Egyptian Civil Society and Political Education: Opportunities for Resilient Authoritarianism, Or Prospects for a Radical Educational Movement?

Egyptian Civil Society and Political Education: Opportunities for Resilient Authoritarianism, or Prospects for a Radical Educational Movement?

A thesis submitted to The University of Manchester for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy in the Faculty of Humanities

2017

Nadim N. Mirshak

School of Social Sciences

Table of Contents

Index of Tables ...... 7 Acronyms and Abbreviations ...... 8 Abstract ...... 10 Declaration ...... 11 Copyright Statement ...... 12 Dedication and Acknowledgments ...... 13 Chapter 1: Introduction ...... 14

1.1 Topic ...... 14 1.2 Research Questions ...... 16 1.3 Rationale ...... 16 1.3.1 Moving beyond the Authoritarianism/Democratisation Paradigms ...... 17 1.3.2 Contentious Politics and Civil Society Resistance Post-uprisings ...... 19 1.3.3 Political Education and Hegemonic Contestation ...... 21 1.4 Overall Argument ...... 22 1.5 Original Contributions ...... 23 1.6. Research Methods ...... 25 1.6.1 Towards a Typology ...... 25 1.6.2 Sampling ...... 28 1.6.3 Criteria for Selection and Participating Organisations ...... 29 1.6.4 Approach to Fieldwork and Data Collection Methods ...... 32 1.6.4.1 Semi-structured Interviews ...... 32 1.6.4.2 Overt Participant Observation ...... 33 1.6.4.3 Secondary Documents ...... 35 1.6.5 Data Analysis Methods ...... 35 1.7 Thesis Limitations ...... 36 1.8 Thesis Outline ...... 38 Chapter 2: The Potentials and Limitations of Literatures on Authoritarianism, Political Education and Civil Society ...... 42

2.1 Introduction ...... 42 2.2 The Context: Uprisings and Beyond ...... 43 2.3 Moving beyond the Authoritarianism/Democratisation Paradigms ...... 44 2.4 Bringing the Critical into Education ...... 46 2

2.4.1 Theories of Social and Cultural Reproduction ...... 49 2.4.2 Conceptualisations of Political Education ...... 57 2.5 Contentious Politics and Civil Society Resistance Post-uprisings ...... 62 2.5.1 An Overview of Egyptian Civil Society ...... 64 2.5.2 The Challenges and Repression of Egyptian Civil Society ...... 66 2.5.3 The Muslim Brotherhood and Civil Society ...... 70 2.5.4 Limitations of Civil Society Resistance in Egypt ...... 72 2.6 Conclusion ...... 73 Chapter 3: Hegemonic Contestation, Political Education and the ‘Travelling’ Gramsci: Rethinking Resistance in Post-uprisings Egypt ...... 77

3.1 Introduction ...... 77 3.2 Against Economism ...... 79 3.3 Hegemonic Contestation, the Integral State and the War of Position ...... 82 3.3.1 Defining Hegemony ...... 82 3.3.2 The Integral State and Civil Society as a Terrain of Hegemonic Contestation ... 86 3.3.3 War of Position and Revolutionary Withdrawals ...... 90 3.4 Hegemony as an Educational Relationship ...... 93 3.4.1 Education for Critical Consciousness ...... 95 3.5 Building Alliances and Overcoming Claims of Class Essentialism ...... 101 3.6 Travelling Gramsci ...... 106 3.6.1 Gramsci in the Middle East ...... 108 3.6.2 Articulating Arab Civil Society ...... 110 3.6.2.1 Authentic Civil Society ...... 111 3.6.2.2 A Society of Cities ...... 112 3.6.2.3 Hybrid Civil Society ...... 113 3.6.2.4 Secular Arab Civil Society ...... 114 3.6.3 Conceptualising a Gramscian Approach to Egyptian Civil Society ...... 115 3.6.4 The Modern Prince and the Diminishing Role of Political Parties in Egypt? ... 118 3.6.5 Conceptualising Political Education under Authoritarianism ...... 119 3.7 Conclusion ...... 121 Chapter 4: The Egyptian State, Formal Education, and Political Socialisation ...... 125

4.1 Introduction ...... 125 4.2 Formal Education and the Failure to Provide the Basics ...... 126 4.3 Formal Education and Political Socialisation ...... 128 4.3.1 Formal Education under Nasser’s Egypt ...... 131 4.3.2 Formal Education under Sadat’s Egypt ...... 136 3

4.3.3 The Political Economy of Mubarak’s Fractured Hegemony ...... 140 4.3.4 Weakened Hegemony under Mubarak ...... 143 4.3.5 Formal Education under Mubarak and Contemporary Egypt ...... 145 4.4 Conclusion ...... 150 Chapter 5: Egyptian Civil Society, a Terrain for Political Education? ...... 153

5.1 Introduction ...... 153 5.2 Distinguishing between Direct and Indirect Political Education ...... 154 5.3 Direct Political Education ...... 156 5.3.1 Traditional Pedagogical Approach ...... 156 5.3.1.1 Political Seminars ...... 157 5.3.1.2 Political Schools ...... 159 5.3.1.3 Summer Camps ...... 161 5.3.1.4 Education for Liberation ...... 164 5.3.2 Facilitating the Solutions Approach ...... 166 5.3.2.1 Reading Groups and Cinema Clubs ...... 167 5.3.2.2 Access to Information as Political Education ...... 168 5.3.2.3 Online Media-Based Methods...... 170 5.4 Indirect Political Education ...... 173 5.4.1 An Alternative Higher Education? ...... 173 5.4.2 Practice-based Approaches ...... 175 5.4.2.1 Games and Simulations ...... 176 5.4.3 Publications ...... 179 5.5 Conclusion ...... 181 Chapter 6: Resilient Authoritarianism and the Struggle over Civil Society ...... 185

6.1 Introduction ...... 185 6.2 Soft Repression ...... 186 6.2.1 Bureaucratic and Legal Restrictions ...... 187 6.2.2 Funding Restrictions ...... 191 6.2.3 The Protest and Terrorist Entities Laws ...... 192 6.2.4 Systematic Depoliticisation (of Education) ...... 194 6.3 Hard Repression ...... 197 6.3.1 Arrests and Crackdowns ...... 197 6.3.2 State Security Involvement ...... 199 6.3.3 Fearing the State and the Self-Disciplining of Civil Society ...... 202 6.4 Conclusion ...... 205 Chapter 7: Resistance Practices and Challenging Authoritarianism ...... 208 4

7.1 Introduction ...... 208 7.2 Educational Practices ...... 210 7.2.1 Superficially Depoliticised Education through Games and Simulations ...... 210 7.2.2 Hybrid Education, Crowdsourcing and Democratising Education ...... 214 7.3 Legal Resistance through Formation ...... 217 7.3.1 Registering as Non-Profit Organisations or Legal Firms ...... 218 7.3.2 Functioning as an Unregistered Initiative (Mobadra) ...... 219 7.4 Financial Resistance ...... 221 7.4.1 Crowdfunding ...... 221 7.4.2 Sponsorships with Business ...... 224 7.5 Building Alliances ...... 226 7.5.1 Networking and Sharing Knowledge ...... 227 7.5.2 Building Alliances between Political Parties and Rights-Based Organisations 229 7.6 Building Organic Ties ...... 231 7.7 Conclusion ...... 232 Chapter 8: Conclusion: Resilient Authoritarianism, or Prospects for a Radical Educational Movement? ...... 236

8.1 Introduction and Summary of Key Arguments ...... 236 8.2 Analysing the Relations between Authoritarianism, Political Education and Civil Society Resistance in Post-uprisings Egypt ...... 237 8.2.1 Hegemonic Contestation and Moving Beyond the Authoritarianism/Democratisation Paradigms ...... 238 8.2.2 Egyptian Formal Education and Political Socialisation ...... 239 8.2.3 Conceptualising Political Education under Authoritarian Contexts ...... 241 8.2.4 Widening Sources of Oppression and Analysing Authoritarianism in Post- uprisings Egypt ...... 244 8.2.5 Diversifying Resistance under Authoritarian Contexts ...... 246 8.3 The Travelling Gramsci Revisited ...... 249 8.3.1 Primacy of the Working Class and the Heterogeneity of Civil Society ...... 249 8.3.2 The Modern Prince and Political Parties in Egypt ...... 250 8.3.3 Gramsci and Political Education under Authoritarian Contexts ...... 251 8.3.4 Gramsci and Widening the Sources of Repression and Methods of Resistance252 8.4 Tensions and Critical Reflections ...... 254 8.5 Directions for Future Research ...... 257 8.6 Conclusion ...... 259 Bibliography ...... 261

Appendix 1: Interview Prompt Sheet ...... 285

Appendix 2: List of Interviewees (in order of interview date) ...... 288

Appendix 3: Primary Documents ...... 290

Word count: 79,814

Index of Tables

Table 1: List of Observed Events ...... 33

Acronyms and Abbreviations

ADEF Arab Digital Expression Foundation

BFP Bread and Freedom Party

CIHRS Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies

CILAS Cairo Institute of Liberal Arts and Sciences

CSO Civil Society Organisation

ECP Egyptian Communist Party

ECESR Egyptian Centre for Economic and Social Rights

EFTU Egyptian Federation of Trade Unions

EFITU Egyptian Federation of Independent Trade Unions

EGP Egyptian Pound

EIPR Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights

ERSAP Economic Reform and Structural Adjustment Plan

ES Education Square

ESDP Egyptian Social Democratic Party

GONGO Government-Organised Nongovernmental Organisation

GDP Gross Domestic Product

HRW Human Rights Watch

ICNL International Centre for Not-for-profit Law

IMF International Monetary Fund

ISA Ideological State Apparatuses

MB Muslim Brotherhood

MNC Multinational Corporation

MoE Ministry of Education

MoI Ministry of Interior

MoSS Ministry of Social Solidarity

NCHR National Council for Human Rights

NCW National Council for Women

NDP National Democratic Party

NGO Nongovernmental Organisation

NM Nahdet El Mahrousa

PSA Popular Socialist Alliance

RS Revolutionary Socialists

RSA Repressive State Apparatus

SCAF Supreme Council of the Armed Forces

TA Tahrir Academy

UNESCO United Nations Educational, Scientific and Cultural Organisation

UNDP United Nations Development Programme

USD United States Dollar

WB World Bank

Abstract

The University of Manchester Nadim N. Mirshak Doctor of Philosophy (PhD) Egyptian Civil Society and Political Education: Opportunities for Resilient Authoritarianism, or Prospects for a Radical Educational Movement? 2017

This thesis critically analyses the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt. The thesis argues that education is political, and plays various political roles. This infers that education can constitute a vital component of a regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy, as well as a method of challenging such efforts by developing people’s critical consciousness. By utilising a Gramscian framework, the thesis considers education and civil society to be terrains of hegemonic contestation between the Egyptian state and civil society organisations, whereby the opposition can develop counter-hegemonic struggles through political education and a plethora of alternative resistance practices. Empirically, the thesis explores the concept of political education in Egyptian civil society, considers the methods employed by the state to attempt to repress it, and analyses how civil society organisations (CSOs) seek to overcome these restrictions. Theoretically, it is interested in how Gramscian concepts can ‘travel’ to the Egyptian context, and additionally aid in understanding the nature of authoritarianism, and its resistance in post-uprisings Egypt. Fieldwork took place in Cairo in 2014, and involved semi-structured interviews, participant observations, and the analysis of secondary documents drawn from sixteen CSOs comprising political parties and movements, rights-based organisations and educational NGOs. The thesis’ main arguments are as follows. Political education takes a variety of direct and indirect forms within Egyptian civil society. Direct political education explicitly teaches about politics, whereas indirect political education’s terminologies and content are covert but carry long-term political implications, as they are more likely to negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation in the post-uprisings context. This implies that the Egyptian state attempts to repress oppositional elements within civil society, and their educational activities, by employing violent (hard) and non-violent (soft) methods. As a result, CSOs adapt their aspects of resistance in order to function and survive under the current repressive context. These efforts to resist and build a counter-hegemony include CSOs superficially depoliticising their education, crowdsourcing, crowdfunding, and building alliances. Importantly, these acts of resistance, in addition to others, do not appear, in hindsight, to be explicitly oppositional or political, however, the thesis maintains that they must be understood in Gramscian terms. The findings imply that education should constitute a vital component of any discussion of social transformation and resistance in post-uprisings Egypt. Moreover, political education, as a concept, needs to be broadened to consider the variety of forms that it takes under authoritarian contexts. Consequently, when relating Gramscian theoretical frameworks to different world regions, it is essential that the local political, economic and socio-cultural contexts are considered. This makes it possible for such frameworks to travel and thus retain analytical vigour. Finally, despite the current authoritarian turn in Egypt, the state is still incapable of completely subduing civil society. This suggests that authoritarianism is never absolute, but is always being challenged through various methods that do not always adhere to those of contentious politics. 10

Declaration

No portion of the work referred to in the thesis has been submitted in support of an application for another degree or qualification of this or any other university or other institute of learning.

i. The author of this thesis (including any appendices and/or schedules to this thesis) owns certain copyright or related rights in it (the “Copyright”) and he has given The University of Manchester certain rights to use such Copyright, including for administrative purposes. ii. Copies of this thesis, either in full or in extracts and whether in hard or electronic copy, may be made only in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 (as amended) and regulations issued under it or, where appropriate, in accordance with licensing agreements which the University has from time to time. This page must form part of any such copies made. iii. The ownership of certain Copyright, patents, designs, trademarks and other intellectual property (the “Intellectual Property”) and any reproductions of copyright works in the thesis, for example graphs and tables (“Reproductions”), which may be described in this thesis, may not be owned by the author and may be owned by third parties. Such Intellectual Property and Reproductions cannot and must not be made available for use without the prior written permission of the owner(s) of the relevant Intellectual Property and/or Reproductions. iv. Further information on the conditions under which disclosure, publication and commercialisation of this thesis, the Copyright and any Intellectual Property University IP Policy (see http://documents.manchester.ac.uk/display.aspx?DocID=24420), in any relevant Thesis restriction declarations deposited in the University Library, The University Library’s regulations (see http://www.library.manchester.ac.uk/about/regulations/) and in The University’s policy on Presentation of Theses.

Dedication and Acknowledgments

I would firstly like to thank my supervisors Ian Bruff and Gemma Edwards for all their support, encouragement and valuable advice. I am grateful for their patience and for constantly challenging me to make my arguments more succinct and direct. Supervising a thesis that focuses on Egypt is never an easy task especially under the current circumstances, but Ian and Gemma have taken the risk and for that I will always remain thankful. I would like to thank Emmanuel Pierre-Guittet for his advice, constructive feedback and support for researchers working on the Middle East, and Admos Chimhowu for his endless belief in my project. The comments and feedback offered by Nick Turnbull, Dimitris Papadimitriou and Beverly Metcalfe on my earlier drafts have been extremely helpful in shaping my thesis. I would also like to thank Sandra Pogodda, Michelle Obeid, Kevin Gillan, Linda Herrera and Elisa Greco for our interesting discussions, and Professor Ahmed Amin for encouraging me to pursue a career in academia. Additionally, Stuart Shields’ and Roberto Roccu’s comments on my thesis have been invaluable.

This thesis would have not been possible without the generous emotional and financial support of my parents Nasr Mirshak and Karen Sabongi. I am eternally grateful that they have instilled within me the importance of hard work, honesty, respect and the love of reading. I want to express my deep appreciation and indebtedness to my partner Katie Urnevitch who has showed me nothing but support, care and patience especially during the darkest hours of writing up. I promise to iron the curtains and finish the remaining maintenance work very soon. I would also like to thank the rest of my family, friends and colleagues at the University of Manchester, particularly Myra Sabongi, Gaby, Ian, Heather and Margaret “Nana” Baxendell, Esther Meininghaus, Stephanie Fisher, John, Tina and Howard Urnevitch, Ana Sofia Ganho, Ozan Ozavci, Lauren Banko, Monique Brown, Rich Williams, Paul James, Jinesh Mistry, Luke Bhatia, Henrique Furtado, Emmy Eklundh, Simon Chin-Yee, Thom Tyerman, Rachel Massey, Rob Schulz, Helen Underhill, Jon Las Heras, Matt Thompson and Abby Gilbert. A special thank you goes to Yasser and Rayessa and for everyone who has made my fieldwork an enriching and rewarding experience. Finally, I would like to dedicate the thesis to my grandparents Kyveli Tsirilakis and Oscar Sabongi who are truly and deeply missed; and to those willing to risk their lives to make Egypt a better place.

Chapter 1: Introduction

1.1 Topic

The Arab uprisings have transformed Egyptian politics and society for years to come. They represented a rupture that “has shaken the authoritarian order to its very foundation and introduced a new language and a new era of contentious politics and revolutions” (Gerges,

2014: 1). A new era that could witness people reclaim their rights, freedom, and importantly, prove incorrect the myth of Arab political exceptionalism. However, despite the initial optimism that surrounded the Egyptian uprisings, the transformation process that followed Mubarak’s fall in 2011 was tumultuous. This was initiated by the Supreme

Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF) assuming control after Mubarak’s resignation, followed by the Islamists (particularly the Muslim Brotherhood) gaining notable political leverage, resulting in the Muslim Brotherhood’s candidate Mohammed Morsi becoming

Egypt’s first elected civilian president in 2012. Less than a year later, Morsi was ousted by the military in July 2013, which paved the way for Field Marshal Abdel Fatah al-Sisi to become president in 2014.

As a result of such events, the optimism that once defined the Egyptian and Arab uprisings turned into cynicism, especially with the affected countries falling back into authoritarianism, and in some cases descending into civil war. Nonetheless, this pessimism neglects the changes that have been taking place since the start of the uprisings, such as the growth of civil society organisations (CSOs) that advocate democratic and social change, defend human rights, challenge economic and social inequalities and provide legal services for activists. Moreover, education that develops people’s critical consciousness constitutes an important, yet overlooked, component of their initiatives. Building on that, how education constitutes a vital component of a regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy, and how it can aid (and hinder) social change and resist oppression has largely been neglected in the uprisings academic literature. This is compounded when we consider informal 14 education that takes place outside of the education system and instead in civil society. In short, the literature does not analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt in a satisfactory manner. These three concepts – authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance – therefore comprise the thesis’ main building blocks and my positioning in the literature.

As al-Sisi’s repression is argued to have exceeded that experienced under Mubarak

(Ahmed, 2015; El Khawaga, 2014; Brown and Bentivoglio, 2015), it has become imperative to provide a more nuanced understanding of the nature of authoritarianism in post-uprisings Egypt by considering the various violent and non-violent methods employed to repress civil society and its educational initiatives. Distinguishing between both methods of repression signifies the augmented challenges facing Egyptian opposition especially after 2013 which in turn necessitates the need to explore, analyse and understand how civil society organisations (CSOs) have been adapting their strategies and methods to survive, function and educate under these circumstances.

Accordingly, a Gramscian framework that considers education and civil society to be terrains of hegemonic contestation between the state and the various social forces existing in civil society will provide an important foundation to understand how such contestation can take place across multiple fronts. This potentially opens up opportunities for CSOs to bypass and overcome the state’s repression and demonstrate that no matter how authoritarian a state is, it can be challenged by means that do not always adhere to conventional methods of resistance. Additionally and theoretically speaking, utilising this framework situates Gramscian theory within wider debates that focus on how Gramscian concepts can effectively ‘travel’ to global contexts, without losing their critical and analytical edge. In short, this thesis seeks to critically analyse the intimate relations

15 between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings

Egypt.

1.2 Research Questions

The primary research question that this thesis addresses is ‘How are authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance intimately related in post-uprisings Egypt?’

The subsidiary questions, which roughly correspond to the division of labour between the six substantive chapters (2-7), are:

i. How does a Gramscian approach conceptualise education and civil society, and

how does the relationship between these concepts provide for a more nuanced

understanding of the links between political education and civil society resistance

in post-uprisings Egypt?

ii. What has been the significance of the political socialisation role played by formal

education in contemporary Egyptian history?

iii. What are the alternative political educational initiatives being provided by Egyptian

Civil Society Organisations (CSOs)?

iv. What methods are being utilised by the Egyptian state when seeking to control

CSOs and limit the alternative political educational efforts provided by such

organisations?

v. What methods of resistance are being implemented by the CSOs to challenge the

state’s restrictions, and their own weaknesses?

1.3 Rationale

As is discussed in Chapter Two, the literature surrounding the ‘Arab uprisings’ and particularly the Egyptian case offers a wide range of analyses that encompass the multifarious aspects of the uprisings and the transformational processes that followed.

However, it is problematic with regards to a number of points relating to the interlinkages

16 between authoritarianism, education, and resistance. These are the binary conceptualisation of authoritarianism and democratisation, the overwhelming focus on contentious politics as opposed to less visible forms of contestation, and the role of education in social change and resistance. Accordingly, I now address these limitations, departing from which thus constitutes the thesis’ main rationale.

1.3.1 Moving beyond the Authoritarianism/Democratisation Paradigms

As mentioned at the start of the chapter, the uprisings have altered how we analyse revolutions, contentious politics and state-society relations, and importantly, have increased academic interest in the Middle East. Consequently, it did not take much time for the literature to start analysing the revolts and their political, economic and socio-cultural roots (examples include Abdelrahman, 2016; Chalcraft, 2016; Danahar, 2014; Bayat, 2013;

Roccu, 2013; Arafat, 2012; Korany and El-Mahdi, 2012; Sowers and Toensing, 2012;

Aswany, 2011; Amin, 2011; Cook, 2011). Moreover, a more specific strand of literature has concentrated on youth movements and their use of social media to instigate protests and social change (Faris, 2015; Herrera, 2014; 2012; Herrera and Sakr, 2014; Herrera and

Mansour, 2015). Finally, and as a response to the uprisings subsiding, another strand of literature surfaced to analyse and make sense of the uprising’s challenges (Achcar, 2016;

Brownlee, Masoud and Reynolds, 2015; Marfleet, 2016; Roberts, McCarthy and Ash,

2016; Masoud, 2015). With regards to the shift in academic focus Cavatorta highlights that:

[A]nalyses of the positive role of social media, the mobilisation of the youth, the strength of civil society activism, or the modernisation of party politics have been supplanted by studies examining the rise of sectarianism, the reaffirmation of the importance of the military and security forces, and the depoliticisation and disenchantment of ordinary citizens. In light of this extremely varied and often contradictory academic and policy-oriented literature on the Arab uprisings and their causes and consequences, it becomes very difficult to provide a balanced appraisal of what has genuinely changed in the region and what has remained unaltered. (2015: 135)

The literature on Egypt, as discussed in more detail in Chapter Two, was not immune from this shift and therefore became increasingly concerned with analysing al-Sisi’s authoritarianism, and the failings of the uprisings and Egyptian opposition. Hence, research has now become increasingly focused on authoritarian resilience, the rise of the military and security apparatuses, sectarianism and civil conflict, which risks moulding analysis within a binary opposition of authoritarianism versus democratisation. As Valbjorn (2014) argues, this approach represents a paradogma framing that fails to take into account the intricacies of authoritarianism and resistance, and fails to explain the political developments taking place in the post-uprisings context. In short, we should not assume that the absence of democratic change is always directly coupled with the persistence of authoritarian rule (Cavatorta, 2015: 142), and even if we fail to locate visible (i.e., state- directed) evidence of democratic change, it does not infer the complete absence of progressive initiatives.

The thesis therefore aims to go beyond the above dichotomy by utilising a Gramscian framework that considers the Egyptian state and civil society (and the oppositional forces within it) as existing in a dialectical relation whereby they reinforce and contest one another. In other words, while state and civil society can be distinguished from each other in methodological terms, they are not ‘naturally’ or ontologically separate in any meaningful sense, somehow with pre-determined, intrinsic, discrete properties of their own

(cf. Gramsci 1971: 159-60, 257-64). Hence, they inevitably confront and interact with one another in continuous and multifarious ways. Thus the concept of hegemonic contestation enables me to widen the scope of repression so as to analyse both the violent and non- violent methods employed by the state to silence opposition and maintain the status quo and the methods used to resist and challenge this. Considering the state and civil society as engaging in hegemonic contestation leads to the ongoing proliferation of various fronts across which social antagonisms could be manifest. This suggests the diversification of

18 both the sources of oppression and the methods of resistance as well, which in some respects is more likely in a context such as Egypt’s, given that more traditional Western means of political participation are less likely or impossible. In short, a Gramscian analysis is useful for arguing that authoritarianism, repression and hegemony are never absolute, and are constantly challenged in ways that are not necessarily visible, radical or explicitly political, but still of considerable potential significance.

1.3.2 Contentious Politics and Civil Society Resistance Post-uprisings

The literature surrounding the Egyptian uprisings has overwhelmingly concentrated on contentious politics, which includes demonstrations, strikes, sit-ins and other forms of direct political action that led to the uprisings of 2011 (e.g. Abdelrahman, 2016; Roberts,

McCarthy and Ash, 2016; Tohamy, 2016; Alexander and Bassiouny, 2014; Korany and El-

Mahdi, 2012; Soudias, 2011). However, as Abdalla (2015: 15) argues, “despite being credited with triggering the events of 2011, mobilised publics…only played a limited role in the transformational process”. It is arguably becoming more difficult to maintain the same revolutionary objectives and rhetoric employed between 2011 and 2013. Moreover, it is more challenging for the opposition to solely utilise contentious politics as a method of resistance as the state is more likely to repress it swiftly (especially after 2013), which risks alienating a large segment of Egyptian society who view such actions as causing disruption and instability (Maqbool, 2013). Therefore, it is important for social forces to start adapting to the current political context by exploring other avenues of resistance, which as suggested above are always open even in authoritarian societies. Therefore, just as it is important for CSOs to adapt to the current context, so too is the academic literature required to analyse how movements have been able to modify their strategies to function and survive under repression (Abdalla, 2015).

Accordingly, this thesis considers how CSOs have been able to adapt by utilising other forms of resistance which do not solely revolve around contentious politics. It therefore

19 considers education, alongside other methods, as offering the means by which CSOs can negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation and challenge the status quo. It is important that we consider counter-hegemonic educational and cultural initiatives, especially more informal and less visible examples, as they could potentially hold the limited opportunities available to help instigate social change; and challenge the taken-for-granted nature of certain historical, political and cultural narratives established under authoritarian regimes.

Building on that, and in order to broaden our conception of resistance, we need to account for the heterogeneity of social forces existing in Egyptian civil society. The 2011 uprising highlighted the richness of oppositional movements that crossed political, economic and socio-cultural barriers, and that accommodated for different interests and identities.

However, the literature on the uprisings has paid most attention to the Muslim Brotherhood

(e.g. Milton-Edwards, 2015; Ranko, 2015; Kandil, 2014; Tadros, 2014; Pargeter, 2013

Wickham, 2013; Zahid, 2012), and the labour movement (Alexander and Bassiouny, 2014;

Beinin, 2015; 2013; 2012; Bishara, 2012; De Smet, 2016a, Marfleet, 2016) as representatives of Egyptian opposition. Additionally, the interest in the Muslim

Brotherhood as an oppositional force capable of challenging the state preceded the events of 2011 (Kandil, 2011; Abdo, 2000; Berman, 2003; Butko, 2004; Sullivan and Abed-

Kotob, 1999). The same holds true for the Egyptian labour movement (Beinin, 2009;

Beinin and Lockman, 1988; Posusney, 1997; El-Mahdi and Marfleet, 2009).

With the current repercussions against civil society and specifically against the Muslim

Brotherhood, it has become unclear which particular social actors are capable of instigating change. Furthermore, the proletariat as such are no longer considered to be the only class capable of leading the process of social change (Agustin and Jorgensen, 2016).1

Nonetheless, this process should be instigated by social forces that are capable of building alliances amongst one another, without prioritising one force over the other. This is

1 I develop this argument in reference to the Middle East and Egypt in Chapter Three. 20 particularly significant in authoritarian contexts, whereby the possibilities for contestation are likely to mitigate against fixed understandings of how resistance should take place. It therefore becomes imperative that different class and non-class struggles are contextualised and considered, whereby this heterogeneity of social forces can develop solidarities and possibly alter the hegemonic system through a plethora of resistance methods. I take into account this heterogeneity of social forces by developing a three-fold typology (discussed below in section 1.6) that includes sixteen CSOs ranging from political parties and movements, rights-based groups to educational organisations. Crucially, education denotes a vital component of these organisations’ activities.

1.3.3 Political Education and Hegemonic Contestation

Egyptian education has over the years been able to attract scholarly interest that focused on its establishment, administration, and most importantly, its weaknesses, and the efforts exerted to reform it (Badrawi, 2011; Ginsburg and Megahed, 2011; Browne, 2012;

Cochran, 1986; 2008; 2012; Loveluck, 2012; Sobhy, 2012a; 2012b; Herrera and Torres,

2006; Hyde, 1978). However, how education is political and how educational institutions could play various political roles (in supporting or resisting regimes) have not been given enough attention. According to Mazawi (1999), research on Egyptian and Arab education infrequently analyses it politically or critically. Furthermore, debates concerned with education and power, critical social theory and critical pedagogy have been mostly absent from literature on the “Third World” and especially on the Middle East (Morrow and

Torres, 1995; Herrera and Torres, 2006; al-Bialawi, 1993; Badran, 2006; 2008).

Those that focus on analysing education through a critical lens do so within the frameworks of the formal education system (Attalah and Makar, 2014; Sobhy, 2012a;

2012b; Herrera and Torres, 2006; Badran, 2006; 2008; Abdalla, 2007). This is compounded when considering education that specifically teaches about citizenship, politics, and rights and duties. Some of the literature does specifically consider formal

21 citizenship education (Sobhy, 2015; Attalah and Makar, 2014; Soliman, 2014; Faour,

2013; Baraka, 2008; Aly, 1986; Faksh, 1980), but as I argue in chapters Two and Four, it tends to conservatively conceptualise education to the extent that it unintentionally helps maintain the status quo (i.e., serves a political socialisation function). Perhaps this is inevitable, because this education is provided under the auspices of the state, meaning that it is unlikely to allow for oppositional discourses and practices to develop. Accordingly, in keeping with the thesis’ Gramscian framework, it is imperative to look beyond the state and its education system and explore alternative educational spaces existing within civil society and its organisations. The thesis therefore develops a concept of political education inspired by Gramsci, but that also considers the limitations associated with some of his ideas on education and resistance.

1.4 Overall Argument

The thesis critically analyses the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance, particularly in post-uprisings Egypt. It argues that education is political, and is capable of playing various political roles. This implies that it can constitute a vital component of a regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy, as well as a means of challenging such efforts. I consider education and civil society to be terrains of hegemonic contestation between the state and the heterogeneous social forces existing in civil society, whereby opposition can establish counter-hegemony through political education and developing critical consciousness. This implies that the Egyptian state will attempt to repress, depoliticise and control such educational and other oppositional activities through a variety of violent and non-violent methods. As a result, some progressive forces will adapt their aspects of resistance so as to be able to function under the current repressive context, and in ways that are neglected in the extant literature on

Egypt.

Based on such efforts to adapt to the existing context, I argue that political education can take forms that are different from conventional ones that explicitly teach about politics and rights. These forms, which can be covert and indirect, can have long-term political and democratic implications that should not be underestimated. Such educational initiatives are likely to be more capable of negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation in the current political context. Furthermore, I argue that a strong counter-hegemonic educational movement is contingent on how CSOs effectively resist (both internal and external) restrictions that hinder their establishment, funding and functioning, and thus their provision of education. These acts of resistance must be understood in Gramscian terms, and as part of a wider movement of resistance capable of challenging the status quo, albeit in ways that do not necessarily adhere to those of contentious politics.

1.5 Original Contributions

Building on the above arguments, this thesis contributes to the Egyptian (post)-uprisings literature in the following ways. Firstly, it utilises the concept of hegemonic contestation in order to go beyond the binary conceptualisations of authoritarianism/democratisation (as briefly discussed in section 1.3.1) and to argue that authoritarianism and repression are never absolute, but are constantly challenged in ways that are not always visible, discernibly radical or explicitly political. Hegemonic contestation is therefore used to offer a nuanced analysis of authoritarianism that considers both the violent and non-violent repressive methods employed by the Egyptian state to subdue civil society and maintain the status quo. Crucially, my analysis goes beyond solely focusing on violent crackdowns and includes other methods such as self-discipline, legal and bureaucratic restrictions and systematic depoliticisation. This highlights how such “softer” repressive methods can be as effective, and at times, even more effective than recourse to violence. As a result, the thesis conceptualises resistance in a way that goes beyond solely focusing on contentious politics

(as briefly problematised in section 1.3.2). By analysing the practices of resistance utilised

23 by the CSOs, I provide an intricate and necessary examination of how such CSOs are adapting to the current political context by seeking other avenues of resistance and contestation. In short, under authoritarian contexts, education, alongside other methods such as crowdsourcing, crowdfunding, networking, building alliances amongst others, comprise the means through which CSOs can negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation, resist the state’s restrictions and help instigate social change.

Secondly, a key contribution lies in the thesis’ critical analysis of education’s various political roles and its conceptualisation of political education under authoritarian contexts.

Exploring political education in Egypt and differentiating between its direct and indirect methods highlights that such education can take forms that differ from conventional ones that explicitly teach about politics and rights. The thesis develops the concepts of indirect political education and superficially depoliticised education in order to provide alternative ways of conceptualising and providing political education in non-democratic and/or Global

South contexts. It therefore contributes to the literature by attempting to overcome the limitations of narrow conceptualisations of political education (as highlighted in section

1.3.3).

Thirdly, and theoretically speaking, the thesis contributes to debates surrounding Gramsci and his applicability to the Egyptian and other Global South contexts. I utilise Edward

Said’s concept of the travelling theory to help generate ideas and relate Gramsci’s concepts to the Egyptian context without them having to lose their critical and analytical merits.

This approach will be developed in Chapter Three and applied throughout the empirical chapters. It will particularly focus on Gramsci’s ideas regarding political education, coercion and resistance, as well as building civil society alliances. Finally, the thesis’ contribution lies in the empirical evidence obtained under the current post-uprisings transformational process. It is becoming increasingly difficult to conduct research on

Egyptian civil society and politics, especially after 2013. Nonetheless, conducting research

24 at such a critical time for Egypt enriched the depth of my interviews, observations and discussions. As an Egyptian living through the transformational process, I was able to appreciate the intricacies that surrounded working around the state’s restrictions, self- policing one’s rhetoric and opinions, as well as presenting evidence from organisations and movements that are increasingly becoming more difficult to access. Hence, what is presented in chapters 5-7 constitutes a rich and unique data set which makes an original contribution to knowledge on Egypt. Building on this final contribution, the next section discusses the research methods utilised, in addition to providing an account of the CSOs and participants included in my research and the rationale behind their inclusion.

1.6. Research Methods

This section provides an overview of the thesis’ research methods. I start by discussing the typology developed based on Egyptian civil society’s rich history, as well as the aims of the thesis. This is followed by a brief discussion of the sampling methods utilised and the criteria implemented for selecting CSOs and the participants to be interviewed; in addition to the data collection and analysis methods, and finally the limitations of the thesis.

1.6.1 Towards a Typology

Egyptian civil society had been in existence for nearly a century and a half when the first modern equivalent of an NGO was established in 1840 by Greek emigres living in Egypt

(Ibrahim, 2003: 8-9; 1996). Egypt therefore could arguably claim to have the longest history with regard to formally organised voluntary associations in the Middle East

(Langohr, 2004). The exact number of CSOs in Egypt is contested, but Abd El Wahab

(2012: 72) claims that around 30,000 NGOs, 13,162 cooperatives, 5,410 clubs and youth centres, and 46 syndicates exist, while having around 3 million members of civic associations, 5 million of professional syndicates and 3.5 million of labour unions (see also

Qandil, 2004). These numbers tend to fluctuate every year, but the fact still remains that

Egypt does indeed have a rich, yet repressed, civil society (Sullivan and Abed-Kotob, 25

1999: 135). The richness of Egyptian civil society has arguably made it difficult to consensually define which organisations comprise civil society (Yom, 2005: 14). This difficulty is further compounded by attempting to categorise political opposition under authoritarianism (Albrecht, 2013: 8).

Accordingly, there have been multiple debates regarding which organisations should be considered part of Egyptian civil society. For example, Norton (1995: 7) views civil society as including a “melange of associations, clubs, guilds, syndicates, parties and groups that come together to create a buffer between citizen and state”. While for Altan-

Olcay and Icduygu (2012: 170) and Yom (2005: 18), civil society comprises religious organisations, business associations, labour unions and service-oriented NGOs, as well as membership-based syndicates, public-interest advocates (e.g., human rights, women’s movements, corruption watchdogs) and informal social groups. Al-Sayyid (1993: 232) classifies civil society as class-based (e.g., business associations and labour unions), professional societies (e.g., bar associations and syndicates), social care, development organisations, neo-traditional associations and political parties.

Moreover, Abdelrahman (2004: 6) categorises it as comprising neo-traditional associations, community development associations, advocacy groups and businessmen’s associations. However, the most relevant classification is that of Albrecht (2013: 8), which particularly focuses on political opposition, and which are classified as being loyal opposition, tolerated opposition (e.g., human rights groups, NGOs and labour), and anti- system opposition (e.g., the Muslim Brotherhood). It is important to note that the above classifications comprise a broad selection of organisations where some could be considered overtly political (e.g., parties, unions and advocacy groups), whilst others might not necessarily be as politically overt (e.g., business associations and development associations). Nonetheless, despite being relatively broad, these classifications still exclude groups that are important for this research.

The first group not explicitly considered are educational organisations. These are NGOs that specifically target educational reform, and that could either be attempting to function parallel to the existing formal education system or instead offer an alternative educational experience altogether. The second missing element are political movements that are not political parties and are not necessarily registered with the government. This includes informal and horizontal social movements that have become an integral part of Egyptian politics, as is discussed in Chapter Two. The third element that needs to be further emphasised is that of rights-based organisations. Advocacy NGOs are included in many classifications, yet many of them can be registered as non-profit organisations or as law firms due to legal and bureaucratic restrictions. This implies that compiling these advocacy organisations under the NGO banner is misleading and hence requires a broader umbrella that would not exclude such organisations in their differing legal forms. The politics surrounding CSO registration and why they choose to be registered as non-profit and law firms is discussed in Chapter Seven.

Based on the above considerations, I developed a three-fold typology that aimed to overcome these limitations. The first typology is labelled political organisations and movements. Instead of limiting the analysis to established legal political parties, this typology comprises political parties that are still under establishment (i.e., awaiting legalisation, or, in the process of collecting proxies) but that are nonetheless active in

Egyptian politics. Furthermore, this typology includes political movements that are considered to be informal and horizontal rather than formal and vertical, as per traditional conceptualisations of political parties. The second typology is rights-based organisations.

This typology comprises organisations such as NGOs, non-profit organisations, legal- support organisations, and organisations that deal with human rights, labour rights, women’s rights, academic rights and economic and social rights. The final typology is educational organisations. A limitation in the classifications reviewed above was their

27 tendency to compile organisations focusing on education under, for example, developmental, service-oriented and neo-traditional organisations. As implied in the above discussion of education, I maintain that CSOs concerned with education can take different organisational and legal forms. It is thus imperative for a typology to highlight their particular focus on education, even if they are not visibly focused on political education.

Based on the above three-fold typology, I turn to outlining the CSOs that were chosen for this research.

1.6.2 Sampling

I utilised a purposive sampling approach, where my research questions and objectives guided the selection of CSOs and respondents. Under purposive sampling, the research questions signpost the units (organisations and people) that need to be sampled, and the categories to be focused on (Flick, 2009: 122; Bryman, 2012: 416). Since it is considered to be a non-probability form of sampling, the participants were not chosen on a random basis, but were instead selected because of their relevance to the questions being posed.

Under purposive sampling, I have depended on theoretical sampling2 (particularly prior to my fieldwork) and on snowball sampling3 during fieldwork. On one hand, theoretical sampling offers the required space for the emergence and refinement of theoretical categories that could arise during the course of data collection and analysis (Bryman, 2012:

418-421; Strauss and Corbin, 1998: 201; Charmaz, 2000). On the other hand, snowball sampling was utilised due to the difficulties of contacting CSOs by e-mail or by phone beforehand.

2 Theoretical sampling is defined as the “process of data collection for generating theory whereby the analyst jointly collects, codes, and analyses his [or her] data and decides what data to collect next and where to find them, in order to develop his [or her] theory as it emerges” (Glaser and Strauss, 1967: 45, quoted in Flick, 2009: 117-118). 3 Snowball sampling is a technique in which sampled participants propose other participants who have the required experience and characteristics relevant to the research (Bryman, 2012: 424). 28

1.6.3 Criteria for Selection and Participating Organisations

The criteria used for selecting organisations and participants were as follows. With regard to the organisations, they firstly had to fall under one of the categories in the three-fold typology. Secondly, the CSOs must have been active within Egyptian civil society during the time of fieldwork. Thirdly, they must have been providing and organising educational initiatives that are open to the general public. As for the members of these organisations, they must be working in an official capacity within the CSOs and are particularly involved in education. Therefore, based on the typology, sampling techniques and inclusion criteria, this research included the following organisations.

Five political organisations and movements were included. The Egyptian Communist Party

(ECP) was included due to its links with the Egyptian intelligentsia and a number of left- wing academics, in addition to its close connections with the independent teachers’ union.

The Bread and Freedom Party (BFP) was included as it has been one of the most active left-wing parties, especially with regard to political education in working-class neighbourhoods across Cairo. The Egyptian Social Democratic Party (ESDP), which is one of the largest centre-left parties in Egypt, has attracted many members who are new to political activism, and additionally has been organising political educational initiatives.

The Popular Socialist Alliance (PSA), an umbrella for secular and left-wing forces after

2011, was included in order to analyse in more detail the reasons behind the weakness of

Egyptian political parties, especially that many of the BFP’s current members had resigned from the PSA due to unfulfilled political and cultural projects. Finally, the Revolutionary

Socialists (RS) were included, as they are arguably one of the most well-known political movements in Egypt, having been active for many years prior to the uprisings. The RS importantly boast online, media and publication capabilities that imply that they could play an important political educational role.

Under rights-based organisations, four organisations were included. The Egyptian Centre for Economic and Social Rights (ECESR) was included due to its advocacy for Egyptians’ right to information as a prerequisite for developing critical consciousness, as well as the centre’s increasing interest in educational inequalities and the political implications that could arise as a result. The Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies (CIHRS) was included as it is known for its annual summer school that focuses on educating university students from across the Arab world about human rights and politics in general, as well as for its research on Egyptian civil society. The third organisation included was Nazra for

Feminist Studies, due to it being one of the most important and influential CSOs advocating women’s rights in Egypt, and importantly, due to its political educational activities that target female political activists. Finally, including the 9th March Movement for Academic freedoms was important as it was established by a number of Egyptian intellectuals in order to defend academic freedoms, democratise public universities and resist the presence of the security apparatus on university campuses. This organisation offers important insights regarding the challenges facing Egyptian academics, especially those critical of the status quo. Additionally, it aids in appreciating the intricacies surrounding the security apparatus’s involvement in higher education and their efforts to repress and depoliticise it.

Under the educational organisations typology, seven organisations were included. Educate- me is currently one of the most influential non-profit organisations focusing on educating underprivileged children and young adults in Egypt. Cairo Institute of Liberal Arts and

Sciences (CILAS) represents an interesting educational experiment that aims to promote liberal arts education in Egypt, thus challenging the formal higher education system.

Education Square (ES), although does not provide educational initiatives, was nonetheless included as it aims to develop a collaborative space for education practitioners, facilitators,

30 and researchers to network, share knowledge and cooperate thus helping build an educational movement that comprises a variety of CSOs.

Tahrir Academy (TA) was included as it used to be one of the biggest MOOCs (Massive

Open Online Course) providers in the Middle East.4 Importantly, TA utilised the inzel

‘alem (go down and teach) initiative which aimed to combine both online and face-to-face discussion and was mainly provided in poor urban and rural areas across Egypt. Nahdet El

Mahrousa (NM) is an influential social development NGO which functions as an incubator for new initiatives, by offering them a platform of support services such as capacity building and technical support. NM is considered here as their incubated initiatives include those that work on education and civic engagement such as Education Square and

Misriyati. Accordingly, Misriyati was included as it constitutes an interesting initiative that aims to promote a culture of peace, diversity and inclusion through providing peace education. Misriyati offers the potential for us to view political education from an arguably broader perspective.

Finally, Weladna was considered as it is a non-profit organisation that aims to develop educational programs and games that facilitate critical thinking. An example of such educational games is their Baladna board game which helps children and young adults become critically conscious of Egypt’s cultural and environmental diversity, as well as its geography and history. By aiming to offer a more critical account than that provided through formal education, Baladna offers a potential method for providing a political education that is covert. Such covertness could hold the key to tactics that other CSOs could implement in order to overcome the state’s repression and restrictions.

4 Tahrir Academy announced that it was ceasing its operations on the 10th of August 2015 reportedly due to lack of funding. This will be considered in more detail in Chapter Six. 31

1.6.4 Approach to Fieldwork and Data Collection Methods

The fieldwork took place in Greater Cairo and was divided into two parts. The first part took place between June and September 2014, whilst the second took place between

October and November 2014. I utilised three methods of data collection: semi-structured interviews, overt participant observation and analysis of secondary documents. I aimed to triangulate my approach so as to compare and verify what was said in the interviews with what was happening on the ground. Having more than one source of data provided opportunities to understand the intricacies associated with providing informal education and to develop an appreciation of the personal and organisational challenges interviewees faced and which were not necessarily always accessible via interviews.

1.6.4.1 Semi-structured Interviews

This approach to interviewing was considered to be the most relevant and effective as its

“openness” implied that it could be theory-driven and include hypotheses-directed questions that could particularly focus on my theoretical presuppositions (Flick, 2009: 156-

157). Additionally, it tends to be flexible which means that the interviewer could depart from the interview guide and also offers the interviewees the opportunity to voice their points of views and experiences in a less rigid way. This helps uncover themes and concerns that may not have been made apparent if the interviews were structured (Bryman,

2012: 470). Building on that, an interview guide was developed prior to fieldwork and included the main topics that I wanted to cover, alongside suggested questions for each topic (see appendix 1).

A total of thirty interviews were conducted, through which twenty-two were audio- recorded, whilst the rest declined to be audio-recorded. The interviews were conducted with participants who were working in an official position within the CSOs, and these included founders/co-founders, volunteers, teachers/facilitators, curriculum and workshop designers, as well as researchers (see appendix 2). Each interviewee received a participant 32 information sheet prior to the interview which contained details about my research, how their confidentiality would be maintained, and how the information would be used for my research. The participants were asked for their consent to be interviewed and was provided via audio-recording. The majority of the interviews were conducted at the CSOs’ headquarters, whilst the rest were conducted in neutral settings such as cafes and restaurants. The interviews normally lasted between one hour and one and a half hours, with the majority conducted in Arabic, and a minority in both English and Arabic. All the audio-recorded interviews were translated by myself from Arabic and transcribed.

1.6.4.2 Overt Participant Observation

Participant observation is defined as being “a field strategy that simultaneously combines document analysis, interviewing of respondents and informants, direct participations and observations, and introspection” (Denzin, 1989: 157-158). Being a participant implies, according to Flick (2009: 226), that the researcher “dive[s] headlong into the field”, where they will observe things from the member’s perspectives and influence what is being observed through their participation. The following table provides a summary of the events and meetings observed throughout my fieldwork:

Table 1 List of Observed Events

Type of Event CSO Details

Seminars RS, ECP, BFP and ECESR These constituted political educational seminars that were organised on a weekly or monthly basis, depending on the available financial and organisational capabilities as well as membership. Reading Groups RS Reading groups that were organised on a monthly basis which mainly revolved around reading and debating Marxist and Socialist books.

Summer Schools CIHRS A session on the right to education which focused on critically analysing the history of modern education in Egypt, the state’s role in its development and the possibilities of thinking about alternatives. Networking Events NM and ES NM’s “Monthly Mondays” events which focused on introducing both new and established educational CSOs to the general public and which provided opportunities for researchers and educators to network and collaborate. ES’s Ramadan Networking event which, similarly to the above, aimed to attract representatives from CSOs in order to network, collaborate and discuss challenges. The above events aided in helping me identify other organisations that were later included in my sample. Political Committee BFP At least six meetings were Meetings attended which revolved around developing the BFP’s political educational program, training their cadres, and importantly, their ta‘alam taharar (education for liberation) initiative. Furthermore, the meetings included discussions that revolved around the challenges facing the party, and their collaborations with other organisations. Research/Interest Group “Educationalists” An umbrella group that combined researchers, teachers/facilitators, policymakers, curriculum designers, CSO founders and volunteers who had an interest in reforming education in Egypt. Meetings were held 34

regularly in order to discuss the proposed new educational policies and laws, as well as the weaknesses of the education system and the ways through which it could be reformed.

1.6.4.3 Secondary Documents

The final method utilised was obtaining secondary documents. These included CSOs’ policies, manifestos, and research reports (see appendix 3). Furthermore, with regard to

CSOs with online presence, I visited and analysed their website content, especially if they were educational, or provided details about their educational initiatives.

1.6.5 Data Analysis Methods

After the data was collected and transcribed, I initiated its coding. Despite coding having its own limitations with regard to data analysis (Brinkmann and Kvale, 2015: 228), it serves as an important method for separating, compiling and organising such data

(Charmaz, 1983: 186). Moreover, coding is an important first step to help generate a theory, whereby it is in a “constant state of potential revision and fluidity” (Bryman, 2012:

568). I particularly used NVivo to code my data due to its usefulness in managing large data sets (i.e., more than ten interviews and longer than an hour); its accessible and clear coding structure which helps identify patterns and highlights emerging themes; and finally its ability to search for particular data amongst the many transcripts and fieldwork notes uploaded (see Bazeley and Jackson, 2014). Accordingly, I developed eight main nodes in

NVivo which were concerned with: the background of the interviewees, opinions on formal education, methods of political education, the purpose of education, resilient authoritarianism, resisting authoritarianism, the challenges facing civil society, and the separation between the political struggles from the educational/cultural struggles. The content analysis of the data provided adequate answers to my pre-set questions and 35 additionally was useful in that it allowed for theoretical ideas to emerge out of the data analysed.

The above section provided an overview of the thesis’ research methods. It outlined the three-fold typology developed to overcome the limitations of the existing classifications of

Egyptian CSOs, the sampling methods and criteria used for selecting the sixteen organisations, in addition to an account of my fieldwork, data collection and data analysis methods used. However, any qualitative (or otherwise) research design will inevitably have its own set of limitations; it is inherent to the process. The next section therefore discusses the thesis’ main limitations.

1.7 Thesis Limitations

In short, there are five main limitations. The first limitation concerns the thesis’ sample size, which considers a limited number of organisations within Egyptian civil society.

Employing a purposive sampling approach limits opportunities to consider other diverse perspectives. This is exacerbated when using snowball sampling, as I was more likely to be recommended participants who have similar beliefs to those who suggested them.

Nonetheless, considering that my research was conducted under challenging circumstances, obtaining the participants’ trust was key to gaining access to organisations thus enabling me to collect data that is currently difficult to obtain. Moreover, this is closely related to another issue, which concerns the class composition of the research participants. A large number of the interviewees hailed from upper and middle-class backgrounds, with the majority being privately educated and graduates of elite universities.

This, as I argue throughout the thesis, holds implications with regard to CSOs attracting members from less-privileged backgrounds and building effective organic ties with marginalised communities.

The second limitation is not including Islamist civil society organisations (and particularly those managed by the Muslim Brotherhood) has arguably left an important and influential 36 source of informal education not critically analysed. However, it is once again important to note that my research interests and objectives did not consider the Islamists due to their conservative understanding of education and the literature’s overwhelming emphasis on them representing Egyptian opposition (creating the gaps in the debates that I have already identified). The third limitation revolves around the research’s geographical focus. The

CSOs analysed are urban-based, and mostly functioning within the vicinities of Greater

Cairo. This implies that a host of rural-based CSOs were not included and their educational activities unexamined.

The fourth limitation relates to Egypt’s political volatility. For example, despite the merits of using purposive and snowball sampling, gaining access to CSOs proved to be difficult at times, with a number of organisations declining to be included in my research. Even if a

CSO did agree to take part, at times they limited my access to their meetings and educational activities, thus making it difficult to compare what was said in the interviews with what took place on the ground. The fifth limitation concerns the translation of interview transcripts. As discussed in section 1.6.4.1, the majority of my interviews were conducted in Egyptian Arabic, audio-recorded and translated by myself to English.

Accordingly, the sound quality of some of the interviews conducted in public settings (e.g. cafes) made it challenging to decipher certain sentences that were inaudible.

Moreover, their translation implied that the accuracy and emphases of particular words, descriptions and proverbs were lost in the process. Despite these issues, it is important to note, as Brinkmann and Kvale (2015: 218) succinctly state, that “the transcript is a bastard, a hybrid between an oral discourse unfolding over time, face to face, in a lived situation – where what is said is addressed to a specific listener present – and a written text created for a general, distant public”. Moreover, this is the case for all transcription processes, i.e. even under the most propitious conditions. As noted above, all projects are limited one way or another – research questions need to be decided upon, samples constructed, and so on.

