Social Movement Theory: Discussing the Role of Islamist Movements in Democratic Transition; cases: MB and al-Nahda

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Social Movement Theory: Discussing the Role of Islamist Movements in Democratic Transition Author: Barbara Zollner, Department of Politics, Birkbeck College, London

The hope for democratic transition in the Middle East has largely faded. With the exception of Tunisia, most Arab Spring countries are overshadowed by counter-revolutions and / or are threatened by sectarian unrest or civil war. Still, the short wave of popular protest against authoritarian rule, which swept through Tunisia and then engulfed Egypt, provides rich material to explore processes of democratic transition. A comparison between Egypt and Tunisia is valuable because their respective republican regimes fell after a relatively short period of fierce protests, but without damaging the national integrity of the state. As such, the Egyptian and Tunisian cases can be seen as way-markers in debating theoretical aspects of authoritarianism and democratisation.

This article focuses on Hizb al-Nahda (also often: Ennahda; here al-Nahda) and the Ikhwan al-Muslimin, commonly known as the Muslim Brotherhood (MB). The emphasis is on studying processes of democratic consolidation and the role of the MB and of al-Nahda herein. Adopting a Social Movement Theory (SMT) perspective, the article builds on the theoretical groundwork of authors such as Goldstone, Tarrow, Mc Adam et al. (Goldstone, Jack A., 2003; Tarrow, 1994; McAdam, Doug; McCarthy, John D.; Zald, Mayer N., 1996). Of course, there have been many works published on Social Movements (SMs) in democratisation processes, but the most recent work by della Porta is particularly interesting as it applies SMT to Arab Spring with Tunisia and Egypt as cases (della Porta, 2014). Moreover, there have been a number of authors which argued that Islamist movements are best seen as SMs. Wiktorowicz, Kurzman and Bayat (Wiktorowicz, Quintan, 2004; Kurzman, 2004) come to mind immediately. More specifically, Wickham, Tadros and Brown have employed SMT concepts to do the necessary ground-work on the MB before the Arab Spring, while Bellin, Cavatorta and Haugbolle have provided insights into al-Nahda (Wickham, Mobilizing Islam. Religion, Activism, and Political Change in Egypt, 2002; Tadros, 2012; Brown, When Victory is Not an Option, 2011; Brown, When Victory Becomes an Option. Egypt's Muslim Brotherhood Confronts Success, January 2012; Haugbølle, Rikke Hostrup and Cavatorta, Francesca, 2011).

Following the insights of these authors, this paper sets out that Islamist movements, qua social movements, are governed by rational decision-making processes. As such, they are guided by considerations of political opportunities in making decisions about mobilisation and strategies. Fundamental to understanding the decisions of al-Nahda and the MB is the acknowledgement that basic characteristics of social movement also apply to processes of political transition. We can observe that Islamist movements are guided, just as are secular contenders, by cost and benefit when competing for political power. Emphasising the rational decision-making processes of Islamist actors does however not take away from the responsibility they bear when democratic transition fails. What it tells us is that actors, albeit not singularly, but influenced often by circumstance, have made the ‘wrong’ choices. As we see in the case of the MB in Egypt, decisions made by its leadership contributed to the closure of democratic opportunity. Sweeping interpretations of the role of ‘Islam’ in this failure fail to be relevant, particularly in view of the fact that the final blow to democratic change in Egypt was delivered by secular movements and by the military which exploited the conflict between Islamists and secularists.

This position clearly rejects what Posusney succinctly terms ‘culturalist’ explanations (Posusney, 2005) as these assume a priori that ‘Islam’ and, more specifically, ‘Political Islam’

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are fundamentally opposed to political pluralism and democratic processes. This view is repeatedly voiced in academic debates on the role of Islamist actors, not least since the theses of Lewis and Huntington. A culturalist perspective fails to explain the political behaviour of al-Nahda in Tunisia. In fact, the Islamist movement in that country emphasises political compromise and, despite a drop in its popularity, continues to call for democratic consolidation. Yet, while the democratisation process moves forward in Tunisia, Egypt has undergone a ‘counter-revolution’ which has returned a system of government not dissimilar from Mubarak’s authoritarian regime. As the political fortunes of both ‘ikhwani’ organisations demonstrate different strategic choices in terms of the processes of transition, the question is raised whether and if so why social movements, in both cases Islamist movements, contributed to a democratisation process in one case, while seemingly hindering democratic development in the other. An analysis of Political Opportunity Structures allows us to trace these different trajectories.

The discussion of theory and cases is set within the wider debate on social movements and democratising processes. The paper therefore aims to contribute to debates on political systems in transition. Within these deliberations, the study of social movements in democratisation processes has not been given sufficient attention, as della Porta rightly remarked (della Porta, 2014). She also points out that, although the ‘third wave of democratisation’ in the late 1980s triggered some interest in theoretical debates about democratisation, it is still the case that scholarly discussion continues to focus on structural factors. Along those lines, the majority of studies on the Middle East adopt a view which emphasises the role of political elites and, albeit marginally, of the middle class. Underlying these studies is the assumption that it is the political elite which, as the only significant decision-making stratum, has an interest in making strategic calculations for or against political change. Doowon explains that this structural model builds on the presumption that political reform is the ultimate product of economic liberalisation (Doowon, 2006). The primary idea is that an increasingly economically and socially confident elite and middle-class will demand its right to participate in political decision-making. Placing political elites at the heart of political change, structural theoretical frameworks suggest a ‘top down’ explanation for processes of transition.

This attention to institutional, economic and cultural variables, i.e. structural factors, is most prevalent in works on the Middle East. Interestingly, most relevant investigations discuss these variables to review the lack of political reform in the region. They are, in other words, less interested in democratic transition, but rather focus on the persistence of authoritarianism. The collections of Posusney and Angrist or of Schlumberger evidence this, although these are valuable contributions indeed (Posusney, Marsha Pripstein; Angrist, Michele Penner, 2005; Schlumberger, Oliver, 2007). In the same vein, scholarly attention focuses on the role of elites in transitioning political systems. The debate is dominated by contributions which analyse various authoritarian regime-types and, within that, the role of political elites. This focus reaffirms a liberal idea of change through political reform takes centre-stage in the debate. While this gradual and peaceful concept of reform from within is one we can only hope for, even a cursory reading of the situation in the Middle East clearly shows that economic liberalisation is not necessarily followed by political reform. Although this point is acknowledged by Middle East experts, certainly by Posusney, Bellin, Lust-Okar or Ulfelder, their work nevertheless remains fixated on institutions and the role of elites herein (Posusney, 2005; Bellin, The Robustness of Authoritarianism in the Middle East. Exceptionalism in Comparative Perspective, 2004; Lust-Okar, Ellen; Gandhi, Jennifer, 2009; Lust-Okar & Jamal, 2002; Ulfelder, 2005). While there is much merit in these works, the events of 2011 to 2013 have shown that it is necessary to widen one’s view beyond political elites to include social movements. Looking at Tunisia and Egypt, it is clear that protest movements

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are not ephemeral to scenarios of transitions from authoritarianism. In fact, this article argues that they are central to the subsequent consolidation of democratic principles and, as such to democratic state-building. SMT then exclusively ‘top down’ perspectives and argues that a ‘bottom up’ demands for change need to be equally taken into account in order to achieve a balanced analysis.

