This article reflects on the prospects of a political transition in Iran—from the Islamic Republic to a secular and pluralist political order—by drawing lessons from South Africa’s transition to liberal democracy.
This article was prepared in connection with the Iran Human Rights Organization conference, 'Transition and Safeguarding Citizens’ Rights in Iran' (August 31, 2024, University of Oslo). The original English version, titled Iran’s Transition to Liberal Democratic Secularism: Lessons from South Africa, was published in the June 2025 issue of the Freedom Thoughts Journal."
Abstract
This article reflects on the prospects of a political transition in Iran—from the Islamic Republic to a secular and pluralist political order—by drawing lessons from South Africa’s transition to liberal democracy. While widely praised for securing equal rights, South Africa’s 1996 Constitution also institutionalised political secularism, an essential but often overlooked achievement. In a religiously diverse society, secularism was crucial to dismantling Apartheid’s system of White supremacy and Protestant privilege. However, differences in the internal dynamics and external pressures shaping each case make it unlikely that Iran will undergo a South African-style transition under current conditions. Examining how South Africa drafted a secular constitution, and the specific model of secularism it adopted, can nevertheless inform reflection on the Iranian context and help articulate strategies for a transition that would dismantle Islamically sanctioned gender apartheid.
Keywords
secularism, religious pluralism, gender apartheid, transition, Iran, South Africa.
Introduction
The prospect of Iran transitioning peacefully away from the Islamic Republic toward a liberal democratic system that guarantees freedom and equality depends on weakening clerical power and dismantling theocracy. This essay reflects on the possibility of such a transition by drawing lessons from South Africa’s experience. While South Africa’s democratic transformation is widely celebrated for establishing equal rights, it is less commonly recognised that the transition also institutionalised political secularism in its 1996 Constitution. Given South Africa’s religious diversity, secularism was essential to dismantling Apartheid’s system of White supremacy and Protestant privilege, which subordinated all other South Africans. Like the Islamic Republic, the conservative Apartheid regime was neither democratic nor secular, much less liberal. The comparison, however, has its limits. Differences in the internal and external pressures on these regimes suggest that a South African-style transition is unlikely to develop and topple theocracy in Iran under the current conditions. Nevertheless, reflecting on how South Africa drafted a secular constitution—and the specific model of secularism it adopted—can assist us in reflecting on the Iranian context and inspire strategies for a successful transition. Such a transition would amount to the dismantling of Islamically sanctioned gender apartheid.1
No to the Islamic Republic
A transition is necessary in Iran because the existing regime cannot be reformed. To say that there should be a transition is to say “No to the Islamic Republic”. There should be no illusions about the patriarchal and authoritarian—if not totalitarian—nature of this regime. Appeals to modify the framework established by Khomeini and Khamenei amount to fantastical thinking and will only delay the democratization process. The idea of a transition, i.e., moving beyond the Islamic Republic, requires that the new Iranian state’s ends be entirely this-worldly: protecting equal civil rights, ensuring the welfare and health of its citizens, and maintaining the safety and public order that define a constitutional democratic regime of a “well-ordered society”.2 The state must neither aspire to save its citizens’ souls nor pursue objectives transcending earthly concerns. It should not anticipate the arrival of a saviour or engage in spiritual missions. Instead, its duty is only to safeguard the human dignity of all citizens, as well as migrants, refugees, and stateless people within its borders. It should not recognise specific religions, but rather these individuals’ shared capacity for holding deeply felt beliefs about souls, the afterlife, or saviours, as well as the capacity to exclude the supernatural from living a good life. Such a transition necessitates a transfer of power—rather than the absence of power—from Shi’a clerical authorities to politically secular leadership. This does not imply a so-called mutual exclusion, an immediate or absolute separation of Islam from the state. Instead, the first step involves distancing the two while allowing for necessary interactions. Transition, by definition, occurs in stages. This measured approach enables the emerging secular political system to intervene where needed and to establish its monopoly on coercive power.
That is not to say that the state should harness its power in an authoritarian manner. Advocates of a transition, such as the repeatedly imprisoned human rights lawyer Nasrin Sotoudeh3—described by admirers as “the Nelson Mandela of Iran”4—hope that the methods for effecting change towards political secularism can be peaceful.5 In a 2018 statement signed by Sotoudeh and other Iranian human rights defenders, they called for a referendum on Iran’s political future, declaring:
The only way out of the current situation is a peaceful transition from an Islamic Republic toward a secular parliamentary democracy based on the free votes of the people, which fully respects human rights and eliminates all institutionalised discrimination, particularly against women and ethnic and religious minorities, in all cultural, social, political, and economic domains.6
Another example of a call to a “transition from the Islamic Republic” (goẕār az jomhūrī-ye eslāmī) is found in a charter that was published during the Woman Life Freedom protests in 2023. The Charter of Solidarity and Alliance for Freedom (The Mahsa Charter) was signed by a coalition including Reza Pahlavi, Shirin Ebadi, and Abdulla Mohtadi. However, the attempt to work together in diaspora and with activists inside the country across ideological differences—between left and right, feminists and monarchists, majorities and minorities—failed in a matter of weeks. The Mahsa Charter calls for “the participation of activists inside Iran to focus on fair transitional justice, the formation of a council for the transition of power, and the means by which power is transferred to a secular, democratic government”.7 It also refers to the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, of which Article 18 adds to religious freedom the freedom “to change” one’s religious belonging, which is widely understood as also the right to not identify with a particular religion—a crucial point in contemporary Iran that in future statements, charters, and manifestos should be made more explicitly.
