Two months following the US invasion of Iraq, the late Palestinian professor Edward Said had an ominous prediction that is sadly becoming truer by the day.
“The Arab people today face a wholesale attack on their future by an imperial power, America, that acts in concert with Israel, to pacify, subdue and finally reduce us to a bunch of warring fiefdoms whose first loyalty is not to their people, but to the great superpower (and its local surrogate) itself,” he wrote in Egypt’s Ahram Weekly. “What is now needed is a breaking of the iron bands that tie Arab societies into sullen knots of disaffected people, insecure leaders and alienated intellectuals.”
It was as if Said was reading into the future, in all of its painful details. His “alienated intellectual” features prominently in today’s tragic reality, where a daily war on the Arab identity itself is being waged through Arab media. The so-called Arab Spring may have been the popular retort to the catastrophe imposed on the Arab world through the US-led war on Iraq, compounding an existing tragedy of ravenous regimes who have not the slightest regard for their people’s rights or well-being, let alone that of future generations. The exaggerated notion that the Arab Spring was going to rapidly usher in an age of democracy was most naive. In fact, the situation in some Arab countries is beyond disaster and depression. It reflected a great degree of ignorance of Arab history and convoluted political reality. Western intellectuals who celebrated the western influence (‘twitter revolutions’ and such) on the supposedly liberated Arabs further highlighted the unbridgeable distance between western perceptions of the Middle East and the complex reality.
The feted “spring” introduced extreme political, intellectual and media discourses that polarised Arab nations like never before. In countries, where Arab revolutions struggled or failed, the space for free expression has shrunk into tiny margins. Only quasi-intellectuals seemed to enjoy unlimited space, as long as their mission was to praise the ruler and curse his enemies.
The likes of Egyptian TV show hosts such as Tawfiq Okasha and Amr Adeeb occupy a large space in the Egyptian media discourse, wreaking so much havoc with their mostly unsubstantiated claims and frequent incitement. In the last year or so, in Egypt, much of what has been achieved in terms of carving out space for alternative voices in the Egyptian media was quickly and decisively reversed. No matter how hard Bassam Yousuf tried to tone down his satirical political message, he failed. His show, Al Bernameg (The Programme), came to an abrupt conclusion last June. “The current atmosphere isn’t fitting for a comedy show or any other show,” Yousuf said last June.
Indeed, the polarisation of Arab media has reached extreme points. There is little room for opposing views and regimes are fighting an epic battle for survival by using every possible tactic to win — even if by deception, intimidation, or sheer lies. It is not that media in Arab countries has been an example of transparency, equality and democracy earlier — far from it. But, to an extent, there was a media evolution underway, dictated partly by the advent of the internet and subsequent rise of social media, let alone the heated competition between pan-Arab satellite channels. That evolution, if it were not violently interrupted by a brutal media war, should have had some positive contributions such as the rise of sociopolitical consciousness, affirmation of collective Arab identity, and, more importantly, the creation of a space where the Arab citizen, or any citizen, could find room for self-expression, free from the confines of government censorship and retribution of the state.
But now the state, desperate to survive burgeoning popular pressures and massive mobilisations, has begun to feel the adverse effects of free media platforms and has started to crack down. It seems that the only space that remains open in the state-sanctioned media is for the likes of Okasha and Adeeb. At this critical stage of popular transformation, the stunting of critical Arab media will register its negative impact for years to come. To save themselves, some Arab regimes have chosen to sacrifice the intellect of their societies.
But the issue has its roots in a context that came much before the Arab Spring did. In the post-colonial Middle East, Arab countries — especially those that suffered greatly under the reigns of western powers — were eager to knit separate identities for themselves that were neither French, Italian nor English. They sought regional allies among their own brethren, building cultural bridges where Arab radio stations and newspapers served as the medium of political and cultural unity. Of course, that discourse too was manipulated to fit fantastic political ambitions: Whether they were genuine — as fairly expressive of the will of Arab masses — or fabricated, as self-serving agendas of dictators and ruling classes. The early attempts at pan-Arab media were often used as platforms for regional Arab conflicts. In time, Arab rulers began understanding the immense value of owning and manipulating media to their advantage. And whenever possible, they censored, controlled and punished those who could not be bought or refused to be censored.
The Iraqi invasion of Kuwait in 1991, argues Paul Cochrane, was a breaking point between attempts at manipulating and intimidating media, and owning it. The regional breakups that resulted from that war were so severe that they effectively ended the Arab Cooperation Council (ACC), an alliance that united Iraq, Jordan, Egypt and North Yemen. And they further strengthened another: Gulf Cooperation Council (GCC). The latter had wealth and that meant media access.
The post-war period brought a buying frenzy, where some rich Arab countries and wealthy businessmen attempted to consolidate their control over Arab public opinion by using newly-founded satellite television stations and uniting various Arab societies around cheap entertainment.
When Al Jazeera was launched in 1996, and despite the fact that it was funded by a country that itself was not an icon of freedom of expression, a new type of competition arose between rival Arab countries. Other media outlets soon sprang up that were also funded by rich Arabs and manned mostly by Arab intellectuals and journalists from poorer countries. In that new media realm, “freedom of expression” existed as long as they offered views, at least politically, matching the political agendas of those who funded them. One cannot deny the fact that within that rivalry, independent journalists and intellectuals still managed to create space for themselves and by doing so pushed the boundaries of the debate like never before.
Then the Arab Spring started. Its decisive collective agenda (regime change) left no room for political bargaining or compromise. It further mixed up regional agendas, creating new alliances, and once more emphasised the power of the media in its ability to harness and sway public opinions. Even pan-Arab news networks with a level of credibility were soon tainted in their rush to influence public discourse. The media split between geopolitical allegiances as each camp had its own financiers and many propaganda arms.
Yet, hope persists. It is truly difficult to imagine that in this age of awakening, such mockery will continue for too long.
Ramzy Baroud is an internationally-syndicated columnist, a media consultant, an author and the founder of PalestineChronicle.com. His latest book is My Father Was a Freedom Fighter: Gaza’s Untold Story (Pluto Press, London).
