The Long Revolution of the Global South. Samir Amin

it could very well have been the segments of the ruling classes, hoping in this way to destabilize the governments and force them to share the advantages of rule, or maybe even replace them. As the African proverb says: “The fish rots from the head down.” Fratricidal conflicts are rarely the spontaneous result of unrest among the people. It is almost always the ruling classes, or their segments, that organize such conflicts. That they are exploiting objective realities, more or less poorly managed by established authorities, should never lead us to overlook the strategies of those who are directly responsible for these conflicts. It is true in this case, just as elsewhere in Africa, Asia, or, of course, Europe. In any case, the flight of peasants from the river served well the interests of a new class benefiting from irrigated land, which they seized and wanted to empty of its population to develop agribusiness supported by foreign lenders and the World Bank. These beneficiaries, of course, are all from the Maure (all Arabs) and Senegalese (not necessarily originally from the region) bureaucracies. In some respects, they are as thick as thieves.

       The Sudan

      A similar tragedy, but on an altogether different scale, has bathed Sudan in blood for thirty years.

      I did not visit Sudan, unfortunately, but was only in Khartoum three or four times after 1973, when the situation permitted during one of the short interludes between two dictators. This was always at the invitation of the Sudanese left, the Communist Party and the Popular Front—all were very active at the University, and also in trade unions and other working-class organizations. But they were always victims of the electoral democracy advocated by the popular uprisings they had led. Control of the electoral majorities by the traditional leadership of the Ansar Mahdists inevitably led to the same people in government and then the same chaos led to a coup d’état, be it military, Islamist, or a combination of the two. But what can be done? How can these traditional authorities be abolished and, at the same time, the norms of democracy, even a revolutionary one, still be respected? This was always the unending topic of my very long discussion sessions—the Sudanese can spend the entire night talking—with a large number of the country’s militants. I must confess that Sudan exerts an irresistible attraction over me because of its completely successful mixture of Arab (particularly Egyptian) and African cultures.

      The question of the civil war was also always at the center of our discussions. And when the circumstances—that is, in moments when a democratic government was in power at Khartoum—allowed the opening of negotiations with the rebels from the south (which often took place in Addis Ababa), I did not hesitate to respond to the confidence the two parties placed in me, not to participate (in what capacity?), but to monitor their progress. The peoples of the south obviously not only have the right, but also have reason to revolt. Democrats in the north share their views. Consequently, the two parties, when they met, really got on well and agreement was sincere. But no agreement could ever be implemented because, each time, the military and the Islamists violently overthrew the democratic government and restarted their war. The Islamists carry total responsibility for the disaster.

      This is first of all a disaster for Sudan, which, thanks to the Islamists, no longer exists. Their war exhausted the country’s economy, despite the immense financial support received from Saudi Arabia. Consequently, it is no longer only the south that has rebelled; it is the entire country, from Darfur in the west to Kassala in the east. But what is important to these idiotic fanatics is that they can prohibit beer in Khartoum, cut off the hands of small thieves (but not the biggest ones), impose the veil on young girls, etc. Their leader, Hassan al-Turabi, which the Western media are pleased to present as an “intellectual,” belongs rather to the group of government criminals. It is amusing to note that his name in Arabic—if a short “a” is substituted for the pronunciation of the long “a”—means “gravedigger.” That is what he is called in Sudan.

      Sudan’s destruction suits the dominant powers in the world and regional systems quite well. For the United States, Sudan is “too large.” In fact, for Washington, all countries in the world are too large, except for the United States. As is well known, the war stopped work on the Jonglei Canal, on which the future of Egypt and northern Sudan depends, however. I am perfectly aware that some environmental movements condemn in principle all major infrastructure projects. In the first volume of my memoirs, I said what I thought of these simplifications concerning the Aswan High Dam.

       The Gulf Countries

      I also know quite well the countries of the Arab Mashreq. I do not have much to say about the Gulf, which I visited in 1971 and 1974. Kuwait and the Emirates are not nations or even countries. I see them rather as supermarkets. In Kuwait, I met only Egyptians, Palestinians, Syrians, and Lebanese. The native inhabitants pay, but do not work. One day in Dubai, I got the crazy idea to stroll through the city before the meeting I was to attend. Upon entering a telephone store, I saw perhaps three thousand models (a figure provided by the Indian owner, proud of his den) displayed on five rows of shelving in the 100 square meters of the shop. I had neither the need nor desire to buy anything. Later I was told: “No, no, you don’t go into a store in that manner. You go with a precise list of everything you want to buy, model X, type Y, color, etc. Obviously, you will find it.” The cities of the Gulf are, of course, places where you die of boredom.

      Despite the complete stupidity of these U.S. protectorates of the Gulf, there are, all the same, Bedouins capable of making a critical assessment of the situation. What is the future? The few intellectuals from the region deserve admiration for their courage. It is said that things are changing and praise for Dubai’s “success” is making headlines. Looking a little closer, I was not convinced. Certainly, there are lively business activities, choice of the city as headquarters for multinational corporations (freed, consequently, from any control), tourism for the rich (for me the place is too boring to be worth the trouble!), skyscrapers, and luxury villas. But there is nothing to indicate any inventive capacity. Dubai remains an opulent relay for a globalization shaped by others.

      Bahrain is certainly more interesting. This Arab-Persian bazaar has an ancient history, and while the vestiges of the Qarmatian Revolution—a Muslim millenarian communism—have disappeared, perhaps it has left mental traces that can explain the active political life that characterizes the country, which is quite exceptional in the region.

      I was never curious to visit Saudi Arabia, which is the height of horror for me. I know that this country, which presumes to give moral lessons to the entire world, imports half (yes, half—50 percent) of the world’s production of pornography. The French sociologist Jean-Louis Boutillier, a friend of great humor, told me about how evenings are spent there: in groups of men (and separately women) seated before five porn movies playing at the same time. I’ll pass over the rest.

      The south of the Arabian Peninsula is quite different. True societies are found there.

      En route to Karachi in 1975, we made a stop for three days in Muscat. It was a difficult but amusing entry into the country. The Dhofar war was in full swing and the Sultanate’s English police had undoubtedly made up long lists of undesirable Arabs. The police officer seized my passport, called his supervisor, and told me to wait. While waiting for them to make their decision—after many calls to the Interior Ministry, no doubt—I explained to Isabelle that if they wanted to turn us back, they had a good pretext. Isabelle had no visa on her French passport (as an Egyptian, I did not need one, in principle). I explained to her that she should keep silent about her feminism, remain seated, keep her head covered with a scarf for the occasion, look at her toes, not utter a sound, and refrain from answering anyone who came to speak to her. The cop returned and said: “Go, everything is fine.” I thought for a moment, “Do I take out Isabelle’s passport?” Then I had a brilliant idea. I took out my identity card and, in the part called “Observations,” I wrote in Arabic in this order: chantatan wa zawja (two suitcases and one wife!). I got Isabelle’s attention with a “psst” and summoned her with my finger. She rose, picked up the two suitcases, and without lifting her head, followed me with small steps, staying behind me as I walked with my head held high. We left the airport, got into a taxi, and then burst out laughing. We fooled them!

       Yemen

      I am not familiar with the former South Yemen, although I have met many political