The idea of transition, championed by secular and liberal democratic advocates of diverse political orientations, raises critical questions: Can such a process be achieved fairly and inclusively, respecting the diverse interests of the Iranian people? How can it incorporate both religious and non-religious citizens—who may resist, support, or remain indifferent to the regime—and account for the burdens of their traumatic past, volatile present, and uncertain future? In such a charged emotional landscape, practising restraint in the service of justice is as challenging as it is rare. The idealistic goal to eliminate all institutionalised discrimination, as articulated in the 2018 statement, should therefore be accepted as a never-ending work in progress. The fundamental political principles secularism serves—freedom and equality—can provide minimal standards to initiate this process and represent practical ideals to live up to.
Undoubtedly, the architects of the new political system will draw inspiration from European and North American experiences with separating religion and state. However, they should equally learn from developments in Latin America, Asia, and Africa—such as Mexico’s history of liberal anti-clerical policies, 8 India’s drafting of a secular constitution in a deeply religious society after independence,9 and, more recently, the dismantling of Apartheid in South Africa. For Iranians, the South African example holds particular relevance, as it demonstrates a relatively successful political transition to democracy and coexistence. The case of South Africa is additionally significant because White supremacy there was not only racial but also intertwined with religious discrimination, an aspect often overlooked. Moreover, Iranian scholars and activists have thought comparatively by using the concept of gender apartheid for decades.10 They describe the Islamic regime’s policies as constituting gender apartheid, with the compulsory hijab serving as its most recognisable symbol. Following the Woman, Life, Freedom protests, this concept gained broader popular traction, as it was used by activists such as Masih Alinejad—who the regime has attempted to kidnap and assassinate in the United States—and Narges Mohammadi—who sent a letter about gender apartheid from Tehran’s Evin Prison to the UN Secretary-General. Mohammadi’s letter begins unambiguously: “The time has come to declare gender apartheid a crime”.11 Her plea has resonated internationally, including in South Africa, as evidenced by a 2024 joint letter from South African jurists and anti-apartheid experts to the United Nations. Referencing the systematic oppression of women in Iran and Afghanistan, the letter advocates for codifying gender apartheid as a crime against humanity:
The international community responded comprehensively to the crime of racial apartheid, forcing accountability on South Africa’s apartheid state and obligating member states of the United Nations to eradicate the institutionalised regime of systematic oppression and domination of Black South Africans. Broadening the definition of the crime of apartheid to include gender would enable a structured global approach to address the institutionalised systems of domination and oppression of women, girls, and others. We note that international law criminalises both racial apartheid and racial persecution. It should do the same for gender apartheid and gender persecution.12
Among the signatories is Albie Sachs, former Justice of South Africa’s Constitutional Court and a key figure in the African National Congress (ANC), whose political and legal thought helped shape the ANC’s commitment to political secularism. While Apartheid in South Africa may not be categorised as a severe theocracy like the Islamic regime in Iran, it was a system that entangled race, religion, and politics. It privileged White Christians while systematically discriminating against the Black majority—most of whom were also Christians—as well as non-religious individuals and ethnic and religious minorities. Dismantling Apartheid required establishing political secularism, which became a cornerstone of South Africa’s 1996 Constitution. After winning the 1994 elections that brought Nelson Mandela to the presidency, the ANC sought to build a political system that guaranteed self-determination for the majority while safeguarding the expressive freedoms of all individuals. Achieving these freedoms necessitated limiting group-based rights such as cultural, linguistic, or religious protections, which could have perpetuated White privilege and racial discrimination. Fundamentally, therefore, not the groups, nor their religions, but the individuals who share a capacity to hold and not to hold religious beliefs, are who—and not what—the Constitution sought to protect. These rights are, after all, human rights belonging to individuals, not religious rights belonging to religions.