Nonetheless, this does not in any way weaken the thesis’ contributions to the existing literature. Directions for future research are discussed in Chapter Eight (section 8.5).

1.8 Thesis Outline

The thesis consists of seven further chapters. The next chapter, Chapter Two, identifies the potentials and limitations of the literature surrounding authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. The chapter therefore positions my thesis in the existing literature and offers the background for answering the first subsidiary question regarding the thesis’ Gramscian framework. It reviews the literature surrounding authoritarianism and democratisation in Egypt and the Arab world, and highlights its associated limitations, mainly the excessive formalism of authoritarianism and democratisation. It highlights the analytical issues surrounding education and its ability to play various political roles by reviewing a number of theoretical approaches. Furthermore, it focuses on the concept of political education and argues for the need to rethink its potentialities under authoritarian contexts. The chapter also outlines the issues surrounding contentious politics in Egypt, provides an overview of Egyptian CSOs and their uneasy relationship with the state, and offers further elaborations regarding the three-fold typology developed in section 1.6.

Throughout the chapter, I importantly emphasise how the literature’s limitations provide the starting point for developing my Gramscian Framework.

Chapter Three illustrates how a Gramscian perspective addresses the literature’s shortcomings highlighted in Chapter Two. It outlines how Gramsci adds to our understandings of the interlinkages between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. In so doing the chapter achieves two things, it answers the thesis’ first subsidiary question, and develops the thesis’ Gramscian framework. Moreover, the chapter develops an exposition of the travelling Gramsci which proposes that Gramscian concepts need to be adapted to Egypt’s local contexts so as not to lose any of their analytical rigour.

The chapter therefore comprises five main sections. The first highlights the importance

Gramsci places on human agency and critical intellectual activity; the second focuses on the Gramscian concept of hegemonic contestation; the third analyses Gramsci’s ideas on education; the fourth critically considers Gramsci’s emphasis on building alliances amongst subaltern groups; and the fifth explains the concept of the travelling Gramsci in more detail with reference to the Middle Eastern and Egyptian contexts.

Chapter Four constitutes the first step towards moving from a theoretical sphere to a more concrete one, by providing a grounded discussion of the links between politics and education in Egypt. Taking the Egyptian formal education system as an example, the chapter offers a key contribution concerning the critical analysis of education’s various political roles and answers the thesis’ second subsidiary research question. It argues that the formal education system, particularly since Nasser, has been attempting to politically socialise Egyptians through its pedagogical approaches, the content of the textbooks, as well as the behaviours and attitudes encouraged within the classrooms. This suggests that the formal education system is unlikely to allow for counter-hegemonic discourses and practices to develop, and as a result, requires us to look towards civil society for developing and utilising alternative political educational spaces. The chapter additionally argues that this is pertinent given the neoliberal transformations taking place in the

Egyptian economy.

Chapter Five answers the third subsidiary question and considers the transformational side of education. It critically explores political education in Egyptian civil society, its aims and content, the pedagogical practices adopted and its limitations. It argues for the need to distinguish between direct and indirect forms of political education in order to appreciate the complexities inherent to the provision of political education under authoritarian settings. The chapter importantly develops the concepts of indirect political education and superficially depoliticised education, and reinforces the Gramscian arguments for education comprising a crucial component of any hegemonic contestation. The chapter

39 evaluates the possible tensions arising between direct and indirect political education and their implications for the current political context and establishes my position with regard to both forms.

Chapter Six develops the first part of my analysis of the relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. It offers a more nuanced understanding of the nature of authoritarianism in post-uprisings Egypt and answers the fourth subsidiary research question. The chapter argues that the Egyptian state employs numerous repressive methods that range from soft (e.g., legislation and funding restrictions) to hard (e.g., arrests and crackdowns) to attempt to subdue CSOs. The chapter argues that differentiating between them is necessary in order to illustrate the variable methods available to repress CSOs along multiple fronts, and thus the need to diversify and adapt the methods of resistance in response.

Chapter Seven builds on my analysis of the relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance and answers the thesis’ fifth subsidiary research question by providing an examination of how Egyptian CSOs are adapting to the current political context by seeking other avenues of resistance that do not always revolve around contentious politics such as educational practices, legal resistance through formation, financial resistance, building alliances, and building organic ties. It argues that these practices enable CSOs to resist and potentially overcome the Egyptian state’s restrictions across multiple fronts pertaining to the CSOs’ establishment, funding and functioning.

Finally, it maintains that such practices must be understood in Gramscian terms as they offer a different conception of resistance that has long-term implications.

Finally, Chapter Eight concludes the thesis by revisiting its main arguments and contributions, and explains how it has addressed the literature’s limitations. It offers a sustained reflection on what the empirical findings mean for the research questions and their implications for understanding post-uprisings Egypt. Furthermore, it critically

40 discusses my key theoretical claim regarding Gramscian concepts travelling to Egypt and their generalisability beyond the Egyptian context. Moreover, it offers a critical reflection on the tensions triggered by my findings and discusses recommendations for future research.

To conclude, this chapter has introduced my topic, briefly outlined the (post)-uprisings literature’s key limitations, and therefore the rationale behind conducting this research. I additionally sketched the thesis’ overall argument, its original contributions as well as the research methods utilised. Moreover, the chapter discussed the thesis’ limitations and their implications. Accordingly, the next chapter offers a more in-depth discussion of the potentials and limitations of the literature surrounding authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance, and positions my thesis in the existing literature. This importantly sets the scene for developing my Gramscian framework.

Chapter 2: The Potentials and Limitations of Literatures on Authoritarianism, Political Education and Civil Society

2.1 Introduction

As established in Chapter One, the thesis aims to address three limitations found in the

(post)-uprisings literature which revolve around the interlinkages between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. These limitations are the binary conceptualisation of authoritarianism and democratisation, the overwhelming focus on contentious politics, and the role of education in social change and resistance. Since the thesis seeks to analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt, it is important to examine these three building blocks in more detail. The aim of this chapter, therefore, is to identify the potentials and limitations of the literature surrounding the building blocks. I highlight the weaknesses associated with the literature, and in so doing, develop the arguments supporting the utilisation of a Gramscian approach for my research. In short, this chapter positions my thesis in the existing literature and offers the background for answering the first subsidiary research question undertaken in the next chapter.

This chapter is framed in three main sections, each discussing one of the building blocks.

The first reviews the literature surrounding authoritarianism and democratisation in Egypt and the Arab world in general, and argues that the literature suffers from a key limitation whereby its analysis is moulded within a binary opposition of authoritarianism versus democratisation that fails to explain the political developments taking place in the post- uprisings context. The second is more theoretical, but is necessary in order to focus on the analytical issues surrounding education and its ability to play various political roles in supporting or resisting regimes. It considers a number of theoretical approaches to understanding education’s political role in society, outlines their limitations, and concentrates on the concept of political education and the need to rethink its utility under

42 authoritarian contexts. The third discusses the problems surrounding the focus on contentious politics in the contemporary literature on Egypt, and the consequential limitations of neglecting the heterogeneity of Egyptian civil society. Furthermore, it provides an overview of the different civil society organisations functioning in Egypt, which underlines its rich history as well as its uneasy relationship with the Egyptian state.

This discussion, in turn, offers further elaborations regarding the three-fold typology developed for the thesis (section 1.6). Throughout each of my discussions, I emphasise how the literature’s limitations provide the starting point for developing the thesis’

Gramscian framework undertaken in the next chapter. I start by providing a brief overview of the literature that has proliferated after the uprisings in 2011.

2.2 The Context: Uprisings and Beyond

As mentioned in Chapter One, the uprisings have altered how we analyse revolutions, contentious politics and state-society relations, and importantly, have increased academic interest in the Middle East. To recap, key strands of analysis emerged to focus on the political, economic and socio-cultural roots of the revolts (examples include Abdelrahman,

2016; Chalcraft, 2016; Roccu, 2013), the role of the Muslim Brotherhood after 2011

(Kandil, 2014; Pargeter, 2013 Wickham, 2013), the Egyptian labour movement and its significant role in toppling Mubarak (Alexander and Bassiouny, 2014; Beinin, 2015; De

Smet, 2016a, Marfleet, 2016), youth movements and their use of social media to instigate protests (Herrera, 2014; Herrera and Sakr, 2014; Herrera and Mansour, 2015), and finally, on the uprising’s shortcomings (Achcar, 2016; Brownlee, Masoud and Reynolds, 2015;

Marfleet, 2016). As indicated in the previous chapter (section 1.3.1), this has made it difficult to “provide a balanced appraisal of what has genuinely changed in the region and what has remained unaltered” (Cavatorta, 2015: 135). An example of this has been the manner of the move to place centre-stage al-Sisi’s authoritarianism and repression, which some argue has exceeded that experienced under Mubarak (Ahmed, 2015; El Khawaga,

2014; Brown and Bentivoglio, 2015). For instance, Brown and Bentivoglio (2014) describe al-Sisi’s authoritarianism as becoming a way of life, where politics in Egypt, although not dead, was weak and circumscribed; Drezner (2015: 1) labels al-Sisi’s regimes as being the

“most disturbing regime in the world” due to its resonance with Egyptians and Westerners alike; furthermore, Jebreal (2016) describes the regime as being Soviet-like in its silencing of opposition. Finally, Heydemann and Leenders (2011) argue that the recent resurgence in authoritarianism after the uprisings is a result of authoritarian learning:

[T]he capacity of some authoritarian regimes in the Middle East to suppress opposition movements can be explained, at least in part, by their capacity to learn from and adapt to the rapidly emerging challenges that mass uprisings posed for regime survival. This adaptive capacity is a defining central attribute of some authoritarian regimes in the Arab world…just as the spread of protests was itself the product of social learning by Arab citizens…so too were the counter-revolutionary strategies of regimes shaped by processes of learning and emulation among regime elites. (2011: 648)

Nonetheless, I argue in this thesis that just as authoritarian regimes were learning how to adapt to changes brought about by the uprisings, so too were activists and CSOs, who were trying to work around the resurgence in repression – something which has gone relatively unnoticed in the literature’s rush to understand al-Sisi. Therefore, although the above literature offers a wide range of analyses that encompass the multifarious aspects of the uprisings and the transformational processes that followed, the approaches taken risk moulding analysis within a binary opposition of authoritarianism versus democratisation.

2.3 Moving beyond the Authoritarianism/Democratisation Paradigms

As noted already, research on Egypt has become increasingly focused on authoritarian resilience, and the rise of the military and security apparatuses. While helpful in several respects, such an agenda risks moulding analysis within a binary opposition of authoritarianism versus democratisation. For example, Valbjorn (2014) argues that the

Middle East has always been inundated with different analytical frameworks attempting to understand the region’s political development. These include, for example, democracy spotting which, influenced by Huntington’s (1991) third wave of democratisation, looks

“for signs confirming their expectation that the Middle East was also in transition to democracy” (Valbjorn, 2014: 157). Therefore, democracy spotters were interested in analysing events such as the organisation of elections, regime-led political liberalisation, and civil society activism. However, democracy spotting fails to properly perceive “how selective and regime-led reforms were not an expression of a democratic transition, but part of a regime-preserving strategy” (ibid: 158).

As a result of such limitations, Middle East scholars have sought to adapt by looking at what in fact exists (i.e., authoritarian resilience), as opposed to solely on what ought to be

(i.e., democracy) (Valbjorn, 2014; Valbjorn and Bank, 2010). A post-democratic perspective would therefore encourage a more intricate understanding of the reasons behind the successes of authoritarianism, as opposed to asking why democratisation has failed. Nonetheless, this perspective has been “very regime-centred…with little attention to the society level, which was perceived as marked by political apathy among an increasingly de-politicised population” (Valbjorn, 2014: 158, emphasis added). Valbjorn concludes that it is vital to go beyond what he labels the authoritarianism-democratisation paradogma framing, which fails to take into account the intricacies of authoritarianism and resistance.

Although such paradigms should not be completely discarded, the insights offered by both are incapable of explicating fully political developments taking place in authoritarian contexts. In particular, we should not assume that the absence of democratic change is always directly coupled with the persistence of authoritarian rule (Cavatorta, 2015: 142), and even if we fail to locate visible (i.e., state-directed) evidence of democratic change, it does not infer the complete absence of progressive initiatives. As Cavatorta notes (2015:

136), going beyond such rigid conceptualisations will help broaden the research agenda on the Middle East by “better captur[ing] the trends and hidden forces that operate within

North African societies outside the facile assumptions of both paradigms”. This is exactly

45 what the thesis proposes to do, through the utilisation of a Gramscian framework as developed in Chapter Three.

As noted in Chapter One, a Gramscian framework enables me to consider the Egyptian state and civil society (and the oppositional forces within it) as existing in a dialectical relation whereby they reinforce and contest one another in continuous ways. Thus the concept of hegemonic contestation enables me to widen the scope of repression so as to analyse both the violent and non-violent methods employed by the state to silence opposition and the methods used to resist and challenge this. This suggests the diversification of both the sources of oppression and the methods of resistance as well, which in some respects is more likely in a context such as Egypt’s, given that more traditional Western means of political participation are less likely or impossible. In short, a

Gramscian analysis is useful for arguing that authoritarianism, repression and hegemony are never absolute, and are constantly challenged and in ways that are not necessarily visible, radical or explicitly political, but still of considerable potential significance.

Crucially, (political) education can play an imperative role in challenging and contesting authoritarianism to which I now turn.

2.4 Bringing the Critical into Education

One of the thesis’ key objectives is to bring critical discussions of education into the debates surrounding post-uprisings Egypt. Such critical discussions should not view education as being neutral or apolitical but instead as being part of a web of power relations where education is capable of playing a number of important political roles within society. These political roles include socialising people into particular ideologies and beliefs, reproducing existing economic and social inequalities, maintaining regime legitimacy, as well as disseminating particular knowledge, attitudes and behaviours that are conducive to maintaining the status quo. Nonetheless, it is incorrect to assume that education’s political roles end there. It is imperative that we view education as constituting

46 an important component of any initiative being directed towards initiating social change, as well as being a crucial method for developing resistance. In other words, education, as much as it could aid in maintaining social inequalities, and the legitimacy of authoritarian regimes, also offers ways through which oppression and inequalities could be resisted.

This could be done, for example, through the development of critical consciousness via political education, and additionally through its ability to offer alternatives to established, taken-for-granted knowledge. Accordingly, this section highlights the overall importance of looking at education through a more nuanced lens, which considers the various negative and positive political roles that formal (and informal) education could play within society.

To do so, this section aims to achieve the following. Firstly, and in line with the arguments regarding the non-neutrality of education, I consider the question of what makes education political. I therefore critically review a number of social theories which suggest that education plays an important role in reproducing social, cultural and economic inequalities.

Secondly, I consider the concepts and debates surrounding political education and highlight the arguments that view it as a method of socialisation. The rationale behind undertaking this review is not only to point out how education could aid the reproduction of inequalities and authoritarian social relations, but also to emphasise the limitations of these theories when it comes to viewing education as a component of resistance. This discussion ultimately enables me to argue for the need to develop a Gramscian approach for understanding education as political, and one that is able to address the limitations of the other approaches. Within this chapter, it also lays the foundation for the next section on civil society in Egypt.

As Harber (1991: 246) argues, debates surrounding how education is political, and how educational institutions could play various political roles, are often glossed over or avoided. This, as is discussed in more detail in Chapter Four, could also be applied to much of the research on Egyptian formal education, which infrequently analyses it either

47 politically or critically. This is not necessarily only the case with Egyptian education, but as Mazawi (1999: 332) argues, research on education in the Arab world in general tends to be preoccupied with the “systemic and formal processes of educational provision and expansion”, with less effort exerted in understanding how the expansion of public schools could help mediate conflicts, contestations and power struggles. Furthermore, Mazawi criticises the weak efforts made by researchers with regards to theoretical elaboration and conceptual refinement. He argues that this weakness “marginalises the importance of exploring dissent and conflict as useful conceptual tools in the broader study of education in the specific context of the Arab states” (ibid).

These reformist debates neglect how education is both part of a system of hegemony that is capable of supporting particular regimes and integral to oppose these regimes as well. As a result, Arab researchers have de facto contributed to the preservation of the “illusory status of an omnipotent, state-controlled school system”, overemphasising the hegemonic power of the elites and neglecting the resistance-related processes and their effects on policies and their outcomes (Mazawi, 1999: 351-352). Accordingly, debates concerned with education and power, critical social theory, and critical pedagogy have mostly been separate from research conducted on the “Third World” (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 5; Herrera and

Torres, 2006: 2), and particularly on Egypt and the Arab world (e.g. Al-Bialawi, 1993;

Badran, 2006; 2008).

Analysing education critically is important for the following reasons. For any social transformation to take place, it becomes imperative that this transformation is grounded in the critique of mainstream education (Mayo, 1999). This sees education as a contested domain through which disagreements could arise, and where knowledge and power are intimately linked (Gewirtz and Cribb, 2012). It is vital that this link between knowledge and power is recognised and tackled theoretically and practically (Murphy, 2013: 6-7;

Harrington, 2005). Moreover, when researching oppositional and counter-hegemonic

48 educational projects, it becomes essential to understand how some aspects of formal education became hegemonic and dominant in the first place (Apple, 2015: 173).

Therefore, conducting a critical analysis of education aims to expose the methods used to represent certain phenomena as “natural” and “neutral”. Such phenomena could thus be viewed as being socially constructed with the aim of serving specific interests and objectives (Gewirtz and Cribb, 2012: 33; Murphy, 2013: 4).

A critical approach to analysing education, according to Giroux (2001: 34-36), seeks to

“stress the breaks, discontinuities and tensions highlighting the centrality of agency and struggle”. It also analyses the role played by education, and particularly schools, in social and cultural reproduction (ibid: 37; Morrow and Torres, 1995: 222). Accordingly, it is through becoming aware of such political dynamics within any educational process that people could become more capable of envisioning different alternatives (Monasta, 2002).

This connection between education and politics can be explored further by considering three theoretical perspectives. The first perspective is concerned with viewing education as a method of social and cultural reproduction, the second views education as a method of political socialisation, and the third, a Gramsci-inspired perspective, views education as constituting an important component of resistance and social change. This last perspective is further developed in the next chapter.

2.4.1 Theories of Social and Cultural Reproduction

The first theoretical perspective attempts to make sense of the potential negative roles played by formal education systems. This perspective includes approaches that are categorised as theories of social and cultural reproduction, where social reproduction is defined as being “all mechanisms, processes and practices by which multiple social hierarchies, divisions and relations of wealth and power are sustained and re-created overtime” (Gewirtz and Cribb, 2012: 86). This sustainability does not depend on the reproduction of the existing means of production; it could also relate to the ability to

49 successfully reproduce the existing social relations that enable the dominant relations of power to endure without any threats of dislocation (Giroux, 2001: 76).

The merits of these approaches is their view of educational institutions as important strategic sites for the stability and development of societies (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 9), by way of being in a mutual interaction with society at large. This is understood in three key ways, as shaped by the distinctions between structural functionalist, class-cultural, and structural Marxist reproduction theories. In this section I briefly outline the characteristics of each of these theories, and in so doing, highlight the limitations associated with each.

Ultimately, this discussion utilises these weaknesses to argue for the value of a Gramscian approach to understanding education. I start by discussing structural functionalist theories.

Structural functionalist theories of education are heavily influenced by the ideas of Talcott

Parsons (e.g. Parsons, 1949; 1951; 1961), and view educational institutions as sites that aid in the maintenance of societal stability and the political status quo. It views society as comprised of interdependent parts, each fulfilling particular roles to ensure the harmonious functioning of society. In short, it is interested in the “objectivist search for the positive function of educational institutions for society as a whole” (Gewirtz and Cribb, 2012: 27), and in finding the ideal means by which education could respond to societal needs

(Morrow and Torres, 1995: 36). Educational institutions, from this perspective, thus become one of the principal agencies of selection and socialisation into particular roles in society, and hence contribute to the development of structural differentiation (Parsons,

1961). Accordingly, structural functionalism views changes occurring within education systems as caused by external social and economic changes, but nevertheless such changes are mediated strongly by education’s functionalist relationship to society’s needs (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 49).

The limitations of this theoretical perspective are numerous (e.g. Archer, 1984; Morrow and Torres, 1995: 60-66). For example, it assumes an undistorted correspondence between

50 education and societal needs. Moreover, it does not take into consideration the competing interests and power struggles that take place in education and that could consequently hamper attempts at building social consensus. Thus, structural functionalism does not necessarily view educational institutions as oppressive per se, but rather as one of the essential components required for society to function. In short, it legitimises the existing status quo by helping people adapt to rather than transform it. Finally, by assuming a direct correspondence between society and education, it downplays the role of agency and resistance, and hence of developing alternatives to the existing system.

The second perspective is class-cultural reproduction theory. This mainly views education as shaped through the struggle between social classes, who attempt to utilise it in order to improve their own class status within a system of social stratification. This strand is associated with Bourdieu and Passeron whereby both theorists, as opposed to the structural functionalists, reject the view that schools act as mirrors of society and its structures, but instead view schools as relatively autonomous. Under this perspective, schools are influenced indirectly by other powerful economic and political institutions and thus help construct a certain type of society. Accordingly, they see schools as symbolic institutions which, instead of directly enforcing docility and oppression on students, reproduce the existing power relations through the reproduction of the dominant culture(s) (Bourdieu and

Passeron, 1977; Giroux, 2001).

Based on this, Bourdieu postulates that “[e]very power to exert symbolic violence, i.e. every power which manages to impose meanings and to impose them as legitimate by concealing the power relations which are the basis of its forces, adds its own specifically symbolic force to those power relations” (1977: 4 cited in Morrow and Torres, 1995: 182, emphasis added). By concealing these power relations, education tends to substitute repression through masking these underlying realities of power. This is supplemented by the school’s capability to reproduce and endorse inequalities through coming across as a

51 promoter of fairness and objectivity via the perception of being relatively autonomous from other, more obviously unequal, societal sites (Bourdieu and Passeron, 1977;

Bourdieu, 1977; Giroux, 2001).

A number of limitations are associated with the class-cultural perspective. One limitation concerns the superficial consideration of concepts such as critical consciousness and resistance (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 190). The class-cultural perspective does not provide spaces for contestation, but instead offers a one-way process of domination where the oppressed classes became mere reflectors of the dominant cultural capital without being able to produce a counter-culture of their own (Giroux, 2001: 90; Passeron, 1986: 629).

Further criticisms include the absence of explicit theories of class or state, and more importantly, the lack of consideration given to the conditions through which physical coercion and material economic forces could supplement such symbolic violence, especially in non-democratic societies (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 190).

The third theoretical perspective comprises structural Marxist theories of reproduction.

This perspective tends to be more critical of educational institutions in general, and in contrast to structural functionalism Marxist theories do not view the education system as required for the development of society or its smooth functioning. They instead view education as an instrument of social control and thus seek to understand how the dominant power relations existing in society are maintained through education. Accordingly, the ability of the education system to propagate the economic and cultural ideas of the dominant groups becomes the centre of analysis for Marxist theories of education

(Brennan, 1981: 11). What most of these theories have in common is that their analysis concentrates on the material transformations occurring within the economic conditions of production, instead of the idealistic transformations taking place within human consciousness (Giroux, 2001: 128; Bennett, 1986). In short, these theories maintain the epiphenomenon of base/superstructure, which stresses that changes in the economic base

52 will also lead to changes within the superstructure (e.g. educational, cultural, political, legal etcetera) in response.

Two of the most notable theories from within this perspective are Louis Althusser’s concept of Ideological State Apparatuses and Bowles and Gintis’ correspondence principle. Althusser was particularly interested in analysing how the reproduction of the means of production was dependent on the ability to reproduce the productive force (i.e. labour) and hence the existing relations of production. One method of doing so was through providing wages as well as education and training (Althusser, 2008; 2014).

Schools were viewed as an important component of reproduction because they not only taught students how to read, write, and acquire work skills, but more importantly, they taught students the rules of “good behaviour”. This encouraged their submission to the rules of the established order (Althusser, 2008: 6). Althusser distinguished between the

Repressive State Apparatus (RSA), which are constituted by the government, administration, police, courts and prisons, and which “functioned by violence” (ibid: 17), and the Ideological State Apparatuses (ISAs), which consist of the religious, educational, family, political, trade union and cultural ISAs (ibid: 19; Althusser, 2014). The educational

ISA was seen by Althusser as having replaced the church-family nexus as the most dominant ISA in capitalist societies. Furthermore, viewing schools as part of the educational ISA implies that they operate within a set of social structures that are defined by the existing capitalist social relations. Schools, therefore, aid in maintaining the status quo of the already existing division of labour (Giroux, 2001: 80; Althusser, 2008; 2014).

Althusser’s concepts of the RSA and ISA have encouraged a nuanced approach to analysing state power from a non-coercive perspective, yet they have also attracted criticisms. These are mainly aimed at his one-sided conception of domination, which does not offer any opportunities for resistance (Hall, 1981), the absence of sustainable empirical research utilising his theories (Morrow and Torres, 1995), and importantly, his dismissal of

53 human agency. With regard to agency, Giroux (2001: 83) argues that for Althusser, humans have been “relegated to static role-bearers, carriers of predefined meanings, agents of hegemonic ideologies inscribed in their psyche like irremovable scars”. As I argue later in this chapter, this dismissal (by Althusser and others) of the importance of human agency and resistance, constitutes one of the vital reasons behind my choice of a Gramscian framework.

The second example of a structural Marxist approach to reproduction is Bowles and Gintis’ correspondence principle (Bowles and Gintis, 1976). The correspondence principle was, according to Morrow and Torres (1995: 13), considered to be an advance in Marxist theories of education. It is defined as the “analysis of the relationships between the mode of production and social relations of production in terms of structural causality” (ibid:

145). In short, its main argument is that the “hierarchically structured patterns of values, norms, and skills that characterise the workforce and the dynamics of class interaction under capitalism are mirrored in the social dynamics of the daily classrooms encounter”

(Giroux, 2001: 84). Accordingly, the hierarchical relations inherent in schools (e.g. between the teacher and student, headmaster and teacher) mirror those of found outside of the school’s premises (i.e., in the workplace). Therefore, the process of reproduction is not necessarily achieved through the conscious intentions of participants, but rather through the close correspondence between the social relations found in the workplace, and those found in the education system. Both Giroux (2001: 83) and Morrow and Torres (1995:

162-163) argued that Bowles and Gintis and Althusser shared a number of basic notions with regards to the functions of schooling in capitalist societies; nonetheless, they diverged in terms of methodology and political aims.

The main point of diversion was that Bowles and Gintis considered schools to be potential sites for revolutionary transformations and thus did not understand them as fine-tuned instruments of manipulation, but instead as open to contestation (Bowles and Gintis, 1976:

11-13; Morrow and Torres, 1995: 163-165). However, the correspondence principle suffers from a number of weaknesses (as is the case with all of the abovementioned theories of reproduction). Bowles and Gintis have been criticised for their tendency to develop “grand theories” that view schools as mere instruments of capitalism, which only aim to serve the interests of the ruling elite (Gewirtz and Cribb, 2012: 87). Additionally, the authors assume a perfect corollary between schools and workplaces, thus simplifying the relationship between culture and economy and making it devoid of any “language of possibility”

(Giroux, 2001: 86-87; Morrow and Torres, 1995: 312; Aronowitz and Giroux, 1985).

Building on the previous point, their notion of struggle is still entangled within orthodox

Marxist arguments for economic contradictions being at the root of any societal transformation. Therefore, the correspondence principle also downplays the role of human agency (Best and Connolly, 1979).

Finally, and most importantly, the correspondence principle does not take into consideration that capital accumulation is not the only force influencing how schools are structured and how their curricula are designed. Education could also be utilised to serve other extra-economic purposes such as social control and helping maintain a political regime’s legitimacy (Gewirtz and Cribb, 2012: 113). This particular point is imperative for my framework, whereby the extent of education’s politicisation lies not only in its ability to reproduce social, economic and cultural hierarchies, but also in its ability to politically socialise people into particular ideologies, historical narratives and the acceptance of the political status quo.

To conclude, it is important to acknowledge that theories of reproduction do yield a number of benefits with regards to viewing education more critically. This mainly culminates in their abilities to analyse education’s role in advertently and inadvertently reproducing inequalities and hierarchies. Nonetheless, we have seen that such theories have limitations that, in turn, support my argument for turning to a Gramscian approach to

55 education. Firstly, many of the theories have a one-sided view of domination, whereby they downplay the importance of human agency in resisting the status quo, as well as challenging the established systems of education and knowledge production. This limitation is particularly the case with structural Marxist approaches to education, which are still entangled within an orthodoxy that assumes that economic contradictions are the main cause for societal transformations. Consequently, it becomes vital that the framework adopted for this thesis not only attempts to overcome these limitations, but also importantly places human agency at the core of its deliberations. However, emphasising the importance of human agency does not in any way dismiss the role played by the economy in influencing the provision of education, its curriculum and its form. Moreover, the framework should consider the contestation and struggle that could ensue between a state that attempts to maintain its legitimacy through its educational and cultural apparatuses, and the societal forces that attempt to challenge this.

Secondly, the above theories do not consider the power relations and struggles that ensue within education, across formal and informal educational sites. Furthermore, assuming a direct undistorted correspondence between societal needs and education arguably limits the spaces available for resistance, even where struggle is acknowledged. Compounding this limitation is the exclusive concern with formal education and schooling. Therefore, in addition to the neglect of agency and resistance, there was a lack of discussion aimed at analysing other means of informal education which take place outside the vicinities of the schools and the state (i.e., within civil society for example). Accordingly, and for the purposes of my research, it is imperative to develop a framework that does not exclude informal educational initiatives, especially those that aim to resist the discourses and practices of the state and its formal education system. This is particularly important for the study of Egypt, due to the growth of CSOs that provide informal educational initiatives, which are not necessarily part of the formal education system.

Thirdly, when considering the more explicit links between education and politics (i.e., education as a method of political socialisation, as a method of developing citizenship and encouraging political participation etcetera), the above theories fail to specifically tackle these issues in detail. In short, political education, as a concept, needs to be critically analysed in more depth, in order to highlight the various interpretations associated with it.

This is what I turn to in the next section.

2.4.2 Conceptualisations of Political Education

Political education, as a concept and as a term, represents an ambiguity that needs to be unpacked (Goldman, 1999). It has attracted much debate from both conservative and progressive forces, which arguably led to the formation of two opposing camps. On one hand, the first camp views political education as being a necessity for any democratic system, whereby a politically educated population is always desirable (Callan, 1997).

Furthermore, this camp considers political education to be one of the most important areas of education needing to be encouraged (Pring, 1999: 71; Crick and Porter, 1978; Crick and

Heater, 1977). On the other hand, the second camp views political education as synonymous with indoctrination and even totalitarianism (Harber, 1991: 245). This is made clear when recounting the conservative political theorist Michael Oakeshott’s argument that “the expression ‘political education’ has fallen on evil days; in the wilful disingenuous corruption of language which is characteristic of our time, it has acquired a sinister meaning” (1962, quoted in Brennan (1981: 71)).

This perception of political education as sinister is shared by some factions of both the Left and the Right. Frazer (1999: 18) argues that the Right views political education as partisan and biased. Furthermore, it is also viewed as representing a vehicle for left-wing propaganda that aims to encourage disruptive thinking which could undermine the state.

This suspicion of political education is also found within certain factions of the Left, which argue that such education mystifies “the real issues of economic exploitation and injustice

57 and the nature of a class-divided society” (Jones, 1980: 408). However, the efforts being made to discourage political education, and hence separate politics from education are considered to be political acts in themselves:

Whenever someone utters the plea that this or that issue ‘should be taken out of politics’…what he or she really means is that no action should be taken which is prejudicial to his or her own highly political point of view. ‘Keeping politics out of school’ in reality expresses the conviction that the existing situation, in which the ‘hidden curriculum’ encourages either passive acceptance of the status quo or regrettable withdrawal strategies, should be maintained. (Brennan, 1981: 73)

One key issue of political education lies in the ambiguity surrounding its definition. In hindsight, political education should essentially mean an education in the theory and practice of politics (Frazer, 1999: 13). However, defining it is not as straightforward. One of the major issues is that it is often left indistinguishable from political indoctrination or socialisation (Brennan, 1981: 29; Entwistle, 1971: 9). In order to understand its distinctiveness, Harber (1991: 246) argues that we need to distinguish between three forms of political learning: political indoctrination, political socialisation, and political education.

Political indoctrination is defined as the “intentional inculcation of values and beliefs as truths” (Harber, 1991: 247), where it involves the intentional falsification or ignorance of particular evidence and facts, and the complete exclusion of alternative viewpoints.

Indoctrination tends to utilise and transmit the same political messages through all agencies of political learning (e.g. schools and media), and is associated with totalitarian regimes

(ibid: 245-46). Political socialisation is concerned with the “learning of preferences and predispositions towards political values and attitudes often in contexts where other viewpoints are available” (ibid: 248). This method of learning could be achieved via a conscious transmission of a dominant ideology, or alternatively, through an unconscious taken-for-granted method in which certain values and norms are treated as facts (ibid).

Furthermore, socialisation could be considered as the process through which people learn the ways of a given society and how to function within it (Elkin, 1960: 4, quoted in

Brennan (1981: 13)). It also results in an “unquestioning acceptance of the norms, attitudes and behaviour accepted by the ongoing political system” (Entwistle, 1971: 14), and thus plays an important “conservative role by helping maintain stable political systems”

(Brennan, 1981: 16; Dawson and Prewitt, 1969: 61). With regards to the final form of political learning, it is imperative to distinguish between two approaches to political education. One constitutes a narrow and conservative approach to political education and is associated with political socialisation, while the other constitutes a broader and more radical perspective and is associated with critical consciousness and resistance. Here I focus on the former approach, whilst the latter approach comprises a key component of my conceptual framework discussed in the next chapter.

Under the narrow approach to political education, citizens learn about their basic political duties, such as how to vote, how to participate in public deliberation and action, and thus to understand the importance of obeying laws (Frazer, 1999: 16). It aims at “cultivating the virtues, knowledge and skills necessary for political participation leading to conscious social reproduction” (Gutmann, 1987: 287, emphasis added). It additionally aims to provide electors with a degree of political understanding that could help lessen the political knowledge gap existing between themselves and the political elite (Wringe, 1984).

However, this approach to a civics education could, according to Entwistle (1971: 110), be a mere “descriptive digest of adult political institutions”, where it contains factual summaries about contemporary political and social affairs and which make such an endeavour become austere. Moreover, this approach emphasises factual knowledge of the existing institutions of government, and arguably reduces debates on controversial issues, and on the deliberation of reforms or alternatives to the existing system. This reinforces and legitimises the existing political system (Harber, 1991: 253; Langeveld, 1981). In short, it aims to socialise individuals into adapting to the existing system and thus into

59 considering it as the only possible system to exist, subduing any criticism or debate surrounding it.

This approach to political education does hold merit in that it offers ways through which people could learn about politics and could also encourage the development of their political awareness and participation skills. Nonetheless, a number of weaknesses are associated with this approach. As Brennan (1981: 72) warns, “those who espouse the cause of political education would be wise not to underestimate the opposition to their plans or to minimise the problems, pitfalls and barriers which stand in the way of their future development”. Its first limitation is its ineffectiveness. Heater (1977: 146) argues that many opponents of political education maintain that there is no evidence that teaching about politics leads to a greater interest in politics or to more civic responsibility (see also

Fairbrother, 2008). Another limitation is concerned with the minimum age for people receiving political education, and whether such education should be introduced at a young age, or rather during the latter years of schooling (Frazer, 1999: 8; Callan, 1997). Moreover there is the possibility of bias, where political education can indoctrinate people into certain political beliefs, by emphasising a set of values over others (Pring, 1999: 76).

This issue is associated with the liberal view of political education where it must, or at least appear to, contain little or no bias (Jones, 1980: 408). It is also mostly concerned with formal education and teachers, whereby teachers are viewed as incapable of being politically neutral (Heater, 1977: 146; Pring, 1999: 78-79), and are able to influence students overtly through emphasis and omission, and covertly through stressing certain knowledge and values over others (Jones, 1980: 417-18). Despite bias being a serious issue, however, Brennan (1981: 92) considers it to be a “bogus” problem and one that cannot be completely eliminated from discussions of political education. He further argues that it would be startling if teachers of politics did not have any convictions of their own.

Accordingly, what is required is not to eliminate the bias, but rather to acknowledge it by considering other differing viewpoints as well.

A critical limitation of this narrow political education is its utopianism. This refers to the discrepancy that exists between the theoretical teaching of politics, especially through schools, and the actual practice of politics outside of it. This, Pring (1999: 78-79) argues, oversimplifies the political processes and demands of government and preaches a doctrine instead of explaining the mechanisms of political institutions. Moreover, it remains questionable whether political education even under the façade of citizenship could be capable of preparing citizens to participate in democratic political life, if the prevailing model of the education system is in itself contrary to that form of life (ibid). In short, there is an incongruity between what is being taught theoretically, and what is being practised within both: the school itself, and society at large. This highlights the concern about whether political education could be capable of providing the practical experiences necessary to concretise such theory (Entwistle, 1971: 31). The final, and arguably most important limitation, concerns the issue of quietism, alluded to earlier in the section. In short, quietism is when political education emphasises civic loyalty (i.e. focusing on obedience to rules and respect for authority), as opposed to encouraging critical thinking that could “rock the boat” (ibid: 27-28). Entwistle argues that some manifestations of such conservative political education could focus on encouraging passive political roles, as opposed to developing political participation skills (ibid: 29-30).

As was the case in my discussion of the theories of social and cultural reproduction, I conclude this section by outlining the implications of the above limitations. Narrow conceptualisations of political education have mainly focused on formal education. This dismisses the rich avenues of informal and alternative educational spaces existing outside the vicinities of the state. Moreover, the above conceptualisations of political education were mostly concerned with the maintenance of the political status quo by aiding people to

61 adapt to it, instead of being able to question and debate it. Under contexts of political transition and upheavals, an approach is needed that considers the transformative and resistive side of education, where education aims to develop people’s critical consciousness and to contest inequalities and oppression. In short, a broader and more radical conceptualisation of political education is needed and which is developed with the help of Gramsci in the next chapter.

Building on the above discussion, the most common limitation shared by the literature reviewed is its lack of focus on political education that takes place outside the vicinities of formal education and schools. This implies that important and rich avenues of informal and alternative educational spaces that exist within civil society remain unexamined in analytical detail. Furthermore, my above argument for the need to broaden our conceptualisation of political education is built on the premises that education can take place within as many spaces as possible, especially within Egyptian civil society.

Accordingly, I now turn to discussing the third building block of the thesis: civil society resistance. The next section starts by reaffirming the issues surrounding the focus on contentious politics, in addition to those relating to the overemphasis of particular social forces (i.e., the Muslim Brotherhood and the labour movement) as the representatives of

Egyptian opposition. By providing an overview of the richness and heterogeneity of

Egyptian civil society (and the educational spaces available within them), I argue that it is imperative to adapt to the repressive political context by exploring other avenues of resistance and contestation.

2.5 Contentious Politics and Civil Society Resistance Post-uprisings

As introduced in Chapter One, the literature surrounding the Egyptian uprisings has overwhelmingly concentrated on contentious politics, which includes demonstrations, strikes, sit-ins and other forms of direct political action that led to the uprisings of 2011

(e.g. Abdelrahman, 2016; Alexander and Bassiouny, 2014; Korany and El-Mahdi, 2012;

Sowers and Toensing, 2012). I argued that it is becoming more difficult to maintain the same revolutionary objectives and rhetoric as those employed between 2011 and 2013, partly because the state is more likely to repress it swiftly and partly due to large segments of Egyptian society viewing such actions as causing disruption and instability (Maqbool,

2013). Therefore, it is important for movements (and the academic literature) to start adapting to the current political context by exploring other avenues of resistance which do not solely revolve around contentious politics. Importantly, these resistance practices (of which education is one) can take less direct or explicit oppositional forms and thus, could potentially hold the limited opportunities available to help instigate social change.

Closely linked to this line of argument, and in order to broaden our conception of resistance, we need to account for the heterogeneity of social forces existing in Egyptian civil society that cross political, economic and socio-cultural barriers. With the current repercussions against civil society and specifically the Muslim Brotherhood (MB), it has become unclear which particular social forces are capable of instigating social change.

Nonetheless, what is significant is that any process of social change is more likely to be instigated by social forces that are capable of building alliances amongst one another, without prioritising one force over the other. This is particularly significant in authoritarian contexts, whereby the possibilities for contestation are likely to mitigate against fixed understandings of how resistance should take place. It therefore becomes imperative that different class and non-class struggles are considered, whereby this heterogeneity of social forces can develop solidarities and possibly alter the hegemonic system through a plethora of resistance methods. The next section provides an overview of Egyptian civil society, and in so doing, argues that the heterogeneity of social forces is not a weakness, but instead needs to be taken into greater consideration especially in post-uprisings Egypt.

2.5.1 An Overview of Egyptian Civil Society

Civil society had been in existence for nearly a century and a half when the first modern equivalent of an NGO was established in 1840 by Greek emigres living in Egypt (Ibrahim,

2003: 8-9; 1996). Egypt therefore could arguably claim to have the longest history with regard to formally organised voluntary associations in the Middle East (Langohr, 2004).

Since their establishment in the 19th century, these voluntary associations have performed various roles within Egyptian society. They helped shape the political culture, expanded political spaces and provided avenues for political education (Abd El Wahab, 2012: 71-

72). Furthermore, such associations and civic organisations aimed to fill in the gaps left by the absence of an independent national government under the British occupation and up to

1952 (Langohr, 2004: 182-183; Abdelrahman, 2004: 127).

Despite such organisations performing important political, economic and cultural roles in the 19th and early 20th century, the rise of populist-nationalist military regimes meant that organisations such as political parties, trade unions and voluntary associations were repressed (Ibrahim, 2003: 10; Langohr, 2004: 193). According to Abdelrahman (2004:

123), these CSOs “ceased to be an expression of interests and demands of strong social forces”; instead, they were turned into vehicles which the state utilised to infiltrate and control society. Despite such historical repression, Egypt still represents an important contender for further developing a civil society that is based on its vibrant public sphere, its history, and its thousands of associations, clubs, publishing houses and other initiatives that aim to act as a buffer between the state and society (Sullivan and Abed-Kotob, 1999: 3).

The exact number of CSOs in Egypt is contested, but Abd El Wahab (2012: 72) quotes that around 30,000 NGOs, 13,162 cooperatives, 5,410 clubs and youth centres, and 46 syndicates exist, while having around 3 million members of civic associations, 5 million of professional syndicates and 3.5 million of labour unions (see also Qandil, 2004). These numbers tend to fluctuate every year, but the fact still remains that Egypt does indeed have

64 a rich, yet repressed, civil society (Sullivan and Abed-Kotob, 1999: 135). Notwithstanding this repression, CSOs still have an essential political role to play by helping foster citizenship values, and assuming an educational role that promotes a rights-based approach to learning and encouraging participation (Abd El Wahab, 2012: 73-74).

However, the nature of these roles, and the types of organisations through which they could be carried out, has been changing over the years. The reasons behind this could be related back to the state’s repression, as well as to the relative weakness of many CSOs, especially political parties. Based on that, and with opposition parties in Egypt being virtually non-existent, many advocacy NGOs, non-political associations, and other types of local and community-based movements have started assuming more visible oppositional roles usually carried out by political parties (Langohr, 2004: 181-182; Altan-Olcay and

Icduygu, 2012: 161; Yom, 2005: 14). Consequently, Langohr (2004: 182) argues that the combination of such CSOs, especially advocacy NGOs, constituted a larger topography of opposition. This implies that advocacy NGOs, through their articulation of oppositional discourses and practices, could complement and even substitute the work of traditional political parties (Sa‘id, 2005: 58). Therefore, political activism in Egypt should arguably be considered as no longer organised within formal, bureaucratic and hierarchical organisations but also through loosely-established horizontal networks (Abdelrahman,

2009: 44). Furthermore, Sika (2012a: 188) argues that the growth in new social movements has been mostly taking place outside mainstream politics and even Islamist movements.

This indicates the importance and influence of such (mainly secular) movements in the post-Mubarak era (Sika, 2012b: 77-78).

As Singerman (2006: 1) argues, a “narrow understanding of civil society does not do justice to the thriving oppositional trends, nor do they capture the struggles for power, rule and authority”. Basing her argument on the need to look at familial and informal communal networks, Singerman argues that it is through such informal institutions that

Egyptians could create counter-public spaces through which a range of diverse institutions

“engage in battles for hegemony” and where the state fails to be entirely hegemonic (ibid:

17-18). Hence, by casting a wider net on civil society (i.e., consider the heterogeneity of social forces), I will be able to consider the most recent forms of oppositional forces in

Egypt which includes, but is not limited to, social movements, advocacy groups, professional syndicates, labour unions, and the media (Abdelrahman, 2009: 39). In doing so, it becomes indispensable to identify the opportunities through which diverse political groups could work together through “cooperative differentiation” (ibid: 39-40). This implies, once more, that class and non-class based interests and struggles need to be considered in an integrated analysis. This is made more pressing due to the relative decline of class-based movements worldwide and in Egypt, which arguably means that factions of the Left have struggled to adjust their positions in order to accommodate activism that was not necessarily class-based (ibid: 48). More importantly, such cooperation is vital in order to overcome the multifarious challenges facing CSOs in Egypt.5 I provide an in-depth discussion of such challenges in Chapters Five and Six, but for the purposes of this review,

I now offer a brief outline based on the existing literature.

2.5.2 The Challenges and Repression of Egyptian Civil Society

There has been a rich history of challenges, repression and struggles that have ensued between the state and CSOs, between CSOs themselves, and between CSOs and the rest of society. These challenges can be divided into those internal to CSOs (i.e., associated with their own organisational and financial capacities), and those external to them (i.e., imposed by the state). Both sets of challenges are equally detrimental to the establishment, functioning and survival of CSOs, and thus constitute an essential component of their existence. By considering the internal challenges, we find that one of the most crucial issues facing CSOs is their lack of significant grassroots presence (Ibrahim, 1996: 35).

5 The implications of this decline in class-based movements is discussed in more detail in the next chapter. 66

This is mostly prevalent in oppositional left-wing parties, which have always struggled to establish deep roots within society, or obtain broad-based support (Fahmy, 2006: 7; Auda,

1991: 76-77). Political parties have also struggled to translate their ideas and philosophies into concrete programs capable of addressing people’s issues (Masoud, 2008: 23; Yom,

2005: 19-20). Furthermore, they have lacked internal democratic structures and dynamic leadership (Albrecht, 2013: 44; Sika, 2012a; Benger, 2011; Ghoneim, 2005: 176), and have been embroiled in bitter intra and inter-party rivalries leading to the fragmentation of the opposition and its lack of cross-sectional alliances (Albrecht, 2013: 45; Abdelrahman,

2009: 37; Yom, 2005: 20; Abdelrahman, 2004: 108; Langohr, 2004: 198; Auda, 1991: 77).

With regard to the class and social composition of CSOs, Ibrahim (1996: 35) maintains that some organisations, especially secular CSOs, have merely performed a social function for politicians and the elite. Moreover, upper and middle-class members comprised a large portion of many CSOs, particularly advocacy and service-oriented NGOs, with a distinctive absence of the working-class and other marginalised members of society

(Abdelrahman, 2004: 158). This composition, Albrecht (2013: 77) argues, makes such organisations resemble the state itself, since their upper echelons are monopolised by a small group of individuals. This lack of organic ties with a large section of society is also exacerbated by the fact that many CSOs are based in urban areas (ibid: 62). Accordingly, it does not come as a surprise to find voices that are sceptical about CSOs’ capabilities of offering long-term solutions. In fact, rather than addressing inequalities, some organisations might be unwittingly promoting their persistence through reproducing the

“existing material hierarchies” that help maintain the status quo (Abdelrahman, 2004: 28).

Additionally, Berman (2003: 264-265) warns that the growth of civil society in Egypt should not be considered positive, but instead as a “politically neutral multiplier” which has the potential of becoming an incubator for radicalism (ibid: 258). The internal challenges, as argued in various parts of the thesis (particularly Chapters Five and Six)

67 offer numerous implications in regard to our understanding of the nature of resistance, and the limitations of the CSOs considered when building organic ties with communities.

By moving on to consider the state-imposed challenges, we find that civil society is characterised by significant governmental interferences and outright repression (Abd El

Wahab, 2012: 72; Rowe, 2009: 111). Despite the relative opening of civil society over the past decades, Auda (1991: 71-72) considers this to have been based on the rational calculations of the regimes in power, which saw that controlled reform was essential for their own survival (see also Valbjorn, 2014 and Albrecht and Schlumberger, 2004).

Nonetheless, this controlled reform has meant that CSOs have been entrenched within a mesh of bureaucratic practices that attempt to monitor and control their activities (Altan-

Olcay and Icduygu, 2012: 161; Wiktorowicz, 2000: 43). There is an amalgam of methods through which the state can repress CSOs.

In Chapter Six, I will argue that these methods range from soft to hard repressive methods.6 In short, a hard approach includes the arrest of CSO members, cracking down on their headquarters and confiscating their property, whilst the soft approach is more nuanced and utilises, for example, legislation in order to repress CSOs. These legal and bureaucratic restrictions have been in place since the early 1960s under Nasser, especially through the infamous law 32/1964, and more recently, through law 84/2002 which particularly targets advocacy NGOs (Abdelrahman, 2004: 94, 120; Langohr, 2004: 193-

197; al-Sayyid, 1993: 236-237; Sullivan and Abed-Kotob, 1999: 26; Fouad, Ref‘at and

Murcos, 2005: 102-103). Furthermore, the way oppositional CSOs are portrayed in the state-owned and state-supportive media has also played a crucial role in delegitimising their activities through depicting them as a threat to national security and to social cohesiveness. This arguably alienated a large section of the Egyptian population from such

CSOs as well as justified their repression. Moreover, CSOs and specifically political

6 Labelling a repressive approach as soft does not entail that it is not repressive, but instead, that its repression could take less direct and violent means. 68 parties, have limited access to the media, which hinders their already limited presence

(Langohr, 2004: 188-189). However, as I argue in Chapter Seven, despite these legal, bureaucratic and media hindrances, many CSOs have been able to find legal and extra- legal loopholes in order to function and survive (e.g., Kubba, 2000: 87).

Finally, co-optation has been used by the state in order to neutralise some of the radical elements of civil society and the intelligentsia. According to Lust-Okar (2004: 159-179), co-optation makes radical elements less willing to exert pressure on the state. Such co- optation attempts also serve to reassert the view that some CSOs are not necessarily independent from the state (Sullivan and Abed-Kotob, 1999: 25). In fact, some organisations could be labelled as being “para-public” (Ben Nefissa, 2005: 10), due to their close ties to the state, and at times are even created by the state (Sullivan and Abed-Kotob,

1999: 25). This implies that such CSOs could emerge as integral parts of the existing regime and of the implementation of its policies (Albrecht, 2005: 378-398; Abdelrahman,

2004: 106).

As is argued in the next chapter, Gramsci’s concept of civil society as an important component of the ‘integral state’ becomes vital in understanding this concept in more detail. However, before I conclude this section on Egyptian civil society by outlining the limitations of the literature reviewed, I want to consider the issues surrounding the Muslim

Brotherhood’s (MB) utilisation of civil society. This is important because the relation between the MB and Egyptian civil society has not only been controversial, but arguably it is one of the most researched topics. Crucially, it also serves to explain why the Muslim

Brotherhood have not been considered in my research.

2.5.3 The Muslim Brotherhood and Civil Society

Islamists in Egypt,7 and specifically the Muslim Brotherhood (MB), have been able to increasingly exploit the economic, social and moral hardships of many lower-income communities to oppose the regime through their culture, values, norms and interpretation of religion (Singerman, 2006: 9-13). Through their ability to stand purposefully outside the system by establishing their own social welfare networks, religious and ideological ties with the grassroots (Diamond, 2010: 100), the MB operated as a “state within a state”

(Hamid, 2011: 72). This was made possible by the MB developing their own set of parallel institutions such as hospitals, schools, banks, day-care centres, and cooperatives which millions of poor Egyptians depended on (i.e., filling in the welfare gaps left by the state).8

Furthermore, the MB’s influential presence is also crucially connected to the weakness of the abovementioned secular opposition (Masoud, 2008: 23).

The MB was able to widen their oppositional network through being active and influential within a number of professional syndicates such as those of doctors, engineers, pharmacists and lawyers (e.g., Wickham, 2013; Arafat, 2012; Zahid, 2012; Brownlee, 2002; Ibrahim,

2002; al-Sayyid, 1993). What also made the MB become a viable opposition was their emphasis on education. The MB consider education a battlefield for controlling (religious) knowledge and for acquiring ideological dominance through discursive and institutional means (Asik, 2012: 85; Cook, 2001: 399; Starrett, 1998: 11; Berkey, 2007; Herrera, 2006).