As mentioned, relatively little effort has been made to investigate the role of social movements in the cases of authoritarian transition and, even less, within studies on democratic consolidation. The few studies which take social movement action into account usually focus on the wave of mass disputation in the period leading up to the ousting of authoritarian leaders or on related topics such as the use of new media in the mobilising of a fellowship. The more challenging issue of the role of social movements in democracy building is largely overlooked. Only few scholars, amongst them della Porta, Goldstone and Doowon have so far taken this direction in their work and theorised on this point (Doowon, 2006; della Porta, 2014; Goldstone, 2003). Yet more detailed efforts are needed, which substantiate and test theories against case-studies.

Social Movements and Democratic Consolidation

Considering the broad study area of democratisation, it is necessary to provide some clarity on approach and terminology. If one takes seriously Markowitz’s view that democratic systems never stop evolving, it is difficult, if not unfeasible, to pinpoint when a state should be regarded an established democracy. Huntington’s “two term turnover” seems rather arbitrary (Huntington, 1991). Markowitz’s differentiation between states in democratic transition and, thereafter, processes of democratic consolidation makes sense. It carries the advantage that a clear definition of democracy is not needed. While lengthy deliberations on its debatable features and characteristics can therefore be avoided, it actually requires us to focus our attention onto processes of transition. Nevertheless, even then it is difficult to clearly discern the demise of authoritarianism and democratic consolidation, as, Markowitz remarks, both are persistently merged and confused (Markowitz, 1999). Attempting to disentangle these distinctive processes, he explains that during the phase of transition from authoritarianism, ‘old movements and new social movements have been noted as participants in large coalitions asking for democratic rights and social justice’ (Markowitz, 1999). While this is an interesting observation, it is important to note that the end to authoritarian rule marks the new phase of democratic consolidation. This allows us to accurately determine when the phase of democratic transition starts, i.e. the moment an authoritarian ruler stepped back or was disposed.

Only a few states in the Middle East have reached this crucial moment which marked the beginnings of democratic transition. In fact, most states in the ME failed to shake off authoritarian rule despite the eruption of popular protest in the course of the Arab Spring. Monarchical regimes in the Gulf were particularly ‘successful’ in clawing back ‘sultanic’ powers. Only few monarchical regimes, amongst them those in Morocco and Jordan, opened up to at least some degree of political reforms. Of the few cases where authoritarian regimes were overthrown, amongst them Iraq, Yemen, Egypt, Tunisia and Libya, only two continue to show signs of democratic state-building. This fact confirms a number of things: For one, it evidences that not all consolidation processes necessarily adopt the path towards democracy. Secondly, it confirms Rustow’s assessment that national unity is a prerequisite for the onset of democratic consolidation (Rustow, 1999). In cases where new political forces do succeed the ‘old regime’ and, furthermore, where these start to engage in a process of democratic

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consolidation, they take part in negotiating and implementing a pluralistic and political order. In conjunction with this process new parties are established, often evolving out of social movements. Thirdly, even if democratic consolidation commences, it is not inevitable that this will be followed through successfully. One possible outcome is, as we see in the Egyptian example, that despite some promising early developments, the democratic consolidation process ultimately fails.

Social movements have a crucial role to play when processes of democratic state-building take place. They are central actors in building the foundations of a new institutional framework. Moreover, some social movements are also the subject of democratic transformation as they take the step of formalising their political involvement to establish political parties. The fact that social movements are part and parcel of democratic consolidation necessitates that we divert from standard definitions, such as those provided by Tilly, McAdam, Doug and McCarthy and Zald, but also della Porta and Diani (Tilly, Social Movements and National Politics, 1984; McAdam, Doug; McCarthy, John D.; Zald, Mayer N., 1996; della Porta, Donnatella; Diani, Mario, 2006). These authors agree that the key characteristic of social movements lie in their challenge to institutions and formal politics. This does not however make sense in situations of democratic transition. Because institutional and legal frameworks are newly negotiated, the demarcation-line between formal and informal politics is porous. Therefore, a standard definition of SMs which poses these in opposition to the state, does not fit. In fact, in the period of democratic consolidation the lines of demarcation between social movements and political parties are also in the process of being drawn.

This is in sharp contrast to the context of established democracies, where social movements and parties are political actors which operate ‘relatively’ independent from each other. Most SMT definitions reflect this by allocating parties to the formal sphere and SMs to informal networks. Despite largely acting outside formal politics, it does however not negate that social movements have a strong inter-relation with parties. But it needs to be admitted that this distinction is relative only, because the differentiation between social movement and political parties is not hermetically fixed. Criticising the dominant perception within theory, Goldstone argued that the boundary between formal and informal politics and thus between social movements and political parties are ‘fuzzy and permeable’. (Goldstone, Jack A., 2003, pp. 2-3). But, the crucial aspect is that social movements and parties in established democracies have the freedom and, because of this, the potential to act independently of each other. Still, where they overlap, they are share ideological frames, by a common mobilising base or by mutual interests. Although acting largely outside of formal politics, social movements nonetheless have thus a strong inter-relation with parties. Even in situations of disagreement over policy or even clear antagonism on the part of social movements vis-a-vit the democratic political system, successful social movements influence parties. This is to such an extent that, reciprocally, parties might succumb to SM pressure, particularly if there is broad popular demand. Hence, SMs constitute a certain counter-balance to formal politics in general and political parties in particular; as such, they are a crucial element of a working democratic system. The reciprocal relationship remains in place as long as the democratic institutional system remains intact overall or rather, as at least as long as the system is capable of integrating informal input through formal and democratic means.

