Arabic and the Media: Linguistic Analyses and Applications [1 ed.] 9004182586, 9789004182585

Table of contents :
Contents
Introduction
Part One Newspaper Language
The Evolution and Role of Newspapers
Cases of Written Code-Switching in Egyptian Opposition Newspapers
Communities of Use in Arabic Newspaper Language: The Meaning of the Country Effect
Part Two Arabic Variation and the Media
Arabic Oral Media and Corpus Linguistics: A First Methodological Outline
Patterns and Predictions for Code-Switching with Arabic
Identity and Code-Choice in the Speech of Educated Women and Men in Egypt: Evidence from Talk Shows
Ḥāl id-Dunyā: An Arabic News Bulletin in Colloquial ('Āmmiyya)
Performance, Language and Power: Nasrallah's Rhetoric and Mediated Charisma in the Context of the 2006 July War
Pidginisation in the Eastern Region of Saudi Arabia: Media Presentation
Internet Bulletin Boards in Saudi Arabia: Analogues of Change and Resistance
Linguistic Varieties in Twenty-First Century Arabic Novels: An Applied Study
Part Three Applications: Approaching Media in the Classroom
Media Arabic as a Regional Standard
A Framework for Teaching Vocabulary Through Printed Media
The Place of Media in the Arabic Curriculum
List of Contributors
Index

Citation preview

Arabic and the Media

Studies in Semitic Languages and Linguistics Edited by

T. Muraoka, C. H. M. Versteegh, A. D. Rubin

VOLUME 57

Arabic and the Media Linguistic Analyses and Applications

Edited by

Reem Bassiouney

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2010

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Arabic and the media : linguistic analyses and applications / edited by Reem Bassiouney. p. cm. — (Studies in Semitic languages and linguistics ; v. 57) Includes bibliographical references and index. 1. Mass media and language—Arab countries. 2. Diglossia (Linguistics)—Arab countries. 3. Code-switching (Linguistics)—Arab countries. 4. Arabic language— Discourse analysis. 5. Arabic language—Variation. 6. Arabic language—Rhetoric. 7. Arabic language—Usage. I. Bassiouney, Reem. P96.L34A73 2010 492.701’41—dc22 2009051729

ISSN 0081-8461 ISBN 978 90 04 18258 5 Copyright 2010 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints BRILL, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS Introduction ........................................................................................

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PART ONE

NEWSPAPER LANGUAGE The Evolution and Role of Newspapers ......................................... Jean Aitchison

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Cases of Written Code-Switching in Egyptian Opposition Newspapers ..................................................................................... Zeinab Ibrahim

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Communities of Use in Arabic Newspaper Language: The Meaning of the Country Effect ........................................... Dilworth Parkinson

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PART TWO

ARABIC VARIATION AND THE MEDIA Arabic Oral Media and Corpus Linguistics: A First Methodological Outline ................................................................ Marc Van-Mol Patterns and Predictions for Code-Switching with Arabic ......... Carol Myers-Scotton

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Identity and Code-Choice in the Speech of Educated Women and Men in Egypt: Evidence from Talk Shows ........................ Reem Bassiouney

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Ḥ āl id-Dunyā: An Arabic News Bulletin in Colloquial (ʿĀmmiyya) ..................................................................................... Madiha Doss

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Performance, Language and Power: Nasrallah’s Rhetoric and Mediated Charisma in the Context of the 2006 July War ...... Dina Matar

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Pidginisation in the Eastern Region of Saudi Arabia: Media Presentation ........................................................................ Munira Al-Azraqi

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Internet Bulletin Boards in Saudi Arabia: Analogues of Change and Resistance ................................................................................ Nadav Samin

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Linguistic Varieties in Twenty First Century Arabic Novels: An Applied Study .......................................................................... Soha Abboud-Haggar

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PART THREE

APPLICATIONS: APPROACHING MEDIA IN THE CLASSROOM Media Arabic as a Regional Standard ............................................ Karin Christina Ryding

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A Framework for Teaching Vocabulary Through Printed Media Raghda El-Essawy

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The Place of Media in the Arabic Curriculum ............................. Mahmoud Abdalla

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List of Contributors ........................................................................... Index ....................................................................................................

291 297

INTRODUCTION Today we are beginning to notice that the new media are not just mechanical gimmicks for creating worlds of illusion, but new languages with new and unique powers of expression Marshall McLuhan, Educator, writer and social reformer 1911–1980

The term ‘media’ refers to the organizations that produce communication devices such as the press, cinema, broadcasting, publishing and so on and so forth. However, it is also used to denote the cultural and material products of these organizations and entities, such as the ‘forms and genres’ of news and soap operas, for example, which then take the forms of newspapers, paperback books, films, tapes, discs . . . etc. (Lister 2003:12; Thompson 1995: 23–24). According to Lister (2003) there has been a development in media due to different factors including; globalisation, the dissolving of national state and national boundaries, and shifts in industry, trade, culture, customs and beliefs. These independent factors have led to a change in the form of media and also in the means of its distribution. Now there are new patterns of organization and production of media such as computer mediated communication; e-mail, chatrooms, and blogs. These new forms are commonly called ‘new media’. The main characteristic of new media is its availability to everyone with little or no ownership regulations, or censure-ship. According to Eickelman (2003:2) new media ‘feeds into new senses of a public space that is discursive, performative, and participative, and not confined to formal institutions recognized by tate authorities.” This may explain why Lister speaks of media as ‘a fully social institution’ (2003:12). Aitchison and Lewis (2003) start their book on new media by positing that the media has witnessed an ‘unprecedented’ amount of change, in terms of quantity, technology and modes. ‘The spread of transmission has increased, and many more readers/viewers participate both passively and actively.’ If this is true for Western media then it is ten folds true for the Arab world. The media has ruthlessly and meticulously penetrated Arab communities at all levels. Governments in Arab countries are becoming aware

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by the day of the importance of the media. To give but an example, the president of Egypt when speaking to University students in Alexandria 1999 urges the students to be frank with him since, as he posits, ‘the world has become like a small village. Anything that happens in any place in the world is known by the media, and by television. Even in hovels you find the satellite dish.’ (cited in Bassiouney 2006:182). Until a decade ago, most Arab countries had one or two official television channels that are usually monitored and owned by the government. Now the satellite dish has changed everything. As Mansfield (2003:404) puts it, in the Arab world, ‘exposure’, through the media ‘to other opinions has eroded taboos’. Business men throughout the Arab world rushed to open new private channels that speak directly to the people. With the increase in competition between different channels, diversity, especially linguistic diversity has become a crucial element in deciding what to listen to or watch and why. The same is true for other forms of media like newspapers and the internet. Opposition parties in a great number of countries were allowed at least partially to create new newspapers that highlight their agendas and even criticise Arab governments. The internet provided the outlet that young people needed to express their dissatisfaction at times and their opinions at others. In the year 2007, 20,000 Egyptians agreed to go on a strike that took place in Cairo days later. The 20.000 Egyptians did not meet or form a group but communicated via blogs, which are difficult to control or monitor. It becomes clearer everyday that the media is forming the people while the people are also using the media as a tool for self expression, and language, in both cases is in the forefront. Aims of this Book The focus of this book will be on the use of Arabic as evidenced in visual and written media, newspapers and satellite channels. This book raises two fundamental questions: First, is Arabic influenced in its development by the media, like other languages? That is, is it changing rapidly to meet the needs of the modern world, in its standard and colloquial varieties? If so, what are the social mechanisms or institutions that shape the use of Arabic? Second, can the media give rise to new hybrid language forms? Conversely, are the media themselves influenced by Arabic?

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This book plans to address these fundamental questions, and further our understanding of the mechanism at work in the development of modern Arabic, in its standard or colloquial variations. In doing so this book will focus on a cluster of crucial issues and themes related to these questions: One of these issues is how written media, mainly newspapers are different from other media. There will be one part devoted to the examination of newspaper language. In addition, the question of whether media is exclusive to standard Arabic or not will be addressed; if media is not exclusive to standard Arabic then how are dialects used in the media? does their usage have a discourse function and is their usage related to a more political and ideological entities? Similarly, what are the mechanisms of diglossic switching in the media? Can we outline rules that explain how people switch between different varieties of Arabic and why they do so? How do the media affect language as a whole? Is it possible to discern certain media-related trends in the development of Arabic—and other languages? If so, how does the case of Arabic compare to that of English, for instance? Is Arabic being adapted to meet new needs? What are the factors that can shape this adaptation? To what extent does the Arabic used in the media reflect social and linguistic realities of Arabic speaking audiences? (‘clichéd’ dialects, code-switching and socialects). How can our knowledge of the linguistic reality of the media in the Arab world contribute to teaching the media to foreign students learning Arabic? What are the challenges and significance of teaching media Arabic to foreign students? More generally what is the state of the art in Arabic teaching and the media? The book aims at offering a significant theoretical, methodological and applicable framework to the study of Arabic media and to the teaching of media as well. Audience and Significance of this Book Scholars interested in the media in general with no knowledge of Arabic will find this book very useful. Also Arabic linguists will find excellent data and hypotheses in this book. Graduate and undergraduate students of both general linguistics and Arabic will find this book useful as a reference book. Teachers of media Arabic can also benefit from the surveys in part three of this book as well as the methods of teaching media discussed in this part.

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There are no reference books or otherwise that deal exclusively with the media from a sociolinguistic perspective in the market and no book with such an amount of variety of topics on the media written by leading scholars in the field. There are more sociolinguistics courses offered nowadays than ever and there are very few books on Arabic sociolinguistics, and none that I know of on Arabic and the media from a linguistic perspective. The book offers a fresh insight into a crucial part of our life, the media. The participants are as diverse in their background and research interests as the topic itself is. There are scholars from Egypt, Saudi Arabia, Spain, Belguim, the UK and the USA. Note that the fact that North Africa is not represented in this book is purely circumstantial. Since this is an edited volume the scope is to a great extent influenced by the scholars interested in contributing and the researchers who were available at the time the book was compiled. North Africa presents a crucial part of the Arab world and research conducted on it provides fresh insights into the field of sociolinguistics. Organisation of the Book Newspaper language Part one of this book is devoted to newspaper language. Aitchison, starts part one by positing that ‘Humans perpetually juggle words, stringing them together in new and inventive ways. Sometimes they do this by chattering to one another, at other times by writing or signing. Yet, increasingly these days, the characteristics of spoken and written language overlap, particularly in newspapers’. Her study though not about Arabic specifically sets the tone for the rest of the discussion in this book. She highlights the similarities in linguistic styles adopted by newspapers world wide and the reasons behind this overlap in style. She contends that the aim of journalists worldwide is to involve the reader and this is achieved by adopting a number of approaches summarised in her article. Ibrahim examines the use of Egyptian Colloquial Arabic (ECA) in opposition newspapers in Egypt and attempts a small scale corpus study in order to explain and systematise cases of code switching between Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) and ECA, or even cases of increase in use of ECA in newspapers which may be a new phenomenon in Egypt. She concentrates on two newspapers specficially, one

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more radical than the other and contends that Al-Dustuur, the more radical opposition newspaper uses more colloquial than Al-Masri, the less radical opposition newspaper and both use more colloquial than the government newspapers. Parkinson by counting variables from different newspapers including Egyptian and Lebanese ones finds that there are different kinds of standard Arabic and not just one standard. There are for example some lexical items that are exclusive to Egyptian standard Arabic and others that are exclusive to Lebanese standard Arabic. Thus one can conclude that there are more than one standard Arabic in the media. Language Variation and the Media Eid posits that the media “creates in between spaces that serve as excellent sites for the negotiation of identities. It does so by bringing public content into the privacy of the home and taking private content to the public view to audiences that are local and, when aired over satellite channels, global as well.’’ (Eid: 2007:405). In part two linguistic variation in the media is discussed and examined from different perspectives. Van-Mol first attempts, in his article, to linguistically define ‘Media Arabic’ and the methodological problems associated with this term. He argues that written media is different from spoken media. However even spoken media language is difficult to classify into one unit. As will be clear in the article a number of factors are crucial in examining the language of the media. Some of these factors are related to the nature of the programs analysed as well as the speakers in these program. Myers-Scotton also examines the matrix language hypothesis and its new development, the 4-M model, in relation to diglossic switching. She argues that diglossic switching between standard Arabic and a vernacular is becoming more and more common in the mass media. She attempts at providing a model that can be applied to both classic code switching between different languages and diglossic switching. This model can thus, regulate and explain rules of switching between the standard and different vernaculars. These rules are dependent on the morphological elements present in each clause of the data. By counting morphological features one can decide on the base language/variety which is used whether standard or colloquial. Bassiouney in her study of diglossic switching between men and women in Talk shows

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concludes that contrary to the belief of a number of linguists, educated Egyptian women do not use Standard Arabic less than men in talk shows, but that standard Arabic usage is related to the role the speaker wants to play and thus acts as a reflection of the speakers identity. Doss in her article discusses the use of Egyptian colloquial Arabic (ECA) in News broadcasts, a domain associated exclusively with Standard Arabic (Ferguson 1959) in the relatively new Egyptian channel OTV (2006). She discusses the logistics behind the use of ECA in news broadcasts as well as the controversy surrounding the channel and its connotations. Doss argues that although the newsbroadcasts in OTV are supposed to be in ECA, they are not in fact in pure ECA, but exhibit features of standard Arabic, whether morphological, phonological or lexical ones. She also poses the question of writing in colloquial and whether the role of colloquial in written texts is increasing and what the outcome and reasons for this increase could be. Matar analyses the political speeches of Hizbollah leader Nassrallah in the wake of the 2006 war with Israel. Matar argues that Nassrallah’s speeches draw on socio-historical references which are related directly to the established culture of communication of his community. His speeches help construct an image of a national and religious leader whose significance and relevance is intelligible to his intended audience in context-dependent ways. She also refers to his use of both colloquial and standard Arabic to construct this image and enhance it. Al-Azraqi concetrates on her study on pidgin Arabic as used in Saudi Arabia specficially and examines the syntactic features that characterise this pidgin and the reasons why it may not develop into a Creole. Al-Azraqi also notes the recent presence of this pigdin in the media, written and spoken; in Saudi Newspapers as well as the famous Saudi comic show, Tash ma Tash. However, Al-Azraqi contends that the use of pidgin Arabic in the media is exclusive to Asian characters and is looked down upon by native Saudis. Samin Examines the discourses on two Saudi Internet bulletin boards, one representing a Najdi tribe, the other a Shi’ite community in eastern Saudi Arabia. He shows how Saudi youth can flout strict codes of behavior through the language used in the internet and can thus express different facets of their identity. Samin demonstrates how independent sociolinguistic variables, such as religion and tribal affiliations are reflected through new forms of media in the middle east in general and in Saudi society in particular.

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A theme which is related indirectly to the media but which I believe has to be covered at least partially in this book is the use of dialect in literature. Literature, especially popular literature such as the novels that Aboud examines in her study are accessible to many and reflects both the attitude of the writer as well as the demands of the audience. Abboud argues that media language has affected literature in irrevocable ways. Abboud examines two novels which have been bestsellers in both the Arab world and in the west as translations, Yacobian building and Girls of Riyadh, the latter written in e-mail messages form. Abboud in her study poses such relevant questions as, what is the function of the use of dialect in literature and does this use present an ongoing trend that will develop in all the Arab world or should it just be exmained on a case by case basis? The written media influences literature same way as literature influences the written media and both influence Arabic in its entirety. Application: Approaching Media in the Classroom In part three of this book, the role of teaching Arabic through the media is examined. Ryding posits in her article that ‘no other form of Arabic is so widely spread, so accessible to the inter-regional public. Arabic media is both constitutive and reflective of a subaltern Arab culture and world-view that contrasts in both sharp and subtle ways with what the West often attributes to Arab public opinion. This genre is therefore of central concern to those who study and teach Arabic language and culture in terms of its reach, its role, its structure, and its content’. Ryding (in this volume). First, Ryding highlights the fascinating role that language plays in the media of the Arab world. She argues in her article that the richness, sophistication and diversity of newspaper Arabic cannot be fully appreciated nor covered in a textbook of Media Arabic. Although textbooks provide students with the linguistic tools and vocabulary needed to understand newspapers, they are not a substitute for real media. Ryding also relates the media to teaching Arabic in an unprecedented way, with reference to specific old and new textbooks as well as proficiency guidlines and goals. El-Essawy investigates methods and resources of teaching vocabulary through written media, especially newspapers. El-Essawy highlights the role of newspapers in facilitating vocabulary teaching

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through inferences, guessing and frequent exposure. She also alludes to the relation between media and culture and the techniques that can be used in classrooms to emphasise the relation between the culture and written media. Abdalla sheds light on the state of teaching Arabic through the mass media in Arabic language programs. He argues that media courses focus mainly on the language of journalism and TV broadcasting. In his article he discusses the characteristics of media language including the ongoing debate on the use of dialect in the media as well as the importance of media literacy in the Arabic language curriculum. The article also provides recommendations for future teaching plans and highlights the role of Arabic teachers in reflecting the rapid changes in modern Arab media. Implications for Further Research Crucial sociolinguistic discussions have been tackled directly or indirectly in this book: Structural constraints and discourse functions of diglossic switching have been examined. Pidgin Arabic, an increasing phenomenon in Gulf countries nowadays, has also been explored. This book also touches upon independent sociolinguistic variables that affect linguistic variation. Such variables are of direct relevance to variation quantitative research and appear in a number of articles in this book such as that of Samin on Saudi internet bulletins boards and Bassiouney on diglossic switching on talk-shows. Independent variables include religion, gender and tribal affiliations (cf. Bassiouney 2009). In addition, a theme that runs throughout this book is the symbolic signifiance of both the dialects and the standard. Language ideologies and language attitudes are behind a number of the linguistic choices in the articles. For example, the use of colloquial in opposition newspapers in Egypt and the use of colloquial in news bulletins in OTV reflect an assertion of a narrow identity rather than an assertion of a broader Arab one. However, the use of specfic dialect or even of a pidgin demonstrates the asscoiations and attitudes that native speakers have towards different varieties. The question of whether there is one standard is also posed and as Parkinson shows in his article the answer is not clear-cut and the assumption that there is one and only one standard form of Arabic that unites all Arabs, though not necessarily false, is more of an ideological than a linguistic one.

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Note that the term language ideologies refers to the belief system that is prevalent in a specific community about language and language use. As Hill and Mannheim (1992:382) argue, language ideology may remind us that cultural concepts analysed by linguists are usually subjective and contentious. Language attitudes on the other hand, as Walters (2006: 651) posits, ‘are psychological states related in complex ways to larger abstract language ideologies’. This book demonstrates the complexity of both ideologies and attitudes on a state-level as well as on a broader nation level. By providing data, theories and postulations, the book aims at setting the reader thinking about different linguistic issues raised mainly by the use of language in the media and how teachers of Arabic as a foreign language could attempt to make use of this complexity of the media in their classes and render the cultural nuanced representation of Arabic speakers in the process. References Aitchison, J. and D. Lewis (2003), New media language, London: Routledge. Bassiouney, R. (2006), Functions of Code Switching in Egypt, Leiden: Brill. —— (2009), Arabic sociolinguistics, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Eickelmann, D. (2003), New media in the Muslim world: The emerging public sphere, Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Eid (2007), “Arabic on the media: Hybridity and styles”, in E. Ditters and H. Motzki (eds), Approaches to Arabic linguistics: Presented to Kees Versteegh on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Leiden: Brill, 403–34. Ferguson (1972 [1959]), “Diglossia”, Word 15: 325–40. Reprinted in P. P. Giglioli (ed.), Language and social context, Harmondsworth: Penguin, 232–51. Hill, J. and B. Mannheim (1992), “Language and world view”, Annual Review of Anthropology 21: 381–406. Lister, M., J. Dovey, S. Giddings, I. Grant & K. Kelly (eds.) (2003), New media: A critical introduction, London ; New York : Routledge. Mansfield, P. (2003), A history of the Middle East, 2nd edn, New York: Penguin. Thompson, R. (1995), Media and modernity: A social theory of the media, Stanford, CA: Stanford Univeristy Press. Walters (2006), “Language attitudes”, lemma in K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich and A. Zaborski (eds), Encyclopedia of Arabic language and linguistics, Leiden: Brill, ii: 650–64.

PART ONE

NEWSPAPER LANGUAGE

THE EVOLUTION AND ROLE OF NEWSPAPERS* Jean Aitchison University of Oxford Humans perpetually juggle words, stringing them together in new and inventive ways. Sometimes they do this by chattering to one another, at other times by writing or signing. Yet, increasingly these days, the characteristics of spoken and written language overlap, particularly in newspapers. This contribution will first, consider some of the changes that have taken place, particularly in British newspapers over the last few centuries. Second, it will assess the role of newspapers today, both in England and elsewhere. Finally, it will point out that as globalization spreads, the same media styles are spreading worldwide. Daily Newspapers Newsbooks, the 17th century forerunners of newspapers, were published every few days, whenever the compilers thought they had accumulated sufficient material (Raymond 1993). The first daily newspaper, the Daily Courant began publication in 1702. Throughout most of the 18th century, the press was viewed with suspicion, particularly by politicians. Taxes were levied on newspapers, and the publication of parliamentary debates was prohibited. Consequently, any so-called news contained a high percentage of gossip. Oliver Goldsmith in his satirical fictional correspondence The citizen of the world (1762/1970) suggested that so-called ‘news’ came ‘from the oracle of some coffeehouse, which oracle has himself gathered them the night before from a beau at a gaming-table, who has pillaged his knowledge from a great man’s porter, who had his information from the great man’s gentleman, who has invented the whole story for his own amusement.’ * The topics dealt with in this article are explored more fully in Aitchison (2007), and this article is a summary of sections of that book. If two dates are given in the references, the first is that of the original work, the second of a more readily accessible reprint.

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Towards the end of the 18th century, restrictions began to be lifted, and parliament opened up its proceedings to the press. Newspapers proliferated, both morning and evening ones. As George Crabbe wrote (1785): For soon as morning dawns with roseate hue, The ‘Herald’ of the morn arises too, ‘Post’ after ‘Post’ succeeds, and all day long ‘Gazetters’ and ‘Ledgers’ swarm, a motley throng. When evening comes she comes with all her train, Of ‘Ledgers’, ‘Chronicles’ and ‘Posts’ again. (Engel 1996: 19).

In the 19th and much of the 20th century, the most prestigious newspaper in England was The Times. This began in 1785, and was originally named the Daily Universal Register. It brought the number of London morning papers to nine. At that time, all newspapers were a dense mass of prose, written in a pompous style. The death of the British naval hero Lord Nelson in November 1805 was reported in The Times in a restrained and long-winded way: ‘We know not whether we should mourn or rejoice. The country has gained the most splendid and decisive Victory that has ever graced the naval annuals of England; but it has been dearly purchased. The great and gallant Nelson is no more: he was killed by almost the last shot that was fired by the enemy.’ The first picture appeared several days later, of his casket and funeral car. In its early days, The Times was notable in two main ways. First, it invested in technology, which enabled its print-run to outnumber that of other newspapers. In 1814, it installed a steam press, and circulation figures leapt. By 1844, more than 20,000 copies a day were sold. By 1854, the figure had doubled to 40,000, and by 1864, to over 50,000. The early record may have been the death of Prince Albert in December 1861, when the sales rose to 91,000 (Grant 1871). Second, The Times spent money on getting news fast. In 1834, Lord Durham, a prominent politician, had been invited to give a speech in Glasgow, Scotland, and there was great interest in what he would say. The Times sent two of its best parliamentary reporters to Glasgow, and set up relays of postmen and horses at intervals between Glasgow and London. The 400 mile journey was performed at the rate of 15 miles an hour, and the speech appeared in The Times a day before it was expected, a widely acclaimed achievement (id.). However, galloping horses were soon obsolete, because the electric telegraph was invented in the 1840s, and The Times made full use of this new technology.

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The Times was also praised for its size, though this varied. The record was reportedly held by the issue of 22 June 1861, which contained ‘no fewer than 24 pages or 144 columns! . . . If no waters nor mountains intervened, a column of The Times might be laid down almost half the distance to India’, it was claimed (id. p. 23), assuming that all the text from 70,000 impressions was cut up into single columns, and laid end to end. The Times was referred to as ‘The Monarch of the Press’. But its monarchy was soon challenged by the Daily Telegraph, which had been established in 1855. It overtook The Times by means of two hard-sell tactics: price cuts on the one hand, and livelier content on the other. At first, it cost two pence, and even though it was the cheapest paper, it almost went bankrupt. Then the price was reduced to one penny, and sales rocketed. By 1870, it claimed to have the largest circulation in the world, an average daily sale of almost 200,000. Then in 1882, the Daily Telegraph ‘stumbled across a journalistic crock of gold. It was grey and enormous . . . This was Jumbo, already the best-known animal in London Zoo’ (Engel 1996: 37). The Zoo had sold Jumbo to Barnum, an American circus owner, and Jumbo was led away to the Docks, for transportation across the Atlantic. Jumbo was supposedly devastated at this turn of events. According to the Daily Telegraph reporter: ‘The poor brute moaned softly . . . embracing the man [his keeper] with his trunk, and actually kneeling before him. Jumbo’s cries were soon heard in the elephant house, where poor Alice [his presumed wife] was again seized with alarm and grief ’ (id. p. 38). Eventually, Jumbo was led back to the delight of everyone, including Alice. But Jumbo and Alice never did share a cage, and their romance was a journalistic invention. Jumbo did kneel down, but this was due to a serious and long-standing knee problem. Jumbo was eventually taken off to America, where he was killed by a freight train as he was being led across a railway line. ‘Both train and Jumbo were wrecked’, as the journalist Matthew Engel expressed it. (id. p. 40) Towards the end of the 19th century, entertainment increasingly pushed aside more serious news, and the Daily Telegraph was overtaken by newspapers whose primary aims were to shock and amuse. The serious papers (now known as broadsheets) were overtaken by the so-called tabloids (originally a printing term referring to a newspaper of compact size, though increasingly used to refer to lurid, popular ‘rags’). An anonymous verse which went round Fleet Street in the 19th century summarised this downmarket trend:

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jean aitchison Tickle the public, make ‘em grin, The more you tickle, the more you’ll win; Teach the public, you’ll never get rich, You’ll live like a beggar, and die in a ditch. (Engel 1996:17).

This view was echoed in 1932 by a verse published in the New Clarion, set to the tune of a well-known song: ‘What shall we do with a drunken sailor?’ What shall we put in the daily paper? Suicide of linen draper, Duchess poisoned by noisome vapour Early in the morning! (Engel 1996:129)

An Obsession with Gossip From the early 20th century onwards, newspapers became easier to read. They were more colloquial in style, and included more pictures. Readers became increasingly preoccupied with gossip and celebrities. Yet a desire for chit-chat and scandal was by no means new. Ben Jonson’s play The staple of news (1626) was set in an imaginary news agency where the employees were instructed to gather gossip: Sirs, You must get o’this news . . . Who dines and sups i’the town, where and with whom . . .

Richard Sheridan’s play The school for scandal (1777) began with Lady Sneerwell checking that the gossipmonger Snake had inserted false gossip into a publication. Evelyn Waugh’s novel Vile Bodies (1930) featured two young aristocratic gossip columnists who bemoan the fact that they find it difficult to say anything new about the same people whom they repeatedly see at parties. But, in recent years, the appetite for gossip has markedly increased: ‘Gossip has become a sulphurous brew that has long since burst the confines of traditional gossip columns and cascades over the daily newspaper diet of millions’ commented Roger Wilkes (2002: 275) in a book aptly titled Scandal. If a genuine celebrity marries or dies, the coverage can be overwhelming. When George Harrison, one of the pop group the Beatles died of cancer in November 2001, the entire British press cleared their front pages, and many more inside, for an appreciation ‘on a scale that, only a few years ago, would have been reserved for the Second Coming [of Christ].’ (id. p. 9).

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This trend has continued, with increasing quantities of tittle-tattle about celebrities, their appearance, and their love-life. Not long ago, a tabloid devoted its main story on the front page to opinions about a pop singer’s breast structure: ‘The verdict is in—Posh’s boobs are FAKE. Brits reckon by a landslide majority that Victoria Beckham’s cleavage is man-made. A bouncing 72% of voters thought that Posh’s breasts were not real.’ (Daily Star 26 February 2004). This flood of celebrity trivia is deplored by some of the reading public, others have been more forgiving. Such gossip can serve a serious, though not always recognized purpose. It gives readers a comforting sense of rapport with the celebrities, making them feel that everyone, with a little money and some luck, could be famous. The media imply that ‘dressing the part’ might make it all happen. These days, that means going shopping. ‘The biggest area of mass reporting is simply shopping, news as thinly disguised advertising. Editors believe that the British today are most interested in their number-one leisure activity: buying stuff. So shopping mad have we become as a society that the adverts are now becoming the news’ suggested the journalist Andrew Marr (2004: 106). Yet maybe this is not such a surprise. Newspapers and other media always have been, and maybe always will be, a mixture of news and entertainment. These days, they are part horror-comics (when disasters happen), part gossip-mongers (when celebrities marry or split up), part shopping aids (a solidarity ploy in a prosperous society). The news-entertainment mix varies from day to day, but it is still essentially the same bubbling broth of news and entertainment. Reporting Styles Yet some things are new. Over the decades, styles of reporting have altered. Up until the beginning of the 20th century, newspapers, like their predecessors, the newsbooks, recounted events in the order in which they occurred. In 1888, for example, The Times published a report of one of the murders of the notorious killer known as ‘Jack the Rippper’. The account was matter of fact: ‘Another murder of the foulest kind was committed in the neighbourhood of Whitechapel in the early hours of yesterday morning. At a quarter to 4 o’clock Police constable Neill 97J, when in Buck’s Row, Whitechapel, came upon the body of a woman lying on part of the footway, and on scooping her up in the belief that she was drunk discovered that her throat

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was cut almost from ear to ear’. (The Times 1 September 1888). The report continued with an inspection by a doctor, who pronounced the woman dead. The body was removed to a mortuary, and attempts were made to find the identity of the victim, who was finally named as a prostitute, Polly Nicholls. This pedestrian ‘order of events’ account contrasts strongly with reports typically found in recent newspapers, which condense essential information into the first sentence: ‘A pensioner died yesterday after being dragged from his car, robbed and beaten when he stopped to ask for directions yesterday morning’. (The People 7 November 2004). Here we are told succinctly WHO was involved, WHAT happened, WHERE it happened, HOW it happened, WHY it happened, and WHEN it happened, the so-called 6 WHs, which trainee journalists are taught to specify in the first sentence. Beneath this informative initial summary, the rest of the report is carefully organized. The commonest type of structure in modern newspapers may be the ‘inverted pyramid’, basically an upside down triangle. After the summary, surrounding events are then fitted in, in a way which progressively explains the situation. In the case of the robbed pensioner, readers might be told how the pensioner had managed to get lost. Each subsequent piece of information is assumed to be less important, and is given less space. Finally, an evaluation (sometimes optional) is added, which says something such as ‘The investigation continues’, perhaps tempting the reader to buy the next day’s newspaper. The advantage of the inverted pyramid is that all new or important information is conveniently located at the beginning of the article, so anyone perusing a paper in a hurry could get the maximum amount of information with a minimum of effort—though other variants are also found. For example, an ‘hour-glass structure’ begins with an inverted pyramid, and then moves to a chronological survey (Fedler et al. 2001). This is particularly common if the information is complex, and the journalist wants to be sure that readers can follow the story clearly. But it is not only the structure of an article that has been carefully arranged. The words too have been skilfully polished. Any piece of good journalism is honed down to a set of precise, readable and compact paragraphs. Joel Chandler Harris (1848–1908), best known as the author of the ‘Uncle Remus stories, was a journalist for most of his life, and he expressed the need for polished concision well:

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When you’ve got a thing to say, Say it! Don’t take half a day . . . Life is short—a fleeting vapour— Don’t you fill the whole blamed paper With a tale, which at a pinch, Could be covered in an inch! Boil her down until she simmers, Polish her until she glimmers. (Boyd 1994:52).

George Orwell, the author of the novel 1984, was deeply concerned with ‘language as an instrument for expressing and not for concealing or preventing thought’ (Orwell 1946/1952: 257). Even today, his ‘rules’ for clear writing are often handed over to trainee journalists (id. p. 156): (1) Never use a metaphor, simile, or other figure of speech which you are used to seeing in print. (2) Never use a long word when a short one will do. (3) If it is possible to cut out a word, always cut it out. (4) Never use the passive when you can use the active. (5) Never use a foreign phrase, a scientific word or a jargon word if you can think of an English everyday equivalent. (6) Break any of these rules rather sooner than say anything outright barbarous. Various books of advice to journalists add to these in various ways, such as ‘use adjectives sparingly’. The Role of Journalists The role of journalists is often thought to be straightforward: they provide information about recent events, especially juicy shock-horror stories which will capture readers’ attention. According to this simple view, journalists are ‘newshounds’, skilled hunters and gatherers who are permanently on the look out for juicy pieces of news, like pigs snuffling for truffles. When they have found some, they dig them out, and transmit the essence to their readers. As C. P. Scott, a long-standing editor of The Guardian newspaper (1872–1929), famously said: ‘The primary office of a newspaper is the gathering of news. At the peril of its soul it must see that the supply is not tainted. Neither in what it

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gives, nor in what it does not give, nor in the mode of presentation, must the unclouded face of truth suffer wrong . . . Comment is free, but facts are sacred’ (Manchester Guardian 5 May 1921). This ties in with journalists’ own self-perception: ‘Central among journalistic beliefs is the idea of news as random and unpredictable events tracked down by the skills of journalistic anticipation and circumspection.’ (Golding and Elliott 1979/1999: 112). But this view is an oversimplification, and the role of journalists is more complex. No journalist or group of journalists could ever cover everything that happens: they have to choose what to report. And what they report is what people expect them to report. This is remarkably similar from paper to paper. As the journalist Andrew Marr observed:‘It is not uncommon to leaf through four tabloids and four broadsheets and find almost exactly the same stories in every one’ (Marr 2004:116). And these tend to be handled in similar ways, both from day to day, and across newspapers, even though some variation in vocabulary is found. ‘News cannot stray too far from what news has been, because news stories must be resonant with the stories that Society believes about itself’ the media researcher Dan Berkowitz pointed out (Berkowitz 1997b: 497). Newspapers provide a comforting sense of normalcy and also of continuation. The stories follow a predictable pattern, often, that of a titillating serial. A murder with the discovery of a grisly corpse, is followed by an account of the police hunt for the killer, who is eventually captured. Then comes a trial, and a conviction. So there is both an ongoing story, as well as the maintenance of important society values: that crime will be punished, that murder, especially of children, is wrong, and so on. Readers need to feel that newspapers are promoting accepted values of decency and civilisation. They also require the news they are reading to seem important, to contain events are worthy of note. One way journalists ensure this is by reporting facts and figures, preferably mind-boggling one: ‘Tidal waves that carried terror to the coastlines of seven countries had claimed 12,000 lives last night’ (Daily Mail 27 Dec 2004). Sometimes this can be overdone. The death toll of the socalled 9/11 disaster, when two planes intentionally crashed into New York’s World Trade Centre, was at first the focus of wildly inaccurate guesswork: 6,818 are feared dead, claimed the Deutsche Press-Agentur and the Sunday Times. Over 4,000 dead, said a British politician. Even-

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tually, 2,672 death certificates were issued, and a further 158 people remained unaccounted for (Aitchison 2003). Finally, readers require newspaper reports to be relevant to them personally. This has been called a ‘concept of involvement’ (Bassiouney 2006), and is a key component of modern news stories. Skilled journalists convey this involvement in various ways, but above all by juxtaposing huge horror and small personal details. They describe a major devastating event, making it seem of universal importance, but then add in picturesque trivia which enable the reader to relate the tragedy to individuals who lead lives similar to their own. After a massacre in Uganda , readers are told about the sad remnants of the event: ‘On the path leading to the hills were a single boot and a plastic shoe’ (Sunday Times 7 March 1999). Indeed, ‘ “one little shoe is all that was left of flight 999” is a journalistic cliché’. (Aitchison and Lewis 2003a:2). The examples in this paper are from British newspapers. Yet increasingly, international communication, especially in newspapers, is becoming similar worldwide (Cameron 2003). The stories may differ, but the style in which the information is transmitted will be familiar everywhere. News is a multilayered confection. Something happens, maybe a murder, a mugging, a robbery, or a road accident. Newspapers decide whether this is newsworthy, and relevant facts are selected from the complexity of the overlapping events. Hidden messages underlie the stories, such as ‘crime must be punished’. The filtering down processes are sometimes referred to as ‘gatekeeping’ and ‘representation’. ‘Gatekeeping is the process by which the billions of messages that are available in the world are cut down and transformed into the hundreds of messages that reach a given person on a given day’ (Shoemaker 1991/1997: 57), while ‘representation’ is the way in which journalists either consciously, or subconsciously, represent the world to their readers. To summarise, modern newspapers provide readers with a sense that their world behaves in a predictable and normal way. Journalists try to convince their readers not only that all is fair, familiar and coherent, but also that it involves them personally. The feeling of warm involvement captured by journalists is well expressed by the novelist Virginia Woolf . She admired newspaper writing, and recognized that its precision and its temporary nature made it different from other types of writing (Woolf 1925: 214):

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jean aitchison The newspaper crocus fills precisely the space allotted to it . . . It radiates a golden glow. It is genial, affable, warm-hearted . . . It is no despicable feat to start a million brains running at nine o’clock in the morning, to give two million eyes something bright and brisk and amusing to look at. But the night comes and those flowers fade . . . the most brilliant of articles when removed from its element is dust and sand and the husks of straw.

References Aitchison, J. (2003), “From Armageddon to war: The vocabulary of terrorism”, in Aitchison and Lewis (2003a), 193–203. —— (2007), The word weavers: Newshounds and wordsmiths, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Aitchison, J. and D. M. Lewis (eds.) (2003a), New media language, London: Routledge. —— (2003b), “Introduction”, in Aitchison and Lewis (2003a), 1–3. Bassiouney, R. (2006), Functions of code switching in Egypt: Evidence from monologues, Leiden: Brill. Berkowitz, D. (ed.) (1997a), Social meanings of news: A text reader, London: Sage. —— (1997b), “Epilogue”, in Berkowitz (1997a), 497–502. Boyd, A. (1994), Broadcast journalism: Techniques of radio and TV news, 3rd edition, Oxford: Focal Press. Cameron, D. (2003), “Globalizing ‘communication’ ”, in Aitchison and Lewis (2003a), 27–35. Engel, M. (1996), Tickle the public: One hundred years of the popular press, London: Gollancz. Fedler, F., J. R. Bender, L. Davenport and M. W. Drager (2001), Reporting for the media, 7th edition, New York: Harcourt. Golding, P. and P. Elliot (1979/1999), “Making the news”, in H. Tumber (ed.), News: A reader, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 112–120. Goldsmith, O. (1762/1970), The citizen of the world, London: Dent. Grant, J. (1871), The newspaper press: its origin—progress—and present position. vol. 2, London: Tinsley. Jonson, B. (1631/1988), The staple of news, ed. by A. Parr. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Marr, A. (2004), My trade: A short history of British journalism, London: Macmillan. Orwell, G. (1946/1952), “Politics and the English language”, in Inside the whale and other essays, London: Penguin, 143–156. Raymond, J. (ed.) (1993), Making the news: An anthology of the newsbooks of revolutionary England, 1641–1660, Moreton-in-Marsh, Gloucs.: The Windrush Press. Sheridan, R. B. (1988), The school for scandal and other plays, ed. by Eric Rump. London: Penguin. Shoemaker, P. (1991/1997), “A new gatekeeping model”, in Berkowitz (1997a), 57–62. Waugh, E. (1930/1938), Vile bodies, London: Penguin Wilkes, R. (2002), Scandal: A scurrilous history of gossip, London: Atlantic. Woolf, V. (1925), The essays, London: Hogarth Press.

CASES OF WRITTEN CODE-SWITCHING IN EGYPTIAN OPPOSITION NEWSPAPERS Zeinab Ibrahim American University in Cairo Code-switching research focuses entirely on the spoken language; however, in recent years with the emergence of many opposition newspapers in Egypt, the extensive use of code-switching has found its way into the written opposition press. In 1997, the researcher has documented the use of some colloquial usage in the Lebanese newspaper Al-Hayaat, and it was minimal while no occurrence of any colloquial usage occurred in Al-Ahraam newspaper. However, recently, it was noted that some opposition Egyptian newspapers tend to use more and more of the dialect. Some of these opposition newspapers 1) use the dialect (or ECA) exclusively in their headlines, 2) mix between the dialect and the standard, Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) in their headlines, 3) incorporate entire sections that are in the dialect, i.e. ‘Mail’ sent by readers, which resembles the language of a conversation of a monologue, and 4) use the dialect in their headlines and MSA in the body of their articles. This research compares one Egyptian governmental newspaper and two opposition newspapers to clarify these instances. It presents some new data on code-switching or mixing in written text. The research follows Ferguson’s (1959 and 1991) definition of diglossia in relation to one point and that is the relatedness of the two varieties of the Arabic language, High and Low, ‘classical diglossia’. According to Ferguson (1959), the ‘High’ variety is used in writing and is learned in formal education, while the Low is the mother tongue and used in daily conversation and informal situations. In 1959, Ferguson stated that the two varieties do not mix in their particular domains; while in 1991, he thought of the relationship between the two varieties as more of a continuum and that mixing may occur. However, the topics related to diglossia are many, such as Fishman’s (1980) point of view of diglossia that the relatedness of both varieties is not essential. Additionally, he explains that it can be diglossia with bilingualism depending on the functions carried out by each language. Fasold

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(1984) agrees with Fishman, and this kind of diglossia is referred to as ‘broad diglossia’. Hudson (2002) summarizes several issues related to diglossia including varieties of relatedness, diglossia with or without bilingualism, social impact, and other issues. Thus in the Arabic language with its diglossic situation, the written text is in MSA and the spoken word is in the different dialects. Since there are more than twenty Arab countries, the need to communicate between these nations caused the emergence of a spoken form of MSA, which is referred to as Educated Spoken Arabic (ESA). This spoken variety contains both MSA and dialectal variation. El-Hassan (1977 & 1978) and Mitchell (1978 & 1980) investigated the features of this variety, indicating that in some instances dialectal words may be used, especially on the part of the Egyptian and Lebanese. Eid (1988) carried out research to find the rules or focal points where code-switching between MSA and ECA occurred. Moreover, Bassiouney (2000) investigated three morphosyntactic variables in code-switching between ECA and MSA. Mejdell in her book Mixed Styles in Spoken Arabic in Egypt examined instances and causes for code-switching. There is endless work done on code-switching in the spoken variety, while this phenomenon is neglected in the written variety with the assumption that it should be strictly in the high variety. The following research introduces the new phenomenon of code-switching in the high variety in the opposition newspapers. The Research Three newspapers are included in this research. Al-Ahram newspaper, which is a governmental newspaper, and ad-Dustūr and Al-MiSrii alyawm, which are two opposition newspapers. The reasons for choosing these three newspapers are: 1. al-Dustūr newspaper incorporates colloquial language. 2. Investigation of whether this phenomenon exists only in Ad-Dustūr, or in other opposition newspapers as well was necessary. Therefore, Al-MiSrii al-yawm was chosen. 3. A comparison between these two opposition newspapers and a governmental newspaper is necessary to illustrate whether the use of the colloquial is limited to opposition newspapers, or if a new trend in using the colloquial is taking place in all newspapers.

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A total of 35 issues of each newspaper were collected from April 30th to June 3rd, 2008. Six issues were chosen randomly from Al-Ahram newspaper, the April 30th, May 4th, 6th, 13th, 14th and June 3rd, 2008 issues. The same six issues were chosen from the other two newspapers to unify the dates. Method The total number of headlines in each issue was counted. When there was a ‘file’ (a certain issue that is referred to as a file and that occupied several pages) each file was counted as one headline. Although headlines that included the Egyptian dialect by way of a direct quote were not counted at the beginning but then when it was found that there were other instances in which the direct quote was in MSA, it became clear that using the dialect was done deliberately and consciously. This is an example were the quote is in MSA: Example 1 (ad-Dustūr, June 3rd, p. 9)         :                   Ḥ āzim Imām: “I am afraid for Zamalek from the elections fever.”

‫م م‬

In other instances, where the quotations are in the dialect, it becomes clear that the dialect is used to represent direct speech: Example 2 (ad-Dustūr, May 4th, p. 7)                  “   ” . . .    ʿĀyda Sayf al-Naṣr “We will not be afraid”.

Ms. Sayf al-Naṣr is directly quoted here. This quote is in ECA as miš ‘not’ is an ECA negation word and ḥ a- is the ECA future tense marker. Headlines that could be read as both MSA and ECA were not counted. Example 3 (ad-Dustūr, June 3rd, p. 7):      . . .   .     Dr. Fathī Surūr . . . All by law

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Though closer in structure to ECA kulluh mašii ‘everything OK’, the expression ‘all by law’ could be read both as MSA or ECA. Headlines that included a name of a film or song originally in ECA were not counted. However, when the same headline included another part where a switch from MSA to ECA occurred, the headline was considered as including a switch. Example 4 (ad-Dustūr, May 14th, p. 19)                :    ”                             “!‫؟‬                      . . .      Kārūlīn Xalīl: I liked the honesty of “ iḥ na it abilna abl kida?! ” and if becoming a professional means that I deal with acting with the logic of an employee . . . then I am an amateur.

“ Iḥ na it abilna abl kida?!” is the name of the film she acted in, and it is translated as ‘Did We meet Before?’ This film name is in ECA, so it is not counted, but what is counted is the last part of the headline. Almost the entire headline is in MSA, while in the last part, there is a colloquial word yib a ‘then’. Although yib a is written with a qāf (i.e. yibqa), most of the words that include the element q are pronounced with a / / in ECA. The rest of the headline following this word can be read in either MSA or ECA. Since the main aim of this research is code-switching, the instances of borrowing were not counted. Moreover, advertisements were not included in this research as these topics can be separate studies. Furthermore, caricatures are not counted as all newspapers use ECA in their caricatures. Results and Analysis The first part of this section presents the ratio of the total number of headlines in each issue to the total number of headlines in ECA or partly in ECA. The second part presents the columns that use the dialect. The third part illustrates instances of intersentential code-switching (i.e., switching between sentences) and the last part illustrated instances of intrasentential code-switching (i.e., switching within a sentence).

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Total Number of Headlines Knowing the total numbers of headlines in each issue investigated is necessary to determine the ratio between headlines using ECA to the total number of headlines. It was noticed that when the issue included a certain file, the number of pages increased while the number of headlines decreased, as the headlines inside the file were not counted. The total number of pages of each newspaper varied in the issues investigated. The number of pages in Al-Ahram ranged from 28 to 40, while the number of pages in al-Miṣrī al-Yawm and ad-Dustūr ranged from 16 to 20, and 16 to 28, respectively. As seen from Table no. 1, Al-Ahram does not use ECA. This governmental newspaper was established in 1875 and published its first issue in August 1876. Consequently, the only instances in which ECA occurs are in caricatures because Al-Ahram is a long-established, conservative newspaper. Al-Miṣrī al-Yawm is an opposition newspaper. It was issued four years ago (2004) by Al-Miṣrī for journalism, printing, publishing, advertising, and distribution. Table 1: headlines using ECA in Al-Ahram newspaper Date

Total number Total number Total no. of headlines using of headlines of pages Colloquial

April 30th, 2008 May 4th, 2008 May 6th, 2008 May 13th, 2008 May 14th, 2008 June 3rd, 2008

218 213 194 231 280 190

28 40 30 32 38 30

0 (only in caricatures) 0 (only in caricatures) 0 (only in caricatures) 0 (only in caricatures) 0 (only in caricatures) 0 (only in caricatures)

Table 2: headlines using ECA in Al-Miṣrī Al-Yawm newspaper Date

April 30th, 2008 May 4th, 2008 May 6th, 2008 May 13th, 2008 May 14th, 2008 June, 3rd, 2008

Total number Total number Total no. of Percentage of headlines of pages headlines using of Colloquial colloquial headlines 151 116 129 151 106 108

16 16 16 20 20 20

5 6 10 8 9 3

3.31 % 5.17 % 7.75 % 5.29 % 8.4 % 2.7 %

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Date

April 30th, 2008 May 4th, 2008 May 6th , 2008 May 13th, 2008 May 14th, 2008 June, 3rd, 2008

Total number Total number Total No. of of headlines of pages headlines using Colloquial 85 118 127 118 85 122

28 16 16 16 28 16

16 8 16 9 12 10

Percentage of Colloquial headlines 18.82 % 6.77 % 12.59 % 7.62 % 14.11 % 8.19 %

Ad-Dustūr is an opposition newspaper that was issued last year (2007), and is printed in Al-Ahram print shop. The total number of colloquial headlines in each newspaper varied. Al-Ahram did not include any colloquial headlines. Al-Miṣrī al-Yawm included a total of 41 headlines in ECA out of the total of 773 headlines, thus averaging 5.30%. Ad-Dustūr had a total number of 71 headlines in ECA out of 655 headlines, thus averaging 10.83%. Therefore, ad-Dustūr ranks higher in code-mixing in its headlines over al-Miṣrī al-Yawm, while Al-Ahram does not employ any colloquial language. This raises the question of what are the reasons behind the usage of colloquial language in opposition newspapers and not governmental newspapers. Does the use of colloquial language make the reader feel closer to the writer? Is the writer trying to make the reader feel that s/he is part of the conversation? Adams (2003: 300) wrote that codeswitching in written text may express social meanings one way or the other. For example, the writer might want to establish solidarity with the addressee, or may want to make the article “interactional” for the reader. Contexts in Which Code—Switching Occurs: Daily Columns In al-Miṣrī al-Yawm there are two daily columns placed beside each other: zayy innaharda—literally, ‘as today’, i.e. ‘happened on a day like today’—, and ʾayḍan zayy innaharda ‘also on this day’ (p. 2). In this latter headline, the first part of the title is in MSA (ayḍan ‘also’), while in ECA, the corresponding word is kamān. This is a case of intrasentential code-switching. Al-Ahram newspaper has a similar daily column on the third-to-last page; it is titled ḥ adata fī mitl hādā l-yawm

cases of written code-switching

29

‘It happened on this day’. Both columns always report events that have taken place on the same date, but in different years. Thus, al-Miṣrī alYawm is aware of the choice of these two colloquial headlines. Ad-Dustūr has a daily column also on the third-to-last page entitled “Mail” which is comprised of messages sent to the newspaper. The headline of this column is in English, thus the switching here is between English and Arabic rather than MSA and ECA. Moreover, because the column comprises of mail submissions, the entire column is in colloquial and not just simply the headlines. There is a page in Ad-Dustūr with the title kull ḥ āga(t) ‘everything’ which presents many news on restaurants, shopping, prices of gold, etc. Many of the instances of the use of ECA in headlines occurred on this page. Another column that usually occurs on penultimate page in ad-Dustūr is a column that varies in its headlines, but always discusses the same subject, computer issues. Example 5:                               . . .   Options          Folder           If the “Folder Options” menu disappears, you can restore it, and if you want to turn off your computer with one click, it is possible . . . No magic and no witchcraft

In this headline, the use of both English and ECA are found. The phrase ‘Folder Options’ has the Arabic equivalent milaff al- ixtiyarāt, while for the word ʿāwiz ‘you (masc. sg.) want’, arādta would be the MSA equivalent. Example 6:           . . .                Put your computer together by yourself . . . in order to know how to maintain it also by yourself

This headline can fully be taken as ECA; however, it also embodies some words which can be either MSA or ECA qualities. The three underlined words are colloquial words. The first one ʿalašān ‘in order to’ would be kayy or li-kayy in MSA. The second word tiʿamilluh ‘you (2. masc. sg.) do to it’, is actually a verb followed by a preposition, and corresponds to the MSA taʿamal lahu. In this headline, the verb

30

zeinab ibrahim

and preposition is written as one word, which is usually the case when it is written in colloquial. Finally, the word barḍuh ‘also’, is another synonym for kamān and the MSA equivalent is ʾayḍan. Direct Quotations The total number of headlines using ECA including direct quotations is 12 out of 112 which presents 10.71% of the total usage of ECA in both newspapers The sentences using direct quotations (Appendix A numbers 10, 27, 46, 48, 49, 51, 52, 69, 70, 81, 94, and 104) were written in the following sections: Art, Reports and news, first page, Sports and Hot Issues). Eleven of these headlines occur in ad-Dustūr while one occurs in al-Miṣrī al-Yawm. Newspaper Sections Both newspapers have titles for each page. Ad-Dustūr includes a page titled in colloquial kull ḥ āga(t) ‘Everything’. This page includes many and diverse issues about the local market, restaurants, food prices, etc. . . ., and the total number of the headlines used in these pages using the dialect is 25. Ad-Dustūr sometimes has a section titled “Games”. Two headlines using ECA occurred in that section. Al-Miṣrī al-Yawm includes a mail section entitled al-sukūt mamnūʿ ‘Silence is forbidden’ and this comprises 10 headlines of the total headlines using ECA. Table 4: ECA use on dedicated pages Section or page Everything Games Mail First Page Last page Sports Arts Internal Affairs Opinion Reports & News The Same as today Reports

Ad-Dustūr

al-Miṣrī al-Yawm

25 2 – 2 – 4 13 5 5 6 – 3

– – 10 1 5 1 – 4 – 1 12 –

cases of written code-switching

31

Three headlines using ECA occurred on the first page which is usually composed of important political news (two in ad-Dustūr and one in Al-MiSrii al-Yawm). Five headlines occurred in the last page all in Al-Miṣrī Al-Yawm. Fives headlines in the sports, four in ad-Dustūr and one in Al-Miṣrī Al-Yawm. Thirteen headlines in the Art section and all were in ad-Dustūr. Ad-Dustūr, in its larger issues, includes a pages titled ḍarbit šams ‘Sun stroke’. This page usually includes articles that discuss internal affairs while al-Miṣrī al-Yawm has a similar page under the title qaḍāyā sāxina ‘Hot issues’. Five headlines were used by ad-Dustūr while four were used by al-Miṣrī al-Yawm on these pages. Ad-Dustūr has a page title ‘opinion’ and five headlines using ECA were found in it. Both newspapers have a section entitled taqarīr wa- axbār ‘Reports and news’, a total of seven headlines using ECA were found, ad-Dustūr included six of them. Al-Miṣrī al-Yawm has two daily sections that occur on the same page and beside each other zayy innaharda ‘like today’ and ʾayḍan zayy innaharda ‘Also like today’, which occurred 12 times. Ad-Dustūr has a section titled taḥ qīqāt ‘reports’ which usually is about internal issues, and which included 3 headlines using ECA. The extremely interesting point is that all these articles were in MSA and not one single ECA word was used in them. The only section that used ECA in the article itself or was all in ECA was in ad-Dustūr newspaper in the ‘Mail’ section and sometimes in the Kull ḥ āga ‘Everything’ section. The language of this last section, as well as that of the ‘Mail’ section bore a closer resemblance to actual speech than it did to the language of a written article. Inter-Sentential Code-Switching Adams (2003: 23) defines inter-sentential switches as that those occurring within clause or sentence boundaries. In this research the total of such switching occurred forty times out of the total of 112 (sentences 1, 3, 5, 7, 9, 10, 13, 14, 17, 20, 23, 28, 37, 38, 39, 40, 43, 44, 47, 54, 58, 59, 60, 63, 68, 69, 70, 72, 74, 80, 93, 95, 96, 97, 101, 102, 103, 104, 105, 111, 112 in Appendix A). The following headline is a good example

32

zeinab ibrahim

Example 7 (al-Miṣrī al-Yawm, April 30th, last page)         4             :  Experts: holidays has bears no relation to May 4th demonstrations

The word malhāš ‘it has not’ is a colloquial word and the MSA equivalent is laysa lahā ‘it (3. fem. sg.) does not have’. The rest of the sentence is entirely in MSA. Intra-sentential code-switching Adams (2003: 24) defines intra-sentential switches as those occurring within the boundaries of the sentence or clause. In this research the total of such switching occurred fourteen times out of the total of 112 (sentences 29, 34, 41, 48, 53, 71, 75, 82, 86, 87, 88, 89, 92, 94). The following headline is a good example in which the switch took place: At the Boundary of the Clause Example 8 (ad-Dustūr, May 6th, p. 3).            . . .      



‫ ﲶﻢ‬

The highest Price increase . . . O happiness, did not happen

The idiom used at the end is a colloquial expression which means that someone was expecting a good thing to happen but it did not. The reminder fifty eight sentences are in colloquial. Conclusion This research attempted to present a case where the use of code-switching is increasing in two of the Egyptian opposition newspapers. Contexts in which code-switching were used as well as different types of code-switching are illustrated. It also showed that code-switching did not appear in the governmental newspaper under study. It also proved that ad-Dustūr newspaper ranked higher than al-Miṣrī al-Yawm in instances of code-switching. Moreover, there were some sections in which the articles were more such as actual speech rather than written articles. It is advisable that a study with a larger corpus be carried out to verify more the results of this one.

cases of written code-switching

33

References Adams, J. N. (2003), Bilingualism and the Latin Language,. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Bassiouney, R. (2004), “Diglossic switching in the Egyptian speech community: Implications for teaching spoken Egyptian Arabic”, in Z. Ibrahim, S. Aydelott and N. Kassabgy (eds), Contrastive rhetoric: issues, insights, and pedagogy, Cairo: AUC press, 94–114. Eid, M. (1988), “Principles for code-switching between Standard and Egyptian Arabic”, Al-Arabiyya 21: 51–79. El-Hassan, S. A. (1977), “Educated Spoken Arabic in Egypt and the Levant: A critical review of diglossia and related concepts”, Archivum Linguisticum 8(2), 112–32. —— (1978), “Variation in the demonstrative system in Educated Spoken Arabic”, Archivum Linguisticum 9(1): 32–57. Fasold, R. (1984), The sociolinguistics of society. Oxford: Blackwell, 1984. Ferguson, C. (1959), “Diglossia,” Word 15: 325–40. —— (1991), “Epilogue: Diglossia revisited,” Southwest Journal of Linguistics 10(1): 214–33. Fishman, J. (1980), “Bilingualism and biculturalism”, Journal of Multilingual and Multicultural Development 1: 3–15. Hudson, A. (2002), “Outline of a theory of diglossia”, International Journal of the Sociology of Language 157: 1–48. Ibrahim, Z. (1997), “Egyptian and Lebanese MSA: Are they one and the same?”, PhD thesis, Georgetown University. Mejdell, G. (2006), Mixed styles in spoken Arabic in Egypt : somewhere between order and chaos, Leiden: Brill. Mitchell, T. F. (1978), “Educated Spoken Arabic in Egypt and the Levant with special reference to participle and tense”, Journal of Linguistics 14(14): 227–58. —— (1980),“Dimensions of style in a grammar of Educated Spoken Arabic”, Archivum Linguisticum 11(2): 89–106.

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zeinab ibrahim Appendix A

      

     

  

 3

    

   ((     ))              ))              ((   

‫م‬

       

2

           

10

            . . .    

     

             

     

   

12

     

  

14

     

  

15

‫م‬

   

2

     

   

    

2 9

                     :     4         :  !                                                                                  ))        . . . ((     !                     ))    12  ((                 :               . . .                                                   :       :    . . .                                

         30        30        30        30        30          30       30

‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬

1 2 3 4 5 6 7

       30

8

       30

9

       30

10

cases of written code-switching

35

Appendix A (cont.)            

  



  

15

     

  

15

     

  

20

   

   

22

  

   

22

  

   

22

  

   

22

      

  

25

     

       

    

   

             ((      ))                  . .                  .                                     . . .             . . .  !                                                                  . . .              !                     :            . . .         !   . . .      . . .                 . . .                 6     . . .               . . .     !‫ ؟‬          . . .                 . . .   . . .     !           . . .             . . .                     . . .           !       . . .       !‫؟‬                                        . . . 

‫م‬

26

‫م‬

‫م‬

       

           30

11

       30 2008

12

       30 2008

13

       30 2008

14

       30

15

       30 2008

16

      30 2008        30 2008        30 2008

17

18 19

36

zeinab ibrahim

Appendix A (cont.)           

   

‫م‬

  



    

Games

27

Games

27

Lost Planet: Extreme        Condition              . . .            !        Max Payne 3 2009                   . . . !              

2

‫م‬

2

           

‫م‬ ‫م‬

4

        

               ()

18

      

  

     

                     

4

    

7

    

14

                 ((    !‫ ؟‬       ))  . . .                                :                     ((   ))  

                  ..          ‫؟‬                    !‫؟‬                                                         ((  )) . . .                                    . . .              

‫م‬

   

            30 2008

       30 2008

20

21

   

‫م‬

  4 2008

22

   

‫م‬

  4 2008

23

   

‫م‬

  4 2008

24

   

‫م‬

  4 2008

25

   

‫م‬

  4 2008

26

   

  4 2008

27

   

  4 2008

28

   

  4 2008

29

   

  4 2008

30

‫م‬

cases of written code-switching

37

Appendix A (cont.)           

  



    

14

    

    

14

    

    

14

    

    

15

   

16

      

                               . . .                                                    20                                               120           . . .     !    :    ‫؟‬                     :                   

‫م‬

2

       

2

           

1

     

    

4

               ((   ))        ((    ))                               8      . . .                                 . . . ((          ))                                                 :      ))       . . . ((         )) ((  

‫م‬

‫م‬

    

      

4

      

      

5







‫م‬            :   

     ((  ))              )) . . .    ((     

   

   

   

  4 2008

31

   

  4 2008

32

   

  4 2008

33

   

  4 2008

34

   

  4 2008

35

   

‫م‬

  6 2008

36

   

‫م‬

  6 2008

37

   

‫م‬

  6 2008

38

   

‫م‬

  6 2008

39

   

‫م‬

  6 2008

40

   

  6 2008

41

‫م‬

38

zeinab ibrahim

Appendix A (cont.)                    ()                       ()

        

 10 10 13

    

     . . .                                           )) !      . . . (( 

      1 1

                    

       

        

                           . . .         “    “    :                           “  ”    . . .     60         ”   !“                . . .                                    :                       :                              ! ‫؟‬         . . .      . . .    :                       :          5.5   !          !           

‫م‬

3 4

        

9

            

10

‫م‬

   

   

   

  6 2008

42

   

  6

43

   

  6 2008

44

       

  6 2008

45

  6 2008

46

   

  6 2008

47

   

  6 2008

48

   

  6 2008

49

   

  6 2008

50

   

  6 2008

51

‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬

cases of written code-switching

39

Appendix A (cont.)         

  

 13

       

‫م‬

13

    

14

      

    

14

     

    

14

     

    

14

    

14

    

15

     

        

    

                                                                   ! ((    ))       :                    ((     ))              ((   ))                                . . .         ! ((  ))                                      . . . 2008                                                   . . .                                . . .                  . . .                         . . .                           ((      ))                  . . .     !  

‫م‬

‫م‬

‫م‬

   

   

   

  6 2008

52

   

  6 2008

53

   

  6 2008

54

   

  6 2008

55

   

  6 2008

56

   

  6 2008

57

   

  6 2008

58

   

  6 2008

59

40

zeinab ibrahim

Appendix A (cont.)             

  



    

15

    

15 2

                ()             ()              ()                      ()

           

15

              . . .        

15

       

15

                                     

15

              

      . . .                                         . . .         

2

18

        

    

3

                    )) ((      ((   ))                            ((  ))

          ‫؟‬     

                                      ))     ((                                             !((        ))

   

   

   

  6 2008

60

   

  6 2008

61

   

‫م‬

  13 2008

62

   

‫م‬

  13 2008

63

   

‫م‬

  13 2008

64

   

‫م‬

  13 2008

65

   

‫م‬

  13 2008

66

   

‫م‬

  13 2008

67

   

  13 2008

68

       

  13 2008

69

  13 2008

70

‫م‬ ‫م‬

cases of written code-switching

41

Appendix A (cont.)        

‫م‬

     

      

          

                  

 4

6 9

‫م‬

13

    

14

      

    

14

      

    

14

    

    

15 2

    

                    :                              . . .            )) !((      ))        !((  

   

   

   

  13 2008

71

   

  13 2008

72

   

  13 2008

73

   

  13 2008

74

   

  13 2008

75

   

  13 2008

76

        4        ((5))              . . .            !

   

  13 2008

77

                  ((80))   !     . . .              

   

  13 2008

78

   

  14 2008

79

             10             . . .      )) ((   ))                            ((   . . . ((      ))             . . .                          !     . . .                                             . . .             .. .             ))    )) (()) ((  ((         . . . (( ))        

‫م‬

‫م‬

42

zeinab ibrahim

Appendix A (cont.)   

  

 2

              

‫م‬ 

  “   7 ”       

‫م‬

           ()

                ()                   ()               

       

2 4

6 6 6 18

18

      

2

      

2

    

           

               ..  ((       ))           ((   ))                                                                        )) :    . . .                 ((                    . . .                            . . .                    . . .                                  ((       )) :              ((   ))     :                 ((    ))   :                  10             ..                   ((   .  ))                        750   :                                    ..              !                               4                                8000       ..    !

   

   

   

‫م‬

  14 2008

80

   

‫م‬

  14 2008

81

   

‫م‬

  14 2008

82

   

‫م‬

  14 2008

83

   

‫م‬

  14 2008

84

   

‫م‬

  14 2008

85

   

  14 2008

86

   

  14 2008

87

   

  14 2008

88

   

  14 2008

89

‫م‬

‫م‬

cases of written code-switching

43

Appendix A (cont.)   

  

      

 2

     

  

18

   

  

18

        

  

18

‫م‬

    

   1100  950  :       . . .   ! 

     . . .                     .                                                              ! ‫؟‬       . . .  5    ((      ))                        (( saw ))  Death Sentence               . . .                   . . .                              . . .                ..                                                     . . .                     .                                                 . . . ((1000B.C         ))                                          .2008             :                  (( ‫؟‬                   ))                             . . .            

       

  14 2008

90

   

  14 2008

91

   

  14 2008

92

   

  14 2008

93

   

  14 2008

94

   

  14 2008

95

‫م‬

        

  

19

   

‫م‬

     

  

19

44

zeinab ibrahim

Appendix A (cont.)   

  



   

  

19

   

   

22

    

  

25

     

  

26

    

                                                                  . . . ((      ))        ))                   ((                                                                            

‫م‬

      “:                ” :      “          . . . “‫؟‬          

       

  14 2008

96

   

  14 2008

97

   

  14 2008

98

   

  14 2008

99

   

  3 2008

100

   

  3 2008

101

       

  3 2008

102

  3 2008

103

  3 2008

104

‫م‬

   

2

           

2                 

     

7 4

8

                              ((     ))                   ((10))    :                              . . .     090055        !                                                                !  25          

‫م‬

   

‫م‬ ‫م‬ ‫م‬

   

cases of written code-switching

45

Appendix A (cont.)   

  

‫م‬

   

 13

    

14

    

14

       

    

14

      

    

15

     

    

15

    

    

15

    

    

15

    

            :            ))    250 ((           . . .      220         !‫ ؟‬                                                                . . .                                                                     . . .  !                                                 !    ..                                . . .          Folder Options                                . . .                                     . . .               

‫م‬

   

          3 2008

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  3 2008

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   

  3 2008

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   

  3 2008

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   

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   

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   

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   

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COMMUNITIES OF USE IN ARABIC NEWSPAPER LANGUAGE: THE MEANING OF THE COUNTRY EFFECT Dilworth Parkinson Brigham Young University Much has been written over the years about what happens when Arabs from different countries speak to each other, with studies of leveling and various types of accommodation. One problem for me with these studies is that there is an underlying assumption that this is a very important phenomenon that is feeding back into the way Arabs speak to those who are not from different countries. This is not to say that all kinds of leveling and other changes are not happening influenced mainly by the satellite channels and mass media, but when you look at the communicative lives of the huge majority of ‘real’ people you find that they spend the huge majority of their time communicating with people just like them, born in more or less the same place, speaking the same dialect, etc. If you were to map the communications of particular individuals over time, marking in-country and out of country communications with different colored lines, you would end up with a mass of one color with tiny amounts of embellishment in the other color. This is not a communicative situation that strikes one as likely to lead to major changes in the already existing dialect divisions. The point I would like to make in this paper is analogous, and just as obvious, although in the field of Arabic language studies the obvious bears repetition since ideology tries so hard to bury it. It is that the huge majority of readers in the various Arab regions do the huge majority of their reading in local rather than international papers, and because this is the case, it is to be expected that divergences will begin to show up among these various communities of use. Now I will be the first to admit that there are a number of factors holding back the development of these divergences, not the least of which is the belief that Arabic is ‘one’ throughout the Arab World, and an overt attempt on the part of editors and professional ‘correctors’ to suppress usages they consider to be ‘local’ or simply ‘wrong’. On the other hand, the traditional rules of Fuṣḥ ā are rather broad and eclectic, the lexical resources are immense, and there is plenty of room for differences to emerge within the limits maintained by the editors and correctors.

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dilworth parkinson

People coming from an entirely prescriptivist tradition will fail to take my point, simply because the issue for them is whether something is, or is not, Fuṣḥ ā, and as long as something is Fuṣḥ ā, nothing else really matters. What I am trying to show, however, is that within that set of things that is Fuṣḥ ā, clear and statistically significant patterns of use develop that continue to be replicated year after year, and which differ from place to place. It’s as though when you try to suppress localism in one place it pops up in another place anyway. I am going to review the results of several corpus studies, some of which have been presented before but with a different emphasis, as well as adding data from a number of new studies. All of these studies are based on a corpus of newspaper data which includes one year of the Ahram, two separate years of Al-Hayat, and a half year of Al-Tajdid and Al-Watan. These papers are from Egypt, London, Morocco and Kuwait, respectively, but Al-Hayat, although currently Saudi-owned, has a clear Lebanese bias both in its news emphases, and in its staff. I have worked with the people at Al-Hayat for several years in identifying the authors of the articles, and although they certainly represent the entire Arab World and beyond, the overwhelming majority are Lebanese. I am therefore choosing to count the Al-Hayat data as representing Lebanese usage. Future Particle Variabilty In a study published in the Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics series (Parkinson 2003), I presented data on the variable choice of sawfa or sa- as a future particle. The main thrust of that paper was to investigate the genre and lexical constraints on that choice as a way of looking at what the overall meaning of the choice might be for users. It turned out that editorials, reports, and other non-news articles had a much higher percentage of sawfa than did straightforward news articles, and that content verbs were also more likely to take sawfa than verbs of less content like kāna and tamma. However, in the process, I turned up a rather huge country effect, which can be seen in Table 1. Writers for the Ahram used sawfa (as compared to sa-) almost ten times more often than did writers for Al-Hayat. The genre and word constraints hold separately for each paper, but for the Ahram the usage varies between over 30% sawfa to about 7% sawfa, whereas in the Hayat, usage varied between about 15% sawfa to less than 1%

use in arabic newspaper language

49

sawfa, as can be seen in Table 2, with a similar pattern for the individual verbs in Table 3. On the assumption that higher use of sawfa marks a text as more thoughtful and expansive, and lower use marks it as straightforward and fact-oriented, this means that Egyptian readers used to the Ahram might get a vague feeling on reading the Hayat that the editorial writers weren’t really very thoughtful or serious, since high for the Hayat writer is interpreted as low by the Ahram reader, and conversely, if a Lebanese reader read an Ahram news article, he may get the vague feeling that it was not direct and to the point, since low for the Ahram writer is high for the Lebanese reader. So we see the same lexical and socio-linguistic processes at work in the two corpora, but within a vastly different range whose extent seems to be controlled by the country of origin of the writers. Table 1: Overall percentages of sawfa vs sa- in four Arabic Newspapers Ahram

Hayat

Tajdid

Watan

sawfa 5767 (19.7%) 723 (2.5%) 169 (5.5%) 1132 (9.0%) sa23464 (80.3%) 28604 (97.5%) 2877 (94.5%) 11492 (91.0%) (Egypt) (London-Lebanon-SA) (Morocco) (Kuwait) Table 2: Relative percentages of sawfa (vs. sa-) in news vs non-news articles in the Ahram and Hayat

non-news news

Ahram

Hayat

31.53% 15.64%

6.59% 0.87%

Table 3: Relative percentages of sawfa (vs. sa-) for specific verbs, Ahram/Hayat istamarra sawfa satotal tamma sawfa satotal

Ahram

Hayat

317 (43.1%) 418 735

48 (6.6%) 681 729

Ahram

Hayat

503 (11.0%) 4065 4568

25 (1.2%) 2096 2121

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dilworth parkinson Sentence Subject-Verb Agreement

In a paper delivered at the a recent Arabic Linguistics Society conference I reported on data for the agreement of verbs that take sentence subjects when that subject happens to appear in the form of a feminine   ،   ،           verbal noun. Limiting the study to the verbs ،     ،     ،  and  , the focus of the study was on what constrained the ، choice of feminine vs. masculine agreement. These verbs can either  take an  —clause or a verbal noun as their subject:       .                         .        

 The agreement is third person masculine singular with an  —clause, and when the verbal noun is masculine. However, when the verbal noun is feminine, both masculine and feminine agreement appear:

               .                 .                       .      

It was found that the more the feminine verbal noun ‘felt’ like a simple noun (for example when it had the definite article), the more it took feminine agreement, and the more it felt like a sentence subject (such as when it still had its complements attached as second terms of iḍāfa constructions) the more it took masculine agreement. Some attention was also given to the idea that the more ‘modal’ or ‘frozen form’ the word, the more it favored masculine over feminine agreement. But in the process of carrying out this study, I once again found a rather robust ‘country effect’. Egyptian writers showed lower feminine agreement overall, so although the above effects were valid for all writers, the Egyptian writers somehow had the parameter set lower in the first place. This is summarized in Table 4, where data are given for four of the forms (the others patterned similarly). When the Hayat percentage goes up, the Ahram percentage goes up, and vice versa, but the Ahram is consistently lower than the Hayat in every case, and significantly so. Note that since I have data on two years of the Hayat separately, there is good evidence that these are not statistical flukes but real patterns that repeat themselves year after year.

use in arabic newspaper language

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Table 4: yajib, yajūz, yakfī, yatimm in Individual Papers yajib

N

% feminine

Ahram ’99 Watan ’02 Tajdid ’02 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97

249 104 62 204 232

7.6% 10.6% 17.7% 25.0% 28.0%

yajūz

N

% feminine

Ahram ’99 Watan ’02 Tajdid ’02 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 yakfī Ahram ’99 Watan ’02 Tajdid ’02 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 yatimm Ahram ’99 Watan ’02 Tajdid ’02 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97

22 44 9 61 52 N 81 16 16 96 86

27.3% 18.2% 66.7% 47.5% 55.8% % feminine 51.9% 56.3% 50.00% 70.8% 80.2%

N

% feminine

1898 807 340 1097 997

67.3% 70.6% 82.9% 88.7% 90.0%

“qad” and “la-qad” In an unpublished study of the occurance of the particles qad and laqad in the corpus, the main point was to investigate the difference between narrative and non-narrative uses of these particles. It was found that novels use qad about one and a half times as often as newspapers do, but that they use la-qad about six times more often. However, in the process, I once again discovered a significant country effect. As can be seen in Table 5, qad appears in the Ahram three times as often as in the Hayat, and la-qad over twice as often. As can be seen in the table, interesting comparisons can be made with similar data from the Qur ān and 1001 Nights, with the possible

52

dilworth parkinson Table 5: Frequency of qad and la-qad

Ahram ’99 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Watan Tajdid Qurʾān 1001 Nights

qad per 100000

la-qad per 100000

total per 100000

327 120 117 239 266 252 507

45 20 20 29 46 200 27

371 140 137 268 312 452 535

conclusion that the Ahram’s higher use of qad gives it a feeling of direct connection to the ‘Heritage’, while Hayat’s lower use might give it a more modernized, ‘break with tradition’ feel. But whatever the explanation, one cannot help but be struck by both the strength and consistency of this divergence (see the two years of Hayat data). “mā zāl” In a recent article (Van Mol 2003), Mark Van Mol analyzed the use of the form mā zāl and its variants in oral media Arabic. I replicated his study in my corpus and got similar results. The idea is that this form allows the mix up of the negative particles. Normally lā is used to negate the imperfect and mā to negate the perfect, but all four combinations are possible with this one verb. However, it is clear from Table 6 that in most countries the ‘mixed-up’ forms are uncommon. For example, in the Ahram the imperfect negative particle appears with the perfect form of the verb less than 2% of the time. In Morocco, however, the situation is quite different, with a full 35% of all instances being examples of the ‘mixed-up’ forms. But even with the three countries that disfavor these forms, we can still see differences, with Egyptians clearly strongly preferring the present tense, Lebanese less so, and Kuwaitis favoring the past tense. Since both tenses mean the same thing for this verb, this is an area of variability in which divergences can easily appear and become ‘set’ without anyone being particularly aware of it.

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Table 6: Forms of mā zāl

mā zāl lā zāl mā yazāl lā yazāl

Ahram

Hayat

Watan

Tajdid

12.30% 1.70% 1.10% 84.90%

33.20% 3.70% 6.50% 56.50%

52.00% 1.90% 3.10% 43.00%

22.60% 20.60% 14.40% 42.50%

Table 7: laʿallī vs. laʿallanī

Ahram Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97

laʿallī

laʿallanī

% laʿallanī

223 99 98

26 34 26

10.0% 26.0% 22.0%

“laʿallī ” vs. “laʿallanī” The small study of laʿallī versus laʿallanī was done originally to investigate a statement I read in a textbook that laʿallanī did not exist. I found that both forms were common enough even though laʿallī clearly is more common. What I did not expect to find was a country difference, but there clearly is one as can be seen in Table 7. Writers in the Hayat choose laʿallanī about twice as frequently as do writers in the Ahram. “kāda an yaktub” vs. “kāda yaktub” In a small investigation of the variable use of the subjunctive particle an with kāda, I discovered a country effect that while smaller than many of those we have seen so far, is still quite distinct. Writers for the Ahram choose to use the form with an only 8% of the time, while Hayat writers use it more than twice as frequently, and the other countries even more than that. Space after “wa” The study of whether or not writers put a space after the wa- that means ‘and’ might not seem to fit in the same category as the more

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dilworth parkinson Table 8: kāda an + verb vs. kāda + verb kāda an + verb

kāda + verb

% kāda an

31 90 77 12 29

359 326 387 30 62

8.0% 21.6% 16.6% 28.6% 31.9%

Ahram Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid Watan

Table 9: wa- followed by a space Hayat ’97 Hayat ’96 Ahram Tajdid

0.04% 0.02% 0.1% 2.4%

grammatically oriented variables we have looked at so far, but from the point of view of the user the issue may be the same: what am I used to seeing, and what looks or feels acceptable and familiar to me. Tim Buckwalter pointed out to me that North African usage on this point thwarted one of the assumptions his parser made (that wa- is always connected to the word after it, and if not it is simply to be considered an error). Table 9 shows how this came out in the corpus. The data show that the number of times wa- appears with a space after it in the Hayat and Ahram is vanishingly small (one tenth of one percent and less), and these probably can be considered mistakes. A reader reading through the whole newspaper every day would encounter an example once a month or less. However, the Moroccan data show that two and a half percent of all instances show wa- by itself, meaning that Moroccan readers are going to see this on a daily basis. Even though it is still not common, it is so much more common than in the other two regions that writers and editors clearly have a different level of acceptance for it. Spelling of hamza It is well known that the spelling of hamza differs from region to region, partly due to the effect of some Cairo Language Academy decisions that other regions clearly do not recognize. But the result has not just been one spelling in one region and another spelling in another

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Table 10: Spelling of hamza A

Ahram Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid Watan

Ahram Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid Watan

 



29 27135 25020 4096 9026

18880 1 2 177 3

Table 11: Spelling of hamza B     

    

123 155 143 15 19 Table 12: Spelling of hamza C   

Ahram Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid Watan

172 329 325 24 39

0 0 0 17 2

  54 6 6 19 5

region, but rather a pattern of variability. In some situations the forms are fairly well set (see Table 10) and in others there is basic agreement (see Tables 11), while in others there is more variability (see Table 12). But clearly how you spell hamza depends quite dramatically on where you come from. Word Choice In addition to a multitude of such little grammatical and graphological differences, big and small, we now come to a huge area of difference: word choice. This ranges from the obvious and salient, for example where different countries have chosen different words for modern things or ideas, like ‘telephone’ or ‘bus’, to simple statistical differences

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in how often certain forms are chosen compared to others. It could be complained that this is a side issue, but for speakers, nothing characterizes their style as much as simple word choice does. For example, Table 13 compares the Ahram and Hayat (combined) in regard to their use of words for ‘telephone’. Clearly, Egyptian writers mainly use the borrowed form ‘tilifōn’, while Hayat writers use the Arabic term (chosen for this meaning, most likely, by a language academy) ‘hātif ’. Table 14 shows similar results for three terms for ‘bus’ from all the papers. It is not difficult to discern very different patterns of use from this table. Table 15 shows the results for a form that appears very little anywhere in the Arab East, but is surprisingly common in Morocco: azyad min (instead of aktar min). Because of false hits, the Ahram data should probably be 0, but there is some ‘leakage’ in the Hayat data. However, the clear difference between Morocco as compared to the others is hard to miss. Table 13: Word Choice: ‘Telephone’    Ahram Hayat

250 (20.5%) 1916 (92.2%)

971 (79.5%) 162 (7.8%)

Table 14: Word Choice: ‘Bus’       Ahram Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid Watan

234 358 428 78 83

  

108 24 37 0 0

  41 (in ‘mini-bus’) 328 440 11 0

Table 15: Word Choice: Relative frequency of azyad min Ahram ’99 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid ’02 Watan

4 14 18 140 0

0.02 per 100,000 0.06 per 100,000 0.09 per 100,000 4.79 per 100,000 0 per 100,000

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Table 16 shows a similar situation, but this time with the Levantine writers on top. I searched for the verb afāda (only in the past tense and only with third person masculine or feminine singular subject to try to limit hits to those that mean ‘to say, state’) and found that Hayat writers chose it about ten times more frequently than Ahram writers did. Table 17 shows a similar preference, this time by Ahram writers for the word ṣarraḥ a ‘to state’. By contrast, Table 18 shows a situation where the three papers with a whole year of data more or less match each other in frequency of use, this time of the verb awḍaḥ a. All of these (along with several others) are the kinds of verbs that commonly introduce quotes and on-the-scene information in basic news articles, and differences in frequency here will indicate different preferences for how to construe that situation. Table 16: Word Choice: Relative frequency of afāda (past tense only) Ahram ’99 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid ’02 Watan ’02

336 3,790 4,014 196 1,239

2.04 per 100,000 17.58 per 100,000 20.61 per 100,000 6.71 per 100,000 19.2 per 100,000

Table 17: Word Choice: Relative frequency of ṣarraḥ a (past tense only) Ahram ’99 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid ’02 Watan ’02

6,240 2,364 2,100 591 1,151

37.87 per 100,000 10.96 per 100,000 10.78 per 100,000 20.24 per 100,000 17.83 per 100,000

Table 18: Word Choice: Relative frequency of awḍaḥ a (past tense only) Ahram ’99 Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid ’02 Watan ’02

7,331 9,154 8,499 887 4,351

44.5 per 100,000 42.45 per 100,000 43.64 per 100,000 30.38 per 100,000 67.41 per 100,000

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dilworth parkinson Table 19: Word Choice: Two plurals for muškila

Ahram Hayat ’96 Hayat ’97 Tajdid Watan

muškilāt

mašākil

% mašākil

3965 1443 1531 96 374

3966 4337 3932 1018 374

50.0% 75.03% 71.97% 91.38% 50.0%

Often nouns will have more than one plural available and different regions will have different preferences for one or the other. For example, the plural of muškila ‘problem’ can be either muškilāt or mašākil. Table 19 compares the two for the various countries. Note that in Egypt and Kuwait, usage of both is exactly equal to the other, whereas the Hayat writers have a preference for mašākil, while the Moroccan writers have a very strong preference for it. Conclusion I could go on with such examples more or less indefinitely. When I first went to live in Jerusalem, after having spent many years in Egypt, it took a while to get used to the local paper, and although I couldn’t put my finger on it, I just somehow felt that the language was different from what I was used to. And after many more years of dealing with both Egyptian and Levantine newspapers, but completely ignoring North African ones, I finally went to Morocco last year, and this time the impression was even more distinct. This just isn’t the same. But I couldn’t find anything that wasn’t fuṣḥ ā. The papers from the various areas are the same in many ways, and certainly in the sense that they all adhere to fuṣḥ ā rules and expectations. I am certain that native speakers must have similar moments when they visit other countries or read newspapers from other places. There is a vague, and sometimes not so vague, feeling that this just isn’t the same, we wouldn’t say it this way. My contention here is that an important reason for this feeling is the accumulation of scores of minor statistical differences in grammar choices (like the use of sawfa or sa-, the agreement with a feminine verbal noun subject, the use of kāda with or without an, etc.) and hundreds of similar differences in lexical choices. No one use marks

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a performance as being from a particular place, since in most cases everybody uses both variants, but the place is somehow clear in the overall pattern and is felt by the readers even when they can’t put a finger on quite how they know. By whatever mechanism, people notice frequencies and can reproduce them. I would venture that very little of this is overt or even noticed by the writers or readers, until they come face to face with something that goes beyond their comfort zone (like azyad min for an Egyptian). No one consciously tries to make sure his text reads ‘Egyptian’. Rather, they want their text to read like a news article, or an editorial comment, etc. and to make it sound that way to them, they end up matching the ones they are most familiar with and surrounded with on a day to day basis. I am not suggesting that Arabic is somehow diverging in the various countries and that it will end up being different languages over time. I believe there are far too many social forces pulling in the opposite direction for that to happen in the conceivable future. I am suggesting, however, that it is going to be impossible to describe the language of the press accurately without taking into consideration something like my notion of ‘communities of use’, large communities usually co-equal with countries or even larger regions, which are isolated enough from other regions that they have developed a large number of consistent but idiosyncratic choices where fuṣḥ ā gives them a choice. Because of the intense, ongoing communication within any one community of use compared to the many times less frequent communication between it and other communities of use, it is inevitable that what feels right and natural in one place will simply not feel right and natural in another. This is not an unexpected result, and is similar to the notion of a specifically British or Australian or American English (if someone does a study in the British National Corpus, they usually don’t use the data to make claims about ‘English’ but rather about ‘British English’ even though it may apply to the other Englishes as well); but for Arabic the notion is less ideologically acceptable for Arabs themselves, and is also counteracted by a much stronger prescriptivist tradition than exists in the English speaking world. British and American English really are ‘one’ in many, many ways, but when we get down to the nitty gritty of describing them quantitatively, we also find numerous differences. The same is true with newspaper Arabic. No one is denying that they are ‘one’ in numerous ways, but when we get down to the nitty gritty

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of describing it, we find we need the notion of a Moroccan newspaper language, an Egyptian newspaper language, etc. If language is just an abstract resource, and we are only interested in what could happen, none of this would be of any interest. But I hope my data were overwhelming enough to show that usage feeds back into system, and that when people start making consistent choices, even when variable, something interesting is going on that tells us something more than just about possibilities. I will not take up the question here of how to integrate all this information into our descriptions of these varieties, and I know that researchers with specific theoretical interests will simply not be interested, but I can’t help feel that as an entire field we would be missing something very important if we didn’t care what words and structures real Arabs actually use, and how frequently they use them, particularly when it can be shown that they make those choices with surprising consistency. References Parkinson, D. B. (2003), “Future variability: A corpus study of Arabic future particles”, in D. B. Parkinson and S. Farwaneh (eds), Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics XV, Amsterdam: Benjamins, 191–211. Van Mol, M. (2003), “Evolution of MSA: The case of some complementary particles.” in D. B. Parkinson and S. Farwaneh (eds), Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics XV, Amsterdam: Benjamins, 135–148.

PART TWO

ARABIC VARIATION AND THE MEDIA

ARABIC ORAL MEDIA AND CORPUS LINGUISTICS: A FIRST METHODOLOGICAL OUTLINE Marc Van-Mol Katholieke Universiteit Leuven So far, the term Media Arabic has not clearly been defined. Often scholars refer to media Arabic as a specific kind of Arabic, without a precise delimitation of its boundaries. In some cases, newspaper Arabic is understood by the term (Versteegh 2003: 183 & Holes 1995 who often refers to contemporary journalistic MSA). Arabic media language, however, comprises at least also its spoken counterpart that is used in radio and television programs. Research on the ‘oral’ segment of media Arabic, so far, has rather been limited to news broadcasts (Harrell 1960; Van Mol 2003). Media Arabic, however, covers a much larger field than the two above-mentioned segments. In order to investigate media Arabic on satellite television we have recorded in total 2100 hours of Arabic satellite television in the year 2000. A great part of the content of these satellite programs has been transcribed and tagged. The compilation of this ‘oral Arabic language corpus’ is part of a larger project that is called MARC-2000 which is the abbreviation of Modern Arabic Representative Corpus 2000, a synchronic corpus which has been compiled at the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven in Belgium. The aim of the compilation of the MARC—2000 corpus is to obtain an objective scientific view about the Arabic language situation and its characteristics such as it was used in the year 2000 in its most varied settings. In this article we will give an intermediate report about our empirical findings related to the methodological problems of classifying media language in general and oral media language more specifically. Our provisional inventory of oral media Arabic gives an idea of the complexity of oral Arabic on satellite television. We present some methodological issues we face in trying to define precise classifications for oral media Arabic language use in order to ensure an optimal scientific research on the sampled material. As has clearly been stated by Blanc (1960) and later in more detail by Badawi (1973) spoken Arabic forms a continuum of different layers.

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Both scholars made a division between five language layers. Media Arabic has in most cases been investigated on the basis of one layer. The question is whether media language has changed both in its use and settings. In 1960 when the late Harrell conducted his well-known study on Egyptian news broadcasts, and also in the study of Diem (1974) news broadcasts seemed to be easy to define, because it consisted of read aloud monologues. However, as we pointed out in our study (Van Mol: 2003) also the format of news broadcasts has evolved which has lead to a kind of diversification within its frame yielding a greater variety in language use so that in one program different layers of Arabic occur. But already from the work of Meiseles (1975) and Mitchell (1978) it became clear that the language used in media is not always limited to read aloud texts. When we want to obtain a reliable description of media Arabic in all its diversity we cannot simply pick out one element and investigate it. When we look to the new reality of media Arabic as a whole we will have to start with the compilation of a representative corpus of Arabic language of satellite television, which has been done within the MARC-2000 project. When compiling this corpus of satellite television Arabic we became aware that Media Arabic, such as it is nowadays operating in reality, covers such a large field that in order to conduct solid scientific investigations on this segment of Arabic language use we first have to solve the problem of the precise classification of all the possible settings in which Arabic language is used in the oral media. The reality of Media Arabic is indeed so complex that we have to bring some order in this field so as to create a solid basis to conduct scientific research on an empirical basis that yields reliable data. In what follows we will first try to give an adequate definition of oral media Arabic and then we treat the complex problem of the methodology of classification of its elements in some more detail. A Definition of Media Language First of all we want to give an answer to the question what can be understood by Arabic media language. In other words, how can ‘media language’ properly be defined? The discussion we hold here is not just a mere theoretical one. In the past few years we examined a lot of programs recorded from satellite television and on this empirical basis we will try to give a satisfactory definition of what is meant by

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oral media language. But in order to do so we also take a closer look at its counterpart viz. written media Arabic. We will demonstrate that the answer is not simply the language that is used by the media. For methodological reasons we will try to give an adequate definition of this term. So how has media language to be defined from a corpus linguistic point of view? When we start from the concept of language, we talk about the way a person communicates with another person. This language does not necessarily have to be verbal. As everybody knows there is also body language and sign language among which also the language of the deaf can be classified and which also consists of many dialects. However, not all forms of communication are considered to be language. The pictograms we find all over the world in airports, railway stations and other places where many people gather whose common characteristic is that they all speak a large variety of different languages are not considered media language. But in fact these pictograms serve as an efficient medium of communication towards large and heterogenic groups of people in order to find basic facilities. It is clear that media language has to be seen as a kind of language that has to do with written and verbal communication. This means that for our definition of media language we cannot rely on the meaning of the concept media itself. There seems to be a near relationship in meaning between the concepts of media and language. Both concern an instrument to convey a message to an individual or to a group of people. But also this definition is not clearly enough defined. Do writers of novels and even writers of scientific works not also use pen and paper to express their ideas by means of words to a larger public? In other words, literary or scientific works are also media by which an author intends to convey his ideas and views to more than one reader. We may presume that most citizens have formed for themselves a clear idea about what is meant by ‘media’. We can be quite sure that there is an unconscious consensus that the term media covers newspapers, magazines, radio and television. These are normally considered the media. However, when we take a closer look we become immediately aware that not all magazines can be categorized as media language. Scientific magazines but also popular scientific magazines like the National Geographic Magazine, and also magazines which focus on a specific public such as magazines for walkers, do not belong to media language in the strict sense of the term.

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On an unconscious level people draw a precise boundary between elements that belong to the media and other elements. Do flyers belong to media language? Apparently not. Nevertheless they fulfil the same function as an advertisement in a newspaper. Does an advertisement in a newspaper belong to media language? Maybe for the moment there is not a clear answer to that question. And what about the person who translates a program by sign language for the deaf television viewer? Can this kind of language which from time to time is used on television, be classified as media language? The easiest definition might clearly be, the means by which the language is conveyed. These are newspapers, magazines that treat actual issues and radio and television. But when we bear in mind the goals of the scientific research we want to conduct on ‘media language’ this definition seems to be too large to do accurate scientific observations on media language. Specific Aspects of Written Media Language When talking about media Arabic newspaper Arabic seems to be the typical substratum of written media which is easier to define. Producers of language in newspapers and magazines are more clearly defined than the producers of language in oral media. A newspaper is written by a limited number of authors. On the one hand there are journalists who execute their specific job, but on the other hand there are also some people who write opinion articles. In both cases, however, we have to do with intellectuals, who not only have completed higher education, but also of whom we might suppose that they also possess a kind of natural and serious competence to write. The same can be expected from readers of the newspaper who write limited articles to express their opinion for publication in the newspaper. Those are in most cases people who have completed high education. The last category of writers, or producers of language in newspapers are people who write personal letters, but this of course covers only a relative small part of the language which we encounter in written media. A last observation about newspapers is that there always seems to be a team for language advice. So in the end the language we encounter in written media is much more reflected and revised than in oral media. To conclude: the language producers of written media form a much more homogenious group than the producers of language in the oral media, and especially on television. This does not mean that in

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many Arabic countries dialect is not tolerated in written media. Also in written media, dialectal elements occur depending on the kind of newspaper or magazine and depending on the kind of article (Holes 1995). The reports of interviews contain from time to time dialectal elements, especially in some magazines in Egypt, but also caricatures contain comments in the local dialect. Until now there are no statistical data available as to what extent dialectal features occur in written media and in what kind of articles. To conclude: the group of language producers in written media is quite limited. It is clear that not everybody has the capacity to write in an acceptable manner. It demands quite a long time of study and practice. We can even say that only a limited group of persons in the society has the capacity to write in a decent way. On the contrary everybody, except handicapped people, has the capacity speak. This is an important element in the search for an adequate definition oral media language that is also related to the corpus of oral media language that we have sampled. When we talk about oral media language we normally have in mind the language produced by a specific group of people who are enrolled to present the media to the people. This group of language producers is indeed quite uniform. We may assume that they all had to pass tests and an exam before they were able to work at the television station, and that they were enrolled also on the basis of their language proficiency. However, if we confine ourselves to this narrow definition, we give a distorted view on the reality which is much more complex. When we talk about language of the oral media we often forget that the variety of language producers on satellite television is much more heterogeneous than in, for example, newspaper Arabic. In our definition oral media Arabic covers the whole spectrum of language, which is actually used within the context of oral media. Because of the fact that the object of investigation is the language use in oral media, we observe that people of all layers of society appear in these media to participate by means of oral expression, which reflects a wide variety of language capabilities and layers. Especially in this respect differs the language of the written media from the oral media. In written media, even when dialectal elements are used, in most cases we have to do with language producers with higher education. In this respect I propose to make a theoretical distinction as far as oral media language is concerned in two different directions. One direction is top down oriented, while the other is in almost all cases

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a response to the top down initiative. The class of speakers of the top is in this division in most cases limited to the professional workers at the television stations while the response comes from a much broader layer of the society, and in most cases people who are no language specialists, but who work in different segments of society where language is not their prior concern. Because of the fact that people interviewed can hold a higher status in society we might translate the top down vision also in terms of centre—outward communication. In this view we can conclude that in written Arabic media we almost exclusively have to do with top-down, or centre—outward communication in which the response from outside is extremely limited. We may presume that when dialectal language is used, such as for instance, when transcribing an interview with the sheikh al azhar who clearly is a scholar, this still remains top-down communication, because a person with a higher mastery of language uses dialectal elements so that also less educated people might understand the message. In other words in written media language the higher educated top produces the language whereas the receiver (down) is only able to receive the message. A bottom-up reaction (production) can only be expected by means of a written message, which is certainly not to be expected from illiterate people. In oral media however the possibilities of interaction are much larger. We do not have to be astonished that oral media language offers us a unique view on the large scale of language variety, which effectively occurs on satellite television. This of course makes the classification much more difficult compared to investigations in language use within a limited scope, such as, for example, the language use between family members in a certain area of an Arabic city. On the other hand oral media offer us the possibility to catch a glimpse on how people with different language competences and different language habits communicate with each other. To conclude, instead of speaking of media Arabic or Arabic of the media we prefer to describe the whole continuum which is presented as the Arabic language in the media, which we describe as the written or verbal language that is used not only by, but in mass communication means. Only in this definition do we take into account all possible kind of interlocutors and all possible varieties of language that occur in these media. This point of view makes the classification of the language in the media quite complex. One class of people is easy to determine, which

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is of course the limited group of the centre that takes the initiative for speech. The group of people from the outside is, of course, much more difficult to define. In what follows we treat the problems of classification of language use as we encounter these when we take the whole spectrum that is presented on satellite television as the basis. Methodological Problems of Classification The methodological issues of classification of oral media language on satellite television are quite complex. The reason is that generally in most research the type of language to be investigated is defined before the research takes place. The compilers of the spoken Dutch Corpus (http://lands.let.kun.nl/cgn/home.htm) defined the situations in which the language had to be recorded before recording. Meetings in a firm, recordings at home in a family, university conferences, etc. Language on satellite television, however, is presented and occurs in situations that are not so easy to define. The classification of situations or settings on satellite definition for language investigation is quite difficult. The variety of programs and the amount of data make classification a hazardous undertaking. Different elements have to be taken into account. In different paragraphs we will take a look at the specific problems we cope with for every possible option. On satellite television a large range of programs is presented. Language is presented in all kinds of settings. Just to mention a few. There are news broadcasts, talk shows, game programs, films, coverage’s, documentary programs, comics, speeches, children’s programs even parliamentary debates and so on. One of the very important methodological problems is the clear delimitation of the interlocutors. This is one of the greatest challenges. The problem can be put differently: what is the best way to classify the data. After investigation a great part of the tapes, we see the following possible entries. Data could be classified by kind of program, by subject, by source, by other specific characteristics, such as, whether they contain dialogues or monologues, by date of production, which seems to be also an important element, as we shall see later. Other possibilities are a classification along the kind of language used, the gender of the persons talking, situational circumstances, such as, whether speech seems to be prepared, or more or less spontaneous, the education of the

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speakers and also the profession of the speaker. Also the nationality of the speaker is important and this is a characteristic that is not always easy to determine. In what follows we will try to discuss the advantages and the disadvantages of the different choices, but also the problems, which occur with some kinds of classifications. Classification According to the Kind of Program This kind of classification has clearly its advantages especially when we want to compare language use between different countries. This is what we did in the study of 2003 where we limited the corpus to radio news broadcasts of three countries. As we indicated in that study the problem concerning news programs is also that this kind of programs is not univocal. Basically, however, this classification cannot be overlooked, because of the need to compare data. It is less useful to compare the language used in comics in different countries with language used in programs for children. Nevertheless, in principle one might suppose that the same kind of program is identical in the different countries, but this is not always the case. The setting can differ from country to country. Moreover, some programs are not easy to classify because they are exceptional. The MARC-2000 corpus contains special programs concerning the new millennium. Also exceptional are the programs that cover the visits of the late pope John Paul II to Egypt, Syria and Palestine especially the coverage, for example, of the Eucharist. Classification According to the Nationality of the Speakers This element is of great importance because of the fact that the Arabic language covers different local varieties, which exerts an influence on the language performance of the speakers. For some kinds of program the identification of the language of the native speakers is not difficult. Journalists of the country of origin, for example, always present news programs. The same goes for childrens’ programs, films and coverage’s. There are, however, also programs of which the identification of the nationality of the language performer is more difficult. Documentary programs, for example, are sometimes of local origin, but in many cases also produced by an international Arabic organisation, which makes the identification of nationality impossible. In these cases we might be forced to classify such elements under the label ‘international’.

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On the other hand there is also the fact that some programs, for example, on Al Jazeera, but also on other satellite channels contain dialogues of Arab people from different nationalities. Here too the identification of the nationalities is very important especially to investigate how people of different Arab nations communicate on television on a variety of subjects. The Origin of the Language Used By this element we mean whether the language registered is from an original Arabic source or translated. As we know from the research of Blau (1981b) and Monteil (1960) newspaper Arabic often is influenced, among others, by calques, which are according to Holes (1995) due to the rapid way in which translations are to be made. The question is whether this element ought to be taken into account. Many documentary programs are from foreign origin and have been localised to the Arabic language. In these cases we have to do with translations often from European languages. We encounter the same issue in soaps, which are often local productions, but there are also soaps of foreign origin, which are dubbed. The dubbed soaps, mostly from South American origin, are on first sight spoken in fusha. In these cases the nationality of the voices is impossible to retrieve. Translated Arabic is another approach than spontaneously uttered speech by Arabs. Here two we have two kinds of translations. Prepared translations which could have been revised by one or more persons and the simultaneous translations from English which occur frequently on Al Jazeera and which might contain slightly different elements that are interesting for closer study. Classification by Date The date factor is of importance more specifically for our corpus, because the intention of the corpus is precisely to take a random picture in time for analysis. It is clear, however, that also older material is shown on satellite television. This is especially the case for films, and more specifically Egyptian films, which can date from years far earlier than 2000. Classification According to Written or Oral Sources Also in oral media written Arabic sources occur, often in a special setting. It is clear that the news programs in most cases contain read

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aloud texts. But incidentally this also occurs in other programs, such as talk shows or programs for children where letters are read aloud that have been sent to the program makers. The delimitation between written and spoken language is not always easy to make, because sometimes read aloud peaces are interrupted by a commentary of the presenter of the program who can read sentences, comment those, and continue to read again. In many of these cases we have to do with a mixture of written text read aloud and spontaneous spoken intervention. In that case we have to do with language use that jumps from written read aloud to spontaneous or prepared interventions and way back. The same phenomenon occurs in preaches by imams on Friday, when they might in some cases stick to their prepared text, but in between jump to a more informal language use when adding more or less spontaneous comments on their teachings. All of these elements make the investigation into oral media language very interesting, but include also complex methodological aspects. Classification: Spontaneous Versus Non-Spontaneous This element is related to the often-used division between formal and non-formal speech. This is an important element, but not easy to define. The question often is to know whether a program has been prepared in the studio or whether it is a live program where language is spontaneous. When programs are prepared we have to do with language which might have been revised and which reflects the consensus of more than one person. But here to a mixed form can occur. A journalist can prepare his interview, but in the course of the interview his questions become more spontaneous. In our investigations on Algerian interviews we have clearly discovered that as the interview elapses, the structure of the questions of the journalist more and more lose their grammatical fusha correctness and sometimes end up in strange combinations of words the structure of which is far from easy to define. Classification According to Age This too is generally accepted as a valuable variable. There is of course a difference in language use, especially as far as variation and lexical range is concerned between children of three years old and children of twelve. But there also is a variation between the language proficiency of adolescents from 18 to 20. In all investigated countries we find programs for children in which they actively participate.

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Classification According to the Subdivision Monologues, Dialogues or Multilogues In this respect we want to mention that there are different kinds of monologues. Monologues can differ in degree of spontaneity. The well known read aloud texts, such as those intended for news programs are clearly read aloud written speech. The same goes for speeches read aloud before a public. But there is also a different kind of monologue, which we find in specific programs. This might, for example, be a program in the Ramadan where an imam gives advice on certain points. It is, however, not always easy to retrieve whether the imam reads the information from the camera or not. But there also are more spontaneous monologues, which we find among others in cooking programs. In that case a person is describing and explaining what he is doing in the course of the program. In some cases such programs are presented as a dialogue between a presenter and a cook, in other settings there is only one person explaining his acts to a public which he cannot see or hear, but to whom he is obviously directing his speech. In this kind of programs language is very spontaneous, albeit that it concerns a monologue. This kind of monologue differs from the news presenter who is narrating events and will, for example, use much less the first and second person singular, whereas in a cooking program these forms will occur much more frequently. A very specific setting in which monologues, dialogues and multilogues alternate are the parliamentary debates that are transmitted live on television. In this case we have to do with members of a specific layer of society using language use in a specific setting, a setting that might be compared between different countries. Classification According to the Subject Treated Another possibility or refinement of classification is the subject of the program. This too is an important element if the researcher wants to compare data between countries. There is no doubt that the language use in the presentation of the Qurʾān will not differ from country to country except maybe as far as the kind of reading is concerned. But one might expect a difference in language use by a religious scholar in a religious program or by a police officer who is informing people about traffic problems or related issues. The same goes, for example, for programs about sports in which language use might quite differ from religious programs. In Morocco, for example, there is a program in which comments are given on religious traditions, the Ḥ adīt. It is

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clear that this language will differ from other subjects. Vocabulary will of course differ, but maybe also grammatical constructions, prosody & etc. Again in order to compare the actual use of Arabic language in different countries, also this element of classification might seem to be useful. It is also clear that the subject treated will have an influence on the situation in which language is used. Religious subjects will be treated in a more solemn style than sport programs. Classification According to Gender Also the gender is of importance in two respects. In some programs only men are talking whereas in other programs only women talk. In some there is a mixture of the two. This element is of importance because as previous research has shown the language of females does differ in some respects from the language of males, which is not astonishing because of the relative separation between the sexes in the Arab world. This element is also of importance when we want to compare for example language use by women in a program entirely executed by women between different regions in the Arab world. Classification According to the Profession of the Person who is Talking We are convinced that this element is extreme important, but it is not always possible for an outsider to define the profession of the interlocutors. If the aim of the investigation is to be the language use within a certain profession, such as farmers or men of the fire brigade, for example, it seems to us more logic that recordings are maid directly in the field itself and not by means of television programs. This is what Wilmsen (1995) has done in a theatrical community in Cairo and this is what has been done also in the Orientel project, where telephone conversations have been transcribed from people of the same nationality and in a certain layer of society. Classification in a Melting Pot The interesting thing about language on television, however, and one of its unique characteristics is that one is confronted with a melting pot of persons with all kinds of different characteristics who are brought together precisely by this means of communication which is television. The setting of oral media language such as it is presented

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on satellite television is unique because it makes communication possible between persons with very different backgrounds and from many layers of society and also in different settings. When telephone calls occur in a program, these cannot be considered isolated items such as is the case with ordinary telephone calls that are recorded specific for that purpose. The telephone calls on television are embedded in a certain program, which also means that the language used is not necessarily similar to the language use in daily phone calls between relatives, where language use might be much more informal or familiar. Subjects of conversation will also have to do more with aspects of everyday life. The setting of telephone calls in a talk show, for example, is completely different from the ordinary setting of a daily telephone call. There might be a difference in language use whether people talk to a doctor or to a man of religion. The identification of the profession and thereby the status of the person in the studio is, of course, far more easy than the person who wants to raise their issues to them by phone and of whom often only a name and a place of living is mentioned. It is difficult to estimate their position in society. It is very probable that only people of a certain educational level find themselves in an ability to contact the program. We are almost sure that people from the bottom of society will not participate in this kind of programs. Their language use can only be examined by anthropological techniques. But even this is not an easy matter. We might even doubt whether the registrations of investigators such as Brunot (1931) and his French colleagues in Morocco, really reflect the language of the lowest classes. In most cases those scientists contacted people of a certain education to serve as informants about their language. This means that the information obtained might be of a certain level. In order to obtain data about the lowest language levels, people ought to be prepared to let their voices be registered in their natural environment when they are talking as naturally as possible. Any interference from persons from another level might bias the data. I discovered this personally after my stay in Egypt for one year at the university of Cairo. Before my stay in Cairo I have been working many years as a translator for Moroccan migrants in Antwerp by means of their local dialect (Belgium). After one year of study, my Arabic language use had undergone an influence from the Egyptian dialect. But when I returned to Belgium after one year of study to start my work again among Moroccan migrant workers, it struck me that many

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of them did not talk to me anymore in their slang to which I was used to, as they did before. They adapted their language to my new kind of Arabic speech, using more elevated elements of Arabic language. No matter how I urged them to talk to me as they did before in their local slang, they spontaneously refused to do so. This means that my observations of Moroccan language such as I registered them before my stay in Cairo were more faithful, than after my stay in Cairo. Whether language of the people from the lowest classes occurs on television is highly doubtful. And we might also suppose that people from all layers of society might on television not always speak as they normally do. Of course people on television use their language capabilities, but one of the characteristics of the language in the media that all interlocutors are conscious about is that they are talking to an anonymous mass of people. The interlocutors are aware that they talk before a group of people whom they do not know, who are watching them and we might suppose that the persons talking on television will try to that their messages come across maybe even by adopting their language. It is clear that the profession of the interlocutors is not always easy to define. On the other hand the number of classifications will become extremely complex if the data are also ordered by groups of interlocutors. A Final Proposition: Classification According to Units The main problem of classification is that many satellite television programs are a compilation of different elements that relate to each other in a different manner. To solve this problem we might opt for a classification in smaller units. But this too is not a simple matter. It is clear that some elements of language we find in the media are clearly completely independent units. To give a few examples: a live speech on television, which is read from the camera, can be considered as on independent whole. The same goes for some commercials. But in other programs even news programs, there is much more variety in speech. Monologues and dialogues occur one after another so that at minimum a clear delimitation of these two seems to be requisite. In these cases, however, the delimitation is not always clear. Indeed, there are elements, which are to be considered as semi-independent. An example of a semi-independent element, are the relatively short coverage’s that we find in news programs or in talk shows. In

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this case of language situation there are two ways of dependency. Both are composed of an interview between a journalist and one or more persons in the field and an introduction and conclusion by another journalist in the studio. The difference in setting between the two varieties is that in one case the journalist in the studio introduces the colleague live, talks with him, whereas the journalist in the field first reacts on his colleague and then interviews the person nearby. In other cases the interview has been recorded before and is presented by the journalist in the talk show or whatsoever who introduces the interview without directly interfering in the communication between the journalist in the field and his interlocutor. The question is how to define the borders in this unit in these two cases. In the second case the unit seems to be easier to define and to classify. In that case we have to do with a dialogue between two or more which can serve as a basis unit for scientific investigation. But also in this case varieties occur. Sometimes one might have an interviewer who raises a question, which is followed by different persons answering, one after another, but not on the same place nor on the same time. Here we have to do with one question and four or five independent answers without the question being repeated. But also these units are not always clear cut. Much television work is often a work of cut and paste. Journalists can cut the most important or the most relevant pieces from an interview. It is not always clear whether an interview is a complete unit or not. On television programs this is easier to discover than on radio. On television one can see that answers are fragmented thanks to of the interruption of the image. The reasons why pieces are cut from interviews can be diverse. The most important element for the linguist is to be aware that the sentences which he studies might not be as natural as they seem. Whether pieces are cut away because of linguistic reasons, such as the use of words, or badly constructed language, is not sure at all. We know all from experience that in the US bad words are replaced by beep sounds in order not to confront the spectators with bad language. Whether Arab journalists cut pieces on the basis of low language use is a question of which we do not know the answer. In other programs it is much more difficult to define units because of the fact that the interaction between the participants is much more intertwined. This is the case in many children programs where there is interaction between more than one person, and also in contests on television where we also find multi interaction. Another element

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that is very specific on television is that almost all programs are interrupted by shorter elements. In children programs this might be a comic, in other programs it might be commercials and so on. In this case a larger program might be subdivided into items that cover the span between, for example, two commercials. But what is also specific for some Arabic television stations is another case, viz. when the call to prayer interrupts a program. In many of these cases a program is interrupted without previous introduction. If people are watching, for instance, a movie, the call to prayer suddenly can interrupt the film without taking into account that the actors in the film did not finish their sentences yet. In that case we have to do with two units, which are not clearly delimited, because of the sudden interruption. In some cases the call to prayer lasts for two three minutes. Those minutes are then lost for the film. Conclusion Investigating language in the media, such as, it is transmitted in daily life contains many challenges. The first is the classification of the overwhelming data that can be gathered by means of satellite television. The complete inventory of the oral media corpus of MARC—2000 is not finished yet. Once we made an inventory of all the recorded programs we will be able to give a detailed overview for each country. From that moment on also statistical data will become available that we will publish as soon as the work has been done. The classification problem is the first that has to be solved in detail. Much of the classifications above overlap so that a well-defined system will have to be developed. The question will also be whether we will also find practical solutions to do the job. The above examples show that the classification of all the data in terms of units is a tremendous job, which will demand a lot of time. The decision of how to classify, and into which detail will, of course, also be influenced by economic reasons, how much time will it cost, but also by reasons of efficiency in which the law of diminishing returns will also play its part. On the other hand it will give us a rich database for scientific investigation that might reveal interesting scientific data.

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References Badawi, E. M. (1973), Mustawayāt al-ʿArabīya al-muʿāṣira fī Miṣr: baḥ t fī ʿalāqat al-luġa bi-l-ḥ aḍāra, Cairo: Dār al-Maʿārif. Blanc, H. (1960), “Style variations in spoken Arabic: A sample of interdialectal educated conversation”, in C. A. Ferguson (ed.), Contributions to Arabic linguistics, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 81–161. Blau, J. (1981), The Renaissance of Modern Hebrew and Modern Standard Arabic: Parallels and differences in the revival of two Semitic languages, Berkeley: University of California Press. Brunot, L. (1931), Textes arabes de Rabat. Vol. 1: Textes, transcription et traduction annotée, Paris: Geuthner. Diem, W. (1974), Hochsprache und Dialekt im Arabischen: Untersuchungen zur heutigen arabischen Zweisprachigkeit, Wiesbaden: Steiner. Eid, M. (1988), “Principles for code-switching between Standard and Egyptian Arabic”, Al-Arabiyya 21: 51–79. Harrell, R. S. (1960), “A linguistic analysis of Egyptian radio Arabic”, in C. A. Ferguson (ed.), Contributions to Arabic linguistics, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 81–161. Holes, C. (1993), “The uses of variation: A study of the political speeches of Gamal Abd al-Nasir”, in M. Eid and C. Holes (eds), Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics V, Amsterdam: Benjamins, 13–46. —— (1995), Modern Arabic: Structures, functions and varieties, London: Longman. Meiseles, G. (1975), “Oral literary Arabic: Its main features in speech and reading”, PhD thesis, Hebrew University in Jerusalem. —— (1980a), “Educated Spoken Arabic and the Arabic language continuum”, Archivum Linguisticum, New Series 11(2), 118–48. Mitchell, T. F. (1986), “What is Educated Spoken Arabic?”, International Journal of the Sociology of Language 61, 7–32. Mitchell, T. F. and S. El-Hassan (1994), Modality, mood and aspect in spoken Arabic: With special reference to Egypt and the Levant, London: Kegan Paul International. Monteil, V. (1960), L’arabe moderne, Paris: Klincksieck. Orientel: http://www.speechdat.org/ORIENTEL/index.html; accessed 2 January 2009. Van Mol, M. (2003), Variation in Modern Standard Arabic in radio news broadcasts: A synchronic descriptive investigation in the use of complementary particles, Leuven: Peeters. Versteegh. K., (2003), The Arabic language, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Wilmsen, D. W. (1995), The word play’s the thing: Educated Spoken Arabic in a theatrical community, PhD thesis, University of Michigan.

PATTERNS AND PREDICTIONS FOR CODE-SWITCHING WITH ARABIC Carol Myers-Scotton Michigan State University A main goal of this contribution is to argue that, when speakers engage in code-switching including Arabic, the asymmetries between the participating languages hold in similar ways as they do in other code-switching corpora and in line with predictions of the Matrix Language Frame (MLF) model (Myers-Scotton 1997, 2002). The first most important asymmetry refers to the dominance of one language in providing grammatical structure for bilingual data. The second important asymmetry refers to differences in the patterns of occurrence of different types of morphemes from the less dominant language in such data (cf. Myers-Scotton and Jake, 2000; forthcoming 2008). Empirical evidence across code-switching corpora as well as other types of language contact data shows a good deal of uniformity regarding these asymmetries; that is, this evidence implies their universality in comparable data. This discussion of how bilingual data are structured is relevant to discussions of language use in the mass media in the Middle East. The reason is that, increasingly, switching between Standard Arabic and educated varieties of local dialects is predicted to occur. Thus, an issue is this: what will be the grammatical structure of such switching? Most of the literature on code-switching refers to two distinctly different languages in the pattern described as “classic code-switching”. Such switching is defined as the use of two linguistic varieties in one clause, but with all of the morpho-syntactic structure that provides the frame for the clause coming from one variety only. Of course, analyzing the division of labor in supplying the morpho-syntactic structure in switching between closely related varieties (e.g. Standard Arabic and local dialects) is more difficult than analyzing sources when switching involves clearly different varieties. Such switching in Arabic-speaking countries may turn out fit the definition of “classic code-switching”. However, it also may turn out to be another type of code-switching that I have defined as “composite code-switching” (cf. Myers-Scotton

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2002). That is, both participating languages may supply part of the morpho-syntactic structure framing the clause. Some researchers have described this type of switching (e.g. Muysken 2000; Clyne 2003), but it has been hardly analyzed systematically. When switching takes this form and the switching is between closely related varieties, then it is even more difficult to discuss the division of labor in a principled way. Still, this article argues that the asymmetries that hold in classic code-switching and other types of language contact phenomena largely will structure composite code-switching as well, even if some modifications in the analysis must be made. This contribution at least demonstrates how existing code-switching data in the literature that involves Arabic is largely amenable to analysis as classic code-switching. Also, it discusses an example that may be considered composite code-switching. Further, it makes some predictions about patterns in future code-switching data in the Arabic-speaking world. What Does Code-Switching with Arabic Look Like? The analysis begins with some examples of standard Arabic as a participating language in code-switching (hereafter CS) with various languages. In each of these examples (1 through 3) Arabic is the language supplying the morpho-syntactic frame of the clause. Examples (1a) to (1c) come from a corpus of conversational data from Palestinian Arabic-English bilinguals who have lived in the United States for a number of years. They regularly use CS in their in-group conversations. Example (1a) shows a typical switch that is found in many CS data sets, whether Arabic is a participant or not. In this example, an English noun (grass) is inflected with an Arabic determiner. Singlyoccurring nouns from what will be called the Embedded Language (EL) are generally the most frequent EL forms in CS. Example 1a: Palestinian Arabic/English (Okasha 1999: 79) huwwi parrak es-sayyāra tabʿat-u He perf.3m.park the-car own.3m ‘He parked his car on the grass.’

ʿala on

il-grass def-grass

Example (1b) is more unusual in that an EL (English) verb is inflected with Arabic and is followed by an EL direct object. In this data set, English verbs rarely occur with Arabic inflections; instead, examples

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such as (1c) are more frequent and will be discussed later. Note that in (1c) there are two clauses, with the second one entirely in the EL (English) except for the complementizer from Arabic. Example 1b (Okasha 1999: 79) kunt xāyif ḥada y-sue me perf.1s.be scared one 3m.imperf-sue me ‘I was scared someone might sue me.’

Example 1c (Okasaha 1999: 92) ʾawwal el-sinīn di muhimma liʾanik First det-year.pl these important because.2S ‘The first years are important because you never forget.’

you never forget

Other data sets show that, rather than include an EL verb with Arabic inflections, a “do verb” construction is often employed. Thus in example (2), the EL verb (Dutch in this case) satisfies the speaker’s intentions to convey a certain meaning. But this verb is accessed in its infinitival form and the necessary inflections to indicate aspect and negation appear on an Arabic “do verb”. Such “do verb” constructions occur in a wide variety of CS corpora, from Japanese-English CS to Turkish-Norwegian CS (cf. Myers-Scotton 2002: 134–137 for an overview). Boumans data come from Moroccan immigrants in the Netherlands. Example 2: Moroccan Arabic/Dutch (Boumans 1998: 224) b s-sehh a buzrud ma ka-t-dir-š studer-en mezyan, hè? with def-reality voc Bouz. neg asp-2-do-neg study-inf well qtag ‘But Bouzroud, you’re not studying well, are you?’

When Arabic occurs with French as the EL, not just French nouns occur frequently in an Arabic frame, but full noun phrases (Det + noun) also occur very often. Note that les histoires is an EL island; such islands are discussed further below. Example 3: Alg. Arabic/French (Boumans & Caubet 2000: 152; cited in Myers-Scotton 2002: 116) yә-t-haka-w waḥed les histoires . . . 3-mp-tell-pl indef def stories ‘They tell each other some (fantastic) stories. . . .”

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This contribution argues that, taken together, two models and an overarching principle can explain the in-put from the participating languages in CS and also the distribution of morpheme types. The model considered in this section, the Matrix Language Frame (MLF) model, claims to explain the patterns that occur generally in CS data. It does this by arguing that two types of asymmetry characterize CS. First, a major premise of this model is that there always is asymmetry between the participating languages in their roles. In classic codeswitching, only one language supplies the morphosyntactic frame of the clause showing CS. This language is called the Matrix Language (ML) and the other participating language is called the Embedded Language (EL). Examples (1) through (3) provide evidence of this asymmetry. While the EL can supply either singly-occurring words or phrases, only the ML supplies the structure-building elements of the bilingual clause. To reiterate, the ML supplies the morpho-syntactic frame. Second, the model argues that evidence shows that there is always asymmetry between morpheme types in their distribution in CS. To put it simply, not all types of morphemes can come from the EL. Under the MLF model, two types of morpheme are distinguished, content and system morphemes. Content morphemes are defined as either assigners or receivers of thematic roles. Nouns and verbs are prototypical content morphemes, but some prepositions are also content morphemes. Pronouns that have the same syntactic functions as nouns are content morphemes (e.g., English pronouns) as well as topicalizers (e.g., Arabic pronouns). See Jake (1994) for an overview on pronouns in CS. In contrast to content morphemes, system morphemes do not participate in the thematic role grid of the clause; that is, they do not assign or receive thematic roles. Determiners and affixes are prototypical system morphemes. An important generalization based on the content:system morpheme distinction is that largely only content morphemes come from the EL in CS. However, it is important to recognize that the EL also can supply full phrases (called EL islands) that are entirely in the EL (i.e. with whatever EL system morphemes make them well-formed). The 4-M model discussed below adds specificity to the class of system morphemes by showing how they divide into two major types. Although the 4-M model is intended to apply to all types of language data, in effect, the dividing of system morphemes is another asymmetry that has relevance in CS.

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Two principles that are testable hypotheses are at the heart of the MLF model. In effect, they define the Matrix Language and restrict the role of the Embedded Language: • Morpheme Order Principle: Only one language supplies the order of morphemes in the clause showing CS. • The System Morpheme Principle: One type of system morpheme must come only from one of the participating languages. This type is called the “outsider” system morpheme under the 4-Model that is discussed below. It is called an “outsider” because it depends for its occurrence and form on information that is outside the maximal projection in which it occurs; that is, it is co-indexed with outside information. This co-indexing builds structure across phrases in the larger clause. With few counter-examples, the hypothesis that these two principles point to only one of the participating languages is supported across diverse data sets, with few counter-examples. That is, the principles identify the ML. The model refers to the other participating language, which the principles do not identify, as the EL. The MLF model received a comprehensive introduction in MyersScotton (1993). Its basic outlines have not changed since then. However, the 2nd edition’s Afterword (1997) does contain two modifications; it (a) drops morpheme count as a way to identify the ML and (b) makes explicit the clause (CP) as the unit of analysis. Unfortunately, some researchers interpreted the System Morpheme Principle as stating that all system morphemes must come from one language; this never was how it was intended The 4-M Model: A Model of Morpheme Classification The 4-M model is a model of morpheme classification. Because it refines system morphemes, it adds precision to the MLF model. Yet, it is not an extension of the MLF model as some researchers seem to view it; the classification is intended to apply to all language data (cf. Myers-Scotton and Jake 2000). Under the 4-M model there are four ways that morphemes are classified. First, and rather obviously, four types of morphemes emerge. Second, and arguably more important, morphemes are divided as either conceptually-activated or structurally-assigned. Both content

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morphemes and early system morphemes are conceptually-activated. Content morphemes are directly activated by a speaker’s intentions and early system morphemes are indirectly activated to add specificity or modification of a content morpheme’s meaning. They are called “early” because they are accessed at the level of the mental lexicon. Examples are determiners and the satellite elements in phrasal verbs (e.g., up in look up) as well as derivational affixes. In contrast, structurally-assigned system morphemes carry out language-specific requirements of well-formedness for large phrases and the full clause. They are called “late” because they are not activated until the level of the formulator. A third division separates “bridges” and “outsiders” within the category of late system morphemes. “Bridges” depend on well-formedness conditions within the maximal constituent in which they appear. An example is of in an associative/possessive constituent of two noun phrases joined by of (e.g., friend of the family). As already indicated in the discussion of the System Morpheme Principle, “outsiders” coindex relations across phrases. Their form depends on information outside of the phrase in which they occur. Finally, (echoing the original definitions of content and system morphemes), only content morphemes either assign or receive thematic roles (cf. Myers-Scotton 2002; 2005a for more details and evidence regarding differences in the distribution of the four types of morphemes and also about the hypothesized difference in how they are accessed in language production). The Uniform Structure Principle The Uniform Structure Principle seems obvious when applied to monolingual data, but it needs stating because its role in bilingual data is not obvious at all. The principle was introduced in Myers-Scotton (2002); its explanatory power seems to become clearer and clearer as time passes (e.g. see Myers-Scotton 2005b; Myers-Scotton and Jake, forthcoming 2008). The predictions it makes regarding what to expect in bilingual data are most important. Here is a definition: A given constituent type in any language has a uniform structure and the requirements of well-formedness for this constituent type must be observed whenever the constituent appears. In bilingual speech, the structures of the Matrix Language (ML) are always preferred. Embedded

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Language (EL) islands (phrases from other varieties participating in the clause) are allowed that meet EL well-formedness conditions and ML conditions applying to the clause as a whole (e.g. phrase placement).

Some Unusual Patterns in CS with Arabic This section considers five sets of examples that occur in CS involving Arabic that, at first glance, seem to elude analysis under the MLF model. This is so because they show somewhat different patterns that those found in many other CS corpora. However, all but one pattern is explanable in terms of the MLF model. Pronoun Doubling When Arabic is the ML in CS corpora, a pronoun from Arabic seems to double a pronoun from the EL. Isn’t having two pronouns redundant? In fact, the two pronouns have two different functions; the Arabic pronoun is a topicalizer and it occurs in the complementizer or specifier position of the clause which is otherwise in the EL (which may be English, Dutch, French, etc.). The second pronoun occurs in subject position. The portion of the clause from the EL is an IP (Infl Phrase) EL island. When the EL is English or Dutch, both pronouns are self-standing content morphemes that can occur in the same syntactic position as nouns (see examples (5) through (7). However, when French is the EL, subject position in the IP phrase is filled with an AGR marker; it is an “outsider” system morpheme encoding subjectverb agreement and is co-indexed with an antecedent in the discourse. One might argue that the Arabic topicalizer is its antecedent, but a better argument is that there is an antecedent for both elements elsewhere in the discourse. Recognizing that the two pronominal forms have different functions is necessary to defeat the analysis that real doubling occurs, which would depend on like forms. Also, an insight based on the 4-M model is important helps explain the data. The motivation for the model is that empirical evidence shows that different morpheme types have different patterns of occurrence. Thus, recognizing how the so-called “double” pronouns differ in their syntactic distribution also is critical. Further, remember that the Uniform Structure Principle preferences ML structure, so beginning the second clause with an Arabic topicalizer serves to retain ML structure in a clause that is basically in the EL.

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Example 5: Moroccan Arabic/Dutch (Nortier 1990: 166) (Arabic precedes) . . . . ana ik vind’t zo’n knuffeldiertje ‘. . . as for me, I find it such a cuddly toy.’

Example 6: Palestinian Arabic-English (Okasha 1999: 74) hādi hiyyi muškilti ʾana I don’t like it this 3SF problem/1s 1s I don’t like it ‘This [is] my problem; I don’t like it.’

Example 7: Palestinian Arabic-English (Okasha 1999: 101) ʾinti you feel obliged tidfaʿ ʾan el-kul You imperf.2f /pay for det-all ‘As for you, you feel obliged [that] you pay for all.’

French Noun Phrases When French is the EL, not only do individual French nouns occur in noun phrases structured by Arabic as the ML; in addition full NPs from French occur very freely (determiner + noun) as Embedded Language (EL) islands as in example (3). Myers-Scotton (2002: 113–127) offers an explanation as to why these full noun phrases seem to occur only when French is the EL, and not with either English or Dutch as ELs. There appears to be more congruence between the role of determiners in French and Arabic than there is between Arabic and other languages. The argument is that French has a determiner complex that is similar to that in Arabic. This complex includes a demonstrative node that can be realized by demonstratives, or by quantifiers or partitives. In French, the node is most often realized by quantifiers or partitives (as in tout le monde ‘all the world/everyone’) The demonstrative node is followed by a DNG phrase (with the features of definiteness, number, gender that can be realized by a determiner). For example, waḥ ed les histoires ‘one of the stories’. Zimari points out that in her North African data not just definite articles from French occur in such DNG phrases. She cites examples from given here as examples (8) and (9): Example 8: Moroccan Arabic-French (Ziamari 2006) ada l-waḥed un mois ‘it goes back about a month’

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Example 9: Moroccan Arabic-French had mon genre ‘my kind’

These French noun phrases are considered as EL islands; as such, they are not counter-examples to the provisions of the MLF model. Furthermore, the system morphemes in DNG phrases are early system morphemes under the 4-M model. As such, they do not violate the requirements of the System Morpheme Principle, which refers only to outsider late system morphemes. Arabic Complementizers and Subordinators When bilingual data include a main clause in the ML (Arabic here) followed by an embedded clause largely or entirely in the EL, the complementizer (ʾinnu) always comes from Arabic. Myers-Scotton and Jake (2009) argue that such complementizers should be considered as “bridge” system morphemes. In effect, they join together two constituents (i.e. two clauses). Similarly, that in English and similar complementizers in other languages, such as French and Spanish que, are also analyzed as bridges. See example (10a) in which ʾinnu is the bridge. If the second clause is introduced by a subordinator, it usually comes from Arabic as well. See example (10b). In effect, Arabic is straddling the two clauses when the complementizer, subordinator or conjunction always comes from Arabic. Yet, one can see how this state of affairs follows from the Uniform Structure Principle. That principle is better satisfied if the ML (Arabic) provides as much structure as possible in any utterance. In either of these cases, all or most of the IP phrase (i.e. it includes a finite verb) is in the EL; thus, a very large EL island occurs. How can this be accounted for? A plausible argument is that the speaker wishes to use a verb with the particular semantics and pragmatics of an EL verb; however, inflecting such a verb with ML (Arabic) inflections seems difficult to do, although there are some examples where it happens (as in example 1a). Instead, overwhelmingly, EL verbs generally appear in “large” EL islands (i.e., IP phrases). Of 109 English verbs in a Palestinian Arabic-English corpus, 79% (N=86) occur in EL IP islands and, of the total 61% (N=66) are English finite verbs Okasha (1999: 91).

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Jake and Myers-Scotton (1997) and Myers-Scotton and Jake (2001) argue that the rationale behind this pattern is that when Arabic is setting the morpho-syntactic frame, any verbs that appear in that frame must meet the requirements of Arabic verbs. In such verbs, aspect as either perfect or imperfect is part of the original lemma entry in the mental lexicon. English verbs are not so specified for aspect at this point in the production process. Example 10a: Palestinian Arabic-English (Okasha 1999: 92) ʾālat hiyyi ʾinnu she did not like that perf.say.3f she that she did not like that ‘She said that she did not like that.’

Example 10b: Palestinian Arabic-English (Okasha 1999: 123) [. . .] huma biyidfaʿūli kul haga liʾanuhum they can afford it [. . .] they hab.imperf.3p.pay1s every thing because.3p they can afford it ‘They pay for everything for me because they can afford it’

Example (11) shows a coordinating conjunction joining two clauses; it also comes from Arabic much of the time when Arabic is the ML. But, as a content morpheme, it could just as well come from the EL. Example 11: Palestinian Arabic-English (Okasha 1999: 92) ʾana batʿalaʾ bi-l-bait bas I can move from this house. 1s hab.imper.1s to/the/house but ‘I get attached to the house but I can move from this house.’

Complementizers and Subordinators that Include Inflections Arabic elements in Comp position often include an inflection that signals person agreement with the subject in the following EL phrase. This is clear in example (10b) above in which the subordinator li anuhum not only conveys the meaning ‘because’ but includes an inflection for 3rd person plural in agreement with they in the EL segment of the second clause. Similar AGR inflections occur with complementizers, as in example (12) in which ʾinnu conveys 3rd person masculine agreement with the following EL phrase.

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Example 12: Palestinian Arabic-English (Okasha, 1999: 71) kaan el-doctor yišuk ʾinnu it is not reliable perf.3m.be det-doctor imperf.3m.doubt that.3m it is not reliable ‘[he] was, the doctor, doubting that it is not reliable.’

In example (13) not only is there an AGR inflection included in the subordinator li?anhum, but a topicalizer pronoun from Arabic (hummi) precedes the EL phrase. Example 13: (Okasha 1999: 98) I envy them

liʾanhum hummi they don’t care because.3pl they ‘I envy them because they, they don’t care.’

How can one reconcile the presence of these AGR markers with the System Morpheme Principle, which requires such “outsiders” to come from the ML? In what sense is Arabic the ML in the two clauses that appear in these examples? If one argues that the EL elements in these clauses are IP EL islands, then the argument that the entire second clause is under ML control can follow. Such an analysis follows according to the Uniform Structure Principle (USP). Again, as argued in 6.3, the USP preferences ML structure throughout bilingual speech, and the presence of the Arabic elements in Comp position, with or without AGR inflections, maintains ML structure. Also, the fact that these inflections are not just any inflections, but are “outsiders”, whose function is to build structure in an entire clause, reinforces this argument. From the psycholinguistic point of view these Arabic elements with AGR inflections are of interest, because they indicate that the ML must remain active throughout activation of the EL island. This activation is necessary if the ML is to provide the proper agreement inflection. Dyal and “Dyal-like” Associative/Partitives or Attributive Associatives The Arabic element dyal, along with a series of “dyal-like” elements that can stand in place of dyal, signals a number of related meanings. Dyal often is an associative, with the meaning of ‘of’. Its presence in CS data when Arabic is the EL and French is the ML in North African data has generated claims that such occurrences are counter-examples to the System Morpheme Principle (cf. Bentahila and Davies 1988).

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However, the 4-M model clarifies its status so that it is clear that dyal is properly considered a “bridge” system morpheme. As such, it is not an “outsider”, the type of system morpheme to which that principle is intended to apply. In what sense is dyal a “bridge”? Its presence depends on Arabic well-formedness requirements that such an element appear to join together two noun phrases. (Elsewhere, I have suggested that “bridges” and “outsiders” contrast in that a “bridge” has an invariant form and, in effect, is only one allomorph, while an “outsider” is the member of a conjunction or paradigm. That argument still holds with the “dyal-like” elements because they all have the same syntactic function and meaning. If one takes case markers as an example of “outsiders”, one can understand that each case element has a different syntactic function and meaning (consider German case systems). Also, even though all subject-verb agreement “outsiders” have the same syntactic function, they have different meanings because they agree with different persons or classes.) However, two further issues remain with any analysis of dyal. First, it sometimes appears as the only Arabic element in an otherwise French clause. That is, it joins two entirely French NPs in an associative construction, as it does in example (14). In such cases, one can argue that dyal is a borrowing into French. Such an argument is not very satisfactory in the sense that few prepositions—if dyal is a preposition—are rarely borrowed. Second, dyal sometimes appears to signal personal possession. There is a more serious problem for the MLF model. Dyal regularly is inflected with AGR suffixes. In such cases, the resulting element is multimorphemic, with dyal as a “bridge” but the suffix as an “outsider”. In monolingual Arabic data this presents no problem, but in bilingual data in which Arabic is the EL, the presence of the suffix is a violation of the System Morpheme Principle because, if such a suffix is present, obviously all the “outsiders” do not come from one language, the ML. In example (15) French is the ML, with several occurrences of Arabic as the EL, including two instances of dyal with AGR suffixes. For example, dyal-t (fem.) mean ‘its’ and agrees with la molécule. Example 14: Moroccan French-dyal (Ziamari 2006) ça dépend dyal la moyenne ‘That depends on the average’

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Example 15: Moroccan French-Arabic (Ziamari 2006) Le rapport ma bin le volume dyal la molécule dyalt la structure u l’oxyde dyal-ha ‘The relationship between the volume of the molecule, its structure and its oxide.’

Such examples definitely are counter-examples to the System Morpheme Principle, unless one argues that cases of “dyal plus inflections” are EL islands. Certainly, is hard to argue that these examples are accessed as “chunks” (whole units), because each unit has to be different since the suffix agrees with whichever head element calls it. Further, suffixed dyal is a very unusual EL island, when compared with the types of EL islands that appear in other CS corpora. There, EL islands are typically peripheral to the argument structure and prepositional phrases are the more typical island. When one considers how possession is encoded in French (with self-standing possessive pronouns, e.g. mon oncle) it is obvious that there is little congruence between how the two languages encode personal possession. But this doesn’t answer the question of why a version including a suffixed dyal appears—except that in monolingual Arabic this seems to be the preferred way to encode personal possession. In the end, one must conclude that analyzing such examples as EL islands is not very satisfactory; therefore, such examples are better analyzed as going beyond “classic code-switching” (in which only one language provides all the frame-building elements). That is, such examples may be considered instances of “composite code-switching” (in which abstract framebuilding structure comes from more than one language). Predictions for Future Examples of Code-Switching with Arabic First, it is likely that new patterns of code-switching will emerge; in fact, evidence indicates they are emerging right now (e.g., more CS with English verbs inflected with Arabic affixes). Still, these new patterns will still support the asymmetries that underline the MLF model. Second, it is likely that CS between educated varieties of local dialects and Standard Arabic will become much more common in the electronic media, with the print media perhaps a step behind. The reason, of course, is that there is less planned discourse in the electronic media, especially in interview situations.

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Third, it is likely that the local dialects will serve as the ML in any code-switching with Standard Arabic largely participating as the source of many content morphemes. This prediction and others discussed here does not hold for broadcasts that are intended for the Middle East as a whole; in such broadcasts, Standard Arabic will continue to dominate. But in broadcasts that are aimed at a national audience, inflections that are early system morphemes in Standard Arabic may appear frequently in ML frames supplied by the educated variety of the local dialect. Certainly, they will outnumber late system morphemes from Standard Arabic, especially “outsiders”. That is, in line with the Uniform Structure Principle, structure-building morphemes will continue to come largely, if not exclusively, from the ML (the local dialect). Word play employing words from international languages, such as English or French, in a Standard Arabic frame, or employing Standard Arabic words in morpho-syntatic frame from a local educated variety will become more common forms of CS. For example, Ziamari (2008) cites an example in which the Standard Arabic word for ‘trade unionist’ (n-naquabi) appears in a clause otherwise in Moroccan Arabic to convey the meaning—with some irony—that a specific person is “a good talker”. Finally, at the same time, more examples may show that both languages are supplying part of the frame-building abstract structure (i.e., more composite code-switching). This means that certain exceptions to the premises of the MLF model will arise. Still, while this is happening, most frame-building elements will continue to come from the ML in line with the USP. Word order will be among the features most likely to change as long as the variety that is the putative ML maintains the frame-building elements that indicate relations across phrases. As long as these elements come from the putative ML, changes in word order have only incidental importance. References Boumans, L. (1998), The syntax of code-switching: analysing Moroccan Arabic/Dutch conversation, Tilburg: University of Tilburg. —— (2006), “The attributive possessive in Moroccan Arabic spoken by young bilinguals in the Netherlands and their peers in Morocco”, Bilingualism, Language and Cognition 9(3): 213–31. Jake, J. L. and C. Myers-Scotton (1997), “Code-switching and compromise strategies: Implications for lexical structure”, International Journal of Bilingualism 1(1): 25–39.

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Kaye, A. S. and J. Rosenhouse (1997), “Arabic dialects and Maltese”, in R. Hetzron (ed.) The Semitic languages, London: Routledge, 263–311. Myers-Scotton, C. (1993), Duelling languages: Grammatical structure in code-switching, Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2nd edition (1997) with new Afterword. —— (2002), Contact linguistics: Bilingual encounters and grammatical outcomes. Oxford: Oxford University Press. —— (2005a), “Supporting a differential access hypothesis: Code-switching and other contact data”, in J. Kroll and A. DeGroot (eds), Handbook of bilingualism: Psycholinguistic approaches, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 328–48. —— (2005b), “Uniform structure: Looking beyond the surface in explaining codeswitching”, Italian Journal of Linguistics (Rivista de Linguistica) 17(1): 15–34. Myers-Scotton, C. and J. L. Jake. (2001), “Explaining aspects of codeswitching and their implications”, in J. Nicol (ed.), One mind, two languages: Bilingual language processing, Oxford: Blackwell, 84–116. —— (2009), A universal model of code-switching and bilingual language processing pp. 336–357, in B. Bullock and J. Toribio (eds), Handbook of code switching, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Nortier, J. (1990), Dutch-Moroccan Arabic code switching, Dordrecht: Foris. Okasha, M. (1999), “Structural constraints on Arabic-English code-switching: Two generations”, PhD thesis, University of South Carolina. Owens, J. (2005), “Hierarchicalized matrices: Code-switching among urban Nigerian Arabs:” Linguistics 43(5): 957–93. Ziamari, K. (2006), “Development and linguistic change in Moroccan Arabic-French code-switching”, in C. Miller, D. Caubet, J. Watson, and E. Al-Wer (eds), Arabic in the city: Issues in dialect contact and language variation, London: Routledge, 275–90.

IDENTITY AND CODE-CHOICE IN THE SPEECH OF EDUCATED WOMEN AND MEN IN EGYPT: EVIDENCE FROM TALK SHOWS Reem Bassiouney Georgetown University This article examines the use of modern standard Arabic (MSA) and Egyptian colloquial Arabic (ECA) in talk shows. I shed light on codechoice and code-switching by women in relation to identity. Because of the diglossic situation in the Arabic speaking world, there is a difference between a ‘prestige variety’ and a ‘standard’ one. Many linguistic studies in the Arab world have shown that for most people there is a prestige vernacular, the identity of which depends on many geographical, political and social factors within each country. In Egypt, for example, for non-Cairenes it is Cairene. It is usually the urban dialect of the big cities. The standard language is modern standard Arabic (MSA), which is not the spoken vernacular of any country in the Arab world (cf. Holes 2004 for a discussion of dilgossia). Quantitative variation studies done on the Arab world all indicate the following, first that women sometimes do not have access to education and professional life to the same extent as men do and their use of MSA is less than men. On the other hand, when women have a choice between the prestigious urban variety, a rural variety and standard Arabic, they are more prone to choose the urban variety as a symbolic means of asserting their identity. The following are some examples of these studies. Walters (1991) made a quantitative sociolinguistic study of Arabic as spoken in Korba, a small Tunisian town, to examine sex differentiation there. He compared and contrasted his findings with western studies. He was interested in phonological variables, especially the imāla, which is considered palatalisation, produced by a rising movement of the tongue towards the prepalatal region (Encyclopedia of Islam, 2nd Edition). He found that imāla is used by older people, less educated people and females. It is considered a feature of the dialect of Korba which is now looked down upon, especially when used outside Korba and with Tunisians from other areas.

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Daher (1999) examined /θ/ and /ð/ as MSA variables realised differently in Damascene Arabic. He measured the way both phonological variables are realised by men and women. In Damascene Arabic the variables would be realised as s and z respectively. He found that men tend to realise them more in their standard form, θ and /ð/, than women did. In another study (1998), Daher examined another phonological variable realised differently in Damascene Arabic and standard Arabic, namely the uvular variable q, which is realised as a glottal stop in Damascene Arabic. He found that men tend to favour the connotations of q, while women avoid its connotations. The q variable is being introduced into the dialect through education. And since, according to Daher (1998: 203), education was ‘traditionally the domain of a small male elite’, women do not use the q as much as men. In fact, according to him, even educated professional women tend not to use it because the glottal stop is associated more with urbanisation and modernisation, while q is associated with men and rural speakers. He concludes that men and women in that context approach different norms, since MSA and the vernacular are two sets of norms instead of one. The attachment of women to the urban variables and to modernisation is true both for studies done on the west (e.g. Gal 1978), and studies done on Arabic. Al-Wer (1999) reached a similar conclusion in her study, of the Palestinian and Jordanian dialects used by men and women in Jordan. She concludes that indigenous Jordanian women responded to the urban prestige norms more than men did. This is because, for them, urban Palestinian women represented finesse (1999: 41). Palestinian women appeared liberated, modern and better educated. Havelova (2000) reached a similar conclusion in the study conducted in Nazareth. Havelova posits that it is gender more than religion directing phonological variation. Women use the glottal stop more, while men tend to use the rural variant /k/. Haeri (1996: 307) claims that ‘studies of gender differentiation have shown that women who have equal levels of education to men use features of classical Arabic significantly less than men’ (see also Haeri 2006: 529). In spite the fact that talk-shows may not be representative as stratified samples of variationist research should be, talk shows can help demonstrate that certain general conclusions about the use of MSA by educated women should not be drawn; this study aims to provide another perspective, one that shows that educated women with access to MSA in fact can and do use it in certain contexts for a discourse

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function and to project a specific identity on themselves. The question that this study poses is why women and men use MSA when they do? And, what can the patterns of language use tell us about the identities that speaker may wish to project? In programmes in which there are exclusively men or women, there is still no difference in the way MSA is used by each. The quantity of MSA is related to the role the speaker wants to take and which part of his or her identity he appeals to. The use of the phonological variable q specifically was not exclusive to men. Both women and men use q and sometimes it is women rather than men who do so. My data consists of 15 hours of talk shows. The analysis includes 5 talk shows. Two are exclusive to one group, males or females and not another. Note that all the participants are in the same age group, 45–55. Description of Data The talk shows examined are the following: 1. Kalām nawāʿim ‘Women talk’: Four women from different parts of the Arab world discuss current issues in the Arab world and the world in general (no announcers). 2. Ma wara al- aḥ dāt ‘Beyond events’: Four men from different parts of the Arab world discuss current events in the world (male announcer). 3. Ḥ iwār ad-dustūr ‘The constitution dialogue’: Educated men and women from Egypt discuss changes to the Egyptian constitution. Sometimes there are three men and one woman, and sometimes two men and two women (male or female announcer). 4. al-Buyūt asrār ‘Home secrets’: Usually two men and two women from Egypt discuss family problems in Egypt (female announcer). 5. Qabla an tuḥ āsabū ‘Before you are held accountable’: A group of men and women, two and two, usually from Egypt, discuss a current problem with religious connotations (female announcer). Categorising the Data In this study, I try throughout to distinguish broadly between ECA and MSA as distinct code levels. The main difficulty encountered by

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a linguist dealing with two languages or two varieties that are closely related, like MSA and ECA, is to differentiate clearly and consistently between them. This is because MSA and ECA have a lot of shared vocabulary, syntactic and morphological features. If we put to one side the absence of case and mood endings, some utterances could be classified as either ECA or MSA. Therefore it was difficult at times to make a clear distinction between them. Clyne (1987: 754–5), when working on Dutch, German and English code-switching, found a similar problem in differentiating between Dutch and English. Note the following example: Meestal hier at the local shop en in Doncaster. ‘Mostly here at the local shops and in Doncaster.’

The preposition in is the same phonetically (and to some extent in its syntactic behaviour) in English, German and Dutch, as is the adverb here (hier, here). After an initial survey, I categorised my data on the basis of counting MSA and ECA variables, whether lexical, morphological, phonological or syntactic. The categories start from MSA and move gradually and quantitatively to ECA. Note that in case the participants come from different parts of the Arab world and use a different colloquial from MSA, the categories still enable us to help us in our understanding of the choice of variety. In these cases, I replaced ECA with the variety used, for example, instead of categorising an utterance as basically ECA, I categorised it as basically SCA1. These seven categories are in the following order: MSA (Modern Standard Arabic) MSA with insertions of ECA Basically MSA Mixture of MSA and ECA Basically ECA ECA with insertions of MSA ECA (Egyptian colloquial Arabic) As was said earlier, I measured these categories by counting the MSA percentage of variables in the speech of the participants:

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Table 1: Categorisation by use of MSA variables Category MSA MSA with insertions of ECA Basically MSA Mixture of MSA and ECA Basically ECA ECA with insertions of MSA ECA

Use of MSA variables (%) 80–100 70–80 60–70 40–60 20–40 10–20 0–10

Note that the category ‘MSA’ has a wider range than the category ECA; MSA has 80–100 per cent MSA variables, while ECA has 0–10 per cent MSA variables. This is because my data are spoken and something as subtle as the quality of a vowel can render a morpheme or word ECA in the counting process. I have categorised my data using these seven categories because I will attempt to show how code choice and social motivations are related and how in a stretch of discourse that is basically geared towards one variety rather than another, the speaker’s motivations may be different. In a stretch of discourse which is geared towards MSA, the speaker’s relationship to the audience and projection of self may be different from one that is geared towards ECA. Again, if and how code choice substantiates and expresses pragmatic variables of this kind is handled more insightfully if the speaker’s code is first carefully analysed and divided into different categories on the basis of form alone. Therefore, this rough categorisation is an important first step to enable us to get to grips with how and why a speaker moves from using one kind of Arabic to using another. The categorisation above has of course no formal status either as linguistic or social constructs, the only purpose being to help arrive at an understanding of how the dynamics of switching between MSA and ECA, the ‘poles’ at either end of a stylistic line, take place. I do not claim that the notion of categories occurs in the mind of Egyptians when speaking, nor that these are in any sense consciously ‘used’ by Egyptians. The only operational difference between my ‘categories’ is in the quantity of MSA or ECA features, regardless of whether these features are phonological, morpho-syntactic or lexical in nature. The basis of my division is simply the quantity of features from both codes in a given stretch of discourse.

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I exemplify below the features used to distinguish between MSA and ECA. Lexical Features There are certain lexical items and expressions which are markers of one code rather than another. For example, the verb (to go) in MSA is (dahaba), while in ECA it is a different lexical item altogether (rāḥ). This type of item is the easiest to spot. For example in programme (2) in the series ‘Before you are held accountable’, the male journalist uses ‘basically ECA’, the speaker uses a number of quintessentially ECA expressions and vocabulary. (1) fi ḥāga ‘There is something’ (2) ʾāh ‘yes’

The MSA counterpart of these words and expressions is different: (3) hunāka šayʾun ‘There is something’ (4) naʿam ‘yes’

On the other hand, in programme (2) in the series ‘Home secrets’, the female judge who speaks ‘MSA’, uses many quintessentially MSA lexical items. (5) naḥnu ‘we’ (6) nabḥat ‘we search’

The ECA counterpart of these lexical items and expressions would be (7) ʾiḥna ‘we’ (8) nibḥat ‘We search’

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Note that there is a lot of vocabulary shared between the two codes, and sometimes the difference between two lexical items, one in ECA and the other in MSA, is only a low-level phonological one like in examples 6 and 8 above. The only difference between the MSA and the ECA realisations of the same verb is in the vowel pattern and syllable structure. It is by no means clear whether differences on the phonological or lexical level are more salient. This needs further research and a large amount of data. Morpho-Syntactic Features Case and mood marking are purely MSA morphological features. If a speaker consistently uses case and mood endings in his speech, this indicates that his utterance is stylistically ‘high flown’. It is noteworthy, however, that in spoken Modern Standard Arabic in Egypt, people tend to drop case and mood endings except in the most elevated (especially religious) discourse. So in Egypt the criterion of case and mood marking has limited usefulness in deciding which code is being used since it is so rare. On the other hand, the aspectual/mood marker bor the tense marker ḥa- are features that are characteristic of ECA with no counterpart in MSA, and their use is a sign that a speaker has moved in the direction of ECA. There are numerous other significant morpho-syntactic differences between MSA and ECA. There are major differences in the way in which negation, deixis, tense and aspect are realised in ECA and MSA. There are also other significant differences in the expression of syntactic processes such as relativisation and interrogation. The following examples illustrate how ECA and MSA morphosyntactic features can combine. Note this example from programme (2) in the series ‘Home secrets’ in which the female judge uses a number of salient MSA morpho-syntactic features: (9) al-aḥkām iš-šarʿiyya wil- qānuniyya wil-qadāʾiyya tābita/ tubūtan la yaqbal wala gadal wala munāqaša ‘The legislative, legal and procedural rules are fixed so as not to allow any scope for argument or discussion.’

She uses case marking in tubūtan ‘fixed’. She also uses the MSA negative marker la in la yaqbal. Now note the following example from programme (2) in the series ‘Before you are held accountable’ in which

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the male journalist uses the ECA plural demonstrative dōl and follows ECA structure by having the demonstrative after rather than before the noun it modifies like in MSA. (10) il-fatayāt dōl ‘these girls’

The MSA counterpart would be (11) hāʾulāʾi l-fatayāt ‘these girls’

In the MSA counterpart, the demonstrative precedes the noun. Phonological Features As was said above, some lexical items are shared by both varieties and the only factor that causes them to be classified as ECA rather than MSA is that they are phonologically ECA. The vowel pattern may be different, or the realisation of consonants, see example (6) above. Note also the following example from programme (2) in the series ‘Before you are held accountable’, in which the female director uses the MSA q instead of the ECA glottal stop. (12) al-faqr ‘poverty’

In the following example from programme (2) in the ‘Home secrets’ series the vowel quality marks this work, spoken by the female journalist as ECA rather than MSA. (13) šēʾ ‘something’

The MSA counterpart would be (14) šayʾ ‘something’

Detailed Description of the Data

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Kalām nawāʿim, ‘Women talk’: Four women from different parts of the Arab world discuss current issues in the Arab world and the world in general. There is no announcer present. Programme (1), broadcast November 2006 Topic: Religion and tolerance Duration: 1 h 30 mins Woman 1: Saudi; basically SCA Woman 2: Lebanese; basically LCA Woman 3: Egyptian; ECA Woman 4: Syrian; Syrian Colloquial Arabic (SYCA) Programme (2), broadcast December 2006 Topic: Divorce rates in the Arab world Duration: 1 h 30 mins Woman 1: Saudi; SCA with insertions of MSA Woman 2: Lebanese; LCA Woman 3: Egyptian; ECA with insertions of MSA Woman 4: Syrian; SYCA Arabic with insertions of MSA Mā warāʾ al-ʾaḥdāt ‘Beyond events’: Four men from different parts of the Arab world discuss current events in the world. Programme broadcast December 2006 Topic: The economic influence of China on the world Duration: 1 h Male announcer: ECA Male minister of foreign affairs: Basically MSA Male economic expert: ECA with insertions of MSA Male businessman: ECA with insertions of MSA Ḥ iwār ad-dustūr ‘The constitution dialogue’: Educated men and women from Egypt discuss changes to the Egyptian constitution. Sometimes, there are three men and one woman, and sometimes two men and two women. Programme (1), broadcast October 2006 Topic: The changes in the Egyptian constitution Duration: 1 h 30 mins Male announcer: Basically ECA Female professor of law: Mixture of MSA and ECA

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Male professor of law: Basically ECA Male politician: Basically ECA Programme (2), broadcast November 2006 Topic: Imposing emergency laws in Egypt. Duration: 1 h 30 mins Female announcer: Basically ECA Female judge: Basically MSA il-Buyūt ʾasrār ‘Home secrets’: Usually two men and two women from Egypt discuss family problems in Egypt. Programme (1), broadcast October 2006 Topic: Women who betray their husbands Duration: 2 h Female announcer: ECA with insertions of MSA Male psychologist: ECA with insertions of MSA Female psychologist: ECA with insertions of MSA Female social worker: ECA with insertions of MSA Programme (2), broadcast December 2006 Topic: The new forms of marriage in the Arab world Duration: 2 hours Female announcer: Basically ECA Female judge MSA Female journalist: Mixture of MSA and ECA. Male journalist: Basically ECA Male writer: Mixture of MSA and ECA Qabla ʾan tuḥāsabū ‘Before you are held accountable’: A group of men and women, two and two, usually from Egypt, discuss a current problem with religious connotations. Programme (1), broadcast October 2006 Topic: Marriage and the treatment of women Duration: 2 hours Female announcer: Basically MSA Male religious scholar: Basically ECA Female religious scholar: Mixture of MSA and ECA Programme (2), broadcast December 2006 Topic: Street children

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Duration: 2 hours Female announcer: ECA with insertions of MSA Male professor of psychology: ECA with insertions of MSA Male journalist: ECA with insertions of MSA Female professor of sociology: ECA with insertions of MSA Female director: ECA with insertions of MSA2 If we exclude the women who are not Egyptian, then we are left with 16 Egyptian women and 13 Egyptian men to compare and contrast for the purpose of this study. Tables 2 and 3 summarise the categories they use. Although the tables suggest that there is a difference in the way both men and women use MSA, women use more MSA than men, because of the limited amount of data, I do not want to draw definite conclusions. However, it is clear that women do not use less MSA features than men. Table 2: Male speakers (number: 13) Number of speakers 0 0 1 1 5 5 1

Code choice MSA MSA with insertions of ECA Basically MSA Mixture of MSA and ECA Basically ECA ECA with insertions of MSA ECA

Table 3: Female speakers (number: 16) Number of speakers 1 0 2 4 2 6 1

Code choice MSA MSA with insertions of ECA Basically MSA Mixture of MSA and ECA Basically ECA ECA with insertions of MSA ECA (Egyptian colloquial Arabic)

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In addition to the role that language form plays in projection of identity, which will be discussed in detail below, the following factors are also important in determining the code used by men and women in talk-shows: • Educational background: When the announcer presents the participants, s/he usually mentions their profession and then whenever the participants speak, their professions and names are written on the screen. All participants have been educated at university level and beyond. • Intended audience: The programs are broadcasted on the Arab satellite dish. Thus the audience is Arabs everywhere, even outside the Arab world. • Subject matter: The subject matter is important in the sense that sometimes women are expected to be experts in specific topics, such as marriage problems or street children. However, there is still a limit to the importance of subject mater, since as will be clear in the data in programs that discuss a political issue, women can still be assertive. This is more dependent on how women perceive themselves, whether they perceive themselves as experts in the subject matter or not. This is when education also interacts with professional life and form of language. • The role of the announcer: The program announcers in the programs selected play a minimum role and do not interfere in the interaction except rarely. They are discussion programmes and usually it is up to the participants to take turns. The announcer starts by posing the question and rarely interferes after that. Data Analysis The relation between form and function with regard to the use of MSA is highlighted by Holes (2004: 344). He posits that: In any passage of Arabic speech, whether monologue or conversation, one cannot track, still less make sense of, the moment-by-moment, unpredictable changes in language form unless one is also aware of co-occurrent changes in the ideational content of the discourse and the interpersonal relationships of the participants, as perceived by the participants them-

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selves. Changes in the form of what is said are a complex set of signals—the rules of which have yet to be worked out—of these underlying changes.

Note the following example taken from programme (2) in the series ‘Before you are held accountable’, which is broadcast on the religious channel Iqraʾ ‘Read’. The setting is a garden and, in addition to the female announcer, there are two men and two women. One man is a professor of psychology, the other is a journalist. One woman is a professor of sociology while the other is the director of a non-governmental organisation that takes care of street children. The topic for discussion is street children. Two participants, one man and one woman hold PhDs. I have chosen this excerpt because it occurs in the middle of the talk-show, when speakers are supposed to be more relaxed about being on television. I will use the following abbreviations to refer to the men and women: Male professor of psychology: M-P Male journalist: M-J Female professor of sociology: F-P Female director: F-D (15) M-P: il-ḥ ubb axbāru ēh ʿandukum// bi-yitkallimu ʿan il-ḥ ubb// ‘How about love? Do they speak of love?’ F-D: āh tabʿan bi-yitkallimu ʿan il-ḥ ubb/ fī minhum yaʿni fi iṭār al-zawāg/ tabʿan fil bidāya b-tib a ḥ assa inni huwwa illi ḥ a-yintašilha/ lakin il-mašāʿir bardu/ ma-btib ā-š mustaqirra/ ya duktōr hāšim/ li anni hiyya bi-tḥ ibbu taḥ t ḍaġṭ muʿayyan/ wi waḍʿ muʿayyan/ lamma b-yiṭlaʿ nadl wi yixli bī ha/ hādihi al-mašāʿir bi-tatabaddal tamāman/ fa yīgi waḥ id tāni/ al-munqid/fa yinqidha min waḍʿ āxar/ fa tḥ ibbu huwwa/ wa hākada// ‘Yes of course they speak of love. Some of them speak of love within the frame of marriage. Of course at the beginning the girl feels that the man is her saviour. But also, Dr Hashim, her feelings are not stable, because she loves him under certain pressure and certain circumstances. When the man proves to be a scoundrel and jilts her, these feelings she had for him change completely. Then another man comes, who plays the role of the saviour who also saves her from another situation. So she falls for him and then it goes on like that.’ M-J: lēh fi bint b-tihrab min it-tafakkuk il- usari / wi fīh bint bi-tistaḥ mil// ‘Why is there one girl who runs away from a disintegrated family and another who can put up with it?’ F-P: ʿala ḥ asab bardu iš-šaxṣiyya illi itrabbit guwwa il-bint/ fi awwil sanawatha/ yaʿni. . . . . .

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reem bassiouney ‘This is also dependent on the girl’s acquired personality in her first years.’ M-J: yaʿni bi-taʿtamid ʿala dōr il- usra ‘So it depends on the role of the family.’ F-D: miš šarṭ inn yikūn iṭ-ṭifl ṭifl šāriʿ/ mumkin yikūn min guwwa il-bēt. ‘It is not necessary that the child lives in the street for him to be a street child, he can be living with his parents still.’ M-J: fi ḥ alāt kitīra giddan lil-tafakkuk/ awwalan mumkin il-bēt nafsu bardu . . . ‘There are different cases of disintegration. First maybe the home itself is also . . .’ F-D: mumkin yib a gaww il-bēt ṭārid ‘The atmosphere at home may be repulsive.’ M-J: fikrat iṣ-ṣalāba in-nafsiyya/ yaʿni iṭ-ṭifl bi-yitḥ ammil walla ma-byitḥ ammil-ši/ fi aṭfāl ʿanduhum/ yaʿni fi hašāša fil mawaḍīʿ di/ wi fi aṭfāl mumkin bi-yistaḥ milu/ wi yiqawmu/ ila āxiru// bas fi ḥ āga tanya yimkin ašārit liha duktōra šahinnda/ wi hiyya fikrat il-faqr/ yaʿni istiġlāl hāza il-fa r il-mawgūd ʿand il-fatayāt dōl. . . . . . ‘The concept of psychological strength, refers to whether the child can bear his circumstances or not. There are children . . . I mean there are children who are weak in that respect. Other children can put up with this and can struggle against it etc. but there is something else that perhaps Dr Shahinda referred to, which is the concept of poverty. I mean taking advantage of the poverty of these girls . . .’ F-D: ana baʿṭarid ʿala hāda ik-kalām/ maṣr ṭūl ʿumraha balad fa īra. ‘I object to what you have just said. Egypt has always been a poor country.’ M-J: ismaḥ i li-bass akammil ig-gumla. . . . ‘Just allow me to finish my sentence.’ F-D: wi ṭūl ʿumraha balad fa īra/ ʿumrina kunna bi-nismaʿ ʿan banatna fil-šāriʿ// ‘And Egypt has always been a poor country. We never heard of our girls living in the streets.’ M-J: warā kull mustaġill fi wāḥ id bi-yistaġillu/ da ṭabīʿi/ lakin āh fi taġayyurāt ḥ aṣalit fi mugtamaʿna aswa b-ktīr giddan min it-taġayyurāt illi ḥ aṣalit zamān/ wil- tafakkuk il- usari/ ‘Behind everyone who is exploited, there is someone who exploits them. This is natural. Yes there are changes that took place in our society, changes that are much worse than the ones that happened before and also the disintegration of families.’ F-D: il- axras da b-yišaġġal bint ʿandaha arbaʿ sinīn wi huwwa ma-byištaġal-š lēh// yaʿni ʿayzīn. . . . . ‘Why does this dumb man make a 4-year-old girl work for him while he does not work? So we want . . .’ M-J: iḥ na b-nitkallim an system igtimāʿi. . . . ‘We are speaking about a social system. . . .’

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F-P: ma hiyya il- usra mutafakkika/ ‘But it is a disintegrated family.’ F-D: min igmāli arbaʿ talāf ṭifl/ ṣannafna ḥ alāt il-faqr faqat/ ṭiliʿ il-fa r bas arbaʿa fil-miyya/ al-faqr faqat ka-ʿāmil wāhid/ ma-fī-š ḥ āga ismaha al-faqr faqat/ il-ʿawāmil il- iqtiṣādiyya/ maʿa t-taʿlīm/ il muʿamla is-sayyi a// ʿadatan lamma titfakkak il- usra/ ʿadatan il-ṭifl la bi-yuqbal hina/ wa la bi-yuqbal hina// ‘We have a total of 4,000 children. We classified cases of poverty only. We found that poverty is only 4 percent. Poverty is only one reason. It is not only about poverty. Economic factors in addition to education and abuse are important. Usually when the family is disintegrated, the child is not accepted by both parties.’

In this example, the interaction between the two men and women is in fact an eye-opener in many respects. The announcer was not really involved in the interaction at all. So it was up to the participants to take turns. While the dialogue goes back and forth between men and women 17 times, women take control of the floor 9 times while men take control of the floor 8 times of the interaction. There are two who specifically control the floor, the F-D and the M-J, but still it is clear that women in this example are not less assertive than men. The interaction starts with the M-P asking the F-D a question about love and its importance for street girls. F-D considers herself the expert among all participants since she is the director of an organisation that deals directly with street children. She gives her answer. It is up to the participants to direct the interaction. Then another man, M-J asks the second question and the interaction goes on. F-D is the only woman who asks a question and it is in fact a rhetorical one, when she wonders why a dumb man would make a 4-year-old girl work for him. Thus, men ask two questions while women only gave propositions, as F-D does at the end of this example, when she gives numerical evidence of cases of poverty between girls to support her argument. The women in our example do not hedge. In fact F-D interrupts M-J and states clearly that she objects to what he said. While, M-J refers to F-P as ‘Dr. Shahindah’, his title is never used by any woman. One has to bear in mind that these are all well educated women, and judging from the way they dress they are also upper-middleclass women. They are still conservative in their outfit: F-D wore a head scarf, while F-P did not, but she was still wearing a long sleeved dress. All the speakers in this part use ECA with insertions of MSA. Counting the MSA and ECA features used by both men and women,

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revealed no differences between both in this talk-show. Let us consider in detail some MSA and ECA features, whether phonological, morpho-syntactic or lexical. If we consider the use of the MSA phonological variable q, we find there is no clear difference in its use between men and women in the above example. Note that there are words that cannot be pronounced with a glottal stop, for example il- iqtiṣādiyya ‘eonomic’ which is used by F-D. F-D consistently uses q five times, except once when she uses the glottal stop in fa r ‘poverty’. F-D has the chance of using q twice but uses the glottal stop instead in fa īra ‘poor’. M-J does not only use q. He uses it once in il-faqr ‘poverty’ and then he uses the glottal stop for the same word. Throughout the data there is no tendency for women to stick to the glottal stop while avoiding q. In fact the q occurs 116 times by women and 98 times by men in positions which permit either the MSA q sound or the ECA glottal stop. This may indicate that women in talk shows use more MSA features than men. However, such a postulation needs more data. F-D uses MSA demonstratives, as in: (16) hāda ik-kalām, dem det-talk ‘this which has just been said’.

She also uses MSA negation with an MSA passive verb and an ECA aspect marker, the b-, as in: (17) ʿadatan iṭ-ṭifl la bi-yuqbal hina / wa la Usually det-child neg asp-msg-pass-accept here/and neg bi-yuqbal hina asp-msg-pass-accept here ‘Usually the child is not accepted here nor there’.

The form of language used by F-D is a marked choice, as MyersScotton calls it, that emphasises F-D’s identity. It is marked because it occurs in a context in which ECA demonstratives were used. Just before she starts speaking, M-J used an ECA demonstrative. (18) il-fatayāt dōl det-girls dem-pl ‘those girls’

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F-D considers herself the expert among all participants and as is clear in the content of what she says she thinks that she is more knowledgeable than the man. Her use of MSA demonstratives is to highlight her disagreement with what M-J claims, that poverty is the cause of the increase in the number of street children. She interrupts him and states that she objects to what he says. She uses the MSA demonstrative system to do that. Also, when stating facts about the reasons why some children become street children, she uses the MSA negative system as well as the MSA passive form albeit with the ECA b-prefix (see example). The ECA counterpart would be: (19) iṭ-ṭifl miš bi-yit abal hina wa la hina The-child neg asp-msg-pass-accept here and neg here ‘the child is neither accepted here nor there’.

The choice of MSA features in the woman’s speech is related to the identity she projects on herself, which is her identity as a social reformist and a director of a non-governmental organisation for street children. What is also worth mentioning is that M-J uses the English word ‘system’ while neither female switches to English at all. Now note the following example from programme (2) in the series ‘Home secrets’, in which a female judge starts speaking in MSA to the audience as well as the participants. She wants to make a point that ‘secret marriages’ and ‘temporary marriages’, though, they may be widespread in the Arab world, are in fact against religion and humanity. Note that she is wearing not just a head scarf but also gloves, which are symbols of ultra-conservative Islamic dress. (20) Female judge: naḥ nu fi zaman/ furiḍa ʿala l-mar a an tubtadal/ wa yuġṭaṣab gasadaha/ wa naḥ nu gamīʿan nabḥ at/ min an-nāḥ iya al-šarʿiyya/ walla min an-naḥ ya iq-qānuniyya/ al-aḥ kām iš-šarʿiyya wilqānuniyya wil-qadā iyya tābita/ tubūtan la yaqbal wa la gadal wa la munāqaša/ ‘We live at a time when women are expected to be abused, when women’s bodies are raped, while we are all still investigating whether this is allowed according to jurisprudence or law. Legislative, legal and procedural rules are fixed so as not to allow any scope for argument or discussion.’

The female judge in this example uses MSA rather than ECA (except very rarely), although the interaction that has been going on was not in MSA. She however, uses MSA morpho-syntactic features like negation:

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(21) la yaqbal wa la gadal wa la munāqaša, Neg 3msg-accept and neg argument and neg discussion ‘Is open neither to argument nor to discussion’

in contrast to the ECA: (22) miš bi-yi bal wa la gadal wa la muna ša. Not asp-3msg accept and neg argument and neg discussion ‘Is open neither to argument nor to discussion.’

She also consistently uses the q phonological variable and never the glottal stop. Even the pronoun she starts with is an MSA pronoun, naḥnu as opposed to the ECA equivalent, iḥ na, ‘we’. The fact that the interaction that has been taking place before between the female journalist and the male journalist was not in MSA is significant in this example. Unlike the female judge, the female journalist’s code is categorised as a mixture of MSA and ECA, the male journalist speaks basically ECA, and the male writer speaks a mixture of MSA and ECA. The negotiated manner of speaking in the programme is not MSA. Thus her use of MSA represents again what Myers-Scotton (1993) calls a marked choice, a choice not expected by the participants or the audience. This example can also be explained in terms of indexicality: Indexicality is a relation of associations through which utterances are understood. For example, if a specific code or form of language presupposes a ‘certain social context, then use of that form may create the perception of such context where it did not exist before’ (Woolard 2004: 88). If a code is associated with the authority of courtrooms and this code is then used in a different context, then it will denote authority. The language of the speaker would then be considered an authoritative language (Silverstein 1998: 267 cited in Woolard 2004: 88). This is exactly the case in the example of the female judge. By using MSA, a language associated with authority of several kinds—religious, legal/governmental—as well as education, the female judge lays claim to all MSA indexes. These indexes can help shape her projection of identity as well. By using MSA the woman is assigning herself the elevated status of an authority on the subject matter and a religious scholar as well as a legal expert. If one examines the content of what she says, one will notice that she is stating facts and giving powerful conclusions. MSA gives her postulations an air of authority. She is also assigning herself the role of the commentator on the frame of events, the all-knowledgeable, sophisticated, educated woman.

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This is exactly what happens in parliament in Egypt, when a member of parliament speaks MSA rather than ECA. By using a code different from the one expected and used thus far by other members, which is usually a mixture of MSA and ECA, the speaker is also appealing to a specific part of his identity and laying claims to all MSA indexes. Compare the above example to the following one which is by a male member of the Egyptian parliament, given in January 1999 in the People’s Assembly (Majlis al-Shaʿb). The speaker voices his opinion about the sanctions imposed on Iraq. The speaker, as it were, removes himself from his surroundings and party affiliation, and says that he wants to speak as an Arab and an Egyptian. He asks the parliament members as well as the head of parliament to remember the famous slogan of Muṣt ̣afá Kāmil (1874– 1908), the Egyptian national hero, who said that one should never make concessions about the rights of one’s country. The speaker wants to highlight the importance of supporting the Iraqis, because they are suffering harsh penalties as a result of sanctions which, in his view, are quite unfair. (23) b-ṣifaṭi almuwāṭin sāmiḥ ʿašūr ʿuḍwi maglis iš-šaʿb/ alladi yantamī ila šaʿbi miṣr wa ila l- umma l-ʿarabiyya/ wa argu an taḥ dif ayyat intimā ḥ izbi li aw liġayri fil-ḥ adīt ʿan hadihi l-qadiyya/ siyādat ir-ra īs kullama rattabtu ḥ adītan fi hāda l-mawḍūʿ ḍāʿa minni/faqat/ iltaṣaqa fi dihni al ān qālat/ wa maqūlat/al-waṭani al-kabīr muṣtạ fa kāmil/ ʿindama qāl/ inna man yatasāmaḥ a fi ḥ uqūqi bilādihi wa law marratin wāḥ ida/ yaʿīš abad iḍ-ḍahr muzaʿzaʿ il-ʿaqīda/saqīmu l-wigdān ‘I speak as the citizen Sāmiḥ ʿĀshūr, the member of parliament, who belongs to the Egyptian people, and to the Arab nation, and please disregard my affiliation to any political party, and disregard the affiliation of others, when discussing this issue. Speaker, whenever I prepare a speech about this topic, I lack the words. There is only one thing, that still sticks to my mind right now, and that is the saying of the great national hero, Mustafa Kamil, when he said, “whoever concedes the rights of his country to someone even once, lives ever after faltering in his beliefs, and will always remain weak to the core”.’

Note that the speaker himself says that he does not speak as a member of parliament belonging to a specific party, but as an Egyptian and an Arab. Therefore, he wants people to perceive him as such, with no regard to his political affiliations. At the beginning, the speaker does not refer to himself by saying ‘I am Sāmiḥ ʿĀshūr’; he rather starts by ‘as the citizen Sāmiḥ ʿĀshūr,

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who is a member of parliament, who belongs to the Egyptian people, and to the Arab nation.’ In this speech, the parliamentarian could speak ECA or a mixture of MSA and ECA, and this does happen in parliament in Egypt (cf. Bassiouney 2006), but he attempts to stick to MSA. The female judge in example (20) likewise does not refer to her own personal opinion, but starts with the all-inclusive ‘we’ and then starts postulating about women’s plight in our time. In examples (20) and (23), the use of code is not an arbitrary one. It is a result of the role the female judge and the male member of parliament project on themselves by using all MSA indexes. He projects on himself the role of ‘the archetypal Egyptian’, or ‘the archetypal Arab’. He is not speaking as an individual member of parliament any more, but rather as a kind of ‘abstract voice’ speaking for the historical record. She projects on herself, the identity of the authoritative figure. They both use a code that reflects their identity. Thus, the code used is not related to the gender of the speaker but to the projection of identity in the part of the speaker. Returning to the discussion of the television programme (2) in the ‘Home secrets’ series, the reply to the female judge does not come from one of the men present but from another woman, the famous Egyptian journalist Iqbāl Barakah. She does not use MSA only as the female judge does, although she still uses MSA features. Her utterance is categorised as a mixture of MSA and ECA. (24) Female Journalist: il-mugtamaʿ il-ʿarabi yuʿāmil al-marʿa ka-šē / fa šē ṭabīʿi innaha tataḥ awwal fi yōm min il- ayyām ila silʿa tubāʿ wa tuštara// il-qawanīn sabta/ di muškilitna// ‘Arab society treats woman as a thing. So it is quite natural that one day women become goods to be bought and sold. Indeed laws are fixed and that is our problem.’

There are ECA features like the demonstratives as in di muškilitna, ‘this is our problem’. Also, the vowel in šē is the ECA ē rather than the MSA ai. However, the verb is in MSA yuʿāmil ‘to treat’, the ECA counterpart would be bi-yiʿāmil. Once more the switching between ECA and MSA is used to draw attention to what is being said. The MSA verb emphasises the point made by the female journalist that women are treated as goods in Arab society. In fact all the verbs in this extract are in MSA, yuʿāmil ‘to treat’, tataḥ awwal ‘to become’, tubāʿ ‘to

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be sold’ and tuštara ‘to be bought’. The last two verbs are in the MSA passive form. After she states her facts clearly, she ends her postulation by an ECA demonstrative phrase; (25) di muškilitna Dem problem-ours ‘That is our problem’.

ECA here is the marked code since it is juxtaposed with the MSA verbs. Code switching between both MSA and ECA serves to get her message through more effectively. The male journalist is then asked by the announcer to give his opinion. He uses less MSA than either women. In fact, by counting MSA and ECA features, one can deduce that he uses a variety which is categorised as basically ECA. (26) Male journalist: ana ba-tkallim ʿan iz-zōg/ tayyib ma l-sitt hiyya ig-guz it-tāni/ il-wagh it-tāni lil-ʿumla. . . . . ‘I am speaking about the husband. But women are also the other half. They are the other side of the coin.’

He uses ECA features like the aspectual marker b- in ba-tkallim, and ECA lexical items, as in sitt for ‘woman’ instead of the MSA mar a. The man is then interrupted by the female journalist, who starts defending the woman whose problem is being discussed. (27) Female journalist: waḥ id ustād fil gamʿa ‘He [the husband] is a university professor.’

The female journalist observes that the husband who deceived his wife was in fact a professor, so he has to take all the blame, thus it was easy for him to deceive the girl and marry her secretly. The male journalist then answers: (15) iḥ na ʿandina nās ma-tʿallimit-š wi lakin ʿandaha mabda ‘There are people who have no education whatsoever but who have principles.’

The male journalist wants to stress that deceiving is not related to level of education. He uses ECA negation in ma-tʿallimit-š ‘who have no education’.

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Again, this example shows that both men and women manipulate MSA and use it as a symbol of their identity, authority and expertise. MSA is also, sometimes, juxtaposed with ECA to leave the utmost effect possible on the audience. Gender, Identity and Code Choice Identity is defined by Lakoff (2006: 142) as ‘a continual work in progress, constructed and altered by the totality of life experience. While much of the work in support of this belief concentrates on the larger aspects of identity—especially gender, ethnicity, and sexual preferences—in fact human identity involves many other categories. Identity is constructed in complex ways, more or less consciously and overtly.’ Lakoff points to the variability of identity at different stages of one’s life and in different contexts. One’s identity is made up of more than one part; a mother can also be a professor, a wife, an administrator, a politician, a friend, an Egyptian, a Muslim, an Arab, and so forth. As Lakoff says, an individual is both a member of a “cohesive and coherent group” as well as an individual (2006: 142). Bastos and Oliveira (2006: 188) emphasize the fact that identity is both “fixed” and “continuous,” in the sense that individuals perceive themselves differently in various situations or contexts. Identity is also manifested through language use, as is the case in the data analysed. When discussing the use of code choice by women, linguists tend to concentrate on the disadvantages of women in the public sphere, while ignoring how code choice can be used as a means of attaining power by women and asserting their identity. Cameron (2005: 496) discusses how women are marginalized globally in public spheres and how women are silenced in public contexts or denied access to the “language literacies and speech styles” to enter the public domain. Sadiqi (2006: 647) when discussing language and gender in the Arab world postulates that women had to struggle to be able to enter the public arena. While this may be true, her other statements are too general. She claims that although literate women have a “less detached attitude” towards MSA, they, like illiterate women, are not encouraged to be in the public sphere and use MSA less than men. She also postulates that MSA is the “male domain”, since it is the language of the public sphere and the institution. The data presented in this study reveals that this may not be the case in all contexts and for all Arab women. When women are in the public

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sphere, which occurs frequently in Egypt, especially on the media, they use the opportunity to establish their status and identity and MSA is one of the tools used by them to define and clarify their status and identity. In addition, according to Cameron (2005: 139), as people, whether men or women, are interacting with one another they are also adopting particular “subject positions” and assigning positions to others. Thus, when a woman is talking she is also assigning herself a position such as teacher, expert, professional and so forth. She is also assigning positions to the others she talks to; she may choose to express solidarity with them, claim distance from them or even condescend to them. The definition of subject positions is similar to that of identity given by Bean and Johnstone (2004), who contend that identity is formed by our experiences and set of memories and more importantly by the projection of our experiences and memories on the way we express ourselves. If having an identity requires “self expression”, then individuals have to resort to all their linguistic resources to express their identity (2004: 237). The linguistic resources available to women in the programs analysed include code choice and code switching. Bolonyai (2005: 16–17) in a study of bilingual girls, shows how bilingual girls intentionally and strategically use their linguistic resources to exhibit their power. They use code choice to position themselves in a dominant position. This can be done by switching to English to show their expertise and knowledge. Switching to English is used as a control mechanism and a power display. Switching is also a means of asserting their superior identity. Again this is exactly what women do when they switch to MSA in the programs analysed. Conclusion In this contribution I argue that, first there is a direct relation between code choice and identity which is manifested clearly in the examples analysed. Therefore, it is not possible to measure the frequency of MSA features in the speech of women in the public sphere without understanding which part of their identity they appeal to. The women in the programmes are as educated and as exposed to MSA as the men and they do not have any problem in using MSA. Egyptian educated women use MSA as a symbol of authority and sophistication. They do not appeal to the urban part of their identity, but to its authoritative and professional part.

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Bassiouney R. (2006), Functions of code switching in Egypt: Evidence from monologues, Leiden: Brill. Bean and Johnstone (2004), Gender, identity, and “strong language” in a professional woman’s talk’, in R. T. Lakoff, M. Bucholtz (ed.), Language and woman’s place: Text and commentaries, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 237–43. Bolonyai A. (2005), ‘‘Who was the best?’: Power, knowledge and rationality in bilingual girls’ code choices’, Journal of Sociolinguistics 9(1): 3–27. Cameron (2005), ‘Language, gender and sexuality: Current issues and new directions’, Applied Linguistics 26(4): 482–502. Daher, J. (1998), ‘Gender in linguistic variation: The variable (q) in Damascus Arabic’, Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics xi: 183–205. —— (1999), ‘(θ) and (ð) as ternary and binary variables in Damascene Arabic’, Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics xii: 163–202. Eid M. (2007), ‘Arabic on the media: Hybridity and styles’, in E. Ditters and H. Motzki (eds), Approaches to Arabic linguistics: presented to Kees Versteegh on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Leiden: Brill, 403–34. Gal, S. (1978), ‘Peasant men can’t get wives: Language change and sex roles in a bilingual community’, Language in Society 7: 1–16. Giles, H., A. Mulac, J. Bradac and P. Johnson (1987), ‘Speech accommodation theory: The first decade and beyond’, in M. L. McLaughlin (ed.), Communication yearbook 10, Beverly Hills, CA: Sage, 13–48. Grice, P. (1975), ‘Logic and conversation’, in P. Cole and J. Morgan (eds), Syntax and semantics 3, New York: Academic Press, 41–58. Haeri N. (1996), The sociolinguistic market of Cairo: Gender, class, and education, London and New York: Kegan Paul International. Havelova, A. (2000), ‘Sociolinguistic description of Nazareth’, in M. Mifsud (ed.), Proceedings of the Third International Conference of AIDA, Ħal Lija: Association internationale de dialectologie arabe (AÏDA), 141–4. Holes C. (1993), ‘The uses of variation: A study of the political speeches of Gamal Abd al-Nasir’, Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics v: 13–45. —— (2004), Modern Arabic: Structures, functions, and varieties, Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Johnstone, B. (1996), The linguistic individual: Self-expression in language and linguistics, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Johnstone, B. and J. M. Bean (1997), ‘Self-expression and linguistic variation’, Language in Society 26(2): 221–46. Lakoff, R. T. (2006), ‘Identity à la carte: You are what you eat’, in A. De Fina, D. Shiffrin, and M. Bamberg (eds), Discourse and identity, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 142–65. Mejdell G. (2006), Mixed styles in spoken Arabic in Egypt, Leiden: Brill. Myers-Scotton C. (1993), Social motivations for code switching: Evidence from Africa, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Omoniyi, T. (2006), ‘Hierarchy of identities’, in T. Omoniyi and G. White (eds), The sociolinguistics of identity, London and New York: Continuum, 11–33. Sadiqi F. (2006), ‘Language and gender’, lemma in K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich and A. Zaborski (eds), Encyclopedia of Arabic language and linguistics, Leiden: Brill, II: 642–50. Sperber, D. and D. Wilson (1986), ‘Loose talk’, Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, NS 6: 153–71.

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Walters, K. (1991), ‘Women, men, and linguistic variation in the Arab world’, Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics III: 199–229. Woolard, K. A. (2004), “Code-switching”, in A. Duranti (ed.), Companion to linguistic anthropology, Oxford: Blackwell, 73–94.

Ḥ ĀL ID-DUNYĀ: AN ARABIC NEWS BULLETIN IN COLLOQUIAL (ʿĀMMIYYA) Madiha Doss Cairo University If linguistic studies on media Arabic are scarce, there are even fewer of these dealing with broadcasting and television. Moreover, until now, research has been mainly concerned with mixing and variation, and mostly focused on linguistic, rather than discourse, issues. The distribution of language levels in radio and television is usually described as follows: ʿāmmiyya, the local dialect, is said to be used in serials and soap operas as well as in situations involving public participation: interviews, discussions, testimonies, etc., whereas standard Arabic—fuṣḥ ā—is reserved for more formal functions, and is usually utilized in programs of a religious content: sermons, lectures, and short talks, as well as historical and period serials and soap operas with a historical religious content. It is a variety used in programs which are based on the reading of a written text, such as the news bulletin for instance. Finally, a mixed variety, which consists of blended features of fuṣḥ ā and ʿāmmiyya is used in interviews, discussions, talk shows, and various other programs involving political, social, cultural, and technical topics. News bulletins have always been presented in the standard variety. At least until OTV1 appeared in 2006, with its news bulletin in ʿāmmiyya: Ḥ āl id-dunyā ‘State of the World’. In this contribution, I will start with a review of the literature on Arabic language in broadcast and television. I will then proceed to present OTV channel in the wider context of satellite television system. This will be followed by an analysis of Ḥ āl id-dunyā, the sources serving for the production of this news bulletin, the way translation is done, and the linguistic variety used. This will be followed by linguistic 1 OTV is a private Egyptian channel which started transmission in August 2006. It is part of the Nilesat satellite which has been used by the Egyptian State at 7o West. Two satellites are operational at the same position 101 and 102. I would like to thank the OTV team which helped me carry this project. Without the help of the administration and of different members of the broadcast editorial board, this work would have not been possible.

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analysis of the variety used in Ḥ āl id-dunyā. Finally, I shall present the controversy this choice provoked and the language representations implied. Review of the Literature As previously mentioned the literature on Arabic in media is scarce and has been mainly concerned with the mixed varieties of Arabic used in broadcast and television. The reason for this restriction could be that studies on broadcasting and television would be either on spontaneous productions by speakers—and in this case the linguistic study would be on spoken Arabic (the same would apply for the language used in serials)—or they would be on the fuṣḥ ā variety—and one may hazard that there is nothing specific about this data either.2 As previously mentioned, very few studies have concentrated on discourse analysis, and, interestingly enough, these studies have been written in Arabic.3 R. Harrel is the author of one of the first studies conducted on radio Arabic (1964).4 Harrell’s aim was to describe a variety of spoken Classical Arabic in comparison with written Arabic as described by the grammarians; the data on which he based his study was Egyptian broadcasting, since it was the Egyptian dialect he was most familiar with. The research revolves around features occurring in Egyptian radio Arabic and which are absent from the grammarians’ descriptions. On the phonological level, Harrell noted the occurrence of the glottal stop in stylistic alternation with qāf (1964: 15), as well as the scarce use of / / more often represented by /g/ (1964: 16). On the morphological level, numerals for instance were observed to appear in the colloquial form (1964: 49–54). The main critique one can address to this early study is the absence of contextualization of the observed forms. This drawback can be attributed to the period in which the study was conducted and during which the concern with the social and historical contextualization of linguistic forms was not taken into

2 El Said Badawi’s famous study on levels of Arabic, Mustawayāt al-ʿarabiyya almuʿāṣira fī Miṣr (Cairo: Dār al-Maʿārif, 1973), was accomplished on radio recordings. 3 To cite only a few: Ibn al-Quranī, ʿA. (1997), “al-Xitāb al-ʾiʿlāmī al-ʿArabī”, alMajalla al-Miṣriyya li-buhut al- iʿlām; and Šūmān, M. (2007), Taḥ līl al-xiṭāb al- iʿlāmī, Cairo: ad-Dār al-Miṣriyya al-Lubnāniyya. 4 Besides a particular cartoon program broadcast in fuṣḥ ā, most other programs intended for children are either in the Egyptian dialect, or in a mixed variety.

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consideration in most studies, the main interest directed at that time at structural analysis. The literature produced in Arabic is even more scarce. A booklet by A. Šimays (1985) on the language of radio broadcasting raises the enduring question of diglossia and the difficulties rising from this language situation. The aim of this unspecialized book is to reform Arabic through radio broadcasting, with each chapter devoted to a different genre, such as songs, serials, or children’s programs, proposing for each a way of improving the language situation in Egypt. The common solution suggested is narrowing the gap between the high and the low levels of Arabic. In an article published in 1987, M. Doss studied the linguistic varieties used in Egyptian television broadcasting (Doss 1987). Based on three samples, the analysis aimed at showing various degrees of mixture between features of the high and the low variety. Three ‘levels’ of this mixed variety were observed, from the closest to the dialect to the most classicized. The data used for the analysis was represented by two samples of recorded texts, the first a popular children’s program broadcast on Friday mornings, Sinemā l- aṭfāl ‘Children’s Movies’, in which a mixed variety of Arabic was used;4 the second a cultural program Tyatro ‘Theater’, a talk show interviewing theater specialists. In a much more detailed and profound study, M. Eid (2003) analyzed hybridity and styles in television interviews. Through the examination of two interviews broadcast by the Egyptian Satellite channel, the author shows different styles which vary according to the degree of formality of the interaction, depending on the topics discussed and the participants. This last point is the main contribution of this study, in which Eid considers the question of participants’ self perceptions and “projections of identities” as well as the “perceived purpose of communication” (2007: 405–406). The interviews are analyzed on the phonological, morphological, syntactic, and lexical levels. The interviews involved two main figures of intellectuals: Y. Haqqi, and A. Mansour. The study showed how the former maintains the boundaries between fuṣḥ ā and ʿāmmiyya as a corollary of his keeping separate the personal and the professional in his discourse; whereas in Mansour’s case “the personal is also public.” (2007: 431) In an article published in 1990, D. Morsly questions whether it is indeed the high variety which is used in the Algerian television news broadcast. Starting from linguistic observations, she shows that a number of features (phonological, morphological, and lexical) belong to the local variety of Algerian Arabic rather than to the standard one.

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Features of the former, such as maintaining of vowel length or germination, are more likely to occur when the speaker wishes to emphasize what he is saying and insist on certain facts (1990: 170). Morsly interestingly links language choice to the physical attitude of the speakers as well as to the global situation of discourse which involves the presence of censorship, and the stereotyped kind of messages transmitted (1990: 169). M. Van Mol’s book (2003) is, to my knowledge, the first and only one dealing with radio Arabic in news broadcasts; moreover, it has the advantage of being based on a corpus-linguistics approach. Here again the aim was to determine variation in the use of Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) in the news broadcasting of three countries: Algeria, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia. The features observed were complementary (wa and fa-; ida, in, law and negation particles). Van Mol recognizes the use of dialect in news broadcasts in cases where the public is interviewed; however he states that “news itself . . . is always in MSA” (2003: 92). This statement is generally agreed upon by all the authors who have dealt with Arabic in radio and television broadcasting: news bulletins are aired in the standard variety of Arabic. The only reservation is the type made by Morsly (1990: 172) who depicted both errors and dialectal influence in the Algerian news bulletin. Indeed, until the innovation introduced by OTV, no news bulletin was broadcast in ʿāmmiyya. This innovation was received with surprise and strong disapproval (a short section of this study will deal with representations). A short survey of media evolution in the era of satellites television system is needed as background for the study of Ḥ āl id-dunyā. Satellite Television Broadcasting and OTV It would seem useful to precede the presentation of OTV channel by a short overview of the effect of satellite television on the cultural content and linguistic form of Egyptian channels. Television was introduced in Egypt in 1960 (Pignol 1987: 27). At the time, television was a state monopoly and adopted, like in other Third World countries, a developmental policy. This medium, more than radio broadcasting,5 was seen as a means of serving the population 5 Pignol (1987: 30–31) explains that television represented a progress in comparison to radio since it broadcast programs in family planning and educational material to reinforce school curricula as well as to abolish illiteracy.

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in areas of literacy, education, birth control, and health (Guaaybess 2005: 26). Like elsewhere, it was expected to spread knowledge and concepts of modernity among the non-privileged and was entrusted with the role of spreading development programs. In the mid 1970s, this optimistic view was discovered worldwide to be unrealistic, and it was observed that in spite of its development, television had not succeeded in enhancing development (Schramm 1979). In the 1970s, the policy of free flow of information started entering television broadcasting. This policy aimed at greater freedom of expression and also introduced the concepts and practice of freedom concerning commercial expression (Guaaybess 2005: 31). The first signs of publicity in television broadcasting appeared in Egypt in the 1970s. However, in spite of the revenues this activity brought; it did not succeed in bringing about a bigger autonomy of television vis-à-vis the State in the content it delivered (Pignol 1987: 34). It is in the 1990’s that the situation changed dramatically when television was privatized, and that hertzian was replaced by satellite broadcasting. The consequence of the new technology was double: an increase in the number of channels, as well as a specialization according to the taste and demands of the public. Satellite broadcasting broke down what used to be the national channels into a huge number of channels which became more specialized, each addressing a specific audience. The public became more influential and imposed transformations on the source of broadcasting. At an earlier stage, research could state that media were defined by the presence of a single source of broadcasting (written or oral) addressing an anonymous public (Coulmas 2004: 188). This statement no longer stands as strongly as it used to, since the public addressed is much more strictly defined according to criteria such as culture, religion, age group, among others. As far as OTV is concerned, it is one among other channels which explicitly addresses a young audience, as was clearly stated by Naguib Sawiris, the channel’s owner, in the press conference that preceded the channel’s inauguration. He described it as “a general channel prevailed by a youth spirit, without any religious or political tendencies; it will be both daring and frank.”6 It goes without saying that the hegemony that prevailed during the period of national television in politics, culture, and language went through a gradual but systematic disruption. In the area of politics, 6

In a press conference held August 30th, 2006; See ʿAbd al-Munʿim (2007).

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one only needs to follow the emergence and very quick development of the political forums which followed the Iraqi war in order to understand the dynamism of television broadcasting and the great leap that it took from the time when critical issues were taboo and had rarely a chance to be raised, let alone debated. The same stands true for the issue of language, which evolved a great deal since the start of television broadcasting in Egypt. OTV and ʿāmmiyya As a youth channel, OTV has partly built its reputation on the fact that its broadcasting is in ʿāmmiyya. This widespread observation is in itself interesting and deserves our attention. What does it signify to say that a channel airs in ʿāmmiyya? Don’t channels all over the Arab world have their share of programs using the local dialect besides programs aired in fuṣḥ ā or in a mixed variety? What is specific and particular to OTV? What made it associated in people’s minds with ʿāmmiyya? The answer to these questions is complex and cannot be reduced to a single factor. One of the factors involved in relating the channel to the colloquial level could be the casualness of the speakers’ physical appearance, clothing, and hair styles. Most of the speakers and program presenters are young, ranging from 25 to 30 years old. The clothes they wear are casual and colorful, and they have their hair styled in a modern and informal manner. It may indeed be the informal and casual attitude of the speakers in their way of dressing and talking in different programs, such as ‘Saba7ak’ or ‘masa2ak sokkar zeyada’, ‘ye’ba enta akeed fi Masr’,7 which justify the observation and/or judgment concerning the use of a casual style of speaking or ʿāmmiyya. But the use of colloquial in the news broadcast was certainly a strong basis for the belief that OTV is a channel airing in ʿāmmiyya. If the choice in itself is clear, there also seems to be a consensus among all members of the news broadcast to use an elevated variety of ʿāmmiyya. Chief and

7 I have intentionally transcribed the titles of these programs according to the titles found on the OTV website. This transcription is the one used by youth in their communication through cellular phones, as well as on chat sites. ‘Ṣabāḥ ak sukkar ziyāda’ is a talk show of different topics, often of interest to women, whereas ‘Masā ak sukkar ziyāda’ is a program which reviews the various entertainments and cultural events taking place in Cairo. ‘Yib a inta akīd fi Maṣr’ is a program of social and cultural critique of Egyptian aspects of life as seen by the presenter.

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senior editors alike emphasized the will to use a “middle or educated variety” of the dialect avoiding a careless way of speaking.8 Ḥ āl id-dunyā a) Sources and Translation Ḥ āl id-dunyā is based on sources provided by the Associated Press news agency. This agency provides OTV with movie pictures of the events in addition to a text written in English. The text is translated by a team of two young editors, working under the supervision of a chief editor who also acts as a translator besides his role of reviewing what the other members of the team have written. The team consists of six translators, who work in groups of three at a time. The chief editor usually translates the political news, while the two other members of the team respectively translate the entertainment or light events, and the sports. The translations are reviewed by the chief editor and usually a discussion takes place concerning some of the terms or construction used. According to both the present and previous chief editors9 of Ḥ āl id-dunyā, when Ḥ āl id-dunyā started, the news broadcast was “prepared in Modern Standard Arabic.” It was not clear to me, however, what was meant by this statement. Did it mean that the news items were first translated from English into fuṣḥ ā and then into ʿāmmiyya? I tried during the interviews I had with the editors of the news bulletin to explore this point. I gathered that the first stage leading from English to fuṣḥ ā was not literally a translation: the original text was never written down in MSA, but rather the translation was done in the editors’ mind. At the present, the news dispatches received in English are translated directly into ʿāmmiyya in the form which will be analyzed thereafter. The information presented in the news bulletin consists of movie pictures10 of the events related, and the news is read by a speaker in 8 This stylistic choice confirms N. Haeri’s remark concerning “different ways of saying the ‘same’ thing in Egyptian Arabic.” (1996: 11) 9 I had the chance to interview the previous chief editor and producer of Ḥ āl id-dunyā from January to November 2007, as well as the chief editor of this program, in September 2008. 10 The movie pictures are provided by the news agency (AP) and only in some rare cases does the channel show its own pictures. This happens when a special national

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voice-over. The text is constructed on the pictures or the films, and the soundtrack (or the news read) should not surpass the length of the picture. This aspect constitutes one of the programs difficulties. b) Setup The news bulletin consists of three segments. The first is dedicated to political information, which is followed by light or entertainment news, and at the end comes sports information. Two voices generally present the bulletin: a male and a female. The speaker is only heard in voice-over, with movie scenes (and pictures) related to the topic shown simultaneously as previously explained. The images are generally mute; in some cases, sounds of the film track are heard for short moments, but no translation is provided to these recordings, which are generally in English. The only voice is that of the narrator using a particular intonation which I shall discuss below. Different reasons were given to justify the voice-over technique. The first one was related to the news source: the main emphasis being on the movie track, there was no need for the speaker to appear. A second justification was given by one of the program’s producers who suggested that this technique was used since there was a law forbidding the broadcast of news bulletin on national channels (even satellite ones). The voice-over technique allowed the channel to avoid the institutional aspect of a news bulletin in such a way that it would not contradict the interdiction. Finally, the argument given by one of the speakers was that the problem rested in the physical appearance of the person reading the news in ʿāmmiyya. According to this argument, speakers would have felt and seemed awkward reading the news in ʿāmmiyya. How was a speaker to dress, and what physical attitude would s/he have to use, while reading the news broadcast in colloquial Arabic? One such speaker could hardly resemble or be associated with ordinary news presenters on other channels, with females dressed up formally and

event takes place. In this case, the channel sends its own reporters to film and cover the event. This happened twice during the month of Sepember 2008: at the burning of Majlis aš-Šūra ‘House of Consultants’, and at the occasion of al-Duwayqa [Duwē a], catastrophy when a huge rock fell off the Mokattam hill, killing hundreds of the poor Duwēʾa quarter inhabitants.

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males wearing ties. The questions of posture and physical attitude were also brought up in this last argument. The question of the speaker’s gender seems to have been one of the issues discussed by the bulletin’s team of producers, as it was made clear by the engineer manager who emphasized in one of the interviews that the male/female voice distribution was one of the program’s concerns. She emphasized that female speakers presented both political and sport news and not only light or entertainment events as the traditional gender role distribution would have made us expect. Indeed, very often, sports information is presented by a female speaker, and some broadcasts of Ḥ āl id-dunyā are entirely presented by a woman or a man. Linguistic Description In this part of the study, I shall describe linguistic features of Ḥ āl id-dunyā. As it will appear, the features described need not belong exclusively to the colloquial register; it would indeed seem redundant to describe the use of the relative pronoun illi, for instance, if this was the only form used in the news bulletin. Rather, I will point out some forms of Standard Arabic and try to explain their occurrence. I will also mention features specific to this program, such as the choice of certain lexical items or constructions, as well as try to account for their use. Phonetics and Phonology The over-all phonetic practice of Ḥ āl id-dunyā is the sound system of ʿāmmiyya. Interdentals are produced as stops, except in very rare cases, which can be explained by individual variation in certain particular contexts. However, as a rule, [t] or [s] is used in place of [θ]; [d] or [z] in place of [ð]. a) qāf production It is realized as a voiceless uvular [q], or as a glottal stop [ʾ]. This distribution is closely related to, and dependent upon, the lexical choice. The realization with qāf will usually appear in lexical items belonging to the written rather than the oral mode, as in the case of:

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yaʿtaqid ‘he believes’, aqāmit biljīka ‘Belgium has organised’, qarār ‘decision’, iqlīm ‘region’, iqtiraḥ āt ‘suggestions’ and muqtaraḥ aat ‘propositions’, iṭlāq in-nār ‘hostilities, firing’, quwwa, quwwāt ‘force, forces’, qannāṣ ‘sniper’, tanẓim il-qāʿida ‘the al-Qaida organisation’, qā idha ‘its leader’, etc. Some of these words are almost exclusively used in the context of political discourse, which is part of the read media. This discourse belongs, and is addressed to, a learned public, and refers to a domain which belongs to the written word. Certain words only occur with the uvular counterpart, such as qarn ‘century’, saqāfa ‘culture’, whereas they exhibit a glottal stop in other dialects, such as Lebanese for instance. Some other words which contain qāf are part of a technical and scientific terminology, such as tiqniyya ‘technique’, raqam qiyasi ‘record figure’, inṭalaq bi-nagāḥ makkūk il-faḍā ‘the space shuttle was sent out’, iʿāqa ‘handicap’. The use of the qāf is frequent in the domain of kurit il-qadam ‘soccer/football’; a form used instead of the borrowed counterpart futbōl ‘football’.11 Other examples of qāf used in sports news: yita allaq, ‘to show brilliancy’, tafawwuq ‘excellence’, qād il-hugūm, ‘led the attack’, il-laqab il-urubbi li-l-buṭūla ‘the European championship title’. The variant qāf also appears in morphological forms belonging to standard Arabic, such as an yūqif ‘to be stopped’. It would seem unacceptable here to use the glottal stop since the form of the verb is an internal passive in exclusively standard Arabic form. The same constraint appears in items where the use of the glottal stop instead of the standard Arabic counterpart would render the utterance ‘morally’ inadequate. The word for dancer, ra ās will be avoided at the advantage of rāqiṣ to avoid what is viewed as an indecent connotation. Also ʿašīqa ‘lover’ in ʿašiqtu ayrlandiyya ‘his Irish lover’ is preferred to the colloquial ʿašī a, too close to real life and, consequently, to generally unaccepted norms. b) Pronunciation of Borrowed Words The question of the way foreign words should be pronounced seems to be central to the linguistic preoccupations of the OTV team. This con-

11 Often borrowed lexical items are classified by speakers as colloquial since this register is more open to loans than standard Arabic.

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cern does not come as a surprise for a channel which is determinately westernized and with such clear educational aims. I learned during one of the interviews that there was a particular concern with proper names which the speakers were asked to pronounce according to the sounds of the source language. Concern with ‘accurate’ pronunciation was such that some experienced and competent speakers were not hired because of pronunciation problems. However, there is a clear prevalence of Anglo-Saxon pronunciation rules, even for words which do not belong to English, such as for instance the name of the Indian city New Delhi uttered [dh] with a clear aspiration of d. The norms of standard French pronounciation are respected in certain cases, as I could observe in the way some words were uttered, such as “UNICEF” [ynisef ], with [y]12 the rounded front lips vowel typical of French; the same observation stands for the pronounciation of “Uderzo”, the name of the cartoon author of Astérix, realized [yderzo]. Having said so, one must acknowledge that this concern extends to the pronunciation of Arabic. c) Intonation Intonation is a particular feature among the linguistic particularities of Ḥ āl id-dunyā, a feature that is recognized as an important factor for the success of a news bulletin in ʿāmmiyya. The issue was raised during an interview with the previous chief editor of Ḥ āl id-dunyā. According to his analysis, the colloquial variety is adequate for zajal, storytelling, jokes, or insults, but not for transmitting information. In order for ʿāmmiyya to successfully assume this new function, the speaker needs to “act”; he has to “behave in a dramatic way”.13 Indeed, the news broadcasts are read in the same way as the narrative in a movie; the particularity of this “story-telling intonation” is the use of a big number of rising and falling tones, as in the following: Lākin

ik-kūra ma fi- hāš

mustaḥ il

12 In the rest of this contribution, the sign [y] will serve as a symbol for the sound usually transcribed by [j]; only for the sounds of French will [y] be used as a symbol for the front rounded vowel of the words ‘du, rue’, etc. 13 The interviewee’s words were: ir-rāwi yagib an yadxul fi-d-drama ‘the storyteller has to enter into the drama’.

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Needless to say, this ‘singing’ intonation varies considerably from one speaker to another. Morpho-Syntax There seems to be a larger degree of variation in the domain of morphology and syntax than in the domain of phonetics. In what follows, observations have been made concerning constructions exhibiting a certain degree of variation between colloquial and standard Arabic. This mixed character can be largely explained by the fact that the origin of the text is a written document. As we have seen above, the news items are translated into colloquial Arabic from an English original text. We should also take into account the influence of the news broadcasting genre, which is generally preformed exclusively in standard Arabic. I will start by listing a certain number of features belonging to the standard variety. a) Imperfect verbs with /a/ as vowel of the preformative, as in standard Arabic, are not uncommon, as can be observed in the following examples: yaktašifu ‘they discover’, or tarṭabit in: miš awwil marra tarṭabit bīha haluwīn bi-munāsaba ‘it is not the first time that Halloween coincides with an occasion’. b) The occurrence of forms in agreement with rules of standard Arabic morphology, such as the plural form ḥ amalāt in ḥ amalāt intixabiyya ‘electoral campaigns’, where the standard form ḥ amalāt is used instead of its colloquial counterpart ḥ amlāt. We can also note the occurrence of standard forms such as rigāl ‘men’ instead of the colloquial riggāla. c) The same observance of a morphological standard Arabic rule is exhibited in the form of the plural munazzimi ‘organizers’ in wi-ḥ asab munazzimi l-iḥ tifal ‘and according to the organizers of the celebration’, with the loss of the termination in—n in the first term of the construct. d) The passive “turn,” (Jespersen 1965: 165) or voice, is represented either by the colloquial variant it/infaʿal or, more rarely, by the internal passive of standard Arabic. The colloquial variant appears in the following: itlaʿabit tilt il-mubarāh ‘a third of the match was played’, wāḥ id min il-ašxāṣ illi n atalu ‘one of the people who were killed’.

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The internal passive is used in some fixed formulas such as bi-tuʿtabar ‘is considered’: wi-dilwa ti b-tuʿtabar bil īka ‘and now Belgium is considered’, also iftutiḥ ‘was inaugurated’. The verb tamma is also very frequently used for the expression of the passive or the impersonal turn, a feature which Ḥ āl id-dunyā shares with Modern Standard Arabic: ta riban arbaʿa milyōn qiṭʿit duminu tamm istixdāmhum ‘Almost four million pieces of domino were used’, tamm l-iḥ tifāl bi-liʿbit id-duminu ‘There happened a celebration of the game of domino’. However, some features occurring in the broadcast are hybrid forms, belonging to neither standard nor colloquial. These forms can be the result of translation, or, in some cases, they could be interferences from English, the source language. e) Use of definiteness in the two terms belonging originally to an iḍāfaconstruction, as in the following examples: ganūb afriqya and ganūb kurya ‘South Africa and South Korea’ such as the following sāgil imbāriḥ il-ganūbi l- afriqi translation of South African and tadahwur ṣiḥ ḥ it ir-ra īs ig-ganūb ik-kūri ‘the deterioration of the health of the South Korean president’, with both nouns defined, following the original English word order. This feature can be explained by a literal translation or interference of the target language. f ) The demonstrative series used is, of course, the one belonging to the colloquial register with no variation with the standard counterpart. However, one aspect of the demonstrative appears in a particular way: we-b-keda ‘and with this/and so’ a formula used at the end of each broadcast: we-b-keda tkun xelṣet ḥ ala it innaharda ‘and with this, we come to the end today’s program’. g) New constructions created as a result of translation: ʾabl ʿašart iyyām min il-intixabāt ‘ten days before the elections’.

h) Most deictics such as terms to indicate time are in colloquial: imbāriḥ ‘yesterday’, innaharda ‘today’, dilwa ti ‘now’, illi gayy ‘next’, illi fāt ‘previous’, baʿdaha ‘then’, baʿd šwayya ‘a little later’. i) Concord: The feminine singular concord is extended to the dual as can be observed in the following: ḍayyaʿit il-fir itēn furