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PREMIÈRE PARTIE – Action philanthropique et développement au Proche-Orient : acteurs, pratiques et expertises (xxe-xxie siècles)

The Dogma of Development: Saudi Aid in Transition

Le dogme du développement : l'aide saoudienne en transition
عقيدة التنمية: العمل الخير السعودي في مرحلة انتقالية
Nora Derbal
p. 105-122

Résumés

Les notions de développement, de renforcement des capacités et d’émancipation dominent aujourd’hui le paysage de l’aide saoudienne comme celui de l’aide internationale. À travers l’analyse de la société Majid pour le développement et les services sociaux (Jamʿiyyat Mājid bin ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz li-l-Tanmiya wa-Khidamāt Ijtimāʿiyya), une organisation caritative créée à Djeddah en 1998, cet article examine comment l’idée du développement est entrée dans le paysage de l’aide saoudienne. L’analyse des pratiques de la société Majid montre que l’islam continue d’être une ressource importante pour les organisations caritatives orientées vers le développement en Arabie saoudite. Cet article se fonde sur une recherche menée à Djeddah et Riyad entre 2009-2013 et 2019-2020 et sur une approche empirique qualitative centrée sur des entretiens narratifs semi-structurés, sur l’analyse textuelle et sur l’observation participante au sein de la société Majid.

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Texte intégral

Acknowledgement: I would like to thank the anonymous reviewers for their helpful feedback and Cambridge University Press for permission to publish a concise article of my research, which was published in an expanded version in Derbal, 2022.

Introduction

1In Saudi Arabia, Islamic charity has the reputation of being a rather backward, static and ineffective practice. Notions of “development” (tanmiya), “capacity building” and “empowerment” dominate the Saudi aid landscape today as much as they dominate the landscape of aid worldwide. The idea of development has become hegemonic in the global field of aid – to the extent that it appears dogmatic in the way it has replaced earlier understandings of aid that were often motivated by religious traditions. Traditional practices and themes of Islamic charity (ʿamal al-khayr), such as giving alms, aid for orphans and soup kitchens for the poor and needy, have a rich history on the Arabian Peninsula (Behrens-Abouseif, 1998; Mortel, 1998; Ṭrābulsī, 2008, p. 298-301). However, traditional approaches that emphasise “beneficence” (iḥsān), “sympathy” (ʿaṭf) and “love for the poor and needy” have come under criticism for their lack of “vision” and “long-term strategy”. Many Saudi charity organisations aim to move away from a model that relies on handouts and direct social service provision towards a development approach that emphasises “skills upgrading” and “capacity building” for the “productive” poor.

2Through a discussion of the Majid Society for Development and Social Services (Jamʿiyyat Mājid bin ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz li-l-Tanmiya wa-Khidamāt Ijtimāʿiyya), a charity established in Jeddah in 1998 and registered with the Ministry of Social Affairs, this article examines how the idea of development has entered the Saudi aid landscape and rendered alternative approaches to aid inferior in the eyes of many – above all, in the eyes of those political and cultural elites who want to see Saudi Arabia “developed” and “modern”.

3The case of the Majid Society is illustrative for several reasons. First, Saudi charity organisations have a reputation for being the long arm of the Saudi state, especially when they count royals among their supporters. The Majid Society shows that, while there is a tension of state relatedness, the organisation situates itself firmly as part of civil society, a positioning that echoes my interviews with people from Jeddah, who predominantly described the organisation as a private charity. The Majid Society maintains a complex relationship with the state and strongly resonates – but also challenges through its own experience – state-fostered discourses of development and nation building. Second, a study of the Majid Society’s programmes allows for a better understanding of how international actors and global knowledge penetrate Saudi civil society, although the kingdom has been considered, for most of its modern history, a rather inaccessible country, with a highly restrictive visa system and little access for “global” (usually meaning “Western”) civil society organisations. It must be stressed that, in the Saudi context, there is a clear distinction between domestic and overseas aid, which are in fact two different spheres altogether, segregated institutionally and legally. In fact, following 9/11, the Saudi government established severe restrictions that even ban the collection of (cash) donations for overseas causes. Since 2015, all overseas aid must go through the King Salman Humanitarian and Relief Centre (KSRelief) (Benthall, 2018; Derbal, 2021). Third, an analysis of the Majid Society’s practices shows that Islam continues to be an important resource for development-oriented charity organisations in Saudi Arabia.

