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MIDDLE EAST TODAY

Social Capital, Civic Engagement

and Democratization
in Kurdistan

Hewa Haji Khedir

 Middle East Today

Series Editors
Fawaz A. Gerges
Department of International Relations
London School of Economics
London, UK

Nader Hashemi
Center for Middle East Studies, Josef Korbel
School of International Studies
University of Denver
Denver, CO, USA
The Iranian Revolution of 1979, the Iran-Iraq War, the Gulf War, and the
US invasion and occupation of Iraq have dramatically altered the geopo-
litical landscape of the contemporary Middle East. The Arab Spring up-
risings have complicated this picture. This series puts forward a critical
body of first-rate scholarship that reflects the current political and social
realities of the region, focusing on original research about contentious
politics and social movements; political institutions; the role played by
non-governmental organizations such as Hamas, Hezbollah, and the
Muslim Brotherhood; and the Israeli-Palestine conflict. Other themes of
interest include Iran and Turkey as emerging pre-eminent powers in the
region, the former an ‘Islamic Republic’ and the latter an emerging
democracy currently governed by a party with Islamic roots; the Gulf
monarchies, their petrol economies and regional ambitions; potential
problems of nuclear proliferation in the region; and the challenges con-
fronting the United States, Europe, and the United Nations in the greater
Middle East. The focus of the series is on general topics such as social tur-
moil, war and revolution, international relations, occupation, radicalism,
democracy, human rights, and Islam as a political force in the context of
the modern Middle East.

More information about this series at

http://www.palgrave.com/gp/series/14803
 Hewa Haji Khedir

Social Capital, Civic

Engagement
and Democratization
in Kurdistan
Hewa Haji Khedir
University of Winchester
Winchester, UK

Middle East Today

ISBN 978-3-030-42143-4 ISBN 978-3-030-42144-1 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer
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 To
Lwa, Nwa and Rohin
 Praise for Social Capital, Civic
Engagement and Democratization in
Kurdistan

“This book gives remarkable insights into the problems of transition to

democracy, using an interesting case study. Dr. Khedir’s sociological an-
gle grants us a window into the important and sometimes neglected ques-
tion of social capital in democratic politics. The weakness of the fast-track
transition model becomes evident, as its institutional design proves insuf-
ficient for a transition success without supportive social relationships in
place.”
—Alex Danilovich, Ph.D., Senior Associate, Institute on Governance,
Ottawa, Canada

“The simplistic importation of ‘democratic devices’ such as parliaments,

as Hewa Haji Khedir demonstrates here in this detailed analysis, is not
the same as democratisation. This extensive case study of ‘democratic’
transition in the Kurdistan region of Iraq instead identifies that ‘social
capital literature fails to pay adequate attention to the historical, cultural
and economic pre-transition contexts’. Khedir explains the weaknesses of
social capital in Kurdistan as well. The lack of sufficient societal trust and
effective civil literacy and communications to foster it all undermines the
development of adequate mechanisms for accountability, and without ac-
countability there can be no democracy.”
—Pippa Catterall, Professor of History and Policy, University of
Westminster, London, UK

vii
 Introduction

Kurdistan Region of Iraq (KRI), Kurds and Iraq

KRI refers to territories in the four governorates of Erbil, Sulaimani,
Duhok and Halabja in the North East of Iraq which fell under the con-
trol of Kurds since 1991. The area is often, especially in Pan-nationalist
Kurdish circles, called Bashur (south) to point to its geographic loca-
tion vis-à-vis other parts of Kurdistan: Northern Kurdistan in Turkey
(Bakur), Eastern Kurdistan in Iran (Rojhelat ) and Western Kurdistan in
Syria (Rojava). Due to historical disputes over vast swaths of land be-
tween Kurds and consecutive Iraqi governments the ultimate geographic
territorial boundaries of KRI is not defined yet.1 The KRI is recognized
by Iraqi constitution of 2005 as an autonomous region within the bound-
aries of the federal state of Iraq (article 117, first). Geographically, KRI’s
area reaches 40,643 km2 (Kurdistan Regional Government Website). De-
mographically, an entirely accurate figure with respect to the population
of the region is not available: the last general population census to have

1 Article 140 of the Iraqi constitution (2005) addresses the issue of Internally Disputed
Territories (IDTs) and demographic change policies of Ba’th regime by setting up a three
stage roadmap (normalization, census and referendum). The article was expected to come
to conclusion by December 31, 2007. Apart from partial implementation of stage one
(normalization meant to be restoring the demographic and administrative normal situation
of these areas), no progress has been made with stage two and three.

ix
x INTRODUCTION

been carried out in KRI2 was in 1987 which had identified the popula-
tion of the region at 2,015,466. As KRI governorates were out of the
control of Iraqi government, the last population census of 1997 did not
include KRI governorates. However, the census provided an estimation
of 2,861,701. In 2014, Kurdistan Region Statistics Office (KRSO) and
the Central Statistics Office (CSO) offered an estimation of 5,122,747.
Taking the last figure as the benchmark, the population of KRI counts
for 14.22% of the Iraqi population (estimated at 36,004,552 in 2014).
Overwhelming majority of the KRI population resides in urban settings:
75%, 84% and 85% in governorates of Duhok, Erbil and Sulaimani respec-
tively (IOM, UNFPA and KSRO 2018, p. 14).3 Ethnically, vast majority
of the population are Kurds, predominantly Sunni Muslims, who have
lived for centuries with Turkmens, Christians, Arabs and other ethnic and
religious communities of Yazidis, Kakais, Shabaks, Jews and Sabean Man-
daeans (Map 1).

Identity is a controversial issue in KRI: to begin with, variations of

identification with different sources of group-identity exist: Aziz’s (2011)
survey reveals this variation eloquently; whilst his survey demonstrates
that Kurdistani (simply being a Kurd from Kurdistan) tended to be the
overriding identity for the university students in KRI, identification with
Iraq, Iraqi Kurdistan, Kurdistan Region, greater Kurdistan, Islam, region
or tribe were reported among the ways his survey respondents presented
themselves in. Additionally, whereas for certain communities whose iden-
tity, at least in relation to Kurds, seems to be relatively clear-cut (for ex-
ample Turkmens who express them as a distinct ethnicity or Christians
who mostly define themselves in terms of identification to Christianity,
for other ethnic and religious communities, such as heterodox communi-
ties of Kakais (Ahli Haqq) and Yazidis the boundaries are not so sharply
drawn. Bruinessen (2006, p. 23) makes a useful distinction between core

2 At the time of the 1987 census, a geographic and administrative area to be called KRI
did not exist: Iraqi government would call present KRI governorates, northern gover-
norates or governorates of autonomy area to refer to areas which were allowed to be run
by Kurds according to March manifesto/agreement of 1970 between Kurdish revolution
and Iraqi Government.
3 Because Halabja is a newly created governorate and that it was part of Sulaimani
governorate separate official data about it is missing.
 INTRODUCTION xi

Map 1 Areas under the administration of KRG and Internally Disputed Terri-
tories (Source Created by Dr. Hashim Yasin Al-Hadad, Professor of Geography,
Salahaddin University-Erbil)
xii INTRODUCTION

and periphery in Kurdish identity: the core refers to an unambiguous pre-

vailing Kurdish identity for masses of Kurds and the periphery to the out-
lying groups for whom an ethnic Kurdish identity is just one among many
other identities. Therefore, Bruinessen (ibid., p. 21) prefers to use “Kur-
dish Society” or “Kurdish culture” in a relatively loose meaning to denote
to Kurds and communities who “may not in all contexts identify them-
selves as Kurds”. Specifically speaking about KRI, it is worth noting that
identity has become an exceptionally politicized issue for ethnic and re-
ligious communities who populate IDTs (see PAX for Peace 2015). The
fact that KRG and Iraqi government has been in protracted conflict over
the identity of these areas, each pushed hard in order to win the loyalty of
these communities. In consequence, intra community identity divisions
emerged to the surface reflecting conflicting community preferences in
terms of future status of IDTs. With the invasion of Nineveh by Islamic
State in Iraq and Levant (ISIL) and prosecution of the ethnic and reli-
gious communities, intra community divisions became further apparent.
For instance, among Yazidi community, a Kurdish Identity, a Yazidi Iden-
tity and a dual Kurdish-Yazidi Identity persist. Likewise, for Turkmens, a
tension has grown between a Turkmen Sunni and Turkmen Shi’a identity.
Historically, in the aftermath of the World War I, KRI which would
constitute largest parts of what was back then called Mosul Vilayet, in
1925 was attached to the newly formed state of Iraq. Presenting Iraq as
“artificial”, created to serve the selfish interests of colonial powers, is a
popular thesis among Kurdish nationalists. Research (e.g. Anderson and
Stansfield 2004; Rear 2008; Saleh 2013) suggests that the attachment of
Mosul Vilayet to Iraq took place to realize two central goals: firstly, the
attachment of a predominantly Sunni population (Sunni Arabs and Sunni
Kurds) to Iraq was essential to bring about a sort of demographic bal-
ance between Sunni and Shi’a population of the country. The frictional
relationships of British occupiers and Shi’a clergies even before the cre-
ation of Iraqi state which reached its height in 1920 revolt against occu-
pation, made occupying authorities became progressively hostile to Shi’a
and, therefore, they did everything possible to prevent Shi’a leverage in
Iraq to grow (see Kadhim 2012; Ismael and Fuller 2008; Saleh 2013).
Secondly, the attachment of an area with enormous oil reserves was in-
strumental for the economic viability of the newly emerged Iraq. Up until
1997, the contribution of northern oilfield reached to nearly 50% of the
overall Iraq’s oil production (Ghafur 2010, p. 27). Moreover, In Kur-
dish circles, the creation of Iraq is not only a colonial arrangement, but
 INTRODUCTION xiii

it also represents an obvious betrayal of a promise of independence made

to the Kurds in accordance to Treaty of Sevres 19204 which was soon
aborted by the Treaty of Lausanne in 1923 (e.g. see Anderson and Stans-
field 2004; Yildiz 2004; Gunter 2008; Rear 2008; Aziz 2011). It is often
rightly suggested that if the historical Shi’a question in Iraq is to have re-
volved around the legitimacy of governments , for Kurds the whole idea of
legitimacy of the state itself has been in question.
In reaction to reigning on Sevres promises and failure in genuine real-
ization of the Anglo-Iraqi statement of 1922,5 regional and sporadic re-
volts broke out in Kurdistan. In spite of a debate that surrounds the early
Kurdish revolts to have been truly nationalistic or just had been regional
and tribal rebellions to achieve particularistic ends, from the onset, signs
of long Kurdish struggle in Iraq were hard to be hidden (see McDowall
2004; Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Romano 2006). The early regional
revolts led by religious and tribal leaders such as that of Sheikh Mahmoud
in 1920s and early 1930s and Barzan revolts of 1930s and 1940s sup-
plemented by the emergence of urban-based and educated Kurdish elite
who began to provide a more inclusive meaning to Kurdish nationalism.
Bengio (2012) identifies three stages for Kurdish nationalism since the
foundation of Iraq until 1968: 1918–1946 is a period which witnessed
minor and unorganized tribal revolts lacked a clear political orientation;
1946–1961 with the fundamental significance attached to the foundation
of Kurdistan Democratic Party (KDP) which provided organization and
ideological framework for the Kurdish nationalism. It is worth noting that
the creation of KDP was the outcome for the struggle of newly emerged
Kurdish urban elites gradually appeared to the scene in 1930s and the first
half of 1940s. This segment of urban Kurdish nationalists began establish-
ing organizations such as Young Men’s Club (Komeley Lawan), Broth-
erhood Society (Komeley Brayeti), Wood Cutters (Darker), Hope Party

