As ‘the world’s most successful case of multilateralism the European Union (‘EU’ or ‘Union’) demonstrated since its early beginnings a commitment to multilateralism as the preferred form of global governance.
Yet, it was only with the European Security Strategy (‘ESS’), adopted by the European Council in December 2003, that the EU endorsed its idiosyncratic concept of ‘effective multilateralism’ as the central guiding principle of its external action.
Recognizing that global problems require global solutions, the ESS states that European ‘security and prosperity increasingly depend on an effective multilateral system’ and proclaims the ‘development of a stronger international society, well-functioning international institutions and a rule-based international order as a European objective. Importantly, the ESS highlights the pivotal role of the United Nations (‘UN’) in the global multilateral order. Recognizing the UN Security Council’s (‘UNSC’) ‘primary responsibility’ in the area of international peace and security and the status of the UN Charter as the ‘fundamental framework for international relations’, the ESS states that ‘strengthening the United Nations, equipping it to fulfil its responsibilities and to act effectively, is a European priority’. 2003 also saw the publication of a Commission Communication on ‘The European Union and the United Nations: The choice of multilateralism’ which set out a general strategy for EU-UN cooperation. Again, the Union’s commitment to multilateralism as a ‘defining principle’ of its external action was reiterated, as was the importance of the UN as the ‘pivot of the multilateral system’.
EU commitment to multilateralism in general and to the UN as its principal forum was taken a step further in the 2008 Report on the implementation of the ESS. By declaring that ‘Europe must lead a renewal of the multilateral order’, the Union set itself apart from other actors in the multilateral system and took on additional responsibilities, committing itself to the aspiration of assuming a leadership role. While EU official statements and policy documents have since then contained an abundance of references to the concept of ‘effective multilateralism’,10 it was with the entry into force of the Katie Verlin Laatikainen and Karen E Smith (eds), The European Union at the United Nations: Intersecting Multilateralisms (Palgrave Macmillan 2006) Jan Wouters, Sijbren de Jong and Philip De Man, ‘The EU’s Commitment to Effective Multilateralism in the Field of Security: Theory and Practice’ (2010) 29 Yearbook of European Law 164, 170. 3 European Council, ‘European Security Strategy: A Secure Europe in a Better World’, Brussels, 12 December 2003. 4 Ibid 9. 5 Ibid. 6 Communication from the Commission to the Council and the European Parliament, ‘The European Union and the United Nations: The choice of multilateralism’, COM(2003) 526 final, 10 September 2003. European Council, ‘Report on the Implementation of the European Security Strategy – Providing Security in a Changing World’, Brussels, 11 December 2008, S407/08. See for an analysis of the ‘effectiveness’ component of the concept Wouters, de Jong and De Man.
Lisbon Treaty that the Union’s commitment to multilateralism was considerably strengthened. Through a total of 15 references to the UN and the UN Charter,11 the Treaty on European Union (‘TEU’), the Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union (‘TFEU’) and the accompanying Protocols and Declarations elevated the principle of multilateralism to the rank of primary law and enshrined the UN framework as the guide and benchmark of EU external action. Of particular relevance is Article 3(5) TEU which defines the ‘respect for the principles of the United Nations Charter’ as one of the foreign policy goals of the EU. Article 21 TEU provides additional detail, stating that the Union ‘shall promote multilateral solutions to common problems, in particular in the framework of the United Nations’ and affirming the promotion of an ‘international system based on stronger multilateral cooperation and good global governance’ as an objective of the Union’s foreign policy. Other TEU and TFEU provisions oblige the EU institutions to comply with the commitments taken on in the UN system when implementing EU policies, and to cooperate with relevant UN bodies.
Although the UN, as the paramount institution of multilateral global governance, has been recognized as an organization which the EU seeks to support, with which it aspires to cooperate and through which it intends to pursue its policy objectives,13 the Union’s engagement with the UN has in practice been fraught with difficulties.
The EU, as a regional international organization with strong supranational features, has been faced with the challenges of multilateral diplomacy in a predominantly state-centric global institution. The acquisition of participatory rights in various UN bodies required an investment of considerable diplomatic and political capital, and the implementation of the obtained rights frequently led to additional controversies.
Despite its considerable economic and political clout, the EU has not – yet – been able to assume a leadership role in the UN framework. It frequently finds itself in a minority position, failing not only to build cross-regional coalitions but also to garner support among its close allies for its positions and initiatives. Among the culprits identified in recent scholarship are a lack of cohesion, the unclear division of external competences, as well as the time-consuming and inflexible internal coordination process.
