Can We Predict What Will Happen in the Middle East?

We must put aside our "reckless optimism" and "reckless fear" for the future of the Middle East and consider only the ramifications of the events that are unfolding now.

How should we think about the political futures of the Middle East and North Africa? The protests and revolutions rocking those regions are unprecedented. The public discourse surrounding them, however, is not. Out of the maelstrom of public commentary, and in private conversations, two broad and seemingly opposite predictions emerge. Some say the region is headed toward renewal, rebirth, and a better tomorrow, perhaps even a democratic tomorrow. Others say it is headed for chaos, catastrophe, and a descent into hell with broad and troubling economic (oil) and political (foreign policy) implications for the rest of world.

This should sound familiar. Such forecasts regularly attend political upheavals and their aftermaths. In the aftermath of both world wars and the Cold War, some heralded the dawning of new and better age, while others foresaw only decay and ruin.

Canada’s domestic conversation has not been immune to these dynamics. Debates over the Constitution Act of 1982 and the Quebec Question have had some of this flavour – would they signify a new beginning for the country, or the beginning of its end?

However we want to characterize these forecasts – optimistic and pessimistic, dreamy and realistic, or cynical and sentimental – they are only different on the surface.

In the wake of European totalitarianism, political theorist Hannah Arendt cautioned against “reckless optimism” and “reckless despair,” noting that “Progress and Doom are two sides of the same medal … both are articles of superstition, not of faith.” She meant, I think, that such prophecies are based not on faith in what we know, but on anxiety-induced superstitions in the face of the unknown.

Likewise, utopian and dystopian predictions are two sides of the same coin: they point to possibilities based not on facts and arguments but on fears and hopes. Utopia means “no place”; utopias are places and states that do not exist. Dystopias are the same. That is probably one reason that literary works – from Plato’s Republic, Dante’s Inferno, and More’s Utopia to Orwell’s Nineteen Eighty-Four and Huxley’s Brave New World – are such fruitful sites for utopian and dystopian imaginings. They create worlds that may partially reflect, but are not bound by, existing ones.

The flurry of predictions for the future of the Middle East and North Africa have this same character. They are based on fervent hopes for renewal and terrible fears of chaos.

Hope and fear are common human reactions to the unknown. Both have evolutionary, psychological, and political advantages. Hope and fear keep us alive and keep us going in dark or uncertain times. But when we substitute our hopes and fears for reckoning with the present – assuming that they are a sufficient basis for our understanding of current events – we risk losing the ability to know how to make our way in the world. I don’t mean in the unforeseeable tomorrow, but in the real and present day. This was Arendt’s fear, and it should be ours as well.

It is far too early to know what the future holds for the Middle East and North Africa. Will the Egyptian military facilitate a democratic transition? Will it hold power? Will one person emerge as a new dictator? Will Gadhafi fall? If so, what and/or who will replace him? And what of Tunisia, Yemen, and Bahrain?

We cannot say. All that we can say is that we are bearing witness to the birth of something new – perhaps terrifying, perhaps wonderful. To reckon with the present means to examine and live with this eruption of the unpredictable, the uncategorizable, the uncertain, without reflexively projecting its endpoint. It means living in the now – not because it is comfortable, but because it simply is. It means being curious about the contemporary meaning of these revolutions, not their future endpoints.

Are these revolutions a reflection of people’s frustration with brutal autocracy? With the stifling of economic opportunity? Do they bespeak a longing for democracy, or just for something different?

Understanding the meaning of the present is the only way we can prepare for the future. Ultimately, only historians will be able to trace a path from the turmoil of today to what will have turned out to be the future – and even they will not agree. The best that we can do is bear witness to the remarkable unpredictability of human affairs, and hope and work for something better to replace what is gone.