4The article grew from a larger research project (Derbal, 2022), which I began as a graduate student of Islamic Studies at Freie Universität Berlin, Germany – a framework that allowed for extensive fieldwork in Jeddah and Riyadh. While the Saudi field of aid developed a reputation for being difficult to access after 9/11 (Lacey and Benthall, 2014), I think my own position as a graduate student and a woman, together with the help of a handful of gatekeepers, nurtured the trust necessary to be welcomed into the charity scene. I often experienced that social workers and philanthropists were rather proud to talk about their efforts and keen to share their experiences. As part of my larger research project, I visited more than 50 charity projects in Saudi Arabia between 2009 and 2020. Against this background, the Majid Society stood out as the only Saudi charity organisation that welcomed my investigation with great openness, despite the fact that no gatekeeper helped or mediated my access.

5The qualitative empirical approach of the research presented here centres on semi-structured narrative interviews, textual analysis of documentation produced by the organisation, such as annual reports and a website, and participant observation at the Majid Society in 2013 and during 2019–2020. I inquired about a visit to the Majid Society in an email sent in early 2013, and that same week the association’s general manager, Hammam Zare, welcomed me at the headquarters of the organisation. After the initial meeting, I was invited to drop by the association without prior notification, because the Majid Society interprets transparency to be one of the key elements of development (interview Zare, 2013). I imagine that the great openness of the Society’s social workers – who were all women like myself – also reflected our shared experience as women in our twenties navigating life in Jeddah. My experience at King ʿAbd al-ʿAziz University, which most of the Majid Society’s social workers had attended, facilitated a shared point of entry into conversation.

6I will first discuss the origins of the Majid Society and its entanglements with official state discourse, which has stressed the importance of development for decades. I will then turn to the association’s understanding of development and how this has impacted three of its recent programmes: specifically, the Rawāj al-Ḥiraf Center for Training and Development, the Iqraʾ educational programme for illiterate mothers and its al-Maqṣaf microcredit initiative, an alternative employment programme for social security beneficiaries.

Origins

7With its training and education programmes for the “productive poor” as well as a self-understanding as a leader moving the Saudi charity scene towards development, the Majid Society strongly resonates with official state discourse. Yet it should not be mistaken for a state organisation. When the Majid Society was launched in 1998 as a private, collective charity association (jamʿiyyāt khayriyya), Saudi Arabia counted fewer than 200 registered charity associations throughout the country. In 2015, the first NGO law in the history of Saudi Arabia changed the status of all jamʿiyyāt khayriyya, such as the Majid Society, to “non-governmental organisations” (NGOs), in Arabic jamʿiyyāt ahliyya (Derbal, 2022, p. 269-280). Today, the latest statistics suggest that, by 2023, the number of registered jamʿiyyāt had risen to 3,156 organisations (up from 736 in 2015).

8The initiative to establish the Majid Society was launched by Prince Majid bin ʿAbd al-ʿAziz (1938–2003). Prince Majid, son of the founder of the modern Saudi nation-state, ʿAbd al-ʿAziz bin ʿAbd al-Raḥman Āl Saʿud (1902–1953), was Minister of Municipal and Rural Affairs (1975–1980) and Governor of Mecca (1980–1999) when he launched the charity under the name Mecca al-Mukarrama Society for Development and Social Services (Jamʿiyyat Makka al-Mukarrama li-l-Tanmiya wa-l-Khidamāt al-Khayriyya). After Prince Majid’s death in 2003, the association adopted the name of its founder. The name shift reflects a centuries-old tradition of memoria, which allows donors to consolidate their legacy in society after their death. In Islamic tradition, prayers from the living earn the deceased rewards (thawāb) in the Hereafter. A popular hadith explains that “when a person dies, his achievement expires, except with regard to three things – ongoing charity (ṣadaqa jāriya), or knowledge from which people benefit, or a son who prays for him.”

9Despite the fact that the charity was established by a member of the royal family, the organisation is run on a day-to-day basis by non-royals. While I frequently met royals at some charities in Riyadh, I never met a member of the royal family at the Majid Society. Royals have been, above all, involved with the Majid Society in representational functions, such as that of honorary president (raʾīs majlis al-idāra) of the board of the association – an office held by Prince Mishʿal (b. 1957), son of the founder Prince Majid and Governor (muḥāfiẓ) of Jeddah since 1997. In April 2021, Prince Mishʿal was appointed adviser, with the rank of minister, to the current King Salman. The Majid Society is largely funded through private donations. The 2013 annual report suggests that, with 43%, the largest financial source of the organisation was donations from the private sector, followed by 34% of its revenues, which were donations from individuals (The Majid Society, 2013, p. 58). Other funding sources were revenues from the organisation’s investments, including in real estate, and membership fees. Subsidies from the Ministry of Social Affairs played only a minor role in the charity organisation.