This is in marked contrast to authoritarian regimes, where the distinction is fairly clear and fixed. In these states, ruling regimes aim to uphold full control of institutional politics. They thus aim to contain any form of opposition outside this controlled framework. It makes the boundaries between formal and informal political platforms fairly static. The various works on the structures of authoritarian regimes in the Middle East evidence this fact. Lust-Okar and Jamal, for example, shows that the ruling regime manipulates the existing electoral system in

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order to maintain and legitimise the political order (Lust-Okar & Jamal, 2002). As such, a political opposition and even party pluralism might exit, but because it remains under authoritarian control the boundaries are clearly set by the regime (Lust-Okar & Jamal, 2002; Lust-Okar, Ellen; Gandhi, Jennifer, 2009). By extension, parties in authoritarian regimes play a part in maintaining an illusion of choice: on the one hand, electoral laws favour the ruling party, on the other hand state-sponsored opposition parties have clear limitations as to their capacity to contend even within the framework of institutional politics. Even outside the sphere of institutional politics, regimes attempt to impose their systems of control upon informal platforms. This is particularly evident in regimes’ attempts to hold sway over civil society actors, such as NGOs and think tanks. Langohr demonstrates this by showing that in authoritarian systems such as Egypt, organisations are either state-sponsored or are, due to legal restrictions, forced to co-opt with the state (Langohr, 2004). Civil society tends to be therefore heavily controlled by the state, thus limiting its potential of opposition. But, while regimes allocate a narrow space for controlled dissent to take place, this also allows in the possibility of unrestrained dissent in area where neither the legislation nor repression can hold back these informal activities. In the case of Egypt, syndicates provided a niche for organised dissent as other formal and informal avenues were blocked. In Tunisia, however, this possibility was not available, thus pushing al-Nahda to the margins of civil society.

So how do we explain the existence of social movements in authoritarian regimes? Where is their place within civil society? Tarrow’s work laid the foundations for the discussion of the role of social movements in these restricted regimes (Tarrow, 1994). He explains the relationship between social movements and the state through the lens of POS. He argues, in simplified terms, that, if institutional platforms are blocked, ‘real’ political contest is forced to use informal political networks. Moreover, he argues that there is a reciprocal relationship between the state’s use of force and the opposition’s use of radical and militant means. While this view on the causes of radicalisation appears rather unconvincing, as Wiktorowicz rightly criticised, it nevertheless makes the all-important link between the behaviour of the regime and that of social movements (Wiktorowicz, 2004). In authoritarian settings, SMs thus provide niches for independent political opposition outside the immediate control of the state in situations where formal, but also certain informal routes, are blocked. However, this requires a level of co-optation and risk-management for SMs if they want to pursue their activities as a political opposition long-term.

There is, as we already seen, a fundamental difference between politics of contention in established democracies and significant opposition to an authoritarian state. Moreover, there are variations in the different stages of the process of democratisation. This has however not been adequately recognised. For example, McAdam makes the claim that collective action is fundamental to democratisation; he states “[D]emocratization results from, mobilizes, and reshapes popular contention” (McAdam 2001: 269). On first sight, this assessment makes sense. Still, if we unpack this often quoted statement and compare it to cases where states go through processes of democratic transition, we see that states in transition away from authoritarian regimes behave differently from states which have disposed of autocratic rule. While the boundaries between institutional and non-institutional platforms are rather fixed in authoritarian contexts, they are fluid in the period after the disposal of the old regime. In fact, with the breakdown of the system and its core institutions, it is impossible to distinguish between formal and informal platforms.

A number of authors have previously theorised why most have developed out of social movements. Tarrow, for example, puts this development down to bureaucratisation and eventual institutionalisation (Tarrow, 1994). The reference reminds of Weberian theory of rationalisation. In a similar vein, Offe suggests a sequence of stages, thus assuming a ‘natural’,

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‘evolutionary’ progression from social movement to party (Offe, 1990; Doowon, 2006). It is, of course, correct that many parties have their roots in social movements. It is also obvious that many new parties are established during periods of democratic consolidation, i.e. phases when formal political systems undergo major changes. However, once a political system is in place, the rate of new parties drops significantly. This fact points at a critique of the evolution and of the bureaucratisation thesis. If there is, as Tarrow or Offe suggest, a normal progression, then it is to be expected that the vast majority social movements, particularly the most influential and best organised ones, evolve into political parties. This should be especially the case in democratic systems where there are few legal restrictions and thus sufficient political openings which allow them to transition from SM to party. Without having much supporting data to proof this point, it seems that most social movements in democratic systems do not make any attempts to form new political parties. In fact, they deliberately remain in the arena of political protest and informal opposition until their dissent is either heard as their demands are taken up by existing party or until the urgency of the protest fades which leads in most cases to the demise of the movement. The thesis of natural progression from SM to party can be also falsified by the fact that not all parties have their origins in social movements. This can be seen in splinter parties which do not originate in SMs but are a result of intra-party protest.

Thus, Dowoon aptly remarks that institutionalisation is one possible outcome in the process of democratic transition (Doowon, 2006). Yet, he still holds on to the concept of co-optation and institutionalisation as driving forces behind political change. However, he thus makes a logical error as both concepts suggest that a formal institutional framework is in place. To be clear, the concept of institutionalisation has nothing to do with the development of intra-organisational hierarchies. Mobilising structures and organisational lines of command can already highly evolved in social movements. In fact, when looking at the MB, there is no doubt that its hierarchy was more evolved than that of established political parties in Egypt or elsewhere (Zollner, 2015 (forthcoming); Trager, 2011). Granted, the concept of co-optation and institutionalisation can shed light on why social movements decide to collaborate in certain areas with authoritarian regimes they actually oppose. The Muslim Brotherhood pre-2011 exemplifies this political ‘tightrope walk’. In other words, these concepts are useful to explain political constellations as they undermine authoritarian regimes and as such might prepare the ground for the downfall of the regime. Yet, they are not so apt to apply to democratic consolidation. At this stage there is no system to which social movements could co-opt or to which they could be integrated. To be clear, once an authoritarian regime has fallen, social movements are dealing with an entirely different set of circumstances, one which cannot be explained through co-optation or institutionalisation in the sense commonly used in theory. It is not the system to which social movements adapt (as the system is yet to be negotiated) rather they make a rational decision that their interests are best served if they formalise their political position. By doing so, however, they cross the line to become political parties. Nonetheless, it is at this stage of democratic consolidation that the new parties often remain an extension of social movements. Again, this confirms Goldstone’s point that the distinction between social movements and parties is even more blurred in states undergoing democratic transition (Goldstone, 2003).

However, a social movement’s restructuring process is not complete with the establishment of a political party. It is also not finalized once a newly founded party take seats in newly established institutions or even if it forms the government. In fact, in order to conclude the period of democratic consolidation, boundaries, albeit fuzzy ones, between social movements and parties need to be demarcated. Social movements need to withdraw from the formal institutional sphere and as such reverse the initial strategy which led them to use formal platforms to promote their agenda. In other words, parties need to evolve into entities which represent a national consent rather than the interest of their own group. This seems to

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substantiate argument of moderation, a concept which was strongly criticised and indeed altogether rejected by Bermeo (Bermeo, 1999). Her research focus on whether ‘political moderation of social movements (either on the left spectrum or the right spectrum) is a prerequisite for a successful democratisation process’ is highly relevant in the Tunisian and Egyptian case. There is, of course, no simple answer to whether moderation is needed as a matter of principle. Hence, there is a need to return to the concept as it is arguably one of the most important aspects which help to explain why the transition process of social movements to political parties and, more generally, why the establishment of a formal system after an intensive period of popular protest action is successful in some cases of democratic transitions while in others the authoritarian regimes return to take charge.

At the heart of Bermeo’s critique of the concept of moderation is her objection to liberal and structuralist perceptions of democratisation. As we can clearly see in Huntington’s statement that ‘democratic regimes are not the result of popular action’, liberal views of democratisation negate the importance of action from below. While Bermeo’s observation recognises that this structural ‘top-down’ concept to change is not the norm, using the Spanish case as a counter-example, her assumption that moderation is a trade-mark of liberal reform is not correct. In fact, moderation actually supports certain aspects of her critique of structuralist and liberal perceptions of democratisation. Thus it needs to be noted that in the attempt to participate in and subsequently adapt to the new political framework, social movements cum parties are compelled to refocus their strategies because it is no longer beneficial to mobilise an audience through revolutionary demands. It is then that transitioning SMs change into parties because they see it as more advantageous to use formal platforms for the purpose of constructive policy-making. This leads them away from protest which, in turn, requires political moderation.

As we will see in the case of Egypt and Tunisia, it is at this crucial juncture that new parties engage in negotiation and conciliatory politics rather than pursuing the narrow interests of their own movements. Despite many obstacles, al-Nahda in Tunisia showed a willingness to moderate and thus contributed to the continuation of democratic transition. In the Egyptian case however, the FJP dominated political negotiations and, because of the FJP’s dependence on the MB, pursued the narrow political interests of the MB’s leadership.

The MB and al-Nahda before the Arab Spring

Political Opportunity Structures, as those suggested by Tarrow or by Mc Adam et al. allow us to interpret the strategic choices of a social movement. They suggest a number of variables, which need to be taken into consideration when analysing the relationship between SMs and the state, such as the presence of elite alignments, broad availability and strategic posture of potential allies, or the state’s capacity for repression (McAdam, Doug; McCarthy, John D.; Zald, Mayer N., 1996). They also provide us with a useful starting point to summarise the contentious politics of al-Nahda and that of the MB in the period leading up to the Arab Spring.

Interpreting the status of the MB during the Mubarak years or that of the al-Nahda in Tunisia, we can see that the relationship between the authoritarian regimes and the Islamist opposition was relatively stable. This however for two completely different reasons: in the case of Egypt, we can see signs of institutionalisation and, despite the antagonism to Mubarak’s rule, even an acceptance of the legitimacy of the regime. In fact, the Egyptian scenario gives substance to Brown’s observation that the Brotherhood became part of the political

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establishment and thus had no major interest in overturning the regime (Brown N. , 2011). In the Tunisian case, however, the regime had both the will and the capacity to suppress the Islamist movement. The police state successfully curbed all attempts of al-Nahda to develop its weight through civil society organisations. Effectively, al-Nahda was unable to throw its weight as a social movement organisation. Let us look into these two different scenarios in more detail in order to substantiate the argument that, despite their commitment to non-violence and political participation, their subsequent development in 2011 are fundamentally different.

Banned by consecutive military-backed authoritarian rulers, the MB managed to extend its influence as a social movement years, thus circumventing legal restrictions. Acting outside the framework of formal political institutions, it successfully secured a presence in informal political platforms in the course of the past thirty years. Wickham (2002) has done detailed work on the Muslim Brotherhood during the Mubarak period. Her work investigates the Brotherhood’s strategic choices to show how the organisation gradually built up its influence through informal political platforms. This strategy was particularly driven by a generation of former student activists who, inspired by a progressive social, religious and political vision, hoped for political change through political activism. Wickham evidences how these activists developed an MB presence in syndicates, which they subsequently build up as a forum for political debate and opposition, which ran parallel to institutions of the state. While the reformist faction clearly opted for the path through informal politics, the more conservative inclined leadership developed a model of gradual social and religious change towards an Islamic society. It led them to build up an independently run social welfare system, which ran kindergartens, school, libraries, social clubs, but also medical centres and hospitals.

Rejecting outright confrontational strategies which, as the experience during the Nasser period proved, were too costly to be further pursued, reformists and conservatives alike chose an ‘accommodationist’ policy. This choice aimed at developing ties to the urban middle-class and parts of the political elite. The route of reformist political activists took to achieve this was to reach professional, mostly urban middle-class Egyptians through their work in syndicate. Thus they reached out to an increasingly affluent and politically ambitious section of society made the Brotherhood socially and politically respectable. Moreover, because of the importance of informal political networks in Egyptian politics, these links to the professional middle-class also opened access to parts of the political elite (Zahid, 2010).

The links to the political networks was further substantiated through alliances. Abdelrahman commented on the ‘cooperation between unexpected bedfellows’, which brought together Islamists, liberals and groups on the left of Egypt’s political spectrum (Abdelrahman, 2009). She is right in saying that this collaboration was only temporary and remained fragile, yet there should be no doubt that it served not only mutual interests in opposing the Mubarak regime, but that the broad alignment also functioned as a united front against the regime’s control of civil society.

The MB’s alliance with other social movements, but also its foothold in professional middle-class and, moreover, its ties to sections of the Egyptian political elite, counteracted, using here Tilly’s phrase, ‘the state’s capacity and propensity for repression’ (Tilly, From Mobilization to Revolution, 1977). Although Mubarak’s regime remained outwardly highly resentful of the activities of the Muslim Brotherhood, the fact that the organisation extended its influence in informal networks, somewhat restrained the government’s ability to make decisive steps against the Brotherhood. By the mid-1990s, the MB was effectively the largest political opposition which acted largely uninhibited in syndicates; by 2005, it entered the parliaments as the largest opposition party. Although the regime tried to curb MB inroads and patched up

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legal loop-holes as it increasingly feared that the gains of the MB in formal as well as informal platform might jeopardise the regime’s ultimate control, it nevertheless created a status quo. On the one hand, it made the Muslim Brotherhood relatively resilient towards heavy-handed regime control and persecution; on the other hand, it minimised the revolutionary potential of the Brotherhood. Alongside the MB’s affirmation of non-violent strategies and its accommodationist policies effectively amounted to an implicit acknowledgement of the legitimacy of the state (Brown N. , 2011). Considering the state’s repressive policies against the MB, this did however not amount to co-optation with the state. Yet, the MB’s intra-organisational moderation gave the authoritarian system the stability and thus substantiated the control the regime was striving for. The fact that the MB had immense political influence behind the scene also explains, so Brown, the initial reluctance to participate in demonstrations against the regime in December 2010/ January 2011 as it initially did not want to take the risk of jeopardising its de facto role in politics. In Brown’s words, ‘victory was no longer an option’ as the Brotherhood underwent through a degree of institutionalisation (Brown N. , 2011). It only stopped short of co-opting with the core elite of military officers, who deeply mistrusted any competition to its absolute grip on political power.

Nevertheless, the Egyptian military and Mubarak as its Chief Commander deeply mistrusted the Islamist current in general and the Muslim Brotherhood in particular. The reasons are many. The historical roots go back to the differences in the early revolutionary years of 1952-1954 when the MB and the Revolutionary Command Council conflicted over cultural and political hegemony, a battle which was then won by Gamal ‘Abd al-Nasser. But more importantly, Mubarak’s regime built up a military state in which the army was Egypt’s largest business, business provider and its largest employer. Benefitting from large budget, Egypt’s military leadership, which heavily invested in private companies, profited the most from a patriarchal and nepotistic authoritarian order. Nevertheless or rather because of the intricate link between economic interests of the leadership and their relevance as ‘bread-giver’, the military managed to build up and maintain an image that it is the paternal defender national interest and the guarantor of a modern national identity. In sum, Mubarak’s authoritarian rule can, in Ulfelder’s terms, be best described as a military regime (Ulfelder, 2005).

Like Egypt, Tunisia’s political system was a closed authoritarian rule as well. However, Haugbolle rightly remarked that Ben Ali’s regime built up a personalistic authoritarian order (Haugbølle, Rikke Hostrup and Cavatorta, Francesca, 2011). Unlike Egypt, Tunisia’s authoritarian ruler was not supported by a strong military apparatus. Instead it was based on a clientalistic personal network which fixed Tunisia’s political elite in position. Explaining the reason for the Arab Spring, Bellin reasons that the political elite had no longer reason to continue supporting Ben Ali once the public wave turned against his regime (Bellin, Drivers of Democracy: Lessons from Tunisia, 2013). Comparing Tunisia and Egypt in terms of differing authoritarian regime-types seems to make sense, at least on first glance. While it seems to confirms of regime-type scholar such as Ulfelder that different regime-types have different tipping-points, it does however not tell us much about the role of SMs. Hence, in order to get a more complete picture, one which also takes al-Nahda role into account, we need to add POS variables.

Al-Nahda’s rather limited effectiveness as an opposition to authoritarian rule during the years of Ben Ali is in startling comparison to the MB’s success under Mubarak. To argue that al-Nahda did not have the same organisational force in place and thus did not command the same mobilisation capacity overlooks a number of facts. As shown above, the MB’s political engagement in informal political networks was not initiated by the Guidance Council but was

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rather driven by a reformist faction. In terms of their political vision, this reformist faction was closer to al-Gannoushi’s political interpretation than it was to that of the MB leadership. Hence, political ideology does not explain why al-Nahda could not find a niche in Tunisia’s political spectrum. Even more puzzling is that Tunisia’s personalistic regime under Ben Ali was, relatively speaking, imposing less control than that of Mubark’s military regime. In this respect an explanation which is purely based on regime-typology cannot give us further clarification.

Haugbølle and Cavatorta’s work on the availability and strategic posture of allies is thus most informative when considering the differences between al-Nahda and the MB (Haugbølle, Rikke Hostrup and Cavatorta, Francesca, 2011). They emphasise that the weakness and absence of cross-party cooperation is crucial for understanding al-Nahda’s limited political impact in either informal or formal political networks. Drawing on the work of Hibon and Martines Fuentes, they speak of ‘coordination failures’ amongst the political opposition, which led a number of secular parties to co-opt with the regime rather than to build up alliances. Still, al-Nahda held on to its non-violent political strategy, but was pushed to the ‘margins’ of civil society. Herein, the most active informal platforms opposing Ben Ali’s regime were human rights organisations, as Pratt has shown (Pratt, 2007, pp. 127-130). Despite the heavy state control, it is in these circles that al-Nahda had its part.

Bellin, but also Haugbølle and Cavatorta look into a variety of factors which go beyond a simple regime-typology. They point to the fact that al-Nahda increased its influence amongst middle class Tunisians throughout the 1990s (Bellin, Drivers of Democracy: Lessons from Tunisia, 2013; Haugbølle, Rikke Hostrup and Cavatorta, Francesca, 2011). In some respect, al-Nahda’s inroads amongst the middle-class brought it closer to the fairly strong socialist opposition. This relationship of mutual respect paved the way for a working relationship between socialists and al-Nahda after 2011, when both movements showed willingness to find a political compromise despite their obvious ideological differences. While the socialist and Islamist opposition steadily grew together and while they increasingly found support amongst large sections of society, they set on course of collision with to the political elite. This point is also important to remember for explaining the tensions after 2011, where the risk to democratic transition emanates not, as in Egypt, from the military, but from the political elite which claims to defend secularism and democracy against the onslaught of Islamism and socialism.

Democratic consolidation: Comparing the MB and al-Nahda

As shown above, during the phase of political consolidation which follows the breakdown of the regime, new institutions and formal political platforms are negotiated. The formation of new parties runs parallel to the establishment of a new system. This explains why the boundaries between social movements and political parties are particularly ‘fuzzy’ in transitional political systems, an observation which Goldstone alluded to (Goldstone, 2003, pp. 17-20). As social movements and parties become subject to the process of transformation, their future place in either informal platforms or within formal institutions takes shape. Conversely, the process of democratic consolidation is as much defined by the development of boundaries between social movements and parties as it is traceable in the formation of political institutions. Because this metamorphosis runs alongside other changes in political systems, an analysis of a social movement’s mobilising structures can give us clues as to why the consolidation of democratic processes is stalled in some instances, while it continues in other cases.

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In the previous section we looked at the period preceding the Arab Spring. Driving the analysis forward to the post-authoritarian era, shifts in mobilising structures of social movements can be observed. Of course, the overall framework of POS changed as the political system opened up after the ouster of Mubarak. In the case of Egypt, a clear indicator is that numerous political parties were formed and/ or legitimised in the course of 2011, many of which had their roots in social movements. According to the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, over 80 parties were created across the political spectrum, at least 50 of these were non-Islamists ( Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 2014). More precisely, 35 parties competed through party list in the 2011 parliamentary elections (High Judicial Elections Commission, 2011b).1 The MB’s FJP emerged as the largest political party with 37.5% of votes, thus securing 235 seats (including 22 seats of parties which were part of the Democratic Alliance).The second largest party was with 27.8% the Nour Party, an Islamist party with Salafi tendencies led by Emad Abdel Ghaffour. However, the majority of Islamist votes were won through the list of independents (High Judicial Elections Commission, 2011). This indicates that secular parties were overall doing well. However, the overall strength of socialists, liberals and nationalists was fractured as their gains were distributed amongst an array of relatively small parties.

