Islam will often be the idiom of political change because so many regimes have for so long excluded secular opposition. It's the most widespread alternative that provides a legal forum and a legitimate format, since Islam is the only major monotheistic religion that offers a set of specific rules to govern society as well as a set of spiritual beliefs. That doesn't mean more Iranian-style revolutions; Arabs are all too aware of the costs and repercussions of the Persians' revolt against 2,500 years of dynastic rule. But they're taking note of ideas put forward by Iran's energetic reformers and philosophers. Among the daring arguments: to be a true believer, one must come to the faith freely. Thus freedom precedes faith—a quantum leap for a religion whose name literally means "submission." The process will be divisive, for it will demand answers to existential questions of identity, belief and even the role of historic experience. In the end, Islam is more likely to be a vehicle for the transition, not necessarily the finished product. At the same time, don't expect the emergence of a string of liberal, Western-style democracies.
Israel will undergo its own confrontation over faith and identity. Politically, the country's founding ideology in the 20th century was Zionism, a predominantly socialist, secular and rather utilitarian ideology. In 21st century Israel, the two ends of the spectrum pit democrats, who support intense capitalism and a hedonistic Americanized culture, against fundamentalists, who cling to creating Greater Israel, as outlined in Abraham's covenant with God, and who want to impose strict religious regulations on everyday life.
Ethnically, the country was launched by European Ashkenazi Jews who looked to the West for inspiration. Because of demographics and immigration, Israeli society over the next quarter-century will increasingly be Sephardic Jews from the East—and Israeli Arabs whose families didn't flee in 1948. Without the imperative of security, Israel and the issue of its mission will get wrapped up in robust debates.
For the first decade of this new century, the Old Guard throughout the region will resist change. But by the time it's over, most of the big names—Syria's Hafez Assad, Egypt's Hosni Mubarak, Libya's Muammar Gaddafi, Saudi Arabia's King Fahd—will be gone. Who dares to speculate, however, about Saddam Hussein.
The leadership shift began in the late 1990s with the emergence of a new generation. Jordan is ruled by young King Abdullah, who watches Dharma & Greg and runs around in disguise to check out his government's performance. Syrian heir apparent Bashar Assad plays Faith Hill on a Walkman and, as chairman of the Syrian Computer Society, is bringing the information age to a controlled society, made so by his father. Qatar's Sheik Hamad bin Khalifa al-Thani ousted his father, opened up a cloistered society and then gave males—and females—the vote.
Each of them breaks the mold, but they are merely transition figures. A real Middle East peace will begin only with the emergence from the educated middle class of ordinary people who are allowed to vie freely for, win and be defeated in elective office—and thus end the pattern of leaders and Žlite courtiers in power for life.
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