10Members of the royal family have links with hundreds of charity organisations all over Saudi Arabia (Montagu, 2010) and benefit from the ambiguity of charity, which can render state welfare measures a seemingly private, generous gesture (Le Renard, 2008). The image of the generous king, who cares for his subjects like a father for his children, has been a key element of the conception of the rule of the state founder Ibn Saʿud (Vassiliev, 2000, p. 306, 424). In the Arab Gulf states, royal charity has been interpreted as “metaphor for politics”, as a source of political capital, which has allowed rulers to extend influence, establish networks, gain recognition and secure allegiances (Lowi, 2019, p. 51).

11The establishment of a system of public social welfare together with the emphasis on the development of the Saudi nation are intrinsically linked to nation building and the question of nationalism. For decades, extensive public social welfare, together with a high living standard, was seen as the basis of an “autocratic social contract”, which bound Saudi citizens to an unelected, undemocratic ruling elite (Jones, 2003; Thompson, 2019, p. 59-60). In 1964, King Faisal ascended the throne by projecting himself as the champion of a modern and progressive government, whose major task was the development of the Saudi nation. Within King Faisal’s agenda, public welfare represented one of the important markers of the modernisation of the state and of its legitimacy (Jones, 2010, p. 54-90; Yizraeli, 2012, p. 19–30), which simultaneously allowed the state to project the Saudi nation internationally as “modern” and “developed”. Through new administrative systems, built in the name of development, the state established and reinforced its centralised powers, thus strengthening its grip on the lives of its citizens. The narrative of development served the government as “a tool for binding their citizens to them more completely” (Jones, 2010, p. 85).

12One of the new administrative systems, built in the name of development, was the Ministry of Labour and Social Affairs, established in 1961 and tasked with the supervision of local charity organisations. From its inception, the ministry was meant to translate the state’s vision of social development into practice. Yet, ironically, in interviews I conducted in 2009 in Jeddah, the Ministry of Social Affairs was accused of being “the greatest obstacle to social change” and the reason the Saudi non-profit sector was considered “underdeveloped”. The ministry was criticised for corruption, an inefficient minister, untrained bureaucrats and old-fashioned programmes offering charity and handouts instead of empowerment for the beneficiaries. The ministry’s negative reputation, to a certain extent, mirrored its vast administrative control (Derbal, 2022, p. 27-28).

13Whereas the extensive infrastructural and industrial development that Saudi Arabia witnessed over the course of the 20th century had been the pride of many citizens and a legitimation of the ruling family, Āl Saʿud, this perception changed after 9/11. Fifteen out of the 19 hijackers convicted for the terrorist attack were Saudi citizens. Widespread poverty among Saudis, together with a lack of perspective and high frustration among Saudi youth, came to be viewed as breeding grounds for terrorism. In 2003, an investigation by a journalist from the LA Times suggested that 20 to 30 percent of people in Saudi Arabia lived under the poverty line (Murphy, 2003). A series of extremist bombings within Saudi territory in 2002 and 2003 further alerted the government to the need for domestic reform. Several petitions were presented to the Saudi king in the early 2000s, questioning the social contract between government and people (Jones, 2003; Kéchichian, 2013, p. 159-187). In response to growing domestic and international pressures, in 2003, Crown Prince ʿAbdallah declared a “war on poverty” in Saudi Arabia (ḥarb ḍidd al-faqr) and, upon ascending the throne in 2005, launched the National Strategy to Eradicate Poverty (Istrātijiyya Waṭaniyya li-Muʿālajat al-Faqr) (Bsheer, 2010).

14The national strategy institutionalised the debate about poverty in Saudi Arabia and designated problems pertaining to the category of the poor. In the rhetoric of the state, poverty was a “production problem” – that is, a problem of the uneducated, unemployed and unproductive citizen – and not a problem of unequal access to resources, corruption and clientelist distribution practices, together with the systematic dispossession of certain segments of society; in short: bad governance. Through the Fund for Treating Poverty (Ṣundūq li-Muʿālajat al-Faqr), established in 2002 under the auspices of the Ministry of Social Affairs – later renamed National Fund for Supporting Associations (Ṣundūq Waṭanī li-Daʿm al-Jamʿiyyāt al-Khayriyya) and then Charity Fund (Ṣundūq al-Khayr) – from which the Majid Society initially received funding for its microcredit scheme, the national strategy promoted education and training courses, microcredit schemes and “productive families’ programmes” (barāmij al-usar al-muntija) (Ṣufūqī, 2004; al-Saʿdanī, 2002). It fostered an attitude towards poverty alleviation that imagined the poor as capable of lifting themselves out of misery, if only they were given adequate skills and employment. In the wake of the national strategy, the government deliberately approached and cooperated with specific welfare associations – such as the Majid Society – which were considered “experts” and deemed capable of speaking about the problems of the category of “the poor”, rather than considering the poor themselves as competent experts on their situation.

