Harith, thank you for joining us today. Let’s begin by a personal question on your intellectual trajectory. Could you tell us how your background in Iraq and your training in political science has shaped your focus on state–society relations, sectarianism, and religious actors in the Middle East?
Thank you very much. My interest in studying Iraq—and Middle Eastern politics more broadly—intensified after the 2003 war, particularly as I directly witnessed the colossal transformations that followed the U.S. invasion. The rapid fragmentation of state authority, the rise of sectarian mobilization and non-state armed actors, and the profound change of the public sphere—including the eventual re-emergence of party politics—raised fundamental questions for me about how political order disintegrates and reconstitutes itself.
From the outset, I sought to approach sectarianism through a lens that moved beyond essentialist interpretations. Much of the dominant discourse—especially in popular understanding, but also in policy and media circles—tends to treat sectarian identities as primordial, reading Iraq’s modern history retrospectively through the trajectory of Sunni–Shi‘i antagonism. I was dissatisfied with this framework. Instead, I focused on what I call the dynamics of sectarianization: the contingent political and social processes through which sectarian identities—more than class, regional, tribal, or ideological affiliations—become politically salient, shape collective narratives, and structure patterns of mobilization and conflict.
I focused on what I call the dynamics of sectarianization: the contingent political and social processes through which sectarian identities—more than class, regional, tribal, or ideological affiliations—become politically salient, shape collective narratives, and structure patterns of mobilization and conflict.
This perspective led me to engage more systematically with state–society relations and with the sociology of identity formation. I became particularly interested in how moments of state crisis, social dislocation, and institutional breakdown reshape the hierarchy of identities and reconfigure modes of political belonging. Over time, this inquiry drew me towards the relationship between formal institutions and informal networks in shaping political order. In Iraq’s post-2003 context, religious actors emerged, not merely as moral authorities, but as central political brokers, mediators of legitimacy, and organizers of collective identities.
Following my work on sectarianization, I expanded my research to examine religious institutions, endowments, and the political economy of religious authority—culminating in my forthcoming book on Shi‘i religious authority and its evolving relationship with the state.
Throughout this intellectual trajectory, my objectives have been twofold. First, to demonstrate that sectarian divisions in the Middle East cannot be reduced to primordial impulses or “natural” inclinations. I prefer to see them as historically contingent and politically mediated phenomena linked to exclusionary state practices, clientelist networks, rent distribution, geopolitical rivalries, and the erosion of traditional solidarities. Second, I seek to move beyond binary regime typologies—democratic vs. authoritarian, liberal vs. illiberal—in analyzing political systems in Iraq and the region. Instead, I emphasize the emergence of hybrid political orders and neo-patrimonial arrangements shaped by the interaction between formal state institutions and informal patronage networks, coercive actors, and religious authorities.
You have analyzed how sectarian identities are politicized and institutionalized; what mechanisms turn identity politics into a tool for authoritarian consolidation rather than pluralist democracy? In post‑2003 Iraq, how has the relationship between religious actors and the state evolved, and what are its implications for pluralism and accountability?
Although there are common mechanisms through which sectarian identities have been politicized and institutionalized across Middle Eastern countries—particularly Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon—there are also distinct trajectories and historical contexts that make any single explanatory model insufficient. Sectarian politics is not a uniform phenomenon; it varies in intensity, structure, and its relationship to state formation and regime survival.
In Iraq, the so-called Shi‘i–Sunni “schism,” often treated as the cornerstone of sectarian politics, is not simply the outcome of centuries-old antagonism or irreconcilable theological differences, as is sometimes assumed in policy and journalistic circles (and occasionally in academic discourse). The contemporary salience of sectarian identities is largely rooted in twentieth- and twenty-first-century dynamics: the rise of political Islam, the growth of mass religiosity, Ba‘thist repression, the impact of the Iranian Revolution, regional geopolitical competition, social dislocation, and the decline of secular ideologies.
As for how identity politics becomes a tool for authoritarian consolidation, we need to be cautious with how we use the term “identity politics.” In Western contexts, it is often associated with postmodern claims for recognition by minority groups seeking acknowledgment of their distinctiveness—their “groupness,” to use Rogers Brubaker’s term. In the Middle East, however, identity politics has not been confined to claims for recognition and it has not emerged in a democratic-liberal context: thus, it has also involved defining who constitutes the majority and who is entitled to rule in its name.