4 In articles 62–64, Treaty of Sevres stipulated creation of an independent Kurdistan to

include predominantly Kurdish areas in Mosul Vilayet in the aftermath of the World War
I and the collapse of Ottoman Empire.
5 The statement reads “His Britannic Majesty’s government and the government of Iraq
recognize the right of the Kurds living within those boundaries of Iraq to set up a Kurdish
government within those boundaries and hope that the different Kurdish elements will, as
soon as possible, arrive at an agreement between themselves as to form which they wish
that government should take and the boundaries within which they wish it to extend and
will send responsible delegate to Baghdad to discuss their economic and political relations
with his Britannic Majesty’s government and the government of Iraq”.
xiv INTRODUCTION

(Hiwa), Revolution (Shorsh) and Salvation of Kurds (Rizgari Kurd). Fi-

nally, stage three, 1961–1968 commences with the outbreak of September
revolution (Shorshi Eilul) which allowed for an inclusive movement able
to, as Bengio suggests, at least temporally, transcend the divisions of Kur-
dish society. This last phase ends with 1968–1970 negotiations between
Kurdish revolution and newly ascended Ba’th party in Iraq.
The two years of negotiations resulted in the famous agreement of
March manifesto/agreement6 (see Anderson and Stansfield 2004; Mc-
Dowall 2004). The agreement/manifesto granted autonomy to Kurds
in majority Kurdish areas in Erbil, Sulaimani and Duhok; it recognized
the use of Kurdish as a formal language in the autonomous areas; it ex-
pected the conclusion of the agreement by a census over the final sta-
tus of disputed territories. However, due to inability of both sides to
reach an agreement with respect to disputed territories, Kurdish allega-
tions regarding the continuity of demographic change policies of Ba’th
government, accusing Kurds for receiving external support from Iraq’s
external adversaries, a distrust resulted from a failed assassination attempt
aimed at the life Mustapha Barzani led to the collapse of the March agree-
ment/Manifesto in 1974. The Algiers agreement of March 1975 between
Saddam Hussein and Shah of Iran included stipulations to terminate Iran’s
logistic support to Kurdish revolution. The notorious Algiers agreement
inflicted a painful setback into Kurdish revolution movement. In spite of
a relative swift revival of Kurdish nationalist movement, a new era began
and lasted until the uprising of Kurds in the wake of Gulf war in 1991.
The post 1975 setback marked by two central characteristics: firstly,
the foundation of Patriotic Union of Kurdistan (PUK) in 1975 brought
an end for one-party leadership of Kurdish movement which had begun
by the creation of KDP in 1946. As it became evident, the historical intra-
divisions of KDP in 1960s between Mustapha Barzani, on the one hand,

6 Ba’th insisted to use the terminology “manifesto” rather than “agreement” for two
reasons: firstly, to imply that the document was a unilateral/voluntary recognition from
the part of the state to its Kurdish citizens. This terminology was essential to devoid
the document of the connotation that describing the document as an “agreement” would
have. An agreement was seen to imply an outcome reached to by negotiations between two
parties on equal footing. Secondly, Ba’th hoped to free itself from any future obligation
should it decided at any point to terminate or cancel the document. Describing it as
manifesto and unilateral would allow Ba’th to have this margin for political maneuvers in
the future.
 INTRODUCTION xv

and Jalal Talabani-Ibrahim Ahmed, on the other hand contributed sig-

nificantly to tensions and armed conflict between KDP and PUK in the
years preceded the transition in KRI. The two parties and numerous other
Kurdish armed political parties in exile could barely manage to set aside
their disagreements in 1987–1988 when Kurdistan National Front (KNF)
as an umbrella structure was set up to unite Kurdish struggle in Iraq. A
second defining feature of this period manifests itself in a sharp escalation
of violence used against Kurds in the county. This was coincided with
the rise of Saddam Hussein to power in 1979 and the ability of Ba’th
party to eliminate all forms of internal threats coming from the inside
of the regime or from Shi’a opposition in other parts of Iraq. Collective
guilt and punishment of Kurds (e.g. genocide of Barzanis 1983, chemical
bombardment of Halabja 1987 and Anfal operations of 1988) became a
conventional method of violence and large scale demographic change of
ethnically mixed areas in Kirkuk, Nineveh and Diyala was implemented.
Invasion of Kuwait in August 1990 by Iraqi army and the military re-
action of coalition forces led by the United States coupled with economic
sanction and years of Iraq-Iran war 1980–1988 made Ba’th regime to be-
come progressively frail. In early months of 1991, for Kurds specifically
in March of that year, a twin uprising in Kurdish areas and predominantly
Shi’a governorates of the south broke out. The two uprisings were rela-
tively quickly oppressed by regime forces: as allied forced became increas-
ingly cautious about the influence of Iran on Shi’a opposition with its
potential ramification for the future of Iraq (e.g. see Haddad 2011), the
coalition turned a blind eye on the extreme scale of violence Iraqi govern-
ment used to suppress the uprisings in north and south. By April 1991,
within few weeks of the Kurdish uprising, Iraqi government forces man-
aged to restore their control over vast swath of Kurdistan, including ma-
jor cities of Erbil, Sulaimani and Duhok. Nevertheless, in spite of military
success in defeating the uprising (popularly called Rapareen), Iraqi gov-
ernment made the decision to withdraw its forces and bureaucratic struc-
tures from Kurdistan in October 1991. As it became obvious, such a move
marked the beginning of a protracted process of transition to democracy
in KRI (the details of which are explored throughout this book).
Finally, a remark on the Kurdish nationalism in Iraq vis-à-vis pan-
Kurdish nationalism is necessary. Obviously, Hamit Bozarslan’s observa-
tion (2018) regarding the relative success of Kurdish movement in tran-
scending intra-Kurdish divisions by “elaborating a common language, a
xvi INTRODUCTION

cartographic imaginary, a common flag, shared myths, a national Pan-

theon, and a largely unified historiographical discourse”, and his sug-
gestion that Kurdish movement (by referring to somehow unifying pan-
Kurdish sentiments that Barzanji, Simko, Ararat, Mahabad and Barzani
revolts generated in various parts of Kurdistan) began as a trans-border
movement are largely correct. Consistently, it is principally evident that
Kurds in Iraq, from an ethnic point of view, consider them as being part of
a greater Kurdish family and politically aware that any progress/retreat in
any part of Kurdistan will have favorable/harmful ramifications for other
parts. Nevertheless, from a political/pragmatic standpoint, they progres-
sively came to conclusion that any peaceful future solution for Kurdish
issue, if it ever opted for by dominant nations, will need to take into ac-
count the uniqueness of Kurdish issue in each of the four countries that
share the division of greater Kurdistan. Seemingly, this understanding now
is the formal political discourse of the leading political parties in every part
of Kurdistan.

Setting Up the Theoretical Background

The publication of Making Democracy Work 1993 by Robert D. Putnam
marked the beginning of the proliferation of research linking social cap-
ital to democracy and governance (see Chapter 1). Putnam and schol-
ars of Putnamise tradition have suggested that the success of democracy
and effective governance is predicated on the gradation of civicness de-
fined in terms of the horizontal trust (trust between individuals), civic
engagement and active citizenry, civic social networks and collective ac-
tion. The abundance of social capital, the argument goes, will allow for
the societal inputs (needs, demands, concerns, grievances and so on) to
be articulated and processed in the democratic machinery, and to result in
more responsive democratic outputs (policies). This line of theory has also
widely been tested to study social capital as an impediment of transition
to democracy in post-authoritarian regimes. In this regard, issues such as
atomization of individuals, disappointment in civil society, prevalence of
ethnic-nationalist dispositions, sectarianism, corruption and so forth not
have only been presented to reflect a legacy of authoritarianism, but also
understood to be manifestations of a certain form of social capital. There-
fore, the question of social capital in its association with democracy is not
only a question of how much social capital a given society possesses, but it
is also a question of which quality of social capital is abundant in that
 INTRODUCTION xvii

society. A methodological implication is that quantitative indicators of

social capital (for instance, number of voluntary and civil society orga-
nizations) if not scrutinized in light of further detailed data (quantitative
and/or qualitative) can lead to misleading conclusions about social capital.
In spite of the popularity of social capital thesis (especially in Putnam’s
version), criticism, both within and from the outside of the school, has
been tremendously profound. Disagreements revolved around roots of so-
cial capital, methodological measurement of the concept and its relations
with democracy (see Chapter 1). With respect to the roots of social cap-
ital, critics of Putnam call for a more inclusive explanation to go beyond
explaining social capital as an outcome of engagement in civic associations
to encompass the role of religion and denomination, economic develop-
ment and prosperity, collective experience of a society, state policies and
so forth in generating forms of social capital. Putnam’s empirical con-
ceptualization of the concept furthermore criticized on methodological
grounds: his account is presented to be cyclical, tautological and, at best,
inadequate to capture social capital. And lastly, critics contend that social
capital can by no means be understood to be in a causal link (independent
factor) to democracy; they, rather, suggest that social capital is an outcome
for democracy (dependent factor). As far as civil society is concerned, for
instance, structuralists overplay the impact of state policies (legal frame-
works, restrictions and financial support or lack thereof and so on) on the
boost and the vigor of civil society. It is even suggested that trust, as a
main ingredient of social capital, can only grow when democracy persists,
justice is consolidated and rule of law is enforced.
A critical application of social capital theory serves several purposes.
First and foremost, in contexts where politics has chiefly been studied as
an elite endeavor, social capital theory makes it possible to examine politics
as a grassroots activity and to bridge it to what goes into and what comes
out from politics. Social capital theory not only allows to understand
how elite behavior, practices and structural restraints/opportunities shape
grassroots politics, it also permits to comprehend how grassroots activi-
ties, practices and expressions, in turn, form politics in the elite level. This
is of exceptional significance in the case of Kurdish studies, specifically the
growing literature on KRI (see Chapter 1), as the emphasis has largely
been placed on party politics, elections, Baghdad-Erbil relations/tensions
and so on, and in contrast, civil society, civic engagement, grassroots at-
titudes toward politics remained fundamentally beyond scientific enquiry.
xviii INTRODUCTION

This book is an attempt to study social capital and transition to democ-

racy in such a two-sided way: on the one hand, it provides a snapshot of
social capital to explore its potential contribution to democracy, and, on
the other hand, it offers an account for multitude structural and elite in-
fluences that have given form and content to social capital in Kurdistan.
Furthermore, social capital theory can have major empowerment conse-
quences in post-authoritarian environments where, for decades, any forms
of public engagement and freedoms have been oppressed and bottom-up
initiatives have been violently stifled. Social capital is an attempt to em-
power marginalized and oppressed individuals, groups and communities
by articulating the worth of collective action in bringing about desired
outcomes. Nevertheless, empowerment is not only about being grouped,
raise demands and pressurize elites, it, in fact, transcends that to stress
that empowerment requires citizens to acquire necessary civic skills and
virtues to participate in politics. Citizens in a polity need to learn how
to negotiate and express demands, set up agendas, organize meetings and
rallies and so forth in order for them to be visible in public life and to
carry out their civic duties. This can essentially be achieved through par-
ticipation in civic associational life. Once again, this is of vital significance
for the context of Kurdistan where a long history of oppression and au-
thoritarianism disappointed, and often terrified popular enterprises and
deprived citizens form boosting civic skills necessary for their empower-
ment in public arena. Nonetheless, a critical employment of social capital
theory is indispensable to abstain from romanticizing the ramifications of
social capital for democracy and effective governance. In essence, some
forms of social capital such as nepotism, clientalism, tribalism and rigid
ethnic/nationalist groupings, for example, constitute tangible threats for
the consolidation of democracy and the establishment of functional and
inclusive governance. In this fashion, social capital theory allows inspect-
ing not only grassroots potentials, but also cultural challenges that risk a
smooth evolvement of a democracy in a given context. As it will be shown
in this book (especially in Chapter 5), there exist fundamental manifesta-
tions of negative social capital that requires both academic scrutiny and
policy interventions.
 INTRODUCTION xix