“Development Means We Welcome them in Society”

15In the first interview I conducted at the Majid Society in 2013, in which I inquired about the association’s take on charity, its managing director, Hammam Zare, stressed that the organisation was not doing charity (ʿamal al-khayr). Instead, it offered its beneficiaries development (tanmiya). Hammam Zare described the Majid Society’s approach to development using the popular saying: “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day. Teach a man to fish and you feed him for a lifetime” (interview Zare, 2013). At numerous associations in Saudi Arabia, social workers whom I interviewed referred to the saying in abbreviated form: “If somebody approaches you begging for food, give him a hook” (idhā jāʾak man yastajidī al-ṭaʿām iʿṭahu sinnāra). The fishing metaphor is omnipresent among Saudi charity workers. For the Majid Society, it symbolises the importance of “human development” for sustainable change, which it translates into an emphasis on teaching and training skills that aim at making beneficiaries independent and productive.

16When the Majid Society launched the member magazine Khuṭwa (meaning “One Step” in Arabic) in 2011 – with approximately 3,000 copies printed and an online edition – Prince Mishʿal, honorary president of the board of the association, defined development therein as “the advancement of culture” (taṭwīr al-thaqāfa) and the “modernisation of the minds” (taḥdīth al-ʿuqūl):

The journal Khuṭwa was founded in order to inform about a vision of cultural development (al-tanmiya al-thaqāfiyya)… It was founded in order to assure that development does not [only] mean economic modernisation or the focus on training and volunteering projects. But it essentially encompasses the spread of knowledge (nashr al-maʿrifa al-ʿilmiyya), the advancement (taṭwīr) of the culture, and the modernisation of the minds (taḥdīth al-ʿuqūl) as a fundamental guarantee to defend the course of sustainable development. (Mājid bin ʿAbd al-ʿAzīz, 2011)

17Here, development suggests cultural transformation through the spread of knowledge and modernisation.

  • 1  Interview with Lina, a former employee of the Majid Society, Jeddah, March 2013.
  • 2  In April 2013, I was invited to join Amani to a class with Dr. ʿAli Shaʿrab in Jeddah.

18The development paradigm promoted by the Majid Society for its beneficiaries was mirrored by the devotion of many of its social workers to personal development and growth. To the Majid Society’s social workers, going to work at the association reflected, in part, their desire to be “active”, to “realise themselves,” and to “flourish”. They described engaging with the community in terms of a wish to feel “active” and to commit to something “that actually makes sense”.1 The social worker Amani emphasised that self-development was the first step in developing the community and Saudi Arabian society. At her work desk at the headquarters of the Majid Society, Amani kept an Arabic translation of the American bestseller The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Steven Covey. She advised me to consult Michael Losier’s The Science of Attracting More of What You Want and Less of What You Don’t, and Deanna Davis’ The Law of Attraction in Action, of which she kept an Arabic copy at her desk. She regularly watched the Egyptian Dr. Ibrahim al-Fiqhi and the Kuwaiti Salah al-Rashid on YouTube, referring to both of them as “masters of self-development”. In her free time, she attended the evening course “The Way to Wisdom” (Ṭariq al-Ḥikma), taught by the Islamic scholar Dr. ʿAli Shaʿrab from Mecca, whom she called “my Master”.2

19The recourse to development promoted by the Majid Society centres the nation (al-waṭan) rather than the community (al-ahl) or the divine (Mittermeier, 2019). In an opening speech at the Social Development Forum (Muntadā al-Tanmiya al-Ijtimāʿiyya), a three-day conference organised by the Majid Society in 2009 and 2010, Prince Mishʿal described development as a “mindset of society” (ḥāla fikriyya ijtimāʿiyya):

Majid Society does not look at development as only thoughts or a vision. It looks at it as an all-encompassing mindset of society (ḥāla fikriyya ijtimāʿiyya mutakāmila) that begins with the individual and reaches the highest social pyramid (aʿlā al-haram al-ijtimāʿī)… It enables the individual to enjoy life in dignity and to become an active (fāʿilan), productive (muntijan) individual in society. Not only that, but [an individual who is] able to contribute to the flourishing of the nation (izdihār al-waṭan). (The Majid Society, 2011, p. 5)

20Prince Mishʿal promoted development as a contribution towards the flourishing of the nation. The managing director of the Majid Society, Hammam Zare, explained that development was “a bridge between society”. He elaborated:

Of course there are three different kinds of development: environmental development, economic development and the development of society. It is easy to teach them sewing and artisanal skills, but development means we welcome them (nastaqbalhum) in society…Development means to give them an income in life (dukhūl fī l-ḥayāh)…In order to reach this vision of development, Majid Society is working together with the local authorities, with the city district mayors (ʿumad), the imams, the schools, because development needs cooperation (tanmiya lā budda taʿāwun). (Interview Zare, 2013)

21In the association’s logic, “human development” – through training and “skills upgrading” of the individual – appears as a necessary condition for welcoming the (poor, needy, unproductive) individual into society on a trajectory towards the well-being of the nation.

22The Majid Society presents its efforts in an abstract and technical language, echoing business and management jargon. In its annual reports, the welfare association “identifies best practice” (tuḥaddid afḍal al-mumārasāt); it “focuses”, “develops” and “invests” in beneficiaries. The association practises social development with “a vision and goals”, it manages “marketing operations”, plans, “experimental phases” (marḥala tajrībiyya), and operations. The documentation of the association emphasises quantitative data and statistics. Programme descriptions centre on tables and graphs. The use of an abstract, technical and business-oriented language marks the organisation as “professional” and helps to distinguish it from “traditional” charity organisations. By entering the charity scene as professionals, the Majid Society claims moral and technical superiority over traditional charity. What is more, the language of professionalism allows the association to claim and maintain an arena of independent action vis-à-vis state authorities – an arena of professional neutrality. The notion of management draws on positive associations: it epitomises calculable progress and is free from the need for legitimisation.

23From the outset, the Majid Society has relied on external and global “experts” to achieve the level of professionalism to which it aspires. Professionalism allows the association to claim authority in its local context by invoking a global standard. On its website and in publications, the association highlights its compliance with the Global Reporting Initiative (GRI). For many initiatives and tasks at the association – such as marketing, advertising and the editorial work and publication of its member magazine Khuṭwa – the Majid Society relied on external expertise and paid expert services. Despite the fact that foreign NGOs have been barred from working in Saudi Arabia, lecturers and trainers from international NGOs are commonly invited to take part in workshops and regularly give advice on domestic initiatives. When the Majid Society launched an easy loan scheme in 2011, for instance, it relied on the help of the French NGO Planet Finance (interview Zare, 2013).

24The background of the “experts” engaged by the Majid Society reinforces the emphasis on the measurability and technicality of processes. “Experts” with whom the Majid Society cooperated include the consultancies McKinsey, Booz & Company and P&G, as well as the National Commercial Bank and the World Health Organization, among others. It is interesting to note that the association turned to experts who were successful figures in the world of markets and business, rather than religious or moral figures, political leaders, or human rights activists. Instead, Steve Jobs and Bill Gates were portrayed as moral and technical authorities through their slogans which – printed on posters – decorated the Majid Society’s facilities and featured in its member magazine.

Religious Ideals in Practice

25At the Majid Society, “development” is conceptualised in contrast to “charity”. Yet, in their everyday affairs, the Majid Society mobilises the same resources as “traditional” charity organisations, alms and donations. Indeed, while the representation of the association suggests a linear transition from charity to development, its practices appear to oscillate continually between ideas of development and religious motives of Islamic charity. Above all, zakat, an annual alms payment considered one of the five pillars of Islam (Benthall), together with ṣadaqāt, freewill offerings that the Qurʾan praises in numerous passages (Q 2, p. 196, 245; 9, p. 34-35, 80, 103-105), largely finance the Majid Society’s development-oriented programmes. This has put the Majid Society in a struggle to meet the expectations of donors and beneficiaries, who expect donations to be distributed to the poor and needy rather than spent on training and employment projects. A similar situation was described in Marie Juul Petersen’s research in the context of international Gulf aid (Petersen, 2015).

26In many ways, the Majid Society’s rhetoric mirrors the state’s discourse on the eradication of poverty, with its emphasis on employment, training and productivity in the name of the national development. This was most pronounced in the approach of the Rawāj al-Ḥiraf Center for Training and Development, which the Majid Society founded in 2001 and closed in 2015 (which I was able to visit in January 2013). Literally, rawāj means sales or marketability, and al-ḥiraf refers to handicrafts. The name resonated with the association’s focus – not on traditional handicrafts – but rather on marketable skills. The Rawāj al-Ḥiraf Center was based on three stages: “training” (tadrīb), “production” (intāj) and a “productive families programme” (barnāmij al-usar al-muntija). The basic training course at the centre aimed to teach basic sewing skills as well as a “productive” and “efficient” work attitude. After completing the training, the association invited trainees to work at the centre for an income. Workers sewed mainly readymade pieces together, prepared in advance by one of the sewing teachers, to make items such as school uniforms and hospital gowns. As an alternative to working at the centre, the association’s “productive families programme” promoted working from home. Pre-cut pieces of cloth, thread and needles were delivered to the beneficiaries’ homes. In cases where beneficiaries did not have a sewing machine at home, they could buy one from the centre via the Majid Society’s microcredit programme. In addition to training in handicrafts, the Rawāj al-Ḥiraf Center offered courses in entrepreneurship, marketing, finance and management. The two-week course “How to Begin Your Project” (Kaif Tabda Mashrūʿak) was obligatory for beneficiaries who wished to enter the “productive families programme” or the association’s microcredit scheme, which enabled them to realise small entrepreneurial handicraft projects on their own.

27With the Rawāj al-Ḥiraf Center, the Majid Society confronted the kingdom-wide feminisation of poverty (Derbal, 2022). Staff asserted that many Saudi families still perceived women working as a “shame” (ʿīb), particularly if it meant leaving the house for work. Therefore, the centre resembled a residential building so as not to expose the women working there. The working hours at the centre were limited to allow beneficiaries to manage family obligations. During these hours, the association offered childcare, in addition to a daily bus shuttle, free of charge, to help beneficiaries with the commute. Despite all of the Majid Society’s efforts, the centre operated at only half of its capacity when I visited in January 2012, and suffered from high dropout rates. A trainer suggested that only 50 percent of trainees completed the basic two-week training course despite its minimalist requirements. The centre’s staff blamed low performance on the work ethic of the beneficiaries, which they described as unreliable and inefficient, suggesting that “the poor do not actually want to work”. The seamstresses at the Rawāj al-Ḥiraf Center blamed the limited and unstable pay, together with an unreliable transportation service, for the lack of enthusiasm the centre inspired among beneficiaries. Working at the centre provided no financial prospect, as income depended on unsteady orders from customers. All workers agreed that only during Ramadan, when people were more generous and would give extra help, did they feel “financially independent”.

  • 3  Alfajr.org, 2011.

28The Iqraʾ educational programme, which the Majid Society launched in 2012, similarly targeted women in need, often single heads of households with no education or employment, living on social security. A number of studies have, for decades, highlighted the strong correlation between poverty and poor education among women (Bin ʿAfīf, 1993, p. 136; Fadaak, 2010, p. 701; Al Mounajjed, 2009, 2010; King Khalid Foundation, 2017, p. 15). However, the goal of the Majid Society was not so much to enable its beneficiaries to read and write, but rather to overcome their anxiety with regard to literacy and technological innovation, in order to help empower the next generation (interview Zare, 2015). The programme thus exposed mothers in (only) 36 hours to a computer-based reading course, coordinated with the al-Bayan language school, a Saudi teaching institute specialising in online learning.3 Couched in a discourse of human development, human rights (ḥuqūq al-insān) and the Millennium Development Goals, the Iqraʾ programme followed the logic that mothers who develop a curiosity for reading and writing would be more likely to support the education of their children. The Majid Society addressed its beneficiaries in their role as housewives and mothers with a specific function for society. In the words of the association, for instance, the annual report from the year the programme began specified that the goal of Iqraʾ was the “empowerment of the woman (tamkīn al-marʾa), who by fate (min al-qaḍāʾ) is the kernel (nawā) for the development of the family and the society” (The Majid Society, 2012, p. 12-13).

29Yet, while the Majid Society stressed the development-oriented nature of the programme and its importance for the modern Saudi nation-state, the name of the initiative, Iqraʾ, firmly situated it in a traditional, religious context of education by evoking the first Qurʾanic revelation to the Prophet Muhammad. The literal translation of iqraʾ is an imperative to read, with which the Archangel Gabriel addressed the illiterate Muhammad, according to Muslim tradition. The story of this encounter forms the basis for many Muslims’ belief in the importance of education in Islam. The name Iqraʾ can thus be understood as a bridge that presents the unfamiliar within a familiar and esteemed tradition. The initiative illustrates how the language of Islam can be an effective communication strategy, establishing common ground with beneficiaries and partners, such as the Neighbourhood Community Centers Association (Jamʿiyyat Marākiz al-Aḥyāʾ), a rather conservative and traditional network established in 2007, with whom the Majid Society cooperated on this initiative. The partnership with the Neighbourhood Community Centers Association – which, in 2010, counted 28 community centres in Jeddah (11 for women and 17 for men) – allowed the Majid Society to extend its reach to the neighbourhoods of Sharafiyya and al-Nuzla in the south of Jeddah, where it launched the first phase of Iqraʾ in 2012.