This ideological battle has been taking place within the institutions of formal education, whereby the MB build their own preschools and elementary schools (Herrera, 2006) and have a significant presence within the teachers’ colleges and students’ unions (ibid;

7 It is important to note that the term ‘Islamist’ can refer to different forms of organisations and movements that advocate that public and political life should be guided by Islamic principles (Poljarevic, 2015). These groups can utilise a variety of tactics to achieve this aim ranging from violence (e.g. Egyptian Islamic Jihad and Al-Jama‘ah Al-Islamiyah) to arguably more reformist approaches that take place within the vicinities of civil society (e.g. Muslim Brotherhood). 8 For details about the Muslim Brotherhood’s history, political activism and welfare services see: Pargeter (2013), Wickham (2013), Ranko (2015), Milton-Edwards (2015), Tadros (2014), Shehata (2009), Zahid (2012), Krause (2012) and Sullivan and Abed-Kotob (1999). 70

Maugith, 2006; Starrett, 1998). Additionally, this has been complemented by the establishment of their own informal and alternative educational institutions (Herrera and

Mansour, 2015; Asik, 2012; Herrera, 2000; Sullivan and Abed-Kotob, 1999). Accordingly, it is such alternative institutions that would be considered the epitome of the MB’s counter- hegemonic strategy. However, this should be approached with caution, since such education could merely be aiming to religiously indoctrinate people and thus to perform an analogous function to state schools (e.g., Berman, 2003: 260-261; Abdelrahman, 2004:

110-113).

In her study of private Islamic schools, Herrera (2006) argued that instead of aiming to challenge the authoritarian status quo and hierarchical classroom relations, these schools were reproducing the same authoritarian relations that encouraged submission and total obedience to authority. Accordingly, rather than using education to encourage critical thinking, it was instead encouraging uncritical submission and promoting a conservative

Islamic agenda (ibid: 38). Moreover, these schools arguably employed a hidden curriculum that encouraged the development of particular norms and behaviours that were conducive to submission and obedience (Cook, 2000; Neill, 2006; Murphy, 2002; Hamid, 2011).

Consequently, and as Herrera and Mansour (2015) argue, these educational initiatives could be paving the way for an alternative but not politicising form of education, and thus they could also be contributing to wider social fractures, polarisation and insecurity.

Of course, this threat of social fracture could also apply to some of the secular and left- wing forces in Egypt as well. Nonetheless, there is not enough space to analyse the debates surrounding alternative Islamist education in more detail. However, and for the purposes of this thesis, despite their seemingly Gramscian nature, the MB are ultimately a regressive and conservative force. This requires us to go beyond deliberations that view them as constituting the sole effective oppositional force in Egypt. Therefore, it is vital that we widen the net to consider a larger topography of opposition, and one that helps make sense

71 of other thriving oppositional trends that have been neglected in recent research on Egypt.

Building on that, I conclude this main section by outlining the limitations of the literature surrounding Egyptian civil society and its implications for the thesis.

2.5.4 Limitations of Civil Society Resistance in Egypt

As demonstrated above, literature that analyses Egyptian civil society is abundant.

Nonetheless, there are numerous limitations The first, highlighted at the start of section

2.5, revolves around the overwhelming focus on contentious politics as opposed to exploring other avenues of resistance and contestation. It is important to explore and analyse resistance practices that can be less direct or not explicitly oppositional as they could potentially hold the limited opportunities to instigate social change. In short, the literature does not consider, or offer the tools to broaden the conception of resistance especially under the current authoritarian context. The second limitation has already been addressed in the previous chapter (see section 1.6.1). It concerns the different categorisations of Egyptian CSOs and their exclusion of groups important for this research such as educational organisations, political movements that are not registered with the government, and the various rights-based organisations that can be registered as non-profit organisations or as law firms. The typology developed addresses this limitation by including organisations that otherwise could be omitted from current or future research.

The third limitation revolves around the absence of any concrete discussions regarding the provision of political education through Egyptian civil society. Moreover, the literature does not consider the interlinkages between education and the political struggle ensuing in post-uprisings Egypt, or crucially, how education can play a role in instigating social change. The fourth limitation is the literature’s insufficient analysis of the soft repressive methods (introduced in section 2.5.2) and their proliferation after the uprisings in order to target oppositional CSOs. The final limitation, and closely linked to the previous, is the lack of sustained analyses of how CSOs (in their various manifestations) are adapting to

72 the current repressive context. For example, an analysis is required of how CSOs are challenging the state-imposed restrictions regarding their establishment, funding and day- to-day functioning. Some of the methods used might not be as explicitly political or oppositional as those found in contentious politics, yet must be analysed in more detail due to the implications they hold for social change and resistance in post-uprisings Egypt.

2.6 Conclusion

Since the thesis seeks to critically analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt, it was important to examine these three building blocks in more detail. Consequently, this chapter critically engaged with the literatures surrounding the building blocks and in so doing, outlined the potentials and limitations associated with each of the literatures, discussed their implications for the thesis and argued for the need to utilise a Gramscian framework. With regards to issues surrounding the binary conceptualisation of authoritarianism and democratisation, I argued that the insights offered by this approach were incapable of explaining the political developments taking place in Egypt. They risk assuming that the absence of any democratic change is necessarily linked to the persistence of authoritarianism. Alternatively, the approach’s failure to locate visible evidence of democratic change does not always assume the absence of resistance.

Building on that, I argued that a Gramscian analysis is useful as the concept of hegemonic contestation enables me to widen the scope of repression so as to analyse both the violent and non-violent methods employed by the state to silence opposition as well as the methods used to challenge this. This suggests the diversification of both the sources of oppression and the methods of resistance inferring that authoritarianism and repression are never absolute, but are constantly challenged in ways that are not always visible, or explicitly political. Moreover, education comprised an important aspect of such methods of resistance. This was developed in the chapter’s second main section which refuted claims

73 that education is neutral and apolitical by focusing on a number of theoretical approaches that analysed the various political roles played by education in society. I argued that, despite their merits in looking at education through a more critical lens, these theoretical approaches suffered from numerous limitations such as their sole focus on formal education, their insufficient examination of power relations, struggles and contestation, the downplaying of human agency and finally, the role of education in political socialisation.

Thereafter, the chapter’s focus shifted towards political education where I argued that it was vital to differentiate between a narrow approach to political education which is inundated with limitations, and a broader, more radical approach. The literature surrounding the narrow approach did not consider educational initiatives that took place outside the vicinities of formal education and schools. This implied that avenues of informal and alternative educational spaces that existed within civil society remained unexamined. Importantly, this narrow approach did not consider the transformative and resistive side of education, whereby education could help develop people’s critical consciousness and to contest inequalities and oppression. I hence established that a broader and more radical conceptualisation of political education was needed and this is developed with the help of Gramsci in the next chapter.

Finally, I reviewed the literature surrounding Egyptian civil society and argued that, despite its richness both prior to and after 2011, it suffered from a number of limitations.

The first was its overwhelming focus on contentious politics as opposed to exploring other avenues of contestation. This was magnified by particularly focusing on the Muslim

Brotherhood and the labour movement as representatives of Egyptian opposition, whilst not paying enough attention to the heterogeneity of civil society and the proliferation of different CSOs and movements over the past decade. Moreover, absent from the literature are analyses of the CSOs’ political educational initiatives, the challenges they face in

74 providing an alternative political education and crucially, how the CSOs are able to contest and adapt to these challenges under the current authoritarian context.

While each section of this chapter was relatively autonomous from each other insofar as the literatures were considered in a sequential fashion owing to their specificities, it is important to reiterate what they have in common. More to the point, the literatures on authoritarianism, education and civil society all suffer from two key limitations. Firstly, they suffer from an excessive conceptual formalism, which means that authoritarianism and democratisation are treated in dichotomous terms, education is largely understood in terms of its reproductive functions, and civil society is studied with regard to explicit and visible forms of activism, which privileges more established organisations (such as the

MB). Secondly, and in consequence, such formalism makes it difficult for the researcher to appreciate the intricate, interactive and dynamic relationship between authoritarian and democratising impulses, allow for the crucial role played by more informal educational sites (especially in Global South contexts), and acknowledge the richer and more fluid range and roles of CSOs in Egyptian society. These two limitations are of crucial importance for the thesis, for they reduce significantly the possibilities for identifying, understanding and analysing the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt.

Hence, although the chapter did not set out to answer any of the research questions outlined in Chapter One, the discussions developed here served as a rationale to explain the reasons behind formulating them. Nonetheless, there will be a division of labour throughout the next five chapters each concerned with answering one of the questions being posed. The next chapter will not only develop the thesis’ Gramscian framework, it will effectively answer the first subsidiary question concerning how this framework is able to overcome the theoretical and methodological limitations observed here, and thus provide

75 a more nuanced understanding of the links between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt.

Chapter 3: Hegemonic Contestation, Political Education and the ‘Travelling’ Gramsci: Rethinking Resistance in Post-uprisings Egypt

3.1 Introduction

The previous chapter reviewed the potentials and limitations of literatures on authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. Throughout my discussions, I highlighted how such limitations provide a starting point for developing the thesis’ Gramscian framework. Accordingly, this chapter builds on this by illustrating how a

Gramscian perspective addresses the literatures’ shortcomings. This is done through outlining how Gramsci adds to our understandings of the interlinkages between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. In so doing, this chapter not only develops the thesis’ framework, but it additionally answers the first subsidiary question: How does a Gramscian approach conceptualise education and civil society, and how does the relationship between these concepts provide for a more nuanced understanding of the links between political education and civil society resistance in post- uprisings Egypt?

Furthermore, the chapter develops an exposition of the “travelling” Gramsci which proposes that, in order not to lose any of their critical and analytical rigour, Gramscian concepts need to be adapted to suit Egypt’s political, economic and socio-cultural contexts.

Otherwise, applying his concepts uncritically and repetitively risks us falling into what

Edward Said (1983: 239) considers to be “methodological traps” which actually mystify the case under discussion rather than illuminate it. Consequently, Gramscian concepts have to be both spatial and temporally sensitive in order to guide our understandings of post- uprisings Egypt. The chapter in many respects emulates the previous chapter’s framing, whereby my discussion is based on the thesis’ three building blocks of authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance.

The first main section introduces Gramsci as a critic of economic reductionism and its inevitable consequence: that humans are passive actors in social change and resistance.

The section offers a brief glimpse of the importance Gramsci placed on human agency and critical intellectual activity to bring about social transformation. Building on that, the second section focuses on the Gramscian concept of hegemonic contestation and how it offers the tools to understand both authoritarianism and resistance in a more nuanced manner. By considering Gramsci’s ideas on hegemony, the integral state and war of position, I argue that his concepts offer solutions to overcome the literatures’ excessive conceptual formalism in treating authoritarianism and democratisation in dichotomous terms; in privileging explicit and visible forms of activism (contentious politics); and in providing insufficient attention to the fluid range of Egyptian CSOs and their informal political educational sites.

The third section builds on the previous by analysing Gramsci’s ideas on education, especially its potential political socialisation and transformative roles. Gramsci considered education to be a fundamental part of hegemony as it does not solely aid in developing consent for the ruling regime, but additionally offers methods to challenge it.

Consequently, I argue that Gramsci’s ideas on education provide the foundations for a radical and broader conceptualisation of political education. This suggested conceptualisation provides the tools to rethink political education and resistance under authoritarian contexts, particularly in post-uprisings Egypt.

The fourth section considers Gramsci’s emphasis on building alliances amongst subaltern groups. Within it I offer a critique of Gramsci’s emphasis on class, but also argue for the need to consider other social forces existing in post-uprisings Egypt. The final section offers a number of comments regarding the straightforward application of Gramsci to the

Egyptian context. Through utilising Edward Said’s concept of the travelling theory, I argue that despite Gramsci having written in a different historical, political, economic and socio-

78 cultural context, his ideas can still help us understand and analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings

Egypt. However, this is on the condition that his concepts are adapted and modified to suit the Egyptian context, whilst not abandoning the core of his insights. I specifically focus on his conceptualisations of civil society, the primacy of the working-class as agents of social change, the role of political parties (the Modern Prince) and finally political education. I conclude by summarising how the chapter has achieved the stated aims, the implications this has for my arguments, and in so doing outline how the travelling Gramsci will be utilised throughout the rest of the thesis.

3.2 Against Economism

Many of the theories reviewed in Chapter Two (section 2.4) impose a one-sided view of domination which downplays human agency and contestation. Hence, I maintained that it is imperative that the thesis’ framework should not only attempt to overcome these limitations, but also place human agency at the core of its deliberations without neglecting the important role played by the economy in influencing the provision of education.

Accordingly, Gramsci appreciated the need to develop Marxism theoretically and practically in ways that made it become more applicable to new historical contexts which could not have been foreseen by Marx and Engels (Hall, 1996: 412).

Gramsci was thus against the “scientific ossification and its attendant political passivity of the Second International” (Femia, 1975: 29), and consequently, his ideas have been contrasted with positivist and determinist interpretations of social change (Mayo, 1999:

37). As could be inferred from the reviewed Marxist approaches to reproduction, the economic foundations were considered as being the overwhelming determining structure of society, whereby all other types of social relations were conceptualised in a way that made them directly correspond to the economic base (Hall, 1996: 417). Hence, in this view the economic base not only sets the limits, but also shapes the form and content of the

79 superstructure, and arguably of human consciousness as well (Femia, 1975: 36). This reductionist and economistic perspective arguably “simplifies the structure of social formations, reducing their complexity of articulation, vertical and horizontal, to a single line of determination…it presents social formations as a ‘simple expressive totality’” (Hall,

1996: 418).

Gramsci was against such simplification and accompanying notions that viewed humans as passive actors in times of social change and resistance (Femia, 1975: 35), and according to

Mouffe (1979: 169-170), this made him one of the first Marxists to have undertaken such a radical critique of economism. In short, Gramsci advocated that human subjectivity should be a core element of Marxism, in which critical intellectual activity, and human will are at the core of any revolution. Humans, thus, should be considered as the makers of their own history, and not just reflectors of structural determinants (Femia, 1981: 2, 64, 70-73).

Hence, Gramsci rejected the “law-like guarantees” of economic crises being converted into immediate political effects (Hall, 1996: 422); but as he himself argued, “every revolution is usually preceded by a long process of intense critical activity, of new cultural insight and the spread of ideas through groups of men initially resistant to them” (1994: 10; see also

Sassoon (1987: 25)).

This does not mean that the economy plays no part whatsoever in societal or historical development, but rather creates terrains “more favourable to the dissemination of certain modes of thought, and certain ways of posing and resolving questions involving the entire subsequent development of national life” (Gramsci, 1971: 184). Accordingly, one must

“understand the fundamental structure – within a society or ‘the degree of development of the productive forces’, for these set the most fundamental limits and conditions for the whole shape of historical development” (Hall, 1996: 421). As Texier (1979: 50) warns, failing to take into consideration this requirement leads to economism and ideologism, in which, in one case, “the mechanical causes are overestimated, and in the other the

80 voluntarist and individual element is given excessive importance”. Therefore, it becomes

“theoretical nonsense” when we separate quantity from quality, liberty from necessity, and ideology from the economy (Gramsci, 1971: 363).

This constitutes a key part of my analysis of the Egyptian formal education system in

Chapter Four, where I argue that the politico-economic changes, especially under Sadat and Mubarak, have had profound effects on formal education, and on the inequalities persisting within it. The lack of analysis of political economy within education, can lead to an uncritical acceptance of certain arguments, and could also “blind us to the real working of power in society, particularly those that come in the shape of the ‘state’ and ‘civil society’” (Murphy, 2001: 356-57). In short, Gramsci’s critique of economism offers us a number of important perspectives. It takes into consideration the vitality of human agency, whereby humans are not viewed as passive actors at the mercy of economic conditions.

Instead, they are viewed as actors capable of engaging in critical intellectual activity and who have the will to resist. Despite Gramsci’s critique of economism, he does not dismiss the importance of the economy in its entirety.

Finally, it is through his concept of hegemony that contestation and struggle could be understood in light of the above considerations because it offers a method of analysing both the attempts to establish social order, maintain legitimacy and manufacture consent, as well as the attempts to counter them. This perspective is captured by Morrow and Torres

(1995: 38), who argue that:

There is an inevitable subjective-objective split in social theory –which, in a way, reflects the reality of everyday life –that cannot ultimately be resolved theoretically. Consequently, it is argued that educational reproduction and change can only be understood through the use of two complementary research strategies: state-hegemonic theories that focus on the state as the mediating point through which various economic, class and technical factors are regulated to create social order; and transformative-resistance theories that are concerned with the conditions under which individual and collective subjects become mobilised as part of counter-hegemonic resistance against existing educational institutions and related forms of domination.

In order to understand how hegemonic contestation illuminates my analysis of authoritarianism and resistance, it is important to first define and understand what hegemony is and outline the differentiation between political and civil society.

3.3 Hegemonic Contestation, the Integral State and the War of Position

In the previous chapter, I argued that the literature on authoritarianism in the Arab world contained excessive conceptual formalism that treated authoritarianism and democratisation in dichotomous terms. It failed to explain the political developments that were taking place in authoritarian contexts, which at times assumed the absence of democratic change and the persistence of authoritarian rule. In this section, I argue that

Gramsci helps overcome this limitation through his concept of hegemony, and the relation between political and civil society (the integral state).

3.3.1 Defining Hegemony

Hegemony, (Femia, 1975: 35) argues, does more than just “illuminate the complexity and explain the tenacity of bourgeois rule”; it is also crucial for guiding political practice

(Femia, 1981: 50). As part of his conceptualisation of hegemony, Gramsci was interested in understanding how culture and education played an important political and social role in developing and reproducing the ruling elite’s power. Furthermore, and as explained below, through his distinction between coercion and consent, Gramsci has encouraged a more nuanced, subtle and articulated understanding of the state and its relation to society

(Fontana, 2008: 89). The state is thus no longer perceived as being an administrative and coercive apparatus, but importantly, as an educative and formative one as well (Hall, 1996:

428; Torfing, 1999: 28).

According to Boothman (2008) and Roccu (2012), Gramsci’s conception of hegemony is derived from four main sources: the Russian social-democratic circles; the Crocean ethico- political history; Machiavelli’s Prince; and Gramsci’s studies in linguistics. In Russia’s

82 social-democratic circles (in the context of Tsarist Russia), hegemony was used to denote the working class’s call for the unification of both political struggle against the ruling elite, and economic struggle against employers (Boothman, 2008: 208; Anderson, 1976: 15-7).

Hegemony, under this context, and being particularly influenced by Lenin who for

Gramsci “reappraised the front of cultural struggle and constructed the theory of hegemony as a complement to the theory of the state-as-force” (Gramsci, 1995: 357), referred to the working class’s leading role established in alliance with the peasants.

The second main source is Croce’s concept of ethico-political history, and its critique of historical materialism. This influenced Gramsci to adapt and alter this concept as part of his own philosophy of praxis (Boothman, 2008: 208) by asserting that the moment of hegemony was “as essential to the concept of the state in attaching ‘full weight’ to the cultural factor, to cultural activity, to the necessity for a cultural front alongside the merely economic and political ones” (Gramsci, 1995: 345). This implied that hegemony can “also account for the reorganisation of society on part of the state, rather than refer only to a social alliance that aims at overthrowing a particular form of state” (Roccu, 2012: 47). The third main influence is Machiavelli’s metaphor of the centaur (half-animal and half-man)

(Boothman, 2008; Fontana, 2008; Femia, 1981). For Gramsci, the centaur and its dual nature signifies “the levels of force and consent, authority and hegemony, violence and civilization of the individual moment and the universal moment (‘church’ and ‘state’), of agitation and propaganda, of tactics and strategy, etc.” (Gramsci, 1971: 170).

Furthermore, Machiavelli’s prince is required to negotiate with the people and share common goals whereby this transforms a multitude in which private interests are dominant, to people (or a collective subject) with a public interest (Boothman, 2008: 210).

Under this perspective, Roccu (2012: 44-45) argues that hegemony, instead of entirely relying on ideational persuasion, contains within it a material component which can be the co-optation of groups, as well as the “spoil distribution among supporters”. The final

83 influence relates to Gramsci’s interest in linguistics which influenced his conceptualisation of the relations between hegemonic and subaltern groups, and the discursive production and reproduction of hegemony and subalternity, or in short, the relations between language and power (Roccu, 2012: 48; Boothman, 2008: 212; Ives, 2004).

Hegemony can be interpreted through three different approaches which are dependent on the shifting interpretations of state-civil society relations (discussed below). According to

Roccu (2012: 46), the first interpretation is hegemony relating to civil society as opposed to the state’s coercive powers. This interpretation, which clearly differentiates between state and civil society, constricts hegemony to the private realm whereby it is opposed to coercion and equated in the last instance with consent (Bruff, 2010). Under it, the state’s prevalence is maintained by coercive means, thus problematising this interpretation of hegemony as it does not consider the ideological power of the state (ibid). The second interpretation concerns hegemony as being operated by the state over both political and civil society. For although hegemony is still equated with consent since civil society is incorporated within the state, the state becomes equivalent to the whole social formation and thus the autonomy of civil society is denied in the last instance. Roccu (2012: 47) argues that cancelling the state-civil society distinction “forecloses the analysis of different forms of state, which are indeed shaped by the way the political and juridical apparatuses related to the wider social formation”. This is of particular importance when I later consider the travelling Gramsci.

The third interpretation of hegemony, and that which influences the conception utilised in the thesis, comprises a combination of both coercion and consent that functions across political and civil society. Under this interpretation, both the state and civil society are able to exercise, resist and transform hegemony. Although the prevalence of the state is still maintained through coercion, it is also mostly preserved through consent (ibid: 48).

Accordingly, hegemony is “the combination of force and consent, which balance each

84 other reciprocally, without force predominating excessively over consent” (Gramsci, 1971:

80, footnote 49). In other words, hegemony is viewed as “the predominance obtained by consent rather than force of one class or group over other classes; and it is attained through the myriad ways in which the institutions of civil society operate to shape, directly or indirectly, the cognitive and affective structures” (ibid: 31).9 In short, hegemony should be considered as a combination of coercion and consent which mutually balance each other, whereby force that does not overly dominate consent implies an “invitation to explore the different forms that hegemony takes, being from time to time more or less inclusive, more or less ideologically compelling, and in the last analysis more or less successful” (Roccu,

2012: 55).10

To further explicate how hegemony works, Gramsci distinguished between transformism and expansive hegemony (Gramsci, 1971: 55-59; 106-114; 129-133). Transformism is considered to be a defensive strategy implemented by the hegemonic force during political and economic crises. This particularly involves the gradual absorption of active elements of both allied groups and antagonistic (i.e., oppositional) groups, in which “political leadership [becomes] an aspect of the function of domination – in as much as the absorption of the enemies’ elites means their decapitation, and annihilation often for a very long time” (ibid: 59). Through such instances of co-optation, Mouffe (1979: 182) argues that the aim becomes to neutralise antagonistic political forces and to disunite the masses.

Expansive hegemony, on the other hand, aims to counter the attempts exerted by the hegemonic force to maintain its leadership by attempting to reorganise the hegemonic power bloc. Additionally, it is considered to be an offensive strategy focusing on mobilising the masses for a revolution, and most importantly for the construction of a

9 Roccu (2012: 49) suggests a differentiated understanding of hegemony which “allows to consider it as a combination of coercion and consent when it is exercised by the state, while the coercive element is lost when hegemony is exercised by civil society”. This differentiated understanding, he further argues, accounts for the challenges faced when building hegemony without having political power, or with access to the coercive apparatus. 10 Later in the chapter (section 3.6.3) I outline the implications of this definition with regard to the travelling Gramsci. 85 collective national-popular will (Gramsci, 1971: 132-133; Mouffe, 1979: 183; Torfing,

1999: 111). In order to construct such a national-popular will and thus become hegemonic, a social force needs to overcome their economic-corporate and class-corporate stages. The former is when professional and occupational groups recognise their basic interests but without any wider class solidarities, whilst the latter is when class solidarity exists but only within the economic field (Hall, 1996: 423; Gramsci, 1971: 180-183).11

In short, in order to become hegemonic, it “undoubtedly presupposes that account be taken of the interests…of the groups over which hegemony is to be exercised…that the leading group make sacrifices of an economic-corporate kind” (Gramsci, 1971: 161; Femia, 1975:

32). Overcoming such economic-corporate moments implies that “one becomes aware that one’s corporate interests, in their present and future development, transcend the corporate limits of the purely economic class, and can and must become the interests of other subordinate groups too” (Gramsci, 1971: 181). Accordingly, transgressing such particular interests and encompassing the interests of other groups, and considering them as their own, becomes a crucial requirement for any group aiming to achieve power and creating a collective will (Fontana, 2010: 349; Mouffe, 1979: 191). Furthermore, this requirement to overcome economic and class corporate moments is associated with the oppositional forces that aim to challenge the state’s hegemony through forming a collective will and propagating a new conception of the world (Bobbio, 1979: 40). The above explications of hegemony are made clearer when we consider, in more detail, how the three different approaches reflect the shifting interpretations of state-civil society relations.

3.3.2 The Integral State and Civil Society as a Terrain of Hegemonic Contestation

By differentiating between coercion and consent, the state, for Gramsci, constituted the

“totality of social, economic, political and cultural relations that together form a given

11 Mouffe (1979: 180) describes these as being “different moments of political consciousness”, where the economic-corporate moment is labelled as being a primitive economic moment, and the class-corporate a politico-economic moment. 86 political and social order” (Fontana, 2010: 347). Where “in contrast to the moment of force and dictatorship there is the moment of persuasion and consent, and in contrast to the moment of economic-political struggle…stands the moment of cultural and ethico-political expansion” (Texier, 1979: 49). As a result, the integral state for Gramsci comprised both political society and civil society, where the former was associated with ruling through force and the latter associated with ruling through consent (i.e. “State = dictatorship + hegemony” (Gramsci, 1971: 239)). In short, hegemony under this conception becomes protected “by the armour of coercion” (ibid: 262-263). Civil society becomes the sphere of the integral state where the dominant groups manufacture consent through maintaining their hegemony (Green, 2011: 73). Importantly, this makes civil society under this perspective a sphere that is “not entirely a domain of free expression or organisation, as in the liberal conception” (ibid.), but rather a sphere of hegemony (Buttigieg, 1995: 7).

As argued above, hegemony is interpreted through three different approaches that reflect the shifting interpretations of state-civil society relations. Therefore, in the Prison

Notebooks the relationship between political and civil society has three variations. In one, the state is contrasted with civil society (Gramsci, 1971: 12). In the second, civil society and the state are “one and the same thing” (ibid: 160), and finally, the state comprises both political and civil society (ibid; Murphy, 2001: 357). However, it is important to note once more that Gramsci viewed such a distinction as one of methodology, analytically separable, but organically united (Gramsci, 1971: 160). Moreover, the “distinction between the moment of force (political society) and of consensus (civil society) is a practical canon of research, an instrument permitting a better analysis of an organic reality in which it is radically impossible to separate these two moments” (Texier, 1979: 50-51).12

Hence, for Gramsci, political and civil society should be viewed as supporting and reinforcing one another (i.e., hegemony as a combination of coercion and consent which

12 For more on the debates surrounding these different distinctions see: Anderson (1976), Hall et al. (1977), Bobbio (1979), Cohen and Arato (1994) and Thomas (2011) for a critique of Anderson. 87 mutually balance each other). On the one hand, the hegemony established within civil society supported the dominant group’s authority over political society. On the other hand, the juridical apparatuses located within political society helped protect the dominant group’s hegemony. This mainly relied on coercive measures such as law courts and the police and their ability to discipline those groups that did not consent to the dominant group’s power and hegemony (Green, 2011: 73; Gramsci, 1971: 12-13). Consequently,

Hall (1996: 430) argued that it was this relation between political and civil society that led to the multiplication and proliferation of various fronts of politics through which social antagonisms could be manifest. Therefore, under such considerations, the state becomes something that is not seized or smashed through violent upheavals, but through a diverse set of strategies aiming to challenge it (i.e. the state becomes an arena of different social contestations) (ibid: 429). This understanding is crucial for considering the Egyptian case, as will be discussed later in the chapter and as demonstrated in the empirical analysis offered in chapters 5-7.

In order to expound on the importance of civil society as a sphere of hegemony and contestation, it is imperative to note that Gramsci’s conceptualisation of civil society set him apart from other Marxists, including Marx himself. Despite Gramsci and Marx viewing civil society as constituting a focal point for revolutionary action, they nonetheless interpreted it differently. On one hand, Marx considered the economy as an integral part of civil society, or what he referred to as bourgeois society. It was thus at the point of production that the struggles between labour and capital took place, and additionally, where revolutionary action was waged. On the other hand, for Gramsci, it was the systems of corporations such as unions, educational and cultural institutions and voluntary associations that also provided possibilities for revolutionary action (Murphy, 2001: 352;

Bobbio, 1979: 31). Moreover, it was Gramsci’s conceptualisation of a dynamic civil society which constituted a critique of Marx’s “hatred” for the modern concept of civil

88 society (Buttigieg, 2005: 4). Additionally, his conceptualisation also ultimately reflected a

“modern renewal of the left radical critique of civil society” (Cohen and Arato, 1994: 142).

Gramsci’s dynamic and revolutionary conception of civil society can be evidenced through the following.

Gramsci’s civil society encompasses a variety of social, cultural, political and economic groups such as trade unions, political parties, educational institutions, mass media, publishing houses and religious institutions (Gramsci, 1971: 12; Fontana, 2010: 347;

Murphy, 2001: 351). These groups pursued their own interests, and also competed and collaborated with each other. This implied that civil society was not “one and harmonious”, but instead, constituted a plurality of spaces, both socio-political and physical/territorial (Fontana, 2010: 345). Therefore, it is through such diversification of spaces, that power is dispersed and “grounded in the relations and institutions of civil society” (Hall, 1996: 428), and more importantly, it was where social antagonisms were also diversified. This perspective comprises a key component of the thesis’ framework, as I argue later that it is important to broaden what we consider to constitute social antagonisms and oppositional movements in Egypt.

The above discussions provide important implications for the thesis’ framework. Firstly, civil society becomes a terrain of hegemonic contestation, where the dominant groups attempt to establish and protect their hegemony. Nonetheless, the dynamism of this conception of civil society also infers that hegemony is never absolute, and could always be challenged. This, in essence, offers a more nuanced approach to analyse state authoritarianism and opposition, which does not solely focus on the state’s coercive apparatuses, but importantly, on its ability to establish and protect its hegemony, too. This widens the scope of analysis in ways that solidify the intricacies surrounding both state power and resistance.

Secondly, it is through civil society that much of the political educational work takes place

(Borg and Mayo, 2002; Mayo, 1999), and where education comprises a key component of hegemonic contestation. Furthermore, the amalgam of organisations and movements existing within civil society implies that a plurality of potential educational spaces can be found within them. These educational spaces offer opportunities for the development of a counter-hegemonic educational movement that aims to provide an alternative conception of the world and critically challenge the dominant common sense (discussed in section

3.4). Thirdly, and due to the reciprocal relations between political society and civil society, the state becomes something that could not be smashed through violent upheavals. Instead, due to the proliferation of various fronts of politics and social antagonisms, it becomes imperative that a diverse set of strategies of resistance are developed (Hall, 1996: 429-

430). Accordingly, these strategies do not solely focus on political and economic struggles, but on cultural and educational struggles as well. Therefore, Gramsci differentiated between a war of manoeuvre and a war of position in order to explicate the importance of diversifying the strategies of resistance.

3.3.3 War of Position and Revolutionary Withdrawals

In order to accommodate the above concerns, Gramsci distinguished between engaging in a war of manoeuvre and a war of position. On one hand, the former refers to the possibility of overthrowing ruling elites, and the subsequent takeover of the state, through conducting a violent revolution and a “frontal attack”. While, on the other hand, the latter implies that in order to overthrow the ruling elite, oppositional groups are required to initially establish leadership, presence and influence within the organisations of civil society, before attempting to take over the state. This distinction was developed by Gramsci in order to denote the differences between the East (i.e. Russia) and the West (i.e. Western capitalist states). In the East, the state was considered to be everything, while civil society was weak.

Therefore, the state was more prone to being overthrown through violent upheavals.

However, in the West, since civil society was considered to be well-developed and entrenched, it was conceived as being a sturdy structure and fortress defending the state, especially during political and economic crises (Gramsci, 1971: 238). Moreover, as Femia

(1975: 34) argues, without waging a prior successful war of position especially on the cultural front, “a seizure of state power would only prove transitory if not disastrous”.

Based on this, the war of position constituted an important strategy for Gramsci, since for any revolutionary transformation to be successful, it had to start from within civil society.

As revolutionary activity for Gramsci is a “painstaking process of disseminating and instilling an alternative means of cultural preparation” (Buttigieg, 1995: 19), he rejected arguments that gave precedence to the “revolutionary seizure of the state over the formation and cultivation of broad-based revolutionary culture” (ibid: 20).

This rejection, Mouffe (1979: 198) argues, represented the “translation into political strategy of a non-reductionist conception of ideology and politics”. Importantly, the war of position, as a type of ideological struggle, takes place on the cultural front, where such a struggle aims to “conquer one after another all the agencies of civil society” (Femia, 1981:

51). Furthermore, this battle of ideas should be all-encompassing and ideally waged at all levels and not only constricted to economic demands (ibid: 53). The war of position should thus be viewed as constituting a cultural battle that is multi-dimensional and which takes place across various political and social levels (Fontana, 2010: 349). However, it is vital to highlight an issue regarding the distinction between the war of manoeuvre and war of position. Some commentators have viewed Gramsci’s work as constituting a terrain in which constant war of positions took place, which arguably represents a misinterpretation

(e.g. Joseph, 2002: 19; Kandil, 2011: 43).

The source of this misinterpretation lies in understanding Gramsci’s concepts of force/consent and war of manoeuvre/war of position, as being distinct phases within a two- step power struggle, instead of viewing them as being analytical categories as indicated

91 numerous times in my above discussions (Fontana, 2009: 95; see also Gramsci (1971: 170) for his anticipations of such misinterpretations). These concepts should not be considered a two-step power struggle, with one leading to the other, but instead, they must be considered as a totality (Sassoon, 1987: 195). Under this consideration, the wars of manoeuvre and position should be deliberated as part of a single and dialectical process, whereby the primacy rendered to the war of position should not imply that it becomes an alternative to the war of manoeuvre. For as Buci-Glucksmann (1979: 221) argues, a “pure” war of position does not exist. In short, a war of position should not to be separated from the war of manoeuvre. Hence, based on the above discussion, a number of implications are outlined below, which also build on my previous discussion of Gramsci’s ideas on civil society.

The first implication concerns the importance of not separating the wars of manoeuvre and position from each other. In other words, it becomes imperative to combine the political struggle with the educational/cultural struggle in order to be capable of developing an effective and all-encompassing counter-hegemony. Furthermore, allowing for the different types of struggles will aid in appreciating how resistance can manifest itself via numerous sites within civil society. This infers that such methods of resistance do not have to be directly political, violent, or protest-based. As I argue throughout chapters Five, Six and

Seven, the Egyptian context is an excellent example of why it is crucial to combine the political and educational/cultural struggles under the current revolutionary withdrawal and increasing state repression.

The second implication is concerned with the vital role education plays in any war of position (Mayo, 1999: 39, 70). As argued below, education constitutes an important component of any hegemonic contestation. Therefore, it should be at the forefront of any cultural offensive whereby the different organisations belonging to civil society are transformed into alternative educational spaces (ibid: 44). The third implication is linked to

92 education being carried out in association with strong movements which are capable of building alliances across civil society, and where radical educators and activists collaborated with other social forces who were also seeking social change (Mayo, 1999:

88-92, 159; Morrow and Torres, 1995: 251; McLaren et al., 2002; Allman, 2002). To build on this, the next main section critically discusses Gramsci’s ideas on education and its intimate relations with hegemony, whereby it plays a crucial role in both establishing and resisting hegemony. Not only did Gramsci consider education and schools to be influential socialising institutions capable of inculcating hegemonic ideas and manufacturing consent, but crucially, he conceived education to be a terrain of struggle, contestation and of developing critical consciousness.

3.4 Hegemony as an Educational Relationship

Hegemony and education should not be analysed separately; instead, they should be seen as interlinked and dependent on one another. Gramsci considered every relationship of hegemony to necessarily be “an educational relationship [that] occurs not only within a nation, between the various forces of which the nation is composed, but in the international and world-wide field, between complexes of national and continental civilisations” (1971:

350). By ignoring the necessary educational element to any relations of hegemony we risk overlooking its central core, in addition to overseeing the vital aspects of Gramsci’s quest for radical political and social transformation (Mayo, 2014: 386).

Any discussion of hegemony has to be accompanied by an understanding of the role of education in its formation (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 250). Consequently, Gramsci viewed schools as “privileged instruments of socialisation” for the hegemonic culture and the ruling elite (ibid: 254). Furthermore, he did not consider the relationship between education and knowledge to be politically neutral, but instead, he viewed schools as aimed at reinforcing people’s subordinate positions within society and securing consent for the ruling elite (Reed, 2012: 570; Mayo, 1999: 35-36). In this view, rather than developing a

93 conscious and critical populace, schools (and universities) produced apolitical technocrats and professionals that aimed to serve the state, or their own individualistic careers

(Gramsci, 1971: 228; Fontana, 2002: 33).

As Butko (2004: 47) argues, Gramsci recognised that “the ability of the hegemon to exert monopolistic control over such coercive instruments as the army and police [was] subordinate to its ability to dominate both the content of education and the environment of intellectual development”. A key aspect that aids in the state and the dominant groups being able to secure consent is through what Gramsci labels common sense. Common sense is a type of consciousness internalised by people whereby it is not:

[A] single unique conception, identical in time and space…it takes countless different forms. Its most fundamental characteristic is that it is a conception which, even in the brain of one individual, is fragmentary, incoherent and inconsequential, in conformity with the social and cultural position of those masses whose philosophy it is. (Gramsci, 1971: 419)

Common sense was thus the traditional conception of the world, in which people uncritically and unconsciously understood the world in any given epoch (ibid: 322). It eventually becomes embedded and spontaneous in a way that makes people conform to a given social order where, under such conditions, the philosophy, culture and morality of the ruling elite become viewed as being the natural order of things (Boggs, 1976: 39).

Furthermore, the contradictory nature of common sense is largely defined by the

“contradictory ensemble of social relations, economic exploitations and various exclusions they produce and reproduce” (Green and Ives, 2009: 21). Accordingly, by being uncritically accepted, imposed and absorbed passively, many elements of such popular common sense contribute to people’s subjugation by making inequality and oppression appear to be natural and unchangeable (Forgacs, 1988: 421).

Gramsci does not equate common sense with false consciousness, and he argues that it contains some elements that could end up developing an alternative conception of the world. Accordingly, he maintains that the “starting point must always be that common

94 sense which is the spontaneous philosophy of the multitude and which has to be made ideologically coherent” (Gramsci, 1971: 421). It is through education and critical intellectual activity that people could develop such coherency and alternative conceptions of the world. Nonetheless, it is important to note that, by developing alternative conceptions, Gramsci did not necessarily mean that we should eliminate common sense in its entirety, but rather to critique and transform it (Green and Ives, 2009: 5). In short, while acknowledging that education and schools are influential socialising institutions capable of inculcating hegemonic ideas and manufacturing consent, Gramsci also conceived of education as a terrain of contestation.

This implies that education could be used as a method of building oppositional (i.e. counter-hegemonic) narratives, discourses and pedagogies that could resist the ruling elite’s hegemony. This struggle is made possible because hegemony is never absolute, but temporary, particular, historically specific and is always being constructed and reconstructed (Hall, 1996: 424; Mouffe, 1979; Williams, 1977). Additionally, hegemony

“does not function as mystification, manipulation, or indoctrination of dominated groups but rather constitutes the everyday reality, practices, expectations, meaning and values of most of society” (Fairbrother, 2008: 388). Consequently, one must recognise that hegemony has a multi-dimensional character, and it cannot be constructed via one front alone, but instead, could be challenged via a multiplicity of fronts (Hall, 1996: 424), of which education is one example.

3.4.1 Education for Critical Consciousness

As argued in Chapter Two, the literature surrounding education, and particularly political education, is inundated with limitations. For example, the theories reviewed did not consider the power relations, struggles and contestations that ensue within education, and across formal and informal educational sites. They assumed a direct undistorted correspondence between societal needs and education which limits any opportunity to

95 resist. Furthermore, in addition to the literature’s insufficient consideration of agency and resistance, it lacked an in-depth discussion aimed at analysing other means of informal and alternative political education which take place outside the vicinities of the schools and the state (i.e., within civil society). More importantly, when considering political education, I argued that its narrow conceptualisations are mostly concerned with maintaining the political status quo by aiding people to adapt to it, instead of being able to question it, or think of alternatives. Therefore, it is imperative that under contexts of political transition and upheavals, an approach is needed that considers the transformative and resistive side of education, where education aims to develop people’s critical consciousness and to contest inequalities and oppression. In short, a broader and more radical conceptualisation of political education is needed and, as indicated throughout the previous sections, Gramsci offers the tools to develop it.

Gramsci’s writings on education not only revolved around its role in the formation of hegemony but also focused on its abilities to develop revolutionary and counter-hegemonic consciousness (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 250). Whereas Marx himself had envisaged proletarian revolutionary consciousness as the “inevitable by-product of irreconcilable economic contradictions” developed through the “harsh but hardening school of labour”

(Femia, 1981: 136; Adamson, 1978: 434-35), Gramsci instead had a “desire to inculcate the proper consciousness into the workers through intense educational activity” (Femia,

1981: 4). Hence, such critical educational activity would help develop a critical consciousness with regards to society and the inequalities that existed within it. Culture and popular beliefs were in “themselves material forces” (Gramsci, 1971: 165), and additionally they were arenas of struggle that could not be left to look after themselves.

Instead, these arenas required an all-encompassing cultural and ideological struggle in order to help develop the “intellectual and ethical unity which is essential for forging a hegemony” (Hall, 1996: 432).

Thus, in order to influence people’s ideas, culture and popular beliefs, we should not wait for the irreconcilable economic contradictions to develop their by-products, but rather, prompt such changes by instigating radical educational practices that seek to develop people’s critical consciousness. According to Morrow and Torres (1995: 274), such educational practices are capable of offering “alternatives for the organisation and mobilisation of the poor against their own poverty”. To this we could also add that these educational practices are capable of organising and mobilising people against political and socio-cultural inequalities, and authoritarian oppression. The radical character of

Gramsci’s ideas on education are to be found in its understanding of the links between culture and power, in addition to its focus on critical reflection and practice (Morrow and

Torres, 2002: 184).

Furthermore, its radical character lies in its objective of developing and disseminating an alternative conception, or worldview, to the one promulgated by the ruling elites, out of the already-existing understandings of the world held across society. In short, in order for it to become counter-hegemonic, education needs to develop a countervailing conception, which is opposed to the existing hegemonic one. Such an alternative conception could

“expose the contradictions between the views of the rulers and those of the ruled in order to diminish the former’s legitimacy and force it to reveal its ugly face” (Howson and

Smith, 2008: 6; Gramsci, 1971: 210). Additionally, it would aid in developing a national- popular collective will by uniting the multiplicity of dispersed wills into one single aim

(Howson and Smith, 2008: 12; Gramsci, 1971: 349). Therefore, education undoubtedly should be considered an important component of any attempt aimed at exposing such contradictions and in encouraging the dissemination of an alternative counter-hegemonic conception.13

13 Due to the Prison Notebooks’ cryptic nature, Gramsci’s arguments on education have been open to different interpretations on whether he advocated a skills-oriented traditional education, or a radical education that formulated political consciousness (Morrow and Torres, 1995: 262). See for example 97

Moreover, education from a Gramscian perspective should not be viewed as limited to schooling but rather as capable of taking place within many sites of pedagogical practice

(Mayo, 1999: 26). Gramsci himself left no space in civil society unexplored in order to educate members of the subaltern classes (ibid: 44-45, 82-83; Carnoy and Torres, 1987). In this quest, Gramsci was actively involved in the establishment of grassroots educational forums which included, for example, the Club of Moral Life and the Institute of Proletarian

Culture (Livingstone, 2002: 233). Further examples include the cultural circles and associations that were linked to the political organisations of the working classes such as trade unions and political parties (Mayo, 1999: 44-45; Borg and Mayo, 2002).

Gramsci also considered Factory Councils as influential avenues for political education whereby workers not only developed their technical and administrative skills but, importantly, were empowered politically to build their “power denied by capitalist production” (Adamson, 1978: 437; Femia, 1981: 140). Furthermore, the educational process in the factory councils “mirror[ed] the spirit of democracy and collaboration”, and enhanced participative and dialogical education (Mayo, 1999: 46; Mayo, 2014: 392).

Another organisation Gramsci considered an important political educator was the

Communist Party, or the Modern Prince, whose main educational function was to be “total and all-encompassing” (Femia, 1981: 139; Adamson, 1980: 207). The Modern Prince, therefore, represented a broader civilisational dynamic and a different conception of political and social organisation. In short, “it constituted a new practice and form of politics, which includes and reaches its fullest extension in a novel understanding of the political party as a ‘laboratory’ of a new society, but which is not reducible to it” (Thomas,

2013: 32).14

Entwistle (1979) for an account of the traditional skills-oriented approach and Adamson (1980) for the radical/critical consciousness approach. Notwithstanding the conservative interpretations, Gramsci conceptualised education in a broader and more radical manner that was not as concerned with schooling as much as with the formation of an intellectual and moral bloc that would be capable of contesting the dominant common sense (Aronowitz, 2002: 112). This is the interpretation assumed in this thesis. 14 The limitations of this conception in respect to the Egyptian context is discussed in section 3.6.4. 98

A Gramscian approach to analysing education offers a number of methods to aid in understanding how education becomes a contested terrain. Furthermore, it helps us understand how particular knowledges, discourses and conceptions become hegemonic, and how these could be challenged. More importantly, by considering that hegemony is never absolute, it therefore implies that no matter how authoritarian a state is, there will always be opportunities to resist and challenge it. These opportunities could arise due to economic, political and cultural factors, and will ultimately depend on people’s agency and will to resist.

Taking a Gramscian approach to political education helps broaden its conception, aims and objectives, and develops it into an integral component of any strategy for resistance and social change. As argued above, one of the most important aspects of Gramsci’s writings on education was his advocacy for teaching against the grain (Mayo, 2014: 392; Simon,

1992). Teaching against the grain hence entails a “systematic investigation of different social structures and constructions of reality”, in which subjects like history and philosophy, for example, become tools for transforming common sense (Mayo, 2014: 393).

Consequently, a counter-hegemonic education should be reoriented towards the culture of people themselves, in order to “cultivate a critical awareness of social reality and develop a new type of knowledge” (Reed, 2012: 574).

Such critical awareness is labelled as conscientisation by Paulo Freire, where it is the

“process in which men [and women], not as recipients, but as knowing Subjects achieve a deepening awareness both of the socio-cultural reality which shapes their lives and of their capacity to transform that reality” (1972: 51). It is the ability to “recognise social, political and economic contradictions and to take action against the oppressive elements of reality”

(Freire, 1996: 17). Thus, by working on exposing the supposed “universal truths” and dominant knowledges, narratives and contradictions, people become empowered so as to resist the conceptions of the world held and reproduced by the dominant. Accordingly, a

99 new way of thinking, one that is free from the restrictions of the ruling elite, becomes possible (Gramsci, 1971: 423; Butko, 2004: 43).

A Gramscian approach broadens conceptualisations of political education by taking into consideration the initiatives that take place outside of the vicinities of the state, where it is

“embodied in people, movements and institutions that can go well beyond the corridors of officially sanctioned spaces and places” (Apple, 2015: 177). This desire to leave no educational space unexplored is also manifested through the educators themselves.

According to Mayo (2014: 386), Gramsci’s notion of an educator included a diverse set of people ranging from party activists, fore(wo)men and supervisors, to parents, teachers and volunteers that hailed from different social and economic backgrounds. This coincides with

Gramsci’s notion that every man and woman are to be considered intellectuals, despite not everyone necessarily possessing this function in society (Gramsci, 1971: 9). For Gramsci, every emergent and ruling class developed its own intellectuals:

Every social group, coming into existence on the original terrain of an essential function in the world of economic production, creates together with itself, organically, one or more strata of intellectuals which give it homogeneity and an awareness of its own function not only in the economic but also in the social and political fields. (Gramsci, 1971: 5)

Consequently, Gramsci differentiates between organic and traditional intellectuals, whereby the former refers to intellectuals that emerge from within a group itself (i.e., a worker who becomes an educator and an activist); whilst the latter refers to intellectuals who have been existing from earlier social formations and who “represent a historical continuity uninterrupted even by the most complicated and radical changes in political and social forms” (ibid: 6). These intellectuals may attach themselves to the fundamental class and thus, at times, consider themselves as being separate from the world of production and class struggles. This distinction carries a crucial implication for Gramsci with regard to the proletariat where in their struggle for hegemony, they have to establish their own stratum

100 of intellectuals who would provide them with the required critical awareness and consciousness to resist their subaltern conditions (Schwarzmantel, 2015: 75).

Nevertheless, I argue that Gramsci’s ideas on political education and intellectuals do not offer in their entirety conceptualisations that can be adopted straightforwardly for non-

Western contexts. Some of the ideas will have to be adapted in order to suit the Egyptian context, particularly when it comes to the pedagogical approaches being utilised (as discussed in sections 3.6.4 and 3.6.5). To conclude this discussion of Gramsci’s ideas on education, it is important to consider that any effective counter-hegemonic educational process must involve a revolutionary praxis (Mayo, 1999: 88-92). For praxis (the combination of theory and practice) to be capable of developing people’s consciousness, it has to be carried out in association with strong social movements. Although education, as argued above, is a vital component of revolutionary social change, it will not lead to social transformation on its own. Instead, it has to be considered alongside other factors, such as the abilities of social movements to build alliances, to establish organic ties with communities, and to combine the different struggles into a coordinated and powerful force

(ibid: 159). Accordingly, building alliances for counter-hegemonic actions constitutes another key aspect of Gramscian thought, and it is to these alliances I now turn.

3.5 Building Alliances and Overcoming Claims of Class Essentialism

In Chapter Two, I argued that in order to broaden our conception of resistance, we need to account for the heterogeneity of social forces existing in Egyptian civil society that cross political, economic and socio-cultural barriers. Furthermore, with the crackdown against civil society, it has become difficult identifying which particular social actors are capable of instigating social change by themselves. Accordingly, I argued that any process of social change is more likely to be instigated by social forces that are capable of building alliances amongst one another, without prioritising one force over the other. Moreover, this is particularly important in authoritarian contexts, where we need to contextualise and

101 consider the different class and non-class struggles; pay attention to the variability of

Egyptian CSOs and their sites of informal political education; and their abilities to establish alliances to contest the hegemonic system through a plethora of resistance methods.

The ability to build alliances is a key characteristic of a social group attempting to establish an expansive hegemony (see section 3.3.1) that is capable of representing the subaltern and the oppressed. In Some Aspects of the Southern Question, Gramsci argued that the proletariat and peasants should form an alliance in order to challenge the hegemonic order and form a new historical bloc. Accordingly, solidarity between the subaltern groups was deemed to be beneficial for both the proletariat and the peasants, as it would enable them to “transform social and economic relations and eliminate exploitation and dependence”

(Agustin and Jorgensen, 2016: 5). Gramsci was aware of the limitations associated with working-class particularisms and corporatism, and argued that:

The proletariat, in order to become capable as a class of governing, must strip itself of every residue of corporatism, every syndicalist prejudice and incrustation. What does that mean? That, in addition to the need to overcome the distinctions which exist between one trade and another, it is necessary – in order to win the trust and consent of the peasants and of some semiproletarian urban categories - to overcome certain prejudices and conquer certain forms of egoism which can and do subsist within the working class as such…they must think as workers who are members of a class which aims to lead the peasants and intellectuals. (Gramsci, 1978: 448)

Therefore, Aspects of the Southern Question aims to develop a framework that helps analyse how alliances are established and how they become capable of altering the capitalist system (Agustin and Jorgensen, 2016: 6). Additionally, it also infers that, despite the proletariat constituting a vanguard role for Gramsci, they will not be able to instigate social change or challenge the hegemonic order without developing alliances with peasants and other “semiproletarian urban categories”. Nonetheless, despite Gramsci acknowledging the importance of building alliances between different social groups within society, he was still criticised for what was viewed as his residual class essentialism. For

102 post-Marxists like Laclau and Mouffe (2001), Gramsci was not able to radically break with

Marxism’s reliance on the economy (the previous chapter critiqued economistic Marxism in the name of a Gramscian approach). This, they argue, implied that the working-class became privileged due to its defining place within the capitalist economy (Leggett, 2013:

4; Ives, 2005: 7; Morrow and Torres, 1995: 280):

Laclau and Mouffe…explain that the concept of hegemony was originally tied to an essentialist logic in which only one authentic historical subject, “the working class”, was able to develop truly counter-hegemonic policies and practices. Such a logic, rather than advancing the project of social change and social justice, covered over and obstructed multiple forms of struggles developed by several groups and social movements…which could not be reduced or categorised on the exclusive basis of the class position of their members. (McLaren et al., 2002: 158)

Under this perspective, the residual essentialism limits the effectiveness of the war of position as it implies that a single political space becomes divided between two opposing fundamental classes: the bourgeoisie and the proletariat (Leggett, 2013: 5). Nonetheless, political space should instead be viewed as constituting a form of hegemonic articulation that could assume different forms (ibid.) and which rejects the “a priori unity or the progressive character of the working class or any other subject position” (Best and Kellner,

1991: 195). However, such arguments were criticised by Marxists who perceived these ideas as being “little more than liberal pluralism dressed in fancy words and postmodern jargon, for being relativist, idealist, anti-Marxist or just confused. A descent into discourse, a decay from well-grounded material reality into the idealistic and problematic realm of language and discourse” (Ives, 2005: 4).15 Furthermore, in his Aspects of the Southern

Question, Gramsci makes it clear that the working class will not be able to challenge the hegemonic structure or transform society without building alliances between different classes where “a class which aims to lead the peasants and intellectuals…can win and build socialism only if it is aided and followed by the great majority of these social strata. If this is not achieved, the proletariat does not become the leading class” (Gramsci, 1978: 448).