A similar upsurge of new parties happened in Tunisia. 110 new parties were registered in the course of 2011. In the first parliamentary elections, 81 different political parties and many more independent candidates competed for seats in the constituent assembly (al-Jazeera English, 2011). This 218 seat assembly served as, both, the first government of the post-Ben Ali era and as the constitution writing body. Like in Egypt, the majority of new parties had a secular background, ranging from nationalists, liberals and socialists. Al-Nahda was the largest Islamist party, but overall also the largest single party.

If we focus on Egypt and the MB in more detail, the shift from social movements into political parties reveals more interesting aspect of democratic transition. Already in February 2011, the MB started to debate the formation of a party and by April it published the Freedom and Justice Party (FJP) constitutional document. The party was finally approved by the Egyptian authorities in June 2011. In Tunisia, al-Nahda also pushed for the recognition of its party immediately after the ouster of its autocrat. As it had already prepared bids for official verification during Ben Ali’s regime, the recognition as a political party came quickly after the political change, namely in March 2011. Of course, a number of other parties formed and validated at the same time. While the establishment of parties and, with it, the development of a pluralistic party spectrum is generally considered an important way-marker for democratisation, it does in itself not yet signify whether the transition is on course to be successful. In fact, as the comparison between Tunisia and Egypt illustrates, a more accurate indicator for the progress of democratisation is the extent to which newly established political parties become independent from their SM roots. Despite Goldstone’s observation that the boundaries between parties and SMs are fuzzy, the formation of boundaries is all important for the success of a democratic transition. Thus, the transition from SM to political party progressed in the case of al-Nahda further than in the case of the FJP.

1 For a description of the electoral law see an IFES Report (International Foundation for Electoral Systems, 1

November 2011); here a summary of major aspects of the electoral system. 498 of 508 parliamentary seats were contested in the parliamentary elections. The electoral law stipulated a mixed (parallel) electoral system; two-thirds of seats (332 seats) were elected through party lists, which strictly followed a proportional system in 46 electoral districts. One-third of seats (166 seats) were elected via a list of ‘independent’, that is individual, candidates through a majoritarian two-member, two-round system in 83 districts. The remaining 10 seats were appointed by the SCAF

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At first sight, it seems that what set the FJP apart from its competitors was the seemingly seamless conversion from an SMO into a party. However, a closer look reveals that this is not the case. Although the FJP outwardly appeared as an independent party, thus fitting at least nominally the required democratic profile, it was actually being run by the MB leadership. As the mother-organisation, the MB shaped party policy, electoral mobilisation strategies and approved candidates. Although political competitors often criticised the cross-over between MB and FJP, arguing that it is a fundamental element of democracy that parties must decide their affairs, the structural links are less obvious as one might assume. In terms of its organisational structures and constitution, the party was in fact independent. Outwardly, the FJP leadership was elected through an internal process defined in the party’s constitution. FJP leaders also had to give up seats in the Brotherhood’s Guidance Council, Shura Council or any other ‘official’ body of the mother-organisation. Nevertheless, the boundaries between MB and FJP were in fact non-existent. Ergo, the FJP acted more like a lobby for MB interests.

At least initially, the dependency of the FJP on the MB had its benefits. The FJP could rely not only on the MB’s reputation as a major opposition against Mubarak’s regime. Moreover, the FJP’s success in the ballots was a reflection of the MB’s ability to enforcement unity. It put into effect its hierarchical structure in order to drive the success of its FJP enterprise. One reason for the link between MB and FJP is the fact that close personal relationships bonded the party cadre to the mother-organisation. Beyond this, the organisational hierarchy of the MB which was underpinned through an oath of allegiance tied the decision-makers within the FJP to the MB. In other words, the MB leadership used tight command structure, which was built up in years of persecution, to interlock the MB and the FJP. This organisational structure was furthermore used to enforce compliance with its vision for the FJP within the ranks of the MB. As such, it applied its rigid hierarchy to marginalise and expel dissenting voices, amongst them ‘Abd al-Mun’im Abul-Futuh, Muhammad Qassas, Islam Lotfi (to name just a few). MB members were also pressured to support the party; if they did not to join the FJP, they were not allowed to take up membership of another party. What’s more, the top-heavy organisational structure was applied to mobilise support. For example, it used its mobilising structures to back the electoral campaign of the FJP. Members of the MB were ‘conscripted’ to join street rallies, they volunteered in door to door campaigning and were drawn up to look after social media and website campaigning. This of course, gave the MB and its FJP an advantage over other parties in terms of mobilising a constituency. However, the dominance of the socially, religiously and politically conservative MB leadership subsequently restricted the FJP’s ability to act as ‘a reconciler of interests’ in negotiations with other parties about the emerging political structure of Egypt.

Trager, but also ElShobaki, have commented that the enforcement of illiberal structures is a fundamental characteristic of the MB (Trager, 2011). The argument here is that the MB is intrinsically non-democratic and as such is unable to part-take in democratic processes. What speaks against this assessment of the MB is the argument that this tight organisational structure is a legacy of decades of persecution. This also implies that shifts in political opportunities encourage intra-organisational reform. A number of challenges in this direction have been made in the past decade, however with little success so far. A first attempt was brought forward by the Wasat movement in mid-1990s (Stacher, 2002; Wickham, Interests, Ideas and Islamist Outreach in Egypt, 2004). After the Arab Spring, a new wave of in-group tension over its organisational future swept through the MB. Broadly speaking, three groups emerged. The leading group was, of course, represented by the Guidance Council which intended to use the political system to advance its conservative social and religious vision. The FJP was, as already indicated, their tool to do so. A second group, which shared a conservative religious-social interpretation, took the position that the MB can only act as a social movement. Proponents of this position were Kamal El-Helbawi, who left the MB shortly after

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the presidential elections, and former Murshid, Mahdi Akef, who, despite his criticism, remained dedicated to the organisation (Helbawi, 2011; Akif, 2011; al-Haddad, 2011). Most importantly, the third group of reformist MB demanded that an emerging party has to fully adopt democratic principles (Abu al-Futuh, 2011; Affan, 2011; Qassas, 2011). Because of this, they insisted on a clear distinction between the MB as a social movement and a party, which is inspired by Brotherhood ideals. The subsequent intra-organisational conflict between reformers and conservatives led to the defection or expulsion a number of members, many of them leaders of the MB’s student and youth movement, amongst them Islam Lotfi and Muhammad Qassas, but also well-known figures such as Abd al-Futuh. These events have been interpreted by Trager as evidence for the MB’s inflexibility. No doubt, there is sufficient evidence to call the MB leadership under the auspices of the Guidance Council as that, but it equally evidences that there are recurring attempts to reform the organisation from within. In fact, most MB dissidents continue to see themselves as Brothers. While their attempts have failed, it nevertheless evidences that there is the potential for internal reform and change. As such their critique is charged against the leadership rather than against the MB as a movement. Moreover, although MB dissidents all criticised that there needs to be a clear distinction between MB as a social movement and the FJP as a party, this did not lead them to form a united front.

