The maturity of societies is not measured by the number of their constitutions or the multiplicity of their parties, but by their ability to recognize the other as an equal partner in the homeland.
Constitutions can be easily written, but the harder task is for them to transform into a social culture that governs public behavior. This is where the dilemma of the Middle East begins, where the building of institutions preceded the building of culture. In many experiences, democracy appeared as a modern body carrying a social mind still captive to tribalism and sub-identities.
Over the past century, the region transitioned between nationalism, socialism, and then political Islam, culminating in multiparty systems and modern constitutions. Despite this diversity, the fundamental question remained: Why have state-building projects faltered despite numerous constitutions, multiple elections, and changing regimes?
A fundamental part of the answer lies in the fact that the acceptance of the other has not evolved into a stable culture, but has remained tied to the nature and balances of power. Those who are religiously different might be accepted but nationally rejected, or celebrated nationally but marginalized on a sectarian basis. Or they might be granted their rights as long as they align with the authority's discourse, only to be marginalized when they differ.
Thus, citizenship became a mutable concept, without fixed value. The Iraqi experience since 1958 stands out as a clear example of this complexity. Successive regimes and diverse slogans followed, and after 2003, Iraq entered a phase of broad political and constitutional pluralism.
However, institutional transformation did not produce a similar shift in political culture, as sectarianism, nationalism, and tribalism remained powerfully active in shaping political behavior. In many cases, parties transformed into extensions of social identities, rather than unifying national institutions.
As for Iran after 1979, it took a different path in form, but converged with Iraq in outcome. The system was founded on a clear ideological reference point, and political pluralism became constrained by that reference, making the acceptance of the other possible within that framework, but difficult outside it. Thus, the tools differed, but the challenge remained the same: how to build a modern state in a society that has not yet settled on the concept of inclusive citizenship?
This problem is not limited to these two models but extends to most countries in the region, where regimes redefined citizenship according to their identities—national, religious, or political—instead of building it on the basis of equal rights. In all cases, the modern state remained an incomplete project because society itself had not resolved its relationship with primordial loyalties.
Perhaps Ibn Khaldun was the first to point to the roots of this problem when he made group solidarity the basis for the rise and fall of states, viewing it as a bond that precedes law in shaping loyalties. Centuries later, Ali al-Wardi re-examined society from the perspective of the conflict between Bedouin values and the demands of the modern state, indicating that changing regimes does not necessarily mean changing the social structure.
In modern political thought, Tocqueville posits that democracy is not merely ballot boxes, but a civic culture founded on equality and respect for differences. Huntington, meanwhile, warns of a dangerous gap that arises when political modernization precedes social modernization, where institutions are imported before the values that protect them are formed.
The experiences of East Asia offer significant insight in this context: Japan, South Korea, and Singapore did not begin with multiparty pluralism, but with education, institutional discipline, and human development, before political participation expanded later as an extension of long social and economic evolution.
In the same context, various experiences emerged in the Arab Gulf states, not based on replicating the Western party-political model, but on building their own development and administrative paths. They linked state legitimacy to their ability to achieve stability, development, improve quality of life, and gradually expand participation. These experiences have proven that the success of systems is not measured by their similarity, but by their ability to adapt to their environments and achieve a balance between stability, development, and participation.
Conversely, other Arab experiences have shown that replicating the party-political model in socially divided environments did not necessarily lead to the entrenchment of democracy. Instead, it sometimes contributed to solidifying sub-identities and transforming parties into sectarian and tribal arms, leading to quota systems, declining state efficiency, and widespread corruption.
In some cases, elections became a tool for reproducing divisions rather than overcoming them. This does not imply a rejection of democracy or the proposal of a single alternative model, but rather emphasizes that political systems cannot be measured by a single criterion, and their success is linked to their harmony with the social environment and their ability to develop it gradually.
The problem is not with democracy itself, but with the assumption that it can be transplanted as a ready-made package without undergoing a parallel phase of social construction. The region's experiences have proven that changing regimes is easier than changing societies, and that political transformation without cultural transformation remains incomplete, which is why various intellectual projects have faltered, as the relationship between citizen and state has not been sufficiently redefined.
Ultimately, it can be said that state-building in the Middle East begins with human development. The acceptance of the other is not a result of democracy, but a prerequisite for its success. When citizenship becomes a firmly established value in education, culture, and behavior, the form of the political system becomes capable of evolving. In its absence, even the best constitutions will remain unable to produce a stable state, because a state is not built solely on texts, but in the consciousness of those who are supposed to live within it.