Presenting the Argument

This book is a work in political sociology aims at providing a bottom-up
insight, supported by empirical findings, into the process of transition to
democracy in KRI. The book utilizes Social capital Theory to examine
political culture and the ways through which social capital in KRI affects
democratization of the region. Whilst, conceptually, it relies heavily on
the operationalization of the concept of social capital by Putnam (1993,
2000), the book broadens the theoretical framework by examining the
explanatory potential of criticism offered to Putnam’s theory (see Chap-
ter 1). The book has examined the three elements of social capital: Trust,
Social Networksand Public Interest and Civic Participation (PICP) in KRI
to argue that Kurdish social capital has hardly been of a quality to grease
the wheels of democratization and democratic governance in Kurdistan.
Broadly speaking, in spite of regional variations across the KRI, the radius
of trust does not extend to reach “generalized others”: it is evident that
most people (surveyed in this book) find it challenging to trust others,
beyond their immediate social circles of family or close friends, to dis-
cuss political criticisms and grievances or to engage in collective action.
The political potential of social networks, most likely reflecting an overall
inadequacy of generalized trust, seems to be insufficient: discussions of
public issues, especially political issues, in social networks are not com-
monplace; issues which are of central significance for future development
of democracy (such a, ethnic and religious tolerance and democratic gov-
ernance checks and balances) are relatively absent in informal discussions
which take place in social networks; a lack of political knowledge about
political institutions is apparent (see Chapter 3). The least political poten-
tial, among the elements of social capital, is found in civic engagement
and participation: civic collective action to address community-related is-
sues is hard to be identified (see Chapter 4). This form of social capital is
highly likely to prevent grassroots activism to grow and ultimately make
societal inputs to democracy and government machinery to be extremely
deficient.
Nevertheless, this book makes the case for an inclusive account for
the roots of social capital and suggests that Putnam’s theory lacks the
prospective to explain social capital in non-consolidated democracies or
in contexts where transition from an authoritarian regime is still in its
early stages (see Chapter 5). Accordingly, the book summarizes the roots
of Kurdish social capital in four major determinants: legacy of direct Ba’th
xx INTRODUCTION

rule (1968–1991) and Kurdish civil war (1994–1997) in the early years of
transition, economic hardships and injustice, proliferation of clientalistic
networks and the state welfare policy and family-centered nature of Kur-
dish society. The outcomes in the intersection of the four determinants
are: involvement in political and collective civic activities, unfavorable by
authorities, let alone “hostile considered” activities, have become largely
risky; social cleavages as a result of real/perceived injustice in the distribu-
tion of wealth has further entrenched; clientalism has stifled great deal the
functioning of civil society organizations; the historical centrality of state
and family have left no significant room for the intermediary structures
to operate in realizing societal and individual needs. This approach to so-
cial capital unravels the roots of Kurdish social capital in the interaction
of a range of historical, political and cultural variables contribute together
in producing a specific form of social capital. This explanation combines
structural (mainly government policies) and cultural (societal norms and
expectations) influences in an explanation for social capital and transition
to democracy in KRI.
In the end, it is fundamental to point out to, as Schuurman (2003)
suggests, the possible victim-blaming potential that social capital theory
inherently poses: lack of democracy or lack of potential in political culture
for democracy can be mistakenly presented as an explanation, or worse as
justification, for the failure of democratization and politics in elite levels.
As elites fail to deliver on good governance, it becomes possible for them
to blame the society and culture for hindering democracy. This explana-
tion is mistaken, at least, for two reasons: firstly, culture, including social
capital, in spite of their significance, is by no means, in their own, of de-
cisive impact for democracy and democratization. A host of other factors
such as economic prosperity, international and regional relations, elite be-
havior, and legal framework and so on contribute in shaping democracy in
a certain way. Social capital is certainly only one among many other factors
to affect the challenging process of transition to democracy. Secondly, and
more importantly, social capital itself, in significant ways, is a byproduct
of political process and levels of democracy in a specific context. The case
of KRI is a classic example for the defining impacts that structural factors
had on social capital. An epistemological consequence is that the interwo-
ven relationship between social capital and political structures need to be
studied in a broader historical context.
 INTRODUCTION xxi

Organization of the Book

The book consists of five chapters: Chapter 1 explores the theoretical
terrain of social capital, democracy and democratization. In so doing,
the chapter devotes a great deal of space to Putnam’s contribution to
the study of social capital and governance in democracies and the ways
through which his theory being criticized. To explain the originality of
the work, the chapter tries to place social capital in the broader context
of recently mounting literature on KRI. The chapter, then, explains the
methodology used to study social capital in this project. Chapter 2 is a de-
tailed examination of the context of democratization in KRI 1991–2018.
The period has been classified into three sub-periods, they are named: for-
mative years (1991–1996), consolidation years (1997–2003) and years of
deconstruction (2003–2018). Chapter 3 examines the political aspects of
trust and social networks: in this regard, issues such as “generalized trust”,
trust and political criticism, inter-ethnic trust are studied. Meanwhile, the
political aspects of social networks are scrutinized in relations to density,
composition, existence of politics in social networks, political knowledge
and trust in social networks. Chapter 4, addresses PICP in KRI: the chap-
ter begins by providing a structural overview for the legal framework that
sets up the ground for the functioning of civil society in Kurdistan and
explain modes of interaction between Kurdish authorities and civil soci-
ety organizations. In this framework, empirical findings with respect to
civic engagement and participation are presented. Finally, Chapter 5 is an
attempt to unravel the roots of social capital in relations to transition to
democracy in KRI: focus has been placed on legacy of Ba’th rule and Kur-
dish civil war, economic hardships and injustice, clientalism, state welfare
policy and family-based structure of Kurdish society.

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in Iraqi Kurdistan. London: I.B. Tauris.
Bengio, O. 2012. The Kurds of Iraq: Building a State Within State. Boulder and
London: Lynne Rienner.
Bruinessen, M.V. 2006. Kurdish Paths to Nation. In The Kurds: Nationalism and
Politics, ed. Faleh A. Jabar and Dawod Hosham. London, San Francisco and
Beirut: SAQI.
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Ghafur, A. 2010. The Economic Geography of Oil in Kurdistan, 3rd ed. Erbil:
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IOM, UNFPA and KSRO. 2018. Demographic Survey: Kurdistan Region of Iraq.
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ern State. Austin: University of Texas Press.
McDowall, D. 2004. A Modern History of the Kurds. London: I.B. Tauris.
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iraqicivilsociety.org/archives/4368.
Putnam, R.D. 1993. Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy.
Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.
———. 2000. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community.
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Rear, M. 2008. Intervention, Ethnic Conflict and State-Building in Iraq: A
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Romano, D. 2006. The Kurdish Nationalist Movement: Opportunity, Mobilization
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Saleh, Z. 2013. On Iraqi Nationality: Law, Citizenship, and Exclusion. The Arab
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Schuurman, F. 2003. Social Capital: The Politico-Emancipatory Potential of a
Disputed Concept. Third World Quarterly 24 (6): 991–1010.
Yildiz, K. 2004. The Kurds in Iraq: The Past, Present and Future. London: Pluto
Press.
 Contents

1 Theory of Social Capital, Democracy and Democratization 1

Introduction 1
Social Capital, Political Culture, Democracy and
Democratization 2
Robert Putnam: Social Capital and Functioning of Democracy 4
Critiques and Alternative Explanations 17
Studying Democratization and Social Capital in KRI 29
Methodology 33
Conclusions 36
References 38

2 The Context of Democratization in KRI: Implications

for Social Capital 45
Introduction 45
Formative Years 1991–1996 48
Consolidation Years 1997–2003 61
Deconstruction Years 2003–2018 64
Conclusions 76
References 80

3 Political Aspects of Trust and Social Networks 83

Introduction 83
Empirical Findings: Trust 86

xxiii
xxiv CONTENTS

Variations of Willingness to Talk About Political Issues

Across Social Circles 86
Relative Readiness to Talk to People About Political
Criticism 88
Absence of Generalized Trust 90
Trust in Ethnic In-Group Versus Trust in Ethnic
Out-Groups 91
Social Networks 94
Overview 94
Political Aspects of Social Networks 99
Conclusions 110
References 114

4 Public Interest and Civic Participation (PICP) 117

Introduction 117
A Structural Overview 120
Empirical Findings 126
Can Empirical Findings Be Challenged? 141
Conclusions 145
References 147

5 Framing Social Capital and Transition to Democracy

in KRI 151
Introduction 151
A Snapshot of Social Capital in KRI 152
Analytical Framework 158
The Legacy of Ba’th Rule and the Kurdish Civil War:
Politics as a Risky Sphere 159
Economic Hardships and Injustice 163
The Proliferation of Clientalistic Networks 166
State Welfare Policy and a Family-Centered Society:
Squeezing the Middle Arena 172
Conclusions 176
References 180

Bibliography 183

Index 195
 Acronyms

CCBAs Civic and Community-Based Activities

CSO Central Statistics Office
EIU Economic Intelligence Unit
GDP Gross Domestic Product
GoI Government of Iraq
IDTs Internally Disputed Territories
INGOs International Non-Governmental Organizations
IQD Iraqi Dinar
ISIL Islamic State in Iraq and Levant
KDP Kurdistan Democratic Party
KIG Kurdistan Islamic Group
KIU Kurdistan Islamic Union
KLM Kurdistan Liberation Movement
KNA Kurdistan National Assembly
KNF Kurdistan National Front
KNN Kurdish News Network
KRG Kurdistan Region Government
KRI Kurdistan Region of Iraq
KRSO Kurdistan Region Statistics Office
KSDP Kurdistan Socialist Democratic Party
NGOs Non-Governmental Organizations
NRT Nalia Radio and Television
OFFP Oil For Food Program
PICP Public Interest and Civic Participation
PTMs Parents-Teachers Meetings
PUK Patriotic Union of Kurdistan
SCR Security Council Resolution

xxv
 List of Figures

Fig. 3.1 How often do people talk about politics? (Created by the
Author) 100
Fig. 3.2 Most discussed political issues (Created by the Author) 102
Fig. 3.3 Political knowledge (how many political lists are represented
in the Kurdistan Parliament?) (Created by the Author) 105
Fig. 3.4 Political knowledge (could you mention names of political
parties in government?) (Created by the Author) 106
Fig. 3.5 Sources of information (Created by the Author) 109
Fig. 3.6 Trustworthiness of sources of information (Created by the
Author) 109
Fig. 4.1 Interest in public affairs (mean) (Created by the Author) 131
Fig. 4.2 Obstacles of participation in voluntary sector (Created by the
Author) 137

xxvii
 List of Tables

Table 3.1 Trust and discussion of political issues in different social

circles (factor analysis) 87
Table 3.2 Trust and political criticisms (factor analysis) 89
Table 3.3 Generalized trust (factor analysis) 91
Table 3.4 Trust in ethnic in-group versus trust in ethnic out-groups
(factor analysis) 92
Table 3.5 Bivariate correlation of research variables and density of
social networks 95
Table 3.6 Bivariate correlation of research variables and composition
of social networks 98
Table 3.7 Bivariate correlation of research variables with discussion
of political issues in social networks 101
Table 3.8 Bivariate correlation of research variables and discussion
of political issues 104
Table 3.9 Bivariate correlation of research variables with political
knowledge 107
Table 3.10 Bivariate correlation of research variables and sources
of information 111
Table 4.1 Participation in civic activities 126
Table 4.2 Social capital and participation in civic activities 128
Table 4.3 Bivariate correlation of research variables and participation
in civic activities 129
Table 4.4 Respondents’ reaction to lack of services in their
neighborhood 130
Table 4.5 Respondents’ activities in normal life 133

xxix
xxx LIST OF TABLES

Table 4.6 Bivariate correlation of research variables and individual vs.

collective-based activities 134
Table 4.7 TV programs watched most 135
Table 4.8 Multivariate regression analysis for obstacles of participation
in voluntary organizations 138
Table 4.9 Correlation of different components of social capital 139
 CHAPTER 1

Theory of Social Capital, Democracy

and Democratization

Introduction
This chapter maps the theoretical terrain of social capital theory by exam-
ining its assumptions and the ways through which it influences democ-
racy and democratization. In so doing, the chapter commences by situ-
ating social capital in the framework of political culture in a bottom-up
approach, as opposed and complementary to top-down (mainly constitu-
tional engineering), to understand transitions to democracy. Distinction
has been made between democracy in its transitional phase and democ-
racy in its consolidated form. In covering the bottom-up approach to
democracy, major contributions of Robert D. Putnam, though in certain
instances argued not to be entirely original, to the theory of social capital
and functioning of democracy and democratic governance were devoted
a substantial area in this chapter. In spite of the centrality of Putnam’s
version of social capital theory in this book, both theoretical and empiri-
cal, criticism of Putnam has been addressed in some details. As Putnam,
especially in his Making Democracy Work (1993), utilizes social capital
in understanding the functioning of already democratic governments, it
will be crucial to scrutinize the appropriateness of his theory to analyze
democracy in its transitional phase, the way it is employed in this book.