30Microcredits are another example that highlights how the Majid Society merges global notions of development with local, Islamic traditions of charity. The idea of the microcredit as an effective tool to combat poverty goes back to Muhammad Yunus and the Grameen Bank, founded in Bangladesh in 1983, for which Yunus received the Nobel Peace Prize in 2006 (Yunus and Jolis, 2008). The Majid Society started its microcredit scheme in 2011; in 2013, it counted 78 microcredit projects (interview Amani, 2013); in 2014, the number stood at 65 (The Majid Society, 2014). The Majid Society received the funds it distributed to its beneficiaries as microcredits from the National Charity Fund (Ṣundūq al-Khayr al-Waṭanī). Yet, the director of the Majid Society stressed that the government did not set the criteria for redistribution, nor did it provide any guidelines for the successful implementation of a microcredit scheme (interview Zare, 2013).

31Within Muslim tradition, microcredits are considered a special case of ṣadaqa, freewill donations, which Saudi charity organisations understand to be free to spend as they see fit, in the best interest of the poor. Although the Majid Society has advertised its loan programme as a “microcredit” scheme, strictly speaking, the credits that the Majid Society has handed out to its beneficiaries were largely “easy loans” (qurūḍ maysara), that is credits without interest (fāʾida). Islamic doctrine bans usury (ribā), which is condemned in various passages of the Qurʾan (Q 2, p. 275-280; 3, p. 130; 4, p. 161; 30, p. 39). What exactly constitutes usury is, however, a highly contested topic in Islamic finance. Among Saudi charities, there appears to be a consensus that low-interest or no-interest microcredits, referred to in Arabic as easy loans (qurūḍ maysara), are a legitimate and promising tool to help the poor. In reality, the easy loans handed out by the Majid Society were given to beneficiaries without an expectation that they would be able to repay them. The lenience of the association was justified by Islamic tradition, which stresses that charity is for those in debt (Q 9, p. 60). Many social workers appeared to doubt the capabilities and the responsibility of the poor to handle large sums of money. In other words, the Majid Society’s microcredits strongly resembled “beneficent” or “superior” loans (in Arabic qarḍ ḥasan), which are interest-free loans with an unstipulated due date, frequently mentioned in the Qurʾan (Q 57, p. 11; 57, p. 18). Due to the absence of a stipulated repayment date, the beneficent loan appears, de facto, similar to a financial donation, though with a stronger reciprocal component.

32Although in theory the microcredit programme was open to both men and women, in reality the Society predominantly worked with women. In 2012, of the 50 loans granted by the Society, only three male applicants were given credit (interview Amani, 2013). Despite the fact that the Majid Society’s credit procedure sought to empower Saudi women, female applicants needed proof of a male legal sponsor (kafīl) in order to be eligible for a loan. At first, the Majid Society accepted female guarantors too. However, according to the social worker Amani, it turned out to be almost impossible to sue female sponsors if the debtor did not repay the credit. The kāfil was most often the woman’s male legal guardian (maḥram), such as her husband, her brother or her son, which reinforced patriarchal power relations by granting the maḥram rights over the capital of the female beneficiary’s microcredit project.

33In 2018, the Majid Society launched the new al-Maqṣaf microcredit programme, meaning in Arabic “the cafeteria” or “the canteen”. The programme, which supported individuals in operating a snack booth at a local school in Jeddah, was based on the idea of offering women employment, while at the same time improving the food situation at public schools. In 2019, the programme catered to 30 schools in Mecca Province. Registered beneficiaries receive training and a starting grant (qarḍ ghair mustarid, literally a loan not to be repaid) of up to SR 30,000 (approximately EUR 8,000). With al-Maqṣaf the Majid Society reached out to female recipients of the state’s social security benefit (iʿānat al-ḍamān al-ijtimāʿī). In light of the absence of an official poverty line, this approach was supported by a fatwa, which explained that those who are eligible for social security also qualify for zakat (mustaḥiq ḍamān, mustaḥiq zakāh) (interview Amgad, 2020). In an (undated) information brochure, which I picked up at the association’s headquarters in Jeddah in 2020, advertising the al-Maqṣaf programme, the Majid Society reassured its donors that it was deemed permissible (jāʾiz) to spend zakat money on the programme. The Majid Society stressed that “religious scholars” supported the view that beneficiaries of social security constitute an eligible class (fiʾat mustaḥiqīn) of zakat since “everybody knew” that the monthly state payment was far below the sufficiency limit for living (ḥadd al-kāfī li-l-ʿaish). The Majid Society specifically referred to the work of the King Khalid Foundation, which established the sufficiency line (khaṭt al-kifāya) for a household of five in Saudi Arabia’s capital, Riyadh, at about SR 8,926 (Khalid Foundation, 2017, p. 25). By contrast, the monthly social security payment has been fixed since 2011 at SR 2,140 for the same household size.