The Fact of Pluralism
The transition from Apartheid to political secularism in the 1990s unfolded in a South African society marked by intra- and inter-religious diversity, i.e., diversity within and across religious groups. According to the 1996 census, 36.5% of the population identified with mainline Christian denominations—including Reformed, Anglican, Lutheran, Roman Catholic, and others—while 26.8% belonged to African independent churches and the Zion Christian Church. Additionally, 6.7% were part of Pentecostal and Charismatic churches, and another 5.4% aligned with other Christian denominations. Those reporting “no religion” increased from 11.7% in 1996 to 15.1% in the 2001 census, while those refusing to specify their religion decreased from 9.4% to 1.4%.13 Leatt highlights these census figures to provide a rough depiction of South Africa’s religious landscape during this transformative period:
Christianity is by far the most dominant religious affiliation in South Africa, and people with ‘no religion’ are the second-largest demographic. The remainder vary in their religious affiliation. Each of the other religions is relatively small. According to the 2001 census, Muslims made up just less than 1.5% of South Africans (about 650,000 people). There were 550,000 Hindus and a little more than 75,000 Jews (about 0.2%). A catch-all category of ‘other faiths’, which includes ‘Buddhists, Taoists, Confucians, New Agers, Jehovah's Witnesses and Baha’is’, grew from nearly 200,000 in 1996 to almost 300,000 by 2001. The 1996 census for the first time included ‘African Traditional Belief’ as an option. That year, just 17,097 people identified with this category. In 2001, however, the number had increased to nearly 126,000.14
Leatt cautions that sampling bias and measurement errors may affect these figures, particularly for smaller groups. However, the key takeaway is clear: South Africa was—and remains—a diverse, albeit majority-Christian, nation. A similar picture emerges from surveys conducted in Iran by GAMAAN (the Group for Analysing and Measuring Attitudes in Iran), of which I am a member. In 2023, GAMAAN conducted a survey with the voluntary assistance of VPN providers Psiphon and Lantern to ensure anonymity, finding after weighting that 37.9% identified as Shi’a, 17.3% as “believers in God without religion,” 16.1% as Humanists, 6.6% as “none”, 6.5% as Atheists, and 4.9% as Sunni. Smaller groups included 2.8% identifying as Zoroastrian,15 1.6% as Spiritual, 1.0% as Mystical (Sufi), 0.5% as Christian, 0.2% as Baha’i, and 0.1% as Jewish. Our empirical research has also focused on the societal decline of Islam—an especially dramatic phenomenon—and the tensions between secular and religious ways of life.16
Under the Islamic Republic, obtaining reliable survey data remains a significant challenge. The point here is not to take GAMAAN’s results at face value. What matters is that these anonymous online surveys paint a strikingly different picture compared to telephone or face-to-face surveys, which are more susceptible to the “fear-of-the-state bias”17 and portray a homogeneous society with 98% identifying as Muslim. The critical implications for normative considerations of political secularism are clear. First, in a society where those who do not identify with a particular religion form the second-largest and rapidly growing group, there is an inevitable pressure to allow non-Islamic perspectives to be openly expressed, including calls to separate organised religion from the state. In the words of Sotoudeh:
I believe that when a society’s public opinion clearly demands the separation of religion from governance and rejects the ruling authority’s interference in various aspects of life, including women’s attire, it will inevitably lead to significant change. We are getting closer to this reality. This movement in Iran, like every other movement, experiences ups and downs. However, ultimately, it is the belief of the people that manifests in public life. Therefore, the collective destiny is in our hands. We are obliged to take it.18
Secondly, GAMAAN’s results, along with qualitative research, clearly demonstrate that diversity in Iran— much like in South Africa—is here to stay, at least for the foreseeable future. This recognition that Iran is not homogeneous in religious identification carries significant implications. Since Muslims still make up the largest religious group, if a political transition involves negotiations, Islamic perspectives will play a role in shaping the specific form of state-religion relations in a democratic future. However, these perspectives must operate within a human rights framework that precludes any political establishment of Islam, whether formally or informally, symbolically or materially. Failing to do so would amount to disregarding diversity, as it would automatically render non- Muslims unequal. Political secularism, in other words, is a direct response to such diverse demographics and the irreconcilable differences they embody. The presence of multiple groups—each with their ideologies, religious and non- religious—necessitates a political system that can prevent or mitigate these groups’ prejudices against their members, against others, and against those who choose to disaffiliate from any group. In both South Africa and Iran, being modern societies with diverse populations, diversity is not merely an afterthought; it is the very reason why religion and government must be separated.
I want to stress that the idea of secularism being grounded in diversity is not new. The concept of diversity has deep historical roots in secular political thought. In the seventeenth century, it was invoked in calls for mutual toleration between religious groups and for institutionalising toleration as a “civil right” by separating religious worship from political decision-making. This separation, it was argued, would protect all, for as Locke famously put it, “everyone is orthodox to himself”— everyone believes their view is the right one.19 Such an orthodoxizing tendency is inherently threatening, as it signals a competition for the power to dominate in religious matters. By the twentieth century, the liberal philosopher Rawls reinforced this idea, asserting that diversity is not merely a product of historical circumstances but also the result of enduring institutions that guarantee freedom and equality. Rawls’s “fact of pluralism” maintains that pluralism is a “permanent feature” of modern democratic societies.20 This implies that any orthodox hope of achieving uniformity in religious and secular worldviews, philosophies, and ways of life should be abandoned. An orthodox doctrine can only legitimately exist as part of a broader societal diversity, as one perspective among many.
Recent sociological research on secularisation and global religious demographics supports Rawls’s normative argument. While there are global patterns of religious decline, these do not preclude religious growth and transformation in many parts of the world. Even in countries like Iran, where religiosity appears to be in sharp decline, the result is a society characterised by religious and non-religious diversity. 21 Thus, once we accept the principle of toleration politically—recognising pluralism as a normative and a descriptive fact—it becomes clear that any future system must institutionally protect this diversity by adopting the ideal of equal civil rights. Political secularism provides the means to achieve this. In a liberal and democratic political system—distinct from communist and authoritarian regimes—secularism should not be viewed as an end but as a tool to serve the constitutional state. Citizens are, of course, free to publicly advocate for the secularisation of their society, as long as their advocacy poses no threat to the constitutionally enshrined civil rights of others.