In post-2003 Iraq, key Shi‘i political and religious actors framed Shi‘ism as both a historically oppressed identity and a legitimate majority constituency. Through a selective narrative of victimhood—centered on past exclusion under Sunni-dominated regimes—they advanced the claim that the “majority” was finally entitled to govern. This went beyond symbolic affirmation and became embedded in institutional arrangements and electoral politics. In practice, particular parties and elites appropriated the language of majority rule to legitimize their hold on power. A similar dynamic is unfolding in Syria today, this time in the name of Sunni victimhood and Sunni majoritarian entitlement.
This dynamic had several consequences for pluralism and accountability. First, it delegitimized non-sectarian or cross-sectarian political alternatives. This was evident after the 2010 and 2021 elections and, more dramatically, in the repression of the 2019 protest movement. Those protests—largely driven by Shi‘i citizens criticizing corruption, patronage, and militia dominance—posed a challenge not to sectarian identity per se, but to the monopolization of that identity by ruling elites. The state’s response revealed how identity-based legitimacy can be mobilized to suppress dissent from within the very community it claims to represent.
Second, identity politics encouraged other communities—particularly Sunni Arabs—to consolidate politically along parallel communal lines, deepening the logic of segmental representation. In this respect, I have written about how “Sunnism” has increasingly been constructed as a politicized sectarian identity in post-2003 Iraq. Historically, Sunni identity was less institutionalized as a cohesive political category; it was often embedded in state structures or overshadowed by regional, tribal, or ideological affiliations. After 2003, however, the restructuring of power around sectarian quotas contributed to the consolidation of Sunnism as a political identity. This dynamic resonates with Azmi Bishara’s argument that sectarianism creates the “sects” in their modern form, rather than the other way around. Sectarianism, in this sense, is not the political activation of timeless communities; it is a modern process that redefines fluid religious affiliations into bounded political constituencies.
Identity politics encouraged other communities—particularly Sunni Arabs—to consolidate politically along parallel communal lines […]. “Sunnism” has increasingly been constructed as a politicized sectarian identity in post-2003 Iraq.
Institutionally, these dynamics were embedded in the post-2003 consociational arrangements, which treated sectarian and ethnic categories—Shi‘i, Sunni, and Kurdish—as the primary axes of political organization. While initially justified as a mechanism for inclusion and stability, this framework gradually facilitated oligarchic capture. Political power became distributed among elite cartels claiming communal representation, often insulated from effective accountability. Electoral competition occurred largely within communal blocs rather than across programmatic platforms.
Let’s move from the domestic Iraqi context to a broader picture. You have written critically about the liberal international order and the actions it has legitimized in Iraq and Syria; in what sense do you think liberalism failed in these contexts and where did it succeed? Do you think we are seeing the emergence of a post-liberal order, globally and/or more specifically in the Middle East?
The 2003 invasion of Iraq was largely driven by the assumptions of liberal internationalism: the belief that spreading liberal democracy in the Middle East—even through military intervention—would ultimately advance global peace and “de-radicalize” the region’s societies. Yet this project suffered from two structural weaknesses. First, the United States lacked a coherent and context-sensitive plan for implementing such a vision in a society deeply suspicious of its intentions. Second, there was no consolidated Iraqi liberal constituency capable of anchoring and legitimizing such a transformation.
Decades of war, international sanctions, and extremely repressive authoritarianism had severely eroded Iraq’s middle class—the social stratum historically associated with liberal and secular politics. At the same time, the broader wave of Islamization that had swept the region since the 1970s had reshaped public morality and political ideologies in ways that were often skeptical of liberal premises. As a result, liberalism entered Iraq not as an endogenous political project, but as an externally sponsored framework imposed in a fragmented and distrustful environment.
Describing current transformations in the region as “post-liberal” risks projecting a Western historical trajectory onto societies that did not experience a consolidated liberal phase.
Regarding post-liberalism, my argument is twofold. First, the Middle East is not transitioning from liberalism to post-liberalism in the same way as Western societies. The concept of a “post-liberal turn” is analytically meaningful primarily in contexts where liberalism has deeply structured political institutions, moral expectations, and collective imagination over a sustained period. In much of the Arab world, this condition never fully materialized. Liberalism functioned more as a global reference point and normative horizon than as a deeply institutionalized social order. Therefore, describing current transformations in the region as “post-liberal” risks projecting a Western historical trajectory onto societies that did not experience a consolidated liberal phase.
Second, what we observe in the Middle East is a different kind of transformation: a shift from pre-liberal traditionalism and ideological anti-liberalism toward hybrid formations. This shift has been shaped by prolonged exposure to liberalism under conditions of Western political, military, economic, and normative hegemony—particularly in the post-Cold War, post-socialist global order.