34Since 2015, the Majid Society has suffered from the dire situation of the Saudi economy, which has made donors more cautious in giving to the charity. The 2018 annual report indicates that for the period 2015–2016, the Majid Society’s expenses exceeded its revenues by SR 3.3 million; for 2016–17, the expenses exceeded revenues by almost half a million riyals (The Majid Society, 2018, p. 28). This, together with the cut in subsidies from the Ministry of Labour and Social Development following the introduction of the 2015 NGO law, led to a decline in the number of people involved with the association – from 25 to 16 employees, and from 40 to 25 members. In light of the difficult economic situation, the Majid Society’s new financial strategy rests on the mobilisation of Islamic charity rather than the promotion of development. The association’s documentation today references notions of religious giving, centres zakat and emphasises the importance that Islam places on benevolence. This marks a stark contrast to earlier representations, which highlighted the difference between traditional charity and development. Instead, the Majid Society’s new al-Maqṣaf programme stresses the contribution that the religious duty to give to the poor and needy can make towards empowering society. These developments highlight the resilience of Islamic charity, particularly in times of crisis.

Conclusion

35The difficulties that the Majid Society and its beneficiaries have faced over the years point to the deep structural roots of poverty in Saudi Arabia. The Majid Society’s efforts highlight how the development paradigm overlooks – but, at the same time, struggles with – the underlying, structural origins of poverty. Saudi job seekers on the labour market suffer from institutional norms shaped by nationality, gender and clientelist networks. Socio-cultural norms that stigmatise certain professions as shameful, beneath a Saudi, or culturally unacceptable are changing only slowly.

36In the Saudi context of charity, the development paradigm has not replaced a religious culture of aid. Instead, development can be expressed in the language of Islam, for instance through the Iqraʾ community initiative and the al-Maqṣaf microcredit scheme. Islam as a language, this article has argued, resonates with both donors and beneficiaries, and establishes a legitimate ground for developmental practices. Here, Islam appears as the language that facilitates cooperation, that is trusted by beneficiaries and transcends intellectual differences as well as social inequalities. Terms such as “capacity building” and “empowerment” – which Saudi social workers regularly use as English words in Arabic conversation – might not be understood by, or may even alienate, illiterate beneficiaries from marginalised socio-economic backgrounds. The Majid Society’s high degree of transparency, practised, for instance, in its annual reports and open-door-policy, highlights the adaptability of Islamic traditions of aid. This challenges dominant conceptions of charity in the Arab Gulf states as inherently tied to religious and cultural notions of secrecy, due to a hadith of the Prophet Muhammad, which suggests that “in charity, the left hand shouldn’t know what the right hand is doing”. Those who advocate for transparency in almsgiving counter with another hadith, which states that “the one who points to the good will receive reward like the one who does good”. In short, religious tradition can be interpreted in support of multiple, and sometimes contradictory, views.

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Bibliographie

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Amgad Nigm, strategic relations and partnership officer at the Majid Society, Jeddah, January 2020.

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Notes

1  Interview with Lina, a former employee of the Majid Society, Jeddah, March 2013.

2  In April 2013, I was invited to join Amani to a class with Dr. ʿAli Shaʿrab in Jeddah.

3  Alfajr.org, 2011.

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Nora Derbal, « The Dogma of Development: Saudi Aid in Transition »Revue des mondes musulmans et de la Méditerranée, 158 (2/2025) | 2025, 105-122.

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Nora Derbal, « The Dogma of Development: Saudi Aid in Transition »Revue des mondes musulmans et de la Méditerranée [En ligne], 158 (2/2025) | 2025, mis en ligne le 01 décembre 2025, consulté le 22 janvier 2026. URL : http://journals.openedition.org/remmm/24146 ; DOI : https://doi.org/10.4000/15c92

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Auteur

Nora Derbal

Universität Hamburg, Asien-Afrika-Institut
nora.derbal[at]uni-hamburg.de

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