The Willingness to Change
For the Iranian reader, Leatt’s account of the transition to political secularism in South Africa is revealing in that it emphasises that the ruling National Party (NP), led by Frederik Willem de Klerk, itself developed in the 1980s a willingness to effect change. This appetite for change was brought about by both pressures from within, realising that Apartheid cannot be reconciled with a human rights approach, and crucially from without, due to economic sanctions, international criticism, and even interventions by the United Nations Security Council. The situation in Iran is grave in comparison. There is neither the willingness of Khamenei, his acolytes, and the Islamic Revolutionary Guard Corps to adopt a human rights approach, nor do the so-called Reformists unambiguously call for a transition away from the Islamic Republic or support those who do. There is insufficient international solidarity and action to dismantle the theocratic regime, with widespread international disagreement on economic sanctions as an effective or just policy. Pressure from below is relentless, however, as wave after wave of protests has changed Iranians’ transnational public political discourse, opening it to the idea of a secular “revolution” (enqilāb), which overlaps with the concept of a transition and is distinct only in the sense that it explicitly supports the “overthrowing” (barandāzī) of the regime. The Islamic Republic’s response has repeatedly proved its inability to change. Instead of addressing the societal pressures, it has responded with deadly violence. It killed with impunity hundreds of protestors during the Bloody November of 2019— according to some accounts, as many as 1,500. During the 2022-2023 Woman, Life, Freedom protests, the regime killed over 500 people, including more than 70 children.
The case of South Africa teaches that international and ideological pressure is essential, as human beings are primarily moved by fears of punishment and being hurt, on the one hand, and hopes for wealth and freedom, on the other. South Africans adopted a human rights approach, in other words, in a context of shifting experiences, understandings, and power relations. Two further steps taken by de Klerk’s government in this context of internal and external pressures were the suspension of the death penalty in 1990, followed by its abolition under Mandela, and holding a Whites-only referendum in 1992, in which 69% voted to abolish Apartheid under a new constitution, which further legitimized accepting universal suffrage for the 1994 elections. Iranian human rights defenders, inside and outside the country, have followed suit and campaigned against the death penalty, for example since 2013 in the Campaign for Step-by-Step Abolition of the Death Penalty, 22 before going further and calling for a referendum on the Islamic Republic.23 They have received much international support, exemplified by the Nobel Peace Prize awarded to Mohammadi, and the regime appears under pressure due to sanctions and military attacks on its proxies. Still, there is no international political consensus on isolating and pressuring the regime, and certainly not to the extent that the regime would surrender to democratisation.
Another significant difference in the South African and Iranian contexts, which can partially explain other countries’ reluctance to close all diplomatic channels with the Islamic Republic, lies in the absence of a political organisation like the African National Congress (ANC), which could realistically claim to represent a majority of South Africans. The ANC had already been founded in 1912, with its membership growing during Apartheid, until it was banned in 1960, forcing its leadership into exile.24 Nelson Mandela’s imprisonment in 1962 symbolised the Apartheid regime’s harsh repression, while the ANC established its headquarters in Zambia, with its president, Oliver Tambo, operating from London. Notably, the ANC was labelled a terrorist organisation by the governments of the United Kingdom and the United States. Its historical ties to the Communist Party of South Africa, another banned organisation, further heightened Western concerns about its potential threat to liberal democratic (and capitalist) interests. Despite these challenges, the ANC eventually abandoned its international socialist rhetoric, defined itself as a coalition of politically diverse South Africans who opposed Apartheid, and adopted a human rights framework. Like the NP, it agreed on the necessity of a constitution.
The ANC’s capacity to represent the Black population enabled negotiations with the Apartheid regime, focusing on human rights and a peaceful transition through a new constitutional framework. However, this process was fraught with violence and instability, even after Mandela’s release in 1990. Therefore, expecting a perfectly peaceful transition in Iran would reflect a misunderstanding of history. Even South Africa’s transition—frequently idealised as non-violent—was marked by significant bloodshed. Between 1990 and 1994, approximately 14,000 South Africans lost their lives to political violence, as the Apartheid regime responded to protests with brutal crackdowns and ethnic tensions further fractured the nation. This stark reality underscores that transitional contexts are inherently fragile and can easily escalate into far worse scenarios, including civil war or the rise of a post-transition government intent on retribution. The ANC’s ability to mobilise mass protests and strikes in such turbulent times played a critical role in maintaining its relevance during negotiations, underscoring the importance also for Iranians of organised political movements. While some academics and activists might envision a leaderless and partyless movement achieving such change, this was not the case in South Africa, nor has it materialised in Iran (which is not to deny the revolutionary force of the Woman, Life, Freedom protests).
The negotiations, then, given the fact that they were between political parties of the Apartheid regime and its opponents, can be described as political negotiations. These negotiations unfolded in three phases of South Africa’s transition:
Iranian readers should observe that elections were held before a final constitution was drafted. Although an interim constitution was written before the elections, the democratic process ensured that the people’s votes would be represented and could be leveraged by the most successful political parties. The new, secular Constitution, a cornerstone of South Africa’s democratic transition, was adopted in 1996.
Many meetings, formal and informal, characterised these three phases. I am not qualified to describe here the complexity of the parties involved, and for an Iranian audience unfamiliar with the South African context, such details might be difficult to follow. The gist of these meetings was that the NP and the ANC took on leading roles in conversation with various other parties. Some opposed the end of Apartheid, while others criticised the ANC for failing to adequately represent the diverse interests within the Black population. Between 1985 and 1991, before Mandela’s release, the ANC and the NP held preliminary “talks about talks” and even participated in international law conferences that brought together ANC representatives and South African judges. The presence of these judges, who attended despite their association with the Apartheid judiciary, signaled a critical stance toward the South African government.25 The election of de Klerk in 1989 marked a turning point, as he lifted the ban on the ANC, paving the way for Mandela’s release in 1990. In the subsequent years, during the Convention for a Democratic South Africa (CODESA) and the Multiparty Negotiation Process (MPNP), various parties established working groups, convened plenary sessions, formed a negotiation council, and appointed technical legal committees. These efforts led to an agreement on the necessity of a political transition and the procedure of first drafting an interim constitution. To guarantee a fair electoral process, an agreement was reached on establishing a Transitional Executive Council, an Independent Electoral Commission, and a framework for a Government of National Unity.