Modernization processes have weakened traditional institutions and reconfigured authority structures. In many Arab societies, including parts of the Gulf, tribal structures were transformed by urbanization, wage labor, private property regimes, and consumer capitalism. While tribes did not disappear, their role as comprehensive moral and political frameworks eroded. The social vacuum created by these transformations was often filled by Islamism, which provided an alternative source of collective meaning and moral order under conditions of rapid change. At the same time, ideological anti-liberal projects that emerged during decolonization and postcolonial state-building—radical nationalism, communism, and later revolutionary Islamism—gradually lost credibility or were co-opted by regimes. Some collapsed entirely; others survived but failed to deliver transformative promises. In their place, hybrid worldviews have emerged.
Islamism illustrates this evolution. In its revolutionary anti-liberal forms—as in the Islamic Republic of Iran, or more radically in ISIS’ attempt at state formation—it has struggled to sustain itself. In Iran, the project has hardened into rigid authoritarianism while facing mounting social and economic contradictions. In the case of ISIS, an extreme and violent effort to impose a mythologized past onto the present ultimately collapsed under internal incoherence and external force.
By contrast, models such as Turkey’s earlier “soft Islamism” appeared appealing to some constituencies precisely because they seemed conservative yet not fully anti-liberal—majoritarian but not explicitly eliminationist. However, even this model evolved toward what is now commonly described as illiberal democracy rather than consolidated liberal pluralism.
The broader point is that as traditional structures weaken and radical anti-liberal alternatives prove unsustainable, political systems in the region tend to gravitate toward hybrid configurations. These do not reject liberalism outright, nor do they fully embrace it. Instead, they appropriate certain liberal procedures—elections, constitutions, rights language—while hollowing out liberal commitments to pluralism, individual autonomy, and institutional accountability.
You have used the phrase “neo‑liberal templates of authoritarianism” to describe certain regimes. How do you understand the interplay between market‑oriented reforms and political repression in Iraq and neighboring states?
Most Arab regimes that emerged after independence—particularly those shaped by republican coups—were built upon what can be described as an authoritarian–populist social contract. This contract rested on promises of state-led development, employment provision, upward social mobility, and a degree of distributive justice, in exchange for restricted political participation and acquiescence to centralized rule.
For a time, this model was sustained by rising oil revenues, the geopolitical maneuvering space created by Cold War rivalry, and the broader optimism of Third World developmentalism. However, the decline in oil prices in the 1980s, mounting fiscal crises, the collapse of the socialist bloc, and the global ascendancy of neoliberalism profoundly disrupted this arrangement. Structural adjustment, privatization, and fiscal retrenchment weakened the redistributive capacity of the state without creating inclusive market economies. Large segments of society were left economically vulnerable while remaining politically marginalized. In Iraq, this transformation intersected with prolonged warfare and massive military expenditures which, by the late 1980s, had pushed the regime toward financial exhaustion.
In most Arab countries, market-oriented reforms were introduced not as part of a broader liberalizing project, but as instruments of regime adaptation. Economic opening was accompanied by political closure. Privatization often meant the redistribution of state assets to regime-linked elites, deregulation facilitated crony capitalism, and fiscal retrenchment reduced universal welfare while expanding targeted patronage. Rather than shrinking authoritarian power, neoliberal reforms frequently restructured it. The social and political void created by the retreat of developmental populism was increasingly filled by religious and Islamist movements, as well as by ethnic and sectarian mobilizations. As states withdrew from their redistributive and integrative roles, alternative forms of solidarity gained prominence. These dynamics contributed to the grievances that later erupted during the Arab uprisings.
The social and political void created by the retreat of developmental populism was increasingly filled by religious and Islamist movements, as well as by ethnic and sectarian mobilizations.
The Gulf states constituted a partial exception. Due to vast hydrocarbon revenues, they were able to maintain distributive welfare systems and delay the erosion of their social contracts. Yet even there, market reforms have often coexisted with tightly managed political systems, reinforcing rather than dismantling centralized authority.
The broader point is that neoliberalism in the region did not produce the anticipated convergence between market liberalization and political liberalism. Instead, it often hollowed out developmental alternatives while consolidating new forms of elite domination.
You argue that a civic culture that believes in liberal democratic values is crucial, even if it does not precede democracy. What concrete practices or institutions can foster such a culture in fragmented societies?
In the 1990s, a thesis emerged in the region advocating the idea of “democracy without democrats.” Its central premise was that a liberal-democratic political culture could gradually be cultivated through the adoption of democratic procedures themselves—understood primarily as the conduct of free and fair elections.
