, in turn, shapes the identities and interests, and consequently expectations,
of social actors. This is not to say that there is only one interpretation of
sustainable development. Some may even conflict and a consensual inter-
subjective definition develops only in and through practice. It is in this context
that material factors are allowed to leave their mark. ‘In any case, this
understanding has begun to determine policies that act on the material world,
affecting the physical environment, people and their well-being’.7
It has to be noted that climate change, as a scientific issue, is still dominated
by uncertainty (or, in Hannigan’s words, characterized by the existence of
contradictory certainties).8 This implies that dealing with climate change in the
international diplomatic arena therefore is first of all dealing with uncertainties
in a ‘game’ where the stakes are high. Much can be lost or won, depending on a
correct assessment of (future) societal risks, costs, and the benefits. To
understand this assessment by policy makers requires a thorough analysis of the
structural environment in which the foreign and environmental policy of a
country is embedded. As suggested by Nonneman, three levels of analysis can
be distinguished: the domestic environment and survival imperative of regime
and state, the regional context and transnational ideological context and the
overall limiting and enabling effects of the international environment. This has
to be complemented by an evaluation of the decision-making structures and the
perceptions of the decision makers.9 Climate change politics cannot be
explained in terms of ‘objective’ interests alone and an analysis of the
perceptions of the climate change policy making elite is crucial to understand
the diverging positions in the climate change debate. At a more fundamental or
theoretical level, the insufficiency of the politics-of-interest explanation reflects
the postulate that ‘reality’ can never be objectively observed nor interpreted. On
the contrary, perceptions of reality will always be structured by worldviews, in
this particular case exemplified by (growing versus lacking) environmental
consciousness. Hence, worldviews of actors (also) have to be taken into account,
to analyze how various actors observe and interpret climate change, and how on
the basis of this assessment they define their interests. All this leads to a dual
research strategy, in which an interest- and a perception-oriented line of inquiry
are complemented.10
DIVERGING POSITIONS IN THE CLIMATE CHANGE DEBATE
It was in the face of possibly disastrous consequences from climate change, such
as droughts, extreme weather events, the rise of sea levels, etc., that during Rio
de Janeiro’s ‘Earth Summit’ in 1992, the debate on global warming officially
started. The United Nations set up its Framework Convention on Climate
Change (FCCC), which should lead to the stabilization of greenhouse gas
concentrations ‘at a level that would prevent dangerous anthropogenic

interference with the climate system’. The ensuing ‘Kyoto Protocol’ is the
result of a long negotiating process, culminating in the Third Conference of
Parties (COP-3) in Kyoto in December 1997. ‘Kyoto’ commits developed
countries to reduce their collective emissions of greenhouse gases by on average
5.2 percent from 1990 levels in the period 2008–12. In several follow-up
meetings – including COP-7 in Marrakesh in October–November 2001, where
some of the attitudinal research for this study was conducted – further decisions
on the implementation of the Convention and operational details of the Protocol
were taken. With the foreseen ratification by Russia, possibly in the course of
2003, the Protocol will be put into effect.11
The compromises reached in Kyoto and during follow-up negotiations reflect
major differences in climate change perceptions and policy preferences, both
between and within the different alignments. The main fault lines are the North–
South dimension of climate politics, the difference of interests due to the
countries’ degree of vulnerability to climate change and the conflict between
energy exporters and importers. The clearest division is the North–South
division with the OECD countries forming the North and the G77/China
representing the developing world. As the Kyoto Protocol sets its targets and
timetables first of all for the industrialized countries, the main negotiations for
the Protocol itself were among the industrialized, so called Annex-I, countries.
The industrialized world is divided between two blocs, with the EU and the US
as the acting opponents. In the climate change negotiations, the EU has been one
of the most pro-active players and is widely seen as an agenda setter in the
global warming debate. More reluctant to commit themselves to any quantified
targets is the ‘Umbrella Group’, an informal group composed of non-EU
developed countries. The US can be seen as the frontrunner of this group,
although President Bush alienated himself from most other members with his
decision not to ratify the Protocol.
The EU is widely acknowledged as the most energetic player in the climate
negotiations, where it has usually played a progressive role, despite serious
setbacks in developing its own internal strategy. Throughout the capitals of
Europe, global warming is seen as a serious threat and the COPs are acclaimed
as a stage to explore the opportunities of a single European foreign policy. As
one author put it rather bombastically, ‘Europe thus has the chance to
demonstrate that it has matured from the object of globalization to a driver of
politics that ensure the decent survival of humanity in the centuries to come’.12
He makes it clear that the EU – the ‘green conscience’ of the negotiating
countries – should not wait for the US to take further action.
Both with regard to ozone layer depletion and climate change, the European
Commission quickly embraced these concerns and helped to establish them on
the agenda even of reluctant Member States at the earliest possible stage of the
relevant negotiations. With regard to the issue of the greenhouse effect, the first
Communication of the Commission to the Council of Ministers was presented in
November 1988. Since then the European Commission has taken many climate-
related initiatives such as the 1991 Community strategy to limit CO2 emissions
and improve energy efficiency. In March 2000 the Commission launched its
European Climate Change Program (ECCP), followed in 2001 by the
publication of an extensive Green Paper.13
It was in particular during COP-6 in The Hague (November 2000) that the
Europeans were in the forefront of the negotiations, backed by many developing
countries and environmental NGOs. The chief US negotiator accused ‘green
fundamentalists’ in the European delegation of having obstructed a deal: COP-6
collapsed. In contrast to the ‘Umbrella Group’, which wanted more flexibility to
help its members meet any emissions targets by using the Kyoto mechanisms
(and by crediting ‘sinks’ in forests and agricultural soils), the EU countries
toughened their negotiating positions. It was only in Bonn during ‘COP-6b’
(July 2001) that the Europeans were prepared to make some significant
concessions. The US nonetheless dropped out.
The developing world is roughly divided in three groups: the Association of
Small Island States (AOSIS); the oil exporting developing countries; and a
diverse group of other developing countries, including China and India. These
three groups represent diverging interests, but in the negotiations with the
industrialized countries they have tried to operate as one group through the G77/
China. With the exception of the formation of a ‘Green G77’ at the 1995 Berlin
Mandate negotiations, the G77 has been able to operate as a workable coalition
at the final stage of the decision-making process.14
Yet the oil exporting countries, of which the most vocal have been Saudi
Arabia and Kuwait, have been relatively isolated within the negotiations. They
have consistently sought allies. One route available was through the G77, with
which the relationship has been an uneasy one. A more successful alliance was
with the United States over quantified emissions targets. But the most durable
partnership has been with prominent business lobbyists in the negotiations,
representing (mainly US) coal and oil industries.
Due to the prominent position of the EU in the climate change negotiations, it
is obvious that the oil exporting countries direct their diplomatic actions more
towards Brussels than to Washington or Tokyo. For years on end, OPEC has
been complaining about the disproportionate energy tax in the OECD, and the
West-European countries in particular. OPEC suggests more equitable energy
taxation using a pro rata tax system based on carbon content and targeted at all
green house gases. Europe is blasted for exercising a ‘visible bias’ against oil,
noting that these countries take on average a tax bite of 65 percent of the pump
price of oil. OPEC’s Secretary General Ali Rodriguez Arique calculated that
over the past 20 years, taxes on oil products have increased by an average of 350
percent in OECD countries – especially (again) in the EU.15 At the same time it
is known that coal continues to be subsidized, despite its high carbon content
which contributes to higher CO2 emissions. OPEC can indeed reach no other
conclusion: ‘There is a bias against petroleum’.16 This is in line with Robert
Mabro’s cri de coeur that:
[T]hey [OPEC countries] should not be afraid to oppose carbon tax

proposals that retain a bias in favor of coal, and should persuasion fail,
they may have regretfully no other options than to impose tariffs on

imports from countries which adopt anti-oil policies under an environ-
mental label, when the true objectives are protection of coal or nuclear,
revenue raising or sheer petrophobia.17
Though the Europeans in general do not seem very impressed by OPEC’s

lamentations, there are a few indications that in some circles at least the oil
exporting countries’ predicament is being taken seriously. Reacting to the
concerns about the adverse impacts of global climate change abatement policies
on OPEC’s revenues, several studies have been undertaken. One of these –
commissioned by the Dutch National Research Program on Global Air Pollution
and Climate Change – resulted in a plea for different formats of cooperation
with the OPEC countries in the implementation of the Kyoto Protocol. These
include not only the perfunctory ‘strengthening of producer–consumer
relations’, but also improved access to the EU market, non-oil investments in
the oil exporting countries and an attractive formula for the imposition of CO2
tax (either levied at the source or levied in the Annex-I countries, but with
revenue redistribution to the OPEC countries).18 One swallow, however, does
not make a summer and the oil exporting countries remain very worried about
the future, albeit to different degrees.
RESPONSES BY MIDDLE EASTERN OIL EXPORTING COUNTRIES
In a recent World Energy Outlook, the International Energy Agency (IEA)

predicted that the world’s thirst for oil shows no sign of waning over the next 20
years.19 This may seem a reassuring sign for several oil exporting countries in
the Middle East and North Africa who see themselves currently confronted with
huge economic problems. However, relating the possible increase in oil
revenues to the increase in population, it becomes clear that the nominal
increase of the export revenue of a number of countries will definitely lag
behind population growth. Today nearly 40 percent of the Gulf population is
under 14 years of age. This means that within a decade a major chunk of the
population is going to enter the job market. Yet most oil exporting countries
have not been very successful in breaking the stranglehold of the one-sector
economy, thus largely failing to expand the job market. Moreover, the ‘Gulf
baby boomers’ will through their sheer numbers put severe pressure on the state
infrastructure and social services. They will not only require employment, but
also housing, medical facilities, education, etc. Oil in itself is certainly not
going to provide all the answers. Preparing for the long term where demand for
alternative energy will grow, can provide welcome additional sources of
income. Seen against the backdrop of the fact that the oil exporters have been
forced for many years now to play by the rules of a buyer’s market, it is not
surprising that they do not feel at ease. It goes without saying that a repeat of the
1973–74 events – that is, a reasonably successful use of the oil weapon – is
highly unlikely, leaving the Arab world saddled with a permanent feeling of
nostalgia.20
The situation could even get worse if the IEA’s predictions are not borne out.
Clearly, alternative views of the future are possible which make the oil exporting
countries’ situation look much bleaker than the World Energy Outlook
presumes. Paul Stevens, for instance, draws a more pessimistic scenario by
pointing out several discontinuities that are often glossed over or paid
insufficient attention to in other studies. He reaches the conclusion that oil
revenues (for the members of the Gulf Co-operation Council) over a medium- to
long-term horizon are likely to rise little and could easily go lower. He draws
attention to the effects of possible changing demand patterns, increased taxes on
oil products in consuming countries, and security concerns, and in particular to
possible demand discontinuities as a result of the growth of alternative sources
of energy, which of course is closely related to – though not solely determined
by – environmental concerns.21
The former Oil Minister of Saudi Arabia, Sheikh Ahmed Zaki Yamani, also
stresses the technology factor: ‘Technology is a real enemy for OPEC. [It] will
reduce consumption and increase production from areas outside OPEC’. He sees
hybrid engines for automobiles and hydrogen fuel cells drastically cutting the
consumption of gasoline. ‘The Stone Age came to an end not for the lack of
stones and the oil age will end, but not for the lack of oil’, he wisely remarks.22
Effects of Implementing the Kyoto Protocol

The oil exporting countries’ predicament may indeed be amplified by the
implementation of climate change policies within the Kyoto framework. Some
pundits argue that it is not unlikely that climate change abatement policies by
industrialized countries will prove to be ‘[t]he last straw that broke the camel’s
back’.23
Since the start of ‘global warming diplomacy’ in the early 1990s, the oil
exporting countries have taken the issue of environmental concerns seriously,
though not unequivocally. On the one hand, OPEC studies argue that the oil
producers should take a pro-active position and take the lead, wherever possible,
by effectively participating in the international debate on environmental
protection. This should preferably be done in a concerted way, not on an
individual and uncoordinated basis. On the other hand, OPEC officials quite
often take an openly recalcitrant position and do not tire of claiming that global
warming is ‘more politics than science’.
Without any doubt, implementation of the Kyoto Protocol will affect the
income of the oil exporting countries. Much less certain is the amount of
damage that will be caused by greenhouse gases mitigation measures and the
time span within which this loss of revenue is expected to be realized.
Analysts vary in their beliefs about the future, and about the mechanism at
play (see for instance the difference between the scenarios suggested by the
IEA and Stevens). This results in different choices of methodology and
modeling, among which it is often impossible to allocate objective preference
(although there are, of course, high-quality and low-quality modeling
approaches). A comparison of some of these scenarios leads to wide
divergence in estimates of reduced oil exports in ten or twenty years from
now (that is, some time after the first commitment period under the Kyoto
Protocol has started). This divergence produces, in turn, varied assessments of
the urgency to oppose the Kyoto abatement policies. The OPEC Secretariat’s
own figures – revenue losses in 2010 are between $20 and $60 billion per
annum – are even surpassed by several scenarios as developed in the analysis
commissioned by the Dutch National Research Program on Global Air
Pollution and Climate Change (where in the worst-case scenario income loss
may amount to up to $94 billion in 2010 – that is, almost 30 percent below the
Business-as-Usual scenario.24 Others come to less spectacular losses of
revenue.25 Marcel Berk et al. even conclude that ‘the losses projected on the
short term are often within the range resulting from historical price
fluctuations. During the twenty-first century, the depletion of conventional
oil will make a shift to other energy sources and/or economic activities
inevitable for most oil exporting countries even without climate change.
Climate policies are likely to delay the depletion of conventional oil and
extend revenues over a longer period’.26
Yet it is clear that oil-exporting countries have reason to worry about the
future. In some cases, considerations of raison d’état (sometimes narrowed
down to raison de famille) make them focus almost exclusively on the ‘Kyoto
effects’, disregarding the undemocratic character of the powers that be and the
regimes’ policies of misspending the oil money.
Degrees of Vulnerability
Very few studies have paid explicit attention to the differentiation within the
group of OPEC countries in terms of their vulnerabilities to Kyoto abatement
policies. While it is understandable that OPEC should present its case as much
as possible as a bloc, this is much less justifiable in academic studies of these
countries’ climate change policies. Most scholarly analyses of this field stick to
the notion of ‘the’ OPEC countries or ‘the’ oil exporters.27 In an otherwise
excellent study by Matthew Paterson, the author notes that ‘the assumption that
these groups [AOSIS, OPEC, etc.] are internally coherent is itself problematic’,
but largely fails to follow the logic of this through in his analysis – mirroring a
similar failing in other studies.28
However, in 1997 Paterson and Kassler made a more sophisticated attempt to
differentiate between degrees of vulnerability of oil exporting countries.29 In this
study, attention is paid to a range of factors, such as economic wealth;
dependence of oil exports; the ability to expand gas production and exports in
relation to the changing interfuel competition; contribution of the oil sector to
GDP; and remedial action options and costs. Bringing all these factors into
account, Kassler and Paterson come to the conclusion that the impact of revenue
losses will fall most heavily on less affluent exporters such as Nigeria, Iraq, Iran
and Angola. Loss of oil income could pose severe problems of economic
management and the continuation of development plans. They discern a second
group of oil exporters who are also exposed through their high export
dependence, but who appear to have more robust economies. This, they argue,
applies to the other Gulf states, Libya, Algeria and Venezuela (although one can
question the inclusion of Algeria in this group). These countries could face
problems of a different nature if internal spending on infrastructure and, more
especially, social provisions, cannot be maintained at levels that preserve
political stability.
Kassler and Paterson’s project, which explicitly hints at the inclusion of the
energy exporting countries in negotiations to further commitments under the
UNFCCC, has even more added value because the authors are the first to shed
light on the changing position of the OPEC countries in these negotiations. This
is in stark contrast to other studies (and nearly all journalistic accounts) in which
a static picture of OPEC’s position is presented. Yet any observant analyst
would have found that even hardliners such as Saudi Arabia and Kuwait have
somewhat softened their position during the course of the successive COP
gatherings. Before the Framework Convention was signed – and more or less
until the Berlin Mandate was agreed upon – the oil exporting countries acted
purely to defend their own interests as producers. An interesting parallel could
be drawn with evolving corporate strategies in international climate politics.
Here also we note a shift from a defensive bloc strategy to a more diversified,
pro-active approach.
The OPEC countries’ strategies covered the whole gamut from simple but
consistent complaining about the economic damage as a result of possible
implementation measures, to outright obstruction of the negotiating process.
One of the mainstays of the oil exporters’ overall approach has been to focus on
remaining scientific uncertainties regarding climate change, in order to justify
resisting calls to limit CO2 emissions. Ever since the Intergovernmental Panel on
Climate Change (IPCC) started to publish its Assessment Reports in 1990, the
energy industry has been conducting a ferocious public relations campaign
meant to sell the notion that science, any science, is always a matter of
uncertainty. A prominent role in this campaign has been taken by the Global
Climate Coalition, the Climate Council and a small band of skeptic academics.
Representatives of OPEC countries have always been in close contact with these
‘negationists’. The most notorious example of this confrontational attitude has
been their response to the proposed carbon/energy tax in the EU. OPEC
representatives threatened to retaliate by taxing and limiting European imports,
reducing oil exports, and curbing planned increases in production capacity. One
commentator suggested that relations were so strained that ‘[t]he Gulf
countries. . .even threatened to break off diplomatic relations’.30 Another strand
of the oil exporting countries’ strategies can be labeled as outright obstructive
behavior. Saudi Arabia in particular, sometimes seconded by Kuwait, has tried
to slow the pace of negotiations, quite often by simply haggling over the rules of
procedure. Examples of this tactic abound.31
As Kassler and Paterson note, it was in late 1996 that the Saudi and Kuwaiti
position could be observed to soften somewhat. For the moment at least, they
toned down the argument of scientific uncertainty and, ostensibly, their hostility
towards emissions reduction measures.32 They switched to the argument that the
oil exporters should be compensated for economic losses incurred through
adoption of emissions abatement. In that context, they made their voices heard
in the debate about the implementation of article 4.8(h) of the UNFCCC, which
stipulates that due account should be taken to the adverse effects of greenhouse
gases mitigation measures on the oil and gas revenues of energy exporting
countries. We will not pursue the debate here whether the compensation claim is
fair and reasonable, and whether Annex-I countries are prepared to pay. Instead,
we now turn to a comparative analysis of two key players in the Gulf region,
Iran and Saudi Arabia.
Shades of Opinion: Saudi Arabia and Iran Compared

Even studies which differentiate between the oil exporting countries’ varying
vulnerabilities do not take the consequences of that approach and usually refrain
from making various ‘country profiles’. At best, they differentiate between
several sub-groupings – as in the case of Kassler and Paterson (see above), who
in the end still leave the image of ‘the’ oil exporters very much intact. But even
if we were to go one step further, and try to develop several ‘national climate
change interest profiles’,33 this would not necessarily lead to an optimal result.
Both because of the huge number of uncertainties involved – both in general and
more specifically regarding global warming issues – and because of the
existence of differing world views among the elites in the oil exporting
countries, positions in the climate change debate may vary. The formulation of
these positions becomes dependent on actors’ subjective assessments of the
effects, urgency and seriousness of the issue. This is in line with Nonneman’s
argument for ‘taking into account both the decision-making structures and the
decision makers’ perceptions, since particular policy choices are indeed capable
of making the sort of difference that cannot be explained by structural factors
alone.’34 For that reason, we supplement the interest line of inquiry by a
perception-oriented line of inquiry.35 States’ interests are constituted inter-
subjectively, and states spend quite some time and energy on working towards
some sense of what their interests are, rather than in trying to realize some pre-
given interest.
Both academic and journalistic publications generally stress that in the case of
the oil exporting countries the pre-given interest with regard to climate change
policies and diplomacy, is largely framed by the fear that ‘Kyoto’ will reduce
their oil exports and subsequently their level of income dramatically.
Governmental positions on climate change abatement policies, it is assumed,
can be easily reduced to this given interest. We would argue, however, that oil
exporting countries are no exception to the rule that national interests are the
result of choices made by the elites based on their assessment of the effects, the
urgency and the seriousness of both global warming and climate change
abatement policies. Keeping this in mind we will now turn to a comparison
between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the Islamic Republic of Iran: two
rentier states, both key players in OPEC and in the climate change negotiations,
and both highly dependent on hydrocarbon exports.
With oil reserves of 90 billion barrels and gas reserves of 23 trillion cubic
meters, there is no doubt about Iran’s prominence in the hydrocarbon world. The
figures represent 9 percent and 15.3 percent respectively of the world’s total
reserves; further exploration may lead to a substantial increase.36 In the early

twenty-first century, some 80–85 percent of the country’s total foreign exchange
receipts and around 60 percent of the budget depend on oil sales. Saudi Arabia’s
oil revenues make up 90–95 percent of the country’s total export earnings, and
the state revenues depend for more than 70 percent on the sales of oil and oil
refined products. Furthermore, Saudi Arabia is by far the most prominent player
on the oil market, with a share of 11.8 percent of total world production and 24.9
percent of the world’s reserves of crude oil.37
This might lead to a conclusion that Iran and Saudi Arabia must both be
hostile to any international agreement that can lower their primary source of
income, and that only a minor disparity in policy is to be expected. However,
several other factors have to be taken into account to understand the positions of
both governments. In line with Nonneman’s analytical framework,38 we would
stress that the foreign policy positions of the MENA states are shaped by a
combination of domestic forces and changes, regional linkages, and develop-
ments in the international arena. In the remaining part of this contribution, we
first examine the relevant socio-economic and political domestic environment of
the two countries. Secondly, we focus on the climatic circumstances and the
levels of environmental awareness in both countries, and examine their
respective attitudes towards changes in the energy pattern. Thirdly, we deal
with the positioning of the two governments in the international climate change
arena and their attitudes vis-à-vis the EU and the US. In doing so, we aim to
show how differences in perception influence the policymaking procedures.
Expectations are that with the current growth of Iranian domestic oil
consumption, largely caused by population growth and inefficient use of
resources, the rates of consumption will bypass the rates of production within the
next ten years.39Thus, Iran has ambitious plans to double national oil production
by 2025 or so, and it is counting on foreign investment to accomplish this. By
2005, Iran is aiming to double foreign investment in the hydrocarbon sector to
$24 billion.40 Secondly, the reformist part of the Iranian government is
exploring ways to diversify the Iranian economy,41 but the urgency is not felt in
all sectors. One way to lower the dependency on oil is to prioritize the
development of Iran’s gas resources. For the moment, however, many factors,
mainly of a political nature, are obstructing a successful shift to a gas-driven
economy.42 Economical reform is part of a heated political debate in Iran. A full
entry into the global economy is faced with resistance from different parts of the
political spectrum. The financial incentives of the Kyoto Protocol might offer
opportunities for the proponents of economic reform to enforce their arguments
to open the Iranian economy for foreign investors. Compliance with the
regulations of Kyoto, therefore, in part depends on the assessments made by the
various policy makers in the internal economic debate.
For the House of Saud too, a rapidly increasing and young population – 50
percent is under 18 – is the greatest challenge for the next decade. Real
economic growth has fallen behind population growth and unemployment poses
a major risk of social imbalance. As of 2001, Saudi Arabia was reeling under a
public debt of nearly SR630 billion because of heavy borrowing from local
banks to finance budget deficits that have piled up since the end of the oil
boom.43 Reforms that can lead to liberalization and privatization to attract
foreign direct investment are implemented slowly and will not prove to be
sufficient to change the tide. Some elements of reform are supported by the
Saudi government, such as the installment of a customs union among GCC
countries, which is to take effect in 2003, but the main priority of the kingdom
remains the security of its oil wealth, a defensive policy that is contradictory to
the ambitions of the Kyoto Protocol. The dynasty’s legitimacy is paid for by the
country’s oil industry and, as Dr Mohammed Al-Sabban, a key adviser to the
Minister of Petroleum, projects that Saudi Arabia alone would lose annually
more than $25 billion by 2010 as a consequence of the climate change
abatement measures of the Kyoto Protocol,44 this Protocol is not interpreted as
in the interest of the royal family.
Another factor that has to be taken into account is the level of urgency in
protecting the national environment. Iran, though slightly better off than Saudi
Arabia, is a vast, mainly arid country that faces desertification, soil erosion,
biodiversity loss and major oil and industrial pollution. Since the late 1990s a
shift of approach has become noticeable in Iran, while in Saudi Arabia very little
has changed.
Environmental issues are on the political agenda in Tehran. One explanation
is that during the last four years large parts of the Iranian society met with
extreme weather events. For four consecutive years the Islamic Republic
experienced an extreme drought that in 2000 alone affected over 37 million
people. The persistent drought has caused significant damage to the country’s
biological diversity, agricultural crops, drinking water supplies and conse-
quently the public’s health.45 At the same time the country experienced
extraordinary floods in 2001 and 2002. A flash flood of August 10, 2001 alone
affected more than one million people.46 These extreme weather events raise
environmental awareness, although it has to be said that the consequences of the
changing weather pattern are amplified by human mismanagement and many
Iranian politicians appear more concerned with mitigating the consequences of
the weather pattern than with dealing with the root causes of the problem. The
largest structural environmental problem of Iran is, by far, the air pollution
problem of its capital city, Tehran. According to Iranian governmental statistics,
around 4,600 people die in Tehran each year from ‘air pollution-related
illnesses’. The policy makers in Tehran therefore literally feel the urgency of
reducing polluting emissions. As the transport sector produces more than 71.2
percent of the exhaust of greenhouse gases in the metropolitan area of Tehran,
several projects to upgrade the urban fleet of cars and buses are in the pipeline.47
The structures of the Iranian policy and implementation process are, however,
obstructing an efficient approach and chances of success are small.48
Environmental protection issues in Saudi Arabia are inseparable from natural
resource development. The arid landscape of the peninsula is highly sensitive to
oil-production related pollution, as is the delicate coastal marine environment of
the peninsula. In partnership with the oil industry, initiatives have been
developed to limit the impact of the industry on its surrounding biosphere.
Especially after the environmental disasters of the second Gulf War, protection
of the marine environment has been successfully promoted. Yet governmental
environmental concern seems to end here. The urgency of addressing
environmental degradation is not felt. In contrast to the figures for Iran in
recent years, there have been no extreme weather events with an impact large
enough to influence the general understanding on climate change. Furthermore,
although Saudi Arabia’s carbon emissions have risen in the last twenty years and
the Kingdom is still the regional leader in its per capita emissions,49 this increase
has not resulted in alarming air quality rates in the major cities and, contrary to
Iran, limiting or transforming fossil-fuelled transportation is not being discussed.
Environmental awareness is low in Saudi Arabia. The political discourse is
not about social responsibility or environmental constraints and there seems to
be a consensus that environmental issues end at the borders.50 This does not
mean, however, that there are no other opinions within the Saudi Arabian
political elite that can ultimately influence the position of the COP delegates.
The Meteorological and Environmental Protection Agency (MEPA), responsible
for all environmental matters in Saudi Arabia, announced in 2000 that global
warming will adversely affect Saudi Arabia’s weather conditions. Climate
change has already led to an increase in rainfall in parts of the country and the
MEPA predicts that global warming will cause even more extreme heat waves
during the summer, as well as more extreme weather conditions in the Persian
Gulf and the Red Sea Coast.51 Secondly, the government itself initiated in May
1999 a national committee to raise public awareness about the environment.
These are just minor steps, but they may lead to a more diversified internal
debate.
Peritore sets out a number of constraints which Iran, at least till the early
1990s, suffered in trying to call a halt to environmental degradation: poor
enforcement programs, lack of public awareness and wrong budget appropria-
tion policies.52 Since 1997, Iran’s first woman Vice-President (Dr Masoumeh
Ebtekar), has headed the Department of Environment (DOE). Apparently, she
has given a stimulus to the level of environmental awareness both among
politicians and the public at large, among others through launching the National
Environmental Plan of Action in 1997 and further stimulating environmental
education at the higher level. Her proposals gained a more receptive audience as
the environmental problems in the late 1990s grew. The DOE, however, has only
limited powers, both within the national context as in the Iranian delegations at
the international fora. Domestically, there are at least eleven other policy-
making structures that deal with the environment, including the Ministry of Oil.
Through cooperation with a small but growing environmental civil society the
influence of the DOE can and probably will increase.53
Illustrative of the difference in orientation towards a more sustainable future
between Iran and Saudi Arabia is the attitude towards alternative energy. In Iran
there is a large amount of interest in exploring the possibilities for non-oil
products. This is primarily the result of the projection that exploitation of its gas
resources can substitute the loss in oil revenues. The development of the non-
associated gas resources can lower the loss of oil income by reducing the
domestic consumption of oil, but the export opportunities for gas in the near
future are still limited. The development of new technologies such as gas-to-
liquid conversion methods can expand export options and with the possibility of
natural gas as a source for hydrogen, required for fuel cell technology, the
prospects for the long term are more promising. Anyhow, dealing with these
issues by itself does bring alternative energy strategies into the public and
political debate. There is a clear appreciation that for Iran ‘oil is not the best
energy source and that we have to diversify our energy options’.54 One
spokesman went as far as stating that ‘[e]ven without UNFCCC/Kyoto we
should go for alternative sources of energy. In that context we should lift
subsidies on petrol as soon as possible, although that will be very difficult to
achieve. In the long run, however, the government has no choice, also because it
needs revenues (i.e. through taxes)’.55 On the other hand, it has to be noted that
the discussion on alternative energy is often used as a plea for Iran’s nuclear
program. Whether that in turn has other motivations is a moot question.
The Saudi government, however, does not seem to be interested in any
constructive debate about changing energy patterns. Until now, there has been
no substantial research on the benefits of alternative energy for the Kingdom. At
most, a cleaner and more efficient use of the existing fuels can meet the approval
of the Saudi government. On the other hand, it should be noted that the Saudis
seem to be familiar with Yamani’s much quoted adage that ‘the oil age will end,
but not for the lack of oil’. Al-Sabban confessed to realizing that the introduction
of the hybrid car ‘is imminent, that is to say within ten to fifteen years’.56 It
remains to be seen, however, whether that will be translated into concrete
policies.
The positioning of the respective governments in the climate change debate is
also linked to a government’s perception of its role in the international political
system and subsequently the role that the other actors expect it to play. The
views of a government are translated into its delegation’s attitude towards
initiatives of their counterparts at the negotiations. While the composition and
demeanor of the Iranian delegation has changed over the years, the Saudi
delegation’s mode of operation remained constant, perhaps symbolized by the
fact that the delegation is still headed by Dr Al-Sabban. During COP-7, for
instance, the Saudi delegation was not only small (12 members): more striking
was the background of its members, most of whom came from the petroleum
sector. In the case of Iran, the delegation was not only larger (20 members) but it
included also a relatively large number of people with an ‘environmental’
background. Whereas Iran, during the resumed session of COP-6b in Bonn (July
2001), was even occasionally praised for its constructive facilitative role as
president of the G77/China, the Saudi Arabian Oil Minister, Ali bin Ibrahim al-
Naimi, once more displayed a non-cooperative attitude when he warned that
OPEC would seek to reduce output should any treaty have a negative impact on
global oil markets.57
Within the climate change debate the US and the EU are the dominating rival
actors. Thus, we have to take into account a country’s position vis-à-vis these
two adversaries. Saudi–European relations should be seen against the back-
ground of the underlying tension – occasionally turning into overt hostility –

between European economic and environmental instincts to limit consumption
of oil, and the exporters’ need to maintain it. Above all, the Saudis – and the
other GCC states – are very frustrated about the continued lack of access of oil
products, in particular petrochemicals, to the European market. And last but not
least, all GCC states – and Saudi Arabia as the grouping’s heavyweight in
particular – feel treated as second-rate Arabs because of their exclusion from the
‘Euro-Mediterranean Partnership’.58 It should not cause any surprise that the
Saudis are intractable vis-à-vis the European position in the Kyoto negotiations.
‘The EU just wants mitigation and is not willing to give financial help. . .All
Annex-I countries resist our demands, but the EU is the most adamant’, notes
Al-Sabban.59
In its attitude towards the EU, Iran shares to a large extent the same frustration
as other oil exporting countries do.60 Iran is also worried that Europe’s concrete
financial and technical support under ‘Kyoto’ will be inversely proportional to
its actual economic power, although it has already profited from the UNFCCC’s
‘Global Environmental Facility’(GEF).61 There is a clear difference, however,
with Saudi Arabia’s basic attitude towards Europe. The Iranians are clearly
aware of Al-Sabban’s obstreperous behavior and the way he sometimes tries to
block and delay the negotiating process. As an Iranian official puts it: ‘Since
Kyoto we have taken a different style. We believe in the protection of the
environment and we don’t want to block the negotiations. Let’s continue the
process’. And as if the point was not clear yet: ‘We want to cooperate; that’s
why the European Union likes our position’.62 As Nonneman has suggested, the
disappearance of bi-polar clarity transformed the international arena in its basic
elements but this did not eliminate countries’ room for maneuver; indeed, it may
have provided countries like Iran with both the stimulus and the opportunity to
approach the EU as a counterweight to the US.63
Iran’s relationship with the US is, to say the least, a painful one. Since the
Islamic revolution of 1979 and the following 444 days hostage crisis around the
US Embassy in Tehran, official diplomatic contacts have remained frozen.
During the late 1990s a subtle rapprochement started, but ‘9/11’ brought this to a
halt. Naturally, this difficult relationship has had its effect on the Iranian position
towards the US proposals at the COPs. Saudi Arabia, on the contrary, remained
one of the main pillars of American foreign policy in the Persian Gulf region.
Ever since the discovery of oil in Saudi Arabia, the relationship between
Washington and Riyadh has been warm and intense – although not without
fluctuations. In the climate change debates too, they have promoted their shared
interests. (It is only recently, after the September 11 attacks, that the US–Saudi
relationship turned somewhat sour). When US president George W. Bush
announced his retreat from the Kyoto Protocol, the Saudis were among the first
to declare that they ‘understand the economic concerns raised by the US that
forced it to abandon the accord’.64 When asked their opinion at the COP-6b in
The Hague on the Bush administration’s decision, the Saudi representative could
not suppress his feelings of delight while his Iranian colleague was wholly
negative in his appraisal of the USA’s unilateralist move.
CONCLUSION
Using a constructivist frame of reference, departing from the materialism and

methodological individualism upon which much contemporary IR scholarship
has been built, it has been demonstrated that a politics-of-interest approach alone
will not suffice to understand oil producers’ stances and diplomacy on the
question of climate-change abatement policies. A structural analysis at the
domestic, regional and international levels has to be complemented with a
perception-oriented approach fully to understand a country’s present and future
position.
States’ identities and interests are not exogenous and given. They are
intersubjective understandings which suggests that states are engaging less in
strategies to meet pre-defined ends – in this case CO2 abatement – than they are
grappling intersubjectively to develop norms and a sense of what their interests
are in relation to global warming. In that sense, world views matter. These views
have to be taken into account if one is to analyze successfully how various actors
observe and interpret climate change, and how on the basis of this assessment
they define their interests, potentially in very different ways.
Here the contrast between Saudi and Iranian climate-change perceptions is
salient. While in the Saudi arguments there is a predominance of economic
concerns, distrust of scientific research, and public disinterest, this is clearly not
so in the Iranian case. Obviously, this has to do with the general political
climate, both in the field of internal and external politics, which is very different.
Domestically, this is exemplified by the almost complete absence of any kind of
societal involvement in environmental matters in Saudi Arabia, while in the
Iranian case there appears to be a growing level of public awareness.
Internationally, the contrast is even stronger. While the Saudis regularly show
a kneejerk reaction and behave in a non-cooperative manner, the Iranians on the
whole are much more accommodating, especially vis-à-vis the EU. Clearly, the
material differences alone cannot adequately explain the divergent attitudes of
the two actors during the Kyoto negotiations. The countries’ governments define
their positions on the basis of a subjective assessment of all costs and benefits
involved – both material and immaterial.
Contrary to received wisdom, OPEC countries do not always act or speak in
unity, and accordingly hold varying positions in the climate change debate.
Different perceptions on climate change abatement policies exist within the
group of developing countries as within the oil exporting countries. With the
emergence of a new energy paradigm it is clear that individual oil exporting
countries can and will follow diverse strategies to respond to this decisive
challenge.
NOTES
1. Emanuel Adler, ‘Seizing the Middle Ground: Constructivism in World Politics’, European
Journal of International Relations, Vol. 3, no. 3 (1999), pp. 319–63.
2. John Gerard Ruggie, Constructing the World Polity. Essays on International Institutionalization
(London/New York: Routledge, 1998), p. 3.
3. Jeffrey Alexander as quoted in Adler, ‘Seizing the Middle Ground: Constructivism in World
Politics’, p. 324.
4. Alexander Wendt, ‘Identity and Structural Change in International Politics’, in Yosef Lapid and
Friedrich Kratochwil (eds.), The Return of Culture and Identity in IR Theory (Boulder/London:
Lynne Rienner, 1996), p. 50.
5. Ruggie, Constructing the World Polity, p. 33.
6. Adler, ‘Seizing the Middle Ground: Constructivism in World Politics’, p. 337.
7. Ibid., p. 343.
8. John A. Hannigan, Environmental Sociology. A Social Constructionist Perspective (London/
New York: Routledge, 1995), p. 30.
9. The analytical framework proposed by Gerd Nonneman at the workshop on ‘The Determinants
of Middle Eastern and North African States’ Foreign Policies: with Special Reference to their
Relations with Europe’, at the Third Mediterranean Social and Political Research Meeting,
Florence and Montecatini Terme, March 20–24, 2002. See his contribution ‘Analyzing the
Foreign Policies of the Middle East and North Africa: an Analytical Framework,’ in this volume.
10. Richard van der Wurff, ‘International Climate Change Politics. Interests and Perceptions’
(Amsterdam: PhD. dissertation, University of Amsterdam, 1997), pp. 71–6.
11. At the September 2002 Johannesburg Summit both Prime Minister Kasyanov and President
Putin announced Russia’s intent to ratify the Protocol. But by the Spring of 2003, doubts about
timing had appeared; Russian officials said in January that although the political question had
been solved, the economic scenarios remained to be worked out (Reuters, Jan. 15, 2003).
12. Hermann E. Ott, ‘Climate Change: An Important Foreign Policy Issue’, International Affairs, 77,
2 (2001), p. 295.
13. European Commission, Green Paper: Towards a European Strategy for the Security of Energy
Supply (Brussels, 2001), p. 105.
14. During the course of the negotiations different member states of the G77 follow their own
national interests and the structure of the process provides them with the opportunities to lobby
solely for their own preferences or to form ad hoc coalitions on specific issues with varying
partners. In this complex process in and outside the plenary hall of the negotiations, the G77/
China is all but a unified coalition, but in drafting the final texts they more or less operate as a
bloc countering the EU and the Umbrella Group.
15. OPEC Bulletin, Feb. 2001, p. 5.
16. Quote from Ali bin Ibrahim al-Naimi, Saudi Arabian Oil Minister, during COP-6b in Bonn.
5 earthtimes.org.jul/bonnconferencearabsbalkjul21-01.htm 4, viewed Nov. 13, 2001. Also see
Gerd Nonneman, ‘Saudi–European Relations 1902–2001: A Pragmatic Quest for Relative
Autonomy’, in International Affairs, 77, 3, (2001), pp. 631–61: p. 655. Similar arguments and
conclusions are, not surprisingly, also put forward by OAPEC, as illustrated in the editorials of
that organization’s monthly Bulletin.
17. Robert Mabro, ‘The Consumers’ Environmental Policies and the Oil-Exporting Countries’, in
OPEC Seminar on the Environment (Vienna: Organization of the Petroleum Exporting
Countries, April 1992), p. 188.
18. Dutch National Research Programme on Global Air Pollution and Climate Change, Analysis of
the Impact of the Kyoto Protocol on the Export Revenues of OPEC Member States and on the Oil
Import Requirements of Non-Annex I Countries (Bilthoven, 2002), Report No. 410 200 044.
19. International Energy Agency (IEA), World Energy Outlook 2000 (Paris, 2000); and Richard
Mably, ‘IEA Says Fossil Fuels to Stay King over Next 20 Years’, GULF2000, 5 www1.co-
lumbia.edu/sec-cgi-bin/ 4, viewed Dec. 6, 2000.
20. This has been distressingly illustrated by the deployment of the oil weapon ‘in reverse’ (against
Iran, Libya and Iraq). See Paul Aarts, The Arab Oil Weapon: A One-Shot Edition? (Abu Dhabi:
The Emirates Center for Strategic Studies and Research, 1999), The Emirates Occasional Papers,
no.34.
21. Paul Stevens, ‘Future Prospects for Oil Revenues in the Gulf Cooperation Council’, GULF2000,
5 www1.columbia.edu/sec-cgi-bin/g 4, viewed Dec. 8, 2000.
22. ‘Yamani Says OPEC Accelerating End of the Oil Era’, GULF2000, 5 www1.columbia.edu/sec-
cgi-bin/ 4, viewed Dec. 6, 2000.
23. Dutch National Research Programme on Global Air Pollution and Climate Change, Analysis of
the Impact of the Kyoto Protocol, p. 8.
24. Ibid.
25. For OPEC figures, see OPEC Bulletin, Dec. 2000, p. 9; D. Ghasemzadeh’s presentation at the
UNFCCC Workshop on the Implementation of Articles 4.8 and 4.9 of the UNFCCC and 2.3 and
3.14 of the Kyoto Protocol (Bonn, Sep. 1999); D. Ghasemzadeh and F. Alawadhi’s presentation
at the IPCC Experts Workshop on Sectoral Economic Costs and benefits of GHG Mitigation
(Eisenach, Feb. 14–15, 2000). Different estimates are given by Ulrich Bartsch and Benito
Müller, Fossil Fuels in a Changing Climate (Oxford: Oxford University Press 2000), pp. 186–
213 and 297–310, and by Peter Kassler and Matthew Paterson, Energy Exporters and Climate
Change (London: The Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1997), pp. 30, 83.
26. Marcel Berk et al., Keeping Our Options Open. A Strategic Vision on Near-Term Implications of
Long-Term Climate Policy Options. Results from the COOL Project (Bilthoven: RIVM, 2001),
p. 11.
27. This shortcoming is peculiar to studies on these states’ climate change policies. By contrast, with
regard to oil price policies interesting research has been done on coalition building within OPEC.
Different producers’ varying economic profiles and interests, and consequent production and
pricing policies, of course, have been recognized more readily.
28. Matthew Paterson, Global Warming and Global Politics (London: Routledge, 1996), p. 104. The
same applies to Dutch National Research Programme on Global Air Pollution and Climate
Change, Analysis of the Impact of the Kyoto Protocol; and Bartsch and Müller, Fossil Fuels in a
Changing Climate.
29. Kassler and Paterson, Energy Exporters and Climate Change. For figures on net fossil fuel
exports as a percentage of GDP and oil’s share as in total exports, see Ghasemzadeh and
Alawadhi, presentation at the IPCC Experts Workshop on Sectoral Economic Costs and benefits
of GHG Mitigation (Eisenach, Feb. 14–15, 2000); and recent issues of the OPEC Annual
Statistical Bulletin.
30. As quoted in Kassler and Paterson, Energy Exporters and Climate Change, p. 88.
31. Ibid., p. 95–8; and interviews during COP-7 in Marrakesh (Oct.–Nov. 2001).
32. Interviews with Saudi officials at a later point in time (The Hague, July 2001) indicate, however,
that this shift – concerning the issue of scientific (un)certainty – has not been a permanent one. In
an interview with Benito Müller, Senior Research Fellow at the Oxford Institute for Energy
Studies, changing Saudi tactics were further elucidated: plus ça change. . . (Marrakesh, Nov.
2001).
33. Following Van der Wurff (‘International Climate Change Politics’), the label ‘interest’ as such
will be understood to refer to ‘objective’ interests. These objective interests are defined as
‘relative stable properties of actors that follow. . .from [the countries’] position in a social
structure and that provides these actors with reasons for action’ (p. 271).
34. Nonneman, ‘Analyzing the Foreign Policies of the Middle East and North Africa’, this volume,
p. 10.
35. In that case we look for perceived needs and desires, and for environmental views (or wider
worldviews). It is only then that we have ‘reclaimed power and interest from materialism by
showing how their content and meaning are constituted by ideas and culture’ (Alexander Wendt,
Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1998), p. 371).
36. BP statistical Review of World Energy 2002, 5 http://www.bp.com 4, viewed Aug. 18, 2002.
These numbers, however, should be taken with a pinch of salt. They nominally represent the
amounts extractable at current prices, but reserve estimates do not rise and fall appropriately as
oil prices rise and fall.
37. Ibid.
38. ‘Analyzing the Foreign Policies of the Middle East and North Africa: an Analytical Framework’,
this volume.
39. As stated in interviews with several Iranian officials, Tehran, Aug. 2001.
40. EIA Country Analysis Briefs, 5 http://www.eia.doe.gov 4, viewed Aug. 19, 2002.
41. The prevalence of the ‘Dutch Disease’ among energy exporters, including the Islamic republic of
Iran is one of the factors making diversification difficult. This is the tendency for the exporters’
exchange rates to become too strong as a result of the weight of petroleum revenues in their
economies, leading to weakness and non-competitiveness of their non-petroleum sectors.
42. For more details, see Dennis Janssen, A Gas-Driven Economy in an Oil-State. An Inventory
Research on the Oil-to-Gas Conversion Program of the Islamic Republic of Iran (Tehran: Royal
Netherlands Embassy, Aug. 2001).
43. Nadim Kawach, ‘Saudi Budget Deficit May Be Lower than Expected’, Gulf News, Jan. 14, 2002.
44. Dr Mohammed Al-Sabban interviewed by Middle East Economic Survey, April 2, 2001.
45. For more details, see: United Nations Inter-agency Assessment Report on the Extreme Drought
in the Islamic Republic of Iran (Tehran: UNDP, July 2001).
46. EM-DAT: The OFDA/CRED International Disaster Database (Catholic University of Leuven,
Brussels, 2002).
47. DOE: The Comprehensive Plan of Air Pollution Reduction in Tehran (Tehran: Department of the
Environment, 2001), p. 7
48. Dennis Janssen, A Gas-Driven Economy in an Oil-State.
49. 5 http://www.eia.doe.gov 4, viewed Aug. 19, 2002.
50. As stated by Dr Jonathan Pershing, Head of Division Energy and Environment of the IEA, Paris,
Aug. 2, 2002.
51. 5 http://www.eia.doe.gov 4, viewed Aug. 19, 2002.
52. For more details, see N. Patrick Peritore, Third World Environmentalism. Case Studies from the
Global South (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1999), p. 213.
53. For an excellent survey on Iranian environmental NGOs, see Persian Lion, Caspian Tiger. The
Role of Iranian Environmental Organizations in Environmental Protection in Iran (Washington:
Search for Common Ground, 2000).
54. Interview with Iranian official, The Hague, June 2001.
55. Interview with Mohammad Soltanieh, manager of the Enabling Project in the Field of Climate
Change and Professor at the Department of Chemical Engineering of Sharif University of
Technology, Marrakesh, Nov. 2001.
56. Interview with Mohammed Al-Sabban, The Hague, June 2001.
57. Roman Rollnick, ‘Arabs Balk at Kyoto Protocol’, 5 http://earthtimes.org/jul/ bonnconferen-
cearabsbalkju21_01.htm 4, viewed 13 Nov. 2001.
58. For more on this, see Nonneman’s recent contribution, ‘Saudi–European Relations 1902–2001’,
op. cit.; and Paul Aarts, Dilemmas of Regional Cooperation in the Middle East (Lancaster:
Lancaster University, 1999), The Lancaster Papers, no.4.
59. Interview with Mohammed Al-Sabban, The Hague, June 2001.
60. A more general analysis of Iran’s (quite ambiguous) policies vis-à-vis the EU is given by Fred
Halliday, ‘Western Europe and the Iranian Revolution, 1979–97. An Elusive Normalization’, in
Barbara Roberson (ed.), The Middle East and Europe: the Power Deficit (London/New York:
Routledge), pp. 130–50.
61. The Climate Change Convention established a financial mechanism to provide funds on a grant
or concessional basis to help developing countries to implement the Convention and address
climate change. The role of operating this mechanism was assigned to the GEF. The World
Bank, the UN Development Program (UNDP) and the UN Environment Programme (UNEP)
established this multi-billion-dollar fund.
62. Interview with Iranian official, June 2001.
63. See Nonneman’s two contributions to this volume: ‘Analyzing the Foreign Policy of Middle
Eastern and North African States’, p. 15, and ‘The Three Environments of Middle Eastern
Foreign Policy Making’, pp. 28–39.
64. A Saudi official cited in Middle East Economic Survey, April 2, 2001.
Explaining international politics in the Middle
East: The struggle of regional identity and
systemic structure
RAYMOND HINNEBUSCH
Analysis of the international politics of the Middle East has long been polarized
between International Relations (IR) specialists, typically neo-realists, who
insist that universal rules apply to all regions1 and area specialists who defend
the cultural uniqueness, and consequent political exceptionalism of the Middle
East. More recent theoretical advances have sought, with only partial success, to
bridge this gap. Thus, constructivists supply a universal theory that takes
account of area-specific identity, yet seem to understate the weight of the
material factors stressed by realism; Buzan and Waever, advocates of a ‘thicker’
form of realism, acknowledge the importance of regional variations in material
structure without, however, paying much attention to identity per se. 2
The debate over the Middle East can be located within the larger one in IR
between those who advocate the primacy of material structures and those that
champion ideational factors – an argument already introduced by Gerd
Nonneman in chapter I.3 For what has been called the neo-utilitarians,4 the
dominating world system-level is constituted of material structures, specifically
the core-periphery hierarchy for Marxist structuralists and the global power
balance for neo-realism; these, outside of the control of most small powers,
largely constrain their behavior. This is because utilitarians assume states seek
material interests (wealth and power) and their strategies toward this end are
shaped by their position in systemic structures. For the mostly-weak Arab states,
this is normally one allowing limited autonomy from the core powers and
entailing threats from more powerful non-Arab neighbors and likely, therefore,
to induce ‘bandwagoning’ (appeasing more powerful states) that adapts to
material constraints (and opportunities). Identities and norms, for neo-
utilitarians, are merely used by state elites, either as instruments of power
(e.g. using foreign threats to stir up supportive nationalism) or to legitimize their
material interests.
By contrast, for constructivism, the system level is at least partly constituted
by normative inter-subjective understandings which state elites construct
through their discourse and interactions with their populations and each other
and which both derive from and help constitute their identities. In the Arab
world, region-specific Pan-Arab and Islamic identities and norms carry powerful
credibility. Reversing the utilitarian view, constructivism sees states’ identities
as shaping conceptions of their interests; thus the high value put by Arab and
Islamic identities on autonomy from Western domination infuses conceptions of

Arab state interest with a natural anti-imperialism, even if this has material
costs. A more qualified version of constructivism acknowledges that the pursuit
of material interests may motivate state elites but the necessity to legitimize this
in terms of the norms and identity (Arabism, Islam) shared with their
populations constrains their policy options.5
Analysts of the Middle East tend to lean to one or the other of the rival
material and normative poles, seeing one dimension shaping the other or at least
concentrating on one to the neglect of the other. This chapter aims to point the
way toward an analysis of the interaction between the material and the
normative that gives comparable consideration to both. It starts from the view
that both kinds of variables are autonomous (neither reducible to epiphenomena
of the other), but that a stable social order depends on a relative congruence
between them. When norms do not correspond to economic or power structures,
the former lack the material anchor to endure and the latter lack the legitimacy
to survive without the continual application of coercive power. At the level of
agency, actors are not exclusively motivated either by interests or by norms but
by both and when the two conflict, actors suffer from an uncomfortable
psychological incongruence that they seek to overcome.
In the case of the Middle East, a sharp contradiction between the material and
the normative, structure and identity, was built in at the founding of the regional
order. This generated chronic instability and conflict that, in turn, stimulated on-
going attempts to bridge the structure-identity gap. One was Nasser’s attempt to
construct a regional states system based on normative understandings congruous
with Arab identity in the face of intractable material obstacles; his failure left the
regional system a mix of more or less incongruent normative and material
structures. State responses to these structures were differentiated by the
distinctive interrelations of identity and interest congealed in each individual
state’s formation process, but, with the failure of Pan-Arab order, states
increasingly attempted to manipulate material resources and constraints to foster
state identities compatible with (the largely externally–imposed) systemic
structures.6
STRUCTURE VERSUS IDENTITY: THE IMPOSITION OF THE MIDDLE

EAST STATE SYSTEM
The imposition from without by the superior material power of the imperial
West of a state system at odds with regional identity defined the problematique
of Middle East international politics. The region was fragmented, on the basis of
great power interests, not indigenous wishes, into a multitude of competing,
often artificial, state units bound to be dependent on great power patrons for their
security and economic well-being. This sacrificed the nation-building potential
of the pre-existing cultural unity and disrupted a multiplicity of regional ties
while reorienting many economic links to the Western ‘core.’
One consequence of the creation of new artificial states was that loyalties
might remain attached to pre-existing sub-state identities which often spilled
EXPLAINING INTERNATIONAL POLITICS IN THE MIDDLE EAST 245
across the haphazardly imposed state boundaries – becoming trans-state and

giving rise to irredentism that fostered inter-state conflict; the Kurds are the most
striking case.7 Another is the enduring power of supra-state identities,
expressive of the lost cultural unity. The collapse of the Ottoman empire
created an identity vacuum and the region-wide struggle against Western
imperialism allowed Pan-Arab nationalism to fill this gap among the educated
Arabic speaking classes. Pan-Islam arose among the traditional lower middle
classes and after the loss of the 1967 war by Arab nationalist states captured the
loyalties of large parts of the middle classes as well. Both challenged the
legitimacy of the individual states and spawned movements promoting their
unity as a cure for the fragmentation of the felt community.
Given this, the durability of the regional system is all the more remarkable.
There was of course considerable variation in the level of incongruence of
identity and territory and where indigenous state builders managed to carve out
boundaries that relatively satisfied identities, as in Turkey and Saudi Arabia or
where there was some historical experience of separate statehood, as in Egypt
and Morocco, the outcome had considerable legitimacy. Even where this was
not the case, once ruling elites and state apparatuses were created in the
individual states, they acquired vested material interests in the new post-
Ottoman fragmentation. In nearly a century of on-going state formation, they
struggled to insulate their territories against the penetration of supra-state
ideologies while tenaciously defending their sovereignty. The most arbitrary
boundaries and artificial states would probably not have survived without great
power guarantees, particularly against Bismarckian adventures such as Saddam
Hussein’s attempted annexation of Kuwait. But, as peoples became habituated to
the individual states, state identities developed as supplementary bases of
legitimacy. State leaders vacillated between legitimizing their regimes in terms
of state or of supra-state identities; or they tried to ‘statize’ a supra-state identity
as the official state ideology, as when Ba’thist Syria claimed to be the special
champion of Arabism or Saudi Arabia of Islam. Because Arab/Islamic identities
remained powerful and became especially salient in times of crisis with the
West, states’ legitimacy remained contingent on the congruence of their foreign
policies with these identities.
EXPLAINING THE REGIONAL ARENA: CONSTRUCTIVIST VERSUS

UTILITARIAN APPROACHES TO THE RISE AND DECLINE OF
PAN-ARABISM
The rise and decline of Arabism allows an assessment of the relative power of
constructivism and its claim that norms and identity matter.8 According to
Michael Barnett’s classic constructivist account, Dialogues in Arab Politics,
norms had a decisive impact on state behavior but not in any pre-determined
way. Rather, owing to the rivalry built into the Arab system between the norms
of sovereignty and Pan-Arabism and because Pan-Arab norms had themselves to
be interpreted in changing contexts, the actual impact of norms on foreign
policies was inevitably a product of on-going contestation among the Arab
states, what he calls inter-Arab ‘dialogues.’ 9As a result of this dialogue the
balance between Pan-Arabism and sovereignty was continually altered,
swinging first against sovereignty and then back in its favor.
Although the ingredients of Arab identity (language, historical memories,
etc.) had long existed, only as the educated middle class started to be politically
mobilized and as independence allowed Arab leaders to seek regional
leadership, did Arab nationalism become ideologically hegemonic. It was
inter-Arab leadership competition that played the central role in the
‘construction’ of an overt Pan-Arab identity and the semi-institutionalisation
of its norms at the inter-state level. In this competition leaders ambitious for
Pan-Arab leadership, trumpeting their own Arab credentials and impugning
those of rivals, sought to sway public opinion and to mobilize the Arab ‘street’
to pressure (even overthrow) rival governments from below. The first episode in
this struggle was the early 1950s debate over the Baghdad Pact, a scheme to
bring the Arab states into a Western-sponsored security alliance against the
Soviet Union. While pro-Western Iraq wanted to join, Egypt’s Nasser, seeing it
as a form of imperialism, mobilised Arab public opinion on behalf of an
alternative Arab collective security pact. Nasser’s victory in this debate
established a powerful Pan-Arab norm against foreign treaties or bases. His
emergence from the 1956 Suez war as a popular Arab hero and the 1958
overthrow of the pro-Western Iraqi regime put all those who contested his view
of Pan-Arabism on the defensive. Egyptian hegemony was thereafter exercised
on behalf of an informal ‘Pan-Arab regime’ that substantially constrained the
foreign policy options of individual Arab states within bounds determined by
Cairo’s view of the overarching Arab national interest. The core issues that
defined Arabism were rejection of Western domination, defence of the Palestine
cause, the desirability of Arab unity, and the expectation that the Arab states
should act in concert in world politics in defence of all-Arab interests. Once
Nasser’s Pan-Arab discourse galvanised trans-state Arab nationalist movements
across the region, even pro-Western elites were forced to protect themselves
from subversion by being seen to adhere to Arabist norms.
As Barnett convincingly argues, this inter-Arab competition, though intense,
was quite different from a conventional ‘realist’ power struggle. It was not
chiefly over territory or other material assets but over the desired normative
order of the Arab system. Crucially, the typical currency in this struggle – in
stark contrast to that between the Arab and non-Arab Middle East – was not
military power but ideological appeal: it was legitimacy, derived from being
perceived to observe the norms and play roles grounded in Arabism, which gave
the power to affect outcomes.10 Nasser’s blessing was sought and his censure
feared not because of his army but because he was seen as the guardian of Arab
nationalist norms and could bolster or subvert the domestic legitimacy of other
leaders. Before Nasser, Egypt had enjoyed no such advantage over its Arab
rivals and after he died, Egypt’s trans-state power dissipated overnight; for while
its material power had barely changed, his successor had none of the moral
authority that had enabled him to make Egypt a pole of attraction for the
populations of other states.11
With Pan-Arabism on the ascendancy as the dominant discourse, a process

of ‘outbidding’ began in which rival state leaders sought to mobilize mass
support by escalating its standards. This led to demands for more militancy
toward imperialist footholds in the region (in the Gulf States), for greater
integral unity between Arab states (as embodied in the UAR and subsequent
unity projects) and for greater militancy of behalf of the Palestine cause.
Even if Arabism was manipulated to serve the interests of states in their
competition more than to advance all-Arab interests, this competition tended,
Barnett argues, to establish norms of behaviour that constrained all states.
Even Nasser, the main architect of the Pan-Arab order, found that he, too,
was bound by it, so long as he wished to retain his Pan-Arab leadership,
even as the material costs of his Arab commitments (such as his support for
the Yemen revolution) rose. Indeed, trans-state Pan-Arab movements were
autonomous of Cairo; they used Nasser as much as he used them and they
constantly pressured him into increasing his commitment to the common
cause against his own better judgement.
At a certain point, however, Pan-Arabism began an apparent decline or at
least underwent a reinterpretation to the advantage of sovereignty, a
‘deconstruction’ driven, in Barnett’s view, by the zero-sum interactions of
Arab leaders. First, the very trans-state vulnerability of most Arab states gave
them an incentive to defend the rival norm of sovereignty (implying non-
interference in their domestic affairs). As Walt rightly pointed out, even at the
height of Pan-Arabism, balancing against Egypt’s use of Pan-Arabism to impose
hegemony was pervasive within the Arab world, at the expense of co-operation
for common interests.12 This was practised not just by the conservative
monarchies but even by ostensibly Pan-Arab regimes in Syria and Iraq when
Nasser posed a threat to them. However, the power of Pan-Arab norms could
still be seen in the fact that ‘balancing’ against him took the form of propaganda
wars over who was truest to Pan-Arabism and in the effective exclusion of
certain non-Arab alliance partners which might have made sense in classic forms
of balancing, notably alliances of the weaker Arab monarchies with Israel
against stronger radical republics.
A second explanation for Pan-Arab decline was that the ‘out-bidding’
stimulated by inter-Arab rivalry ‘entrapped’ Arab leaders in unrealistic or
risky Pan-Arab commitments that were damaging to the interests of their
states. This tendency climaxed in the provocative rhetoric by which Syria and
Egypt blundered into the 1967 war with Israel. As Sela shows, once the costs
of outbidding had become prohibitive for many individual states and once it
became manifest that the actions of one Arab state affected them all, the
individual states agreed to institutionalise the Arab summits system in which
all could participate in a mutual deflation of the standards of Arabism. The
most portentous outcome of this was the collective legitimization of a
political settlement with Israel in return for its evacuation of the territories
occupied in 1967. The growing acceptance of the view that Pan-Arab norms
had to be defined by an inter-state consensus in which the interests of the
individual states would inevitably be prioritized shifted the normative balance
toward sovereignty.13 Sadat’s separate peace with Israel was a further

watershed in the prioritizing of sovereignty (the right to recover lost Egyptian
territory) over Pan-Arab norms; Saddam Hussein’s invasion of Kuwait
shattered what remained of a Pan-Arab normative order. In Barnett’s view,
the zero-sum interactions of Arab leaders led to a norm dissensus that broke
the moral power of Pan-Arabism over their conduct. Gradually, the
disillusionment of the public with Arabism’s failures and costs also lessened
popular constraints on the pursuit of state-centric policies. In essence, just as
the Arab leaders constructed Pan-Arabism through their rivalries and rhetoric,
so they also de-constructed it.
While constructivist accounts give valuable insights into the micro-processes
at the level of actor ‘agency’ where interactions and discourse shape normative
change, they typically make only passing reference to costs and constraints
deriving from underlying macro-level material structures. A full appreciation of
why Arabism, an identity so thoroughly grounded in the stuff of nationhood
(language, history), should have failed to sustain enduring normative power over
Arab states is impossible without careful analysis of the material context within
which Barnett’s ‘Arab dialogues’ took place. This context was a mix of (1) the
global core-periphery hierarchy in which great powers penetrated the region and
local states were made dependent; (2) the growing military insecurity of the
regional states system; and (3) the increased material consolidation of the
individual states. All of these factors were hostile to the institutionalisation of a
Pan-Arab normative regime.
Firstly, the imposition of the states system by the West set regional states on
opposing foreign policy tangents that obstructed consolidation of a Pan-Arab
order. On the one hand, the West entrenched protected client states dominated
by traditional oligarchies and monarchies, social forces satisfied with the status
quo which tenaciously protected the sovereignty of their individual states against
Pan-Arab norms. On the other hand, where rising more plebeian and dissatisfied
social forces challenged the status quo order, radical versions of Arabism
became their ideological weapon; ex-plebeian elites newly arrived in power,
especially in states insecure in their separate identity or with the potential for
Pan-Arab leadership, used Pan-Arabism to legitimize their often-precarious rule
at home. Their threats to the status quo regimes, issuing in what Kerr called the
‘Arab Cold War,’ 14 paralyzed inter-Arab co-operation. Then, once plebeian
elites evolved into new state bourgeoisies, they also began to embrace the
ideology of sovereignty. Identities were, as Marxist materialism holds,
intimately connected with the social structural position of the social forces
that advocated them and the rivalry between states with different social-
compositions partly determined the rise and fall of Arabism. Thus, the contest
between Arabism and sovereignty was not exclusively played out at the level of
inter-state discourse (as in Barnett’s account); a state’s adoption of Pan-Arabism
(or not) was in good part a result of differential state formation and internal
struggles over state power.
Secondly, neglect of material constraints leads constructivists to exaggerate
the agency possessed by ‘periphery’ powers such as the Arab states to construct
their own regional order. While Nasser did mobilize popular identity to
successfully defy the West in constructing a Pan-Arab order, this was only
temporarily possible because of the unique bi-polar structure of world power. It
was the existence of counter-vailing Soviet power that to some extent
temporarily sheltered the Arab world from direct Western intervention against
nationalist projects; the truth of this is dramatically revealed by the resumption
of such intervention in the post bi-polar era.
Thirdly, identity and norms, to endure, must be congruent with economic
structures. Amin15 has shown how the region-wide trade interdependence
fostered under extensive historic empires was associated with universalistic
Arab-Islamic identities. However, with the West’s fragmentation of the regional
market into state-bounded economies dependent on the export of primary
products to the ‘core,’ the economic interests of dominant classes (exporting
landlords, petro-shaikhs) were pulled out of correspondence with Arabism even
as it was itself struggling to emerge as the dominant trans-state identity.
Ironically, the efforts of Arab nationalist states to break their economic
dependence only issued in protected inward-looking economies and demolished
the potential Pan-Arab industrial bourgeoisie which might have had a stake in
regional markets. Only about 10% (if oil is excluded) of MENA foreign trade is
with other regional states and over 90% of Arab foreign investment takes place
outside the Arab world.16 Thus, Pan-Arab norms corresponded to no Pan-Arab
economy, no material infrastructure that could sustain them in the face of
adversity.
Fourth, a dynamic, beginning in the 1970s, whereby the anarchic structure of
the regional states system shaped state-centric conceptions of state interests at
the expense of Pan-Arabism is indisputable. The much increased insecurity
issuing from Israel’s overwhelming post-1967 military superiority and the
growing militarization of the Arab-Israeli conflict increasingly encouraged, as
realism predicts, a resort by each Arab state to ‘self-help’ both in defending
itself and seeking exit from war at the expense of shared Arab norms.
Specifically, Egypt’s pursuit of a separate peace with Israel upset the Arab-
Israeli power balance, heightening the insecurity of other Arab states, notably
Syria, and encouraging them to similarly look to self-help through militarization
and separate diplomacy. The Iran-Iraq war similarly stimulated the regional
drive to self-help. In this new environment where survival depended more on
raw military power than success in ideological competition, the world of
constructivism was giving way to that of realism.
Fifth, neo-utilitarian approaches agree that a stable transnational ‘regime,’ far
from being self-enforcing (as constructivism implies), requires a ‘hegemon’
which, as the chief beneficiary of this order, is prepared to use its ideological
hegemony and its material power to enforce regime norms. Arguably Egypt
performed this role (although not very effectively) for the Pan-Arab order under
Nasser but abandoned it under Sadat. Egypt has historically wavered between
more Arab and Egypt-centric identities and, as constructivism would predict,
these have indeed been associated with quite different conceptions of Egypt’s
interests and different foreign policies. However, it was only as long as Pan-
Arabism corresponded to elite views of Egypt’s interests that Pan-Arab identity

dominated and Egypt played the Pan-Arab hegemon; once Sadat found it would
serve his material interests in winning American aid and diplomatic help, he
defected from the Arab consensus and fostered a rival Egypt-centric identity. To
be sure, this was a contested, not a mechanical process and Coldwell’s17
constructivist account shows that much of Egypt’s attentive public continued to
hold Arab or Islamic identities and perceived Egypt’s interest as inseparable
from that of the Arab world. Nevertheless, for Egypt’s ruling elites, identity
seemed to shift according to material costs and benefits which, in turn, were a
function of objective systemic constraints, much as neo-utilitarians would
predict.18 And Egypt’s foreign policy transformation had far-reaching
consequences: Pan-Arabism lost its hegemon and the same Egypt that had
once enforced Pan-Arab standards pioneered their sacrifice to individual state
interests under the banner of sovereignty.
Finally, the material consequences of the 1970s oil boom had an ambivalent
but mostly deleterious effect on Arabism. Oil differentiated the interests of the
Arabs between rich and poor states. As the oil producers invested their
petrodollars in Western banks and real estate, their interests were increasingly
detached from the rest of the Arab world and attached to the core. Oil also
financed a decade of state building which made states’ populations less
susceptible to trans-state ideological mobilization and consolidated the
individual states as the sources of wealth and welfare on which citizens now
depended, allowing parts of the formerly Pan-Arab middle classes to be co-opted
by the individual states. As the Pan-Arab mobilization of the public declined,
elites were freer to put state interests over Pan-Arab interests in their foreign
policies.
Thus, if sovereignty later displaced Pan-Arabism as the dominant official
norm governing foreign policy, this was not simply because it won a contest
of discourses among publics, which did not decisively embrace it. Rather it
was because it better corresponded to the short-run material (security,
wealth) interests of local elites who normally (not always) prioritized these
over the identity they shared with each other and their publics, realities
congruent with Marxist structuralism and realism. Compared to the pull of
such elite interests, Arabism remained un-anchored in a material sub-
structure.
Yet, the persistence of Arab identity as well as its partial transmutation into an
alternative supra-state identity, political Islam, remained, as constructivism
would expect, a durable obstacle to the legitimization of elite interests. The
embedding of the Arab states system in a supra-state community built an
enduring tension into it, trapping foreign policy-makers between the logic of
sovereignty, in which each regime, insecure both at home and amidst the
anarchy of the regional states system, pursues its own interests and security,
often through bandwagoning with the Western powers and against its Arab
neighbors, and the counter-norm held by their publics which expect the
individual states to act together for common interests, largely against Western
and Israeli penetration and domination of the region.
EXPLAINING FOREIGN POLICY: STATE-FORMATION, IDENTITY AND

INTERESTS
While there is little doubt that structure matters, as the preceding account has
indicated, it is complex and multi-layered – with both material aspects (the
global core-periphery hierarchy, an anarchic and insecure regional states
system), and ideational ones (indigenous trans-state identities and norms).
Pressures emanating from these three analytically distinct levels by no means
push states in identical directions and indeed supra-state norms largely prescribe
behavior in opposition to the incentives emanating from the material structures
which encapsulate the region.
As such, precisely how a state responds to structural constraints cannot be
understood or predicted without attention to ‘domestic’ factors, notably identity;
however, it is by no means necessarily the case that states express in any straight-
forward way local identity in opposition to externally-imposed structures; rather
the region’s regimes are afflicted with identity conflict and the specific role
adopted by an individual state depends on its particular material process of state
formation. Specifically, whether a state tends to embrace the externally imposed
order or challenge it in the name of indigenous identity depends on whether the
identities and interests of the dominant social forces incorporated in the process
of state formation were largely satisfied or not by the material order. This set
states on differential status-quo or revisionist tangents that have proven
remarkably enduring. Only a combination of cascading systemic pressures and
opportunities coinciding with an internal transformation in a regime’s dominant
social forces (as perhaps in Sadat’s Egypt) would be likely to issue in a permanent
re-orientation of a states’ original foreign policy tangent.
This dynamic is nowhere better illustrated than in the case of Jordan and
Syria. Starting out as severed parts of the same country, they might have been
expected to follow similar (Arab nationalist) policies if identity mattered as
much as constructivists believe. If realists were right, their similar systemic
situations as small states subjected to powerful external pressures should have
dictated similar bandwagoning with the great powers. But in fact, they have
largely pursued opposing policies: Syria has been locked into nationalist
resistance to the Western great powers and Israel while Jordan has bandwagoned
with them. Only differential state formation explains this divergence.
Syria and Jordan were initially set on these quite different and enduring
tangents by the differential consequences for each of the imperial imposition of
the states system: in Jordan the Hashemite regime was established under
imperial patronage as a buffer state charged with containing popular
mobilization on the basis of Arab/Palestinian identity;19 its very survival was
dependent on regular budget subsidies from imperial patrons and threatened or
actual Western intervention against Arab nationalist movements and their state
patrons.20 In Syria, identity was frustrated by the same imperial fragmentation of
historic Syria in which Jordan was founded (plus the ceding of a part of it to
Zionist settlers), hence the post-independence regime emerged in a struggle
against imperialism amidst profound dissatisfaction with the status quo. The
1950s Arab nationalist political mobilization against the ancien regimes

reinforced these original opposing tangents: in Jordan, the King turned back
this challenge with Western help; in Syria, Arab nationalist forces led a
revolution that brought a revisionist regime to power.
Differential origins meant the incorporation into ruling regimes of differing
social forces and drove differing patterns of state consolidation, with opposing
foreign policy consequences.21 The Hashemite regime was established around a
pre-nationalist tribal core; depending on Western protection and facing a
majority Palestinian population whose loyalty was suspect, it did not invest in
society incorporating political institutions and survived by demobilizing the
nationalist opposition. The King relied on traditional techniques of governance,
namely balancing above, and playing off the segments of, a divided society. Nor
could Jordan create a mass conscription military since such an army would have
posed a greater threat to the regime than external threats; hence, unable to deter
Israel, the Hashemites sought to appease it.
By contrast, because the Ba’th regime, rising out of anti-imperialist and anti-
oligarchy revolution, could not depend on protective external intervention, it had
to establish the institutions enabling it to mobilize a base among the nationalist
middle class and peasantry against conservative and foreign opposition. While
minority Alawis formed a patrimonial core of the state elite similar to Jordan’s
tribalist core, the Alawis not only embraced Arab nationalism as a means of
integration into the dominant identity (of the Sunni majority), but, as a minority,
were especially constrained to demonstrate their fidelity to it. The Ba’th’s
dependence on its domestic social base and Arab nationalist legitimacy, locked
it into chronic conflict with Israel, which in turn required it to develop significant
military capabilities and a mass conscription army enabling it to balance against
its stronger neighbour.
Both states depended on rent to consolidate themselves but Jordan received its
from conservative Gulf and Western sources which expected it to play a status
quo and buffer state role against radical forces; Syria, by contrast, received
Soviet arms and Arab rent to sustain its resistance to Israel while its sources
were too diversified to give its donors the leverage over its foreign policy that
Jordan suffered. Hence differing identity prescribed differing dependencies
which, in turn, reinforced the original divergent foreign policy tangents of the
two states.
In both states identity certainly mattered but in different ways shaped by
patterns of state formation. In the Jordanian case, had popular identity shaped
that of the state, Jordan’s foreign policy would have been very different. Indeed
the association of breaks in Jordan’s traditional pro-Western policy with brief
episodes of internal democratization is striking, notably in the 1950s when the
elected Nabulsi government contested the king’s West-centric foreign policy.
Had the Hashemites been overthrown in the Arab nationalist wave of the fifties,
it is likely that the successor regime’s identity, hence its interests, threat
perceptions, and policies would have been similar to Syria’s. Jordan did face
chronic Arab nationalist/Palestinian subversion but it was repeatedly sustained
in its buffer state role by some combination of the Western economic
dependence of the country and actual or threatened intervention by Israel or the

West against threats to the monarchy – that is, by the structure of material power
in which the state was embedded. By contrast, in Syria, Arab nationalist identity
was institutionalized in (material) party-state structures and reinforced by the
external enmities (with Israel and the US) generated in pursuit of nationalist
foreign policies.
Differential patterns of state consolidation entrenched elites with contrary
identities. King Hussein, the product of British boarding schools, had
internalized Western culture and political discourse:22 he conceived Jordan’s
role as a force for stability, moderation against nationalist extremism in the
Arab-Israeli conflict, and a bridge between the West and the Arab world; in the
1990s the dynasty fostered a ‘Jordan-first’ identity compatible with its buffer
state role.23 Hafiz al-Asad, a product of the Syrian village, school and military,
who seldom left Damascus, saw the world through undiluted Arab eyes; for him,
Syria was the ‘beating heart of Arabism’ and bearer of a revolution against
Western imperialism and Zionism. While for Syria Arab nationalism was a
mission to be pursued, for Jordan it became a threat to be countered.
Both states pursued ‘rational’ state interests, as neo-utilitarians expect, but, as
constructivists argue, opposing identities meant that what was seen as the state
interest in Damascus seldom corresponded to that in Amman and these contrary
conceptions of interest were expressed in contrary foreign policy tangents.
While Syria chiefly balanced against stronger powers seen as hostile to Arabism,
Jordan chiefly bandwagoned with them. Thus, in the Cold War, Syria relied on
the Soviets to balance American support for Israel and to achieve the military
capability to deter Israeli power. Jordan tried, through a history of secret
relations, to appease Israel and relied on a US security umbrella against regional
threats. Despite their common historic origins, differential state formation put
the two states on opposing sides on most regional issues and relations were more
often bad than good.
Structural pressures on the two regimes were not, of course, unimportant and
could either divert them from or reinforce their original tangents. Thus, in
Jordan, on those crisis occasions when the wider public was mobilized by supra-
state (Arab/Islamic) identities (the normative structure), the regime, lacking
instruments of control comparable to Syria’s, had to appease it, even when this
went against the interests of the regime itself – as in joining the 1967 war against
Israel – until public arousal subsided. In Syria’s case, the 1967 defeat forced a
major alteration in its struggle with Israel: limiting its aims (to the recovery of
the occupied territories), combined with a build-up of its capabilities, issued in a
foreign policy more congruent with the material balance of power with its foe.
Interestingly, Syria’s growing pragmatism and the threat Jordan perceived from
Egypt’s separate peace with Israel actually drove a brief alignment between
Damascus and Amman in the mid-seventies. Then, in the 1991 Gulf war, while
public arousal drove Jordan to stand against the anti-Iraq coalition,24 Syria
responded to the transformation of the global power balance toward uni-polarity
by bandwagoning with the US (entering the anti-Iraq coalition and the Madrid
peace process) – in order to deal with the greater challenge from Israel.
Yet, over the longer term, in both cases the original foreign policy tangent
was soon substantially restored, partly because regime social compositions
(hence identities) remained relatively unchanged. But it was also because the
external environment provided no incentives for permanent change: Jordan was
traditionally on the winning side in the new world order while the US hegemon
was unwilling to provide the satisfaction of Syria’s vital interests (return of the
Golan) needed to bring it in. Hence while Jordan signed a separate peace with
Israel in return for its restoration to US favor and supported the post-9/11 US
war on terrorism and attack on Iraq, Syria failed to reach agreement with Israel,
incurred increased US hostility, and was the only Arab state to overtly oppose
the invasion of Iraq in 2003.
CONCLUSIONS
Arguably, the main source of the enduring instability of the Middle East is the
continuing contradiction between externally imposed material structures (the
fragmenting states system, the region’s international dependency) and the
region’s dominant Arab-Islamic supra-state identity. Stability requires bringing
identity and material structures into congruence but this has proved elusive.
Nasser’s initial partial success in forging a Pan-Arab normative order responded
to deep-seated aspirations across the Arab world and demonstrated the power of
a mobilized and aroused identity. But it depended on temporary material
conditions – (bipolarity, Egyptian regional hegemony) and encountered
intractable material obstacles (economic and political fragmentation of the
Arab world, Israeli military superiority). When shifts in material power
engendered by defeat in war and the oil boom undermined Egyptian hegemony
while consolidating the material power of the individual states, Pan-Arab norms,
un-anchored in a material sub-structure, proved unenforceable.
Yet states did not react uniformly to this evolving systemic structure: they did
so according to the material process of state formation. In particular, whether
their foreign policies defied or reflected trans-state popular identities depended
on whether the state was dominated by social forces empowered from without
that had a material stake in the regional order (the Hashemites) or that rose to
power from below and saw their interests damaged by this order (Syrian
Ba’thists).
Today, however, as material constraints – Israeli and American power,
economic dependence on the West – have narrowed room for the expression of
supra-state identity in foreign policy, state elites have an incentive to foster
state-centric identities that better suit the structural conditions to which they
must adapt if they are to preserve their material interests (whether security or
wealth). Because, as a recent collection of studies shows,25 identities in the
region, as elsewhere, are multiple and fluid, state elites, deploying the material
structures of repression, socialization (schools, media), and co-optation
(reinforced from without), can alter identities sufficiently to give them increased
discretion in the conduct of foreign policies rooted in undiluted raison d’état;
yet, they are contested at every step by counter-elites seeking to mobilize
support on the basis of Arabism and Islam, identities too deeply rooted in
historic memory and social communication to be readily marginalized: hence,
foreign policies seen to sacrifice identity and autonomy to appeasement of an
increasingly intrusive US hegemon carry mounting legitimacy costs, obstructing
the congruence between identity and interests needed for stability. The
durability of the core-enforced regional state system affirms the ultimate
dominance of superior material power over identity; but the continuing
illegitimacy and instability of the regional order bears witness to the power of
resistance rooted in historic identity.
NOTES
1. Stephen Walt, The Origin of Alliances (Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1987).
2. Shibley Telhami and Michael Barnett (eds.), Identity and Foreign Policy in the Middle East
(Ithaca and London: Cornell University Press, 2002), explores the constructivism-realism debate
as applied to the Middle East; Barry Buzan and Ole Waever, Regions and Powers: the Structure
of International Security (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003) examines the Middle
East as one of several distinct ‘regional security complexes.’
3. This present chapter thus returns to some of the themes of Nonneman’s conceptual discussion in
the first two chapters of this book, which aim precisely (as does the conception of the volume
overall) at helping to bridge the gap between IR and area expertise, and at exploring the extent to
which the insights of different theoretical approaches might be brought to bear or integrated.
(See in particular the ‘Introduction’, pp. 1 – 5, and Chapter 1. For his own take on the ‘regional’
Arab/Islamic environment of foreign policy-making in particular, see pp. 23–28). The
intervening chapters have provided ample material to flesh out this conceptual debate, and, I
would argue, to corroborate the argument of the present chapter.
4. John Ruggie, ‘What makes the world hang together: neo-utilitarianism and the social
constructivist challenge,’ in Peter Katzenstein, Robert Keohane and Stephen Krasner,
Exploration and Contestation in the study of World Politics (Cambridge, Mass.: MIT Press,
1999), pp. 215–245.
5. This ‘qualified constructivist’ view is perhaps closest to, or compatible with, the approach put
forth in Nonneman’s framework chapter (chapter I), and followed up in his discussion of the
three-fold environment of Middle Eastern foreign-policy making (chapter II).
6. Elements of the following arguments were first developed in my book, International Politics of
the Middle East (Manchester and London: Manchester University Press, 2003).
7. Gregory Gause ‘Sovereignty, statecraft and stability in the Middle East,’ Journal of International
Affairs, Vol. 45 (1992), no. 2, pp. 441–67; Mohammed Ayoob, The Third World Security
Predicament (Boulder: Lynne Rienner, 1995), pp. 7, 47–70.
8 While the analysis which follows is consistent with the hypotheses on the determinants of Middle
East (and other) states’ foreign policy advanced by Nonneman in Chapters I and II (summarised
on pp. 8–12) – in particular with his incorporation of the ideational factor – it takes a number of
further analytical steps to suggest how one might move to an understanding that integrates the
‘material’ and the ‘identity’ factor more explicitly and dynamically.
9. Michael Barnett, Dialogues in Arab Politics: Negotiations in Regional Order (New York:
Columbia University Press, 1998), pp. 6, 28, 40.
10. Paul Noble, ‘The Arab system: pressures, constraints, and opportunities,’ in Bahgat Korany and
Ali E. Hillal Dessouki (eds.), The Foreign Policies of Arab States: the Challenge of Change
(Boulder: Westview Press, 1991), p. 61; Barnett, Dialogues in Arab Politics, pp. 2, 6, 16.
11. Michael Hudson (ed.), Middle East Dilemmas: The Politics and Economics of Arab Integration,
(London/New York: I. B. Tauris, 1999), p. 86.
12. Walt, The Origin of Alliances.
13. Sela, Avraham, The End of the Arab-Israeli Conflict: Middle East Politics and the Quest for
Regional Order (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1998), pp. 3–8; Barnett,
Dialogues in Arab Politics, pp. 49–53.
14. Malcolm Kerr, The Arab Cold War: Jamal Abd al-Nasir and his Rivals, 1958–1970 (London:
Oxford University Press, 1971).
15. Samir Amin, The Arab Nation: Nationalism and Class Struggles (London: Zed Press, 1978).
16. Alan Richards and John Waterbury, A Political Economy of the Middle East (Boulder: Westview
Press, 1996), pp. 366–67.
17. Dominic Coldwell, ‘Egypt’s Autumn of Fury: the Construction of Opposition to the Egyptian-
Israeli Peace Process,’ Oxford: St. Anthony’s College Masters Thesis, 2003.
18. Ibrahim Karawan, ‘Identity and Foreign Policy: the Case of Egypt,’ in Telhami and Barnett,
Identity and Foreign Policy, pp. 155–168.
19. Kamal Salibi, The Modern History of Jordan (London & New York: I.B. Tauris, 1998), pp. 86–
95.
20. Laurie Brand, Jordan’s Inter-Arab Relations: The Political Economy of Alliance Making, (New
York: Columbia University Press, 1995).
21. Basil Salloukh, ‘Organizing Politics in the Arab World: State-Society Relations and Foreign
Policy Choices in Jordan and Syria,’ Ph.D thesis, McGill University, 1999.
22. Andrew Shyrock , ‘Dynastic modernism and its contradictions: testing the limits of pluralism,
tribalism and King Hussein’s example in Hashemite Jordan,’ Arab Studies Quarterly, Vol. 22,
no. 3, Summer 2000, pp. 60–61.
23. Marc Lynch, State interests and public spheres: the international politics of Jordan’s identity,
(New York: Columbia University press, 1999).
24. Richard Harknett and Jeffrey A. VanDenBerg, ‘Alignment Theory and inter-related threats:
Jordan and the Persian Gulf Crisis,’ Security Studies, Vol. 6, no.3 (Spring 1997), pp. 112–53.
25. Telhami and Barnett, Identity and Foreign Policy.
Small States’ Diplomacy in the Age of
Globalization: An Omani Perspective
BADR BIN HAMAD AL BU SAID
Editor’s note: This is the edited text of a lecture delivered to the Royal
Institute for International Affairs, Brussels, September 30, 2003, on the
occasion of the first formal bilateral Omani-Belgian negotiations. The
lecture was originally unconnected to the project. It has not
subsequently been adjusted to take account of the other contributions.
Rather, the realization, at the time of its delivery in Brussels, of the
striking parallels with – and illustration of – some of the analysis in the
present volume, and the light shed on Omani foreign-policy thinking in
particular, led to the editor’s request for it to be included. Apart from
minor editing, it was decided to preserve the original lecture format, so
that it could also serve as a primary source document.
May I begin by thanking you for the invitation to speak to you today. It gives
me great pleasure to address such a distinguished gathering. I hope my visit
and this gathering will make a further positive contribution to the excellent
and developing relations between Belgium and Oman, to our mutual
understanding and to our capacity to act together in support of our shared
values and objectives.
I have chosen to speak on the subject of small states and their diplomacy in
this age of globalization because it seemed to me, first of all, that this might be a
topic on which you, as much as I, might have interesting and constructive
thoughts to offer. It seems to me that Belgium’s approach to the challenges and
opportunities facing small states has been very successful, and that an exchange
of experiences on this subject would be highly beneficial, at least for me. I shall,
of course, be speaking from a specific personal Omani perspective and will do
my best to generalize or abstract from our particular experience, in the hope of
offering some points of contact or comparison that might illuminate our
respective situations or, at least, provoke some thought and discussion.
There are several conceptual frameworks generally used by academic
specialists in their attempts to understand the foreign policy or diplomacy of
small states. I have to say I like the idea that there are people out there trying to
explain what we are doing, attempting, it seems, to work out our motives and
account for our actions. Perhaps we smaller states are a little mysterious. In any
case, it seems that our foreign policies are often discussed in terms either of
relations of ‘dependency’, or relations between ‘core’ and ‘periphery’.
Now, it will be immediately clear to all of you that such frameworks are at
best only partially adequate as the basis for understanding what we do. For a
start, I doubt very much that anyone sitting here in Brussels – a multilingual and
multicultural city, at the very heart of one of the most densely populated and
economically dynamic regions of the world, and the location for the
headquarters of perhaps the most successful interstate collaboration in the
world – feels themselves to be at the periphery. Indeed, I would imagine that you
feel yourself to be pretty much the definition of ‘core’. While Oman cannot
make such incontrovertible claims to be at the ‘core’, we certainly do not feel as
though we are at the ‘periphery’.
Nor are we really ‘dependent’. Of course I am not suggesting that we are not
tied into a whole set of relations of mutuality and interdependency and that in
many cases these relations involve inequalities of power and influence. But I am
suggesting that dependency is not an appropriate term to describe this situation.
Indeed, as I hope I will show in a moment, there are a number of ways in which
small states can make decisive contributions to international relations and in
which we can exercise considerable freedom of action: that is to say –
independence.
So, we are neither peripheral, nor are we wholly dependent. May we take that
for the moment as read, as the working assumption upon which to base our
exploration of how we might face the specific challenges and opportunities that
arise? Good. Because we also need to recognize that, however much we may
feel we are in control of our own destinies, we are of course operating in an
external environment that is largely shaped by others. In some cases our external
environment might be shaped by the actions and indeed the conflicts of larger
and more powerful neighbors or by basic geo-strategic realities over which we
can exercise little or no choice. This is very obvious in Oman’s case, where the
basic geo-strategic reality of our position at the Straits of Hormuz ties us
immediately into large global structures involving industrialized economic
growth and energy demand, as well as maritime security. It is equally obvious
that our external environment is strongly shaped both by a historic conflict
between Arab states and Israel and by the projection of American power and
interests in our region. While these factors do not determine our actions, they
most certainly define the field within which we can take action.
To put this abstract idea into concrete terms: the presence of American power
in the Gulf region does not force Oman to follow the American line and adopt a
hostile stance towards Iran (for example). But it does mean that we have to
conduct our relations with Iran in a context framed (to some extent) by American
hostility to Iran, and by Iran’s complex responses to that hostility. We make our
own choices: in this case we continue to develop and enhance our relations with
Iran, at least in part in order that we might exercise some reverse influence as
regard the United States, and encourage some moderation of the underlying
hostility and suspicion. This example is perhaps typical of a particular feature of
Omani foreign policy, in which we try to make use of our intermediate position
AFTERWORD 259
between larger powers to reduce the potential for conflict in our immediate
neighborhood. To return from this particular example to the more general
question of the foreign policy determinants of small states, I think we can see
fairly clearly that it is possible for a small state to carve out for itself a degree of
relative autonomy, not just from one dominant regional or neighboring power,
but from two competing and antagonistic forces. We genuinely have the potential
to be ‘neither Washington nor Tehran’ – to adapt an old formula.
So, we can create space for our own actions. And furthermore, and this seems
to me to be crucial, it is precisely in that space that we – that is to say, small
states – may be able to act in ways that others cannot. In the space between the
big states, the major powers, both regional and global, we have room for
maneuver that the big states themselves do not enjoy. We can operate without
attracting too much attention, conduct diplomacy discreetly and quietly. Here
the example of Norway comes to mind. Norway’s contribution to the Middle
East Peace Process in the first half of the 1990s was possible because no one was
looking at Norway. Norway could act as a facilitator in a way that the United
States couldn’t, during a delicate phase of Palestinian–Israeli rapprochement,
because as a small nation it did not represent either a challenge to the interests of
the core parties themselves or a highly public diplomatic arena under constant
media scrutiny like Washington. To a certain extent, Oman’s own engagement
with the Peace Process at that time, including our moves towards relations with
Israel and Prime Minister Rabin’s visit to Oman, was possible because we are a
small nation not always exposed to the public gaze.
In order to maximize our capacity for action small states need to identify
those features of the external environment – shaped as it is by other, larger
players – that are likely to work most effectively to our advantage. I expect that
some of the features that I am going to identify as being in Oman’s interests may
well strike a chord with you and that we will find a number of general, global
issues upon which we can both agree as small states, that we can pursue shared
objectives.
I would like to identify, as briefly as I can, four specific areas in which I think
it is important that small states share their experience and work together. I say
work together because one key factor, certainly for us, is that as a small nation
with limited resources we simply do not have enough diplomats to do everything
on our own.
1. The first of these is what I call ‘good neighbor policies’. Underlying Omani
foreign policy for over three decades now has been the principle that we
should seek always to maintain and enhance relations with immediate
neighbors. This is, of course, a principle enhanced by a fair degree of
pragmatism: it would be foolish recklessly to antagonize your neighbors
under any circumstances and certainly when they are bigger and more
powerful than you. But it is also a principle and one that we apply without,
for instance, any regard for passing ideological or political differences. It is
a matter of principle for us that our neighbors, because they are our
neighbors, deserve our particular respect and consideration, and that such
respect and consideration contributes to the development of a harmonious

regional environment which is of benefit to all parties. It is also a principle
which we are developing over time, in keeping with the processes of
globalization, which redraw the geographical maps to some extent, creating
new proximities, new neighborhoods. In our case this is evident in the
development of our relations with India, for example, as the Indian Ocean
region becomes a neighborhood in which we identify ourselves, and as our
historic relations with India, based on trade and commerce, become
increasingly valuable to both parties.
2. The second, and closely related, is support for regional associations.
Belgium of course needs no lessons from anyone on the value of taking a
leading role in regional associations. Although our cases are very different
and comparisons between, say, the GCC and the EU are often more
misleading than illuminating, I think we share a perspective here. Oman has
consistently sought to enhance the integration of the GCC, supporting
moves towards customs and eventually monetary union as well as
advocating greater and more effective security and military coordination.
I do not need to rehearse here the many reasons why such a policy is worth
pursuing. I should perhaps mention that counter arguments do exist and that
there are some countries who seek a different kind of relationship to their
region, both in economic terms and in terms of collective security. Such
different paths have their appeal and it is easy enough to understand, for
instance, why countries such as Switzerland might wish to remain outside
such structures. But you do need to be very wealthy to do so, so much so
that even the traditionally neutral Scandinavian states seem to me, at least in
the long term, to be destined for greater rather than less integration with
their European neighbors and partners.
3. The third area – and one which I would like particularly to emphasize here,
because I think it is an area in which enhanced cooperation between small
states could be achieved – is international respect for the rule of law. I will
put the basic proposition as simply as possible. In a world of complex
interdependency, the more the system is governed by rules rather than by
force the better it will be – for us and for everyone. The rule of law operates
as a constraint on the actions of the powerful, through international
institutions such as the United Nations. For small states, then, the
strengthening of the rule of law in the space of international relations is
intimately connected to the practice of multilateralism, so much so that I
think it is helpful to think of the two ideas side by side because that way we
begin to develop more strongly the idea that certain kinds of action are
simply not legal unless they carry some minimal degree of multilateral
agreement. I think this is one of the paths leading from the fork in the road
that Kofi Annan spoke of in his address to the United Nations General
Assembly last week and I think we need to decide definitively in favor of
this path. The implications of such a decision and its wholehearted
implementation by the international community have substantial implica-
tions in fields as diverse as arms control, sovereignty, economic relations
AFTERWORD 261
(especially trade) and human rights. Not only do we see major advantages to
be gained from the extension of rule-based systems and general
international respect for such systems, but we also recognize an important
task ahead in making sure that we establish rules that do not simply
legitimize the interests of the powerful. I am sure you will not fail to see the
significance of such efforts in relation, for instance, to the rules governing
global trade and the conduct of efforts to secure non-proliferation in the
field of weapons of mass destruction.
4. The fourth area is one that is perhaps less widely discussed and that, to the
specialists in international relations, may seem rather strange or out of
place. I have suggested earlier that there may be some areas in which
smaller states will have a distinctive contribution to make. One of those
areas is what we might broadly term ‘ethics’. Now I am not going to claim
that there is any general rule according to which ‘small is ethical’, or that
our larger and more powerful neighbors and allies are lacking in ethical
considerations. However, I do think that in considerations of supposedly
universal values, the kind of values that might underpin, for example, a rule-
based system of international law, we may have something particular to
contribute. Not, as I say, because we are any better or more ethically
inclined than anyone else, but simply because the particularities of our
experience make available to the wider international community a certain
diversity of perspective. That sounds very abstract. Let me try and be
concrete and specific. What I mean is that a small nation may have a very
particular historical experience, not shared by the ‘Great Powers’ of our
world, which might shed a different light on ethical and legal problems,
which might, for example, offer a new approach to the management of
international situations. I will leave it to you to think about what particular
Belgian realities might mean you have a distinctive contribution to make,
while talking for a moment about something that is part of the Omani
experience that might not otherwise be available to the wider international
community. As you know many Omanis are adherents of the Ibadhi
tradition of Islam, a distinctive strand in the Muslim community with a
strong tradition of tolerance, in which the practice of shura – consultative
participation – is a central feature. The tradition of shura itself may contain
within it ideas, ways of resolving problems, approaches to debate, that could
be useful more widely. This means that the particularity of our practice and
way of thinking about and doing things is something we need to hold onto,
not because it’s something special of our own, but because it constitutes a
potential and living contribution to the sum total of human cultural
possibilities. The preservation of the local and specific, because of its wider
value to humanity as a whole and not simply because it is picturesque or
quaint, seems to me to be a project particularly appropriate for small states,
especially in the context of contemporary globalization.
And it is on the issue of globalization that I would like to close. I have not
perhaps referred to it a great deal, at least explicitly, but I think you will
understand the way in which it provides a background or context in which all my

thinking aloud here today has been shaped. In a globalized world it simply does
not make sense to think about dependency as an alternative condition to
‘independence’. We are all to some degree interdependent and within those
relations power and resources are distributed unevenly. But the extent and nature
of the connections are such that only those who choose to insist upon their
‘dependency’, or alternatively their complete ‘independence’, are likely to be
wholly dependent. That is, those who complain that globalization is a process
that strips them of all power and opportunity are likely to be self-fulfilling
prophets because they will fail to make use of whatever space for action they
possess. At the same time those who want to close themselves off from global
interdependency are most unlikely to remain independent for long (at least in
any meaningful way).
Globalization also puts into question the relationship between periphery and
core. It is perhaps too early to start evaluating the impact of changes in how we
understand the organization of our global space. But even so it seems to me very
clear that the fluidity and multiplicity that characterizes contemporary economic
relations is going to break down any stable sense of core and periphery. The
moment I can do business with American companies via operation centers in
India while sitting here in Brussels, it seems to me that the spatial model of core
and periphery is beginning to look out of date.
In building new models for understanding relations between states both large
and small, a complex set of interactions between external and internal factors,
regions and global stages, contexts and circumstances needs to be taken into
account. There is a sense in which smaller states like ours may have been living
an early version of this reality slightly longer than some of the larger states and
that, as a result, the kinds of diplomacy and foreign policies we have been
developing for some time will increasingly be taken up by others.
I have tried today to blend some of my own experiences and perceptions with
some of the ideas used by specialists in international relations theory. I am no
academic theorist and I make no special claim to expertise in international
relations as a discipline. But I hope these reflections, this attempt by a
professional amateur, if you like, to make some sense of changing realities and
the theories we use to account for them will at the very least provoke a few
thoughts and perhaps even, if you like, some questions and debate.
INDEX
Aarts, P.: and Janssen, D. 4 Benaissa, M. 49

Al-Alkim, H.H. 157, 161 Bonaparte, N. 64
al-Asad, B. 85–97, 107; as a modernizer Brown, L.C. 82
86–7 Bush, G.W. 29, 227
al-Asad, H. 81, 84–6, 105 Buzan, B.: and Waever, O. 243
Al-Jazeera 16, 20, 157, 163
al-Naimi, A. 237 Camp David Accords 55
al-Sadat, A. 249, 250 Central Treaty Organization (CENTO)
al-Said, N. 129 67
Alawite dynasty: Morocco 46 Chirac, J. 56
Alfonzo, J.P. 137 Churchill, Sir W. 44
Ali, M. 64–6 Clapham, C. 15
Aliboni, R. 29 climate change politics: diverging
Aoun, Gen.M. 119 positions 226–9; European Climate
Arab League 147, 148, 159 Change Program (ECCP) 228; fuel
Arab Maghreb Union (AMU) 27, 51, 61 cell technology 237; and George W.
Arab–Israeli conflict 115, 154, 167–8; Bush 227; global warming 225;
and Europe 69–75 Intergovernmental Panel on Climate
asymmetrical interdependence 16 Change (IPCC) 232; Kyoto Protocol
Atatürk, M.Kemal (1881–1938) 209–13 227; Middle Eastern oil exporting
Atlantic Charter 44 countries 229–39; oil exporting
Austria 115 countries 223–42; Saudi Arabia and
Ayatollah Khomeini 149, 174, 177–9 Iran compared 233–8; understanding
Ayoob, M. 9 224–6
Aziz, T. 91 Clinton, B. 56, 59, 93
Aznar, J-M. 56 Cold War 13, 15, 28, 56, 81
Common Agricultural Policy (CAP)
Baghdad Pact (1955) 67, 124, 131; Iraqi 52
withdrawal 124, 135 constructivism 2, 7
Bahrain 22, 145, 150, 153; elections 20
Baker, J. 45 Damascus Declaration (1992) 155, 159
Balfour Declaration (1917) 65 Damis, J. 47
Barcelona Process 22, 26, 34, 52, 165; David, S.: omnibalancing 13, 15, 44
as one-sided European vision 75–7 Dayan, M. 58
Barnett, M. 11, 248 Delors, J. 54
Batatu, H. 124 democratisation 20–1
Ba’thism 141, 245, 252; Iraq 125 dependencia 8, 10
Bazargan, M. 179 Dessouki, A.: and Korany, B. 6, 11
Ben Barka, M. 56, 57 developing states: foreign policy 9–10
264 INDEX
dimuqratiyya 20 Great Britain 14, 65, 114, 115, 124;

drought: Iran 235 and recognition of Kuwait 139–40
Dulles, A. (CIA) 130 Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC) 24,
25, 27, 37, 38, 180; Barcelona
Egypt 8, 19, 20, 105, 155; 1952 Process 165; birth 145; challenges
revolution 65; Tripartite Aggression to rentier state 151–4; Charter 149;
(1956) 64, 67 Damascus Declaration (1992) 155,
Egyptian-European relations 64–80; 159; and democracy 153; domestic
Arab-Israeli conflict 66; Barcelona politics 148–54; European trade
Process 75–7; European Union 165–7; European Union (EU)
(EU) Partnership Agreement 77–8; Troika recommendations 166–7;
future 77–8; historical background evolution of civil society 151–4;
66–9; key influencing factors 64–6; identity and heritage 149; impact of
Middle East political settlement 1970’s oil revolution 150–4; impact
73–5; and United States of America of September 11th on reform
(USA) 66, 68, 72; and the Yom process 153; internal reforms 152–
Kippur War (1973) 68–73 3; Joint Defense Council 155;
Ehteshami, A.: and Hinnebusch, R. 6, liberalization 153; media 157;
11, 15 military expenditure 152; oil
Eisenhower, D. 57, 67; Eisenhower production 151–2; Peninsula Shield
Doctrine (1957) 67 Force 155; perception of Saudi
Euro-Arab Dialogue 32–3, 69–73; end hegemony 156; population growth
70–3 152; reasons for birth 155; relations
Euro-Mediterranean Partnership with European Union (EU) 164–8;
(EMP) 22, 34–7, 52, 81; Gulf relations with United States of
Cooperation Council (GCC) 165; America (USA) 161–4;
Lebanon 118–19; Morocco 52; and self–reliance 154–6
Syria 95–7 Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC)
Europe: and the Arab–Israeli conflict foreign policy 145–73;
69–75; Mediterranean policy 32; accommodative diplomacy 158–9;
relations with Lebanon 114–19; Arab-Israeli dimension 160–1;
relationship with Syria 94–7 collective policy-making 159–60;
European Climate Change Program Consultative Commission 148;
(ECCP) 228 decision making and style 156–8;
European Energy Charter 38 Gulf security and defence 154–6;
Evren, K. 203 impact of Gulf War (1990–1) 162;
institutional framework 146–8; Iraq
Fihri, T.F. 49 War (2003) 163–4; and oil
Foreign Policy Analysis (FPA) 1, 2, 7, production 152; patterns 158–60;
11 public opinion 157;
France 53, 114, 115, 116, 162 Secretariat–General 147–8; survival
fuel cell technology 237 instinct 159; and United States
policy 159
Germany 129 Gulf War (1990–1) 28, 154, 155
Gilpin, R. 9
Golan Heights 84–5, 89 Halliday, F. 82
INDEX 265
Hariri, R. 110, 111 (1989–97) 184–6; relations with

Hashemite regime: Jordan 251–2 European Union (1997–) 186–94;
Helsinki Conference on Security and relations with European Union
Cooperation in Europe (1975) 65 (1997–89) 183–4; relations with
Hinnebusch, R. 2, 5, 13, 14, 21, 24; United States of America (USA)
and Ehteshami, A. 6, 11, 15 179, 181, 185; Soviet Union 181;
Hizbollah 25, 90, 105, 106, 108, 111, trade with European Union 187
113, 120 Iraq 8, 22; Ba’thists 125; claim on
Holsti, O.R. 10 Kuwait 123, 139–41; Coup d’Etat
Hussein, Q. 92 (1958) 124–6; growth of
Hussein, S. 28–9, 91–2, 123, 245 Communist party 131–2; inter-Arab
rivalry 132–6; Iraq Petroleum
Ibrahim Kubbah 130 Company (IPC) 139–41; Oil
Ikenberry, J. 13 Companies 126–32; Organization of
Intergovernmental Panel on Climate the Petroleum Exporting Countries
Change (IPCC) 232 (OPEC) 136–9; relations with Syria
International Atomic Energy Agency 91–2
(IAEA): and Iran 190–1 Iraq Petroleum Company (IPC) 129,
International Energy Agency (IEA) 130, 137, 139–41; collapse of
229 negotiations with government
International Relations (IR) 2, 11, 139–41
224; rationalism 224; reflectivism Iraq War (2003) 16; and Gulf
224 Cooperation Council (GCC)
Iran: Comprehensive Dialogue and 163–4
Europe 187, 193; Critical Dialogue Iraqi foreign policy: American hostage
and Europe 185, 186; drought 235; crisis (1979) 178, 179
fall of the Shah 8; first five-year Iraqi foreign policy (1958–63)
economic plan (1989) 180–1; 123–44; coup d’etat (July 1958)
institutions of Islamic Republic 124–6; Fertile Crescent scheme
178; parliamentary political 133; and Great Britain 134; Iraqi
dynamics 20; pollution 235; Salman Communist party 131–2; regional
Rushdie fatwah 184–7 environment 132–6; relations with
Iranian foreign policy 174–96; Egypt 133–5; relations with Iran
assessment of relations with 135–6; relations with Syria 133–4
European Union 188–92; and Israel 89–90, 108, 111; nuclear
Ayatollah Khomeini 177–9; capabilities 24
European trade 184, 186, 187; Israeli-Jordanian peace settlement
genesis of post-revolutionary policy (1993) 105
175–7; Hashemi Rafsanjani 180–2, Isreal: growing strategic ambitions
184, 185, 186, 188; nuclear program 154
tension 190–2; post-Khomeini Italy 186
policy (1989–97) 180–1; priorities
(1979–89) 177–80; reform Janssen, D. and Aarts, P. 4
movement and Mohammad Joffé, G. 27
Khatami (1997–2003) 182, 186–8, Jordan 20, 22, 45; Hashemite regime
189; relations with European Union 251–2; state formation 251–4
266 INDEX
Kemalism: Turkey 209–13 Lebanon: Euro-Mediterranean

Keohane, R. 9 Partnership (EMP) 118–19;
Khatami, M. 174, 177, 182, 186–8, European criticism of 1992
189, 189–91 elections 116; European expatriate
King Faysal 150 communities 119; European
King Hassan II (Morocco) 46–9, 55, involvement (1860–1990) 115–16;
57, 60 European involvement (1990–)
King Hussein of Jordan 135, 253 117–19; European response to
King Juan Carlos (Spain) 56 Syrian penetration (1990–)
King Mohammed VI (Morocco) 54, 116–17, 120; Muslim support for
55, 59 Palestine Liberation Organization
Korany, B.: and Dessouki, A. 6, 11 (PLO) 103; National Pact (1943)
Krauthammer, C. 59 101, 102; pressure for Syrian
Kubbah, I. 130–1 withdrawal 111; South Lebanon
Kurds: Turkey 203 conflict 108–9, 111; Ta’if Accord
Kuwait 22, 145, 153, 162; Arab 109, 116
League admission 139; British Lenczowski, G. 213
recognition as sovereign state 139; liberalisation 20–3, 47
Iraqi claim 139–41; parliamentary Libya 22
politics 20 Loos, F. 61
Kyoto Protocol 227; implementation Lopez Garcia, B.: and Larramendi,
230–1; vulnerability of OPEC M.H. 58
countries 231–3; vulnerability of
Saudi Arabia and Iran compared Maddy-Weitzman, B. 55
233–8 Madrid Peace Conference (1991) 74
managed multi-dependence 16
Lahoud, E. 109 Mediterranean system 11
Larramendi, M.H.: and Lopez Garcia, Mercosur 61
B. 58 Meteorological and Environmental
Le Monde 129 Protection Agency (MEPA): Saudi
Lebanese foreign policy 100–22; Arabia 236
consensus for ultimate Syrian Middle East: democratisation 20–1;
withdrawal 113–14; determinants international politics 243–56;
101–14; Europe 114–19; historical liberalisation 20–3; regional
context 101–3; key objectives identity and systemic structure
108–9; limited European influence 243–56; state formation and
114–15; primacy of economic structure 251–4; state system
interests 110–12, 120; residuum of 244–5
authentic independent 107–14; Middle East and North Africa
susceptibility to penetration by (MENA) 1; autonomy 14–17;
foreign actors 113; Syrian influence determinants 10–14; developing
103–7, 108, 109, 110; Treaty of states 9–10; domestic environment
Brotherhood Cooperation and 3, 11–12, 19–23; Euro-Arab
Coordination (1991) 104, 109, 116; Dialogue 32–3, 69–72; Europe 4,
unpopularity of Syrian alignment 11, 29–39; foreign policy 3, 6–18,
109–10; weakness of state 109 23–4; Gulf 24–6; immediate
INDEX 267
environment 27–8; international Oman 145, 155; foreign policy

environment 3, 12, 28–9; 257–62; relations with Belgium
Maghreb(W.Arab World) 26–7; 257–8
Mashreq(E.Arab World) 26; omnibalancing 13, 15, 20, 47, 153,
model of international politics 7–9; 160
multi-bilateral Mediterranean Organization of African Unity (OAU)
policies 33–7; regional environment 43, 50
3, 12, 23–8; three environments Organization of the Arab Oil
19–42 Exporting Countries (OAPEC) 160
Monar, J. 37 Organization of Islamic Conference
Moore, B. 177 (OIC) 148
Moroccan foreign policy 43–63; Organization of the Oil Exporting
Alawite dynasty 46; analytical Countries (OPEC) 160
framework 43–5; domestic Organization of Petroleum Exporting
environment 45–50; Europe 51–4; Countries: Kyoto Protocol 230–3;
France 53; impact of Cold War 59; vulnerability to Kyoto policies
internal opposition to Gulf War 231–3
(1990–1) 49; international Organization of the Petroleum
environment 56–61; King Hassan II Exporting Countries (OPEC) 123;
46–9; Maghreb 50–1; Mashreq birth 123, 136–9; climate change
54–6; regional environment 50–6; politics 228–39; secret of success
relations with Israel 55, 58; Spain 137–8
53–4; United States of America Oslo Agreement (1993) 74
(USA) 45, 57, 58; W.Sahara issue Ottoman Empire 14, 199–205, 218
44, 47, 48, 49, 50, 59
Mubarak, H. 78 Palestine 25
Murphy, E.C. 21 Palestine Liberation Organization
(PLO) 161
Naff, T. 201 Palestinian Liberation Organization
Nasser, G.A. 83, 123, 124, 133, 134, (PLO) 72; and Syria 91
138, 249 Pan-Arabism: rise and fall 245–51
neo-realism 7 Paris Congress (1856) 201
Netanyahu, B. 106 Patten, C. 187
Nonneman, G. 153, 159, 226, 243; Peres, S. 58, 106
Saudi Arabian and Iranian oil policy political Islam 154
233 pollution: Iran 235
North Atlantic Treaty Association Powell, C. 93, 192
(NATO) 197, 214, 217 Prodi, R. 96
Norway 187; Middle Eastern Prussia 115
diplomacy 259
Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty Qadhafi, M. 51, 54
(NPT) 191 Qasim, A. 4; Fertile Crescent scheme
Nuri al-said 129 133; Iraqi foreign policy (1958–63)
123–44; and Kuwait 139–41; Oil
oil exporting countries: and climate Companies 126–32; role in OPEC
change politics 223–42 establishment 123
268 INDEX
Qatar 22, 145, 153, 154, 160, 162; new Syria 155, 245; Bashar al-Asad as a
constitution 20; unpopular Iraq War modernizer 86–7; Ba’thist coup
cooperation 20 (1963) 83; failure of Arab-Israeli
peace negotiations 85–6; and Israeli
Rabin, Y. 89, 105 occupation of Golan Heights 84–5,
Rafsanjani, H. 174, 177, 180–2, 184, 89, 105; lack of European pressure
185, 186, 188 regarding Lebanon policy 116–17;
Reagan, R. 57 protection of dominant role in Le-
realism 10, 12 banon 112; relations with United
rentierism 21 States of America (USA) 93–4; state
Robert Schuman Centre for Advanced formation 251–4; turn to socialism
Studies 2 84; United States pressure 121
Rohani, H. 191 Syrian foreign policy 81–99; and
Rohani, R. 191 Bahar al-Asad 87–97; determinants
Roosevelt, D. 44 of change and leadership succession
Rosenau, J. 13, 148, 205 85–9; dissolution of Soviet Union
Rushdie, S. 184–7 105; economic pressures for
Russia 115 globalisation 87–8; Euro-
Mediterranean Partnership (EMP)
Sadat, A. 8, 58, 66, 73 95–7; Europe 94–7; Gulf War
Saharan Arab Democratic Republic support 105; Iraq 91–2; Israel
(SADR) 50 89–90; mending regional fences
Satanic Verses (Rushdie) 184 90–1; obstacles to change 88–9;
Saudi Arabia 8, 105, 145, 148, 149, Palestine Liberation Organization
164; Meteorological and (PLO) 91; state formation 83–5;
Environmental Protection Agency Treaty of Brotherhood Cooperation
(MEPA) 236; military expenditure and Coordination (1991) 104, 109,
152; oil production 156 116; war and state consolidation
Schumann Document 68 84–5
Sharon, A. 35
Siverson, R.: and Starr, H. 9 Tonini, A. 4
Skocpol, T. 176 Treaty of Lausanne (1923) 202
small states: ethics 261; foreign policy Treaty of Rome (1957) 77
257–62; globalization 261 Troutbeck, Sir J. 124
Snyder, J. 9 Tunisia 20, 21
Solana, J. 35 Turkey: birth of nation-state 202;
Soviet Union 131, 181; relations with European vocation 199–222;
Turkey 205, 207, 213–16 insecurity complex 197; Kurds 203;
Spain 53–4 millets (religious communities) 203;
Standard Oil 136, 137 national homogeneity 211;
Starr, H.: and Siverson, R. 9 nationalism 210–11; Ottoman
state formation and structure: Jordan Empire 199–205, 218; relations
and Syria 251–4; Middle East with Greece 206, 219;
251–4 Republicanism 209–10; Secularism
Suez Canal 67 210; Treaty of Friendship and
Suez Crisis (1956) 57, 116 Neutrality 205, 207
INDEX 269
Turkish foreign policy 197–222; United States of America (USA) 14,

Aegean islands 206–7; ambiguous 28–9; relations with Egypt 66;
position in European security relations with Gulf Cooperation
structure 216–17; conjunctural Council (GCC) 161–4; relations
variables 198; contemporary with Iran 181; relations with Israel
216–19; geopolitics 205–9; 24; relations with Syria 93–4, 121;
historical context of policy and Turkey 217
formulation 199–205; ideology and
Kemalism 209–13; post-Cold War Vance, C. 72
213–16; relations with Europe
216–19; relations with Soviet Union Waever, O.: and Buzan, B. 243
205, 207, 213–16; structural Waltz, K. 7
variables 198; Treaty of Lausanne Weisband, E. 212
(1923) 202 Wendt, A. 7
World Trade Organization (WTO) 29,
unemployment 20 61, 95
Union Nationales des Forces Populaire Wright, Sir M. 127
(UNFP) 47, 48, 57
Union Socialiste des Forces Populaire Yemen 22
(USFP) 48, 56 Yilmaz, M. 197
United Arab Emirates (UAE) 22, 23, Yom Kippur War (October 1973):
145, 154 Egyptian-European relations 69–73;
United Arab Republic (UAR) 133, 134 Euro-Arab Dialogue 32
United Nations Framework
Convention on Climate Change
(UNFCCC) 223, 226

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ANALYZING MIDDLE EAST FOREIGN POLICIES

AND THE RELATIONSHIP WITH EUROPE

This book is an extensively revised, expanded and updated version of a special

Gerd Nonneman is Reader in International Relations and Middle East Politics at

Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada

Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group

This edition published in the Taylor & Francis e-Library, 2005.

Ó Gerd Nonneman 2005

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or

The publisher makes no representation, express or implied, with regard to

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data

Library of Congress Cataloguing in Publication Data

ISBN 0-203-00882-0 Master e-book ISBN

ISBN 0–714-65530-9 (hbk)

The Three Environments of Middle East Foreign Policy Making and

Analyzing Moroccan Foreign Policy and Relations with Europe 43

Egyptian–European Relations: From Conflict to Cooperation 64

Globalization and Generational Change: Syrian Foreign Policy

Lebanon and Europe: The Foreign Policy of a Penetrated State 100

Propaganda versus Pragmatism: Iraqi Foreign Policy in Qasim’s

Dynamics and Determinants of the GCC States’ Foreign Policy, with

Revolution, Theocratic Leadership and Iran’s Foreign Policy:

The Determinants of Turkish Foreign Policy, and Turkey’s

Shades of Opinion: the Oil Exporting Countries

Dennis Janssen is completing postgraduate studies in International Relations at the University of

This study is the outcome of a two-year project, sponsored by the Mediterranean

1. Overviews of a presumed Mediterranean system – whether as a security

The levels on which MENA states’ foreign policy determinants must be

1. The nature of the state (secure/insecure, extent of ‘national’ identity

1. They are by and large pragmatic rather than ideological.

In subsequent chapters, a range of case studies covering the region from

on the question of climate change, in particular vis-à-vis the European Union.

AN APPROACH TO FOREIGN POLICY ANALYSIS ROOTED IN A

‘dependent’ ones, in a capitalist international political economy. In these latter

2. There is, however, no single ‘national interest’ but a range of ‘national

In other words, my approach follows such diverse writers as Keohane,12

FOREIGN POLICY ANALYSIS AND DEVELOPING STATES

The extent to which foreign policy determinants in ‘developing states’ differ

1. Start an interpretation from the domestic environment and the survival

MENA STATES’ FOREIGN POLICY DETERMINANTS

. The domestic versus the external environment.

MENA states’ foreign policies, I suggest, have in varying ways been

1. The nature of the state (secure/insecure, extent of ‘national’ identity

1. Europe’s very proximity.

The interrelated domestic and regional environments impose a host of

Adjustment may be directed outward at international regimes, or inward at

THE QUESTION OF (RELATIVE) AUTONOMY

whether in the region or beyond: what patterns of alliance emerge. The

THE DOMESTIC ENVIRONMENT

1. The discourse of democracy and pluralism has become more widespread.

character of a movement tells us nothing useful about its behaviour unless

Murphy presents a related and compelling argument, based in part on an in-

economic reform . . ., and its desire to prevent challenges to its own

THE REGIONAL ENVIRONMENT

As indicated above, the ‘regional’ category in MENA states’ external

The Arab World and the Middle East

3. National security interests/raison d’état – in economic, military security,

2. Hegemonic clashes between Iran versus Iraq versus Saudi Arabia.

The Mashreq, or Eastern Arab World

The Maghreb, or Western Arab World

The Immediate Environment

THE INTERNATIONAL ENVIRONMENT