Various statements and manifestos were published throughout the process leading up to writing the Constitution. Should there be an Iranian political party with sufficient members and popularity, operating in exile, it may consider that the ANC drafted a Statement on Negotiations in 1987, when it was still banned, followed by its Constitutional Principles, in 1988. The NP, on the other hand, released a Manifesto for the New South Africa in 1991. The agreement on the necessity of a bill of rights emerged not only through negotiations among political parties but also through the contributions of NGOs, academics, legal experts, and discussions in public media. To further enhance the democratic legitimacy of the process, the Constitutional Assembly made significant efforts to inform and involve the public before finalising the Constitution. Leatt describes these public engagement efforts as follows:
Unlike the situation with the multiparty talks, the CA [Constitutional Assembly] went out of its way to secure public participation. It set up a ‘talk line’ and received over two million written submissions and petitions. Constitutional Talk, a magazine publicising deliberations at the CA, was widely distributed. Most impressive perhaps were the four million copies of the text of the draft constitution in all 11 official languages, which were circulated to the public in late 1995 for final comment. Radio and television programmes and local briefings were held, reaching some 95,000 people. While public input made little impact on the final Constitution’s text, the consultation process gave it a great deal of legitimacy.26
Which Secularism?
Scholars of secularism identify various “ideal types” of secularism, reflecting diverse national models, such as those of the United States, France, and India. While these models share a commitment to a universal human rights framework, they differ in how they conceptualise and manage state-religion relations. In South Africa, these particularities were influenced by the country’s religious demography and the (enduring) legacy of Apartheid. Article 15 of the 1996 Constitution’s Bill of Rights exemplifies this context by guaranteeing “freedom of conscience, religion, thought, belief, and opinion”. It allows for state aid to religious institutions and acknowledges minority laws and customs, such as those of Muslim communities and African traditions, so long as they adhere to the principles of freedom and equality. These provisions ensure that minority practices remain voluntary while promoting inclusivity within a diverse society.
Although Article 15 was primarily drafted by legal experts, its final form was shaped through the Convention for a Democratic South Africa, the Multiparty Negotiation Process, the Constitutional Assembly, and extensive public participation, granting it democratic legitimacy. Sachs, writing in Protecting Human Rights in a New South Africa (1990)—published two years after surviving an assassination attempt by Apartheid agents that cost him his right arm and the sight in his left eye—argued for an inclusive political secularism.27 Reflecting on the dangers of retributive politics, he envisioned a framework where religious organizations could deliberate on principles of religious freedom and responsibility. Such a framework, he suggested, could lead to the creation of a charter to complement and reinforce the Constitution’s protections of the freedom of conscience and foster a cooperative, pluralistic society. Religious leaders and organisations did, in fact, play a significant role in South Africa’s transition to democracy, with Archbishop Desmond Tutu’s reconciling efforts being internationally renowned. Leatt notes that Tutu’s Anglican Church represented only a small percentage of South Africa’s Christian population, showing that even small groups could profoundly influence the transition process. In contrast, the far larger Pentecostal Christian communities played no comparable role in promoting interreligious peace as an ideal that the Constitution should facilitate.28 This observation is relevant when considering the role of ethnic minorities such as Kurds and Baluch in Iran. While demographics matter, the influence of Kurdish and Baluch groups and individuals need not be limited in consultations and constitutional drafting to their size or to representing their ethnic and religious communities. Historical examples, like Bhimrao Ramji Ambedkar—the principal author of India’s secular constitution, born into the caste of so-called untouchables— demonstrate how individuals from marginalised groups can shape transformative processes. In the best instances, such figures can criticise majoritarian blind spots. In South Africa, Tutu and other religious leaders did not determine the text of the Constitution but engaged in dialogue about reconciliation, peace, and pluralism. For example, in 1986, the World Conference on Religion and Peace (WCRP) facilitated discussions among religious leaders and with the ANC about recognising diversity in post-Apartheid South Africa. The WCRP issued a declaration in 1992, which influenced the Multiparty Negotiation Process in 1993, and the Constitutional Assembly in 1995. These processes included public hearings on religion and welcomed diverse religious perspectives. As Leatt observes, “a wide range of religious arguments was made for secularism”29 —including the view that religious governance inevitably corrupts religion itself.
Sachs’s 1990 chapter on secularism was concise, only a couple of pages, in a book that developed a larger framework, including topics such as gender, children’s rights, and land ownership and management. Such publications, especially those written in Persian, can be of real importance for Iranians as they address foundational questions in clear, accessible language, consistent with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. For Sachs, political secularism revolves around protecting freedom of conscience, which he identifies as the most essential human right because it matters to us existentially. It can be said, following his reasoning, that the freedom of conscience is what is truly at stake in the struggle against theocracy in Iran. Secularism is imperative because millions of Iranians, as individuals, refuse to conform to the ideological mandates imposed by the Islamic regime. They do not want to be what the regime wants them to be.30 As Sachs asserts:
The basic constitutional tenet in a free South Africa must be the right to think what we want to think, and to believe what we want to believe— one person, one conscience. The inviolability of the individual, the respect of the worth of every human being, whether seen as God-given or as natural endowment or as social right, lies at the foundation of citizenship. It was this right more than any other that apartheid violated.31
To dismantle Apartheid, Sachs argued, necessitated a shift to political secularism. While the state need not be anti-religious, it must not establish a state religion. In the Iranian context, this means that Islam, particularly Shi’ism, cannot be institutionalised as the state religion, and individuals—whether believers or non-believers—must not face discrimination based on their personal beliefs. Furthermore, Sachs emphasises that majorities must not crush minorities. Given the pervasive nature of nationalism in Iran, the “right to be different”32 should be a foundational principle in conceptualising the transition to a secular democracy, especially if that democracy is to be genuinely liberal.
Sachs distinguishes a spectrum of political systems, ranging from theocracy to militant secularism, with five distinct options:
Sachs believed that the choice of a conception of secularism should be sensitive to the context. In South Africa, given the country’s historical and cultural circumstances, he favoured the third option—a secular state that allows for active interaction between religious organisations and the state. However, the situation in Iran presents different challenges, due to the significant power of religious authorities and the societal divide between secular and religious citizens (which is not absolute, but cannot be ignored). For the Reformists, the ideal model might be the second option, where religious authorities maintain control over family law and possibly criminal law, while the state governs other areas. This system would allow for the preservation of the Iranian state’s Islamic identity and, by definition, discriminate against non-Muslims and minorities. However, a real transition to secularism in Iran would have to combine elements of the third, fourth, and fifth options. Option three would involve collaboration between the state and religious institutions on issues such as education, welfare, and social ethics, while ensuring the state maintains its secular authority over the broader legal and political system. Option four envisions a secular state that tolerates a private sphere for religious organisations Q without any formal institutional interaction. Religious groups would be allowed to operate independently without formal collaboration with or influence on the state. This option would allow for a clearer separation between religion and the political apparatus, ensuring that religious groups cannot dictate public law or state policy.
The fifth option—militant secularism, which advocates for the repression of religious organisations— would require a level of coercive state power that would likely alienate large segments of the population, particularly religious communities. This approach, while possible, would be difficult to implement without undermining the pluralistic nature of Iranian society. In my understanding, however, the extreme nature of the existing theocratic regime requires an Iranian secularism that can effectively protect democracy. It should therefore incorporate a basic feature of militant secularism, namely that secularism is potentially a “stance against religion”,34 in contexts where constitutional principles are at risk of being violated by anti-liberal religious forces. This feature should resemble the contemporary French model of secularism—allowing for active intervention in religious matters, supported by a democratic process— rather than regress into authoritarianism. To be sure, I am not advocating for one model of secularism here but arguing that elements of different models will likely be relevant to Iran’s political secularisation trajectory. Even the more moderate form of secularism, option three, can offer robust protection against religious oppression if consistently interpreted in accordance with the Universal Declaration of Human Rights. This was ensured by post-Apartheid South Africa’s Bill of Rights. The second clause of Article 15 created the possibility of “state-aided institutions” that observe religious practices, but only provided that “those observances follow rules made by the appropriate public authorities”, if those observances are “conducted on an equitable basis”, and if “attendance at them is free and voluntary”. Article 15 ends by stating that any recognition of religious practices must be in accordance with the Constitution. The explicit reference to public authorities, whose rules should be followed if a religious group seeks state-aided assistance, can guarantee the secular state’s priority for constitutional principles.
A 1997 radio controversy illustrates how the South African law can function in practice. During this controversy, an Islamic minority group wished to ban women’s voices from their Radio Islam broadcasting, arguing that women’s voices were ‘awrah, an intimate part of the body that should not be heard by a public of Muslim listeners. Since Muslims did not have their own radio during Apartheid, and religious radio broadcasting was dominated by reformed Christian programs, the issue was sensitive. However, another, more progressive group of Muslims protested the interpretation in which women’s voices should be removed from the airwaves. The public authorities were, in this case, the Independent Broadcasting Authority (IBA), and they did not accept that one interpretation of Islam, an extremely conservative one that contradicted the constitutional principle of gender equality, should be accepted above others. To stay on the air, Radio Islam accepted this outcome.35 The example shows that secularism can accommodate religious freedom in a pluralistic society, but at the same time prioritise gender equality when a religious group’s practices clearly contradict constitutional principles.
The South African experience offers another valuable lesson for Iran in determining the form of secularism: the move toward a secularism that permitted interaction between the state and religious organisations was partly driven by the need to address concerns within the White Protestant population, who feared the suppression of their religion under a new regime. De Klerk’s NP endorsed the concept of religious freedom as an individual right but also expressed a preference for the German model of secularism. This model does not mandate a complete separation of church and state; it allows the state to levy a church tax and ensures religious instruction in schools. Such an approach helped mitigate tensions and secured the participation of religious groups in the post-Apartheid system. In contrast, the extremist Conservative Party (CP), which upheld White supremacist views, rejected secularism altogether and called for a Christian state. Their views were not successful in the elections, which determined the parties’ power in the transition process, and they subsequently did not contribute to the drafting of the Constitution. This is highly relevant for Iranians, showing that a complete consensus among all political factions is unnecessary to reach a national agreement. The South African example suggests that no more than a “sufficient consensus”36 —one that reflects the majority of the population— is required for progress. Achieving anything resembling complete consensus is impossible in Iran, as some will likely remain loyal to the Islamic regime during the transition to secular democracy. A sufficient consensus, however, is a step that cannot be skipped, either, as the transition to secular democracy in Iran should be determined by multiparty negotiations if it is to represent a diverse nation of ninety million people.
