One of the paradoxes of states in the Middle East is that the mythology of Arab nationalism once described their borders as unnatural impositions by western imperialistic powers, yet rarely have borders been as enduring, or have states once deemed to be artificial creations remained as geographically unified, even amid war.
The region is replete with examples of countries that could have shattered in times of conflict but didn’t. One could have made a fortune during Lebanon’s civil war being paid for every prediction that the country would be formally partitioned. Yet after the conflict ended, and despite the fact that rival sectarian militias had controlled territories of their own, Lebanon was reunified and remains a centralised country today – some would say too centralised, given its localism and regionalism.
Similarly, while Syria after the uprising against the regime of Bashar Al Assad was fragmented, with Damascus losing control over most border areas and remote regions, it never looked as if independent smaller entities would permanently emerge from this. Most recently, the Syrian government under President Ahmad Al Shara has sought to reconstitute the fractured state, and made strides in this direction by retaking previously autonomous areas under the Kurdish-led Syrian Democratic Forces.
Even in Yemen, the political agenda of the Southern Transitional Council, which supports independence for southern Yemen, was met with pushback from the internationally recognised government and several regional neighbours. This is despite the fact that Yemen had been two countries before May 1990 – when it was unified – and the fact that the Houthis today control much of the north.
Particularly striking is that the language of division or partition is a recurring one in western and Israeli discourse on the Middle East. The prevailing mood in policy circles in the US and Europe, as well as in Israel, is to assume that separation and division are naturally attractive in Arab countries, and that unity is anomalous.
Such conclusions derive from a form of essentialism in the interpretation of Arab societies, where the tendency in the West and Israel is to overstate the forces of sectarianism, tribalism and other primary identities at the expense of broader identities that integrate societies. The reality is that multiple identities often co-exist in the same people, with specific circumstances reinforcing one or the other.
Prior to Syria’s civil war, many Syrians had a sectarian identity, which they usually avoided mentioning because this ran afoul of the official Arab nationalism of the ruling Baath Party and the implicit Syrian nationalism of the Assad regime. Yet Syrians could also be fervent Arab or Syrian nationalists much of that time. When the country entered civil war in 2011, however, the minority status of the regime and its sectarian reflexes heightened ethno-sectarian tensions across the board.
This multiplicity of identities in individuals is one reason why, while break-ups may seem inevitable in many countries, unity often prevails, no matter how imperfect it may be. States are usually remarkable constructs in the way they can absorb differences, encompass and manage a multitude of social groups, and create economies to sustain them. When such needs come to the fore among citizens, primary identities recede.
By extension, multifaceted societies often hesitate to embrace division because what comes afterwards is not expected to be better than what exists. Lebanon is a society often cited as one ripe for sectarian partition, which supporters will describe more softly as federalism, confederalism or what have you. While they may talk of federalism, however, their real ambition is to seek a divorce among sects.
Yet there are many Lebanese, even if their sectarian identification is strong, who see little appeal in this, largely because living in sectarian entities offers few economic or social advantages. Sectarian mini-states would be too economically feeble to stand up as independent entities, and would not prevent youths from emigrating. No young person wants to live in tiny sectarian ghettos, not in a world offering enthralling dissimilarities.
Another major reason for why major powers in the Arab world resist the break-up of states is that they do not want to see similar dynamics at home. External factors have historically played a major role in maintaining state unity. Turkey and Saudi Arabia have been essential in supporting the Syrian regime’s efforts to reunify Syria and securing US approval for this. During Lebanon’s civil war, the Syrian regime of Hafez Al Assad, which divided the Lebanese like no other, nonetheless never allowed a formalisation of partition because Syria itself was vulnerable to similar dynamics.
Much the same was true of Syria during its thirteen-year conflict after 2011. While Syria’s border zones were exploited by outside parties, no state ever sought to permanently alter its borders for fear their regional rivals would try to do the same, to their disadvantage.
In a sense then, the unity of Arab states is based largely on something more profound in the region: reassurance in the status quo. Regional change is often radical, bringing uncertainty rather than amelioration. This is as true within societies as it is in the broader Middle East, building constituencies usually resisting far-reaching transformation.
This year will be the centennial of the Sykes-Picot Agreement, which helped divide the purported Arab nation into myriad states. Yet at a time when partitionist plans are facing setbacks in the region, one inescapable conclusion is that these states have shown surprising attachment to the “lines in the sand” drawn by western imperialists.