15 For more on the debates surrounding Gramsci and post-Marxism see Laclau (1990; 1996; 2014), Laclau and Mouffe (2001), Laclau and Mouffe (1987), Torfing (1999), Sim (2013), Geras (1987), Wood (1986), Palmer (1987), Ives (2005), Leggett (2013) and Hill (2008). 103

In addition, Gramsci’s use of “social group” in his Prison Notebooks, although it did not necessarily imply a substitute for class, was still used in order to identify the variety of different groups that could come together politically (Ekers and Loftus, 2012: 30; Senses and Ozcan, 2016: 48). This indicates the importance of considering the plurality and complexity of oppositional social groups, especially during moments of crisis. As Hall

(1996: 425) argues, “the actual social or political force which becomes decisive in a moment of organic crisis will not be composed of a single homogenous class but will have a complex social composition”. The basis of this potential unity is not necessarily going to be an automatic one, but will increasingly rely on a system of alliances (ibid.). Based on the above, a number of critical points are highlighted which have crucial implications for the thesis’ theoretical framework.

It is important to acknowledge that Gramsci developed his concepts in a context that was politically, economically, socially and culturally different than what currently exists in both the Global North and South. An implication resulting from these changes is that it has become unclear who the social and political actors capable of instigating such social change are. As a result, under such circumstances, the proletariat as such are no longer considered to be the only class capable of leading the process of social change (Agustin and Jorgensen, 2016: 5-7). However, this view, Agustin and Jorgensen further argue, “does not derive from a general reflection about working classes but from a historical and situated reflection that makes every development unique” (ibid: 6). Accordingly, it becomes imperative that the different class and non-class struggles are contextualised and considered, whereby this heterogeneity of political actors can develop a “relation of solidarity that benefits all parties as the possibility of challenging the system is enhanced”

(ibid: 10).

With regards to the vitality of considering both class and non-class struggles, Torfing

(1999: 42) argues that although class struggle may still continue to play an important role

104 with regards to the “redistribution of allocative and authoritative resources of society”, it will arguably stop providing the primary terrain for political struggle. Although Egypt still maintains a vibrant labour movement, over the past two decades and after the uprisings of

2011, other non-class forces have also been at the forefront of political struggles. Such social forces have been demanding social change, social equality and freedom, and are comprised of an amalgam of middle class youth, young professionals, socialists, Islamists, liberals, feminists, to only name a few. These social forces played an important role in

Mubarak’s downfall, and in the political developments that followed. It is thus erroneous to disregard these movements and organisations that constitute a plurality of subjectivities.16 More importantly, the oppressed change from one context to the other (e.g.

Global North/South), and therefore, universalised forms of oppression must be rejected and not reduced solely to class (Mayo, 1999: 68).

Moreover, to build on the above point, Hall (1996: 413) argues that Gramsci was constantly thinking of “large concepts in terms of their application to concrete and specific situations”. This arguably made his analyses appear to be “almost too historically specific, too delimited in its references, too ‘descriptively’ analytic, too time and context-bound”

(ibid.). Nonetheless, this in no way negates the applicability of Gramscian concepts in helping make sense of the complexities of hegemonic contestations and social change. It is crucial that his concepts are not straightforwardly implemented in other contexts, but instead critically adapted and developed so that they do not lose their analytical vigour.

Therefore, in order to overcome such time and context-boundedness, and ensure that

Gramsci’s concepts are utilised and adapted in ways that help make sense of the Middle

Eastern and Egyptian contexts, I employ Edward Said’s concept of travelling theory. I specifically focus on civil society, the role of political parties, and political education in

16 For a similar argument regarding the plurality of subjectivities at the Gezi protests in Turkey see: Senses and Ozcan (2016). 105 authoritarian contexts, so as to offer an exposition of how Gramscian concepts can travel to the Egyptian context.

3.6 Travelling Gramsci

Through his concept of travelling theory, Said (1983; 1994; 2001) warns that theories that were once insurgent, with specific innovations and breakthroughs, could eventually become “methodological traps” if they are applied uncritically, repetitively and limitlessly

(Said, 1983: 239). Hence, social theories that are developed in response to particular historical and social contexts could risk losing their power and “rebelliousness” if they become domesticated, de-historicised and assimilated when transferred from their points of origin (Said, 2001: 195). For theories that are developed for different historical conditions are never unrestrained, and arguably, involve processes of representation and institutionalisation that differ to those found in the theories’ point of origins (ibid: 196).

Therefore, according to Said, for a theory to be able to maintain its critical and analytical vigour, it should firstly be in touch with the political, economic and societal contexts of the place to which it is being applied (ibid: 202). Secondly, since a theory aims at understanding and instigating societal change, it should avoid being transformed into mere theoretical overstatements, or a “theoretical parody of the situations in which it was formulated originally to remedy or overcome” (ibid: 208). Thirdly, it should not aim at predicting all situations through which it might be deemed to be useful, and should avoid closing off alternative possibilities (ibid: 210). Additionally, in order to resist the negative mode of theory and retain a form of critical consciousness, a theory has to be spatially sensitive where it should be understood in the context of its original development, and related to other contexts to which it could be put to use (Morton, 2010: 330-331; Said,

2001: 210-211).

Such critical consciousness enables the understanding and appreciation of the differences between situations, and the awareness of the fact that “no system or theory exhausts the 106 situation out of which it emerges or to which it is transported…and an awareness of the resistances to the theory, reactions to it elicited by those concrete experiences or interpretations with which it is in conflict” (Said, 2001: 211). Therefore, a theory that is united with critical consciousness and spatial sensitivity becomes known as a transgressive theory, capable of travelling to different locales and contexts without succumbing to

“facile universalism or over-general totalising” (Morton, 2010: 331; Said, 1994: 242).

Consequently, it is through such spatial and temporal sensitivity that Gramscian concepts can become capable of guiding our understandings of post-uprisings Egypt. In doing so,

Said advises us to focus on the specific contingencies that are capable of inspiring an

“anomalous reconfiguration of a particular theoretical perspective” (Mellino, 2016: 62).

Moreover, it is by:

[C]oncentrating on swerves and contingencies inherent in the journey that we can judge if a single theory and its main assumptions are reinforced or if instead they lose consistency, or to put it in another way, if ideas and concepts connected to a certain place, time, culture or national context mutate completely when translated in different contexts or epochs. (ibid.)

For this reason, it becomes important to appreciate how particular Gramscian concepts can be continually shaped and reshaped based on the local conditions of production, their reception, transmission and also their resistance (Said, 1983: 239). In short, it becomes imperative to examine how Gramscian concepts travel to contexts that are different to those they were originally intended for. Additionally, it is important to understand how such concepts are experienced and lived in different contexts, and how do they help us construct new knowledge? This thesis thus not only elaborates and analyses the findings and arguments relating to resilient authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance: it also discusses how Gramscian concepts are shaped and reshaped through their articulation in and across local political, economic and socio-cultural contexts.

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3.6.1 Gramsci in the Middle East

Gramsci has been attracting academic attention in the Middle East and this was magnified after the “Arab Spring”. Gramscian frameworks have been mostly utilised in order to analyse the Muslim Brotherhood (e.g. Ranko, 2015; Kandil, 2011; Butko, 2004; Simms,

2002). Furthermore, Gramsci was utilised to help make sense of the Arab and Egyptian opposition and counter-revolutions (e.g. De Smet, 2016a; 2016b; Munif, 2013; Browers,

2006; Pratt, 2005). He was also invoked to analyse the collapse of Mubarak’s hegemony from a political economy perspective (e.g. Roccu, 2012; 2013), and to examine capitalist development in the Arab world (e.g. Ayubi, 1995; Gran, 1992). Munif (2013: 203) argues that Gramsci-inspired theoretical frameworks provide “an analytic to study the dynamics of the Arab revolts without falling into economic reductionism”. Moreover, his concept of hegemony is particularly useful for analysing Egypt as it “sheds light on the making/unmaking of alliances and helps examine the complex and unstable relationships between dominant and subaltern groups” (ibid: 206). In addition, Browers (2006: 170) identifies three reasons behind why left-wing Arab thinkers have rediscovered Gramsci.

First, Gramsci is considered to be an “alternative” Marxist who adapted Marx’s ideas to his own context, and thus his conception of civil society is more relevant to the Arab world than that of liberalism. Second, his writings on intellectuals arguably contributed to the critical understanding of the Islamist movement (i.e., traditional intellectuals) and thus offered a way for left-wing and socialist forces in the Middle East to bridge the gap between them and those they claimed to represent.17 Finally, Gramsci’s concept of civil society does not consider it to be a benign space for social action but instead as a sphere for struggle and contestation. However, not everyone agrees on Gramsci’s relevance to the

Middle East due to his distinction between Western and Eastern societies, which some

17 As discussed in Chapter Two, the Islamists themselves, despite not necessarily having read Gramsci, have utilised his methods in order to challenge the state’s discourses and practices. As Labib (1992: 68-69) argues “we do not always need to read Gramsci to conquer civil society, it is certain that the Islamists in the example of the culture of Ghannouchi [co-founder of the Tunisian Islamist al-Nahda] know Gramsci well”. 108 argued made his concept of civil society inapplicable to the Arab region (Munif, 2013:

205; Najar, 2004). Nonetheless, others argued that due to the distinctive nature of Arab culture and economic and social development, Gramsci’s civil society had to be adapted and modified instead of being completely rejected (Munif, 2013: 205; Bishara, 2013;

Ghalyun, 1992a).

There are also concerns with regards to the narrow cultural readings of Gramsci. It is argued that this perspective does not consider in enough detail the nature of state coercion in the Middle East and its ability to repress and influence opposition (Kandil, 2011). For although a counter-hegemony is supposed to include a violent confrontation with the regime, it has been reduced to a mere “counter-culture campaign” (ibid: 38; Joseph, 2002:

31). Moreover, when distinguishing between the West and the East, Kandil (2011: 43) argues that under the former, opposition is permitted and state coercion is rarely used: therefore, counter-hegemonic movements could rely on their cultural initiatives to help secure political footing. Whilst under authoritarian contexts, state coercion is more dominant and thus more capable of subduing oppositional movements. This critique is particularly linked to my earlier discussion of the misinterpretations of Gramsci’s concepts of war of manoeuvre/war of position as two distinct phases instead of being part of a dialectical process. Accordingly, although I agree with Kandil’s criticisms, I want to point out a particular issue. Under authoritarian regimes, counter-hegemonic cultural and educational initiatives could potentially contain within them the limited opportunities available to help instigate social change. These initiatives should be viewed as being one of the potential avenues through which oppositional activities can take place outside of the state’s coercive reach. Once more, and especially under the current authoritarian turn, it becomes imperative that other avenues of resistance are explored.

In short, Gramsci has been attracting attention from across the Middle East, and his concepts have increasingly been utilised as frameworks to help make sense of, for

109 example, state-society relations, the Arab uprisings, Islamist movements and so on.

However, some of his concepts are argued to be unsuitable for the Middle Eastern context.

Notwithstanding such criticisms, the key is to understand how such Gramscian concepts travel to Middle Eastern and particularly Egyptian contexts, instead of being implemented straightforwardly without the consideration of local conditions. Therefore, in order to overcome the above limitations, the next section starts by focusing on the first issue at hand: Arab civil society and Gramsci. I offered a review of Egyptian civil society in the previous chapter (section 2.5), but the following discussion comprises a more theoretical approach to the question of civil society in the Arab world. It discusses a number of conceptions of Arab civil society in order to highlight some of their features and their implications for utilising a Gramscian approach. This discussion therefore leads to an analysis of Gramsci’s understanding of political parties (Modern Prince) and its suitability to the Egyptian context.

3.6.2 Articulating Arab Civil Society

According to Buttigieg (1995: 3) the modern concept of civil society has not always been a familiar term. It particularly gained attention during the political transformations of Eastern

Europe and Latin America in the 1980s and 1990s, where it was viewed by political commentators, from both the Left and Right, as comprising the solution. For liberals, it constituted a defence against socialism, and alternatively for socialists, it represented a terrain to challenge the state and capitalism (Murphy, 2001: 357). Hence, while civil society, as a term, was employed “somewhat like a magical explanatory formula, its meaning remained vague and people never bothered to define it in any illuminating way”

(Buttigieg, 1995: 3). On one hand, in the “West”, civil society is viewed as an end in itself, through which it comprised the sphere of freedom within a liberal representative democracy, which supported a free market economy. On the other hand, in the Global

South, and particularly the Middle East, civil society is viewed as in a struggle to not only

110 institutionalise itself, but to survive repressive authoritarian regimes. Under such contexts, civil society should not be viewed as a guarantor of democracy, but instead as one of the processes required for developing social justice and democracy (Bishara, 2013: 46, 49).

Therefore, the concept of civil society has been a source of debate in the Arab world, where it is usually equated with the Western tradition of political thought. Based on that premise, it has been deemed by some intellectuals, as mentioned above, as being incompatible with the region (Browers, 2006: 20; Bishara, 2013: 22). However, instead of fully rejecting it, multiple attempts were made in order to make sense of and adapt this concept to the contexts of the Arab world and Egypt. Browers (2006: 84-91) outlines how these attempts differed across the political spectrum. For example, the liberals considered civil society as being secular, tolerant, and democratic and a sphere of freedom, whilst the

Islamists argued that their Islamic civil society had to be independent from the uncivil and secular state. For Marxists and socialists, civil society is viewed ambiguously, with some factions considering it a terrain for developing counter-hegemony, whilst others view it as a bourgeois concept that has to be avoided altogether. In the next section, I discuss a number of civil society conceptualisations emerging from the Middle East, and highlight the debates surrounding them and their implications for developing a Gramsci-inspired approach.

3.6.2.1 Authentic Civil Society

One of the attempts aimed at developing a conception of civil society suitable for the Arab world is found in Wajih Kawtharani’s ideas on “authentic” civil society. As a starting point, Kawtharani labels civil society as al-mujtama‘ al-ahli (communal society). The utilisation of such a term highlights the historical relationship existing between Arab societies and the state. In this view, society constituted the realm of social life, culture, commodities and relations of exchange, and the state constituted the sphere of the ruling force, organisation and management of such interactions (Kawtharani, 1992: 120; Browers,

111

2006: 101). This authentic conception of Arab civil society is usually viewed by Arab thinkers as being the closest Arab societies have come to a modern conception of civil society. This mainly culminates in the relative independence of society from the state through its quasi-autonomous associations and organisations (Bishara, 2013: 132; Browers,

2006: 101-102; Howeidy, 1992: 10).

Kawtharani’s mujtama‘ ahli implies a separation between two types of civil societies. The first conception is the abovementioned traditional and communal type, which is built on informal networks of relations and primordial associations of kinship, tribe and religious communities. In contrast, the second is more akin to a contemporary understanding of civil society or mujtama‘ madani (Browers, 2006: 104). Despite Kawtharani favouring the former conception over the latter, he argued that even though Arab civil society did not necessarily perform the same functions as it did in Europe (e.g., interest groups advancing their claims to acquire legal rights and recognition), it was still important to view it as dynamic and independent with regards to the state (ibid.).

3.6.2.2 A Society of Cities

A more modern conception of civil society is found in Jabiri’s “society of cities” or mujtama‘ al-mudun. A society of cities is based on people voluntarily coming together within a city in order to regulate their own political, economic, social and cultural lives

(Jabiri, 1994: 116; Browers, 2006: 106). Under this conception, civil society constitutes an antithesis of the foundations that were based on village, Bedouin and tribal societies.

Additionally, this type of society was closely connected to civility and civilisation, where a civilised society refers to a modern, nonviolent and rational political order. Furthermore, it constituted a realm of voluntary associations which fostered individual autonomy and provided experience in understanding how to obtain political and social rights (Jabiri,

1994: 117; Jabiri, 1989; Browers, 2006: 106-107). Importantly, what distinguished Jabiri’s conception of civil society is that he considered both the state and Arab society’s

112 primordial and tribal associations as encompassing the spheres of authority and coercion that impeded society’s development and autonomy (Browers, 2006: 108).

3.6.2.3 Hybrid Civil Society

Contrary to the above accounts of an authentic and traditional civil society on one hand, and a modern, civilised and urban civil society on the other, there have been attempts to view Arab civil society as hybrid. Burhan Ghalyun is one proponent of such a conception insofar as he disagrees with the attempts to contrast civil society (mujtama‘ madani) with communal society (mujtama‘ ahli). In his view, this restricts the former as consisting of modern organisations such as political parties, trade unions and human rights associations, while the latter was limited to defending traditional values that were of religious, tribal and regional nature (Browers, 2006: 110). Ghalyun is wary of such attempts to separate both concepts in order to revive a doctrine of modernity which has arguably suffered under the various socialist and nationalist regimes of the Arab world (ibid.). The attempts aiming to revive this doctrine are conducted through the establishment of a new alliance between the modern elites who fear social demotion and a monopolistic state that claims to be the sole guarantor of modernity and rationality (Ghalyun, 1992b: 733-735). Furthermore, Ghalyun is cautious about considering civil society as a “reservoir of democratic practice and freedoms”, but instead argues that it should be categorised by its “diversity of groups and individuals, partial and imperfect solidarities, and various forms of competition and contradictions” (Browers, 2006: 111).

Hence, due to such variations, civil society should be viewed as a hybrid society (mujtama‘ hajin) that includes communal, traditional and familial ties as well as modern/urban civil associations (ibid). Finally, Ghalyun argues that such a distinction is not only harmful to society (1992b: 736-739), but that the modern bureaucratic state could have the same detrimental effect by eliminating any expression of such diversity. For him, the bureaucratic state in the Arab world fears its own society and thus considers any move

113 emanating from civil society as representative of political opposition and a rejection of state authority as well as constituting a threat to the nation (Ghalyun, 1992b: 744-745;

Browers, 2006: 111; Ayubi, 1995: 444). Accordingly, broadening the conception of civil society could prove to be a way of evading the state’s repression, especially if it considers the growing dynamism of the Islamist movement (Ghalyun, 1992b: 751-754; Ayubi, 1995:

444). Ghalyun thus concludes that a broader concept of civil society should consider both religious and secular forces.

3.6.2.4 Secular Arab Civil Society

According to Browers (2006: 116-117), not all Arab thinkers were willing to “bypass the issue of secularism” in their quest for a modern and democratic civil society. Arab socialists and liberals advocated the need to fundamentally transform the status quo, and hence defended the importance of secularism and critiqued traditional conceptualisations of civil society. Sadiq Jalal al-‘Azm (1998) is one such thinker who distinguishes between a modern civil society and a traditional/religious (mujtama‘ ahli) society, with the latter not considered part of civil society. Al-‘Azm defines mujtama‘ al-ahli as being comprised of relationships of kinship, family, affection, doctrine, clan and village, which are normally categorised as “natural, organic, group-based, coercive and hierarchical” (al-‘Azm, 1998:

12-13; Browers, 2006: 117-118).

He further argues that this conception was built on four great social divisions: free/slave, man/woman, Muslim/non-Muslim and public/private. Such divisions are considered to be antithetical to a civil society (mujtama‘ madani), which is built on relationships of citizenship that are voluntary, contractual, rights-based, horizontal and egalitarian (ibid.).

Consequently, this secular/modern notion of civil society invalidates these social divisions

(al-‘Azm, 1998: 14) and paves the way for a civil society that is distinct from the state

(ibid: 12). Accordingly, al-‘Azm criticises Arab thinkers who orientalise themselves by assuming a frame of reference that is different from the rest of humanity and that views

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Arab civil society as exempt from the historical processes of secularisation experienced by others (Browers, 2006: 118; al-‘Azm, 1981).

This discussion of different conceptualisations of Arab civil society offers important implications. Civil society is not always considered to be a modern and secular concept: instead, a number of conceptualisations emphasised its traditional, religious and tribal characteristics. Nonetheless, even in these understandings, civil society was still viewed as dynamic and independent of the state. Building on that, a number of conceptualisations advocated the broadening of civil society in such a way that it included diverse groups that could exist under conditions of imperfect solidarities and contradictions. Finally, such conceptualisations do not consider in much detail how political opposition and demands for social change can emanate from civil society, and how these could be repressed by the state (i.e., hegemonic contestation).

3.6.3 Conceptualising a Gramscian Approach to Egyptian Civil Society

As previously mentioned, some factions of the Arab Left rejected civil society due to its reputation as a bourgeois liberal concept, developed through a specific historical conjunction aligned with industrial capitalism and the bourgeoisie’s ascension to power in

Europe (Browers, 2006: 164; Browers, 2004; Salame, 1994). Nonetheless, in this section I argue that civil society should not be excluded from Arab political thought, or from debates surrounding authoritarianism and resistance. A large portion of the discussion below is developed through utilising Nazih Ayubi’s concept of articulated modes of production. In his seminal work Overstating the Arab State, Ayubi argues that contemporary modes of production found in the Middle East are different from those found in Europe. The differences lay in the fact that there rarely existed a singular and unidimensional mode of production, but instead, two or more modes were usually found coexisting together (i.e. articulated) (1995: 26).

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Furthermore, this articulation implied that there were linkages amongst the instances of structural power, where it was possible for a society to have a particular articulation of economic and technical elements of a capitalist mode of production existing alongside social and cultural elements of pre-capitalist modes of coercion and persuasion (ibid: 27).

Consequently, capitalism did not evolve from the modes of production that preceded it in the Arab world, and it was not capable of completely dissolving such pre-existing modes either. In many instances capitalism tended to coexist with other modes and even helped sustain some of their aspects (ibid: 41, 169-170; Foster-Carter, 1978). Based on the above articulations, the class map became “fluid and variegated” whereby it did not allow for a hegemonic social class to emerge (i.e., the bourgeoisie), which would constitute the natural state of affairs (ibid: 174).

Based on that, the state18 assumed a primary role in social formations and economic development. This was done in order to compensate for the absence, and weakness, of a hegemonic national bourgeoisie (ibid: 29, 172). Accordingly, the state started creating its own classes and thus “transcend[ed] its main sphere of coercion into the spheres of persuasion and of production” (ibid: 39). Furthermore, it attempted to enforce formal unity on a body that was not socially homogenous (ibid: 172). Having no hegemonic bourgeois class arguably affected the proletariat’s growth and structure, which consequently was considered to be “small and structurally weak” (ibid: 180; Darraj, 1992a). This had an

18 For the sake of analytical clarity, it is important to distinguish between “state” and “regime”. Soliman (2011: 24) identifies the state as the “sum total of public institutions that rule over a specific territory, with their organisational structures, laws and regulations, and formal and informal rules. It is an entity with continuity that surpasses individuals and political regimes”. In short, the state is the sum total of public institutions that provide a framework for the regime and political actors to function. Whilst the regime refers to the organisation of individuals who lead the state. It includes the president of the republic (in the Egyptian case), top security officials, council of ministers, and high public officials who lead and direct state institutions (ibid: 24-25).

Soliman argues that using these two concepts simultaneously offers a great analytical potential, since utilising the concept of the state alone would inadvertently lead to us “speaking of a fictitious entity whose presence and continuity are outside history” (ibid: 25). Whilst, solely focusing on utilising regimes can neglect how such public institutions can impose particular restrictions and frameworks through traditions, laws and norms that interact with any political regime (ibid). Throughout the thesis I will not use the two terms interchangeably; however, I will use the term regime to denote a particular political regime (e.g. Nasser, Sadat, Mubarak, etc.) to emphasise the differences witnessed in their formal educational programs and their respective relationships with civil society. 116 important political implication as the proletariat not only became outnumbered by the middle-classes, but also by the “pseudo-proletariat, the sub-proletariat and the lumpen- proletariat” (Ayubi, 1995: 178).

This can be directly linked to my arguments on the Gramscian understandings of class alliances and class solidarity, and the importance of taking into consideration the heterogeneity of modern political actors and their abilities to work in alliance with, or at least in tolerance of, each other. In short, it is difficult to identify a particular social group capable of instigating and leading social change by itself without taking into consideration the existence of other forces as well. Nonetheless, these different social forces can co-exist and work in alliance, with each understood as capable of playing a role in instigating social change without necessarily privileging one actor over the other.

Another implication concerns the state’s enlarged role and the effect this has had on diversifying the sources of antagonisms within society. Ayubi (1995: 178-181) argues that the state’s enlarged entrepreneurial role implied that exploitation and class struggles were no longer the only sources of antagonism. Instead, exploitation was overshadowed by issues of control, domination and exclusion. Moreover, exclusion (i.e. the marginalisation of specific social groups) became an important component for a different approach to contentious politics and resistance (ibid: 181).19 Consequently, he further maintains that such marginalisation implies that cultural struggles can sometimes take precedence over class struggles, whereby class struggles can often be masked by cultural struggles, but are never completely covered or eliminated (ibid: 446).

In view of the above implication, diversifying the sources of antagonism and oppression suggests the need to diversify the methods of resistance as well. Therefore, and based on the argument for the heterogeneity of political actors, it becomes imperative to consider the importance of both class and non-class struggles. With regard to relating Gramscian

19 See Sullivan and Abed-Kotob (1999: 124) for the importance of authoritarian exclusion in explaining state- society relations in Egypt. 117 concepts to non-class struggles, Morton (2007: 211) argues that by confining Gramsci to class-based politics we become restricted in terms of motivating political action.

Importantly, by diversifying the sources of antagonism and resistance, it becomes critical to consider educational/cultural struggles as being part of a broader struggle that encompasses political and economic struggles. Accordingly, the diversification of resistance, necessitates a broadening of the social actors taking part. This leads to the next section that focuses on the diminishing role of Egyptian political parties and the implications this has for relating Gramsci’s Modern Prince to the Egyptian context.

3.6.4 The Modern Prince and the Diminishing Role of Political Parties in Egypt?

As discussed above (section 3.4.1), Gramsci considered the Communist Party (The Modern

Prince) as representing a different conception of political and social organisation, or rather, a laboratory of a new society (Thomas, 2013; Bieler, Bruff and Morton, 2015). Based on that, the Modern Prince should assume a total and all-encompassing educational function whereby organic intellectuals could also function and develop (Femia, 1981; Adamson,

1980). However, as Bieler, Bruff and Morton (2015: 152) argue, conventional readings of

Gramsci tend to associate his discussions of the political party with mainstream political and social science. Alternatively, the authors contend that despite Gramsci viewing political parties as comprising an important agent for achieving social transformation, this was developed out of his broader concern with how a collective will could be most profitably articulated:

Gramsci’s notion of the Modern Prince was rooted in a sophisticated conception of how a mass movement founded upon critical consciousness could emerge in contemporary conditions. Our own conditions may be different from Gramsci’s – for example he lived in an era of mass membership of political parties – but his refusal to be bound by contextual certainties meant that, were he alive today, he would be interested in the potential of new Left political parties, anti-austerity social movements and centres of everyday struggle for achieving revolutionary goals…His ability to understand how “global” and “local” developments intertwine in different periods of capitalist history, and his commitment to overcoming the constraints on human potential that such processes

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produce, means that Gramsci is still very much our contemporary. (Bieler, Bruff and Morton, 2015: 152)

This is an important clarification, especially when considering the Egyptian context and the growth of social movements and CSOs taking place outside of mainstream politics. In the previous chapter (section 2.5.2), I argued that political parties, and particularly left- wing parties, have struggled to develop deep roots within society, or obtain mass support and thus have become virtually non-existent. Moreover, they struggled to translate their ideas into concrete programmes, lacked dynamic leadership and have been embroiled in intra and inter-party rivalries. Crucially, left-wing political parties have historically been repressed, and since 2013, have been bearing the brunt of the crackdown on civil society.

In short, it is imperative that we take into account organisations and movements that are not political parties, and which could still assume oppositional and political educational roles.

This, as also argued in the previous chapter, implies that rights-based organisations, educational organisations and other types of local and community-based movements can assume more visible oppositional roles which at times could complement and substitute the work of traditional political parties (Abdelrahman, 2009; Langohr, 2004; Altan-Olcay and

Icduygu, 2012). However, we should be careful in assuming the extent to which such

CSOs are capable of functioning and educating under the current authoritarian context, with its efforts of systematic depoliticisation and its repression of any activity deemed to be too oppositional or political, including education (see Chapter Six). Accordingly, the next and final section on the travelling Gramsci focuses on political education and the requirement to adapt it to authoritarian contexts by broadening its conceptualisation.

3.6.5 Conceptualising Political Education under Authoritarianism

As mentioned in section 3.4.1, Gramsci’s ideas on political education do not offer in their entirety a conceptualisation that can be adopted straightforwardly to non-Western contexts,

119 particularly the pedagogical approaches being utilised. This also applies to the narrow conceptualisations of political education highlighted in the previous chapter that assume the presence of recognised citizenship rights and duties, freedom of speech and expression, and more importantly, the existence of relatively advanced formal education systems and a functioning civil society. Such conditions are not necessarily shared by many countries in the Global South, especially in the Middle East. Therefore, we should be wary of transferring such conceptions of political education to more authoritarian contexts, where citizenship rights, freedoms of speech and expression, and political participation are not always guaranteed or encouraged. Moreover, considering the extent of the crackdown facing Egyptian CSOs since 2013, it has become imperative to find methods of providing political education that does not attract unwanted attention. These methods can entail indirect methods of political education such as, for example, games, mock activities and simulations. In order to better analyse the potential transformative and counter-hegemonic role played by education under authoritarian contexts, I suggest the broadening of its conceptualisation so as to consider both its direct and indirect manifestations.

Direct, as could be inferred from its name, would be straightforwardly labelled as political education. This would involve activities that teach about politics in general, and are more likely to take place in more democratic settings, where political participation, and being active in civil society, is usually not discouraged. An indirect political education, which is more covert and less explicit in teaching about politics, could arguably be the more dominant approach in authoritarian settings. Since authoritarian regimes are more likely to encourage the depoliticisation of the public sphere and education, any descriptions of education serving to raise political and social consciousness will undoubtedly attract attention and subsequent repression. Moreover, this attention will be compounded if these educational activities took place outside the boundaries of the official education system, and thus outside of the state’s direct control.

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Therefore, it becomes important to consider the possibilities of utilising such indirect approaches in order to overcome the expected restrictions, where its indirectness could be observed through discourses, terminologies and practices. For example, an indirect political educational approach could take the form of games and simulations (i.e., mock activities). Accordingly, such mock activities should be considered to be practice-oriented, and although they could appear in hindsight to be apolitical, they still could end up having numerous political implications, which I explore in Chapter Five. Furthermore, such indirect political education can take place technologically through the utilisation of social media, blogs and online videos. After the uprisings in 2011, the role played by social media and YouTube in connecting protestors and enhancing their organisational capabilities, was scrutinised and even heralded as having played an important role in the initial successes of the uprisings (e.g. Herrera and Mansour, 2015; Herrera, 2014; Herrera and Sakr, 2014; Herrera, 2012). Social media and other online platforms not only helped connect those protestors, but they contributed to their politicisation as well. Examples of this approach will also be considered in chapters five and seven. Nonetheless, these educational activities, despite their superficial depoliticisation (see Chapters Five and

Seven), are still capable of providing opportunities to contest the hegemonic terrain.

3.7 Conclusion

This chapter set out to exemplify how a Gramscian perspective addresses the literature’s various shortcomings, particularly through delineating how Gramsci improved our understandings of the interlinkages between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. The chapter accomplishes two things: it develops the thesis’ framework and answers its first subsidiary research question. To do so, the chapter introduced

Gramsci as a radical thinker who advocated that human subjectivity should be a core element of Marxism, whereby critical intellectual activity, ideas and human will should all be part of any social transformation. This is particularly highlighted through the concept of

121 hegemonic contestation, which offers the tools to help understand both authoritarianism and resistance in a more nuanced manner. Accordingly, the chapter provided an analysis of

Gramsci’s ideas on hegemony, the integral state and war of position to explicate how they offered solutions to overcome the literature’s excessive conceptual formalism in treating authoritarianism and democratisation in dichotomous terms and in favouring explicit forms of activism.

In my analysis, I argued that Gramsci’s concept of civil society offered a way of analysing the links between authoritarianism, political education and resistance. By viewing political and civil society as supporting and reinforcing one another (a combination of coercion and consent which mutually balance each other), their relation implied the proliferation of various fronts of politics through which social antagonisms could be manifest. Such strategies of resistance do not solely focus on political and economic struggles, but on educational and cultural ones as well. This is evident in Gramsci distinguishing between a war of manoeuvre and a war of position to illuminate the importance of diversifying the strategies of resistance.

This perspective, I maintained, carried important implications for the thesis’ framework, namely that civil society becomes a terrain of hegemonic contestation through which hegemony is never absolute and could always be challenged and resisted. In so doing, it offers a more nuanced approach to analysing authoritarianism and resistance, which not only considers the state’s coercive apparatuses, but crucially, its ability to establish and protect its hegemony as well as strategies for resisting it through education and other cultural initiatives. Moreover, Gramsci’s conceptualisation of civil society allowed for political educational initiatives to take place within its collection of diverse organisations.

These educational spaces offered opportunities to develop a counter-hegemonic educational movement that could offer an alternative conception of the world and challenge the dominant common sense. In short, considering that hegemony is never

122 absolute, this suggests that regardless of how authoritarian a state is, there will always be opportunities to resist and challenge it.

With regard to education, Gramsci appreciated its ability to perform both political socialisation and transformation roles. Education was thus not only viewed as influential in instilling hegemonic ideas and manufacturing consent, but additionally as a terrain of contestation. This implies that education could be used as a method of building oppositional (i.e. counter-hegemonic) narratives, discourses and pedagogies that can resist the ruling elite’s own hegemony. To reiterate, education from a Gramscian perspective should not be viewed as limited to schooling but rather as taking place within many sites of pedagogical practice. Building on that, I argued that Gramsci’s ideas on education offered the fundamentals to develop a radical and broader conceptualisation of political education.

This approach to political education aims, through its direct and indirect manifestations, to develop critical consciousness with regards to the existence of economic and social inequalities. Additionally, it empowers people to take action in order to challenge such inequalities, and should be ideally linked with strong movements capable of building alliances across civil society.

Nonetheless, the chapter also argued that we should not apply Gramscian concepts straightforwardly to Egyptian society without considering its historical, political, economic and socio-cultural conditions. Through utilising Edward Said’s travelling theory, I maintained that Gramsci’s ideas, so as not to lose their analytical vigour, should be adapted and modified to suit contemporary Egypt, whilst not abandoning any of their core insights.

I focused on his conceptualisations of civil society, the primacy of the working class as agents of social change, the role of political parties (the Modern Prince), and political education. Although I provided a brief elaboration of how Gramscian concepts can travel, these will be explained and analysed in more detail throughout the rest of the thesis. For example, Chapter Four will particularly focus on Gramsci’s ideas regarding education

123 playing a political socialisation role by considering the Egyptian formal education system across different regimes, starting from Nasser until Mubarak and the uprisings.

Chapter Five analyses political educational activities in civil society and therefore utilises my distinction between direct and indirect political education to show how political education, despite taking different forms to those envisaged by Gramsci, is still capable of playing an important counter-hegemonic role. In short, broadening political education opens up opportunities to locate educational activities that, notwithstanding their superficial depoliticisation, are still capable of contesting the state. In Chapter Six, I argue for the need to differentiate between soft and hard repressive methods to appreciate the intricacies of Egyptian authoritarianism and its diverse array of repressive methods.

Building on this, Chapter Seven, in keeping with the viewpoint of the diversification and proliferation of social antagonisms, considers the resistance practices developed and utilised by Egyptian CSOs to challenge the restrictions imposed by the state and its security apparatus.

Similarly to my analysis of Egyptian political education, the travelling Gramsci is visible in how such resistance practices can take forms that do not adhere to conventional methods which are more explicitly oppositional. In other words, despite surface appearances they are more than capable of negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation and thus provide CSOs with the required spaces to function, resist and educate under the current authoritarian context. In view of that, the next chapter constitutes the first link between the above theoretical discussions and the more empirical considerations which animate the later chapters. It focuses on the Egyptian formal education system and argues that it represents an excellent example of how politics and education are intertwined, especially with regard to how particular regimes have sought to use it in order to develop, protect and maintain their legitimacy.

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Chapter 4: The Egyptian State, Formal Education, and Political Socialisation

4.1 Introduction

The previous two chapters concentrated on developing the thesis’ Gramscian framework.

They set out the debates surrounding the concepts of significance for this project, highlighted their advantages, limitations and their implications for analysing authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. This chapter constitutes the first step towards moving from a theoretical sphere to a more concrete one, by providing a grounded discussion of the links between politics and education in Egypt. As argued in chapters One and Two, literature on Egyptian education has largely neglected the role played by education in protecting a regime’s legitimacy, and alternatively in resisting it. Although Egyptian education has attracted scholarly interest, it mainly focused on its establishment, administration, and its weaknesses. It did not exclusively analyse how education is political or how educational institutions could play various political roles.

Therefore, critical discussion surrounding formal education and its political role is necessary in order to understand how education is, foremost, a politically contested domain, where politics and power are intimately connected. It is through critiquing and understanding the political roles education can play that it becomes possible to envisage alternatives and counter-hegemonic opportunities. The aims of this chapter are as follows.

It answers the thesis’ second subsidiary research question: What has been the significance of the political socialisation role played by formal education in contemporary Egyptian history? And by taking the Egyptian formal education as an example, it contributes to the literature by critically analysing formal education’s political socialisation role. In so doing,

I illustrate how the formal education system under Nasser, Sadat and Mubarak has been attempting to politically socialise Egyptians through the pedagogical approaches adopted, the content of the textbooks developed, as well as the behaviours and attitudes encouraged

125 within the classrooms. Secondly, by analysing Egyptian formal education’s political socialisation role (as developed in section 2.4.2), it argues that by aiming to maintain the status quo and legitimising the ruling regime, it is unlikely to allow for counter-hegemonic or oppositional discourses and practices to develop within it. As a result, and in keeping with the thesis’ Gramscian framework, it becomes vital to look beyond the state and its education system and explore alternative educational spaces existing within civil society.

Thirdly, I further defend my arguments for looking towards civil society by illustrating the neoliberal transformations taking place in Egypt’s political economy. I argue that due to such changes, the Egyptian state has struggled to efficiently and effectively provide many of its welfare services previously guaranteed under Nasser’s (1952-1970) rule (such as education). This implies two things: firstly, it became more difficult to gain society’s consent (as is discussed in section 4.3.4), therefore there has been a growing dependence on force to maintain control of society. This suggests that despite appearing powerful on the surface, authoritarianism is never absolute and can always be challenged. Secondly, such neoliberal transformations have, advertently and inadvertently, opened up Egyptian civil society to initially “fill in the gaps” left by the state. I argue that this provides opportunities for oppositional organisations and movements to be established and to provide their own educational initiatives. In short, to analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance, it is imperative to understand how education constitutes a vital component of an authoritarian regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy.

4.2 Formal Education and the Failure to Provide the Basics

Egyptian formal education has historically been one of the most influential in the Middle

East (Cochran, 1986; 2008). It was once viewed as a means for social mobility, equality and economic development (especially during Nasser’s era) and considered a moral and religious guide for Egyptians. However, education (both schooling and higher education)

126 has in recent decades been a thorn in the side of debates about development, modernisation and even democratisation. As of 2016, Egypt is still facing problems with regard to low literacy rates, as many Egyptians can graduate from primary schools without knowing how to read or write. Furthermore, education only receives a meagre 3.8% to 4% of the GDP in investments (Hamdy, 2007; UNDP, 2013; World Bank 2013), which is not enough to cover basic expenses and salaries.20 This implies that teachers end up suffering from low salaries and poor living conditions (Naguib, 2006) and therefore have to increasingly rely on providing private tutoring services to supplement their low incomes. These private tutoring services are detrimental to many poor Egyptians’ financial capabilities (Tadros,

2006), because they encourage the expansion of a parallel education system which firstly hampers people’s incomes21 and secondly leads to persisting inequalities. Children whose families can afford to privately educate them, arguably end up having greater chances to enrol in better universities than children from less privileged backgrounds.

A host of other weaknesses overwhelm the formal education system, including the excessive use of corporal punishment to discipline students (Naguib, 2006; Saad, 2006;

Sobhy, 2012a), with unqualified teachers relying on out-dated and rigid teaching methods

(Johnson et al., 2000) plus the failure to provide basic infrastructural requirements, such as well-constructed school buildings (Herrera, 2003; Herrera, 2006; Loveluck, 2012). There is abundant research available which is concerned with formal education and its components, weaknesses and challenges, the laws that govern it, as well as the efforts being exerted to reform it (e.g. Cochran, 2008; Badrawi, 2011; Loveluck 2012; Sobhy, 2012a). Such issues surrounding the need to reform the education system through, for example, investing in better infrastructure, teacher training, improving salaries, cracking down on private tutoring, and modernising the curriculum and textbooks, have been dominant within

20 This is considerably less than other countries such as Israel (6%), Saudi Arabia (5.6%), Oman (4.3%), Iran (4.7%), Tunisia (6.2%) and Morocco (5.4%) (World Bank, 2013). 21 It is estimated that Egyptian families spend around 19 billion EGP on funding private tutoring (Saad, 2006). 127 debates on Egyptian education (e.g. Herrera 2006; Badrawi, 2011; Cochran, 2012; Sobhy,

2012b).

It is generally accepted that these reforms are required, but such discussions are narrowly focused: they do not necessarily consider the political implications that surround the processes of approving or rejecting such reforms. Furthermore, they do not consider the power relations and struggles that can exist under such deliberations and their implications for social transformations. As stated in chapters One and Two, research on education in the

Arab world has been more or less preoccupied with the processes of educational provision and expansion, but not with how expansion can help mediate conflicts, contestations and power struggles (Mazawi, 1999). Importantly, I highlighted the opinions calling for a more critical and political analysis of education in the Arab world and the Global South (e.g.

Herrera and Torres, 2006; Morrow and Torres, 1995: al-Bialawi, 1993; Badran, 2006;

2008). Therefore, the next section aims to concretise the deliberations outlined, by specifically analysing the political roles played by the Egyptian formal education system across different decades and regimes. It is worth remembering that the links between education and politics can be deciphered through different theoretical approaches such as those looking at education’s ability to reproduce particular attitudes, hierarchies, and inequalities, and those focusing on its ability to politically socialise into accepting particular political systems. It is the latter approach that I will analyse in more detail.

4.3 Formal Education and Political Socialisation

As outlined in the previous chapter, Gramsci considered education and hegemony as two concepts that were interlinked and inseparable. Furthermore, he considered schools to be privileged instruments of socialisation that aimed to reinforce subordinate positions, helped to manufacture consent and aided in promulgating a common sense that conformed to a given social order (e.g. Morrow and Torres, 1995; Reed, 2012; Mayo, 1999; 2010).

Socialisation, which I argued constituted a narrow/conservative approach to political

128 education, entails learning the ways of a given society and how to function within it (Elkin,

1960; Brennan, 1981), legitimising and maintaining the existing political systems (Harber,

1991; Brennan, 1981; Langeveld, 1981; Dawson and Prewitt, 1969), and encouraging the unquestioning acceptance of the norms, attitudes and behaviours required under the existing political system (Entwistle, 1971). Furthermore, it emphasises factual knowledge that discourages debates on controversial issues or deliberates on alternatives to the existing political and economic systems. In order to make such theoretical deliberations more concrete, I outline the various political roles Egyptian formal education has been playing over the decades, with a focus on education under Nasser, Sadat and Mubarak, for it was under those regimes that the education system was visibly and consciously politicised through its content, pedagogy and structure.

Before I begin this task, I want to briefly note how Egypt’s education system was first established under Mohammed Ali in the first half of the 19th century. Often considered the founder of modern Egypt, Mohammed Ali was one of Egypt’s most ambitious and influential rulers.22 Under his rule, there was a ceaseless drive to modernise Egypt, build a strong army, and importantly, establish a modern education system. This system, which was to be influenced by Western secular systems and that emphasised technical education

(Hyde, 1978; Cochran, 1986; Aly, 1986; Mitchell, 1991) contributed to Egypt’s enlightenment era (Aly, 1986) and to serving Mohammed Ali’s political aims. These aims mainly revolved around his protection and consolidation of power (El-Fiky, 1966, quoted in Aly, 1986: 151), disciplining Egyptians and discouraging political opposition (e.g.

Cochran, 1986; 2008; Mitchell, 1991).23 Accordingly, education’s disciplinary capabilities therefore constituted a new politics whereby the state did not solely rely on force to assume

22 For more details about Mohammad Ali’s reign see Marsot (1984), Vatikiotis (1991), Fahmy (2002) and Dodwell (2011). 23 In this vein, Mohammed Ali is said to have once stated to his son Ibrahim: “What Europe is suffering from is the result of generalising education among all levels of society so [that] they are involved…they have no chance of avoiding what [has] happened. So if this is an example in front of us, our duty is to just teach them how to read and write to a certain limit in order to accomplish satisfied work and not to spread education beyond this point” (Moursi, 1974: 12, quoted in Cochran, 1986: 6). 129 control (Starrett, 1998; Mitchell, 1991). Moreover, despite education’s expansion under Ali and his sons, it still reflected the dichotomy existing within society (i.e., foreign education exclusively for the rich and technical education for the poor) (Cochran, 1986).

Under the British occupation, which started in 1882, the education system was relatively neglected and its expenses kept to a minimum (Cochran, 1986; 2008; Aly, 1986; El-Fiky,

1966). However, one could argue that such neglect had political implications for the

British as it aimed to maintain political stability and discourage the rise of nationalist movements (Radwan, 1951; Cochran, 1986; Aly, 1986). One way of ensuring this was through supporting kuttab schools, a traditional and religious approach to education which emphasised memorisation and moral education instead of independent and critical thinking

(Mitchell, 1991; Starrett, 1998; Zeghal, 2007). Furthermore, the education system became increasing concerned with producing obedient governmental clerks who could serve the occupation, and such clerks were socialised into respecting authority and the inevitability of inequalities existing in society (Cochran, 1986; 2008; Starrett, 1998).

Another implication resulting from splitting education according to class and geography, was the reinforcement and entrenchment of existing hierarchies and inequalities in society

(Abdalla, 2007; Starrett, 1998; Radwan, 1951). Nonetheless, in the early 20th century, student activism was at its peak, insofar as students not only constituted an influential part of the revolution in 1919 but also revolted in 1935/36 against the occupation, their dismal educational and living conditions, and the lack of employment opportunities (Abdalla,

2007: 83-110). There were more revolts in 1946 (ibid: 123-144). However, as indicated above, it was under Nasser that formal education started to play a more evident political and socialising role. It is therefore a crucial period for showing how education and politics are interlinked and cannot be separated.

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4.3.1 Formal Education under Nasser’s Egypt

El-Koussy (1978a, quoted in Hyde, 1978: xix) argued that “great political movements are usually accompanied by radical educational changes that help solidify and support the new regime”. Such was the case under Gamal Abdel Nasser, where education not only served to modernise and industrialise Egypt, but more importantly, it also played an influential role in supporting and legitimising the coup d’état of 1952. By focusing on Nasser’s regime, we will find that the interlinkages between politics and education are apparent, where education (both schooling and higher education) played multiple regime-supportive and socialising roles, which attempted to inculcate certain ideologies and to safeguard against the development of any opposition to Nasser’s regime (e.g. Aly, 1986; Starrett, 1998;

Warschauer, 2003). Badran (2008: 112) argues that, starting from the 1960s, Egyptian formal education was considered to have become an important component of the regime’s political discourses which represented the political interests of the middle and lower- middle classes from which the majority of the Free Officers hailed. Prior and leading up to the Free Officers’ coup on the 23rd of July 1952, Egypt was suffering from extreme poverty, illiteracy, social inequalities, and a traditional peripheral economy.

Furthermore, these dire conditions were exacerbated by the Arabs’ defeat in the Arab-

Israeli war of 1948. Accordingly, when the coup succeeded in overthrowing King Farouk,

Mohammed Naguib (and later Nasser) inherited Egypt with an immense set of challenges.

The rate of illiteracy, which was nearly 75% in the early 1950s, was one of the most prominent (Hyde, 1978). Therefore, the expansion and reform of the education system became one of the “revolutionary” regime’s most important and urgent objectives

(Cochran, 1986; 2008; Aly, 1986). Under Nasser, education was expanded and made free for Egyptians starting in 1962. Education was also further centralised, and state supervision became more visible and stringent (Moursi, 1974). Furthermore, foreign schools were nationalised, girls were offered more opportunities to enrol in schools, and secondary

131 education was reorganised so as to place more emphasis on technical education, whereby such an education was viewed as being a core requirement for aiding Egypt’s industrialisation (Abdalla, 2007: 192). This, mostly quantitative, expansion provided opportunities for social mobility, alleviation from extreme poverty, and for poor Egyptians to enrol at universities. In order to provide the above opportunities, Badran (2008: 144) argues that Egypt’s educational policies underwent three stages under Nasser.

The first stage took place between 1952 and 1956, which witnessed the state assume control over the educational apparatus, including the religious education of al-Azhar. The main objective of education during that stage was to spread the regime’s ideas and philosophy in order to obtain the support of the middle and lower-middle classes as indicated above. The second stage took place between 1957 and 1961, by which point in time the prominence of education for Egypt’s development and industrialisation was prevalent and heavily emphasised. Finally, between 1962 and 1974, Egypt’s educational policy took a more political turn, whereby it promoted the role of the regime in developing and protecting the nation. It is this political turn that I am interested in and discuss in more detail below. However, it is first important to underline that, despite such commendable improvements in education under Nasser, they were criticised for being merely quantitative improvements (Abdalla, 2007: 193).

Although education was made “free” for all Egyptians, it still ended up serving a limited number of people who could afford private tuition (ibid: 201). This means that it continued to help maintain and reproduce the existing social and economic inequalities and class barriers, instead of eradicating them (ibid: 200; Badran, 2008: 148-158). Furthermore, since educational success was solely measured through examination assessments, the education system encouraged a culture of memorisation, where no opportunities were offered for students to discuss, debate or ask questions (Szyliowicz, 1973: 289). This preoccupation with exam success consequently encouraged the upsurge of the “official

132 governmental textbook” phenomenon, whereby textbooks developed and distributed by the government were to be followed word for word, memorised and never questioned

(Abdalla, 2007: 206; Badran, 2008: 158-160).

In order to understand education under Nasser more politically, three issues need to be highlighted: the emphasis on scientific and technical education over the humanities, the curriculum being politically influenced by Nasser’s ideology, and finally education being a safeguard for Nasser’s regime. As argued above, one of the regime’s main objectives was to modernise and industrialise Egypt. This meant that technical and scientific education was given more attention over the more theoretical humanities (Awad, 1974: 40). This distinction, Awad (1963: 40-41) argued, was “oppressing the minds of Egyptians”, where for example students were forced to study engineering, medicine or chemistry instead of other subjects, such as history or law. He further contends that:

Today’s youth are being fortified against history, past and present, why? Because history books in our schools are no longer history books, but are purely political books…and this is how the Egyptian youth have lost their sense of history and those who lose their sense of history, lose their sense of politics. (Quoted in Abdalla, 2007: 209)

What is interesting about this separation is that Gramsci himself criticised the denial and limitation of humanistic education:

What the proletariat needs is an educational system that is open to all. A system in which the child is allowed to develop and mature and acquire those general features that serve to develop character…a school that does not force the child’s will, his intelligence and growing awareness to run along the tracks to a pre-determined station. (Gramsci, 1978: 26, quoted in Entwistle, 1979: 82)

Accordingly, it is through denying and separating humanistic and technical education that schools manage to maintain hegemony and discourage the development of critical thinking and political consciousness (Entwistle, 1979: 93). With regard to the second issue of curricular reforms, Cochran (1986: 43) argued that Nasser’s philosophy “overwhelmed” the education system, in which the military leadership and Nasser’s ideology were greatly reflected in school curriculums. This was particularly noticeable in the history curricula, in

133 which Egypt’s history prior to 1952 was largely ignored or criticised (Abdalla, 2007: 210).