Conclusion
South Africa’s Constitution and political system can be characterised as secular, liberal, and democratic. Formally, no religion is privileged over others, and minorities are afforded protections, including the legalisation of same-sex marriages since 2006. Overall, South Africa’s secular constitution is not exceptional within sub-Saharan Africa. Of the fifty-four African countries, twenty-seven have secular constitutions, often shaped by their colonial histories. Fourteen of these constitutions explicitly define the state as “secular”, while seven advocate for the “separation” of religion and state, and six incorporate both terms. Most non-secular countries— those that constitutionally establish a state religion—are predominantly Muslim, such as Egypt, Mauritania, and Somalia.37 The challenge of the twenty-first century will be to secularise the legal frameworks of these Muslim-majority countries. Critics may resist this idea, citing ambiguities and contradictions in the practical realities on the ground. However, this does not negate the fact that establishing Islam as the state religion is inherently discriminatory, and states that insist on establishing one or several religions must demonstrate, if they care for their legitimacy, that they do not discriminate against religious and non-religious others. In general, secularising the law is a necessary, though not sufficient, step toward ensuring freedom and equality for all and to fully commit to a human rights approach.38 Nonetheless, critical South Africans might caution Iranians not to place excessive hope in a transfer of power to other, secular authorities. Such warnings are worth heeding. Past injustices will not disappear overnight, and new challenges are likely to emerge. Observing the state of South Africa—a country grappling with poverty, a staggering HIV infection rate, and corruption—such concerns seem justified. Yet, from the Iranian perspective and arguably from a more pragmatic South African perspective as well, the adoption of a secular constitution in a religiously diverse, divided, and trauma-stricken nation stands as an inspiring achievement. It is an accomplishment that Iranians, in their pursuit of democracy, may look to as a model of hope and possibility in the face of challenges that seem insurmountable.
*Pooyan Tamimi Arab, Assistant Professor of Religious Studies at Utrecht University, a member of the Group for Analysing and Measuring Attitudes in Iran (GAMAAN), and a member of the Young Academy of the Royal Netherlands Academy of Arts and Sciences. He is the author of Why Do Religious Forms Matter? Reflections on Materialism, Toleration, and Public Reason (Palgrave, 2022).
Footnotes
1- Although I specialise in studying political secularism, I am not an expert on South Africa. These reflections arise out of necessity rather than expertise, and I invite readers to point out any errors I may have made. For this essay, I draw particularly on Dhammamegha Annie Leatt’s The State of Secularism: Religion, Tradition & Democracy in South Africa, which offers an invaluable account of South Africa’s transition. Iranian readers interested in details beyond the scope of this essay are encouraged to consult Chapter 3. See: Leatt, Dhammamegha Annie. 2017. The State of Secularism: Religion, Tradition and Democracy in South Africa. Johannesburg: Wits University Press.
2- The idea of a “well-ordered society” is one of the fundamental political ideas of liberal democracy, according to John Rawls. Its meaning is changed from his book A Theory of Justice (1972), in which all citizens adopted “justice as fairness” as their doctrine, to the book Political Liberalism (1993), in which the “fact of pluralism” is added to the analysis, requiring that the well-ordered democratic society is one in which citizens agree only on the basic structure of the Constitution and leave ample room for irreconcilable differences. See: Rawls, John. 2005. Political Liberalism. New York: Columbia University Press.
3- Sotoudeh, Nasrin. 2023. Women, Life, Freedom: Our Fight for Human Rights and Equality in Iran. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press.
4- A Conversation with the Director and Producers of the New Documentary, “Nasrin”. Center for Human Rights in Iran, September 30, 2020.
5- I do not share the hope of those who favour a negotiated transition instead of a revolution, at least not in the current circumstances. In this essay, I have attempted to be objective by reflecting constructively on what may be relevant to consider when drawing lessons from South Africa’s transition.
6- Bayāniye farākhān bar-guzārī referāndum jahat-e ta'īn no' hokūmat-e āyande-ye Irān. Tribune Zamaneh, February 12, 2018.
7- Alliance for Democracy and Freedom in Iran. 2023. The Charter of Solidarity and Alliance for Freedom (The Mahsa Charter). https://adfiran.com/, accessed December 18, 2024.
8- See, for example, the chapters on Sudan, Mexico, and India, in: Bilgrami, Akeel (ed.). 2016. Beyond the Secular West. New York: Columbia University Press.
9- For a fascinating account of Nehru’s secular philosophy, see: Nath, Sushmita. 2022. The Secular Imaginary: Gandhi, Nehru, and the Idea(s) of India. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. India’s secularism has already inspired Iranians to reflect on their future, see: Jahanbegloo, Ramin. 2011. Two Concepts of Secularism. Comparative Studies of South Asia, Africa and the Middle East 31(1): 13-22.