The incomplete transition from social movement to party and thus for Egypt’s unfinished process of democratisation also affected secular parties as they also did not undertake a clear-cut transition from SMs into political parties. In fact, the lack of conversion is endemic across the political spectrum and is thus an indicator for deep-rooted democratic short-comings. As such, socialist, liberal and nationalist movements also established parties, but these also remained highly dependent. Arguably, the boundaries between social movement and party were even more indecipherable as they the leadership of parties clustered around charismatic personalities. The major difference between secular parties is then the level of success by which the MB/ FJP managed to profit from this arrangement, thus increasing its prospects in the competition. While fundamental ideological differences between socialist and liberal movements no doubt existed before, the secular block appears fractured and weakened in the post-Arab Spring transition period. The above-mentioned statistics on the first parliamentary elections are thus an indicator for the fact of disunity in the secular block.

Contrasting Egypt’s MB with Tunisia’s al-Nahda, the latter was much further along in its transition to an independent party. As Bellin argued, al-Nahda showed already signs of transformation into a party before the Arab Spring (Bellin, Drivers of Democracy: Lessons from Tunisia, 2013). As such, it participated in negotiations with recognised and unrecognised political parties to press for political reform through established institutional avenues. As for the informal political platform, their demands for democratic rights led them to establish links to Tunisian Human Rights Organisations. Unlike the MB in Egypt, al-Nahda did not attempt to build up provisions for running parallel welfare system, nor did it attempt to undercut formal political structures. In all, Tunisia’s al-Nahda adopted a conciliatory tone and one which clearly aimed at participation in formal institutional structures. Despite having won most seats in the first parliamentary elections, al-Nahda emphasised the need for cross-party consensus in constitutional negotiations and in running the transitional government. As Bellin argued, al-Nahda thus aimed for consensus-building after 2011 (Bellin, Drivers of Democracy: Lessons from Tunisia, 2013). Its emphasis on inclusiveness can be evidenced in the prolonged and ‘painfully slow’ constitution-writing process (Haugbølle, Rikke Hostrup and Cavatorta, Francesca, 2011).In all, their political strategy was informed by the awareness of al-Nahda’s leadership under al-Ghannousi that only a broad national alliance with their socialist counter-

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part as a partner in democratic transition can pre-empt attempts by the political elite to reinstall a regime not dissimilar of Ben Ali’s. Although there were undoubtedly major differences between al-Nahda and secular parties, the final product was one of negotiated compromise. In sum, al-Nahda’s commitment to the democratic process indicates that it acted as a representative party with the ability to reconcile diverging interests. The difference to the MB becomes even clearer when juxtaposing al-Nahda’s mobilising structures to that of the MB.

In terms of its structure, al-Nahda did not demand an oath of allegiance to its leader and founder, Rashid al-Ghannoushi. It also did not demand from its members to become part of what is often described as a ‘global Muslim Brotherhood’. Links between al-Nahda and the MB in Egypt were not formalised. While there is no doubt that al-Ghannoushi was inspired by Hasan al-Banna’s ideological frames, as expressed by the concept Islamist activism which is at the centre of al-Nahda’s understanding , Egypt’s strict organisational hierarchy has no bearing on Tunisia. Despite a shared history, which explains a sentiment of ‘Brotherhood’, the Egyptian leadership had never played an influential role in the self-definition of the Tunisian party. In fact, al-Ghannoushi’s political vision, which is much more in line with reformist and progressive dissenters of the MB such as Abu A’laa al-Madi or Abu Mun’im ‘Abd al-Futuh, has not much in common with the political, social and religious conservatism of the MB leadership. The difference becomes particularly clear in al-Ghannoushi’s economic policies which bring him close to left-wing parties in Tunisia. More crucially, his position on ‘Islam’ focuses on its cultural and social aptitude to form a coherent national identity. Al-Ghannoushi concept is thus shaped by an anti-colonial national discourse which aims to define Tunisian identity in opposition to relics of French imperial influence. While Islam is thus a crucial signifier of Tunisia’s national identity, al-Ghannoushi does not regard the introduction of shari‘a as the principle aim of Islamic political activism. In fact, he is highly critical of simplified Muslim legal interpretations which focus on an elusive understanding of Islamic law. In the same vein, he rejects that at the centre of political reform is not the reform of the state along religious lines. In fact, al-Nahda does not demand the construction of an Islamic state, but on a civil state which takes its Tunisia’s Muslim roots into account.

While its principled stance on reconciliation, negotiation and conciliation meant that Tunisia’s al-Nahda had to carefully contemplate its immediate political goals, Egypt’s Muslim Brotherhood could take a more decisive stance. The control of the Guidance Council of the intra-organisational hierarchy and, moreover, its command of the FJP had the effect that the MB was perfectly positioned in preparations for the parliamentary elections of 2011. Nevertheless, without a verified public mandate, the MB was cautious not to dominate the political scene. Still, there were signs of MB dominance in the run-up to the elections which took place in Nov-Dec 2011, when a number of core members of the Democratic Alliance left the coalition. Once the parliamentary elections had confirmed the MB success, the MB Guidance Council took advantage of a strong presence in formal and informal platforms. Thus the elections were not only a victory for the FJP because of it became the largest faction within the parliament or that it, in alliance with the Islamist al-Nour Party gained a majority, but it was moreover a triumph for the MB leadership which saw itself justified to pursue its top-down socially and politically conservative policy. The favourable ballot gave the MB leadership justification to dominate negotiations for democratic consolidation.

Subsequently, the MB’s weight could be felt in the constitutional debate and deliberations on the structure of future political institutions. With renewed confidence and with the ballot to show it, the FJP pursued policies which represented the conservative vision of the MB leadership. This dominance was met by previous allies on the socialist and liberal side with suspicion and with resentment. Yet, both, Islamist and their secular rivals, emphasised that

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they were guarding the process of democratisation. That said, their strategies for defending their visions differed. The MB stressed that their FJP epitomises formal democratic processes. They saw this position justified through the election of Muhammad Mursi as President of Egypt in June 2012.