The Lisbon Treaty attempted to remedy some of these shortcomings through extensive institutional reforms, including in particular the creation of the office of the multi-hatted High Representative of the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy and Vice-President of the European Commission (‘HR/VP’) and the establishment of the European External Action Service (‘EEAS’), but also by creating the office of a permanent President of the European Council and by limiting the role of the rotating Council Presidency. While the new external relations architecture of the EU has led to noticeable improvements in terms of continuity and effectiveness of the Union’s engagement with the UN, considerable challenges still remain. 11 Art. 3(5), Art. 21(1) TEU, Art. 21(2)(c), Art. 34(2), Art. 42(1) and (7) TEU, 7th recital of the preamble of the TFEU, Art. 208(2), Art. 214(7), Art. 220(1) TFEU, 3rd and 8th recital preamble, as well as Art. 1(b) Protocol No 10 on permanent structured cooperation, Declaration No 13 concerning CFSP, Declaration No 14 concerning CFSP; cf. Jan Wouters, Anna-Luise Chané, Jed Odermatt and Thomas Ramopoulos, ‘Improving the EU’s Status in the UN and the UN System: An Objective Without a Strategy?’ in Christine Kaddous. The European Union in International Organisations and Global Goverment. See e.g. TFEU arts 208(2), 214(7), 220(1). 13 Cf the three chapters of the Commission Communication ‘The European Union and the United Nations: The choice of multilateralism.
The post The EU and the UN (I) appeared first on Ideas on Europe.
The EU-CELAC Summit takes place on 10 & 11 June 2015, in Brussels. 33 states - forming the Community of Latin America and Caribbean - are coming to Brussels to meet the EU-28 at the level of Heads of State or government. They will discuss issues such as trade and development and common challenges such as fight against crime and climate change.
The call is often from a worried teacher. They are noticing changes in students from immigrant backgrounds. Before, they defined themselves by nationality, as Kosovars, Bosnians or Turks, now they say they are Muslims. Before, they took part in art classes, now they insist their religion prohibits art. Then there’s a second change: these young men and women start to talk of a war against Islam that targets Muslims – targets them.
When I listen, I remember myself as a 16-year-old, the daughter of a diplomat from a secular family, coming back to my home country, Yemen, after four years in Morocco. It was 1982 – a period that saw the mushrooming of Islamist ideology in North Yemen. I was fascinated by a religious group led by a charismatic young woman of 17. The group met in the schoolyard. I would later learn it was part of a strong Islamist movement that saw Salafists work hand-in-hand with the Muslim Brotherhood.
“My father was not my father anymore; he was an enemy of Islam, I was told”
The sessions were fascinating. Our leader explained about the love of God. The moment we enter into Islam, she said, all our sins are washed away and we become equal. The fate of those who are not Muslims was never mentioned. She told us that we could be better people if only we embraced the message of Islam – the true Islam, not the corrupted form of our society. For a teenage girl, lacking direction, the message was mesmerising, and I embraced it wholeheartedly.
The changes in me were gradual. It started with language. Instead of greeting others with “good morning” or “good evening”, I used only the salute of Islam: “assalamu alaikum”, peace be upon you. Later I would learn that this salute is only reserved for Muslims. “Do not use it with non-Muslims”, I was told.
My days took on a rigid religious structure: prayer, Quran recital. It was strict, but simple and reassuring. “You have to wear the hijab”, I was told. “Hell will be filled with women hanged by their hair because of the way they seduced men by their beauty”. I was used to walking with my hair open. I covered up nevertheless. I did not like it. It suffocated me. But I did it – if this is the price for God’s love, how could I object?
“Militant radicalisation feeds on non-violent Islamism”
I was told all those around me including my practicing mother were living in Jahiliyya – “the state of ignorance and false belief that prevailed before the time of Islam”. I was told that painting, sculpture, art and music were all part of Jahiliyya and prohibited by Islam. I started to feel uncomfortable. I grew up surrounded by art and was fascinated reading about it in the encyclopaedia my father gave me when I reached 13. I was told that, like the companions of Mohammed, I had to renounce my parents and their society. I was told I belonged to a “chosen group” made supreme by adherence to the real Islam.
The more I embraced their message, the more I was drawn away from my father – an intellectual, a philosopher. He was a man of wisdom who taught me about life, philosophy and religion through poetry, books and critical thinking. My father was not my father anymore; he was an enemy of Islam, I was told. He objected to my wearing of the hijab. He objected to what I started to tell him about Islam and the world. He was telling me this is fundamentalism, and I was starting to be angry with him. When I told my group about our fights, they repeated the message about the companions of Mohammed and how sometimes they had to fight their own fathers, brothers and uncles, even on the battlefield.