Additionally, Nasser’s National Pact was considered to be part of the core curriculum

(ibid: 209). The politicisation of education under Nasser was further commented upon by

Faksh who argued that:

Under the revolutionary regime the essential socialisation role played by the existing educational system in Egypt supports this pattern of passive, non-participatory political life among the educated Egyptians. In general, educational practice still emphasises the authority of the teacher, memorisation, formal curricula, strict conformity, discipline and routine…in the primary and preparatory schools, strong efforts are directed towards developing a strong loyalty to the regime. (1980: 51)

Education under Nasser was thus unique in that, although it attempted to provide Egyptians with the necessary political skills to take part in political life (Aly, 1986: 259-260; Hyde,

1978), Egypt’s political life was itself severely inhibited and repressed, with political parties banned and civil society heavily restricted (e.g. Ayubi, 1995; Abdelmalek, 1968).

This was arguably reflected in the political education advocated by Nasser, insofar as obtaining support and maintaining the regime’s legitimacy was one of its main objectives

(Aly, 1986: 276). In short, political education was more of a:

Socialisation process that takes the form of advanced ideological indoctrination that is manifest in the curriculum of the faculty of politics and economics, and other subjects on ‘National Studies’…such as ‘Arab Society’, ‘The July 23 Revolution’, and ‘Socialism’, required for all students. This indoctrination presents Egypt as its leaders and people would like to see it: proud, independent, strong and successful. (Faksh, 1980: 52)

Finally, with regard to safeguarding the regime, Nasser attempted to politically and administratively control education and particularly the universities (Abdalla, 2007: 211).

As argued earlier, student activism was prevalent in Egypt since the early 20th century and continued through to the 1950s. However, it suffered under the weight of Nasser’s crackdowns in 1954, which implied that universities became represented by students who supported the regime’s political and social reforms, whereas those who failed to accommodate to the new regime withdrew from politics altogether (ibid: 218). Therefore,

134 the disciplining and controlling of students became part of the everyday educational experiences of many Egyptians.

On the one hand, such daily experiences of authority patterns become in themselves a method of political socialisation, as they encouraged students to become passive, dependent and conforming (Harber, 1991: 251). On the other hand, these experiences differed in elite educational institutions where students could instead become socialised for attaining leadership roles (ibid.). Nonetheless, despite Nasser’s efforts to assume almost complete control over the Egyptian public sphere and especially over education, he failed in many aspects with regard to the latter. Although education was expanded and relatively improved, it still failed to meet the aspirations of many Egyptians and contributed to the emergence of some of the ailments that formal education still suffers from up to this day.

Furthermore, Nasser’s power was severely affected after Egypt’s defeat in the Six Day

War in 1967. One of the consequences of this defeat was the student uprisings of 1968, which called for democracy and the prosecution of those responsible for the defeat

(Abdalla, 2007: 260-268, 275-309).

Based on the above discussion, some implications need to be highlighted. Formal education under Nasser played a number of roles that ranged from aiding the regime’s modernisation and industrialisation objectives to helping maintain the regime’s legitimacy to socialising Egyptians into its philosophy and aims. This role was particularly evident in how the curriculum was rewritten and in how the education system was organised and reformed. Importantly, it was under Nasser that education’s tight relations to the security apparatus were established, a legacy that continues to this day. Moreover, political education was merely considered as a method of political socialisation. It aimed to provide

Egyptians with the political skills necessary to function under an already restricted political and public life. In order to function under these conditions, Egyptians had to be convinced to accept the existing political system and its ideology, as opposed to developing critical

135 political skills or thinking of alternatives to such a system. In short, the Egyptian formal education system was incapable of effectively developing people’s democratic and critical thinking skills because of its narrow and instrumentalist understanding of political education.

Finally, what was interesting about Nasser’s attempts to control the public sphere was his establishment of a social contract in which education comprised an important component of this contract. In short, as the state expanded under Nasser, it accordingly took political rights away from Egyptians in exchange for granting them socio-economic rights instead

(Ayubi, 1995: 410). This was successful to a certain extent. However, as is argued later, this social contract was severely weakened under Sadat and Mubarak, as their regimes became incapable of providing the expected welfare contributions while still continuing to repress political rights. The next section therefore analyses how education attempted to serve Sadat’s plans for economic liberalisation whilst also playing a politico-religious role in order to safeguard him from left-wing and Islamist opposition.

4.3.2 Formal Education under Sadat’s Egypt

After Nasser’s death in 1970, his Vice President Anwar Sadat came into power, inheriting

Egypt with a set of political and economic challenges, most importantly the occupation of the Sinai Peninsula as a result of the Six Day War. Accordingly, Sadat’s first objectives were regaining Sinai and overcoming Nasser’s legacy. Sadat wanted Egypt to undergo a corrective revolution, which began with the adoption of the permanent constitution of

1971. Furthermore, Sadat faced a variety of oppositions which included the Nasserists, who wanted to maintain their control over the bureaucratic apparatus and the economy,24 as well as the Islamists and leftists. As I argue below, education constituted an important part of these power struggles. Egypt under Sadat witnessed important political, economic and socio-cultural transformations. One of the most important was Sadat’s initiation of

24 For more details about Sadat’s struggles with the Nasserists see: Kandil (2012a), Cook (2011), Osman (2011) and Ayubi (1995). 136 political reforms, whereby political parties were allowed to once again be established after being banned under Nasser in 1953. Introducing political parties in 1977 resulted in the disbanding of the Arab Socialist Union, which was established under Nasser’s one-party political system. Instead, three parties were established representing the Left, Centre and

Right (Progressive Unionist (Taggamu), National Democratic Party (NDP) and the Free

Socialists respectively), with Sadat, and later Mubarak, being the heads of the NDP.

Moreover, Sadat wanted to reform Egypt economically by liberalising it through the open door policy, or the infitah, which was introduced in 1974. The open door policy aimed to connect the Egyptian economy with the globalising capitalist system and hence encourage the growth of foreign investment in Egypt. Accordingly, education reflected such transformations in different ways, whereby it was required to develop and prepare the future workforce in order to fulfil the requirements of globalising capitalism. However, many have argued that Sadat’s plans for political and economic liberalisation were never implemented properly (e.g. Ayubi, 1995; Kienle, 2001; Farah, 2009). Nonetheless, the consequences these have had on Egypt’s formal education are undeniable. Once again,

Gramsci’s insights, and especially on the economy, are valuable here.

In Chapter Three, I argued that despite Gramsci’s criticisms of economism he still maintained that the economy created terrains that were more favourable to the dissemination of certain ways of thinking, and of posing and resolving questions (1971:

184). This argument becomes more apparent under Sadat and Mubarak, as economic transformations have influenced formal education’s objectives in many ways and which eventually led to its weakness. Thus, by continuing to focus on Sadat, there are four distinctive elements of formal education that are highlighted. The first is concerned with education representing Sadat’s liberalisation ideology. This implied that students were not only required to be equipped with the needed skills to take part in a globalising capitalist

137 economy, but also to provide support for the regime’s aims, which differed considerably from Nasser’s “socialism”.

Obtaining support for Sadat’s regime was not an easy task. Badran (2008: 173-174) labelled Sadat’s ideology as being one of dependence. This implied that rather than being a significant and influential actor within the global political and economic spheres, Egypt had instead become heavily dependent on the West, particularly on the United States. This further implied that the regime lacked a distinctively strong ideology that could function as cohesively as Nasser’s. Furthermore, Badran analysed how such economic and political transformations were reflected in the education system (ibid: 238-243). In his review of a study conducted by Salem (1983) of school textbooks,25 it was found that the curriculum had started to emphasise Egyptian nationalism, as opposed to Arab and Islamic patriotism, for example. Moreover, authority, as described in the textbooks, mostly alluded to governmental authority and power, as opposed to citizen power. The responsibilities of the government towards its citizens were also emphasised along with the citizens’ own responsibilities towards protecting the existing political system.

In another study conducted by Abdel Mo‘ti (1984), it was found that the social studies textbooks “glorified the dominant political discourse, the role of the leader, and the importance of the ruling classes” (quoted in Badran, 2008: 242-243). Furthermore, the textbooks emphasised patriarchy, and Sadat’s liberalisation process was depicted as one of

Egypt’s most important objectives. The content also emphasised the notions of social peace and harmony as opposed to conflict, akin to Nasser’s efforts in emphasising social harmony instead of class conflict. Cochran (1986; 2008) and Aly (1986) have indicated similar arguments to those explicated above. Accordingly, one could argue that the formal education system still performed socialising functions analogous to those it performed

25 Analysis of governmental textbooks has constituted an important element of the critical literature on Egyptian education. I review this literature in the section on Mubarak and the post-uprisings period. 138 under Nasser such as encouraging patriotism, glorifying the ruling regime and leader, and disseminating the regime’s ideology and objectives.

The second distinctive element of education under Sadat was its politico-religious role. In short, it aimed to disseminate the “correct” definition of Islam within schools in order to challenge the rise of Islamic fundamentalism. Starrett (1998: 9) argues that Islam was functionalised in education for the service of the regime. Functionalisation is defined as the utilisation of an Islamic discourse in order to serve the ruling regime’s strategic and utilitarian needs, or in other words, to use Islam as a signifier of the regime’s legitimacy

(Hefner, 2007: 8; Starrett, 1998: 9). This additionally served Sadat personally by depicting him as the pious leader, and politically by counter-weighing the Islamists. Third, despite the regime’s efforts to reform education, like Nasser’s it still failed many Egyptians.

Although Sadat had already inherited Egypt with numerous educational challenges, these were further exacerbated when foreign and private schools were allowed to function legally. This aggravated the inequalities previously existing between those who could afford private education, and those who could not and who instead had to rely on the government’s educational services (Badran, 2008; Cochran, 1986; 2008). Not only was privatisation limited to schools, but it also reached the realm of higher education, whereby universities were allowed to be privately established and hence could charge tuition fees, making it an avenue exceptionally attractive for investment.

The fourth, and arguably most significant of these issues, was the relative erosion of the social contract encouraged under Nasser. Sadat’s infitah and flirtations with neoliberalism,26 the IMF, in addition to Egypt’s peripheral position within the global

26 David Harvey defines neoliberalism as “in the first instance a theory of political economic practices that proposes that human well-being can best be advanced by liberating individual entrepreneurial freedoms and skills within an institutional framework characterised by strong private property rights, free markets and free trade. The role of the state is to create and preserve an institutional framework appropriate to such practices. The state has to guarantee, for example, the quality and integrity of money. It must also set up those military, defence, police and legal structures and functions required to secure private property rights and to guarantee, by force if need be, the proper functioning of markets. Furthermore, if markets do not exist (in areas such as land, water, education, health care, social security, or environmental pollution) then they must be created, by 139 capitalist system, contributed to the state to start withdrawing from providing services previously guaranteed under Nasser such as health and education. In short, the state started becoming incapable of providing its services efficiently and effectively, which later contributed to the opening up of civil society in order to fill the gaps. To conclude, once more, despite the efforts exerted to maintain control, socialise and protect regime legitimacy, such efforts could not fully safeguard Sadat’s regime. Student and labour movements were active during Sadat’s era which culminated in the student uprisings of

1972 (see Abdalla, 2007: 319-362). Furthermore, Egypt witnessed another uprising in 1977

(commonly described as the bread riots), in which thousands of Egyptians protested against the removal of food and other basic subsidies. Finally, the Islamic fundamentalists that Sadat attempted to defeat and appease at certain points to counter the left-wing opposition ended up assassinating him in 1981.

4.3.3 The Political Economy of Mubarak’s Fractured Hegemony

Under Nasser and Sadat, Egypt witnessed multifarious political, economic and socio- cultural changes which in turn have had a tremendous impact on today’s Egypt, and additionally, on Mubarak’s thirty years in power. Although Nasser and Sadat had their own visions and national projects, Mubarak, on the other hand, did not have a “grand vision” or project of his own. As Amin (2011: 16) argues, Mubarak was content with continuing on the same path taken by Sadat and without much deviation. As mentioned above, Sadat’s open door policy was not able to fully realise its objectives, and eventually led to the generation and encouragement of unsustainable tendencies and the favouring of importation instead of strengthening the economy’s productive sectors (Soliman, 2011:

36). The Egyptian economy under infitah was liberalised without having many restrictions or control mechanisms in place, which adversely affected many segments of Egyptian state action if necessary. But beyond these tasks the state should not venture. State interventions in markets (once created) must be kept to a bare minimum because, according to second-guess market signals (prices) and because powerful interest groups will inevitably distort and bias state interventions (particularly in democracies) for their own benefit” (Harvey, 2005: 2). For another interesting exposition of neoliberalism, see Bruff (2014). 140 society by compounding poverty, unemployment and economic inequalities (Amin, 2011:

11; Badran, 2008: 256).

Another detrimental effect resulting from the infitah was the commencement of the

Egyptian state’s withdrawal from providing some of its most basic services such as education and health. This withdrawal, which started in the mid-1970s, was a result of the

Egyptian economy’s growing interlinkages within the global capitalist system, which encouraged the unrestricted inflow of Egyptian and foreign capital (Amin, 2011: 11;

Badran, 2008: 256). Despite this withdrawal, Ghoneim (2005: 86) argues that the state still maintained an important role in the economy, albeit as an instrument for serving the needs of global and local capital. Such policies left the state increasingly incapable of fulfilling its basic welfarist promises, and crucially, rendered it increasingly “soft” (Amin, 2011: 8).

Galal Amin, influenced by the ideas of Gunnar Myrdal, argues that a soft state is one which is characterised by its inability to enforce laws and in which the elites ignore these laws either because their own power protects them, or they pay bribes in order to work around the laws. As a result, corruption and bribery become widespread, reaching the upper echelons of the executive, legislative and judiciary, eventually becoming a way of life.

This, Amin (2011: 13) further maintains, occurred due to globalising capital requiring a soft state in order to acquire easier access to markets, investment opportunities and cheap labour. This ended up altering the relationship between state and society in Egypt, and education became susceptible to such alterations as a result (ibid: 18; Amin, 2013; Badran,

2008: 266). Another important point to highlight is that Egypt, from the mid-1970s onwards, was considered to be a quasi-rentier state, which sought to maintain its stability through restricting freedoms and utilising repression and through its dependence on large inflows of income from oil, the Suez Canal and foreign aid (Soliman, 2011: 3; Farah, 2009:

40). Beblawi and Luciani (1987) argue that there is a direct and causal relationship

141 between the nature of a state’s revenues (whether it is obtained from oil, gas and other non- productive revenues, or alternatively, from taxes), and its political character. The more a state depended on rents and less on taxes, the more authoritarian it became, and vice versa; whereby under rentier contexts, society tends to establish a near-complete dependency on the state (Soliman, 2011: 138; Ayubi, 1995).

However, when such rentier revenues, and subsequently welfare services, decline, as was the case in Egypt starting from the 1980s onwards, the regime starts to lose its “political purchasing power” and thus one of its most important instruments of control (Soliman,

2011: 30, 144). Taking into account that authoritarian regimes have to rely on good economic performance and welfare provision in order to keep the populace acquiescent, if not supportive of the status quo (Hinnebusch, 2006), such alterations in rentier revenues and welfare provision could arguably make political transformations more possible

(Soliman, 2011: 22-23; Amin, 2011). In the mid to late 1980s, with the oil boom subsiding,

Suez Canal revenues declining, and bearing the consequences of infitah’s helter-skelter liberalisation, Egypt witnessed a structural fiscal crisis that included large budget deficits, chronic debt, low economic growth, rising inflation, and failure to secure enough income to meet these requirements (Soliman, 2011: 2; Badran, 2008: 258-259).

With such challenges in place, Egypt did not have much choice other than to rely on the

International Monetary Fund (IMF) and the World Bank (WB),27 which resulted in the

Economic Reform and Structural Adjustment Plan (ERSAP) being signed in 1991. ERSAP had, and is still having, detrimental effects on Egyptians, particularly the middle-classes and the poor (Badran, 2008: 256-257). Furthermore, it entrenched extreme poverty and cemented the power of a new business elite, which effectively replaced the old bureaucratic elite (Farah, 2009: 1). Such reforms have fundamentally altered the Egyptian political economy insofar as class relations have shifted, both in wider society and within

27 Egypt’s participation in the first Gulf War led to a massive external debt relief, in addition to rescheduling the remainder, thus arguably saving Egypt from bankruptcy. 142 the ruling bloc itself – in both cases, in favour of the new business elite (Roccu, 2013: 13;

Soliman, 2011: 144).

These neoliberal reforms, similar to the infitah, were never implemented smoothly or without controversy. This was arguably due to Egypt’s etatist history and nationalist approach to managing its economy (Roccu, 2013: 43). However, despite these reforms being gradually implemented as well as being hybridised (i.e., articulated with elements from pre-existing aspects of the economy), they still displayed the typical features of neoliberal economies such as rising inequalities and the increasing polarisation between the rich and the weakened middle and lower classes (ibid: 73; Farah, 2009: 43-48;

Ghoneim, 2005: 88; Kandil, 2012b). This was crucially coupled with the withdrawal of the state from welfare provision such as education, health and housing (Badran, 2008: 256;

Tadros, 2006), and thus undid Nasser’s populist social contract (Farah, 2009: 42).

4.3.4 Weakened Hegemony under Mubarak

The above neoliberal reforms and subsequent withdrawal from welfare provision arguably had an influence on perceptions regarding the Egyptian state’s strength. Soliman (2011:

54) argues that the fundamental aim of any regime is to preserve its power by “controlling the minds and bodies of the people”, mainly through promoting economic development

(i.e., legitimisation through achievement). Furthermore, its strength depends on its ability not only to suppress its opponents but additionally to “penetrate and change society, while also efficiently formulating and strictly implementing rational developmental practices”

(ibid: 4). In the case of the state becoming more violent and repressive, whilst also being incapable of promoting economic development or providing welfare services, it becomes what Ayubi (1995) terms a hard state.

Ayubi distinguishes between a strong and hard state. The former is considered to be hegemonic in the Gramscian sense, whereby “power penetrates everything to the extent that it ceases to be noticeable” (1995: 394), and where the state’s strength is “not 143 demonstrated by its subjugation of the society but by its ability to work with and through other centres of power in society” (ibid: 449). On the other hand, the latter is arguably structurally weaker and has to rely on using violence and force, as well as its administrative instruments, in order to ensure control (ibid). Aspects of the hard state were arguably identifiable under Mubarak, especially in the 1990s, when the state’s public expenditures on security and political control had risen (Soliman, 2011: 61-66).28 This, coupled with the state’s decreasing rentier revenues, implies that security and political controls become a dominant characteristic of authoritarian regimes that are in decline.

Moreover, it reflects their dwindling power with respect to other rising forces and social classes (ibid: 141).

Roccu (2013: 13) argues that the rise of a new elite business class and their swift transformation into becoming a capitalist oligarchy with “visible predatory tendencies”

(see also Farah, 2009: 52) meant that they created major tensions with the ruling bloc and the bureaucratic class, in addition to the military. This infers that they failed to provide the basis for the emergence of a broader coalition (social alliance), whether built with other members of the ruling bloc, or more importantly, with the rest of Egyptian society in order to obtain consent for this shift. Developing a strong social alliance becomes a prerequisite for carrying out institutional reform that will have long-ranging and adverse effects on society (Soliman, 2011: 6). However, Mubarak and the new class of business elite were not successful in establishing such an alliance, or even in obtaining consent, which ultimately weakened their hegemony as it did not encompass the rest of the ruling bloc or society:

As it created deeper divisions within the ruling bloc, the translation of neoliberalism into a practical political project also failed to win much support in most of Egyptian society…if the Nasserist hegemony was limited to begin with, and had been gradually dismantled by both Sadat and Mubarak, the version of neoliberalism proposed by the capitalist oligarchy had clearly failed in providing the discursive and practical basis for hegemony on the national scale. (Roccu, 2013: 90)

28 Soliman (2011: 55) considers public expenditures as comprising political control (e.g. security apparatus, ideological control (media, culture, religious affairs) and subsidies) and economic development (education and infrastructure). These are not mutually exclusive. 144

In short, neoliberal reforms coupled with reduced rentier revenues, as well as the state’s inability to fulfil its welfare responsibilities, weakened Mubarak’s regime’s hegemony.

This inability to maintain legitimacy insinuated that the state started to increasingly rely on force in order to maintain political control. This additionally alludes to the argument about hegemony not being absolute and always subject to challenge, notwithstanding how repressive a state may appear to be. Moreover, the withdrawal both intentionally and inadvertently led to the opening up of civil society in Egypt, whereby CSOs worked on filling the gaps left by state. It also provided opportunities for some movements to start assuming an oppositional role. Finally, and under the brunt of the above reforms, challenges and withdrawals, the formal education system under Mubarak began to underachieve and became overwhelmed.

4.3.5 Formal Education under Mubarak and Contemporary Egypt

Despite the compounding of the education system’s various problems during Mubarak’s rule, it was ironic to notice that Mubarak himself had a particular interest in education in the early years of his tenure. He consistently called for an education system that would help develop creative and ethical students capable of taking part in Egypt’s social, economic and political life (Browne, 2012: 136; Lippman, 1989). In keeping with this objective, the 1990s was declared as the decade of education (Zaalouk, 2004), and in 1992 the National Project for Education was set up in order to improve access to basic education. In 1993 a five-year plan was implemented to make education become one of the government’s top priorities, as did endorsing educational democracy and equality. While in

1997, the National Commission on Higher Education Reform was created, closely followed by the establishment of the National Commission for Secondary Education

Reform in 1998 (Browne, 2012; Handoussa, 2004).

Such efforts did not go unnoticed by the World Bank, which considered Egypt to be one of the developing countries to have shown the most commitment to improving its education

145

(World Bank, 2002). According to Badran (2008: 276-277), this was not a surprise given that these reforms and commissions were mostly developed in concurrence with the advice and recommendations offered by the IMF and the WB themselves. Nonetheless, as argued earlier, many challenges have persisted and have been documented elsewhere (e.g.

Loveluck, 2012; Sobhy, 2012a; 2012b; Badrawi, 2011; Badran, 2008; Cochran, 2008;

Herrera and Torres, 2006; Ghoneim, 2005). However, what I am particularly interested in is analysing how education played a political role under Mubarak.

Browne (2012) and Spring (2006) considered Egypt to be an educational security state, in which its national economic interests and military needs were prioritised, and where strict controls over education were in place (e.g., over textbooks, teachers, students, curriculum development). This argument is made more apparent through Egypt’s former Minister of

Education, Kamal Bahaa Eddin, who maintained that education was an “issue of national security” (Bahaa Eddin, 1997: 84). As I argue in Chapters Five and Six, the interlinkages between education and security extend beyond the confinements of formal education to include informal educational initiatives as well. However, by coming back to the educational security state, Darraj (1992b) argues that attempting to strictly control curricula, textbooks, teachers and students, ends up discouraging independent and critical thinking as well as inculcating principles of submission and political passivity.

Furthermore, requiring students to memorise, submit to authority and become uncritically obedient was labelled by Sharabi (1999) as acts of educational terrorism. As I illustrate in the next section, attempts to inculcate principles of submission and political passivity are not always the result of deliberate efforts initiated by the state but could also arise indirectly as a result of how the education system itself is organised and functions.

Taking the governmental school structure as an example, we find that it is organised based on hierarchical and bureaucratic structures that inhibit possibilities of teaching people how to participate or take part in managing and improving the education system. Naguib (2006:

146

62) argues that most schools in Egypt are organised based on pyramidal and authoritarian hierarchies which tend to reproduce symbols of authority, and the relations of control and submission. Furthermore, these pyramidal structures are divided into smaller and larger pyramids emphasising the relationship between the upper echelons (i.e., the Ministry of

Education, regional and local school administrations), and the lower echelons (i.e., school principals, teachers and students). These relationships thus tend to be top-down, based on coercion, suppression, and at times, violence (ibid: 60). This arguably tends to reproduce the logic of authoritarianism existing within Egyptian socio-political life, whereby classrooms become mirrors of the dominant authoritarian relations and where such top- down relations are reproduced (ibid.). Moreover, by functioning within a heavily centralised and bureaucratised system, schools aid in developing the personality of the oppressed (Herrera, 2006; Torres, 2006), therefore making schools become a microcosm of society in which the dominant authoritarian culture becomes reflected within them

(Naguib, 2006; Maugith, 2006).

With regard to pedagogy, the education system depends in the main on students’ rote- learning and memorising capabilities. This represents a severe pedagogical weakness, and as Spring (2006: 162) argues, emphasising rote-learning and memorisation becomes a

“form of an authoritarian style of learning” which encourages the development of politically passive students. Furthermore, such an authoritarian style of learning, according to Maugith (2006), could also be witnessed in the education system’s rigid curriculums and examinations. This is compounded by the existence of a dual education system (public and private/foreign), which varies tremendously in their infrastructures, teaching quality and learning opportunities. This duality, in addition to perpetuating class inequalities, also maintains the geographical disparities existing between urban and rural Egypt (Badran,

2008: 288-298).

147

Notwithstanding the above structural and pedagogical weaknesses and their effects on the quality of education, the state’s control over textbooks and its preoccupation with authoring and distributing official textbooks constitutes in itself an example of socialisation. Saad (2006) argues that governmental school textbooks tend to not be criticised but instead considered as comprising the absolute truth. In other words, textbooks are standardised in order to “have the universal effect of flattening controversy and rigidifying current understandings of open questions as indisputable facts” (Starrett, 1998:

128). What is interesting about textbooks is that they are one of the most politicised aspects of formal education insofar as they are usually the first aspect adjusted and rewritten once a new regime comes into power. Additionally, textbooks for subjects such as history, geography, philosophy, national studies, citizenship and human rights education, also constitute an important approach to formal political education.

The Ministry of Education considers subjects such as national studies, citizenship and human rights education, history and Arabic as avenues for developing students’ political and citizenship skills (Baraka, 2008; Aly, 1986). Their textbooks aim to provide knowledge about the political system and how to function within it (Browne, 2012), and, as has been the case since Nasser, to build students’ sense of nationalism and patriotism in order to ultimately develop loyal citizens capable of “accepting their duties of respect, obedience to authority and the social values in society” (Aly, 1986: 361). In a recent study,

Sobhy (2015: 806) argues that official educational discourses under Mubarak tended to utilise Islamic frames of reference29 and global discourses of active entrepreneurial citizenship, to legitimise its neoliberal reforms and mask the failure of the state’s institutions.

Therefore, the textbooks reflected a “global trend in terms of the construction of an ideal neoliberal citizen” who was not entitled to a set of economic or social rights from the state

29 This is arguably another legacy which Mubarak did not modify much from Sadat’s time. 148

(ibid: 807). In her review of secondary school national studies and Arabic textbooks,

Sobhy argues that the textbooks “delineated the acceptable parameters of citizen rights”, whereby protest, as a mode of political expression, was eliminated from historical discussions (ibid: 813-814). Additionally, the role played by Islam and Mubarak’s regime in supporting democracy was emphasised, where sacrifice, piety, charity and entrepreneurship were all considered desirable skills, thus neglecting the significance of social, economic or political rights (ibid.). Most importantly, history textbooks presented a

“simplistic and narrow vision of human history” in which difference, hierarchy, ideology, division and struggles were meticulously depoliticised (ibid: 816). These arguments are supported by Attalah and Makar (2014), who argue that history and national studies textbooks tend to homogenise Egyptians by downplaying the importance of differences, struggles and resistances. Additionally, a dichotomy exists between what such subjects and their textbooks advocated on paper, and what was actually practiced and witnessed by the students in everyday life (Soliman, 2014; Faour, 2013).

With regard to official textbooks being modified with a new regime in power, there were claims about efforts being made to “Brotherhoodise” the education system and its textbooks under ex-President Mohammed Morsi who was in power between June 2012 and

July 2013 (e.g. Faour, 2013; Helmy, 2013a; 2013b). Nonetheless, the actual changes that had occurred were argued to have been minor (Attalah and Makar, 2014; Sobhy, 2015).

These small changes were mostly evident in deleting sections on Mubarak and the NDP

(after 2011), emphasising the role of the military in supporting the revolution (under

Supreme Council of the Armed Forces (SCAF)), and stressing the MB’s part in the revolution (under Morsi). These were once more modified after 2013 with the removal of

Morsi, to highlight the military’s role in “saving” Egypt from the MB (Helmy, 2013c,

2013d, al-Zahrawi, 2013).

149

It is important to stress that formal education under Mubarak not only suffered from countless ailments, but vitally, and in spite of the regime’s incessant claims about education’s neutrality,30 it was also politicised in such a way that had various direct and indirect political implications. Significantly, due to its inherent weaknesses and Mubarak’s fractured hegemony, the formal curriculum and its textbooks’ official and acceptable representations of nationalism, patriotism, and the ideal citizen were not straightforwardly adopted by students; instead, they were highly contested and challenged (Sobhy, 2012a).

Moreover, the regime’s discourse on neoliberal citizenship arguably became its “most delegitimising element…which could not obscure the deficit of legal, social, economic and political citizenship rights” (Sobhy, 2015: 819).

4.4 Conclusion

This chapter comprised the first step towards moving from a theoretical sphere to a more concrete one, where I maintained that in order to analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance, we must understand how education constitutes a vital component of an authoritarian regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy. Contrariwise to the existing literature on Egyptian education, I offered an exposition of how education is political and capable of playing various political roles, particularly in supporting authoritarian regimes. As a result, I fulfilled one of the thesis’ contributions relating to the critical analysis of education in Egypt as I focused on formal education under Nasser, Sadat and Mubarak in order to provide illustrations of how education served (to a certain extent) their regimes. In so doing, I addressed the thesis’ second research question that focuses on understanding the significance of the political socialisation role played by formal education in contemporary Egypt.

30 In Chapter Six, I argue that such attempts at depoliticising education are still evident in both formal and informal education. I will further argue that these attempts end up becoming political acts in themselves (see Brennan’s (1981: 73) quote in Chapter Two). 150

I argued that political education under the Egyptian formal education system coincides with the narrow/conservative approach conceptualised previously which does not aim to challenge the authoritarian system or existing inequalities. This is foreseeable given how education is tightly controlled by the Egyptian state, implying that it is unlikely to allow for a radical counter-hegemonic education to take place within the vicinities of its formal education system. Consequently, and in keeping with the thesis’ Gramscian framework, it is crucial to look towards Egyptian civil society and explore its potential alternative educational spaces.

This is significant due to transformations in the Egyptian political economy, particularly the neoliberal reforms introduced under Sadat and Mubarak, which made the state become incapable of efficiently and effectively providing many of its welfare services previously guaranteed under Nasser’s social contract (of which education was part). Moreover, the growth of a new elite incapable of gaining consent from the rest of society led to the further erosion of Mubarak’s hegemony and thus ultimately contributed to his fall. A regime that becomes increasingly reliant on force implies that despite authoritarianism appearing to be powerful on the surface, it is not necessarily strong enough to be able to maintain legitimacy. It also infers that hegemony is not absolute but can be challenged, thus offering ways to overcome both: the problem of excessive conceptual formalism (i.e. the dichotomy between authoritarianism and democratisation), and understanding education in terms of its reproductive and socialising functions.

Nonetheless, as I explore in the next two chapters, civil society and its educational initiatives located have been susceptible to security interferences and repression. This further highlights how both education and civil society constitute terrains of hegemonic contestation, which thus carry vital implications for social transformations in Egypt. The next chapter therefore builds on my critical analysis of the political roles played by

151 education by concentrating on its transformative and resistive side found within the radical/broader conceptualisation of political education.

152

Chapter 5: Egyptian Civil Society, a Terrain for Political Education?

5.1 Introduction

In the previous chapter, I argued that in order to analyse the relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance, we must understand how education constitutes a vital component of an authoritarian regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy. This chapter continues my critical analysis of Egyptian (political) education by concentrating on its informal, and arguably radical manifestations found within civil society. As highlighted in Chapter One, the question surrounding how education can aid social change and resist authoritarianism has largely been ignored in the uprisings and post-uprisings literature, particularly with regard to informal education that takes place in

Egyptian civil society. Not only does this neglect the role played by education in offering the means by which social forces can negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation, but additionally, it downplays how counter-hegemonic educational and cultural activities can hold the limited opportunities available to help instigate social change under the current authoritarian context.

Consequently, this chapter accomplishes the following. Firstly, it answers the thesis’ third subsidiary research question: What are the alternative political educational initiatives being provided by Egyptian Civil Society Organisations (CSOs)? In so doing, it considers the transformational side of education as opposed to its socialisation role, thus building on the contributions of the previous chapter. Secondly, it contributes to the thesis’ objective of conceptualising and studying political education under authoritarian contexts. The chapter therefore explores political education in Egyptian civil society, its aims and content, the pedagogical practices adopted as well as the limitations, and argues for the need to distinguish between direct and indirect forms of political education. This distinction is crucial in order to analyse the complexities inherent to the provision of political education under authoritarian settings. 153

Accordingly, the chapter develops in more detail the concepts of indirect political education and superficially depoliticised education to provide alternative ways of thinking about political education. Thirdly, in keeping with the thesis’ Gramscian framework, the chapter (alongside Chapter Seven) reinforces the arguments for education comprising an important component of the multi-dimensional character of hegemonic contestation.

Therefore, the chapter offers a way to analyse how Gramsci’s ideas on political education travel to the Egyptian context. Finally, the chapter evaluates the possible tensions arising between direct and indirect political education and their implications for the current political context and establishes my position with regard to both forms. The chapter starts by distinguishing between direct and indirect political education, and is then divided into two main sections pertaining to direct and indirect forms of political education and their various manifestations.

5.2 Distinguishing between Direct and Indirect Political Education

In Chapter Two (section 2.4.2), I argued that it is important to distinguish between a narrow approach to political education and a broader, more radical one. Furthermore, I asserted that it is imperative that we consider the different pedagogical approaches utilised in order to appreciate the variety of ways in which political education takes place under authoritarian contexts. Therefore, for analytical purposes, it is important to distinguish between direct and indirect political education so as to consider those educational initiatives that are not explicitly labelled as ‘political education’. Direct political education refers to an approach that is overtly political, which is reflected in its terminology, objectives and content. Under this approach, there is a clear acknowledgment of the links between education and politics, whereby the main aim is to teach about politics. This approach is two-fold. It consists of the traditional approach, which includes educational initiatives such as political seminars, political schools, summer camps, and grassroots educational associations, in addition to ‘facilitating the solutions’ approach, which includes

154 initiatives such as reading groups and cinema clubs, publications, and media educational initiatives. Since these initiatives are explicitly considered to be political by the CSOs, the educational content and objectives are rarely toned down. This approach to political education is mainly found within the political organisations and movements and rights- based typologies studied in this thesis.

Indirect political education tends to be more covert in comparison. The terminologies are often toned down, and the content, objectives and practices of the educational initiatives do not necessarily allude to anything explicitly political or critical of the status quo.

Furthermore, the pedagogical approaches are predominantly practice-based and include methods such as games and simulations, and are mostly found within the educational organisations typology. However, despite the fact that the initiatives may not allude to anything deemed to be too political or critical, their long-term political implications should not be underestimated. Under this category, I differentiate between superficial depoliticisation and active depoliticisation. In short, the former is concerned with CSOs that tacitly recognise the potential political implications of their educational activities but tend to tone down their rhetoric in order to survive repression. In the latter, depoliticisation is actively pursued to the extent that any links between politics and education are denied and rejected by the CSOs. Additionally, their education does not explicitly aim to challenge the status quo or the state. It is important to differentiate between both, as tacitly acknowledging the political implications indicates that superficially depoliticised education can be utilised and developed with the intent to alter the status quo and to engage in hegemonic contestation, whilst actively depoliticising education helps identify the reasons behind organisations pursuing this seemingly apolitical approach. Distinguishing between direct and indirect political education leads to tensions arising with regard to the advantages and utilisation of both within the current political context. These tensions,

155 alongside my position, are considered in the chapter’s conclusion. To critically explore political education in Egyptian civil society, I start by discussing its direct approaches.

5.3 Direct Political Education

Direct political education contains two overarching categories: a traditional approach, and a facilitating the solutions approach. Within both approaches we find a variety of political educational initiatives that range from, for example, political seminars and summer camps, to reading groups and grassroots educational associations. This section critically analyses these initiatives, highlights their advantages, and addresses the tensions that exist between one method and another and their implications. I start by considering the traditional approach.

5.3.1 Traditional Pedagogical Approach

This approach is more dominant and popular across the CSOs sampled under the political organisations and the rights-based typologies. Prior to analysing the initiatives that come under it, I offer a reflection concerned with labelling these initiatives as traditional. As argued in Chapter Two (section 2.4.2), a narrow approach to political education can entail a conservative perspective on education and politics in which the focus is on politically socialising people into accepting the existing political system and the status quo.

Therefore, using this term when discussing political education within civil society can invoke negative connotations by indicating that such education, even if provided by progressive CSOs, can still perform similar functions to the conservative conception.

Nonetheless, a traditional approach to political education does not always entail a hierarchical learning environment or socialisation tendencies where debates and discussions are discouraged. As I argue below, some of the initiatives categorised under this approach (such as Nazra’s) provide opportunities to develop people’s critical consciousness without necessarily imposing any ideas or beliefs. I start by discussing

156 political seminars, which comprise the most popular educational methods found in civil society.

5.3.1.1 Political Seminars

Through my interviews and observations, political seminars were found to be one of the main methods employed to educate people about politics. Importantly, these target a wide section of society as opposed to solely focusing on party or movement members and are organised on a weekly to monthly basis – their frequency depends on the size and popularity of the CSO. A standard seminar normally takes place in the CSO’s headquarters or branch and can attract as few as five attendees to more than thirty. The seminars are mostly led by a single speaker, who is either a member of the organisation itself or a guest speaker. Alternatively, it can be led by a panel, with each speaker having between fifteen to twenty minutes to present. This is usually followed by a question and answer session, where the audience participates and debates the topics discussed.

These seminars therefore generally have two objectives: to develop awareness about the contemporary Egyptian context and to increase people’s understandings of basic political and economic theories. With regard to the content of the former, the Bread and Freedom

Party (BFP) organised seminars that focused on topics such as the crackdown on civil society and its implications for political activism, the reformation of the state’s administrative functions, neoliberalism and the IMF, the Islamist movement after 2013, the independent trade union movement, sexual harassment and women’s inequalities, and the

Israeli/Palestinian conflict. Similarly, the Revolutionary Socialists (RS) organised seminars that revolved around human rights abuses in Egypt, neoliberalism, the labour and trade union movement as well as the students’ movements and higher education. The Egyptian

Communist Party (ECP) also held seminars that focused on similar topics, but on a smaller scale. Within the rights-based organisations, the Egyptian Centre for Economic and Social

Rights (ECESR) regularly organises seminars concerned with social and economic rights,

157 inequalities in education, the labour and independent trade union movement, as well as the repression of civil society and political activism in Egypt.

Regarding the latter objective, theoretical seminars are organised by the BFP, RS and ECP, and mainly focus on Marxist theories of economics and the critique of capitalism, as well as introducing the political and economic ideas of figures such as Marx, Engels, Lenin,

Trotsky, Luxemburg, the Frankfurt School, and even Gramsci. These seminars are considered by many of the sampled CSOs, and the attendees (members and non-members), as providing an opportunity to learn about politics and economics. Furthermore, they induce them to become critically aware of the existing economic, social and educational inequalities, as well as human rights abuses. They also serve as a means for parties and movements to introduce people to their philosophies and objectives, in order to recruit members and establish wider support. However, there are a number of limitations that need to be highlighted.

As can be inferred from the above, many CSOs organised seminars that focused on similar topics and debates. This implies that there is either an overall agreement amongst the CSOs about what comprises the most important political and economic issues facing Egypt or, alternatively, there is a lack of coordination and communication amongst CSOs. Therefore, instead of combining their resources to organise joint seminars that could attract a wider audience, they do so separately, relying on their limited capabilities. This lack of coordination, as I argue in later examples, constitutes a key limitation facing many of the

CSOs sampled. This is detrimental to their abilities to not only function and survive, but to also establish a counter-hegemonic educational movement.

Another limitation concerns such seminars’ inability to attract an audience. This can be due to the lack of advertisements as a result of state restrictions, and crucially, to the CSOs’ weak financial and organisational capabilities. This makes political seminars unsustainable and dependent on the current financial and political contexts. Moreover, weak attendance

158 can be a result of people avoiding seminars which are deemed too political. This self- disciplining will be discussed in more detail later in this chapter and also in the next. The seminars’ inability to attract people indicates the lack of organic ties with the grassroots, since the majority of these seminars take place in large urban cities such as Cairo and

Alexandria, limiting their abilities to reach rural and marginalised communities across

Egypt. Finally, many seminars resemble a traditional and hierarchical learning environment in which an “expert” lectures people whilst discussions and debates are relegated to the question and answer session, if any. Additionally, theoretically-oriented seminars have highlighted the discrepancy that exists between theory and practice.31

Seminars that focus on political and economic theory rarely combine theoretical discussions with the local political, economic and socio-cultural contexts. Nonetheless, regardless of the limitations, political seminars still constitute a dominant method of political education in Egypt.

5.3.1.2 Political Schools

Despite political schools being similar to seminars, their key distinction is that the former is usually aimed at CSO members, whilst the latter is aimed at both members and non- members. Moreover, political schools focus on developing the skills of their members, as opposed to solely introducing them to theoretical concepts and contemporary political debates. For example, they help develop members’ communication, organisational and media skills, as well as supplementing this with a theoretical underpinning. I focus below on two examples originating from the BFP and Nazra. The BFP actively organises and develops political educational initiatives for its members. An important initiative which was under development in 2014 was its internal political school.

There were general courses that covered topics on revolution and politics, political ideologies, defining the Egyptian economy, political parties and organised activism, in

31 This relates to the issue of utopianism discussed in Chapter Two. 159 addition to lectures on the history of the Egyptian Left. The more specific and skills- oriented component of the school’s activities aimed to develop members’ media and communication skills, as well as their organisational and political campaigning skills.

Although this school was in its developmental phase during fieldwork, I attended and observed committee meetings that were concerned with its establishment, and additionally interviewed members that worked in the school. The meetings and interviews emphasised the importance of combining theory and practice, and crucially, that the school should not accentuate one left-wing school of thought over the other in order to adhere to the party’s radical democratic orientation. A similar attitude to political education is found in Nazra.

Nazra offers an example of a political school that is well-attended and that aims to empower women activists to participate in Egyptian politics. Nazra has the acadamiyet al- musharka al-nesa`iya al-siyasiya (Academy for Women’s Political Participation), which encourages political participation through conducting research on women’s marginalisation in Egyptian politics, lobbying for legislative reform, and more importantly, through educating in the name of enhancing women’s political consciousness. This takes place through the madraset al-kadr al-nesa`y (School for Women Cadres), which attracts activists from across the political spectrum. The school usually lasts for six days and covers topics on political ideologies and gender, the history of women’s political struggles, women and the political party, to name only a few:

The school worked in a way where its curriculum was about giving basic definitions that are important to party cadres, so there were, for example, sessions on the basic political currents and ideologies, and an introduction to each one of them, their relations to women’s issues…so someone in a liberal party would understand what liberalism is, someone who is in a leftist party would know what the left meant (Interview with a Feminist activist and a founding member of the Bread and Freedom Party, 27-11-2014).

Hence, at the Nazra School there are ongoing attempts to connect theory with the local political, economic and socio-cultural contexts. This is apparent, for example, in how the topics linked women’s activism with their particular roles in their political parties. The

160 goal is for participants to become capable of developing critical awareness about how things ought to be, and relate this view to how things actually are on the ground, especially with regards to women’s rights. Importantly in this respect, Nazra does not aim to impose any political ideology on the participants. This is evident in how their lectures seek to cover a variety of ideologies in an equal manner, and additionally through the diverse political backgrounds that the school’s participants hail from. As such, Nazra’s approach can help overcome the risk of bias highlighted in Chapter Two (section 2.4.2), by respecting and not undermining political differences. However, despite the abovementioned implications, it is important to note that the school takes place in Cairo.

This implies a lack of organic ties with rural and marginalised communities. According to a feminist activist and a former member of Nazra, this is due to their limited resources, as well as an awareness of “who they specifically want to target in society” (Interview, 28-11-

2014).

5.3.1.3 Summer Camps

I discuss two summer camps in this section. The first is Cairo Institute for Human Rights

Studies (CIHRS)’s annual summer camp, which has been taking place for twenty-two years. This camp targets university students from across Egypt and the Middle East, and lasts between two to three weeks. The camp concentrates on a variety of topics that include introducing human rights and its conventions and charters, understanding the philosophical and historical roots of human rights, transitional justice, and security sector reform. Other issues examined relate to civil, political, economic and social rights, such as the rights of association, rights to bodily integrity, rights to freedom of expression and opinion, rights to peaceful assembly, rights to education as well as women’s and children’s rights. This summer camp, alongside their other training sessions, have been popular amongst different generations of activists:

161

There are institutions within civil society like the CIHRS where its basic mandate is to teach about human rights. When I was a university student during my second year, I attended a course about human rights, and it really influenced me, and it was the thing that made me become interested in studying law and human rights and so on. They do it every year, there are generations that have been and are being brought up with their help, so of course it is influential (Interview with a feminist activist and a founding member of the Bread and Freedom Party, 27-11-2014).

Furthermore, by observing their educational session on the rights to education, I found that their pedagogy was predominantly discussion-based and depended on collaborative group work in order to offer participants the opportunity to debate their opinions on education, which then formed the basis of the remainder of the session. Accordingly, the facilitator avoided imposing any of her ideas on the participants, but instead helped guide them towards the key relevant debates. An important implication that arises from this initiative is that human rights constitute essential topics for any political education. As a senior member of the ECESR argues:

I do think that political education is key, and that human rights education is a very key one…we receive university students or students from schools who say that they want us to organize a session on human rights, so maybe we could keep the first hour about civil and political rights, the basics you know, and then get to the juice of it, things such as the lands owned by the state that are being stolen, it is your right to eat, drink, and be clothed, and honestly if you cannot afford them, the state should provide that because you know you have the right to social security. So, if you do not have this right to social protection it will mean that it is a violation in its own right (Interview, 20-8- 2014).

Another influential summer camp is the Arab Digital Expression Foundation (ADEF)’s digital expression camp. Although ADEF is not part of the sampled CSOs,32 it was considered by many of the respondents to have played an important role in their political education. ADEF is a regional platform that targets youths from across the Middle East to enable them to use “digital tools and new media [in order] to express themselves in an open and constructive environment”.33 As such, its educational programmes focus on open-source-based information and communication technologies so as to encourage

32 I was unable to gain access to the organisation. 33 Information about ADEF’s objectives is found on: https://arabdigitalexpression.org/?q=content/about-adef 162 participants’ self-exploration, self-expression and critical thinking. The camp is organised annually and targets youths aged between twelve and fifteen.

In order to create an alternative educational experience, the camp includes workshops that help develop a diverse set of skills such as painting and graffiti, sound production, theatre and dance, website design, computer programming, in addition to workshops that focus on renewable energy. ADEF’s summer camp has implications for my understanding of political education in Egypt. The workshops and their curriculum are designed and developed via an amalgam of education specialists, artists, activists and technicians from across the Middle East. This, as discussed in more detail in Chapter Seven, highlights the prominence of crowdsourcing, which is the ability to attract a diverse set of people, mostly volunteers who have different capabilities and expertise, to collaborate and develop educational programs.

Furthermore, digital and online-based approaches to education entail a broader perspective of what is considered to be political education. Accordingly, teaching participants how to design websites, use social media, produce videos, and so on, can have numerous political implications. The important role played by such methods at the start of the Egyptian uprisings serves to demonstrate their potential to educate, organise and mobilise people.

However, such digital approaches are hindered by limitations which are financial and access-related. For example, in order to fund one digital expression camp participant, it costs around 1,450 USD (12,000 EGP) to pay for accommodation, educational material and meals.34 ADEF relies on donations and crowdfunding to help cover the costs for underprivileged participants,35 but that is not enough as the majority of Egyptians are restricted from attending such initiatives. This is compounded by the fact that many

Egyptians do not own computers or have access to the internet, thus limiting its outreach.

So far, the key challenge facing the above discussed CSOs is their lack of organic and

34 See: https://www.indiegogo.com/projects/arab-digital-expression-camps#/ 35 Crowdfunding constitutes another important concept that will be elaborated upon in Chapter Seven. 163 grassroots ties. However, to conclude this section on traditional-based approaches, I highlight a counter-example found in the BFP’s ta‘alam taharar (education for liberation) initiative, which aimed to establish a grassroots presence within working-class and marginalised neighbourhoods.

5.3.1.4 Education for Liberation

This initiative evolved from the educational associations organised by the BFP against the backdrop of housing occupations that took place in the working-class district of madinat al-salam in Cairo in 2011. According to the BFP’s secretary of political education who was involved in this movement, the party perceived an opportunity to establish an educational association within the squatting movement, which could have served as a blueprint for similar initiatives to be implemented across Egypt. This emanated from the party’s commitment to political education and developing critical consciousness amongst marginalised communities (Interview, 10-11-2014). Furthermore, this initiative was established as a result of the residents wanting to develop their own cadres capable of representing their political interests. The secretary mentioned that the residents would argue for the need to be educated by saying that “you [volunteers] are educated, but we are not, you know how to talk and demand your and our rights, please come and teach us how to do this” (Interview, 12-11-2014). One way of sustaining this movement was through initially eradicating illiteracy among the adult squatters, and providing basic educational services for the children and youths. The association focused on teaching Arabic, English, sciences, history and even philosophy in apartments provided by the residents and which were converted into educational spaces. Interestingly, the volunteers did not strictly follow the state’s formal curriculum, and this triggered resistance from the parents who ultimately wanted their children to do well in their school exams.36

36 This parental resistance highlights a crucial challenge facing CSOs that offer alternative educational initiatives, particularly those that provide political education. This implies that, despite its many problems, formal education still plays an important role in people’s lives, and especially through the thanaweyya amma 164

The association eventually ceased its activities as a result of its weak resources and the arrest of two volunteers who were charged with attempting to incite protest (this is elaborated upon in the next chapter). Nonetheless, this association paved the way for the

BFP to develop their ta‘alam taharar initiative, which targeted eleven marginalised neighbourhoods across Cairo and other cities (Abo-Sekina, 2015). Although ta‘alam taharar was initially popularised by Caritas, a global charity operating in Egypt which utilised Freirean methodologies, the BFP aimed to make their version more explicitly political by linking people’s everyday experiences with their rights and duties, the state’s responsibilities towards them, and the actions they can take to protect themselves from state violations. Moreover, this initiative depended on volunteers who were not solely BFP members: therefore the party organised workshops in order to train volunteers in Freirean educational methodologies (Interview with BFP’s secretary of political education, 12-11-

2014). However, this initiative was in its embryonic stage during fieldwork. Additionally, during informal discussions with members and volunteers, it was suggested that the initiative was not spreading as originally intended and was also unable to attract much interest from communities. This was mostly attributed to the state’s crackdown on civil society and on independent educational activities after 2013, and to issues pertaining to the

BFP’s intellectual cadres and financial resources.

To conclude this section on traditional approaches to political education, a number of points are highlighted. The majority of the analysed CSOs do not have strong grassroots ties with communities. This can be attributed to the CSOs’ limited financial and organisational resources, as well as to the state’s restrictions. Accordingly, such traditional approaches end up targeting a limited number of people who are already interested in politics, and thus, are able to attend such educational activities as opposed to the majority of Egyptians: exams. This makes it more difficult for CSOs to challenge the state’s hegemonic educational structures entrenched in people’s lives, creating an unfavourable climate education that is deemed to be too political. This highlights a self-disciplining aspect which will be discussed further in the next chapter. 165

Look, of course we are trying and it is having some effects, but it is affecting certain sectors of society, sectors that are linked to the progressive movement, but in the end nothing could be compared to the state, there is no alternative to the formal education system because it teaches people every day, and this is difficult. In the end our political education is party based, it is done for party members, and sometimes to friends of the party and its supporters. What percentage do they make up of 90 million Egyptians? Very limited…what about the millions who do not take this decision, or who do not have the opportunity to know that they could do something alternative? (Interview with a feminist activist and a founding member of the Bread and Freedom Party, 27-11- 2014).

These difficulties in competing with the state implies that we need to look beyond such traditional approaches, and instead seek alternatives that do not require as many resources, and that crucially might not attract the state’s attention. Traditional approaches risk reproducing the same hierarchical and authoritarian educational experiences that they are supposed to challenge by socialising people into particular ideologies, as opposed to encouraging deliberation and evaluating alternatives. Furthermore, discrepancies can exist between what is taught theoretically and what happens on the ground in people’s everyday experiences. However, as indicated at the start of this section, not all methods under the traditional approach entail a hierarchical learning environment or socialisation tendencies.

Nazra’s political school, BFP’s educational associations and the summer camps offer examples of education that avoid imposing particular beliefs or ideologies, and that encourage discussion. These distinctions contribute to the tensions developing between direct and indirect political education, as I argue in this chapter’s conclusion.

5.3.2 Facilitating the Solutions Approach

This approach to political education is innovative as it does not aim to directly teach people about politics, but instead encourages people to develop their own political understandings, opinions and critical awareness. As I highlight throughout this section, some CSOs have adopted this approach in order to empower people through their self- education, overcome their limited resources, and even at times, to serve as an anti-political

166 education statement. Under this approach, I focus on reading groups and cinema clubs, the accessibility of information and alternative media.