10- For examples of the use of “sexual apartheid” and “gender apartheid” going back two or three decades, see: Milani, Abbas. Can Iran Become a Democracy? Hoover Digest, April 30, 2003; Hassibi, Mahin. Sexual Apartheid in Iran. On the Issues Magazine, November 20, 1994.
11- Nobel laureate urges UN to take action against gender apartheid in Iran. Iran International, September 15, 2024.
12- Joint Letter from South African Jurists and Anti-Apartheid Experts on Codifying the Crime of Gender Apartheid in the Draft Crimes Against Humanity Convention. February 21, 2024. https://endgenderapartheid.today/, accessed December 18, 2024.
13- Statistics South Africa. 2004. Primary tables South Africa CENSUS 2001: Census ‘96 and 2001 compared.
Pretoria: Statistics South Africa.
14- Leatt, Dhammamegha Annie. 2017. The State of Secularism: Religion, Tradition and Democracy in South Africa.
Johannesburg: Wits University Press, p. 68.
15- On the phenomenon of Iranians identifying as Zoroastrians in online surveys, see: Stausberg, Michael, Tamimi Arab, Pooyan, and Maleki, Ammar. 2023. Survey Zoroastrians: Online Religious Identification in the Islamic Republic of Iran. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 62(4): 823-844.
16- Tamimi Arab, Pooyan, and Maleki, Ammar. 2025. “The secular-religious divide in Iran: An analysis of GAMAAN’s online surveys”. In Nonbelievers, Apostates, and Atheists in the Muslim World, edited by Jack D. Eller and Natalie Khazaal. London: Routledge, 112-142.
17- For an article explaining the fear-of-the-state bias in African countries, see: Zimbalist, Zack. 2018. “Fear- of-the-State Bias” in Survey Data. International Journal of Public Opinion Research 30(4): 631-651.
18- Sotoudeh 2023, p. 66.
19- Locke uses the word diversity (Latin: diversitas) in A Letter Concerning Toleration, first published in Latin and English in 1689.
20- For a description of pluralism as a permanent feature of democratic societies, and thus not to be lamented as an unfortunate condition, see Rawls 2005, pp. 36, 136, 217.
21- Compare, for example, the following two books. The first is a sociological account of religious decline in modernity, and the second focuses on the enduring competition of religions in much of the world for wealth, power, and people: 1) Kasselstrand, Isabella, Zuckerman, Phil, and Cragun, Ryan T. 2023. Beyond Doubt: The Secularization of Society. New York: New York University Press; 2) Seabright, Paul. 2024. The Divine Economy: How Religions Compete for Wealth, Power, and People. New Jersey: Princeton University Press.
22- Also see GAMAAN’s research on Iranian public opinion and the death penalty: Groundbreaking Survey Reveals Iranians’ Attitudes Towards the Death Penalty. World Coalition Against the Death Penalty, October 23, 2020, https://worldcoalition.org/, accessed December 18, 2024.
23- Call for Referendum in Iran. Iranwire, February 13, 2018.
24- Ellis, Stephen. 1991. The ANC in Exile. African Affairs: The Journal of The Royal African Society 90(360): 439- 447.
25- On the moral complexities of practicing law during and after Apartheid, see: Chaskalson, Arthur. 2003. From Wickedness to Equality: The Moral Transformation of South African Law. International Journal of Constitutional Law 1(4): 590-609.
26- Leatt 2017, p. 61.
27- Sachs, Albie. 1990. Protecting Human Rights in a New South Africa. Cape Town: Oxford University Press.
28 - Leatt 2017, pp. 71-72.
29- Leatt 2017, p. 73. In the context of Iranian intellectuals, Naser Ghobadzadeh is one among several scholars who has recently published a book that presents a religious, Shi’a, rationale for secularism. See: Ghobadzadeh, Naser. 2023. Theocratic Secularism: Religion and Government in Shi’i Thought. New York: Oxford University Press.
30- For a recent sociological account of this existential dimension of Iranians’ struggle for democracy, see: Khosrokhavar, Farhad. 2024. Revolt Against Theocracy: The Mahsa Movement and the Feminist Uprising in Iran. Cambridge: Polity; and Tohidi, Nayereh. 2023. Iran in a Transformative Process by Woman, Life, Freedom. Freedom of Thought Journal 13: 29-57.
31- Sachs 1990, p. 47.
32- Sachs 1990, p. 45.
33- Sachs 1990, p. 46.
34- I take this view from Akeel Bilgrami’s definition of political secularism. See: Bilgrami, Akeel. 2014. Secularism, Identity, and Enchantment. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.
35- For a more detailed account, see: Ingram, Brannon. 2015. Public Islam in post-Apartheid South Africa: The Radio Islam Controversy. Critical Research on Religion 3(1): 72-85.
36- Leatt 2017, p. 56.
37- Michael, Bethania, Lin, Alexander, and Berlinerblau, Jacques. 2024. “Secular Africa?” Making Sense of Noncompliance to Secular Constitutions in Sub-Saharan Africa. Journal of Church and State 66(1): 13-29.
38- This is the view, among others, of Heiner Bielefeldt, former United Nations Special Rapporteur on Freedom of Religion or Belief. See: Bielefeldt, Heiner, and Wiener, Michael. 2020. Religious Freedom Under Scrutiny. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, pp. 109-125.
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