I started to be separated from my surroundings. Our meetings were no longer in the school, but in houses of young members of the movement. Older women were talking to us now. They were telling me killing is OK. I was given a booklet about the life of Khaled Eslamboli, the army officer who planned the assassination of Egyptian President Anwar Sadat in 1981. Eslamboli was treated as a “hero of Islam”. Sadat was a Pharaoh who made peace with Israel, who worked with Jews intent on destroying Islam.
It was not just the militant dimension of their message that finally made me realise that something was fundamentally wrong with this group, it was the gender aspect. It was when I was told a saying of the Prophet about a woman who ignored her husband to visit her sick father. I was told the Prophet said, “the angels are cursing her, for she defied her husband’s order”. Later I came to understand that the Prophet might not have said this at all.
“Violence is often the last step of the radicalisation process”
I left our meeting that afternoon knowing I would never return. Who should be cursed here, I asked myself, the woman who wants to visit her sick father, or this husband who has no mercy in his heart?
It was with a sigh of relief that my father witnessed the end of my short flirtation with Islamism – taking off my headscarf was its first sign.
I was lucky. I was raised in a context that provided me with the tools to question everything I was told, not to take things at face value. Others are not so lucky and become entangled in a web of radicalism.
I am sharing this personal story with you because it connects with the phone calls I receive nowadays from Swiss teachers, overwhelmed with changes they are witnessing in their students. It connects with the questions raised by European and North American policymakers on how to tackle militant Islamism. Those policymakers often seem content with policies that address the security dimension of radicalisation, focusing on violent Islamism but ignoring its non-violent version. When they attempt to chart preventive or de-radicalisation policies, they conclude that working with “non-violent extremism” can be the best antidote to violent extremism.
I strongly disagree with this approach, because Al Qaeda and the so-called Islamic State are simply violent manifestations of that non-violent Islamism.
As a scholar, my research has always touched on Islamism. I researched the Arabian Peninsula’s social and political structures. I travelled the region for a book on authoritarian Arab states and women’s rights. I researched Sharia Councils in the UK. The more I learned about Islamism, the more one crucial message became evident: militant radicalisation feeds on non-violent Islamism – tackling the first requires confronting the second.
I tend to distinguish between two types of Islamism: societal and political.
Societal Islamism refers to those puritanical religious movements which concern themselves with changing social behaviours to conform to their rigid world view. They call for an Islamic mode of life, to separate its followers from wider society and often refrain from politics. The Salafi Islam of Saudi Arabia and Deobandi Islam of South Asia belong to these movements.
Political Islam, on the other hand, is a modern ideology that seeks political power as a means of transforming society. Its goal is revolutionary change compelled by a vision of a puritanical society governed by the law of God. In this state, identity and citizenship are defined by religious affiliation and observance.
There are different types of political Islam. Movements, such as the Islamic State, Boko Haram and Al Qaeda in the Arabian Peninsula, seek to create this vision of society through outright violence. Others – such as the Muslim Brotherhood and Jamaat-e-Islami – use an incremental approach. Violence is still socially acceptable, but the strategy is gradual Islamisation through the education system, the mosque and the media. It is no coincidence that every time Islamists enter a government the first ministry they insist on having is education, and the first measure involves moulding the curriculum around their ideology.
Sometimes the two types of Islamism intertwine to become indistinguishable. Both embrace the ultimate objective of an Islamist state that implements what they consider the laws of God. Both call for a state run by a chosen supreme group of Muslims. Both actively promote concepts of military and missionary Jihad against enemies of Islam – the West included. Both emphasise control over women in their preaching of an ideal Islamist world.
I was drawn to both societal and political Islamism. The first paved the ground for the second. Societal Islamism sought to systematically separate me from my diverse Muslim North Yemeni society. It immersed me in a religious teaching that gradually turned political – the ultimate aspect of which was violence, that “it is OK to kill the enemies of Islam”.
My story took place in the ‘eighties, decades before the Iraq War and the War on Terror, which some point to today to explain the radicalisation of young migrants. It would be difficult to blame Western foreign policy for my fascination with Islamism. Nor did I come from a poor or marginalised background. I was upper-middle class, educated and privileged, but I was also young and searching for my identity.
Many of those radicalised in the West today are second, or third, generation migrants with Islamic heritage, or converts to Islam. They may face marginalisation and racism, identity crises, or the urge to rebel against family and society. However, the main driver of radicalisation is the ideological message of societal and political Islamism. It provides new recruits with direction, structure and identity. It empowers them with images of supremacy and domination. Violence is often the last step of the radicalisation process.
Taking on militant Islamism requires policies that confront its societal and political messages in schools, mosques and religious classes. In charting these policies, it makes sense to avoid alliances with societal or political Islamist movements, however “non-violent” their message.
IMAGE CREDITS: CC / FLICKR – Brett Davies
The post Tackling militant Islamism means also confronting its non-violent forms appeared first on Europe’s World.