5.3.2.1 Reading Groups and Cinema Clubs

Reading groups and cinema clubs constitute another two popular political educational methods utilised by CSOs, whereby they seek to encourage people’s self-education.

Taking the reading group as the first example, many respondents argued that it is a straightforward and cost-effective method to get people to read and learn about politics.

More importantly, it also encourages discussion, dialogue and debate with regards to the readings at hand. Such reading groups are organised by the ECP, BFP, RS, Nazra and the

Cairo Institute of Liberal Arts and Sciences (CILAS). As observed, the books read and discussed ranged from Marx’s Capital, Trotsky’s Permanent Revolution and Lenin’s State and Revolution, to contemporary novels and books on evolution that although “did not have direct political implications, could be interpreted and debated in a political and socio- cultural manner” (Interview with the Revolutionary Socialists’ education officer, 25-7-

2014). The participants of various reading groups attested that this method was more effective in helping them learn about politics in their own time, as opposed to attending seminars.

The second example, cinema clubs, were considered by respondents as comprising a political educational activity that helped facilitate discussion and debate about themes presented in movies and documentaries. This method was employed by the ECP, BFP, RS,

CILAS and Education Square, and was not necessarily explicitly about politics:

We screen movies every week to discuss, and these are not necessarily related to politics at all. The last movie we watched in the centre…was an Iranian movie called Children of Heaven, and it was talking about problems that kids faced and how they were trying to solve it, so the movie was not really related to politics, but we need to have a political outlook on everything and analyse it politically in order to reach something useful. So that happens on a very small scale and could be considered as an alternative for education (Interview with a leading member of the Revolutionary Socialists, 23-7-2014).

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As mentioned above, such reading groups and cinema clubs have the potential advantage of not imposing any particular ideas or beliefs. Instead, they can advertently or inadvertently encourage people to educate themselves and take part in debates and dialogues about issues, even if those issues are considered apolitical, and thus can have an impact on their everyday experiences. Furthermore, this approach resembles Freire’s culture circles, in which participants engage in a dialogical form of education through discussing and debating themes derived from movies or books and link them back to their everyday experiences in order to develop critical consciousness (Freire, 1972; 2005).

5.3.2.2 Access to Information as Political Education

A key reason for some CSOs opting for this approach arises from their conviction that solutions are found within people themselves. Taking the ECESR as an example, political education does not solely comprise lectures and seminars but also takes place through making knowledge more accessible. In short, they do not aim to teach people about their political, social, economic and educational rights, but instead opt to facilitate and empower people to educate themselves. Accordingly, enabling Egyptians to access information about state budgets, legislations, the constitution etcetera, necessitates an element of empowerment whereby education encourages people to move from a questioning stage to taking action:

My problem is not just to get them to think critically about these questions but also to give them the tools to be able to answer them…information is key to livelihood. I mean, one of our themes for 2015 for our projects is that we want to mainstream the idea of access to information to everything that we do about the empowerment of the poor, because all of our projects have a theme, and it is all about the empowerment of the poor, the empowerment of the disadvantaged…but now we want to make it more focused so that we are not just empowering them through litigation or legal aid…we will empower you through information (Interview with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014, emphasis added).

In order to do so, the ECESR publishes factsheets that provide both qualitative and quantitative data on topics that relate to people’s rights to education, housing, and health and which, importantly, highlight the inequalities and discrepancies that exist with respect 168 to such rights (Interview with two ECESR researchers, 21-8-2014 and 5-11-2014). Another method utilised is to compile and publish information that is not accessible “not because the state is hiding it away, but because no one has attempted to collect it yet” (Interview with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014). This includes, for example, information about protests and other forms of contentious politics in Egypt (e.g., their frequency, number of people that took part, locations and rationale). Such information is available through their wikithawra project, which aims to help avoid falsifying the details of the

2011 uprisings and its aftermath.37 Moreover, ECESR compiles and reproduces governmental data, budgets and statistics that are difficult to find, and that also require fees to be accessed (Interview with an ECESR researcher, 21-8-2014).

As can be seen, this approach enables people to understand the discrepancies existing between what ought to be, and what actually is. In short, it is through recognising their rights and the state’s responsibilities towards them that people become conscious of the discrepancies that exist between what is promised and what is in fact provided. As argued in Chapter Three (sections 3.4 and 3.4.1), this represents a Gramscian conception of a counter-hegemonic education that helps reveal the contradictions existing between “the views of the rulers and those of the ruled in order to diminish the former’s legitimacy and force it to reveal its ugly face” (Gramsci, 1971: 210; Howson and Smith, 2008: 6).

Furthermore, by recognising such discrepancies, people can be mobilised to take action against the status quo. This stresses the importance of encouraging a praxis approach to political education, whereby it is not only important to:

[Take] data to tell people that this or that exists and make them know more about it, but it is also aimed at mobilising people, so that people working in Aswan would come and ask us, “How do you start a case against corruption? We want to uncover corruption cases.” So, now when we send them the investment plans, for example, they will find that this and that did not happen in reality despite being part of the investment plans. That means there has been corruption, and hence they need to start a legal case against this (Interview with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014).

37 This is found on ECESR’s website: http://ecesr.org/?page_id=768630 and https://wikithawra.wordpress.com/ 169

Crucially, it does not assume that people are ignorant of their conditions and oppression but that they can actually know much more than any CSO or activist, as “what they produce is more important than what you will say…we will go to those poor people and we will explain to them how the world works, and then you discover that they know everything, and they even add to your own knowledge” (Interview with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014). CSOs can risk being naïve when assuming that people are often unconscious of their oppression and living conditions and that therefore it is up to CSOs to assert what is “right” for people and their communities without considering their

(potentially different) opinions and experiences. Once more, this resonates with Gramsci’s belief that everyone is an intellectual, despite not necessarily possessing this function in society (Gramsci, 1971: 9). People’s own experiences, ideas and opinions ought to be considered whenever CSOs develop any educational initiative. Therefore, a counter- hegemonic education should be broad enough to cultivate critical awareness of the existing unequal social structures, offer the tools and knowledge to challenge this, but it should do so via a focus on the people and communities themselves.

5.3.2.3 Online Media-Based Methods

The counter-media method of political education comprises an interesting example of how media tools can contribute to developing people’s critical consciousness. Taking the RS as an example, we find that their media instrument played a crucial educational role:

Our interests in developing consciousness and all that stuff is related to our media instrument, the media tools available to us, and this is the thing we focus most on, the idea of politically advertising for the revolutionary socialists and for the Egyptian revolution. You have to advertise to everyone, the revolution has to reach every district, street, university campus and every factory (Interview with a leading member of the Revolutionary Socialists, 23-7-2014).

Their slogan of i‘lam min agl al-thawra (media for the revolution) illustrates the importance placed on media-based initiatives. Most of the RS’s media work takes place through their website which, compared to others, is richer in content and frequently

170 updated. It contains news articles, opinion pieces, and free downloadable pdfs of their newspaper, monthly magazine, as well as an extensive collection of original and translated socialist and Marxist literature. Moreover, the website features ‘Socialist TV’ which compiles YouTube videos of lectures, seminars, interviews and documentaries (Interview with the RS’s education officer, 25-7-2014). However, despite the above initiatives (in addition to their reading groups and cinema clubs), some members consider political education to be an elitist activity. For example, certain factions believe that people can learn from the struggle itself:

We approach the crowds based on the intensity of the situation, and based on where the revolution is, and what the current political situation is, and this is the way to develop people’s consciousness quickly. We saw that in Tahrir square where people’s actions had changed a lot...I do not like using the term political consciousness, because our political consciousness is developed when we struggle with the people, the masses (Interview with a leading member of the RS, 23-7-2014).

This, according to the RS’s education officer, caused disagreements between members who favour explicit political action, and others who prefer an educational and cultural approach to instigating social change.38 This highlights a key point concerning the separation between the war of manoeuvre and the war of position. As discussed in Chapter

Three (section 3.3.3), instead of being viewed as a two-step struggle, the wars of manoeuvre and position need to be considered as a dialectical process, where the prioritisation of one over the other depends on the local contexts. In short, and as I argue throughout the thesis, dichotomies between political struggle and educational/cultural struggle need to be transgressed in order for us to rethink the nature of oppositional politics in the current post-uprisings context.

To conclude this discussion of direct political education, it is important to acknowledge that political education is interpreted differently across CSOs. The methods implemented differ, and so does the importance placed on each method. Additionally, CSOs face many

38 This disagreement was observed in a reading group meeting focusing on Gramsci’s Modern Prince. The debate mainly revolved around the prioritisation of the war of manoeuvre over the war of position or vice versa. 171 challenges when developing and delivering their educational initiatives. These include, for example, the state’s repression of civil society, the lack of financial and organisational resources, the lack of organic and grassroots ties, and the self-disciplining of individuals who refuse to take part in any political educational activity. Therefore, and by building on the arguments introduced in this section, I contend that there are educational methods implemented within civil society which appear not to meet the criteria of a traditional political education, but nonetheless can have numerous political and social implications.

Such methods comprise the indirect approach to political education.

With regard to the travelling Gramsci, a number of insights are highlighted. Many of the above illustrations resonate with Gramsci’s ideas on political education. For example, political seminars, political schools, summer camps and reading groups all aim to teach about politics and inculcate a basic understanding of Egypt’s political, economic and socio-cultural conditions. Their educational activities are at times teaching against the grain by helping reorient education towards people’s own culture and conditions, and not those imposed by formal education. Moreover, political education activities profoundly rely on volunteers and educators who hail from differing social and economic backgrounds.39 However, as argued in Chapter Three (section 3.6.4), Gramsci viewed the

Communist Party as representing a total and all-encompassing educational function, and comprising an important agent for achieving social transformation.

As indicated above, left-wing parties in general are facing numerous challenges when providing political education. They have struggled to develop deep roots within communities; obtain mass support; and crucially, attract enough attention to their educational activities. In short, the political education provided by parties is beset by numerous limitations which hamper their abilities to build a strong counter-hegemonic educational movement. Accordingly, and as is specifically highlighted in the next section,

39 However, as is indicated throughout the rest of the empirical chapters, this carries negative consequences with regard to volunteers and educators building organic ties with communities. 172 rights-based organisations, educational organisations and other types of local and community-based movements can prove to be more effective and oppositional with regard to the education they offer.

5.4 Indirect Political Education

An interesting aspect to have come out of my research is the concept of depoliticised political education. This is when the terminology and aims of the educational initiatives are not explicitly political, but the content and activities help develop skills, attitudes and behaviours that can have long-term political, social and democratic implications. I have argued that depoliticisation can be superficial or active. The former is when CSOs recognise the political implications of their education, yet tone down their rhetoric in order to not attract unwanted attention (i.e., a survival mechanism), whilst the latter is when

CSOs deny that their education has any political implications or aims to challenge the status quo. The first example I will discuss is CILAS’s attempts to offer an alternative higher educational experience.

5.4.1 An Alternative Higher Education?

The Cairo Institute of Liberal Arts and Sciences (CILAS) offers an example of an initiative that aims to challenge the taken-for-granted notion of higher education in Egypt. One way

CILAS challenges this is through its holistic approach to education that covers both social and natural sciences:

Tak[ing] elements from liberal arts education…it creates a nine month program where you are supposed to have a curriculum that exposes you to natural sciences, social sciences, history, the arts, etc., but at the same time, it is nine months, it is not an entire full degree in that sense, it is not a degree per se, it contradicts all the standards and normal notions of what a degree constitutes…it tries to combine this idea of alternative education with educational methods that exist in liberal arts colleges (Interview with a CILAS fellow, 8-7-2014).

In the previous chapter (section 4.3.1), I argued that the formal education system, especially since Nasser, underlined the distinction between sciences and humanities. This

173 dichotomy is problematic as it relegates the humanities to a secondary position and risks people remaining unacquainted with the details of Egyptian history, politics, economics and culture. From a Gramscian perspective, CILAS’ efforts to combine both natural and social sciences comprise a potential counter-hegemonic perspective on education which is capable of breaking the hegemony of this dichotomised approach. CILAS’ curriculum aims to “develop a wise appreciation of the complexity of the world”.40 Consequently, it facilitates topics on, for example, media and power, global history and the Orient, history of education in Egypt, morality and global affairs, and urban resilience.

Furthermore, CILAS relies on a discussion-based pedagogy, whereby students’ everyday experiences are related to the topics discussed, thus encouraging dialogue and knowledge sharing amongst the participants (Interview with a CILAS fellow, 8-7-2014). This method’s vitality is built on students coming with their own sets of knowledge and perceptions of the world (Interview with a senior member of CILAS, 16-7-2014). To combine theoretical discussions with practice, CILAS assesses students based on their abilities to “communicate across disciplines in written and spoken form; and their ability to raise original questions, cultivate curiosity and pursue personal interest”.41 Importantly, their assessment also depends on a community service component where students are required to utilise the knowledge attained, and to translate it into a framework to be implemented for local community projects (Interview with a CILAS fellow, 8-7-2014).

However, CILAS constitutes an example of a CSO that superficially depoliticises its education:

CILAS offers much more of a political education, like they have courses on civil society, governance, and political philosophy and they study philosophers like Plato and I do not know who else, so it is quite political in that sense. So, CILAS is quite political really, and also from its direction, it is very clear, it is clear, we do not say it, but no one at CILAS supports al-Sisi. It is very clear what kind of place this is, it is a progressive leftist place (Interview with a CILAS fellow, 8-7- 2014, emphasis added).

40 See: http://www.ci-las.org/degree.html 41 Degree assessment details are found on CILAS’s website http://www.ci-las.org/degree.html 174

This has also been inferred by a senior member of CILAS, who preferred to label it as a

“learning environment” as opposed to an alternative college, or as a space for critical inquiry. Moreover, labelling it as a learning environment was the least political name in order to attract little attention from state security (Interview, 16-7-2014). However,

CILAS’ efforts are hindered by two limitations. They can be perceived as elitist due to their courses being held in English, and students are required to have at least a high school degree. Moreover, students are required to pay fees, and CILAS offers only a limited number of scholarships for students from marginalised backgrounds. These limitations hinder CILAS’s abilities to reach other communities, and most likely will solely attract students who are already interested in such alternative education. Nonetheless, CILAS offers important implications regarding political education in Egypt, and its ability to challenge particular hegemonic educational structures.

5.4.2 Practice-based Approaches

This section focuses on those approaches that aim to develop knowledge, skills and behaviours through practical means such as games and simulations. The first examples discussed are found in Educate-me. Although Educate-me does not offer particular courses on history, politics or civics, yet they provide activities that can, advertently and inadvertently, encourage children to develop sets of skills and attitudes that could potentially empower them. One of Educate-me’s objectives is to promote freedom and responsibility, whereby children are empowered through the choices and decisions they make:

The kids at our sessions…always have choices…everyone puts their own schedule, and there are no right or wrong ways of doing this. If you want to come and play all the time without attending classes, that is totally fine…there is nothing called study and play, we do not have that. There is however something that is called that you are responsible for your own education, for your own choices, and you have the freedom to choose and have the responsibility to abide by that (Interview with a senior member of Educate-me, 9-7-2014).

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Based on that, Educate-me’s facilitators do not impose any “correct” way for choosing courses or learning as long as the children respect and abide by their choices. According to a senior member, it is through such opportunities that children learn about responsibility and accountability and thus become accustomed to assuming control over their own education. Another example for an activity that can have long-term political implications is their code of conduct, which is written by both facilitators and children:

[W]e, for example, have the constitution, which is our value system, and that value system constitutes our principles, our responsibilities, and so on. This constitution is developed with the kids, and it is kind of agreed upon between us and them that these are our rules of conduct and this is what has what is right and wrong, because this is what we all can and cannot tolerate…are we trying to promote that you do something in front of us and not behind our backs? Or, are we trying to promote for you to do what you think is right, and that these have consequences? (Interview with a senior member of Educate-me, 9-7-2014).

Crucially, since this code of conduct, or constitution, is not imposed on the children: they can question and debate its contents with the facilitators and update it accordingly. A simple act such as developing a constitution can teach children and young adults that this process entails deliberations, discussions and disagreements between those concerned. This process, if experienced at a young age, can have long-term political and democratic consequences by providing young adults with skills and behaviours required for political participation without explicitly aiming to do so. The next section on games and simulations provides more illustrations to support this.

5.4.2.1 Games and Simulations

These educational methods aim to mimic everyday experiences and scenarios in order to develop, similarly to the above, the skills, attitudes and behaviours that can have political and social implications. By taking Misriyati as the first example, we find that in order to teach about peace, conflict resolution and diversity, it organises a simulation activity that deals with issues surrounding social inclusion and exclusion:

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How do we do the session about exclusion? We do a very stupid activity, we make people go outside and those who stay in the room sit in a circle, and they are given instructions that they are one team. Afterwards, the people outside then attempt to enter the circle, and they would be trying everything, from bribery to violence, and then you witness what has happened, and you observe how those inside felt, they would feel that we were strong and the others were weak, and then you ask those who are outside, how did they feel? They felt like failures, and you see what has happened, and then you tell them to think about this as being in their own society, that we exclude people in our society (Interview with a senior member of Misriyati, 26-8-2014).

Employing simulations, according to the senior member of Misriyati, was a good way of connecting what people experienced in the session with what happens on a daily basis within society at large. This arguably contributes to developing people’s critical awareness of exclusion within Egyptian society and its detrimental effects. Another method utilised by Misriyati is a fact or fiction quiz. In short, in order to make people conscious of the subjectivity of history, the quiz focuses on particular events taken from history textbooks which are then deconstructed through participants debating the existence of alternative narratives to those found in textbooks.

A similar initiative is Mini-Medina, which offers children and youths aged between seven and fifteen a civic educational experience.42 This involves them working as a group to build a city out of cardboard and simulate life within it. Through simulating life in this cardboard city, it teaches children basic political and economic concepts:

It aims to teach children how to run the city, how they would be able to make decisions, and it is all really civic education, the idea that this city is ours…they are the ones who decide which system they should have, and if they have a shortage of money, they would decide whether to print more money and hence understand the idea of inflation, decisions the consequences of which they would witness. The adults are not supposed to interfere, you should not go in and tell them what and what not to do, they are the ones who choose, and after they finish playing they sit together and explore why this problem happened when they printed more money, why did everything get worse, when and so on…so they understand things that are related to politics, but through games and playing (Interview with a member of Education Square, 25-7-2014).

42 Mini-Medina’s aim is to “create a learning experience for children that allows them to discover the concept of citizenship” whereby it aims to “creat[e] a space that provides free access for all children without boundaries and on a voluntary basis. Promoting a time learning experience about being a citizen with their rights and duties. Allowing children living in Egypt to experiment with taking initiative and with the process of decision making” (see: https://minimedina.wordpress.com/theory-of-change). 177

Mini-Medina highlights, once more, the importance of non-imposition, whereby participants are given freedom to play about politics and economics without interference from adults. Crucially, participants experience when things go wrong and thus understand the complexities of any political and economic decision and the vitality of effective participation from the rest of society. Another illustrative example is the board game

Baladna (our country) developed by Weladna. The aim of the game is to educate, through playing, about Egypt’s diverse cultures, customs, histories and geography. In short, the board game includes a map of Egypt that covers all the governorates, in which players work in teams and answer questions relating to each governorate. Accordingly, Baladna aims to challenge the straitjacketed education offered by the formal education system:43

Our objectives are to create a game, a fun activity that creates a learning environment for the players. So, while players are having fun, laughing, and smiling, at the same time their mind is being stimulated by thoughts that are not framed in a certain way and that are concretely established…we want to talk about…diversity, accepting diversity, sustainable ways of creating energy and all these ideas, and see the kids when they are young becoming aware of plastic waste and all these concepts that we think a human being should know about, and in our context, our market is Egypt and the game is about Egypt…[but] the actual goals are not Egypt, they are…accepting diversity, critical thinking, self-expression, helping create a discussion. There are many questions that ask you to say your opinion, there is no right or wrong (Interview with an activist and a developer of Baladna, 31- 8-2014).

Aiming to teach against the grain and reorienting the focus towards local cultures and perspectives provides opportunities to develop a counter-hegemonic education that offers alternative narratives and conceptions to those dominant in formal education. Importantly, it encourages youths to appreciate the subjectivity of historical narratives (like Misriyati), and thus constitutes another example of a superficially depoliticised approach to political education. However, Baladna’s outreach is hindered by its high price of 220 EGP (13

USD), which is beyond the means of many Egyptians. Nonetheless, this is acknowledged by Weladna, who donate ten percent of the proceeds from every game sold in order to fund

43 See: http://weladna.com/shop/baladna-board/baladna-board-game/ 178 the games distributed in youth centres and schools. The next section discusses the final method under indirect political education, publications.

5.4.3 Publications

Bardi publishing house is an initiative that publishes books designed to teach children and youths about human rights, democracy and tolerance. Furthermore, it serves as an excellent example of a superficially depoliticised education. The owner of Bardi, who is also an author, labels her initiatives as civic education because:

Civic education is not just about politics, [it is on] how to become a citizen…you will find civic education indirectly in lots of things, these are clear in the books. We work using these from the start when they are in Kindergarten…and I arrange it as games that they play, because in the end, they will get used to things differently. So, indirectly, at the end of the day, you are providing them with civic education, so the idea of civic education has loads of other concepts that need to be included, not just the political. When we talk about civic education, our concept is that we have to teach them his rights and duties…in the end I teach him how to be a good human citizen in an indirect way (Interview with the owner of Bardi publishing house, 7-8-2014).

Based on this quote, the key question of the minimum age that political education should take place needs to be highlighted (see section 2.4.2). Bardi’s owner argues that it is challenging to talk to children about politics; however, a way to overcome this is to introduce simple and basic humanistic topics, such as how to be a responsible citizen and how to respect others, which then can gradually lead to more complex concepts such as diversity, rights and democracy. With regards to a published book labelled Little Citizen:

The book teaches him how the world works, what his duties and responsibilities are, how we live with each other, what the system of the state is, the role of each institution in the state, my own role towards each of these institutions, how money comes and goes, what taxes are, what diplomacy is and so on. All these concepts are around him—how do they work? And afterwards, by the end of the book, there is an index with all the important words he might hear, and then the celebrations that we have, what connects us, what the differences between us are (ibid).

Bardi has published similar books, including three illustrated volumes introducing children to the concept of democracy. The books link democracy’s basic concepts with children’s everyday experiences in schools, playgrounds and so on. Moreover, some books have been

179 adapted to games which, according to the owner, have long-term implications for social change. However, despite its superficial depoliticisation, the publishing house has faced difficulties with distributing the books, such as bookstores refusing to stock them and parents rejecting such education. These is discussed in more detail in the next chapter.

To conclude this section on indirect political education, it is important to highlight that the above methods provide an alternative way of conceptualising and providing political education. Furthermore, by superficially depoliticising their rhetoric, content and aims,

CSOs can avoid unwanted state security attention and subsequent repression, and still have numerous long-term political implications (discussed in Chapter Seven). Indirect political education and particularly its practice-based approaches can help overcome limitations concerned with the discrepancies existing between theory and practice (i.e., utopianism).

Therefore, considering local contexts and people’s everyday experiences can help contribute to CSOs building organic ties with communities.

With regard to the travelling Gramsci, indirect political education does not solely target activists, workers, or even adults, but it additionally offers opportunities for children and youths to develop knowledge and skills to question and even challenge the taken-for- granted aspects of Egypt’s history, culture, geography and political system. In other words, although many forms of indirect political education are not explicitly oppositional or political in their rhetoric and practices, they still offer prospects to contest and negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation through means as simple as games, simulations and publications targeting children and youths.

Moreover, indirect political education, as indicated above, does not only teach against the grain, it importantly aims to connect the content and theory with people’s everyday experiences and their communities thus offering a significant method of developing an educational praxis. Finally, many of the CSOs offering this form of education are not political parties or political movements, but they instead represent an amalgam of rights-

180 based and educational organisations that do not necessarily comprise the type of organisations initially considered by Gramsci (particularly the Modern Prince).

Nonetheless, and as Bieler, Bruff and Morton (2015) argue, were he alive today, Gramsci would have been interested in the potentials offered by these organisations that embody everyday struggle especially under authoritarian contexts: as they point out, his notion of a

Modern Prince was “a concrete proposal for a different conception of social and political organization, and thus of the world” (152) rather than related to political parties per se.

Hence, resistance is a process of becoming that engages productively with contemporary conditions rather than takes the past as a template (ibid.).

5.5 Conclusion

This chapter has further developed my critical analysis of political education in Egypt by focusing on its informal, and arguably more radical, manifestations found in Egyptian civil society. In short, the chapter considered the transformational side of education as opposed to its socialisation role analysed in the previous chapter. By exploring political education within a number of Egyptian CSOs (aims, objectives and its direct and indirect forms), the chapter effectively answered the thesis’ third research question: What are the alternative political educational initiatives being provided by Egyptian Civil Society Organisations

(CSOs)? In so doing, the chapter contributes to the thesis’ objective of conceptualising political education under authoritarian contexts, and contributes to the (post)-uprisings literature by analysing the role informal political education plays in aiding social transformation, negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation and resisting authoritarianism.

Before I summarise what my findings mean for the travelling Gramsci, it is imperative to discuss the implications that arise from analytically distinguishing between direct and indirect approaches to political education. Distinguishing between direct and indirect political education raises tensions with regard to the advantages and applicability of both

181 approaches to the post-uprisings context. On the one hand, a direct traditional political education invokes expectations that it utilises top-down forms of knowledge production which are not conducive to emancipatory education. On the other hand, an indirect practice-based approach encourages deliberation and dialogue that does not necessarily support particular ideological templates.

Nonetheless, as observed through Nazra’s political school, BFP’s educational associations,

CIHRS’s and ADEF’s summer camps, although labelled direct and traditional, their education can be holistic, encourage dialogue, and not impose particular ideologies.

Moreover, not all indirect approaches have to be emancipatory. For example, the Muslim

Brotherhood’s education (discussed in section 2.5.3) and other actively depoliticised educational activities can reproduce top-down and authoritarian education which fail to challenge the status quo. However, since both forms of political education have their own benefits and limitations, I highlight two points to elaborate my position towards them.

First, since examples of emancipatory political education can be found in the direct forms, it is unlikely that they will become completely moribund. Nevertheless under the current political context in post-uprisings Egypt, I consider them to be less appropriate due to the potential repression they can attract given their explicit political and oppositional nature (as clarified in the next chapter). Moreover, they risk alienating a large section of Egyptians for similar reasons. Second, and as a result, I maintain that indirect approaches are more appropriate under the existing political circumstances since they are more likely to be effective in how they negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation, and in not attracting too much attention from the Egyptian state and its security apparatus. In short, a broader understanding of political education is imperative as it offers a variety of educational forms that CSOs and activists can choose from depending on the contexts being faced. As it stands, indirect political education is more appropriate, yet if the circumstances do change in the foreseeable future, direct political education might become more important; this

182 necessitates a nuanced understanding of the particular conjuncture that CSOs find themselves in.

On this point, with regard to the travelling Gramsci, the chapter reinforced the argument for education comprising an important component of the multi-dimensional character of hegemonic contestation and analysed how Gramsci’s ideas on political education can travel to the Egyptian context. Direct political education, and particularly political seminars, political schools, summer camps and reading groups resonate with many of

Gramsci’s ideas on political education. They aim to teach about politics and inculcate an understanding of Egypt’s political, economic and socio-cultural conditions; teach against the grain by helping reorient education towards people’s own communities and cultures; and profoundly rely on volunteers and educators who hail from different backgrounds.

However, and building on my above stated position, direct political education is mainly provided through political parties – the traditional Modern Prince – that face numerous challenges such as their inability to develop deep roots within marginalised communities, and who struggle to obtain mass support and that are likely to attract state repression. This arguably hampers their capabilities to build a strong counter-hegemonic educational movement that is capable of contesting the formal education system. Accordingly, rights- based organisations, educational organisations and other types of local and community- based movements – more contemporary and differentiated forms of the Modern Prince – proved able to offer more effective alternatives through an indirect approach to political education (this is further elaborated in Chapter Seven).

To support my arguments for the importance of indirect forms of political education, when analysing it from a Gramscian perspective, we find that it offers opportunities to contest and negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation under the current authoritarian context.

For example, indirect political education does teach against the grain and importantly connects the educational content with people’s everyday experiences through simple

183 methods such as games, simulations and publications that target children and youths.

Although they are not always explicitly political or radical, they still challenge the dominant common sense on history, politics, culture and social inequalities; thus, as discussed above, they prove to be an important method of resistance that can be utilised by oppositional forces in post-uprisings Egypt. As I argue in the next chapter, CSOs face many other challenges which require them to rethink how they should challenge and respond in return. Therefore, the next chapter develops the first part of my analysis of the hegemonic contestation ensuing between the Egyptian state and civil society organisations.

It does so by looking at how the state has utilised an amalgam of soft and hard repressive methods in an attempt to subdue civil society and its educational initiatives.

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Chapter 6: Resilient Authoritarianism and the Struggle over Civil Society

6.1 Introduction

The previous chapter further developed my critical analysis of political education in Egypt by focusing on its informal and more radical manifestations found in Egyptian civil society. By exploring political education within a number of CSOs, I conceptualised political education under authoritarian contexts, and analysed the role that political education (and particularly its indirect approach) plays in aiding social transformation and in negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation. Consequently, the chapter builds on this by developing the first part of my analysis of the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt. It offers a more nuanced understanding of the nature of authoritarianism in post-uprisings

Egypt by considering the various violent and non-violent methods employed in an attempt to repress civil society and its educational initiatives.

As outlined in the introductory chapter, the thesis aims to go beyond the authoritarianism/democratisation dichotomy by utilising a Gramscian framework that considers the Egyptian state and civil society as existing in a dialectical relation whereby they reinforce and contest one another. As developed in Chapter Three, this implies that utilising the concept of hegemonic contestation enables me to widen and diversify both the sources of repression and methods of resistance, which hence leads to the proliferation of various fronts on which social antagonisms could manifest. Accordingly, this chapter is interested in analysing the sources of oppression, whilst the methods of resistance are considered in the next chapter.

This chapter therefore argues that it is important to distinguish between methods of repression in order to signify the augmented challenges facing Egyptian civil society, especially after 2013. This, in turn, means that there is a need to explore, analyse and 185 understand how CSOs have been adapting their strategies and methods to survive, function and educate under the existing circumstances (as discussed in the next chapter). This chapter therefore answers the thesis’ fourth research question: What methods are being utilised by the Egyptian state when seeking to control CSOs and limit the alternative political educational efforts provided by such organisations? To do this, I argue that the state employs numerous repressive methods that range from soft (e.g., legislation and funding restrictions) to hard (e.g., arrests and crackdowns).

In so doing, the chapter contributes to the literature on post-uprisings Egypt by offering a more nuanced analysis of authoritarianism that considers both violent (hard) and non- violent (soft) repressive methods employed by the Egyptian state in an attempt to subdue civil society. Accordingly, my analysis goes beyond solely concentrating on violent crackdowns and includes other methods such as self-discipline, legal and bureaucratic restrictions and systematic depoliticisation. This importantly highlights how soft repressive methods can be effective, and at times, even more significant than violence. Nonetheless, separating soft and hard repression does not suggest that they are mutually exclusive; instead, the priority of one over the other depends on the political, economic and social context. Their separation is therefore not clear-cut. The chapter starts by focusing on soft repression and its various manifestations, before moving on to consider hard repression, and the implications they hold for the thesis.

6.2 Soft Repression

Labelling a repressive approach as soft does not mean that it is not repressive, but that it utilises non-violent methods to control CSOs and their members. These include bureaucratic and legal restrictions, funding restrictions, and systematic depoliticisation to subdue oppositional CSOs. This approach is prominent for a number of reasons. Firstly, most of the restrictions depend on a legal façade which is often vaguely worded and potentially highly constraining. Accordingly, it is less directly confrontational because it

186 justifies shutting down CSOs on the premises of them breaking the law. This line is used to counter criticisms from foreign governments and human rights organisations. Secondly, it limits the acceptable public space available for CSOs to function and interact. This space was already limited to begin with, but, according to a senior member of the 9th March

Movement, it was one of the reasons behind the uprisings of 2011. This consequently led the various post-Mubarak regimes to further constrain the possible use of public space so that “January 2011 would never happen again” (Interview, 14-11-2014). Finally, it allows for different methods to be combined based on the contexts encountered. I start by discussing the bureaucratic and legal restrictions.

6.2.1 Bureaucratic and Legal Restrictions

These comprise two widely implemented soft repressive methods. In this section I focus on discussing the legal restrictions which culminate in law 32/1964, law 84/2002 and the proposed new NGO law. Additionally, I provide examples of how bureaucratic constraints, especially those imposed by the Ministry of Education (MoE) and the Ministry of Social

Solidarity (MoSS), hinder CSOs’ educational activities and their attempts to reach communities. These restrictions therefore influence how CSOs are established (i.e., the legal form they take), their day-to-day functioning, their ability to obtain funding, and crucially, their survival. As mentioned in Chapter Two (section 2.5.2), such legal mechanisms are a Nasserist legacy, whereby the state wanted to dominate all aspects of the public sphere and civil society. This was mainly endeavoured through law 32/1964, which provided the state with “absolute authority and power” over CSO activities (A member of the National Council for Human Rights (NCHR), BFP seminar, 17-11-2014). Accordingly, law 32/1964 permitted the state to ban any NGO/CSO activity at any time (Kubbara,

2014).

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This law was utilised under Nasser, Sadat and Mubarak until 1999 when it was replaced by law 153/1999, which was later deemed unconstitutional and replaced by law 84/2002.44

Although law 84/2002 was argued to have eased some of law 32/1964’s restrictions

(Human Rights Watch, 2005), its provisions are still restrictive with regard to establishing and funding organisations (Kausch, 2009; International Centre for Not-for-profit Law

(ICNL), 2016). This law45 is mostly concerned with associations and civic foundations, whereby all groups with ten members or more are required to register with the MoSS, and failure to do so results in penalties and imprisonment. Unsurprisingly, law 84/2002 dominated the majority of my discussions and observations due to its repressive nature as it imposes barriers on establishing NGOs – they all have to be registered with the MoSS to be allowed to work. This was exacerbated when, on 18th July 2014, the MoSS placed an advertisement in the state-owned Al-Ahram newspaper requesting all Egyptian and international NGOs to register by 2nd September 2014, which was later postponed to 10th

November. Consequently, the state had the opportunity to reaffirm its authoritarian grip:

This deadline on the 10th of November, its purpose is that anything that is not registered is to be shut down. No one knows whether it is meant for those that are not registered, or if is it meant for associations that worked on supporting specific presidential campaigns or the big organizations that have been doing good work and giving them [the government] a hard time (Interview with an ECESR researcher and journalist, 5-11-2014).

As expected, this troubled many organisations that were not registered, or were not registered as NGOs. It provided the MoSS with opportunities to shut down a number of

NGOs due to their alleged links with the MB (Mada Masr, 2015a) or that were deemed to be disruptive to national security. According to Human Rights Watch (HRW) (2014a), some independent human rights organisations were deliberating voluntarily ceasing their activities instead of registering under the law. Moreover, law 84/2002 is criticised for its ambiguous and fluid language that enables the state to selectively and arbitrarily

44 Law 153/1999 was deemed unconstitutional by the Egyptian Constitution Court on technical grounds, as it failed to gain the approval of a number of “necessary bodies” (Zahid, 2012: 59). 45 An electronic English version can be found at: http://www.bu.edu/bucflp/files/2012/01/Law-on- Nongovernmental-Organizations-Law-No.-84-of-2002.pdf 188 implement its provisions (Kausch, 2009; HRW, 2005). Crucially, it also allows the state to control an organisation’s funding, prohibit any political or union related activities, block particular individuals from competing in board elections, and shut down and freeze the assets of any organisation without judicial order (ibid).

In order to reform law 84/2002, a draft of a new NGO law was introduced on 26th June

2014 and has subsequently been criticised by CSOs, academics and international human rights organisations. According to a joint statement issued by 29 Egyptian CSOs, this law,

“if adopted, will criminalise the operation of NGOs and subordinate them to the security establishment, shutting down the public sphere in Egypt to all but the regime supporters”

(CIHRS, 2014a). Similar to law 84/2002, this proposed draft includes ambiguous and vague language that would encourage equivocal grounds for denying registration, and for shutting down organisations that “threaten the national unity” and “contravene the public order and public morals” (ICNL, 2016; CIHRS, 2014a). Moreover, it will ban any organisation from engaging in political or union activities (Chang, 2014).

According to HRW (2014b), this proposed law would “empower the government and security agencies to dissolve existing groups, pending a court order, or refuse to license new groups…it would impose crippling restrictions on foreign funding of Egyptian nongovernmental groups and their capacity to communicate or cooperate with groups abroad”. The law also suggests creating a coordinating committee that includes representatives from the Ministry of Interior and the General Intelligence Services who will oversee the registration, funding and activities of the NGOs. Failure to comply with such demands will entail penalties that vary from a one-year imprisonment to a fine of

100,000 EGP (Chang, 2014). Finally, it violates a number of articles in the Egyptian constitution, particularly Article 75 on the right to establish associations and acquire legal personhood by notice (CIHRS, 2014a). As it currently stands, this proposed law is yet to be approved by parliament, and CSOs remain under the jurisdiction of law 84/2002, but the

189 very fact that it was proposed indicates the potential coercive power of soft repressive methods as deployed by the Egyptian state.

A number of implications need to be highlighted regarding legal restrictions. First, they have affected all of the CSOs sampled, especially with respect to their funding and their establishment. Second, there is an extra-legal involvement by the security apparatus in the establishment, registration, functioning and scrutinising of CSOs. Although this involvement has no legal basis under law 84/2002 (HRW, 2005), it constitutes a vitally repressive constraint which is discussed in more detail under the section on hard repression. Finally, legal restrictions are closely interlinked with bureaucratic controls which, advertently and inadvertently, affect CSOs in multiple ways. For example, Tahrir

Academy (TA) have faced difficulties with regard to their outreach efforts:

Challenges faced…definitely the Ministry of Education. We understand that at some point we want to have access to the masses…so in the end I want to reach the masses and I need that, and I cannot enter and work with governmental schools without the approval of the ministry, and reaching the ministry is very difficult, and the obligations they put…for example they required that our curriculums have to be like theirs, and they opposed the content we made, we would either have to change or remove it. Although there were other projects that they worked with, and they were only allowed to work because they were doing exactly the same things as the ministry (Interview with a Member of Tahrir Academy, 4-8-2014).

This was further reinforced by a senior member of TA:

[T]he original idea was to have a school outreach, that we go and make partnerships with schools and the Ministry of Education. Of course, with the current political context we found out that this was impossible. You need to get approval from the Ministry of Education, and especially if you want to work with an organization called Tahrir Academy, which is working on critical thinking, and is not strictly following the governmental textbook and does not abide by the [ministry’s] methodology, then they will not let us go into schools (Interview, 27-8-2014).

Hence, how such bureaucratic restrictions can at times follow a discourse of national security should not be underestimated. This is compounded once the CSO in question offers an education that differs from the official curriculum. The next section discusses the funding constraints, which are heavily intertwined with law 84/2002.

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6.2.2 Funding Restrictions

As discussed above, law 84/2002 restricts an organisation’s access to funding, and especially foreign funding; whereby in order to obtain funding, CSOs are required to gain approval from the MoSS. However, these approvals are selective, arbitrary and highly dependent on the backgrounds of CSO members and founders and their perceived threat to national security. Consequently, approvals can also come under the prerogatives of the

Ministries of Interior and Foreign Affairs:

Lots of people from civil society are always scared that they will be closed down. What will they do? The procedures are very complicated and they take a long time. There is also the problem of foreign funding and all that stuff: if you were an Egyptian living abroad and wanted to donate, there is the state security in the way, it is not straightforward…foreign funding has become an accusation, if people want to accuse you of something, they would just say that you are foreign funded, and tarnish your image (Interview with a senior member of Educate-me, 9-7-2014).

Additionally, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs rejected a grant awarded to CILAS by the

Ford Foundation without providing any explanations (Interview with a senior member, 16-

7-2014):

Look, any NGO I have worked in has always had problems with funding, that is the norm…the Ford Foundation wanted to fund them [CILAS], but they [the Ministry] come and scrutinise you all the time, and they give you a hard time about all these things with money, and they control what you do and ask, “Are you a spy?” It is the case with everything I have worked in….it is not nice (Interview with a member of Education Square, 25-7-2014).

Restricting funding therefore seeks to financially suffocate CSOs and cultivate competition and rivalry between them, leading to more fragmentation and difficulties in building alliances. Moreover, the discourse of national security promulgated by state-supportive media has increasingly used the issue of funding to attack and condemn oppositional organisations, by equating foreign funding with espionage and conspiracies aimed at harming national interests (a member of the NCHR, BFP seminar, 17-11-2014). As a result, many CSOs have rejected foreign funding in order to survive. As I argue in the next chapter, some organisations are attempting to resist these difficulties by crowdfunding

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(section 7.4.1). This trend has been recently gathering steam, and despite its infancy and limitations, it holds potential for at least partly bypassing the state without having to depend on foreign funding.

Although foreign funding has played a historically important role in Egyptian civil society, some concerns need to be highlighted. Most obviously, it is associated with issues of independence and conflicts of interest. It is highly likely that foreign funders will have differing aims as to how their money should be spent. Accordingly, they can skew projects that do not match their goals, which risks CSOs becoming dependent on their foreign funders’ objectives. Furthermore, becoming overtly dependent on foreign funding and on appeasing donors can inadvertently encourage a culture of report-writing, whereby CSOs become more concerned with writing good reports detailing their use of the funds as opposed to actually using them (Interview with a member of Tahrir Academy, 4-8-2014).

Additionally, foreign funding can be irregular, depending on Egypt’s relations with other governments and organisations, as well as the current local political and economic contexts. Related to this, applying for funds is often a time-consuming process that hampers CSOs’ organisational resources. Although some CSOs do hire full-time fundraisers, unsurprisingly these tend to be well-established organisations with adequate resources. This consequently puts other less-established, and often more radical, CSOs at a disadvantage and further stimulates an unequal competition amongst them. Nonetheless, in the next chapter (section 7.4) I discuss how CSOs have been utilising innovative funding methods to overcome such hindrances. I now turn to the final two methods under the legal and bureaucratic restrictions.

6.2.3 The Protest and Terrorist Entities Laws

The anti-protest law 107/2013 and terrorist entities law 8/2015 constitute two relatively new pieces of legislation that have been passed without having a parliament in place under interim president Adly Mansour and under current president al-Sisi. In theory, these laws 192 are not concerned with education or civil society, but due to their fluid wordings and definitions of protest and terrorists they could have numerous implications for CSOs. For instance, law 107/2013 imposes requirements that need to be met in order for the security apparatus to approve the organisation of protests or political meetings. Accordingly, it bans protests that take place without prior permission, which can lead to further constraining the use of Egyptian public space (Abdel Samei, 2013). According to Amnesty International

(2013), this law places broad restrictions on protests and gives security forces a “free rein to use excessive force, including lethal force, against demonstrators”. It additionally provides the Ministry of Interior with wide discretionary powers over protests, which are highly dependent on their interpretation of what violates the law.

This implies that the MoI can refuse protests under the premise of them threatening security and peace, disrupting public order and even for the threat they pose to delaying traffic and public transport. Protesters violating this law face imprisonment and fines of up to 100,000 EGP. Ezzat (2014) argues that the protest law alongside the previously discussed proposed NGO law aim to “hush critical NGOs and restrain the public sphere and hinder opposition”. Importantly, the ability to interpret broadly what constitutes a protest carries implications for political educational initiatives, as many respondents were concerned that, under this law, education can be interpreted as constituting a method of inciting protest. In the section on hard repression, I offer an example of how such concerns were proven correct in the case of the BFP. I use the BFP and their educational associations as an illustration to demonstrate how direct forms of political education are more likely to attract state repression as maintained in the previous chapter’s conclusion.

This not only highlights the drawbacks of utilising direct forms of political education under the current political context, but it also necessitates that we consider, in more seriousness, indirect forms of political education.

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Law 8/2015, which was ratified by al-Sisi to combat militant Islamist insurgencies across

Egypt, could also have severe implications for CSOs. In a statement published by a number of CSOs directly after the law was ratified, concerns were raised regarding the law undermining the “freedom of peaceful assembly, the freedom to form civic associations and political parties, and freedom of the press, opinion and expression” (EIPR, 2015).

Furthermore, there were concerns about the law relying on a “broad, vague definition of actions on the basis of which individuals or groups may be designated terrorists. Under this definition, human rights defenders, political parties, or developmental associations may be easily labelled as terrorist entities and their members terrorists” (ibid). Therefore, under such broad definitions, a “terrorist” can include those “infring[ing] the public order, endangering the safety, interests, or security of society, obstructing provisions of the constitution and law, or harming national unity, social peace or national security” (ibid).

Crucially, the peril lies in the fact that “CIHRS and the Islamic State [ISIS] could be considered as belonging to the same category as terrorists” (CIHRS member, BFP seminar,

17-11-2014). Although it is too early to analyse in detail the effects such laws can have on civil society, the various repressive implications that could come as a result cannot be underestimated.

6.2.4 Systematic Depoliticisation (of Education)

According to Ghoneim (2005: 177), the Egyptian state is constantly engaged in efforts to systematically depoliticise the public sphere and education in order to maintain its hegemony and protect the status quo. Furthermore:

These attempts by the ruling class to remove and empty everything from its political content is done so that you struggle within small bits that do not have anything to do with politics. You just need to focus on this small bit, so you only focus on harassment but not on anti-harassment laws; you focus on the struggle within the factory for better wages, but you do not focus on the nationalisation of companies (Interview with a leading member of the Revolutionary Socialists, 23-7-2014).

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The state’s constant attempts to separate politics from the public sphere and education dominated the majority of my interviews, informal discussions and observations. As argued in Chapter Four, although formal education has played various political roles that were acceptable and supportive to the regime in power, it was depoliticised by not allowing for oppositional discourses or narratives to surface. These attempts to depoliticise education are exemplified in the following examples. At the start of the 2013/14 and

2014/15 academic years, the media, instead of reporting the academic and administrative preparations of schools and universities, reported the security-related preparations undertaken to ban and prohibit any political activity taking place in educational institutions

(Masrawy, 2015; Abo-Elenin, 2014; Elwan, 2014).

In an interview for October magazine (a state-owned publication), the former Minister of

Education Mahmoud Abu el-Nasr asserted that there was “no democracy without education, and there is no politics in education. As a good role model, I am banning any discussions about politics, politics should not be involved in education” (Zaytoun, 2013).

His assertions are not only contradictory, but they also convey the underlying attempts of the state and the MoE to empty education of its progressive and radical potentialities.

Another example, also introduced in Chapter Four (section 4.3.1), concerns the dissuasion of social sciences education in Egypt, where a limited number of universities offer students the opportunity to study politics, sociology, philosophy or economics. Furthermore, academic staff members in these departments are must be approved by state security before assuming their positions (Interview with a senior member of the 9th March Movement, 14-

11-2014).

According to a senior member of TA, limiting the opportunities to study such subjects is intentional in order to develop a “political void in Egyptian academia” (Interview, 27-8-

2014). Moreover, this void can be encouraged through the deliberate marginalisation of social scientists and academics who are critical of the status quo:

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This new generation of intellectuals is not capable of instigating change, whether they were philosophers or social scientists, such knowledge is being regressed in Egypt…the state has been playing a role in limiting the study of philosophy and economics, and now we have severe shortages of social scientists, and the regime is not paying much attention to it, it does not want to develop people who would be able to think like that [critically], and it does not want to encourage it (Interview with a member of the ECP’s political committee, 6-8-2014).

Arguably, this ends up discouraging students from questioning and being critical of the status quo:

Look, we have a problem in this country. We have people who hate others that encourage people to question them, they do not want people to question, they want them to follow, they want us to be a flock of sheep and that is it, and we follow…what I always tell people, is that not because I am asking why, then this means I am opposing, maybe someone would come and convince me…I do not have a problem as long as you convince me (Interview with a private school politics teacher, 6- 7-2014).

Furthermore, the possible questioning the status quo is “knocked down, it is beaten out of people ever since they are children. Participation, decision making and whatever, they learn to shut up and take whatever is being said” (Interview with an education activist and a member of the Egyptian Social Democratic Party, 11-8-2014). As a result, it is foreseeable that the above efforts could lead to many Egyptians losing interest in politics and thus develop a sense of apathy (Interview with a researcher and trainer at the Balad

Foundation, 8-11-2014). Under the current political context, merely talking about politics or having political inclinations becomes an offence and an accusation in itself (Interview with an ECESR researcher and journalist, 5-11-2014). An important point to highlight is that some respondents have argued that the state has not been targeting the Muslim

Brotherhood’s educational activities to the same degree as they have for other organisations. This was due to the religious and conservative nature of their education

(section 2.5.3) that did not seek to challenge the status quo or question authority (Interview with a founding member of BFP, 27-11-2014).

To conclude this section on soft repressive methods, I highlight a number of observations.

Authoritarianism and repression manifest themselves in numerous forms other than

196 violence or incarceration. As argued above, legal, bureaucratic and funding restrictions play influential and decisive roles in how CSOs are established, registered and funded, and importantly, in how they survive. Gramsci argued that, in order to protect their hegemony, ruling groups utilise coercive means such as the law and security, to discipline groups that do not consent to the established hegemonic order. Accordingly, how legislation helps accomplish this within the Egyptian context was discussed in this section. Moreover, attempting to depoliticise the public sphere and education from any oppositional or critical discourses is, as indicated in previous occasions, a political act in itself. The next section further builds on my analysis of authoritarianism in post-uprisings Egypt by focusing on the state and its security apparatuses’ direct and, at times, more violent role in repressing

Egyptian civil society.

6.3 Hard Repression

Hard repression, as opposed to soft repression, is more violent and direct in its efforts, with the security apparatus’s degree of involvement in civil society more apparent. Violence in this perspective is not solely confined to physical violence or the threat of bodily harm but is also concerned with intellectual and psychological violence inflicted on activists and educationalists. This type of violence can result in people fearing the state’s prospective actions and crackdowns, which can eventually lead to self-disciplining and self-policing, whereby some CSOs avoid politics, and even reject collaborating with CSOs deemed to be too political. Hence, I below discuss arrests and crackdowns, the extra-legal involvement of state security, and finally the fear and subsequent self-disciplining of civil society.

6.3.1 Arrests and Crackdowns

The anticipation of getting arrested and/or having CSOs shutdown constituted a major concern for many interviewees and their organisations. As discussed above, the MoSS’s demands for CSOs to register implied that many CSOs were either shut down by the state or made to cease their operations voluntarily to avoid arrest. The ECESR and CIHRS were 197 organisations targeted during 2013 and 2014 as ECESR’s Cairo and Alexandria offices were raided by security forces, where a number of members were detained and later released (EIPR, 2014; HRW, 2013). The ECESR members interviewed were so concerned with the crackdown that they were “preparing themselves” for the potential closure of their offices (Interviews with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014 and an ECESR researcher,

21-8-2014). The CIHRS was also targeted due to its criticisms of the state’s human rights violations and crackdowns on freedom of speech. In retaliation, CIHRS moved its regional and international programs outside of Egypt after twenty-three years. The CIHRS issued a statement shortly afterwards arguing that:

[I]n light of the ongoing threats to human rights organisations and the declaration of war on civil society…this move comes after the expiration of the deadline set by the Ministry of Social Solidarity for ‘unregistered entities’ to register under a draconian associations law [law 84/2002] and the mounting security pressure aimed at shutting out every independent, critical voice from the public sphere…these same pressures and threats led major non-governmental, international rights groups to suspend their activities in Egypt several months ago (CIHRS, 2014b).46

With regard to the BFP – and in order to exemplify the interlinkages between soft and hard repression – two volunteers were arrested under suspicion of inciting protest and breaking law 107/2013. According to independent accounts, during a session the volunteers were asked for suggestions regarding an issue involving the community and their local council.

The volunteers provided the residents with information and methods to help them demand their rights such as filing complaints against the council. Later, both volunteers were arrested and accused of inciting violence and encouraging protest against the state, after the police were tipped off by a local informer (Interview with BFP’s secretary of political education, 12-11-2014 and a CILAS fellow, 8-7-2014). In addition to having two of their volunteers arrested, the crackdown was extended to target their educational associations

(discussed in section 5.3.1.4):

46 See also Mada Masr (2015b). 198

We suffered from a big security crackdown in al-Mohtalla47 because we worked in an area where people had occupied houses, and that was a problem because Egypt is not like Europe. This movement had support, but in Egypt brutality could come about very easily, especially if the movement that occupied these houses was not a left-wing movement, but rather a popular movement that was infiltrated by the security (Interview with a member of the BFP’s political committee, 15-8-2014).

The BFP eventually had to cease their educational activities in that community due to the hostilities aimed towards any independent educational initiatives (Interview with the BFP’s secretary of political education, 12-11-2014). These examples therefore illustrate how direct political education is more likely to attract (hard) state repression under the current political context, making it more difficult to sustain initiatives as those discussed above.