The experiences of Iraq, Libya, Sudan, and Yemen have not validated this assumption. Elections conducted in the absence of strong institutions, an effective state apparatus, and an impartial and credible rule of law system often led to the rise of actors who were not committed to the core principles of liberal democracy—individual liberty, equal citizenship, and freedom of belief. Such institutions require not only formal constitutional design but also the sustained commitment of a democratic-liberal elite, supported by an effective coercive apparatus capable of upholding the rule of law. These conditions have largely been absent in Arab political contexts.
Your work appears in both English‑language policy outlets and Arabic‑language journals and lectures. How do you adapt your arguments about liberalism, post‑liberalism, and authoritarianism for different audiences in the region?
My engagement with liberalism and post-liberalism is relatively recent and I still aspire to produce meaningful work that connects the global debate on these themes to the Middle East. However, like many political scientists, I have long maintained a strong interest in authoritarianism—particularly in understanding its institutional structures and concrete manifestations.
Today, in light of what appears to be a decline in the normative hegemony of liberalism at the global level and the rise of illiberal trends within Western societies, I am interested in examining how states in the region are themselves adapting to this shift. From this perspective, I have advanced the proposition that the region is not undergoing a transition from liberalism to post-liberalism, but rather from anti-liberalism to illiberalism. I treat illiberalism, following Marlene Laruelle, as a thin concept referring to a cluster of ideas and norms that evolves in dialogue with liberalism. Illiberal positions contest specific liberal premises—such as universalism, the free market, or individualism—without offering a complete alternative social order.
The region is not undergoing a transition from liberalism to post-liberalism, but rather from anti-liberalism to illiberalism.
Adapting to different audiences—both within the region and beyond—is not an easy task. In the Middle East, there remain significant constraints and sensitivities surrounding the discussion of certain issues, particularly when addressed in Arabic. Like other specialists working on Iraq, I have faced harassment and threats from multiple actors as a result of my writings on the country. At times, the intellectual landscape feels like a minefield, with the space for open and critical debate narrowing further. For this reason, I often prefer to address some of these subjects within academic publications that are primarily read by specialists, even though I am fully aware that their broader public impact remains limited.
What role do you see for Arab intellectuals and media in resisting authoritarian narratives and promoting a more pluralist political imagination?
The Arab intellectual sphere remains constrained. The setbacks of the Arab Spring, together with the rise of social media and the growing influence of online “influencers,” have generated widespread disillusionment among Arab democrats and have contributed to a decline in the quality of public debate—often reducing it to emotive reactions and, at times, sensationalism. Added to this is the appeal of ideological narratives advanced by identity-based and culturalist movements (particularly Islamist currents), as well as discourses emphasizing authenticity and civilizational confrontation, especially among younger generations.
There is also a growing trend toward localization. With the consolidation of the nation-state across the Arab world, major public debates are increasingly conducted at the level of individual countries rather than the region as a whole. In response, the Arab Center for Research and Policy Studies, where I am a Research Associate, seeks to counter this fragmentation through the adoption of an Arab Enlightenment-oriented project that promotes intellectual networking among academics and public thinkers across the region, supports open and democratic paradigms, and resists discourses of exclusion and insularity.
There is an urgent need to renew the thought and discourse of Arab democrats in light of the global crisis of liberal democracy and the setbacks of the Arab uprisings.
In my view, there is an urgent need to renew the thought and discourse of Arab democrats in light of the global crisis of liberal democracy and the setbacks of the Arab uprisings. This requires a deep reassessment of the structural dimensions of this crisis and its regional repercussions, a careful examination of authoritarian resilience, and an understanding of the political culture of younger generations shaped by social media and AI-driven platforms. A new world is taking shape—one that cannot be adequately understood or addressed through conceptual frameworks and vocabularies developed in response to a different historical and political context.
Harith Hasan is an Associate Researcher and Academic Director at the Arab Center for Research and Policy Studies in Doha. He was previously a nonresident scholar at the Malcolm H. Kerr–Carnegie Middle East Center and a research fellow at Harvard University, Brandeis University and Central European University. He holds a PhD in political science and a master’s degree in political communication. His research focuses on state–society relations, political order, and governance in the Middle East, with particular attention to Iraq. His work examines issues such as violence, clientelism, identity politics, and the political economy of the Arab states. He has published widely in Arabic and English academic journals. His forthcoming book, Shi‘i Clerical Authority in Iraq: The Neo-Traditional Marji’yya and the Transformation of Political Order, will be published by Routledge.