Socialist and liberal parties returned to social movement support to claim the streets in protest against the MB. They successfully ran an anti-Mursi campaign which gradually gained popularity. The anti-Mursi movement culminated in the Tamarrod movement, an umbrella campaign, which addressed an urban audience that was disillusioned with the MB and its FJP. As such, Tamarrod showed strength amongst university educated and professional Egyptians and, more widely, sections of the urban middle-class. Thus, Tamarrod showed inroads into a constituency which less than two years before helped the MB to win the parliamentary elections. The anti-Mursi campaign also re-approached nationalists linked to the old regime as they had retained their influence in the judiciary and the administration. In unison, they blocked the MB through the courts, which led to the suspension of the parliament. The will to work together for creating a new Egypt was increasingly replaced by confrontation. As the constitutional debate dragged out over minute differences, signs became obvious that the democratic process stalled and even reversed.

Despite the growing public resentment, Mursi and the FJP acted as a lobby group of the MB leadership. Evidence for this can be found in the shift the MB’s electoral performance when comparing the parliamentary elections of winter 2011 with the presidential elections of June 2012. While the parliamentary elections showed that the FJP was particularly strong in middle-class areas in all major cities, their influence waned in these areas. As shown elsewhere, the presidential elections evidence a ruralisation of the MB vote. This trend is further traceable in the results of the constitutional referendum in January 2013. The election results are a reflection of the conservative politics of the MB and its FJP, which found more attraction amongst the more traditional electorate of rural regions. The urban middle-class however turned increasingly away as it disagreed with the MBs social and economic policies.

The tension between the MB and its opponents opened the backdoor for a return of the military and, alongside, proponents of the old regime. After a year of political impasse, the growing influence of the anti-Mursi campaign could be also felt on the Egyptian street and on various online platforms. The zenith of the protest was reached with the demonstrations of June 2013. Still, the intervention of secular social movements was only the final constellation in the triangular political game. It opened the door for a ‘counter-revolution’ at the hand of the military elite.

In contrast, the first parliamentary election in Tunisia forced al-Nahda into forming coalitions. Calling the fact that none of the parties managed to secure a majority; Bellin calls this electoral tie ‘luck’ (Bellin, Drivers of Democracy: Lessons from Tunisia, 2013). Although it is arguable whether it was luck or deliberate political choice, it produced a situation which demanded cooperation. The crucial element was however that al-Nahda did not only choose Islamist parties as coalition partners. Instead they reached out to socialist parties in particular. Even when the care-taker government came under strain with the murder of Chokri Belaid and, six months later, of Mohamed Brahmi, al-Nahda did not isolate itself. Condemning the assassinations of politicians who were critical of al-Nahda, it refused to be draw into a debate about the dangers of Islamist actors in politics. Despite the crisis, it called for restraint and showed a determination to emphasise the need for a united coalition. While al-Nahda’s conciliatory tone was vital aspect of the parties political success, it nevertheless hindered the implementation of decisive economic policies. The effects of al-Nahda’s failure to fulfil the economic expectations of its constituency could then be felt in the parliamentary elections of

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October 2014. Al-Nahda had to concede considerable losses. Nevertheless, al-Ghannoushi emphasised that the democratic vote needs to be respected and stressed that the overall success of the democratisation process needs to be celebrated. Subsequently, al-Nahda’s commitment to national conciliation can be also seen in the party’s decision not to run a presidential candidate in the winter elections of 2014/15. The run-up to the elections indicated that the Nidaa Tounes candidate Beji Caid Essebsi was in close competition with Moncef Marzouki from the centre-left Al Mottamar (also known as Congrès pour la République).Despite having to face a challenge to democratic transition by Essebsi, who represented the old regime, al-Nahda did not challenge the process. It thus demonstrated its commitment to democratic transition, a commitment which is now challenged by President Essebsi, who aims to curtail al-Nahda’s influence rather than aim for a politics of consensus and inclusion.

Conclusion: Transition from Authoritarianism and the Process of Democratisation The article established that SMs have a crucial role to play in processes of democratic transition. They are, no doubt, important in the preparation to political change as they are often crucial players in opposition to authoritarian regimes. Less recognised is however the central role of social movements play in democratisation processes once authoritarian regimes have fallen. Parallel to the development of a new state-system, some movements take the opportunity and establish parties of their own. By formalising their mobilising structures, they take up the prospect of participation in the negotiations about the legal and political framework of the new political system. However, the transition from SM to party, which is neither an evolutionary nor a sequential process, is not merely an adaptation to new political circumstances. On the contrary, it requires a SM to moderate and show willingness to act as a representative of the people rather than as a lobby group which is defined by narrow group interests. Emerging parties therefore need to let go of a crucial element of SM activity, namely opposition against the state, to engage in constructive politics marked by negotiation and conciliation. This leads them away from protest to formalised participation.

When discussing the impact of social movements in democratic transitions as these kicked off in Tunisia and Egypt following the events of the Arab Spring, Islamist organisations in both countries provide us with two particularly interesting cases. Here we have two related Islamist movements which dominated informal opposition as social movement actors in the past decades. While neither of them was driving the outburst of protests in winter 2010 and early 2011, they subsequently took leading roles in processes of democratic consolidation. The strength of comparing the diverging trajectories of these two Islamist movements lies not in similar ideological frames, but rather we can trace differences in their transition from officially banned opposition groups to leading political parties. As such, these groups shifted their focus from protest to engagement in formal politics. In both cases, these parties were remarkably successful in the first free parliamentary elections. Yet, in one case, that is the Muslim Brotherhood in Egypt, their contribution to democratic consolidation failed, while in the other case, that of al-Nahda in Tunisia, the hope for the of democratic endurance remains. There are, of course, a number of context related reasons which particularly affect the Egyptian and the Tunisian case.

In the case of Egypt, we can see that the MB was not able to meet the challenge of redefining their organisational identity and reshape their mobilising structures in a way that allowed them to retain their support base. The reasons for this failure lies in the MB’s inability to cut the umbilical cord which connected the mother-organisation with its newly established party.

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For the same reason they were unable to maintain a positive or at least a pragmatist relationship to pro-democratic competitors on the secular side. Effectively the MB contributed to fracturing the democratic political spectrum, which in turn opened an opportunity for the military to return to power.

In contrast to Egypt, the military does not have the same status in Tunisia. Overcoming the personalistic political regime under Ben Ali, the danger to democratic consolidation is rather stemming from remnants of the political elite. Despite immense political challenges, we can see that al-Nahda kept to a pragmatist and inclusive policy and thus maintained positive links to democracy-supporting political forces. In terms of organisational structure, al-Nahda made a clear decision to fully transform into a political party, thus leaving its social movement origins in the past.

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