Moreover, while these crackdowns mainly focus on political and rights-based organisations, they have also targeted individuals. For instance, during a checkpoint inspection, a member of the RS was detained for having books about Marxism in his car

(Interview, 23-7-2014). The next section elaborates in more detail the security apparatus’s involvement and supervision of the day-to-day activities of CSOs and their educational activities. This substantial involvement, I argue, plays a role in suppressing oppositional

CSOs, as well as making others self-police their activities and collaborations.

6.3.2 State Security Involvement

Hard repression arguably depends greatly on the state’s abilities to ensure that it maintains tight control over civil society, especially over those CSOs that go against the accepted discourses and activities. Under such authoritarian contexts, any independent or critical initiatives are viewed with suspicion:

The security discourse is very prevalent in Egypt to the point that however creative you are, or, however innovative you are, you will always be facing accusations that you want to rebel and go against the state’s authority, even if you say no, I do not want to do that, I want to work within the state’s institutions…you will still face many problems and challenges (Interview with an ECESR researcher and journalist, 5-11-2014).

47 The Arabic word mohtalla is translated as ‘occupied’, and refers to the squatting movement discussed in Chapter Five (section 5.3.1.4). 199

The security apparatus’s involvement in civil society and education (formal and informal) is a Nasserist legacy which aims to make sure that no alternative initiatives developed outside of the state’s authority (Interview with a senior member of the 9th March

Movement, 14-11-2014). The extent of this involvement is captured through the state establishing its own Government-Organised Nongovernmental Organisations (GONGOs) to promote human, labour and women’s rights. Examples include the National Council for

Human Rights (NCHR), the National Council for Women (NCW) and the Egyptian

Federation of Trade Unions (EFTU). Establishing GONGOs consequently led to clashes between CSOs attempting to target the promotion of the same rights and the state, which wants to keep such matters under its own control (Interview with a founding member of

BFP, 27-11-2014 and BFP political committee meeting, 10-11-2014).

For the purposes of the thesis, I particularly focus on the security’s involvement in CSOs’ educational activities. As discussed above, the security apparatus or al-Amn48 do not, under law 84/2002, have detailed prerogatives over the functioning, establishment, funding or cessation of CSOs. However, al-Amn ends up being more influential than the MoSS and the MoE. A consequence of this involvement is a general mistrust of CSOs’ motives in wanting to aid in people’s education (especially in marginalised communities).

Accordingly, questions such as “Why do you want to help?” and “What will you get out of this?” become the norm under such contexts (Interview with an education activist and a member of the ESDP, 11-8-2014). Crucially, such suspicion and mistrust can be adopted by segments of Egyptian society who also end up questioning the motives behind CSOs.

Activists have argued that state-sympathetic media has played a dominant role in promulgating such mistrust (which cuts across different social classes and backgrounds) by attacking oppositional political parties and rights-based organisations. The state-

48 I use security apparatus to denote the interferences conducted by the Ministry of Interior (MoI) and the State Security Investigations Services (SSIS), later renamed Homeland Security after 2011. Many of the interviewees simply referred to such entities as “al-Amn” or “Security”. Therefore, I use the same terminology widespread amongst Egyptian civil society actors. 200 sympathetic media has therefore been “attacking politics in general, and political parties and specifically their weaknesses, which leads to a vicious circle that will only encourage the political void already existing to persist” (Interview with a senior member of the 9th

March Movement, 14-11-2014).

As the MoE’s incompetency and bureaucracy are chief hindrances to CSOs’ efforts to outreach to schools and communities, the security’s involvement also plays an influential role in limiting such outreach opportunities whereby the security’s influence can be more powerful than both the MoE and the MoSS:

[We] and the schools themselves need approval from security, and the security has more authority than the minister [of education]. I mean, if the minister changes, and the next minister is sworn in, he will just say no, thank you. So it is extremely unpredictable, this managerial sway is unsustainable, and also, you are always working under the security’s eyes (Interview with a senior member of Tahrir Academy, 27-8-2014).

Therefore, for CSOs to gain access to schools, they will need to gain approval from both the MoE and the MoI, hence isolating CSOs from schools and from the broader public

(Makar, 2014). In many cases, the MoE ends up becoming a buffer between CSOs and the public:

There is a department within the Ministry of Education called the Department of Civil Associations, which does nothing actually, it only takes the requests from the NGOs wanting to work with schools and sends it to the security, and they tell you they do, so...you cannot go to a school in Egypt and organise an activity without approval. You end up spending a long time in the approval process and your file has to go to security. And it is security that gives you the approval to work with the school, so the school is like a do-not-approach thing, just like any military building, education and politics are intertwined in the broader meaning (Interview with a member of Education Square, 16-7-2014, emphasis added).

In an interview with another member of Education Square, they mentioned that mokhbereen (police informers) usually attended educational seminars and workshops in order to “keep an eye on what is being discussed… although they are known by their name and looks, they still attend and do not tell us anything about it” (Interview, 25-7-2014). As

I argue below, such state security involvement advertently and inadvertently leads to an

201 additional crucial consequence, which is fearing the state and its repression. As a result of this fear, some CSOs and individuals engage in self-discipline and self-policing of their own activities and rhetoric and actively depoliticise their education.

6.3.3 Fearing the State and the Self-Disciplining of Civil Society

People’s anxiety and concerns with regard to their safety as members of CSOs comprised another dominant theme arising from my research. Therefore, on the one hand, many CSOs decided to continue with their activities unchanged, whilst on the other hand, other CSOs decided to either superficially or actively depoliticise their activities (discussed in Chapters

Five and Seven). It is important to analyse such examples of self-discipline and depoliticisation, especially with regard to the current campaign waged against civil society.

According to a founding member of the BFP, this campaign aims to pressure CSOs into limiting their capabilities for organising people:

We have a big problem. The state or the political system is not naïve when it fights people organising themselves, because if it makes things easy, those 90 million individuals could become groups, and those groups could then make things easier on the ground and hence pressure the state and be able to achieve their rights and develop their consciousness (Interview, 27-11-2014).

The campaign against civil society has resulted in many Egyptians becoming afraid of working in civil society, with some eventually quitting. Such decisions to quit are usually based on “paranoia as opposed to logical considerations” (Interview with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014). As a result of this campaign, many members “felt the danger and left the country…because you can calculate the dangers through a number of methods, from the media and the programs you watch, as well as through digital and social media”

(Interview with an ECESR researcher and journalist, 5-11-2014). Moreover, some CSO members have indicated that they “had to stop working in order to protect ourselves and each other” (Interview with an education researcher and member of Salafyo Costa, 16-11-

2014). These concerns do not only affect CSOs which are explicitly political and oppositional, but also CSOs that are not:

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I always feel that I am doing something wrong, and I always feel that I have to think about so many things, other than the purpose of what I am working for. I have to think about how I have to manipulate the system and how I will be able to protect myself. If they shut us down, how will I be able to continue? I know this could happen without me being in the wrong, because if you want to accuse someone of anything, you could do that easily (Interview with a senior member of Educate- me, 9-7-2014).

The campaigns against civil society have even led the interviewees’ own families to criticise their involvement and activism. With regard to self-policing, I will focus on three examples. The first concerns Tahrir Academy’s (TA) attempts to reframe their educational initiatives in order to build credibility and thus become accepted by the broader public. To do so, TA had to initially avoid “controversial” topics in the humanities:

This was a very conscious decision, meaning that, for example, the natural sciences do not have biases, probably, but when you always talk about humanities, no, there is always a problem there, especially that we want to first be building credibility. And for people to trust that they could be able to watch us, and that the parents would approve of their kids to watch us, and that the society and the authorities would not be aggravated, or that the media would not attack us. We are very sensitive because of our position and our slogan of rebellion against traditional learning (Interview with a member of Tahrir Academy, 4-8-2014).

Interestingly, although the state and its security may not have previously interfered in an organisation’s activities, being familiar with what attracts the attention of state security can make CSOs self-censor without necessarily being required to do so. Furthermore, building credibility becomes an important motivator in itself for CSOs to self-police and censor their educational activities. The second example is found in the Bardi publishing house’s struggle to distribute their books. As discussed in the previous chapter (section 5.4.3),

Bardi faced numerous challenges in distributing their books on humanistic citizenship education:

Everyone gets scared of such concepts. Other bookstores were afraid to display and sell these books because they were called The Little President and Democracy…“No, lady, we do not want any problems”… so they were scared to sell them…they [bookstores] did not want problems with the state, and that was both before and after the revolution, they did not want any hassle (Interview with the owner of Bardi publishing house, 7-8-2014).

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Self-policing is therefore also manifest in certain organisations refusing to collaborate with others who are deemed to be too political or oppositional. The final example was demonstrated when, during my fieldwork, the ECESR wanted to organise a seminar on its newly published factsheet on the rights to education. This was to be organised in collaboration with Nahdet El Mahrousa (NM). According to different sources, the event was cancelled by NM, allegedly due to ECESR’s political activities and their links to

Khaled Ali, the former presidential candidate and labour lawyer (Interviews with members of Education Square, 16 and 25-7-2014; an ECESR researcher, 21-8-2014; a CILAS fellow, 8-7-2014).

In a later interview with an NM member, although there were no specific references to this event, the member was careful to mention that NM did not want to hide or cover up its activities. Accordingly, NM prevented its activities from being explicitly political or critical, as this would attract unwanted attention and interferences (i.e., active depoliticisation). The member argued that, due to the current uncertainty surrounding civil society, NM aimed to work within the existing frameworks and rules in order to survive under such difficult circumstances (Interview, 23-11-2014). Although NM and others are consciously taking such measures to avoid state interference, I argue in the next chapter that some organisations are utilising similar measures in more innovative ways. It is important to note that, similar to funding restrictions, the repressive method discussed above aims to limit oppositional CSOs’ ability to organise independent educational initiatives and reach the wider community. Moreover, it ultimately hinders opportunities to establish alliances amongst CSOs and thus leads to more fragmentation within civil society.

In order to conclude this section on hard repression, I highlight some observations. Hard repression does not solely depend on physical violence and incarceration, but the fear of these repercussions can, at times, be effective in suppressing radical and oppositional

204 elements within civil society. This is magnified by the security apparatus’ involvement

(aided by the state-sympathetic media) in influencing many Egyptians to view civil society and its progressive organisations with suspicion, in addition to inducing particular CSOs to self-police their activities. Crucially, self-policing may not come as a result of the state or security’s prior involvement or repression but from the CSO’s expectation that this could occur. This makes it more challenging for CSOs to build organic ties with communities and also contributes to people rejecting their political educational activities. Hard repression is therefore more likely to specifically target CSOs that offer direct forms of political education. Once more, this implies that this approach to political education is not the most suitable under the existing political context.

Finally, as mentioned at the start of the chapter, the distinction between soft and hard repression is not clear-cut, since some of their methods overlap. For example, soft repressive methods such as legal, bureaucratic and funding restrictions are intertwined with the state’s crackdown on civil society (i.e., it legally permits coercion to take place and is also protected by it). Moreover, utilising a national security discourse to repress critical

CSOs has featured in both approaches, albeit with different emphases on the security’s direct involvement in promulgating it.

6.4 Conclusion

This chapter developed the first part of my analysis of the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt. It offered a more nuanced understanding of the nature of authoritarianism in post-uprisings

Egypt by considering the hard (violent) and soft (non-violent) methods utilised in an attempt to repress civil society and its educational initiatives. The chapter addressed the thesis’ fourth research question concerning the methods used by the Egyptian state to control CSOs and limit their alternative political educational efforts. As a result, it contributes to the literature on post-uprisings Egypt by offering a more nuanced analysis of

205 authoritarianism that goes beyond violent crackdowns by considering other methods such as, for example, self-discipline, legal and bureaucratic restrictions and systematic depoliticisation of education.

My findings imply that soft repressive methods are not only effective in subduing civil society, but importantly also offer opportunities for CSOs to challenge the status quo.

Moreover, soft and hard repression are not mutually exclusive, as is evident in how some of their methods overlap and are interdependent. Nonetheless, differentiating between both is necessary in order to consider the extent of the security apparatus’ direct involvement in repressing civil society (i.e., the extent of violence) and to illustrate the variety of methods available to repress opposition through multiple forms. It is also apparent that although soft repression targets civil society more generally, hard repression particularly targets CSOs that implement direct forms of political education, as is apparent with the BFP and other organisations that had to endure the presence of police informers.

This, as argued in the previous chapter, infers that direct political education is more likely to attract unwanted attention and subsequent repression, despite it never becoming completely moribund. Consequently, it is crucial that we consider in more solemnity indirect forms of political education, alongside other forms of resistance. By utilising

Gramsci’s concept of hegemonic contestation to illustrate how the Egyptian state and civil society are contesting one another across various fronts, I particularly focused on discussing the augmented challenges facing Egyptian civil society, especially after 2013.

In keeping with the framework developed in Chapter Three, this means that there is a need to explore, analyse and understand how CSOs have been adapting their strategies and methods to survive, function and educate under such repressive conditions. This thus comprises the other part of my analysis, and is considered in the next chapter.

With regard to the travelling Gramsci, I highlight two points. Firstly, as argued in Chapter

Three (section 3.6.1) a weakness of many Gramscian analyses of the Middle East is that

206 they do not consider the extent to which coercion is employed by authoritarian regimes in repressing opposition and how this affects the CSOs’ abilities to function and survive. By distinguishing between soft and hard repression, I argue that although it implies the widening of the sources of repression, it also suggests the proliferation of multiple fronts whereby resistance and hegemonic contestation can take place. In short, this denotes how conducting a war of position comprises a possible method of resistance available for CSOs especially under the current political context.

Secondly, the proliferation of fronts where hegemonic contestation can take place crucially offers the means to overcome the authoritarianism/democratisation dichotomy problematised in the thesis. For although Egyptian CSOs are facing numerous challenges across multiple fronts, they still have opportunities to consider resistance practices that are not, in hindsight, explicitly oppositional or radical. As noted across the thesis, these practices offer possibilities for CSOs to negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation. As is made clearer in the next chapter, hegemony is not absolute, but is always contested and challenged through multiple fronts, which in turn requires us to rethink resistance in post- uprisings Egypt.

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Chapter 7: Resistance Practices and Challenging Authoritarianism

7.1 Introduction

The previous chapter developed the first part of my analysis of the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings

Egypt. By offering a nuanced understanding of authoritarianism in post-uprisings Egypt and utilising the Gramscian concept of hegemonic contestation, I argued that it is imperative that we explore and analyse how CSOs have been adapting their strategies and methods to survive, function and educate under the current repressive context. This is key in order to illustrate the extent through which the Egyptian state and civil society are engaging in hegemonic contestation across multiple fronts. As argued in Chapters One and

Two (sections 1.3.2 and 2.3), the literature surrounding the Egyptian uprisings has overwhelmingly concentrated on contentious politics such as demonstrations, strikes, sit- ins and other forms of direct political action that led to the uprisings of 2011.

Despite the rich insight of such contributions, it has become more challenging to maintain the same revolutionary objectives and rhetoric as those employed between 2011 and 2013.

Crucially, it is more difficult for the Egyptian opposition to solely utilise contentious politics as a method of resistance as the state is more likely to repress it swiftly (as discussed in the previous chapter). Consequently, it becomes important for CSOs, and other oppositional forces in general, to start adapting to the current political context by exploring other avenues of resistance and contestation which are available even in authoritarian societies. This particularly includes a turn towards more indirect forms of political education as opposed to direct forms that are more likely to be inhibited as also argued in the previous chapter.

Accordingly, this chapter answers the thesis’ fifth and final research question: What methods of resistance are being implemented by the CSOs to challenge the state’s

208 restrictions, and their own weaknesses? Hence, it contributes to the post-uprisings and civil society resistance literature by providing an intricate examination of how Egyptian

CSOs are adapting to the current political context by seeking other avenues of resistance and contestation which do not always revolve around contentious politics such as educational practices, legal resistance through formation, financial resistance, building alliances, and building organic ties. I argue that these practices enable CSOs to resist, bypass and potentially overcome the Egyptian state’s restrictions across multiple fronts pertaining to the establishment, funding and functioning of CSOs. For example, in the section on educational practices, I discuss how organisations adapt and develop their educational activities to work around the state’s restrictions by superficially depoliticising their education (discussed in Chapter Five), as well as through hybrid education and crowdsourcing.

Legal resistance through formation considers how CSOs resist by choosing which legal form to take, such as establishing themselves as non-profit organisations or law centres or remaining as unregistered initiatives. Financial resistance concentrates on organisations’ efforts at crowdfunding and establishing collaborations with the business sector to overcome their financial difficulties. I also discuss how CSOs build alliances amongst themselves to share knowledge and resources, an activity that is closely linked to efforts at making financial connections. Finally, I consider how establishing organic ties with communities can make CSOs become more adept in developing counter-hegemonic movements, and the significant challenges they face in doing so.

Therefore, a key theme underpinning this chapter is that a strong counter-hegemonic educational movement is contingent on how CSOs effectively resist (both internal and external) restrictions. Moreover, these acts of resistance must be understood as part of a wider movement of resistance capable of challenging the status quo, albeit in ways that do not necessarily adhere to those of contentious politics. In other words, no matter how

209 authoritarian a state is, it can be challenged by methods that do not always adhere to conventional methods of resistance (i.e., methods that are not explicitly political or radical). Therefore, their abilities to establish themselves, function, and survive under repressive contexts comprise acts of resistance in themselves, which should (as argued throughout the thesis) be understood in Gramscian terms. I start by discussing the first aspect of resistance, which concerns educational practices before moving on to consider in turn legal and financial resistance, building alliances and developing organic ties.

7.2 Educational Practices

This section focuses on how CSOs’ educational content and practices have been able, to a certain extent, overcome some of the state’s restrictions. In Chapter Five I argued that a number of - mostly indirect - political educational methods comprised viable means for providing alternative political education. Accordingly, in this section I also focus on how these methods enabled CSOs to function, both intentionally and inadvertently, under the state’s restrictions. I thus build on my previous discussions of superficially depoliticised education, games and simulations and additionally introduce hybrid (blended) learning and crowdsourcing.

7.2.1 Superficially Depoliticised Education through Games and Simulations

In Chapter Five (section 5.4), I distinguished between a superficially depoliticised political education and an actively depoliticised one. The former alluded to educational initiatives which CSOs recognise as having potential political implications and are characterised by a toned-down version of their rhetoric and use of politically explicit terminologies and activities. In contrast, the latter refers to CSOs denying the political implications of their educational activities, and even avoiding collaborating with organisations deemed to be oppositional or explicitly political in their orientation. By adapting their discourses, content and activities into practices that are not overtly political or radical, CSOs can avoid attracting unwanted attention by functioning under the radar. Therefore, CSOs can use 210 superficially depoliticised education to challenge certain restrictions by utilising it intentionally to overcome state and security interferences and subsequent repression.

Superficially depoliticised education is closely linked to using games and simulations for educational purposes. In Chapter Five (section 5.4), I highlighted the examples of

Misriyati, Mini-Medina, Weladna, and Bardi’s publications, and argued that although they did not correspond to conventional approaches to political education, their long-term political implications, especially under authoritarian contexts, should not be underestimated:

I say we were doing this consciously [educating through a depoliticised activity], and we really were conscious of doing it. I am not saying this because of the revolution, but we were meaning to work in a space that was depoliticised. We knew what we were aiming at. In that space, people were comfortable talking, so there were many people who started their work in the public sphere by attending a simulation model organised in something prestigious like the Bibliotheca [Alexandria]…then a year or two passed, and these people ended up in the streets taking part in the revolution…this simulation stage was important for developing their character and their way of thinking (Interview with an ECESR researcher and journalist, 5-11-2014).

Simulation models such as those described above, in addition to parliamentary simulations, and specifically Model United Nations and Model Arab League, constitute important examples of laboratories for developing critical consciousness for a number of reasons.

Firstly, engaging in debate and discussion with other like-minded individuals helps encourage political participation skills. It offers participants a glimpse of the issues and complexities surrounding political debate and discussion. Secondly, and more importantly, by having an official capacity, it can help bypass interference from security apparatuses in the everyday activities of universities. As a member of Tahrir Academy maintains, “within the university, it is the same Egyptian governmental authoritarian education where the university’s security is interfering in everything, but we had simulation models, and they thought that through this we will not be saying much, but no…they [simulation models] taught us how to think” (Interview, 4-8-2014).

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Moreover, this official capacity enables Model United Nations and Model Arab League to offer students the opportunities to develop knowledge and skills that have long-term political implications (as indicated in the above quotation). Accordingly, and as is emphasised in the conclusion chapter, such models need to be researched in greater detail in order to highlight the political educational opportunities they offer under the current authoritarian context. With regard to parliamentary simulations, they contribute to developing solutions to particular societal problems. For example, a simulation parliamentary model was used in the impoverished village of Kafr Homayed in order to locate the problems facing the village and its children:

We used to organise the Kafr Homayed Shaa‘b, like Magles al-Shaa‘b [People’s Assembly], and all the decisions that were taken there were then turned into recommendations that we would then take and introduce to the other committees in the NGO, and recommend that they implement it. For example, in one of the conferences, they [the children] told us that there was only one stone factory that they all had to work in after school, and that this factory was far away, so for them to go, they had to ride donkeys…so we went and recommended that we buy tok-toks [auto-rickshaws]…we could then buy them, create jobs for people to drive them and transport the kids (Interview with a previous member of Afaq al-Haya, 6-7-2014).

Despite the above statement highlighting the dreadful reality of child labour in Egypt’s impoverished villages, and notwithstanding the NGO helping to reproduce the situation by making it easier for children to go to work, there are some advantages to be considered here. The children took part in a People’s Assembly simulation which not only provided them with experiences in participation and deliberation but also provided real solutions to some of their community’s problems. Moreover, the recommended solutions did not emanate from volunteers or experts but were rather developed from within the community and by the children themselves, making these solutions more organically tied to people’s socio-economic contexts.

Although such methods offer CSOs some of the limited potential educational spaces to function, they are still not completely devoid of state interference and conservative Islamist appropriation (by both the MB and other factions of the Islamist movement). As an

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ECESR researcher argues, “leisure educational activities may be the only space available for us…but alternatively, and as part of it, you have Islamic TV channels that target children and brainwashes them. These kids are only two years old and cannot speak yet, but they already know the songs and sing it” (Interview, 5-11-2014). As highlighted in

Chapter Six (section 6.2.4), the state does not target the MB’s and other Islamists’ education in the same way it targets secular and oppositional organisations. This arguably makes it easier for Islamists to utilise this educational approach than for others, including the very few universities that teach politics:

These are the spaces then available within games and simulations that do not necessarily need to be the same as the small parliament, but it also needs to be milder…they could get such simulation models organised in universities, and they could transfer it to schools. However, you now have a regime that has cancelled a camp organised by the Political Science Department’s Student Union [at Cairo University] because their program was deemed to be more political than necessary, despite this being what they should be studying. So, of course, all these things could be shut down at any time (Interview with an ECESR researcher and journalist, 5-11-2014).

By superficially depoliticising education and utilising games and simulations, CSOs can bypass and work around state restrictions through the utilisation of rhetoric and content that does not appear oppositional or explicitly political. Furthermore, CSOs can develop organic ties with communities by adjusting their simulations to fit with a community’s particular contexts and issues. However, this approach is not completely independent of state interference, or of appropriation by conservative forces, which shows that education will always remain a contentious issue that can never be completely emptied from politics or power struggles. Nevertheless, these initiatives clearly contain the potential for more progressive change to be promoted and realised – seemingly but not paradoxically, this is more the case now than before 2013, because of the Egyptian state’s crackdown on the

MB.

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7.2.2 Hybrid Education, Crowdsourcing and Democratising Education

This section concentrates on Tahrir Academy (TA) and their online video-based educational initiatives.49 TA’s aim was to develop videos that made complex topics easier and thus more accessible to students. In short, TA wanted to offer an alternative educational experience that encouraged students to develop critical thinking skills:

Tahrir Academy is based on the premise of critical thinking…we are against rote-learning and memorisation. Of course we do not say this in public, but this is my belief, that because people do not ask why is the sky blue and why the clouds are white, and why is there poverty, and so on. They do not ask why the government is doing this to us, why we do not have medical rights, where our rights are, they do not ask. So critical thinking is the main thing that we want to build (Interview with a senior member of Tahrir Academy, 27-8-2014).

TA developed a hybrid, or blended, educational platform called inzel ‘alem (go down and teach), which combined online educational content with people’s offline experiences. Inzel

‘alem mainly targeted marginalised communities and consisted of TA and volunteer facilitators providing laptops and computers to screen the videos, followed by facilitators

(who used manuals developed by TA) prompting discussions to help the audience critically engage with the video’s content. Importantly, the content which focused on biology, chemistry, economics, critical thinking skills, amongst many others, was related back to people’s everyday experiences. In doing so, “education would not only be abstract but would have a meaning especially for something that I could see and feel that it is important” (Interview with a member of Tahrir Academy, 25-7-2014).

TA labelled this initiative the Crowd-Teacher initiative, as it relied on volunteer facilitators who came from a variety of economic and social backgrounds:

We already have the content, and we are currently developing a manual for the educator. This educator could be a teacher in a school, or a volunteer in an association, or a mother who is teaching her children. We call them educators…this manual then tells people how to use the content of Tahrir Academy in their own learning environment…so we want to infiltrate, let us not say infiltrate

49 As mentioned previously, Tahrir Academy ceased to function in 2015. Nonetheless, it is still important to consider their educational initiatives and their content development process, as they hold implications for other CSOs, as is the case with their outreach activities and the democratisation of their educational content. 214

(laughs), but we want to go to schools and all the communities (Interview with a senior member of Tahrir Academy, 27-8-2014).

Accordingly, having a diverse set of facilitators enabled TA to reach communities across

Egypt that did not have access to the internet. In addition, TA attempted to diversify their content developers, video editors and academic consultants through crowdsourcing. In short, crowdsourcing taps into the collective capabilities of the general public to help contribute to TA’s educational initiatives, from content development and video editing, to facilitating inzel ‘alem activities. According to a member of TA:

Tahrir is derived from two words, first the Tahrir [liberation] of knowledge, to free knowledge from its traditional view and of memorisation and so on…and secondly, Tahrir was that each one of us who was good at doing something was going to do it. If you can write, then you can help. If you are a doctor, you could also help. Someone who could get food, gets it, each one of us was doing something, it was crowdsourced…and this is the concept behind Tahrir Academy, we are crowdsourced (Interview, 4-8-2014).

TA ultimately aimed to have half of their content developed from within the organisation itself, and the other half through public contributions (Interview with a member of Tahrir

Academy, 25-7-2014). TA’s educational initiatives and dependence on crowdsourcing offers important observations. Crowdsourcing can provide a more democratic approach to develop and deliver education by having diverse volunteers, content developers and facilitators discussing, debating, and developing differing opinions, ideas and perspectives.

Accordingly, this establishes an implicit assumption that there is no particular correct way of developing and providing education. Hence, TA’s inzel ‘alem offers potential solutions that other CSOs can utilise to reach more communities. Importantly, it coincides with

Gramsci’s notion of the educator, which according to him can be composed of a diverse set of individuals ranging from activists and fore(wo)men, to parents, teachers and volunteers hailing from different social and cultural backgrounds (Mayo, 2014).

However, TA’s educational initiatives and their reliance on crowdsourcing can also be criticised. With regards to their educational initiatives, TA faced numerous state-imposed restrictions, as outlined in Chapter Six (sections 6.2.1 and 6.3.2), making it more 215 challenging to expand on their efforts to reach communities and schools. There was also a noticeable lack of focus on humanities subjects deemed to be controversial, such as civics, history and philosophy. This, I argue, was due to TA self-policing their educational approach in order to build credibility. Nonetheless, a number of interviewees argued that they lacked the resources to develop a humanities curriculum, as it required more experts and consultants due to the socially constructed nature of the subjects. Additionally, for

Herrera and Mansour (2015), TA’s use of terms such as empowering, revolution and critical thinking in their rhetoric was misleading, as TA imposed a top-down and a pre- packaged approach to education that hid behind a façade of technology and critical thinking.50 Moreover, the authors argued that, under free-market conditions, crowdsourcing and TA’s online educational platforms can help reinforce the existing status quo and knowledge orthodoxies.51 Nonetheless, they concluded that TA’s platform provided learners who had access to the internet with opportunities for educational equity and access. Finally, if this platform is employed properly by critical educators, it could evolve into a genuine effort to create emancipatory and critical knowledge spaces.

The discussion above focused particularly on educational methods of resistance, including superficially depoliticised education, games and simulations, hybrid education as well as crowdsourcing. Each example offered advantages that help CSOs function, educate and survive under the current repressive context. Advantages include methods that help CSOs go under the radar by not attracting the state and its security’s attention, that encourage democratising content development, and that help overcome CSOs’ inabilities to reach marginalised communities. However, notable tensions exist between how these methods can be utilised for oppositional purposes, or alternatively, how they can be appropriated by conservatives. Superficially depoliticised education can be utilised by secular and oppositional CSOs and by conservative social forces for very similar reasons. Moreover,

50 Tahrir Academy’s requirement that facilitators follow a manual reinforces this argument. 51 Herrera additionally argues that crowdsourcing, under certain conditions, can merely be another word for free labour (personal correspondence). 216 tensions are also observable in how hybrid educational platforms and crowdsourcing can inadvertently lead to reinforcing the status quo, as well as challenging it. Crucially, they are evident in how the state still yields influence over these methods in one way or another.

Not all indirect approaches to political education have to be emancipatory or counter- hegemonic. They can still reproduce top-down and authoritarian education which fails to challenge the status quo. Alternatively, other methods of direct and traditional political education can be more holistic, dialogical and emancipatory. Nonetheless, I once again maintain that the above educational methods (in addition to those analysed in Chapter

Five) can be effective in how they negotiate hegemonic contestation under authoritarian contexts, particularly if compared to more direct forms of political education. Finally, the above aspects of resistance only scratch the surface of the multifarious challenges facing

CSOs. In short, since hegemonic contestation takes place within multiple fronts, education has to be combined with other methods of resistance to become more effective and all- encompassing. It is contingent on how organisations can successfully get established and funded, as well as on how they build alliances and develop organic ties within communities. Hence, for the remaining part of the chapter, I argue that other aspects of resistance (legal resistance through formation, financial resistance and so on) target different features of the state’s restrictions. I start by arguing that how a CSO chooses its legal form constitutes in itself an act of resistance against the state’s legal and bureaucratic restrictions.

7.3 Legal Resistance through Formation

As argued in Chapter Six (section 6.2.1), the Ministry of Social Solidarity (MoSS) imposes strict legal and bureaucratic restrictions on establishing organisations, thus making efforts exerted to establish them in light of such limitations become viable acts of resistance in their own right. This section particularly focuses on a number of rights-based and educational organisations that have bypassed some of the legal restrictions concerned with

217 their formation.52 Accordingly I concentrate on two aspects of resistance: registering as non-profit organisations or legal firms and continuing to function as unregistered initiatives.

7.3.1 Registering as Non-Profit Organisations or Legal Firms

Being established as an association or foundation entails a set of requirements and restrictions that are often crippling for an organisation’s normal functioning and survival, not to mention their abilities to instigate social change. Associations and foundations come under the jurisdiction of law 84/2002, which, as discussed in the previous chapter (section

6.2.1), heavily restricts and controls an organisation’s activities, funding and functioning.

Unsurprisingly, during my interviews, many founders, volunteers and activists indicated that they preferred to register and function as non-profits or law firms as opposed to an association or foundation. Consequently, many educational organisations registered as non-profit organisations, such as Educate-me, CILAS, Tahrir Academy, amongst others, whilst a number of rights-based organisations, such as ECESR and EIPR, are registered as law firms.

Registering as a non-profit organisation entails a number of advantages. They can be established by virtue of provisions in the Civil Code or Corporate Code, as well as through the Ministry of Industry and Trade (ICNL, 2016). This implies that such organisations do not have to register with MoSS or adhere to law 84/2002, and therefore they do not face the same restrictions as associations and foundations. Furthermore, it offers more flexibility and opportunities to engage in political activity which is otherwise explicitly banned under law 84/2002. Registering as a law firm enables organisations to offer legal services, and in many instances, to engage in other activities, such as research, publications

52 Political parties are not considered under this discussion, as they face a different set of restrictions introduced under the Political Party Law of 2011. This law dictates the establishment of new parties, and requires them to collect at least 5,000 proxies (as opposed to 1,000 under the previous law) from a minimum of ten Egyptian governorates, pending a final approval from the legal committee. For more details, see El- Hennawy (2011). 218 and media work. Similar to non-profit organisations, registering as a law firm also provides more flexibility to engage in advocacy activities.

However, these cases do not imply that non-profit organisations and law firms are completely free from state scrutiny. As argued in the previous chapter (section 6.3.1), many rights-based organisations (registered as law firms) faced numerous crackdowns from state security. Furthermore, the Ministry of Social Solidarity’s requirement that organisations re-register “correctly” with it in 2014 highlights the extent to which the state is currently attempting to close down the limited opportunities to bypass its restrictions. It is thus possible that registering as non-profit organisations or law firms will become more difficult in the current political climate. The second method of resistance available for organisations is not to register in the first place. Interviewees called such organisational forms mobadarat (singular: mobadara), which means initiative in Arabic. These mobadarat tend to be unregistered and can either work underground or are incubated by other larger organisations.

7.3.2 Functioning as an Unregistered Initiative (Mobadra)

To bypass the state’s restrictions, organisations (and initiatives) can either find ways to work with the state, or alternatively to go under the radar by not registering in order to avoid attracting unwanted attention. According to a member of Education Square (which is itself a mobadara), such mobadarat are more difficult to control because they are not registered and hence can have the flexibility to move around places without attracting attention:

At the start when we were deciding on whether we should be established as an association or a non- profit organisation, I was completely against this. No, our power lies in being a mobadara. This will enable us to always move around without being hindered, or them [the state] being able to hold anything against us. This means that we will have more flexibility…people are creating and developing strategies all the time. They stopped making associations especially if they do not have resources and preferred establishing mobadarat instead. Try and catch us then. They will not catch us of course. We move a lot and we do not have any headquarters (Interview, 16-7-2014).

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The ability to move around without many hindrances offers opportunities to function and survive under the current political context. Having no registered or known headquarters makes it more difficult for the state and its security to intimidate oppositional organisations by raiding their headquarters, confiscating their possessions and arresting their members.

As these unregistered initiatives can be seemingly invisible:

The government does not feel all these initiatives and all this movement happening now. It thinks they are invisible, that you are doing something that is invisible. For them, people who work on education in civil society are the people who tend to go to them directly and ask if they could work with them on schools and so on. Anything else does not constitute working in education…can you imagine, it is like they are blind, and of course this is resistance (Interview with a member of Education Square, 16-7-2014).

Accordingly, the above holds a number of implications for CSOs. It is difficult for certain oppositional organisations to work in collaboration with the state to reform education.

Those who are successful in collaborating with the state are usually the ones that focus on particular areas of reform deemed to be safe (e.g., infrastructure, classroom restorations and supplying equipment) or that employ the same curriculums as formal education.

Nonetheless, by returning to the above quote, since the state does not always consider such mobadarat as working on education, it inadvertently offers a space for CSOs to function under the state’s radar. This invisibility, on the other hand, is not and cannot be absolute. If activists and CSOs want to instigate radical changes in education and society, they will have to collaborate with other organisations, movements and communities which will arguably make their invisibility less tenable. In short, regardless of its initial individualised success, a mobadara’s influence is bound to be limited unless it establishes or joins a wider political, social or educational movement.

Finally, how can a mobadara function without having a permanent office or headquarters?

There are two potential ways. If it is incubated by another larger organisation, it can utilise the organisation’s own resources and office space, as is the case with Education Square and Nahdet El Mahrousa. Alternatively, it can utilise a co-working space where it carries

220 out its activities in offices or buildings shared with other initiatives and organisations

(Interview with a member of Education Square, 25-7-2014). Co-working spaces have recently gained popularity in Egypt (Tarek, 2016), where places such as Rasheed22, al-

Maqarr, District and others have been renting out rooms, equipment and services for individuals and initiatives alike. Moreover, co-working spaces help establish networks, encourage sharing resources and ideas, and importantly, provide mobadarat with the flexibility they need.

7.4 Financial Resistance

CSOs also resist funding restrictions by sourcing alternative means to obtain money. As discussed in the previous chapter (section 7.2.2), CSOs face strict financial restrictions which are evidently intertwined with legal restrictions. These constraints make it difficult to obtain funding without the prior approval of numerous ministries, therefore severely limiting an organisation’s educational activities and outreach, and eventually leading to its closure. Crucially, the state utilises funding as a method to crack down on oppositional

CSOs and fragment civil society through encouraging competition for funding.

Notwithstanding these restrictions, some CSOs have utilised two methods to challenge them: crowdfunding and sponsorships with the business sector.

7.4.1 Crowdfunding

This method can democratise the funding process (by involving the wider public and stakeholders), help CSOs rely on local independent funding, and additionally tap into the

Egyptian culture of money donation. Crowdfunding has been increasingly gaining attention as an alternative method of funding that can bypass the state’s restrictions.

Similar to crowdsourcing, it also depends on the general public. Whereas crowdsourcing combines people with diverse sets of skills and knowledge to help develop educational activities, crowdfunding combines people’s financial capabilities and channels them effectively towards particular educational and other projects. Crowdfunding mostly relies 221 on the internet to advertise for organisations and projects that require funding, and make it easier to donate.

A number of CSOs have successfully utilised crowdfunding to obtain the money required to function and deliver their activities. For example, Baladna the board game was successfully funded through this method and even raised more than what was required, enabling its developers to donate free games to community centres and schools:

We were trying to create a crowdfunding model from day one, where the product we create would be a source for us to get money ourselves…and additionally to have enough money to give away free games, because we really want everyone to play, but how could we do it? I worked in grants before, and at some point in my life I was also a fundraising officer…I shied away from this and went to work in smaller scales and companies. I don’t believe in applying for grants, but if we need money, we are going to follow the crowdfunding model (Interview with an activist and a developer of Baladna, 31-8-2014).

Crowdfunding takes place through dedicated organisations that facilitate this process by providing (mostly) online platforms for CSOs and individuals to showcase their projects and activities, and for interested parties to fund them. Such crowdfunding facilitators include Madad, Shekra and Yomken, as well as the Beirut-based Zoomaal. Baladna was not the only successful project funded through this method, but CILAS was able to raise

11,405 USD through Zoomaal,53 and in collaboration with Madad, Tahrir Academy raised

300,000 EGP.54 In addition to funding the above projects, crowdfunding offers a number of other advantages. It democratises the funding process by enabling smaller and less- established organisations to reach out to the wider community, and reduces the possibilities of funding bodies dictating where and how their money is spent. Furthermore, it enables smaller organisations to decrease the gap existing between them and other established

CSOs, who are capable of investing the time and money to apply for grants and hire fundraisers.

53 http://www.zoomaal.com/projects/cilas/3354?ref=11073163 54 http://www.madad.com.eg/en/Project/Education/tahriracademy-goteach/ 222

According to a senior member of Madad, crowdfunding helps reduce poverty and opens up avenues for funding CSOs. It importantly “offers a way to expound the power of the people to support each other” (Interview, 20-11-2014). The senior member also maintained that crowdfunding can weaken the state’s overarching control over funding through empowering organisations and individuals to bypass the state and depend on their collective power instead. Crowdfunding is particularly attractive for the Egyptian context due to people’s cultural and religious propensity to donate: for example, an estimated five billion Egyptian pounds (around 280 million USD) were donated in 2010 (Interview with a senior member of Madad, 20-11-2014). Despite these advantages, crowdfunding still contains limitations.

The abovementioned crowdfunding platforms mainly depend on the internet to advertise a

CSO’s activities, and collect donations. Once again, this risks excluding communities that do not have access to the internet, and afflicts organisations that work in rural contexts and/or do not have the resources to establish an online presence. Crucially, not all potential funders can pay online. Nevertheless, organisations like Educate-me have crowdfunded by distributing donation boxes, along with leaflets that explained their objectives and activities, throughout bookstores and coffee shops in Cairo. Accordingly, organisations need to consider more traditional and offline means to crowdfund in order to make this method more widespread and effective.

Another limitation is concerned with oppositional CSOs crowdfunding. Through my analysis of the above crowdfunding platforms and websites, it was evident that they mostly focused on collecting funds for small businesses (social entrepreneurs), development- oriented NGOs and disadvantaged individuals. With the exception of Madad, it can be challenging for explicitly political and oppositional organisations to feature on such platforms, especially in the current political context. Finally, according to a senior member of Misriyati, the state can restrict crowdfunding as organisations are still legally required to

223 gain permission when collecting money from the public, which crowdfunding inevitably does (Interview, 26-8-2014). However, despite the above limitations, crowdfunding offers

CSOs an alternative and innovative way to mobilise resources. Moreover, crowdfunding provides CSOs with a means to develop organic ties with local communities by ensuring the community’s involvement in the educational projects that they fund. Therefore, despite the challenges to its potential effectiveness, crowdfunding could be a fruitful avenue for further development in post-uprisings Egypt – for example, by seeking more offline platforms to attract funding.

7.4.2 Sponsorships with Business

Some activists and CSOs viewed sponsorships with businesses and multinational corporations (MNCs) as an appropriate method for obtaining funding and other resources.

In short, they focus on “socially responsible” businessmen and businesswomen in order to obtain funding. Following the uprisings in 2011, many businessmen/women, as well as local and multinational corporations, wanted to contribute to social change by “giving something back to society and its unprivileged members and communities” (Interview with a senior member of Madad, 20-11-2014). Whether these feelings of social responsibility were genuine or a marketing feat is beyond this research’s concerns. However, it is important to note that a number of CSOs have utilised this method for their own benefits.

For example, in order to overcome their financial limitations, Tahrir Academy depended on MNCs to sponsor their educational videos, especially those relevant to the MNCs’ own products and services. TA thus established a sponsorship with Vodafone, who funded videos pertaining to telecommunications, internet and technology. Accordingly, these types of sponsorships were considered attractive as they are legal, abundant in certain aspects, and offered CSOs opportunities to advertise and showcase their activities to a wider audience (Interview with a member of Tahrir Academy, 4-8-2014). Furthermore, individual businessmen and businesswomen comprised another aspect of this funding

224 method, whereby politicised businessmen funded political parties,55 development-oriented

NGOs and educational organisations.

A number of businessmen have also funded left-wing parties, such as the BFP (Interview with a founding member of BFP, 27-11-2014), and others allegedly pay up to a minimum of 25,000 EGP per annum to fund other progressive organisations (Interview with a researcher and trainer in the Balad Foundation, 8-11-2014). Despite this method’s plentiful funding opportunities, how far are such businesses and individuals willing to support CSOs that are critical of the economic and political status quo, or that are critical of MNCs and neoliberalism in general? Similar to foreign funding, corporations and businessmen can influence and dictate how funds are used, potentially altering a CSO’s original objectives.

Furthermore, CSOs can become increasingly dependent on this method of funding, which can inadvertently result in a report-writing culture (discussed in section 6.2.2).

To conclude this section, financial resistance comprises another important aspect whereby

CSOs can challenge the state’s funding restrictions by devising methods to obtain money and resources through crowdfunding and establishing sponsorships with businesses.

Crowdfunding arguably holds the most potential in the current political climate as it offers innovative and creative ways for CSOs to mobilise the required financial resources. As mentioned previously, to make this method more effective and widespread, organisations and individuals need to find ways for crowdfunding to take place other than through the internet and urban settings. Moreover, similar to the Mobadarat discussed above, crowdfunding can, if implemented properly, go under the state’s radar as long as it is not recognised as a conventional means of funding. Finally, since hegemonic contestation takes place across multiple fronts, financial resistance, like the previous two categories of resistance, needs to be combined with other methods to become more effective.

55 Naguib Sawiris (an Egyptian billionaire and Chairman of Orascom Telecom) helping establish the liberal Free Egyptians Party provides an important example. 225

7.5 Building Alliances

The fourth aspect of resistance concerns CSOs building alliances and collaborative movements in order to make their presence stronger, more sustainable and help significantly overcome their financial and organisational limitations. However, as alluded to in Chapters Two (section 2.5.2) and Five (section 5.3.1), some organisations in Egyptian civil society find it difficult to cooperate productively mainly due to problems related to egoism and the lack of internal democracy. Civil society’s fragmentation and lack of cooperation can be evident in how CSOs replicate the same services and activities of other similar organisations. In many instances, they even end up targeting the same communities:

Working together is honestly not easy. The number of challenges are unimaginable because, despite the fact that there are many things left undone, there is always the feeling that people are still stepping on each other’s toes…for example, we work on economic and social rights, and we try as much as possible to make sure that when we start working on a new project we do not step on others’ toes (Interview with a senior member ECESR, 20-8-2014).

Interference in others’ work can stem from organisations deliberately competing against each other, or it can occur unintentionally because they lack awareness or knowledge of what other organisations do. This is particularly evident through political and rights-based organisations organising similar, competing political seminars and workshops instead of co-organising them. Nonetheless, deliberate efforts exerted to compete with and exclude particular organisations not only hinders building a broad political-educational movement, but they also crucially risk deepening polarisation within civil society:

I feel now that our challenge is to find a way to stop thinking in opposition to each other and to start thinking with others. I feel that we are always thinking about inclusion, but the way we live, and the way we are living this revolution, is different. Even when most people are defending liberal ideals, they are in reality excluding others…the people who work on democracy need to find the solution, they need to learn how to be inclusive (Interview with a senior member of Misriyati, 26-8-2014).

Nonetheless, as building alliances is a key characteristic of any counter-hegemonic movement, since the uprisings in 2011 a number of CSOs and activists have worked on

226 establishing alliances through two methods: networking and sharing knowledge, and collaborating with different CSOs (particularly between political parties and rights-based organisations). As argued in the next two sub-sections, such alliances have enabled CSOs to address limitations associated with the lack of awareness and knowledge about what other organisations do, in addition to the issues surrounding their lack of resources

(financial or otherwise).

7.5.1 Networking and Sharing Knowledge

Networking in this context enables CSOs interested in addressing the same issues to get in touch, discuss, collaborate and exchange ideas so as to become more efficient and to make their educational activities more effective. In this section, I focus on Education Square’s

(ES) efforts to gather people together electronically and physically to build networks comprising educators, activists and CSOs interested in education. ES believes that “people are the ones with the solutions and not Education Square” (Interview with a member of

Education Square, 25-7-2014), and therefore their ultimate aim is to build an overarching educational movement. This movement would ideally consist of people belonging to different ideologies and social backgrounds, and who manifestly share an interest in education and its implications for social change. Thus, ES utilises two methods to bring this diverse set of individuals and organisations together: al-‘elm musharka (knowledge is sharing) and kalam fi al-‘alam (talks on education).

Al-‘elm musharka is an educational/networking event that targets academics and researchers interested in disseminating their research and findings to a wider audience.

This platform brings together diverse researchers who benefit by publicising their research to the public; and more importantly, the public also benefits by accessing such research without having to pay or enrol in courses. On the other hand, kalam fi al-‘alam involves a broader perspective that encompasses a variety of CSOs, researchers, educators and

227 activists who attend and discuss each other’s interests and activities and thus develop opportunities to collaborate:

We organised a networking event called kalam fi al-‘alam and that was good…we wanted to organise a big networking event that all the initiatives could attend…we organised an exhibition for these initiatives and at the same time we used the art of hosting to introduce people to each other. That developed into fruitful conversations…people would then come out with ideas and at the same time get to know the other initiatives and that their interests are the same (Interview with a member of Education Square, 25-7-2014).

These networking events can help reduce the possibilities that organisations replicate aspects of each other’s work (i.e., they help organisations avoid stepping on each other’s toes), by encouraging CSOs to know more about one another, their activities, objectives and the communities they target. Furthermore, by organising such events, Education

Square and other initiatives are able to share knowledge and resources, such as the physical space, equipment, funds and most importantly, each organisation’s own set of networks.

Developing networks, sharing knowledge and resources can enable CSOs and activists to build a movement that is coherent, focused and relevant to the struggle for social change.

Additionally, it can empower this movement through developing a sense of “collective understanding and intelligence that creates partnerships, by diversifying the inputs to create something that all people could relate to” (Interview with an activist and a developer of

Baladna, 31-8-2014). In addition to Education Square, another online-based platform called erwy.org aims to cultivate this collective intelligence:

This project is about civic engagement, it creates a platform for people who are working on social good…Basically, it is a space aiming to capture the collective intelligence of people who are working for the social good. So, projects, individuals, and anyone who is excited about doing anything socially could be part of it…I want to create a space to help people, who like Education Square, need a platform to organise their content and share it and to be in contact (Interview with an activist and a developer of Baladna, 31-8-2014).

These platforms, in the long-run, can help translate such dialogues, collaborations and shared collective intelligence into an educational movement that can have numerous political and social implications. Although the above examples of networking and sharing 228 knowledge are still arguably limited in their outreach and impact, they importantly provide

CSOs with opportunities to overcome many of the limitations linked to their inabilities to establish collaborative and coherent movements (especially before 2011). Additionally, what makes such efforts vital is that education comprises an important component of these collaborative movements.

7.5.2 Building Alliances between Political Parties and Rights-Based Organisations

A key element of the Bread and Freedom Party’s (BFP) objectives is to politically engage with the different struggles taking place in Egyptian society (e.g., labour, students, women and peasants). Based on this, the BFP advocates establishing alliances with different CSOs, such as Nazra, ECESR, EIPR and others, to “help build a strong civil society which is conducive for social change and democratic transition” (Interview with a member of the

BFP’s political committee, 15-8-2014). These alliances enable the BFP to utilise other organisations’ research and knowledge-resources as well as their legal services (in the case of rights-based organisations):

We look at such institutions as being allies. They are specialised in their own work, and they do it professionally and properly…they are also considered to be institutions supporting social movements…for example, us as a party, in lots of governorates, we have youth who work with us on [combating] sexual violence. So we, for example, need lawyers, and my legal committee does not necessitate that I have someone who is specialised in this. So, I have to establish collaboration and partnership with Nazra so that when I come and say, “Please, we have an issue with sexual violence, could you please provide us with a lawyer?” they do (Interview with a feminist activist and a founding member of the BFP, 27-11-2014).

This perspective not only encourages diverse CSOs to collaborate, share resources and knowledge, but more importantly, it allows for CSOs to view each other as potential allies instead of competitors. By acknowledging the contributions of each organisation, they can resist the fragmentation, inefficiency and ineffectiveness afflicting Egyptian civil society.

The aim is to eventually overcome the particularistic focus of many CSOs and develop a popular movement instead:

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I, as a party, do not compete with these organisations by taking credit for what they do. No, they are institutions that provide legal support, for example, and it is their right that they receive gratitude for their support. I, as a party, want to work on another level, a more wide-reaching level than this current battle for rights. This battle is definitely a goal and a tool to reach a bigger purpose which is society itself, I want to envisage that my program could achieve this (ibid, emphasis added).

Alliances, or the lack thereof, are imperative for CSOs’ abilities to drive democratic, political, social and educational changes in Egypt. Nevertheless, a number of difficulties may arise in the process. Political parties and rights-based organisations do not always share the same agendas or priorities and therefore may disagree on fundamental political, economic and social issues. For example, conservative parties might not share the same interests as rights-based organisations advocating labour and women rights; alternatively, traditional left-wing parties may disagree with CSOs prioritising sectoral or identity-based demands. Furthermore, some members of rights-based organisations mistrust political parties and refuse to work in collaboration, insisting that parties are more concerned with attaining power than addressing societal issues (Interview with an ECESR researcher, 21-

8-2014).

Crucially, we should not underestimate how CSOs’ efforts to self-police who they collaborate with can play a vital role in hindering alliance building within Egyptian civil society. Nevertheless, despite the above concerns and as indicated earlier in this section, through building alliances, CSOs become more capable of making their presence stronger and more sustainable. Moreover, alliances can significantly help develop successful resource mobilisation that benefits the organisations involved as indicated in my examples.

Finally, for CSOs to instigate radical social changes, it is imperative that they expand their alliances to include marginalised communities and society at large. It is therefore important that CSOs’ objectives and activities are connected to people’s political, economic and socio-cultural contexts so that building organic ties comprises another aspect of resistance.

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7.6 Building Organic Ties

As argued throughout the thesis, CSOs’ limitations in establishing organic and grassroots ties with communities has afflicted their abilities to obtain extensive societal support.

Moreover, Egyptian civil society suffers from a “charitable syndrome” (Interview with an education activist and member of the Egyptian Social Democratic Party, 11-8-2014) whereby, over the decades, many organisations (especially neo-traditional ones) have supported and served communities by providing charitable services. Although millions of

Egyptians depend on such services (due to the state’s inability to provide them), they ended up creating an unequal and dependent relationship between these organisations and the communities. This unbalanced relationship encouraged a sense of entitlement whereby

CSOs were increasingly expected to provide services to people instead of working alongside them to tackle the roots of their problems. This is particularly exemplified through my discussions in Chapter Five (sections 5.3.1.4 and 6.3.3) of how some communities have rejected educational efforts under the premise that the education being offered was too political, or that it did not help prepare their children for exams. In short, the above-mentioned charitable services often do not constitute an organic relationship that empowers people politically and educationally. Organic ties do not require community members to completely adhere to an organisation’s philosophy or objectives, but it is essential that the community understands what the organisation stands for and why:

The problem is when someone does not really understand who you are, he exploits you or receives a service from you, I do not want this relation…even though your perspective is different from mine, you still understand what I am doing…even though he might be a conservative in his private life, but his political relation with me has progressive leanings, and he understands it. The most dangerous thing is when he does not understand it…I do not want him to be similar to me, he never will be, but I want him to understand the relationship between us (Interview with a member of the BFP’s political committee, 15-8-2014).