© The Author(s) 2020 1

H. H. Khedir, Social Capital, Civic Engagement and Democratization
in Kurdistan, Middle East Today,
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-030-42144-1_1
2 H. H. KHEDIR

With the hope of originality in mind, the chapter concludes by a discus-

sion of existing literature on the political developments of KRI to con-
clude that literature has left a significant room for students of social capi-
tal, political culture and civil society to provide an alternative insight into
transition to democracy in KRI. Finally, a brief account of the methodol-
ogy is presented.

Social Capital, Political Culture,

Democracy and Democratization
Putnam indicates that the first use of the term social capital goes back
almost a century. L. Judson Hanifan, a social reformer in West Virginia,
first utilized the term to describe the social context of education. For
Hanifan, social capital points to the “good will, fellowship, sympathy, and
social intercourse among the individuals and families who make up a social
unit” (cited in Putnam 2002, p. 4). Ever since, although social capital has
been rediscovered several times by sociologists and economic scholars,
the most systematic use of social capital in modern sociology is associated
with the French sociologist Pierre Bourdieu in the 1980s. Bourdieu (cited
in Portes 1998, p. 3) defines the term as “the aggregate of the actual or
potential resources which are linked to possession of mutual acquaintance
or recognition”. Later on, James Coleman puts social capital firmly on
the intellectual agenda (Putnam 2000, pp. 19–20). He defines the term
as “variety of entities having two characteristics in common: they all con-
sist of some aspects of social structure, and they facilitate certain actions of
individuals who are within the structure” (Coleman 1990, p. 302). For
Coleman, social capital manifests itself in three basic forms: obligations
and expectations; information channels; and norms and effective sanc-
tions (Coleman 1988, pp. 101–105). In spite of differences in theoreti-
cal underpinnings and variations of contexts in which they are employed,
these definitions share the focus that social networks, solidarity and coop-
eration do matter for individuals and communities. The chapter will elab-
orate on the significance of social capital in the upcoming sections.
The collapse of socialist block in the late 1980s and early 1990s in
Eastern Europe brought transition to democracy to the fore in sociopo-
litical literature. Ever since, a variety of explanatory approaches have
been developed to explain this new wave of democratization in terms
of its nature, directions and the factors that influence it. In this regard,
existing literature has placed emphasis on political culture (Fukuyama
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 3

1996, 2005; Pratt 2005; Inglehart 1999), the elite behavior and politi-
cal parties (Herbst 1997; Kohn 1997), economic factors (Haggard and
Robert 1999), and external intervention (Diamond 2005; Whitehead
2005; Kurth 2005) to understand transitions to democracy. In this frame-
work, theory of social capital has mainly been utilized by sociologists and
political scientists to explain both obstacles of transition to democracy
in post-communist countries of Eastern Europe and the decline of social
cohesion and a sense of community in Western democracies (Badescu and
Uslaner 2003).
Whitehead (2003, p. 27) suggests that “democratization is best under-
stood as a complex, long-term, dynamic, and open-ended process”. It
is a move away from tyranny and dictatorship toward building demo-
cratic institutions and consolidation of pro-democracy political culture.
The move toward democracy, however, can hardly be a smooth and lin-
ear one. Challenges that face any democratization process can be enor-
mous and may cause setback for the transition. Anderson and Stansfield
(2004, p. 190) concluded that out of nearly 100 countries thought to be
in transition to democracy, fewer than fifth has moved in a right direction.
For them, majority of cases of transition has reverted to authoritarianism
or stuck somewhere between authoritarianism and democracy. Further-
more, transition to democracy, from where it begins until it arrives in the
consolidation stage, can take decades provided that it proceeds in right
direction. Francis Fukuyama’s model of democracy consolidation (cited
in Anderson and Stansfield 2004) suggests that democracy to consolidate
requires to emerge in four levels: in the most shallow level, democracy
necessitates a normative belief from the part of people in the legitimacy
and necessity of democracy; democracy then requires to be institutional-
ized in constitutions, elections, political parties and so on; in level three,
democracy is based on a vigor civil society capable of mediating between
primordial groups and the state; finally and in the deepest level, a consol-
idated democracy involves a political culture in which civicness holds an
exceptional significance. As democratization moves from the first level to
the fourth level, it becomes progressively difficult, demanding and time
consuming. In a similar vein, Linz and Stepan (1996, pp. 15–16), sug-
gest that democracy cannot be defined as consolidated unless it is con-
solidated behaviorally, attitudinally and constitutionally. They insist that
behaviorally no serious political force should attempt at overthrowing
a democratic regime or to promote domestic or international violence
in order to break away from the state. Attitudinally, the overwhelming
4 H. H. KHEDIR

majority of the people should, even in severe political and economic crises,
believe that further political changes must emerge according to demo-
cratic parameters. Constitutionally, all actors in politics should believe that
all political conflict must be resolved according to the agreed norms and
standards of the constitution.
Broadly speaking, proponents of social capital theory insist that social
capital affects democracy in two ways: first, it can assist in creating democ-
racy in a country which is not democratic and, second, it can preserve and
maintain an already existing democracy (Paxton 2002, p. 257). The lead-
ing argument for theorists of social capital asserts that “a dense network of
voluntary associations and citizens organizations help to sustain civil soci-
ety and community relations in a way that generates trust and cooperation
between citizens and a high level of civic engagement and participation.
It is suggested that associations create conditions for social integration,
public awareness and action” (Newton 2001a, p. 201). On the whole,
social capital is assumed to be a source which makes people trust one
another, participate in voluntary organizations and facilitate their collec-
tive action. People could engage in more politicized social networks as a
result of the abundance of trust. This, in turn, increases the possibility to
develop critical discourses and social movements in the period of transi-
tion to democracy. Likewise, a positive role is attached to social capital for
consolidated democracies. Social capital with its potential for mass politi-
cal mobilization supposedly enhances the responsiveness and effectiveness
of democratic political institutions.

Robert Putnam: Social Capital

and Functioning of Democracy
This section reviews Robert Putnam’s contribution to the study of social
capital and its association with democracy. This review focuses on his con-
tribution as a transformation and a sizeable stretch in the conceptualiza-
tion of social capital (Portes 1998). Putnam takes the theory of social
capital further by establishing the explanatory value of social capital in
understanding macro-level issues, including the functioning of democ-
racy and democratic governance. Even though Putnam has not invented
the concept (Putnam 2000, pp. 19–20; 2002, pp. 4–6), his works have
largely stimulated recent research on democracy, civic engagement and
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 5

social capital (Alex-Assenson 2002, p. 204). The inability of the compet-

ing theories of social capital (such as those put forward by James Cole-
man and Pierre Bourdieu) to influence civic engagement studies makes
Putnam’s contribution to occupy a more central position in sociopolitical
literature (Lichterman 2006, p. 531).
Putnam’s definition of social capital comes consistent across his works:
in his monograph Making Democracy Work, 1993, he defines the term as
“features of social organization, such as trust, norms, and networks that
can improve the efficiency of society by facilitating coordinated actions”
(p. 167). In his later work Bowling Alone (2000), he introduces a more
lucid definition of the term by stating that social capital involves “connec-
tions among individuals—social networks and the norms of reciprocity
and trustworthiness that arise from them”. Likewise, in Democracies in
Flux 2002, he asserts that social capital is about social networks and the
norms of reciprocity which are associated with them (Putnam 2002, p. 8).
The core idea of social capital theory is that social networks matter (Put-
nam 2002, p. 6) and they have value (Putnam 2000, p. 19). Social net-
works, in Putnam’s explanation of social capital, are central to the defini-
tion of the term (Khakbaz 2006, pp. 120–121).
Trust constitutes an essential ingredient of social capital. It is a by-
product of involvement in social networks (Putnam 1993, p. 170). Put-
nam considers trust as the basis of any possible cooperation among social
actors in different political, social and economic contexts. “Trust lubri-
cates cooperation”. The higher the level of trust in a community, the
larger is the possibility of cooperation. Simultaneously, cooperation itself
regenerates trust (Putnam 1993, p. 171). Putnam draws a distinction
between trust and honesty based on personal experience and familiarity
with specific people and trust in “the generalized others” (Putnam 2000,
p. 136). He calls the former thick trust as it relies essentially on strong and
frequent social networks in which one is engaged. Moreover, this kind of
trust is reduced to people whom one knows and with whom he or she has
had previous personal experiences. The latter, referred to by Putnam as
thin trust , depends implicitly on some background of social networks and
shared expectations. This form of trust transcends the scope of our close
social circles and extends to the wider society in which we live. Putnam
argues that thin trust is even more useful as it extends our social networks
to encompass the rest of the community (Putnam 2000, p. 136).
6 H. H. KHEDIR

In addition, trust is subject to gradations of rational calculations.1 Put-

nam writes: “the trust that is required to sustain cooperation is not blind”.
We do not trust a person or an agency merely because they say that they
will do that. On the contrary, we trust them because we know their dis-
positions (character), available options and their consequences. Based on
these calculations, we expect that the person will choose (italic in the refer-
ence) to fulfill what they promised (Putnam 1993, p. 171). Even though
Putnam pays attention to the influence of social customs, particularly in
early years of the socialization process (what is called the “formative”
years) trust is considerably influenced by personal experiences (Putnam
2000, p. 139). This suggests that in early childhood there is a possibility
to be socialized to trust others. However, these early trusting attitudes
are likely to change in light of future personal experiences.
Furthermore, Putnam reckons that trust should transform from thick
trust to thin trust in complex social settings. In these settings, imper-
sonal social relationships are prevailing and we cannot rely on people with
whom we are familiar. Putnam contends that this transformation (from
thick trust to thin trust) takes place through two mechanisms: norms of
reciprocity and networks of civic engagement. As to the first, Putnam
distinguishes between “balanced” (or “specific”) and “generalized” (or
“diffuse”) reciprocity. The former indicates a “simultaneous exchange of
items of equivalent value”. In contrast, the latter points to “a continuing
relationship of exchange that is at any given time unrequited or imbal-
anced, but that involves mutual expectations that a benefit granted now
should be repaid in the future” (Putnam 1993, p. 172; 2000, pp. 20–
21). The pervasiveness of the generalized reciprocity as a social norm in
communities is particularly significant in sustaining and enhancing trust.
Networks of civic engagement such as choral societies, sports clubs and
mass-based parties create a social structure for horizontal relationships
between social actors. These networks provide the opportunity for devel-
oping more robust norms of reciprocity (Putnam 1993, pp. 173–174).
Mutual obligation and responsibility will emerge from civic engagement
(Putnam 2000, p. 21; 2002, p. 7). People in civic associations do not act
in a way that may undermine their reputation. Constant contact among
different actors creates the possibility for flow of information concern-
ing each actor’s behavior. Thus, the reputation for trustworthiness will be

1 Putnam does not use this expression (rational calculation). However, his idea concern-
ing trust is consistent with the essence of rational calculation.
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 7

diminished by violating group norms. People meet frequently and estab-

lish norms of a good relationship. This will put the reputation of any
defector in jeopardy (Putnam 1993, pp. 173–174). Therefore, it is much
easier for isolated individuals to violate norms of reciprocity than it is for
socially engaged individuals.
It is noteworthy that Putnam avoids the linear causal language of social
sciences. He states

Social trust, norms of reciprocity, networks of civic engagement, and suc-

cessful cooperation are mutually reinforcing. Effective collaborative insti-
tutions require interpersonal skills and trust, but those skills and that trust
are also inculcated and reinforced by organized collaboration. Norms and
networks of civic engagement contribute to economic prosperity and are
in turn reinforced by that prosperity. (Putnam 1993, pp. 180–181)

In addition to social networks and trust, Putnam considers civic engage-

ment as a main component of social capital. For him, civic engagement
indicates “people’s connection with the life of their communities, not
merely with politics” (Putnam 1995, p. 665). At this point, it is cru-
cial to draw attention to the distinction between social capital and politi-
cal participation in Putnam’s theoretical account. In spite of overlapping,
social capital and civic engagement is not a synonym for political partici-
pation. While social capital, as a horizontal concept, involves relationships
between people, political participation, as a vertical concept, is about peo-
ple’s relation to political leaders and institutions (Putnam 1995, p. 665).
Civic engagement, Putnam argues, is a result of civic virtues which are
implanted in dense networks of reciprocal social relations. Social net-
works of virtuous individuals can transform individual civic virtues to
social assets. According to Putnam, individual virtues are not mechani-
cally transformable to civic engagement. In fact, it is the social networks
of virtuous individuals which lead to the emergence of civic engagement.
Putnam contends: “A society of many virtuous but isolated individuals is
not necessarily rich in social capital” (Putnam 2000, p. 19). This under-
standing is of central significance for collective action, in the form of civic
engagement and participation. For communities to strive and for democ-
racy to flourish, the social networks of civic-minded individuals become
indispensable. Apparently, isolated civic-minded individuals are devoid of
the potential strengths that groups of civic-minded individuals enjoy in
affecting politics.
8 H. H. KHEDIR

As to features of social capital, Putnam maintains that social capital

has a private face, by serving individual private interests, and a public
face, through its collective and public benefits: on individual level, social
networks generate certain benefits which can help in achieving individ-
ual objectives. In other words, social networks produce “internal” effects
for those who are involved in them. Finding a job opportunity, access to
information about an educational opportunity or receiving support from
co-networkers are common examples for a positive impact of network-
ing. Likewise, living in a community with high stocks of social capital is
valuable both for individuals and for the whole community. This is to sug-
gest that social capital has “externalities”. A person who lives in a neigh-
borhood where residents keep an eye on each other in the absence of
householders, for instance, is able to use this social capital when he or she
is away. Even those who have been less involved in social networks are
likely to benefit from the abundance of social capital in their communities
as normally in this type of social setting the crime rates tend to be lower
(Putnam 2000, p. 20; 2002, p. 6).
Putnam, furthermore, examines similarities and differences between
social capital and other conventional forms of capital such as physical and
human capital. To begin with, social capital like other forms of capital is
productive. Just as a screwdriver (an example of physical capital) or col-
lege education (an instance of human capital) can increase individual and
collective productivity, social networks can equally boost the productivity
of individuals and groups (Putnam 2000, p. 19). Social capital enables
those who possess it to work together to achieve shared objectives. Fur-
thermore, social capital, similar to other forms of capital, can be employed
for accomplishing social or antisocial purposes or favorable and harmful
outcomes (Khakbaz 2006, p. 124). Putnam, at this point, distinguishes
between intended and unintended consequences of the use of social cap-
ital. Similar to a nuclear power plant which may have radioactive material
and negative impacts on society (Putnam 2002, p. 9), social capital in its
negative forms is detrimental to the entire society. Sectarianism, ethno-
centrism and corruption are some negative manifestations of social capital
(Putnam 2000, p. 23). Additionally, social capital is similar to other forms
of capital in the sense that its various forms possess unequal significance
for individuals and communities. In this respect, an extended family, for
instance, can influence individual attitudes and behavior in a different way
than the way voluntary organization do (Putnam 2000, p. 21).
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 9

Besides similarities, social capital possesses certain peculiar features: as

a moral resource, the supply of social capital increases with its use and
its stocks decrease if it is not used. The more two people exhibit trust
toward each other, the larger will be their mutual confidence and vice
versa. Additionally, social capital is customarily a public good as its exter-
nal benefits spread beyond those who engaged in social networks in the
first place (Putnam and Feldstein 2003, p. 269). Unlike the conventional
capital (such as material or human capital) which the scope of its benefits
confined to their private owners, social capital benefits the whole commu-
nity. The reputation of a person for trustworthiness can be a motive for
other people to cooperate with them. Conversely, untrustworthiness of
an agent reduces the possibility of positive interaction with others which
is, in turn, likely to harmfully impact wider community. Therefore, social
capital is a public property, not merely an individual capital; its availabil-
ity is a common good for those who have it, and it is, simultaneously,
beneficial for communities (Putnam 1993, pp. 169–170).
Reviewing the usage of social capital in literature, Putnam presents a
classification for the main forms of social capital. This classification is pred-
icated on the degree of formality, the strength of social networks in the
associations, associational objectives and the capability of associations to
bridge social cleavages. In the following, a brief description of each is
offered.
Formal versus informal social capital. Some forms of social capital are
formal such as labor unions and parents’ organizations. These organi-
zations are represented by recognized officers, written constitutions and
membership requirements and so on. Nevertheless, there are other forms
of social capital which are highly informal. Examples for this sort of social
capital include family dinners and people who gather at the same pub or
coffee shop. Both forms constitute networks that can produce norms of
reciprocity and can be used to achieve valuable objectives. Putnam writes
that though early research on social capital focused mainly on formal asso-
ciations, “associations constitute merely one form of social capital (Italic in
the reference)” (Putnam 2002, p. 10). Consequently, the study of social
capital within a given community has to be stretched out to include study-
ing informal social capital too.
Thick versus thin social capital. Some forms of social capital are multidi-
mensional and closely interconnected. Putnam points to the example of a
group of workers who work together every day at a workplace and spend
10 H. H. KHEDIR

their weekends together, as an illustration of thick social capital. Simulta-

neously, there are thin or almost invisible forms of social capital. In this
respect, having a nod with someone whom we see casually and irregularly
comprises a form of social capital. Research indicates that merely nodding
to a stranger increases the probability that he or she will come to help, if
the need be (Putnam 2002, p. 10).
Inward-looking versus outward-looking. There are forms of social capital
that by choice or necessity are inward-looking. These forms of social capi-
tal are organized along with gender, class and ethnic lines, to mention but
a few. These groups tend to serve the material, social or political interests
of their own members and they try to preserve or augment the “bonds
of birth and circumstance”. Contemporary labor unions and chambers
of commerce are two examples of inward-looking associations. Outward-
looking social capital, however, includes associations that are concerned
with public good. In this category, it is possible to mention Red Cross and
environmental movements as two obvious examples of outward-looking
social capital (Putnam 2002, p. 11).
Bridging versus bonding social capital. Putnam makes a distinction
between two brands of social networks: “bridging” (inclusive) social net-
works and “bonding” (exclusive) social networks. The former includes
heterogeneous networks in which people from different, racial, ethnic,
religious and class background are involved. In this respect, Putnam
points to the civil rights movement as an example of this sort of social
capital. It is argued that bridging networks are more likely to have con-
structive contributions as they constitute arenas for gathering of individ-
uals who belong to various forms of social groupings. The latter is about
homogeneous networks which comprise individuals from a similar social
cleavage. Bonding associations tend to reinforce exclusive identities and
to prolong the social distance between communities. Ethnic-based and
certain nationalist organizations, with their narrow agendas, are apparent
examples of bonding social networks. It should be noted that bonding
social networks are not necessarily evil as they may make up a significant
source of support that bridging social networks are unable to offer (Put-
nam 2002, p. 11). In times of economic crisis and physical insecurities,
close family, tribal or ethnic circles can provide individual members with
needed forms of support.
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 11

In sum, it is possible to mark Putnam’s approach to social capital as

a functionalist one. It places emphasis on the functionality of social net-
works, norms of reciprocity and trust in establishing cooperative relation-
ships between social actors to achieve mutual objectives (Arneil 2006,
p. 4). Social capital, in addition, is a collective feature of the whole com-
munity or even an entire nation (Portes 1998). It focuses on the cen-
trality of social connections among people and the norms of trust and
reciprocity that govern these connections. Social capital is at the heart of
cooperation, civic engagement and collective action.
Putnam utilizes the concept of social capital for analyzing the func-
tioning of democratic institutions in modern Italy. By using the exam-
ple of Italy for institutional design, he produces a theoretical account of
the performance of democratic institutions. The main question for him is
“why do some democratic governments succeed and others fail?” (Put-
nam 1993, p. 3). The impact of the social, economic and cultural envi-
ronment on the performance of democratic institutions is central in Put-
nam’s work. The creation of fifteen regional governments in Italy con-
stitutes the departure point from which Putnam began his investigation
on social capital and democratic governance. The overarching question
for him was why regional governments, in spite of their symmetrical con-
stitutional structures, displayed immense differences in their performance
in the ensuing decades? While northern regional governments proved to
be responsive and effective, their southern counterparts were irresponsive
and ineffective (Putnam 1993, pp. 63–82). This inconsistency between
similar structures and mandates, on the one hand, and a considerable
variation in performance, on the other hand, is the theoretical motive for
Putnam’s empirical and historical inquiry into the functioning of democ-
racy in Italy.
Putnam employs the concept of Civic Community to explain the stark
regional differences in institutional performance. For him, civic commu-
nity includes the activeness and public-spiritedness of citizenry, egalitar-
ian political relations and a social fabric of trust and cooperation (Putnam
1993, p. 15). In fact, Putnam links the degree of civicness of a given
community to the level of institutional performance in it. The main dis-
covery in Putnam’s work is that institutional performance in Italy’s gov-
ernmental regions is fundamentally contingent on the degree of civicness
of their respective communities. In northern regions, where high levels of
civicness are recorded, the performance of governmental institutions was
high. Conversely, in southern regions where indicators of civicness were
12 H. H. KHEDIR

low, the performance of institutions was accordingly weak (Putnam 1993,

pp. 63–82).
In Bowling Alone, Putnam discusses the relations of social capital and
democracy through two conventional claims: the health of the American
democracy requires citizens to perform their public duties and the well-
being of democratic institutions relies, at least in part, on the participa-
tion of individuals in private voluntary associations and networks of civic
engagement. These voluntary associations and civic networks embody
social capital (Putnam 2000, p. 326). In this way, the interest in the per-
formance of democratic institutions in relation to social capital remains
fundamental in Putnam’s sociopolitical thought.
Putnam argues that voluntary associations and social networks of civic
society contribute to democracy in two ways: they have external effects
on the larger politics, and they have internal effects on the participants
themselves. As to the external effects, voluntary organizations consti-
tute the effective means for the articulation of interests and demands
of various groups. They are also tools which protect them from the
abuses of political leaders. These organizations are arenas for the flow
of information and discussions about politics. Furthermore, these orga-
nizations have the capacity to amplify and strengthen the peoples’ voice;
outside voluntary organizations, it is possible to hear dispersed and weak
voices of divergent individuals. These dispersed and weak voices can trans-
form into a more unified and strong voice through voluntary organiza-
tions. Putnam, however, emphasizes that citizens’ connectedness does not
require formal institutions to be effective; rather, he asserts that in some
cases informal networks have had an unequal capacity to recruit
people to democratic movements rather than pure ideological commit-
ment (Putnam 2000, p. 338).
Internally, associations and less formal networks of civic engagement
contribute to democracy through enhancing the habits of cooperation,
public-spiritedness and the practical skills necessary to partake in public
life. In this respect, researchers of political psychology insist on the pos-
itive correlation between social isolation and the emergence of extremist
attitudes. The more isolated the individuals are, the more likely they are
to transform into extremism. Simultaneously, the associations are places to
learn civic virtues such as participation in public life, trustworthiness and
norms of reciprocity (Putnam 2000, pp. 338–339). In addition, voluntary
associations support building social and civic skills; people within volun-
tary associations learn to run meetings, do presentations, write letters,
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 13

organize projects and debate public issues in a civilized manner (Putnam

2000, pp. 338–339).
Nevertheless, not all voluntary associations exercise the same influ-
ence on democracy: the difference between heterogeneous and homoge-
neous associations is profound. Although heterogeneous associations, in
which individuals belong to diverse class, religious, ethnic and social back-
ground, are more likely to produce a positive impact for democracy, the
homogeneous associations also have the probability to have a constructive
impact on democracy. An example is a minority group when campaign-
ing for realizing non-discriminatory policies in schools or on government
boards. It widens the circle of political participation in society through
eliminating the obstacles of participation of minorities (Putnam 2000,
pp. 338–339). Therefore, Putnam tries to avoid making generalizations
about the democratic potential of voluntary organization based solely on
the composition of these organizations; minority right groups are cases in
point as their call for broader participation and removal of discriminatory
barriers can serve in democratizing political systems.
Having said that, efforts need to be made not to over-romanticize vol-
untary organization; in fact, there are serious concerns with respect to
potential harmful impacts that certain voluntary organizations can pose
to democracy. At the outset, not all voluntary associations are necessar-
ily good for democracy. In this regard, Putnam mentions the Ku Klux
Klan (KKK) as an illustration of an antidemocratic association. Sectarian
and extremist national associations are also classical examples for this sort
of voluntary organizations. Moreover, even associations which operate in
accordance with democratic norms can distort policy formations. In a plu-
ralist political environment where various voluntary associations are active,
they do not enjoy comparable capacity to incorporate their agenda into
government’s policies. Putnam states that contrary to the pluralist ideal,
“wherein bargaining among diverse groups leads to the greatest good for
the greatest number, we instead end up with the greatest goodies for
the best-organized few” (Putnam 2000, p. 340). In other words, one can
suggest that organizations with higher amounts of lobbying resources and
advocacy capabilities enjoy stronger potentials to affect policies. In con-
sequence, organizations which lack these resources, no matter how legit-
imate their demands are, will get nowhere in formulating their preferred
policies.
A second concern is that associations tend to benefit those who have
better self-organizing capacities. There are sections of society who by
14 H. H. KHEDIR

nature or circumstance are better equipped to organize themselves and

make their voices heard. This means that people with education, money,
status and close ties with their communities are more likely to get polit-
ical benefit under pluralism than less educated, poor and unconnected
people (Putnam 2000, p. 340). This jeopardizes the possibility for the
emergence of egalitarian politics under pluralism as haves of social capital
would exploit opportunities to advance their interests through using asso-
ciations. In contrast, have-nots of social capital would not have significant
possibilities to articulate and accomplish their interests. In a similar vein,
it is argued that citizen group politics is, by nature, an extremist politics
because individuals with strong views tend to become leaders and activists
in voluntary associations. Frequently, moderately minded individuals are
far less likely to engage in associations. This gives a disproportionate plat-
form to extremists to engage in associational life. Thus, some critics of
pluralism have suggested that pluralism can generate political polarization
and cynicism (Putnam 2000, pp. 340–341).
Having the seriousness of these concerns in mind, Putnam concludes:

Voluntary associations are not everywhere and always good. They can rein-
force anti-liberal tendencies; they can be abused by antidemocratic forces.
Further, not everyone who participates will walk away a better person-
…voluntary groups are not a panacea for what ails our democracy. And
the absence of social capital—norms, trust, networks of association—does
not eliminate politics. But without social capital we are more likely to have
politics of a certain type. (Putnam 2000, p. 341)

Democracy without social capital, i.e., associational life and voluntary

organizations, is still feasible. But then democracy will be a different one;
a kind of “plebiscitary democracy” and politics from a distance will pre-
vail. Many scattered voices would be heard without these voices being
able to engage with one another, without being able to resist or being able
to offer a significant guidance to policymakers. Furthermore, the absence
of real and face-to-face conversations among people about politics pre-
vents them from a meaningful engagement with opposing views. Putnam
(2000, pp. 341–342) writes “without such face-to-face interaction, with-
out immediate feedback, without being forced to examine our opinions
under the light of other citizens’ scrutiny, we find it easier to hawk quick
fixes and to demonize anyone who disagrees”. The withdrawal of people
from engagement in democratic debate, additionally, would make politics
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 15

“more shrill and less balanced”. When most people skip the meetings,
those who are left tend to be more extreme ones and more likely to pur-
sue narrow and selfish interests (Putnam 2000, p. 342).
On the other hand, social capital is a key to psychological and cognitive
engagement. Through the psychological engagement, people are more
likely to review their opinions in light of new information they receive
from their friends in informal and formal discussions. Putnam states:

We learn about politics through casual interactions. You tell me what

you’ve heard and what you think, and what your friends have heard and
what they think, and I accommodate that new information into my mental
database as I ponder and revise my position on an issue. In a world of
civic networks, both formal and informal, our views are formed through
interchange with friends and neighbors. Social capital allows political infor-
mation to spread. (Putnam 2000, p. 343)

Putnam argues against the view that stresses the senselessness of face-
to-face mobilization and those who consider large national membership
groups to be sufficient for the functioning of democracy (Putnam 2000,
pp. 343–345). In this respect, Putnam calls for a broader understanding
of democracy and politics than the one which merely lends emphasis to
the advocacy of narrow interests. He contends that those staff-led, profes-
sional and Washington-based advocacy organizations are not substitutes
for local organizations. In the local organizations, he argues, civic skills
are learnt and “genuine give-and-take deliberation” occurs. Additionally,
large professional groups are most likely to try to advance the agenda of
their major patrons such as wealthy individuals, foundations and even gov-
ernmental agencies. These organizations are funded by powerful people
and subsequently serve their wishes, not necessarily those of their mem-
bers. Finally, it is important to bear in mind that a range of important
decisions are taken in local levels, not in capitals which are mechanically
male local/grassroots organizations indispensable in discussion of policy
agendas and policy formation.
The impacts of social capital exceed its significance as an input for
democracy; it can, in fact, shape what comes out of politics and democracy
too. Putting it differently, civic engagement matters on both the “demand
and supply side of government” (Putnam 2000, pp. 344–346). Interest
16 H. H. KHEDIR

in civic affairs and involvement in voluntary associations enables partici-

pants to manifest their demands on the government and hold the govern-
mental agencies accountable. Simultaneously, when governmental institu-
tions recognize that they operate in an active community, they strive to
enhance their performance. In the same vein, when people know and trust
one another, they will have a more robust “moral foundation” for future
cooperation in various realms. This positively impacts on the governmen-
t’s conduct. Putnam states:

Light-touch government works more efficiently in the presence of social

capital. Police close more cases when citizens monitor neighbourhood
comings and goings. Child welfare departments do a better job of “fam-
ily preservation” when neighbours and relatives provide social support to
troubled parents. Public schools teach better when parents volunteer in
classrooms and ensure that kids do their homework. When community
involvement is lacking, the burdens on government employees—bureau-
crats, social workers, teachers, and so fourth—are that much greater and
success that much more elusive. (Putnam 2000, p. 346)

Similarly, when social capital is abundant in a society, the adherence to

procedures of governmental institutions is much more pronounced. In
the tax system, for instance, the actual compliance of people relies in part
on the belief that others do pay their tax share. This suggests that when
one sees that most people cheat on tax, the observer would not feel any
motivation to pay their share. Accordingly, in a community where social
capital is in abundant supply, government is “we” not “they”. In this
way, social capital reinforces the legitimacy of government. I pay my taxes
because I believe that others do, and I know that the tax system works as
it should (Putnam 2000, pp. 347–349).
In conclusion, it is conceivable to suggest that Putnam utilizes the
concept of social capital in relation to democracy in two different ways:
social capital as an input into politics and the democratic process, and
social capital as an output of democracy by looking at its impact on the
functioning and the performance of democratic institutions. As to the
first usage, social capital and networks of civic engagement—formal and
informal—constitute the basis for political discussions, the flow of infor-
mation, for acquiring civic skills and virtues and for the articulation of
group interests. In this respect, social capital assists in the formation of a
more balanced and more inclusive democracy. Moreover, with concerns
 1 THEORY OF SOCIAL CAPITAL, DEMOCRACY AND DEMOCRATIZATION 17

to the second usage, the same networks of civic engagements are crucial
in holding democratic institutions and leaders accountable to their con-
stituents. The accountability of democratic institutions has a positive cor-
relation with the performance of democratic institutions. When active and
organized associations are available, democratic institutions would have
to improve their services to avoid protests and challenges that may arise
from below. Hence, social capital in the second phase aids democracy to
be more responsive and more effective one. In spite of these bright con-
tributions that social capital is likely to bring to democracy, an eye should
be kept on adverse consequences that negative social capital can cause to
democracy.

Critiques and Alternative Explanations

Despite an exceptional popularity of Putnam’s thesis in sociopolitical
research following the publication of Making Democracy Work 1993, his
main assumptions regarding the ingredients of social capital, theoretical
analysis and methodological measurements have been widely criticized. As
opposed to scholars of social capital who stress the values of social capi-
tal as an explanatory/independent variable, structuralists argue that social
capital is at best an outcome/dependent variable that reflects the nature
of political institutions. In this sense, social capital becomes devoid of any
capacity for being an explanatory variable per se. In this section, major
points of criticism of Putnam’s approach to social capital and democracy
are presented.
One of the central arguments against Putnam’s version of social capi-
tal comes from Eric Uslaner (Uslaner 1999, 2002; Uslaner and Brown
2005). Uslaner emphasizes the significance of what he calls moralistic
trust , i.e., trust in strangers or trust in people whom we do not know.
On the contrary to Putnam, Uslaner argues that trust in strangers does
not reflect our personal experiences. It, rather, depends on a set of moral
foundations. In this way, trust is based on a fundamental ethical assump-
tion: that other people share our critical values and, therefore, are part of
our moral community. Uslaner (2002, p. 2) contends that other people
do not necessarily agree with us politically or religiously, but at some level
they accept that there are some common bonds between us. This form
of trust relies on our notion of human nature: the world will be a better
place if we trust and cooperate with one another.
18 H. H. KHEDIR

In arguing for his theory that trust in others mirrors our collective
experience, not individual experiences, Uslaner broadens his explanation
to suggest that a sense of optimism and distribution of wealth in a given
society are key elements of our collective experience, and subsequently,
are determinants of our sense of trust in others. Trust stems from the
presence and interaction of these two elements, optimism and equality. As
countries become more equal, they become more trusting. Uslaner writes
that, as the income gap increased in the USA people became less trust-
ing (Uslaner 2002, pp. 3, 16). Although Uslaner agrees on the impor-
tance of personal experiences, particularly their indirect effects for trust,
he believes that these personal experiences matter for trust in specific peo-
ple or what he calls strategic trust . There is another side of trust (trust
in strangers), namely that “most people can be trusted”. This faith in
stranger others is what Uslaner calls “moral foundations of trust” which
is based essentially on the collective experiences of a society. Moralistic
trust is at odds with the strategic trust in the sense that the former is a
social value marked by stability, and it is contingent on the collective and
formative events of a society whereas the latter is fragile and conditional
on personal experiences of individuals with specific people (Uslaner 2002,
pp. 14–50).
The most important predictor of trust is not engagement in civic social
networks as Putnam argues. Uslaner contends that perceiving trust as a
product of civic engagement, formal or informal, is mistaken because of
two reasons: first, by the time we involve in civic social networks most of
our fundamental worldviews have already been consolidated. Early in life
we learn about trust from our parents and close families and this social
learning tends to persist in the rest of our lives. Furthermore, relying on
Newton’s (1999a, b) argument (which will be discussed later), Uslaner
believes that we do not spend enough time in voluntary associations to
change anything significant in our moral upbringing. Second, when we
socialize with our friends, or when we attend meetings of civic associa-
tions, in fact, we congregate with people having similar experiences and
having the same values. We do not extend the scope of our trust to peo-
ple whom we do not know or people who are not similar to us. Hence,
engagements in group-life are more likely to merely reinforce particu-
larized trust, people whom we personally know, but not the generalized
or moralistic trust, people whom we do not personally know (Uslaner
2002, pp. 4–5). The only exception is the positive effect of a specific
sort of engagement (volunteering and giving to charity) on trust. Uslaner
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Gray was extended beneath the snowy drapery which her own
hands had gathered above the bridal bed. White ribands were still
knotted amid the folds which seemed brooding over her like a cloud,
and a few crimson fall flowers lay scattered upon the pillow, some of
them so close to the marble cheek that a faint tinge was coldly
reflected there. For two whole nights Phebe watched the beautiful
clay reposing in the dim light upon her own bridal bed, but scarcely
more changed than her own sweet self. Malina was the happiest, her
heart had broken amid the struggle of its suffering, but that of the
watcher lay crushed and withering in her young bosom. She felt that
life was yet strong within her; but hope, love, every thing that makes
life pleasant to a woman, had departed. She was still good, still pure
almost as an angel, but the sad smile which settled on her lips never
deepened to a laugh again, and no human being ever saw a tear in
her changeless and sorrowful eyes.
They laid Malina Gray down to sleep beside old minister Brown—
in the very spot she had yearned to repose in. A large circle of
neighbors gathered around the grave, some in tears, and all very
sorrowful. Mrs. Gray stood by the coffin; her mourning was arranged
with great care, and a veil of new crape, deeply hemmed, fell
decorously over her face, and the white handkerchief, with which she
concealed those maternal tears proper for a mother, whose duty it
was to be resigned under any dispensation. But Phebe stood silent
and motionless; no handkerchief was lifted to her eyes, and the face
which gleamed beneath the crape veil, was profoundly calm, almost
as that of the corpse.
We had a new minister, on trial, of Mrs. Gray’s choosing, who
performed the funeral service, and when all was over, returned home
with the mourners; when they knelt in the little parlor that night, he
prayed earnestly, and with genuine tears, for the bereaved mother;
he besought the Lord to visit, with consolation, one who was a
mother in Israel, a bright and shining ornament in the Christian
church; a woman who had brought up her children in the fear and
admonition of the Lord; whose path was growing brighter and
brighter to the perfect day when she would reap a rich reward in
heaven.
 Amid a few natural sobs which awoke in the widow’s heart, she
murmured, “Amen,” satisfied that her life had been one of perfect
rectitude, and that in all things she had been a pattern mother, and
an ornament to the church, which ought to be her consolation under
any bereavement.
The new minister was a very conscientious man, but practical in
all his ideas; he was honest in the high opinion which he entertained
of Mrs. Gray, and not sufficiently sensitive to shrink from offering his
hand to Phebe, when that lady delicately gave him to understand
that the step would be satisfactory to herself. The old parsonage
house was still empty, and Phebe’s inheritance. He was an installed
pastor, and Miss Gray’s engagement to his predecessor never
entered his mind as an objection.
Phebe betrayed no emotion when the proposal was made. She
simply declined it, without giving a reason; and when he married
another person, and would have rented the parsonage, she said with
decision—“It must remain as my sister left it!”
And when Mrs. Gray would have remonstrated, she answered,
still with firmness⁠—
“I am of age, mother, but still will obey you in all things else. Act
as you like regarding the other property—but no stranger shall ever
live in the parsonage. Poor Malina furnished it for him, and for me.
She died there, and so will I!”

It may be so, for the old house is still uninhabited. Every thing
remains as Malina left it; the bridal chamber, the easy chair, and the
flute upon the table; time has made little change in those silent
apartments, for every week Phebe, who has become a calm and
sorrowful old maid, goes up to the house alone, and remains there
for many hours; sometimes seated at the study table, and gazing at
a grave which may be seen through the trees. Once, a child
gathering valley lilies, beneath the window, saw her standing at the
open sash, with her sad eyes turned toward the grave-yard. She was
talking to herself—the child dropped his flowers and listened, for
there was something so mournful in her voice, that his little heart
thrilled to the sound.
“They tell me that he wearied himself, and died of fever,” she
said; “and that thou, my sister, perished naturally, and as we all
must. Alas, if I could but think so. Why not have told me how he was
beloved before it was too late? I would have given him up—and
while you were happy, this heart had not become so palsied and
feelingless. Alas, it was well that thy heart could break, my poor,
poor Malina!”
 NOON.[5]
———
BY WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT.
———

’Tis noon. At noon the Hebrew bowed the knee

And worshiped, while the husbandman withdrew
From the scorched field, and the wayfaring man
Grew faint, and turned aside by bubbling fount,
Or rested in the shadow of the palm.

I, too, amid the overflow of day,

Behold the power which wields and cherishes
The frame of Nature. From this brow of rock
That overlooks the Hudson’s western marge,
I gaze upon the long array of groves,
The piles and gulfs of verdure drinking in
The grateful heats. They love the fiery sun;
Their broadening leaves grow glossier, and their sprays
Climb as he looks upon them. In the midst,
The swelling river into his green gulfs,
Unshadowed save by passing sails above,
Takes the redundant glory, and enjoys
The summer in his chilly bed. Coy flowers,
That would not open in the early light,
Push back their plaited sheaths. The rivulet’s pool,
That darkly quivered all the morning long
In the cool shade, now glimmers in the sun,
And o’er its surface shoots, and shoots again,
The glittering dragon-fly, and deep within
Run the brown water-beetles to and fro.
 A silence, the brief sabbath of an hour,
Reigns o’er the fields; the laborer sits within
His dwelling; he has left his steers awhile,
Unyoked, to bite the herbage, and his dog
Sleeps stretched beside the door-stone in the shade.
Now the gray marmot, with uplifted paws,
No more sits listening by his den, but steals
Abroad, in safety, to the clover field,
And crops its juicy blossoms. All the while
A ceaseless murmur from the populous town
Swells o’er these solitudes; a mingled sound
Of jarring wheels, and iron hoofs that clash
Upon the stony ways, and hammer clang,
And creak of engines lifting ponderous bulks,
And calls and cries, and tread of eager feet,
Innumerable, hurrying to and fro.
Noon, in that mighty mart of nations, brings
No pause to toil and care; with early day
Began the tumult, and shall only cease
When midnight, hushing one by one the sounds
Of bustle, gathers the tired brood to rest.

Thus, in this feverish time, when love of gain

And luxury possess the hearts of men,
Thus is it with the noon of human life.
We in our fervid manhood, in our strength
Of reason, we, with hurry, noise and care,
Plan, toil and strive, and pause not to refresh
Our spirits with the calm and beautiful
Of God’s harmonious universe, that won
Our youthful wonder; pause not to inquire
Why we are here, and what the reverence
Man owes to man, and what the mystery
That links us to the greater world, beside
Whose borders we but hover for a space.
[5] From an unpublished Poem.
 TRUTH.
———
BY MRS. FRANCES SARGENT OSGOOD.
———

“This above all!—to thine own self be true!

And it must follow, as the night the day,
Thou canst not then be false to any man.”
 CHAPTER I.
A MOTHER’S INFLUENCE.

“Mother! mother!” exclaimed a sweet, eager voice, and the

speaker, a child of thirteen years, burst into the room, where Mrs.
Carlton sat at work, “don’t you think there is to be a prize given on
exhibition day for the best composition! And I mean to try for it—
sha’nt I?”
She was a little, harum-scarum looking imp! I suppose she had
run all the way home from school, for her straw bonnet hung on her
neck instead of her head, and a profusion of soft dark hair was
streaming in such disorder about her glowing face, that you could not
tell if she were pretty or not; but you could see a pair of brilliant, gray
or blue or black eyes—they certainly changed their color with every
new emotion; but I think they were really gray—full of laughter, and
love beaming through the truant tresses, and all eloquent with the
beauty of a fresh, warm soul. This change in the child’s eyes is no
freak of a foolish fancy; for every one noticed it; and her school-
crony, Kate Sumner, used to declare, that when Harriet was angry
they were black; gray when she was thoughtful; violet when sad; and
when happy and loving, they changed to the tenderest blue.
Mrs. Carlton drew the little girl toward her, and smoothed back
the rebellious curls, at the same time exclaiming, with a long drawn
sigh, “My dear Harriet! how you do look!”
“Oh, mother! it’s not the least matter how I look! If I were only a
beauty, now, like Angelina Burton, I would keep my hair as smooth
as—as any thing; but I wouldn’t rub my cheeks though, as she does
always, just before she goes into a room where there’s company—
would you, mother?”
The mother gazed at her child’s expressive face, as she spoke,
with its irregular, yet lovely features, the strange, bright eyes, the
changing cheek, the full and sweet, but spirited mouth, and said to
herself, “Whatever you may think, my darling, I would not change
your simple, innocent, childlike unconsciousness, for all Angelina’s
beauty, spoiled as it is by vanity and affectation.”
“But, mother, do give me a subject for composition, for I want to
write it now, this minute!”
“Harriet,” said Mrs. Carlton quietly, “go and brush your hair,
change your shoes, and mend that rent in your dress as neatly as
you can.”
Harriet half pouted; but she met her mother’s tranquil eye; the
pout changed to a good-humored smile, and kissing her
affectionately, she bounded off to do her bidding.
While she is gone, you would like—would you not, dear reader?
—to ask a few questions about her. I can guess what they are, and
will answer them, to the best of my knowledge.
Mrs. Carlton is a widow, with a moderate fortune, and a
handsome house in Tremont street, Boston. She has been a star in
fashionable life, but since the loss of her husband, whom she
tenderly loved, she has retired from the gay world, and devoted
herself to her child—a wild, frank, happy, generous and impetuous
creature, with half a dozen glaring faults, and one rare virtue which
nobly redeemed them all. That virtue, patient reader, you must find
out for yourself. Perhaps you will catch a glimpse of it in

——
 CHAPTER II.
AUNT ELOISE.

Harriet was busy with her composition, when her aunt, who was
on a visit to Mrs. Carlton, entered the room. Aunt Eloise was a weak
minded and weak hearted lady of a very uncertain age—unhappily
gifted with more sensibility than sense. She really had a deal of
feeling—for herself—and an almost inexhaustible shower of tears,
varied occasionally by hysterics and fainting-fits, whenever any
pressing exigency in the fate of her friends demanded self-
possession, energy, or immediate assistance. If, too, there
happened, as there will sometimes, in all households, to be an
urgent necessity for instant exertion by any member of the family,
such as sewing, watching with an invalid, shopping with a country
cousin, poor Aunt Eloise was invariably and most unfortunately
seized with a sudden toothache, headache, pain in the side, strange
feelings, dreadful nervousness, or some trouble of the kind, which
quite precluded the propriety of asking her aid.
Every morning at breakfast Aunt Eloise edified the family with a
wonderful dream, which the breakfast-bell had interrupted, and every
evening she grew sentimental over the reminiscences which the
twilight hour awakened. It was then that innumerable shades of
former admirers arose. Some doubted if they had ever been more
than shades; but Aunt Eloise certainly knew best about that, and
who had a right to deny, that Mr. Smith had knelt to her for pity; that
Colonel Green had vowed eternal adoration; and that Lawyer Lynx
had laid his heart, his hand, and his fees, which were not quite a
fortune, at her feet?
Aunt Eloise had been—at least she hinted so—a beauty and a
blue, in her day; and, to maintain both characters, she rouged, wore
false ringlets, and scribbled love-verses, which she had a bad habit
of leaving, by accident, between the leaves of books in every
frequented room of the house.
 She thought and avowed herself extravagantly fond of her niece,
during her early childhood, and imagined that she displayed a
graceful enthusiasm in exclaiming, every now and then, in her
presence, and in that of others, “Oh! you angel child! I do think she is
the sweetest creature! Come here and kiss me, you beauty!” &c. &c.
But no one ever saw Aunt Eloise taking care of the child, attending to
its little wants, or doing any thing for its benefit. The only tangible
proof of her affection for her niece, was in the shape of bonbons and
candy, which she was in the habit of bringing home from her frequent
walks in Tremont street. Harriet regularly handed these forbidden
luxuries to her mother, and Mrs. Carlton as regularly threw them in
the fire.
“Isn’t it a pity to waste such nice things, mother? Why not give
them to some poor child in the street?” asked the little girl one day,
as she watched, with longing eyes, a paper full of the tempting
poison, which her mother was quietly emptying into the grate.
Mrs. Carlton did not disdain to reason with her child—
“That would be worse than wasted, dear. It would be cruel to give
to another what I refuse to you on account of its unwholesomeness.”
But Harriet had now been for a long time out of the spinster’s
books—as the saying is—and this misfortune occurred as follows—
One morning, when she was about six years old, the child came
into her mother’s room from her aunt’s, where she had been
alternately pelted, scolded, and teased, till she was weary, and,
seating herself in a corner, remained for some time absorbed in
thought. She had been reading to her mother that morning, and one
sentence, of which she had asked an explanation, had made a deep
impression upon her. It was this—“God sends us trials and troubles
to strengthen and purify our hearts.” She now sat in her corner,
without speaking or stirring, until her mother’s voice startled her from
her reverie.
“Of what are you now thinking, Harriet?”
“Mother, did God send Aunt Eloise to strengthen and purify my
heart?”
“What do you mean, my child?”
 “Why, the book says he sends trials for that, and she is the
greatest trial I have, you know.”
The indignant maiden was just entering the room as this dialogue
began, and hearing her own name, she had stopped, unseen, to
listen. Speechless with rage, she returned to her chamber, and was
never heard to call Harriet an angel child again.
But we have wasted more words on the fair Eloise’s follies than
they deserve. Let us return to Harriet’s all-important composition.
The maiden-lady, selfish and indolent as she was, took it into her
head sometimes to be exceedingly inquisitive; and officious too,
particularly where she thought her literary talents could come into
play. She walked up to Harriet and looked over her shoulder.
“What’s this, hey? oh! a story! That’s right, Harriet, I am glad to
see you taking to literary pursuits. Come, child! give me the pen and
I will improve that sentence for you.”
“Thank you, aunt! but I don’t want it improved.”
“Not want it improved! There’s vanity!”
“Indeed, aunt, I am not vain about it, and I would like you to help
me, if it were not to be shown as mine. It wouldn’t be fair, you know,
to pass off another’s as my own. I am writing for a prize.”
“For a prize! So much the more reason that you should be
assisted. There, dear, run away to your play and I will write it all for
you. You’ll be sure to win the prize.”
With every word thus uttered, Harriet’s eyes had grown larger
and darker, and at the close, she turned them, full of astonishment,
from her aunt’s face to her mother’s. Reassured by the expression of
the latter, she replied,
“But, Aunt Eloise, that would be a falsehood, you know.”
“A falsehood, miss!” cried the maiden, sharply, “It is a very
common thing, I assure you!”
“But not the less false for being common, Eloise,” said Mrs.
Carlton; “pray let Harriet have her own way about it. It would be far
better to lose the prize, than to gain it thus dishonestly.”
 Aunt Eloise, as usual, secretly determined to have her own way;
but she said no more then, and Harriet pursued her employment
without further interruption.

——
 CHAPTER III.
THE PRIZE.

The exhibition day had arrived. Harriet had finished her story
several days before, and read it to her mother. It was a simple,
graceful, childlike effusion, with less of pretension and ornament,
and more of spirit and originality than the compositions of most
children of the same age contain.
Mrs. Carlton seemed much pleased; but Aunt Eloise had
criticised it without mercy. At the same time she was observed to
smile frequently with a cunning, sly, triumphant expression, peculiar
to herself—an expression which she always wore when she had a
secret, and secrets she had, in abundance—a new one almost every
day—trivial, petty secrets, which no one cared about but herself; but
which she guarded as jealously as if they had been apples of gold.
The exhibition day had arrived.
“Good bye, mother; good bye, aunty,” said Harriet, glancing for a
moment into the breakfast-room.
She was looking very pretty in a simple, tasteful dress, made for
the occasion. She held the story in her hand, neatly enclosed in an
envelope, and her eyes were full of hope—the cloudless hope of
childhood.
“Don’t be surprised, Harriet,” said her aunt, “at any thing that may
happen to-day. Only be thankful if the prize is yours, that’s all.”
“If Kate Sumner don’t win it, I do hope I shall!” replied the eager
child, and away she tripped to school.
At twelve o’clock Mrs. Carlton and her sister took their seats
among the audience, in the exhibition room. The usual exercises
were completed, and it only remained for the compositions to be
read aloud by the teacher.
The first was a sentimental essay upon Friendship. Mr.
Wentworth, the teacher, looked first surprised, then amused, then
vexed as he read, while a gaily and fashionably dressed lady, who
occupied a conspicuous place in the assembly, was observed to toss
her head and fan herself with a very complacent air, while she met,
with a nod, the conscious eyes of a fair and beautiful, but haughty
looking girl of fifteen seated among the pupils.
“By Angelina Burton,” said the teacher, as he concluded, and
laying it aside without further comment, he took up the next—“Lines
to a Favorite Tree,” by Catherine Sumner.
It was short and simple, and ran as follows⁠—

Thy leaves’ lightest murmur,

Oh! beautiful tree!
Each bend of thy branches,
The stately, the free,
Each wild, wavy whisper,
Is music to me.

I gaze thro’ thy labyrinth,

Golden and green,
Where the light loves to linger,
In glory serene,
Far up, till yon heaven-blue
Trembles between.

I shut out the city,

Its sight and its sound,
And away, far away,
For the forest I’m bound,
For the noble old forest,
Which ages have crowned!

I lean on its moss banks,

I stoop o’er its rills,
I see, thro’ its vistas,
The vapor-wreathed hills,
And my soul with a gush
Of wild happiness fills!
 I pine for the freshness,
The freedom, the health,
Which Nature can give me—
My soul’s dearest wealth
Is wasted in cities;
Where only, by stealth,

The mountain-born breezes

Can fitfully play,
Where we steal but a glimpse
Of this glorious day,
And but by the calendar,
Learn it is May.

But away with repining,

I’ll study, from thee,
A lesson of patience,
Oh! noble, old tree!
’Mid dark walls imprisoned,
Thou droop’st not like me;

But strivest forever,

Still up, strong and brave,
’Till in Heaven’s pure sunshine,
Thy free branches wave!
Oh! thus may I meet it,
No longer a slave!

The next was a story, and Harriet Carlton’s eyes and cheeks
changed color as she listened. It was the same, yet not the same!
The incidents were hers, the sentiment more novel-like, and many a
flowery and highly wrought sentence had been introduced, which
she had never heard before.
She sat speechless with wonder, indignation, and dismay, and
though several other inferior compositions were read, she was so
absorbed in reverie, that she heard no more until she was startled by
Mr. Wentworth’s voice calling her by name. She looked up. In his
hand was the prize—a richly chased, golden pencil-case, suspended
to a chain of the same material. The sound, the sight recalled her
bewildered faculties, and ere she reached the desk, she had formed
a resolution, which, however, it required all her native strength of
soul to put in practice.
“Miss Carlton, the prize is yours!” and the teacher leaned forward
to throw the chain around her neck. The child drew back⁠—
“No, sir,” she said in a low, but firm and distinct voice, looking up
bravely in his face, “I did not write the story you have read.”
“Not write it!” exclaimed Mr. Wentworth, “Why, then, does it bear
your name? Am I to understand, Miss Carlton, that you have asked
another’s assistance in your composition, and that you now repent
the deception?”
Poor Harriet! this was too much! Her dark eyes first flashed, and
then filled with tears; her lip trembled with emotion, and she paused
a moment, as if disdaining a reply to this unmerited charge.
A slight and sneering laugh from the beauty aroused her, and she
answered, respectfully but firmly,
“The story, I did write, was in that envelope yesterday. Some one
has changed it without my knowledge. It was not so good as that you
have read; so I must not take the prize.”
There was a murmur of applause through the assembly, and the
teacher bent upon the blushing girl a look of approval, which amply
repaid her for all the embarrassment she had suffered.
Aunt Eloise took advantage of the momentary excitement to steal
unobserved from the room. Harriet took her seat, and Miss Angelina
Burton was next called up. The portly matron leaned smilingly
forward; and the graceful, little beauty, already affecting the airs of a
fine lady, sauntered up to the desk and languidly reached out her
hand for the prize.
“I cannot say much for your taste in selection, Miss Burton. I do
not admire your author’s sentiments. The next time you wish to make
an extract, you must allow me to choose for you. There are better
things than this, even in the trashy magazine from which you have
copied it.”
 And with this severe, but justly merited reproof of the imposition
that had been practiced, he handed the young lady, not the prize,
which she expected, but the MS. essay on Friendship, which she
had copied, word for word, from an old magazine.
The portly lady turned very red, and the beauty, bursting into
tears of anger and mortification, returned to her seat discomfited.
“Miss Catherine Sumner,” resumed the teacher, with a benign
smile, to a plain, yet noble-looking girl, who came forward as he
spoke, “I believe there can be no mistake about your little effusion. I
feel great pleasure in presenting you the reward, due, not only to
your mental cultivation, but to the goodness of your heart. What! do
you, too, hesitate?”
“Will you be kind enough, sir,” said the generous Kate, taking a
paper from her pocket, “to read Harriet’s story before you decide. I
asked her for a copy several days ago, and here it is.”
“You shall read it to the audience yourself, my dear; I am sure
they will listen patiently to so kind a pleader in her friend’s behalf.”
The listeners looked pleased and eager to hear the story; and
Kate Sumner, with a modest self-possession, which well became
her, and with her fine eyes lighting up as she read, did full justice to
the pretty and touching story, of which Harriet had been so cruelly
robbed.
“It is well worth reading,” said Mr. Wentworth, when she had
finished; “your friend has won the prize, my dear young lady; and, as
she owes it to your generosity, you shall have the pleasure of
bestowing it, yourself.”
Kate’s face glowed with emotion as she hung the chain around
Harriet’s neck; and Harriet could not restrain her tears, while she
whispered,
“I will take it, not as a prize, but as a gift from you, dear Kate!”
“And now, Miss Sumner,” said Mr. Wentworth, in conclusion, “let
me beg your acceptance of these volumes, as a token of your
teacher’s respect and esteem,” and presenting her a beautifully
bound edition of Milton’s works, he bowed his adieu to the retiring
audience.
 “Will you lend me your prize-pencil this morning, Harriet?” said
Mrs. Carlton the next day. She was dressed for a walk, and Harriet
wondered why she should want the pencil to take out with her; but
she immediately unclasped the chain from her neck, and handed it to
her mother without asking any questions.
She was rewarded at dinner by finding it lying at the side of her
plate, with the single word, “Truth” engraved upon its seal.
E. T. Parris. Engraved by Rawdon, Wright, Hatch, & Smillie.

True Affection.

Engraved expressly for Graham’s Magazine.