Consequently, overcoming perceptions of CSOs as service providers and instead understanding what they stand for and the inequalities they challenge can encourage a shift in this imbalanced relationship between civil society and many marginalised communities. 231

The challenge therefore is to provide services (e.g., legal, educational and health) that can also empower people:

Lots of our fieldwork and outreach efforts work well because we are also service providers, we are bridging human rights with development work. We do provide legal services to anyone who comes to us. It is easy for me to go to an area where they do not like researchers, as I can have a lawyer with me and say that if someone comes close to you, this lawyer will protect you…it takes effort, and you need to think about what is in it for them, why are they going to do this with you (Interview with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014).

Therefore, CSOs can develop a more influential and grassroots presence within society if they manage to strike a balance between being service providers and being intimately linked to a community’s struggle. CSOs also have to acknowledge that marginalised communities face difficulties in securing their basic necessities. As a result, CSOs need to consider the challenges inherent to approaching and tailoring educational activities around communities and their problems. For example, to instigate democratic social change, CSOs and movements should first and foremost understand the people and the communities they claim to represent:

They just need to understand how people are thinking. You have to know what their priorities are, even if you are sitting in this ivory tower, and you want to write about these people, at least go down and understand how they are thinking. For me, a lot of our fieldwork does not deliver the idealistic results that are existing in my head…it is enough that I interacted with these people and have told their stories…just tell their stories so that they could be put on the map and for us to understand how they think (Interview with a senior member of ECESR, 20-8-2014).

It is hopefully clear, though, that the potential exists for more organic ties to be developed in politically fruitful ways.

7.7 Conclusion

This chapter effectively builds on my analysis of the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance. Whereas the previous chapter offered a nuanced understanding of how authoritarianism functioned in post- uprisings Egypt, this one critically looked at how CSOs have been resisting the current repressive conditions through alternative avenues of resistance and contestation that are not 232 always explicitly radical or political. Considering both, the methods of repression and methods of resistance, is key to exemplify how the Egyptian state and civil society are engaging in hegemonic contestation that is taking place across multiple fronts.

Accordingly, this chapter answered the fifth and final subsidiary research question concerned with analysing the methods of resistance being utilised by CSOs to challenge the state’s restrictions. In so doing, the chapter contributes to the literature on both post- uprisings Egypt and civil society resistance more generally. Furthermore, the arguments developed here and in the previous chapter help overcome the excessive conceptual formalism which treats authoritarianism and democratisation in dichotomous and rigid terms, thus making it easier to appreciate the intricate and dynamic relation between authoritarian and democratising impulses. In short, my analysis’ ultimate aim was to show that no matter how coercive a state is, it is always challenged by means which do not necessarily represent conventional methods of resistance (i.e., direct action such as strikes, protests and sit-ins).

To recap, the methods of resistance outlined in this chapter comprised the different fronts through which CSOs were able to contest the Egyptian state. For example, CSOs challenged the state’s legal and bureaucratic restrictions by finding alternative means to get established (e.g., choosing to register as a non-profit organisation or remain unregistered), as well as utilising innovative routes for resource mobilisation (e.g., crowdfunding and sponsorships with businesses). CSOs also challenged the state’s repression of educational initiatives by superficially depoliticising their educational programs and by utilising games and simulations. Furthermore, they were able to overcome many hindrances associated with establishing alliances in Egypt by sharing resources and knowledge, networking and collaborating with other organisations, and developing organic ties with communities.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, these methods of resistance carry important implications for both the travelling Gramsci and Egyptian politics. With regard to the travelling Gramsci, the

233 above aspects of resistance highlight the diverse set of strategies available to contest the authoritarian state. Crucially, many of these strategies do not represent conventional methods of resistance that are often considered radical, revolutionary or even explicitly political. Nonetheless, they can still be understood in Gramscian terms due to their ability to negotiate hegemonic contestation across multiple fronts and challenge the state’s legal, bureaucratic and security structures and practices. Moreover, the strategies are concerned with building alliances between heterogeneous groups in civil society representing different struggles and identities that pertain to both class and non-class considerations. In short, education (in its various forms) is key to negotiating hegemonic contestation.

Accordingly, CSOs contesting the state’s soft and hard repressive methods through the various forms discussed in this chapter should be deliberated in Gramscian terms and understood as part of a broader counter-hegemonic movement.

With regard to Egyptian politics, it has become increasingly difficult to maintain the same revolutionary ideals, objectives and rhetoric employed between 2011 and 2013. Not only is the state and its security apparatus more likely to quickly repress such forms of resistance, but they also risk alienating a large segment of Egyptian society. Accordingly, small pockets of resistance, such as those described above, arguably offer the limited means available through which CSOs and movements can negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation. Thus, CSOs need to adapt their methods of resistance in order to function and survive under the current political context, and this chapter has sought to outline the potentials of and challenges to doing so.

Finally, each aspect of resistance contains particular tensions that I highlighted on a number of occasions. For example, both oppositional and conservative forces utilise superficially depoliticised education and games/simulations for similar reasons.

Organisations who opted to remain unregistered in order to be invisible and flexible, risked not having an influential presence within civil society or communities. Additionally,

234 crowdfunding and business sponsorships all contain limitations that particularly afflict oppositional organisations. Nevertheless, these tensions do not negate the innovative and creative methods that Egyptian CSOs have been utilising to adapt to and resist the state’s multifarious methods of repression. It is through such examples of alternative forms of resistance that hegemonic contestation can still be waged in post-uprisings Egypt despite the increasingly challenging and repressive circumstances. The next chapter therefore presents the thesis’ conclusion. It restates the main arguments and contributions, analyses the tensions highlighted across the previous three chapters in more detail, and discusses recommendations for future research.

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Chapter 8: Conclusion: Resilient Authoritarianism, or Prospects for a Radical Educational Movement?

8.1 Introduction and Summary of Key Arguments

This thesis critically analysed the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt. It argued that education is political, and is capable of playing various political roles. This infers that education can comprise a vital component of a regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy, as well as a means of challenging such efforts. As established throughout the thesis, I considered education and civil society to be terrains of hegemonic contestation between the Egyptian state and civil society organisations, whereby the opposition can develop counter- hegemonic struggles through political education alongside a plethora of alternative resistance practices. As a result, I argued that the Egyptian state attempted to repress, depoliticise and control these educational and other oppositional activities through a variety of hard (violent) and soft (non-violent) methods. In response, I maintained that

CSOs were not just being oppressed, but were also adapting their methods of resistance so as to be able to function and survive under the current repressive context.

Based on such efforts to adjust to the existing circumstances, the thesis argued that political education took different direct and indirect forms that both varied from conventional education. Some of these forms were covert and indirect and offered long- term political and democratic implications that should not be underestimated, particularly in post-uprisings Egypt and other authoritarian contexts. I argued that indirect political educational initiatives are more likely to be capable of negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation in contrast to other direct and traditional forms of political education. Based on that, the thesis argued that a strong counter-hegemonic educational movement is contingent on how CSOs effectively resist both internal and state-imposed restrictions that hinder their establishment, funding and functioning, and hence their provision of

236 education. Moreover, I maintained that these acts of resistance must be understood in

Gramscian terms, and as part of a wider movement of resistance capable of challenging the status quo, albeit in ways that do not necessarily adhere to those of contentious politics.

This final chapter revisits the thesis’ main arguments and contributions, and how it has addressed the literature limitations highlighted in Chapters One and Two. Furthermore, it draws conclusions on the debates surrounding the resilience of authoritarianism and resistance to it in post-uprisings Egypt. To do so, the chapter is organised as follows. I start by sketching how the above arguments were developed by arranging them into five sections organised around the subsidiary research questions listed in section 1.2. In so doing, I provide a sustained reflection on what the empirical findings mean for these questions and their implications for understanding post-uprisings Egypt. This is followed by a critical discussion of my key theoretical claim regarding Gramscian concepts travelling to Egypt, the adaptations they require to succeed, and a confirmation of their potential generalisability beyond Egypt. Finally, I reflect in more detail on the tensions triggered by my findings and discuss recommendations for future research.

8.2 Analysing the Relations between Authoritarianism, Political Education and Civil

Society Resistance in Post-uprisings Egypt

The overarching research question that the thesis addressed is ‘How are authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance intimately related in post-uprisings Egypt?’

To answer this question I had to problematise a number of points relating to the interlinkages between authoritarianism, political education, and civil society resistance that the existing literature on Egypt either did not consider, or did so unsatisfactorily. As highlighted in section 1.3, these were the binary conceptualisation of authoritarianism and democratisation, the overwhelming focus on contentious politics as opposed to less visible forms of contestation, and the role of education in social change and resistance.

Accordingly, the next five sections (which correspond to the subsidiary research questions)

237 recapitulate how I addressed these limitations, and once more outline my contributions to the literature.

8.2.1 Hegemonic Contestation and Moving Beyond the Authoritarianism/Democratisation

Paradigms

As argued in sections 1.3.1 and 2.3, there has been a noticeable shift in research that has become increasingly focused on authoritarian resilience and the rise of the military and security apparatuses in Egypt and the Middle East. These analyses, made from within a rigid authoritarianism/democratisation paradigm, have failed to explain the political developments taking place in the post-uprisings context. In short, the absence of visible democratic change should not always imply the unchallenged persistence of authoritarian rule, nor should it infer the complete absence of progressive initiatives (Cavatorta, 2015:

142). In order to address and go beyond and above this excessive conceptual formalism, the thesis utilised and developed a Gramscian framework that considered the Egyptian state and civil society (and the oppositional forces within it) as existing in a dialectical relation whereby they reinforced and contested one another.

Accordingly, in Chapter Three I addressed the thesis’ first subsidiary research question by developing a Gramscian framework that enabled me to conceptualise education and civil society in a way that provided for a more nuanced understanding of the links between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt. In section 3.2, I introduced Gramsci as a radical thinker who advocated that human subjectivity should be a core element of Marxism, where critical intellectual activity and human will were all crucial parts of any social transformation. Building on that, I maintained that the Gramscian concept of hegemonic contestation provided the tools required to help analyse both authoritarianism and resistance in a more nuanced manner.

Under this understanding, the contemporary relations between state and society implies the multiplication and proliferation of various fronts of politics through which social 238 antagonisms could be manifest. In short, the concept of hegemonic contestation enabled me to widen the scope of repression so as to analyse both the hard (violent) and soft (non- violent) methods employed by the Egyptian state to repress opposition and the methods used to resist and challenge this. This perspective also carried important implications with regard to the argument that hegemony is never absolute and is always challenged and resisted through multiple ways which do not solely revolve around contentious politics. I revisit these resistance methods in section 8.2.5 to affirm their vitality in negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation, particularly under the current repressive context.

Moreover, under this Gramscian framework, education comprises a key component of any hegemonic contestation whereby it is capable of performing both political socialisation and transformation roles. Education was hence not only influential in establishing hegemonic ideas and manufacturing consent, but it additionally served as a terrain of struggle and contestation. This implies that education could be used as a method of building oppositional and counter-hegemonic narratives, discourses and pedagogies. Importantly, education from a Gramscian perspective is not limited to schooling, but rather takes place through the diverse organisations and movements found within civil society. In short, utilising a Gramscian framework enabled me to conceptualise education and civil society in a way that helped offer a more nuanced understanding of the links between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt, as

I outline in more detail in the next four sections.

8.2.2 Egyptian Formal Education and Political Socialisation

As argued in Chapter One (section 1.3.3) and Chapter Two (section 2.4), Egyptian education has attracted scholarly interest that particularly focused on formal education’s establishment, administration and weaknesses. It did not exclusively analyse how education is political or how educational institutions played various political socialisation and transformation roles. In short, the literature downplayed how education is a politically

239 contested domain, where politics and power are intimately connected. This highlighted a key limitation in the literature that the thesis addressed. As a result, Chapter Two (sections

2.4, 2.4.1 and 2.4.2) considered the question of what makes education political, and refuted the notion that education is neutral and apolitical. In doing so, I critically reviewed a number of social theories suggesting that education can reproduce social, cultural and economic inequalities.

Furthermore, I considered the debates surrounding political education and argued for the need to distinguish between a narrow conceptualisation of political education and a broader, more radical one inspired by Gramsci (sections 3.4 and 3.4.1). The former aims to socialise people into accepting the existing political system by providing them with the skills and knowledge to function within it, and is most likely to be provided by the state to help legitimise the regime in power. The latter form, is more oppositional, and in

Gramscian terms, potentially counter-hegemonic. It typically aims to develop people’s critical consciousness with regard to economic and social inequalities, offers alternative discourses, narratives and practices to those promulgated by the dominant groups, and empowers people to challenge inequalities.

In Chapter Four, I specifically focused on how education played a political socialisation role in Egypt. I argued that in order to analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance, we must firstly understand how education comprised a vital component of an authoritarian regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy. I therefore offered an exposition of how education is capable of supporting authoritarian regimes through the pedagogical approaches it adopted, the content of its textbooks, as well as the behaviours and attitudes it encouraged within classrooms.

Consequently, I provided a key contribution relating to the critical analysis of education in

Egypt and answered the thesis’ second subsidiary question concerning the significance of

Egyptian formal education in politically socialising people. I thus examined the formal

240 education system across different regimes, starting from Nasser (section 4.3.1), Sadat

(section 4.3.2) and up to Mubarak and the uprisings (section 4.3.5), so as to provide examples of how education served (to a certain extent) their regimes.

In my account, I maintained that the Egyptian formal political educational efforts coincided with the narrow/conservative approach conceptualised in section 2.4.2, which does not aim to challenge the authoritarian system or existing inequalities. I argued that this was to be anticipated given how formal education is tightly controlled by the Egyptian state, and therefore unlikely to allow for a radical counter-hegemonic education to take place within the vicinities of its education system. As a result, I established that it was crucial to look beyond the state and its education system, and explore alternative educational spaces existing within civil society.

In sections 4.3.3 and 4.3.4, I further defended my argument for looking towards civil society by briefly illustrating the neoliberal transformations taking place in Egypt’s political economy. I highlighted that due to such changes, the Egyptian state has struggled to efficiently and effectively provide many of its welfare services previously guaranteed under Nasser’s social contract (such as education). This implied two things: firstly, it became more difficult to gain society’s consent (as discussed in section 4.3.4 with regard to Mubarak’s business elite), which suggested a growing reliance on force to maintain control of Egyptian society. Secondly, such neoliberal transformations have, advertently and inadvertently, opened up Egyptian civil society to initially “fill in the gaps” left by the state. I argued that this provided further opportunities for oppositional organisations and movements to be established.

8.2.3 Conceptualising Political Education under Authoritarian Contexts

After analysing how education comprised an important component of an authoritarian regime’s efforts to protect its legitimacy, I built on my analysis of Egyptian political education by focusing on its informal, and more radical manifestations found within civil 241 society. Another of the literature’s key limitations (as highlighted in sections 1.3 and 1.3.3) was its inadequate consideration of how education aided social change and resisted authoritarianism, particularly with regard to informal political education. I argued that this not only neglected the role played by education in offering the means by which CSOs can negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation (as developed in my theoretical framework), but it additionally downplayed how counter-hegemonic education could provide the limited opportunities available to help instigate social change under the existing political circumstances. Accordingly, Chapter Five addressed this limitation by considering education’s transformational role as opposed to its socialisation role (analysed in Chapter Four), and hence effectively answered the thesis’ third subsidiary research question concerning the alternative political educational initiatives provided by Egyptian

CSOs. To recap, I distinguished between direct and indirect political education to analyse the intricacies inherent to the provision of political education under authoritarian settings; and to overcome the limitations associated with the narrow conceptualisations of political education (highlighted in sections 2.4.2 and 5.2).

Direct political education refers to an approach that aims to teach about politics, and therefore is considered to be overtly political. This is reflected in the terminology, objectives and content, where there is a clear acknowledgment of the links between education and politics. Under direct political education I identified two categories: a traditional approach (section 5.3.1) and a facilitating the solutions approach (section 5.3.2).

The traditional approach is more popular and comprised political seminars, political schools, summer camps and educational associations. Such political educational initiatives mostly aim to develop awareness about the contemporary Egyptian context, increase people’s understandings of basic political and economic theories, as well as provide their participants with particular political and organisational skills. Although the facilitating the solutions approach did not aim to directly teach about politics, it encouraged people to

242 develop their own political understandings, opinions and critical awareness by utilising methods such as reading groups, cinema clubs, making information more accessible (e.g. information about state budgets, legislations, educational rights and housing rights) and online media-based methods.

Indirect political education tends to be more covert in comparison. The terminologies are often (superficially or actively) toned down, and the content, objectives and practices of the educational initiatives do not necessarily allude to anything explicitly political or critical of the status quo. Nonetheless, I argued that this indirect approach had long-term political implications that should not be underestimated. This indirect form particularly relied on practice-based approaches (section 5.4.2) that aimed to develop knowledge, skills and behaviours through means such as games and simulations (section 5.4.2.1). I specifically focused on Educate-me’s code of conduct (constitution), Misriyati’s conflict resolution and social exclusion activities, Mini-Medina’s cardboard cities, the board game

Baladna, and Bardi’s publications as examples of this approach.

As discussed in Chapter Five’s conclusion (section 5.5) both forms of political education have their own benefits and limitations. For example, Nazra’s political school, BFP’s educational associations, CIHRS’s and ADEF’s summer camps provided a direct and traditional approach to political education that was holistic, encouraged dialogue, and did not impose particular ideologies. At the same time, I also maintained that not all indirect approaches to political education have to be emancipatory, as evident in the Muslim

Brotherhood’s education (discussed in section 2.5.3) and other actively depoliticised educational activities. Nonetheless, I argued that under the current political context in post- uprisings Egypt, direct forms of political education, although not moribund, are not entirely suitable given the potential repression they can attract, as analysed in Chapter Six

(sections 6.4 and 6.4.1).

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Consequently, indirect approaches, in the current political circumstances, are more likely to be effective in how they negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation, and in not attracting too much unwanted attention. In short, I contributed to the objective of conceptualising political education under authoritarian contexts, and to the post-uprisings literature by analysing the role informal political education played in aiding social transformation, negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation and in resisting authoritarianism. Nevertheless, I was also clear that, despite the benefits offered by such indirect forms of political education, CSOs still faced many challenges which required them regularly to rethink their tactics and responses. This was Chapter Six’s focus, which I now revisit.

8.2.4 Widening Sources of Oppression and Analysing Authoritarianism in Post-uprisings

Egypt

Chapter Six comprised an essential part of my analysis of the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in Egypt. It offered a more nuanced understanding of the nature of authoritarianism by distinguishing between two methods of repression in order to outline the augmented challenges facing Egyptian civil society. Accordingly, Chapter Six answered the thesis’ fourth subsidiary research question regarding the methods utilised by the Egyptian state in attempting to repress CSOs and limit their alternative political educational efforts. I argued that the Egyptian state mainly utilised soft and hard methods of repression (which are not mutually exclusive).

Soft repression (section 6.2) mostly comprised non-violent methods that targeted CSOs through bureaucratic and legal restrictions (section 6.2.1) (including the Protest and

Terrorist Entities Laws), funding restrictions (section 6.2.2) and the systematic depoliticisation of education (section 6.2.4). My analysis of soft repressive methods highlighted that authoritarianism can manifest itself in numerous forms other than violence and incarceration. I maintained that legal, bureaucratic and funding constraints can all play

244 influential and decisive roles in how CSOs are established and funded, and consequently on how they functioned, reached communities and survived.

Hard repression (section 6.4) is more violent and with the security apparatus’ involvement distinctively more apparent. Under this approach I considered arrests and crackdowns

(section 6.4.1), the state security’s involvement in the CSOs’ daily and educational activities (section 6.4.2) and fear of the state (section 6.4.3), as constituting important examples. My analysis illustrated that hard repression does not solely depend on physical violence and incarceration, but also on its ability to advertently and inadvertently make people fear the repercussions that can result from engaging in politics or independent political education. I argued that this is magnified by the security apparatus’ and the state- sympathetic media’s abilities to influence Egyptians to view CSOs with suspicion.

Additionally, and as a result of this fear, some CSOs and individuals end up self-policing their activities and rhetoric as well as refusing to collaborate with other organisations deemed to be too political or oppositional.

My analysis also indicated that soft repression mainly targeted civil society more generally, whilst hard repression particularly targeted CSOs that implemented direct forms of political education. This once more suggests that direct political education is more likely to attract unwanted attention and consequent repression, and hence is less likely to be effective under the current political context, as opposed to indirect forms of political education. In short, my analysis contributed to the literature on post-uprisings Egypt by offering a more nuanced analysis of authoritarianism that considers both hard and soft repressive methods. Furthermore, it implied that there is a need to explore and analyse how

CSOs have been adapting their strategies and methods to survive, function and educate under such challenging conditions. For although Egyptian CSOs are facing numerous hindrances across multiple fronts, they still have prospects to utilise alternative resistance practices that are not necessarily explicitly oppositional or radical. As noted across the

245 thesis and in the next section, these practices offer possibilities for CSOs to negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation.

8.2.5 Diversifying Resistance under Authoritarian Contexts

Chapter Seven effectively built on my analysis of the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance by answering the thesis’ final subsidiary question, which focused on understanding how Egyptian CSOs have been able to challenge the state’s restrictions under the post-uprisings context. It critically analysed how CSOs have been utilising alternative avenues of contestation that were not always explicitly radical or political to challenge the state through multiple fronts. In other words, my analysis of such resistance practices helped further overcome the aforementioned excessive conceptual formalism by diversifying the methods of resistance as a response to the state’s varied forms of oppression.

These alternative avenues of resistance included the following. Educational practices

(section 7.2), whereby in addition to reiterating the advantages obtained from superficially depoliticised education, I considered hybrid education and crowdsourcing as other methods that helped CSOs overcome their outreach limitations, democratise their educational content and overcome some of the discrepancies existing between theory and practice.

Legal resistance through formation (section 7.3), which enabled CSOs to bypass the state’s strict legal and bureaucratic restrictions by registering as non-profit organisations, legal firms or alternatively remain as unregistered initiatives (mobadarat). This offered them flexibility to engage in political activities which were otherwise banned under law

84/2002, and to even go under the state’s radar as is the case with the mobadarat.

Financial resistance (section 7.4) offered another method of contestation by helping CSOs locate alternative means to obtain money and other resources. This perspective included crowdfunding (section 7.4.1) which enabled CSOs to raise money independently, and democratised the funding process by enabling less-established organisations to reach out to 246 the wider community and decrease the gaps existing between them and other established

CSOs. It is important to reiterate that crowdfunding offers CSOs an alternative and innovative way to mobilise resources. Moreover, it enables CSOs to develop organic ties with local communities by ensuring the community’s involvement in the educational projects that they fund. Additionally, forming sponsorships with “socially responsible” businessmen/women and multinational corporations (section 7.4.2) constituted another aspect of financial resistance as it is legal, abundant and offered CSOs opportunities to advertise their activities to a wider audience.

Another aspect of resistance revolved around CSOs building alliances and collaborative movements (section 7.5) to make their presence stronger, more sustainable and help overcome their financial and organisational limitations. I particularly focused on how organisations established alliances by networking and sharing resources (section 7.5.1), as well as building alliances amongst different political parties and rights-based organisations

(section 7.5.2). This method enabled diverse CSOs to collaborate, share resources and knowledge, and more importantly, it allowed for CSOs to view each other as potential allies instead of competitors. Moreover, by acknowledging the contributions made by each organisation, they were able to resist the fragmentation, inefficiency and ineffectiveness afflicting Egyptian civil society, as highlighted in section 7.5.

Finally, for counter-hegemony and resistance to be effective and broad-based, I argued that

CSOs have to develop a more influential grassroots presence by expanding their alliances to include marginalised communities and society at large (section 7.6). A counter- hegemonic movement can possibly develop through CSOs tying their objectives and activities to people’s political, economic and socio-cultural contexts. Furthermore, CSOs need to strike a balance between being service providers and being intimately linked to a community’s struggle. They also have to recognise that many marginalised communities in

Egypt face difficulties in securing their basic necessities. As a result, CSOs ought to

247 consider these issues when tailoring educational activities around communities and their problems.

In short, my analysis of the methods of resistance in Chapter Seven contributed to the post- uprisings and civil society resistance literature by providing an intricate examination of how Egyptian CSOs have been adapting to the current political context by seeking other avenues of resistance and contestation which do not always revolve around contentious politics. In other words, under authoritarian contexts, indirect political education, alongside methods such as crowdfunding, crowdsourcing, networking and building alliances amongst others, encompass the different means through which CSOs can negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation, resist the state’s restrictions and help instigate social change.

Furthermore, with Egypt’s political and economic hardships persisting after two years since al-Sisi became president, my arguments surrounding hegemonic contestation are proving to be pertinent. This is demonstrated through the most recent crackdowns conducted by al-Sisi’s regime on rights-based organisations which involved summoning

Nazra’s founder for investigation (Mada Masr, 2016a), banning the head of CIHRS from travelling abroad (Mada Masr, 2016b), the CIHRS cancelling their annual summer camp for the first time in twenty-two years (Mada Masr, 2016c; CIHRS, 2016) and freezing the assets of the founder of EIPR alongside the heads of CIHRS, the Hisham Mubarak Law

Centre and the Egyptian Centre for Rights to Education (Mada Masr, 2016d).

Moreover, the proposed NGO law discussed in Chapter Six (section 6.2.1) has recently been approved by the government and is currently under review by the state council and the Parliament (Shams El-Din, 2016). This serves to show that my evidence and arguments about the state’s repression of civil society, and the need to locate alternative ways of resisting are increasingly significant and relevant. Theoretically speaking, the next section revisits my concept of the travelling Gramsci. It restates my most important arguments regarding Gramscian concepts travelling to the Egyptian and other Global South contexts.

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Moreover, it confirms the potential generalisability of my Gramscian framework beyond

Egypt.

8.3 The Travelling Gramsci Revisited

In Chapter Three (section 3.6), I developed an exposition of the travelling Gramsci which proposed that, in order not to lose any of their critical and analytical rigour, Gramscian concepts had to be adapted to suit Egypt’s political, economic and socio-cultural contexts.

Applying these concepts uncritically and repetitively risked us falling into methodological traps (Said, 1983: 239). As a result, Gramscian concepts need to be spatially and temporally sensitive so as to guide our understandings of post-uprisings Egypt. In other words, for a theory to maintain its effectiveness, it has to be in touch with the political, economic and societal contexts of the places to which it is being applied (Said, 2001: 202).

I argued that it is imperative to appreciate how Gramscian concepts are continually shaped and reshaped based on the local conditions of production, their reception, transmission and their resistance (see Said, 1983). We therefore need to examine how such concepts travel to contexts that are different to those they were originally intended for, and understand how they are experienced and lived under different circumstances. To do so, my thesis particularly focused on four Gramscian aspects that required adaptations to succeed in making sense of the Egyptian context. These were the primacy of the working class as agents of social change, the role of political parties, political education under authoritarian contexts, and the diversification of repressive and resistance methods.

8.3.1 Primacy of the Working Class and the Heterogeneity of Civil Society

In section 3.6.3, I argued that due to the Arab world’s articulated modes of production (see

Ayubi, 1995), it was possible for Arab societies to have a particular articulation of economic and technical elements of a capitalist mode of production existing alongside social and cultural elements of pre-capitalist modes of coercion and persuasion. This

249 inferred that capitalism could not completely dissolve such pre-existing modes.

Accordingly, the class map became fluid and did not allow for a hegemonic social class to emerge (i.e., the bourgeoisie) (Ayubi, 1995: 174). Based on that, the state played a primary role in social formations and economic development to compensate the national bourgeoisie’s weakness. Having no hegemonic bourgeoisie arguably affected the proletariat’s growth and structure, which was argued to be “small and structurally weak”

(ibid: 180; Darraj, 1992a), and that was outnumbered by the middle-classes alongside the sub-proletariat and the lumpen-proletariat (Ayubi, 1995: 178).

Under these conditions, it became difficult to assume the primacy of the working class in instigating social change, or to identify a particular social group capable of instigating and leading social transformation by itself. Therefore, in terms of a Gramscian understanding of class alliances and class solidarity, it became important to consider the heterogeneity of political actors and their abilities to work in alliance with each other without necessarily privileging one actor over the other. Additionally, as Ayubi (1995, 178-181) maintains, the state’s enlarged role implied that exploitation and class struggles were no longer the only sources of antagonism; however, issues of control, domination and exclusion were also present. This, in agreement with the concept of hegemonic contestation developed in

Chapter Three, required the diversification of both the sources of oppression and the methods of resistance. This necessitates the broadening of the social actors taking part in my analysis, which therefore provided the rationale for developing my three-fold typology to include political organisations and movements, rights-based organisations and educational organisations (section 1.6.1).

8.3.2 The Modern Prince and Political Parties in Egypt

As discussed in sections 3.4.1 and 3.6.4, Gramsci considered the Communist Party (The

Modern Prince) as representing a different conception of political and social organisation

(i.e., a laboratory of a new society) compared to those which had preceded it. Hence,

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Bieler, Bruff and Morton (2015: 152) argued that conventional readings of Gramsci tended to associate his discussions of the political party with mainstream social science understandings of parties. However, this understates Gramsci’s refusal to be bound by contextual certainties. In short, they rightfully contended that if Gramsci were alive today, he would be interested in social movements and other centres of everyday struggle that are being established outside of mainstream politics and political parties. I maintained that this was central when considering the Egyptian context for two reasons. First, political parties

(particularly left-wing parties) have historically struggled to develop deep roots within society and obtain mass support (section 2.5.2). Second, there has been a considerable growth of social movements, rights-based organisations, educational organisations and other types of local and community-based movements that have been assuming more visible oppositional roles, and which need to be given greater weight in our analyses of

Egypt. As a result, I widened such perspectives and deliberated the more contemporary and differentiated forms of the Modern Prince that do not solely revolve around political parties. This is also importantly reflected in my three-fold typology.

8.3.3 Gramsci and Political Education under Authoritarian Contexts

As argued in section 3.4.1, Gramsci’s ideas on political education did not offer in their entirety a conceptualisation that could be adopted straightforwardly to non-Western contexts. As a result, I had to distinguish between direct and indirect political education. In terms of direct political education (i.e., political seminars, political schools, summer camps and reading groups), I argued that they resonated with many of Gramsci’s ideas on education. They taught about politics and inculcated an understanding of Egypt’s political, economic and socio-cultural conditions; taught against the grain by helping reorient education towards people’s own communities and cultures; and relied on volunteers and educators who hailed from different backgrounds.

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On the one hand, direct political education was mainly provided through political parties – the traditional Modern Prince as stated in the previous section – and thus faced numerous challenges. On the other hand, rights-based organisations, educational organisations and other types of local and community-based movements proved able to offer more effective alternatives through indirect forms of political education. This implied that, from a

Gramscian perspective, these indirect forms of political education offered opportunities to contest and negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation under the current authoritarian context. They taught against the grain and importantly connected the educational content with people’s everyday experiences through methods such as games and simulations.

Crucially, although these forms are not always explicitly political or radical, they are still capable of challenging the dominant common sense on history, politics and social inequalities and thus must be understood in Gramscian terms.

8.3.4 Gramsci and Widening the Sources of Repression and Methods of Resistance

In Chapter Three (section 3.6.1), I contended that a weakness of many Gramscian analyses of the Middle East was that they did not consider the extent of coercion employed by authoritarian regimes in repressing the opposition. By differentiating between soft and hard repression, I was able to widen my sources of repression to consider the various coercive and non-coercive methods the Egyptian state utilised to attempt to repress CSOs.

Additionally, and as already established throughout this chapter and the rest of the thesis, widening the sources of repression implies the proliferation of multiple fronts whereby resistance and hegemonic contestation can take place.

The methods of resistance analysed in the thesis were able to contest the authoritarian state, despite not representing explicitly radical or revolutionary approaches. Nonetheless, I maintained that these strategies still contain the ability to challenge, in multiple ways, the

Egyptian state’s legal, bureaucratic and security structures and practices. Additionally, although the strategies concerning building alliances (see section 8.3.1 above) diverged by

252 considering a variety of heterogeneous groups in civil society, they were still integral to building a strong counter-hegemonic movement, even if not led by the labour movement.

In short, CSOs contesting the state’s soft and hard repressive methods through the various forms outlined in the thesis should be deliberated in Gramscian terms and understood as part of a broader counter-hegemonic movement, capable of negotiating the terrain of hegemonic contestation under the current political context.

To conclude this section, I outline a number of points with regard to Gramsci’s generalisability beyond the Egyptian context. Although Gramsci lived under different contexts, he offered the means by which we could analyse the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt.

For his methods to succeed in making sense of Egypt, adaptations had to be made to ensure that they ‘travelled’ without losing their critical and analytical vigour. As outlined in the previous sub-sections the adaptations included broadening the concept of political education to include indirect as well as direct forms to account for non-explicit oppositional and non-radical political education; widening the sources of oppression by differentiating between hard and soft repressive methods to consider the extent of coercion employed by the state in an attempt to repress civil society; and finally, the diversification of resistance practices that challenged the Egyptian state through multiple fronts that did not adhere to conventional methods of contestation.

As established in section 3.6, a theory needs to fulfil certain conditions in order to maintain its power and analytical vigour. Said (2001) argues that it should be in touch with the political, economic and societal contexts of the place to which it is being applied; it should aim to understand and instigate societal change and avoid becoming a theoretical overstatement; it should not attempt to predict all situations and thus avoid closing off alternative possibilities; and finally it should retain a form of critical consciousness by being spatially sensitive and related to the contexts to which it is being put to use. As

253 illustrated in the above section and throughout the thesis, the Gramscian concepts considered here have satisfactorily fulfilled these conditions.

In short, political, economic and socio-cultural contexts differ in both the Global North and

Global South; nevertheless, this does not imply in any way that Gramscian concepts are not applicable to both. My arguments and findings should therefore not be viewed as being completely generalisable to other countries and settings (as this would negate the above stated conditions), but they should rather be considered as offering suggestions to how

Gramscian concepts can travel to other particularly authoritarian contexts in the Global

South without “losing their power and rebelliousness” (Said, 2001: 195).

8.4 Tensions and Critical Reflections

Throughout the thesis I highlighted notable tensions that developed as a result of the hegemonic contestation ensuing between the Egyptian state and civil society. In this section I restate those tensions, as they hold particular implications for Egyptian CSOs’ abilities to adapt, function and survive in the post-uprisings context. A frequently highlighted tension was that between direct and indirect forms of political education. I will not go into much detail as these are discussed elsewhere (particularly sections 5.5 and

8.2.3); however, it is vital to state once again that not all direct or traditional forms of political education are top-down and authoritarian. This means that while they should not be thought of in terminal decline in Egypt, they are still unlikely to be suitable for the current political context. Alternatively, direct forms of political education may assume a more influential role under more democratic contexts in the future.

At the same time, indirect forms of political education are not always emancipatory. In addition to my examples of the MB and actively depoliticised education, Chapter Seven

(section 7.2.2) discussed how Herrera and Mansour (2015) viewed Tahrir Academy’s educational initiatives as de facto top-down and pre-packaged, which hid behind a façade of technology and critical thinking. They argued that, under certain conditions, 254 crowdsourcing could end up reinforcing the existing status quo and knowledge orthodoxies. This is further exacerbated by CSOs utilising online educational platforms that risk alienating a large segment of Egyptians who do not have access to the internet, and maintain the existing inequalities between those who have the resources to access such education and those who do not. However, critical educators and CSOs have been working on locating solutions whereby they can translate their educational activities into offline or hybrid forms that can reach marginalised communities across Egypt. As also discussed in section 7.2.2, Tahrir Academy offered a potential solution through the inzel ‘alem initiative, but after ceasing their operations it has become important for other organisations to develop similar initiatives. To reiterate, indirect forms of political education are still the likelier form in the current context to help develop critical consciousness and negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation. Moreover, if such forms of education are online-based, more attention has to be given to translating those into the hybrid forms mentioned here.

Remarkably, not all factions of the opposition view education as an important component of resistance. For example, in Chapter Five (section 5.3.2.3) I discussed that some members of the Revolutionary Socialists viewed political education as an elitist activity.

Consequently they considered engaging in contentious politics as enough when seeking to provide the necessary experiences and skills to develop people’s political consciousness.

Undoubtedly, taking part in protests, strikes, sit-ins, occupy movements and other methods of direct political action should all be considered as educational endeavours in themselves.

Nonetheless, as argued in Chapter Three, educational and cultural arenas of struggles cannot be left to look after themselves (see Hall, 1996).

This highlights a key issue concerning the separation between the war of manoeuvre and war of position (i.e., the separation between political and educational/cultural struggles).

My discussion in section 3.3.3 maintained that we should not keep them separate or treat them as a two-step power struggle, but instead combine them based on an understanding of

255 the current political and economic contexts. Emphasising one over the other arguably weakens social forces’ abilities to instigate social change. On the one hand, too much focus on contentious politics renders it less effective as it becomes more prone to state repression and alienates people. On the other hand, focusing solely on educational and cultural struggles is not enough to challenge other political, legal, economic and bureaucratic structures. In short, the thesis does not argue that we completely disregard contentious politics as a means of resistance; nevertheless, it does assert that under the current political context, it has become imperative that CSOs and other oppositional forces explore, analyse and adopt other methods of resistance

Nevertheless, as indicated throughout Chapter Seven, CSOs and activists need to appreciate the limitations associated with these alternative methods of resistance so as to overcome their weaknesses and further enhance their effectiveness in challenging the state.

For example, registering as a non-profit organisation or as a law firm does not imply that

CSOs are completely free from state scrutiny and interference. The Egyptian state, especially after 2013, has been attempting to crack down on organisations deemed to be registered “incorrectly”. Moreover, the unregistered mobadarat’s invisibility is not and cannot be absolute, especially if they want to instigate radical changes in education and society which requires them to collaborate with other organisations, movements and communities.

Moreover, sponsorships with MNCs and businessmen/women, although offering a legal and abundant method of funding, can end up influencing and dictating how funds are used and as a result alter an organisation’s original objectives. CSOs need to be cognisant of how far MNCs and businesses are willing to support organisations critical of the economic and political status quos. Building alliances is another example that faced many challenges, both in terms of establishing collaborations across CSOs and developing organic ties with communities. Nevertheless, as I have previously defended in Chapters Five and Seven,

256 despite these limitations, the resistance methods considered in this thesis offer a crucial means by which CSOs and activists can negotiate the terrain of hegemonic contestation and instigate social change under the current authoritarian context. Taking into consideration the above tensions and limitations will help further enhance the effectiveness of these methods and enable them to sustain their multifarious challenges against the

Egyptian state.

8.5 Directions for Future Research

While the thesis makes original contributions to research on the topic, I recommend the following directions for future research. There is still a considerable lack of scholarship which looks at education from a more critical lens in both Egypt and the Middle East.

While the research conducted by, for example, Herrera and Torres (2006), Badran (2006;

2008), Sobhy (2015; 2012a), Starrett (1998) and al-Bialawi (1993) offer some critical perspectives on education, more attention should be given to analysing the political sociology of informal education under authoritarian regimes, especially in the post- uprisings context. Accordingly, by focusing on Egyptian civil society and its heterogeneous social forces, it is not surprising to find that a large number of organisations remain unconsidered, especially with regards to their informal educational activities.

Crucially, priority should be given to rights-based organisations that focus on women’s rights, since they face a different set of challenges associated with both authoritarianism and patriarchy. Although there has been a growing interest in researching women’s activism, gender and resistance in the Middle East, the publications have yet to specifically focus on issues surrounding education (e.g. Mostafa, 2016; Abouelnaga, 2016; El Said,

Meari and Pratt, 2015; Pratt, 2015; Pratt, 2013; Krause, 2012).

Moreover, research should be conducted on rights-based organisations that focus on students’ rights and academic freedoms. Research conducted by Abdalla (2007) and Saber

(2007) on student activism and academic freedoms in Egyptian universities provide

257 interesting perspectives that ought to be analysed in more depth. This can be done by considering the roles played by CSOs and movements such as the 9th March Movement for

Academic Freedoms and the Association for Free Thought and Expression (AFTE). Not only are these topical in the current political context and the state’s incessant efforts to depoliticise schools and universities, but importantly they can illustrate, from a different perspective, how education remains a contested terrain between the state and different social forces. As indicated in section 7.2.1, research has to be conducted on Model United

Nations and Model Arab League as they comprise important examples of laboratories for developing critical consciousness in Egypt and the Middle East.

Vitally, CSOs providing political education in rural contexts must be considered. Future research should focus on analysing the challenges they face, with the possibility of conducting comparative studies between them and urban-based CSOs. With regards to political parties, future research ought to consider established Liberal parties such as

Naguib Sawiris’ Free Egyptians Party. This party has the required resources and support to develop an influential presence within Egyptian politics and society. Accordingly, it will be interesting to analyse its political educational objectives, content and practices. The links between illiteracy eradication and political education should be researched, as they could offer observations and insights that can prove useful, especially in Egypt where illiteracy rates are high. Utilising Freirean methodologies in this endeavour can yield stimulating perspectives and arguments. In Chapter Six, I highlighted on numerous occasions the influential role played by the media in assisting the state’s crackdown on civil society, and in influencing a large segment of Egyptians to mistrust CSOs. This implies that the media apparatus is capable of playing a powerful political educational role which can be utilised by both the state and opposition. Additionally, given Egypt’s high illiteracy rates, such media-based approaches to education can prove to be effective. Future research should therefore consider in more detail the media’s role in helping maintain the

258 status quo and in resisting it (i.e., counter-media initiatives) (see Yesil (2016) for an analysis of the Turkish media and authoritarianism).

With regards to the aspects of resistance discussed in the thesis, more research should be conducted on crowdfunding, crowdsourcing and hybrid education in order to analyse in more detail the challenges CSOs face when utilising them, and additionally how they can be adapted in ways that make them become more effective in the current political context.

Importantly, future research should explore other avenues of resistance that go beyond (but does not disregard) contentious politics. Asef Bayat’s (2013) concept of social non- movements could provide the required framework to help conduct such an investigation.

Finally, the rise of authoritarian neoliberalism (Bruff, 2014) and its links to formal and informal education must also be deliberated. Just as the neoliberal reforms introduced under Sadat and Mubarak have had a significant influence on the formal education system and civil society, so too can the neoliberal reforms carried out under al-Sisi, coupled with his authoritarianism, be as critically influential.

8.6 Conclusion

Has authoritarianism been resilient in post-uprisings Egypt, or do opportunities still exist to instigate social change and fulfil people’s demands for bread, freedom and social justice?

The answer is yes to both. Authoritarianism is undoubtedly evident in both violent and non-violent ways, which aim to repress many aspects of the public sphere. Nonetheless, it does not mean that the state is hegemonic or capable of completely subduing opposition, but is continuously being challenged and contested through multiple fronts and methods.

By analysing the intimate relations between authoritarianism, political education and civil society resistance in post-uprisings Egypt, the thesis has highlighted the ongoing hegemonic contestation taking place between the Egyptian state and civil society, and the subsequent proliferation of the methods of repression and resistance. Hence, it argued that analyses of contemporary Egyptian politics must go beyond rigid conceptualisations of 259 authoritarianism and democratisation, and additionally look at the interplay between education and resistance from a different and more nuanced perspective. I argued that despite al-Sisi’s regime appearing to be powerful on the surface, it is not hegemonic or capable of completely subduing opposition. This does not negate in any way the serious challenges that CSOs currently face, but this thesis offers potential methods and forms of knowledge to understand better such power relationships, contestations and struggles, in a bid to appreciate the complexities that both al-Sisi and the opposition will face in the foreseeable future. One thing, though, is clear already; Egypt will remain a fascinating and important case for years to come.

260

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Appendix 1: Interview Prompt Sheet

1) Introduction First of all, I would like you to say little about yourself. For example, could you please tell me your name, career and educational background? 2) Civil Society Organization If the interviewee has not provided any details about the organization he/she works for, then ask the following: Could you please tell me about the organization you are currently working for or involved with and its activities? This question is to be adjusted based on the type of the CSO the interviewee is representing (e.g. political party, rights-based organisation, educational NGO). 3) History of the organization Most likely the interviewee would have at least briefly mentioned some of the organization’s history in the previous question, if not or if more information is required then ask: When was the organization established? Could you briefly tell me more about its history until now? (Reasons for its establishment, circumstances in which it was founded). 4) Main role and involvement with the organization What is the main role that you play in the organization? (If it is an educational role, ask for more details about the responsibilities of this position, if not, focus on asking them about their current position and its relevance to educational activities). How long have you been involved with the organization? Have you previously been involved in any other civil society organizations? 5) Opinion about Egyptian state-led formal education What is your opinion about the current situation with formal education in Egypt? Ask about their own experience with Egyptian education, while stressing on the elements that they disliked and also those they liked, or found important/beneficial. Ask about their opinion on what needs to be improved in the formal education system? 6) Opinion(s) about Egyptian state-led political/citizenship education What is your opinion about state-led political education (civics, human rights studies, national studies, etc.)?What other methods do you think are also offered through schools that aim at developing people’s political understanding of the Egyptian political system? Do you think that such initiatives through schools are enough? Would you think that such state-led initiatives culminate certain versions of history while ignoring others? Or not? 7) The importance of education for social change

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Could you please tell me more about your thoughts with regards to the following: is education an important element for social change? Could we have democracy without education and literacy? Also try and differentiate between the interviewee’s own opinion and that being promulgated by their organization. If a discrepancy does arise between the interviewee’s own opinions and that of the organization, ask for more details of why this has occurred. 8) Education’s various political roles In your opinion, what is the purpose of education? Do you think that education could be neutral? (If the respondent answers with a yes, ask him/her to elaborate more of why they think that is the case, and what are the benefits of education from their own opinion, if they think it is not neutral, ask for more elaboration). Can education be used as a method of supporting certain regimes? Do you think that education can aid in reproducing certain inequalities (social, economic) within society? And alternatively, help reduce such inequalities? 9) The organization’s political education activities Could you tell me more about your organization’s educational activities?(I will attempt to start by asking a question about their general educational activities, as some interviewees might not be labelling, or comfortable labelling their activities as necessarily being political education. Based on the answers, I will try to specify my questions later by mentioning consciousness raising activities, political awareness campaigns, voter education, citizenship education, etc.). In the above question try and pick up on themes and definitions that the interviewee is using to describe political education. Such themes should be taken into consideration during later interviews to highlight any common themes arising, and picking up on their elaboration. Does your organization provide any texts, print-outs or manifestos about your educational activities, and if so, will it be possible if I could get hold of any? In your opinion, how important are such educational activities to your organization? (This question will be adapted based on the organization in question). If the answer to the above question is negative, then try and elaborate more on why education is not an important component of the organization’s activity. It might also be beneficial to ask the interviewee’s opinion on whether they agree or not. 10) Topics covered by their political education Based on the answers provided during the above question, if the interviewee has not mentioned much detail about the topics that their educational activities cover, ask: Could you please tell me more about the topics that your courses/activities cover? (Elaborate by providing examples about topics such as those dealing with human rights, workers’ rights, democratic understanding, protests and collective action, critical thinking skills, awareness of the political system, history, etc.). 11) Target audience: Who do you think is your main target audience (i.e. in which these activities are developed and provided for)?

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Do you travel across Egypt? (Based on the answer, try and elaborate about the potential rural and urban divide existing, if any) 12, 13, 14) Defining democracy, political consciousness and education as a method of resistance Based on the answers provided to the above questions, and also on the common themes that have risen during the discussion, attempt to ask the interviewee to elaborate more on what they think democracy might mean, and what the organization itself holds democracy to be, this could be built on by asking: what do you think is required in order to build a democracy in Egypt? Are there any specific skills and attributes that people should possess? This could be followed up by discussing with the interviewee their ideas about what political consciousness might entail, and whether education could be used as a method of resisting oppression and why. 15) Challenges of providing political education in Egypt What are the challenges that face you as an individual when providing education outside of state-led schools? What are the challenges that the organization has faced when providing educational activities within its supervision? (Attempt to differentiate whether these challenges are internal (problems with their organizational capabilities, funding, facilitators), or external (i.e., state-imposed restrictions). How have you been able to deal with these challenges?

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Appendix 2: List of Interviewees (in order of interview date)

Private School Politics Teacher and Previous Member of Afaq al-Haya (6-7-2014) Cairo Institute of Liberal Arts and Sciences Fellow and Researcher (8-7-2014) Senior Member of Educate-me (9-7-2014) Senior Member of the Cairo Institute of Liberal Arts and Sciences (16-7-2014) Member of Education Square (16-7-2014) Leading Member of Revolutionary Socialists (23-7-2014) Education Officer of Revolutionary Socialists (25-7-2014) Member of Education Square and a Member of Tahrir Academy (25-7-2014) Senior Member of Nahdet El Mahrousa (28-7-2014) Member of Tahrir Academy (4-8-2014) Member of the Egyptian Communist Party’s Political Committee (6-8-2014) General Secretary of the Egyptian Communist Party (6-8-2014) Author and Owner of Bardi Publishing House (7-8-2014) Education Activist and Member of the Egyptian Social Democratic Party (11-8-2014) Member of the Bread and Freedom Party’s Political Committee and Ex-member of Popular Socialist Alliance (15-8-2014) Senior Member of the Egyptian Centre for Economic and Social Rights (20-8-2014) Egyptian Centre for Economic and Social Rights Researcher (21-8-2014) Senior Member of Misriyati (26-8-2014) Senior Member of Tahrir Academy (27-8-2014) Education Researcher and Academic (29-8-2014) Education activist and a Developer of Baladna (31-8-2014) Egyptian Centre for Economic and Social Rights Researcher and Journalist (5-11-2014) Researcher and Trainer at the Balad Foundation (8-11-2014) Political Education Secretary of the Bread and Freedom Party (10 and 12-11-2014) Senior Member of 9th March Movement (14-11-2014) Education Researcher and member of Salafyo Costa (16-11-2014) Senior Member of Madad (20-11-2014) Member of Nahdet El Mahrousa (23-11-2014)

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Feminist Activist and a Founding Member of the Bread and Freedom Party and Ex- Member of Popular Socialist Alliance (27-11-2014) Feminist Activist and Former Member of Nazra for Feminist Studies (28-11-2014)

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Appendix 3: Primary Documents

Association for Freedom of Thought and Expression [AFTE], Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies [CIHRS] and Egyptian Initiative for Personal Rights [EIPR] (2014). Al-haq fi al-tazahor wa al-tagamo‘ al-silmy [The Right to Peaceful Protest and Assemble]. [Online]. Available at: http://www.cihrs.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/11/UPR-Joint- report-on-freedom-of-Assembly-AFTE-EIPR-CIHRS.AR_.pdf Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies [CIHRS] (2010). ‘Roots of Unrest: Human Rights in the Arab Region Annual Report’. [Online]. Available at: http://www.cihrs.org/wp-content/uploads/2012/02/AnnualReport2010.pdf Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies [CIHRS] (2013). Delivering Democracy 5th CIHRS’ Annual Report on the Human Rights Situation in the Arab World. [Online]. Available at: http://www.cihrs.org/wp-content/uploads/2013/09/Egypt.pdf Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies [CIHRS] (2014). Al-inqilab al-thany ‘ala al- dostor: qawanin ta‘ziz al-irhab wa al-dawla al-bolisiya [A Second Constitutional Coup: Laws that Reinforce Terrorism and the Police State]. [Online]. Available at: http://www.cihrs.org/?attachment_id=8533 Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies [CIHRS] (2014). The Arab Spring on Trial: Human Rights in the Arab Region. [Online]. Available at: http://www.cihrs.org/?p=17482&lang=en Cairo Institute for Human Rights Studies [CIHRS] (2014). Ta‘liq qanooni lemarqaz al- qahira hawl mashrou‘ qanon “al-kianat al-irhabiya”: khamsat asbab wara` rafd al-qanon, abrazha al-ta‘rif al-fidfad wa mosadret al-hoqoq al-siyasia wa al-horiyat al-asasiya [Cairo Institute’s Legal Commentary on the Projected “Terrorist Entities” Law: Five Reasons Behind Refusing the Law, Significantly Because of its Fluid Definition and Limitations on Political and Basic Rights]. [Online]. Available at: http://www.cihrs.org/wp- content/uploads/2014/12/CIHRS.Terror.Law-.Report.pdf Egyptian Centre for Economic and Social Rights [ECESR] (2014). Waraqit ma‘loomat: anwa‘ al-ta‘lim [Factsheet: Types of Education]. [Online]. Available at: http://ecesr.org/wp-content/uploads/2014/03/Education-Stages-Paper.pdf

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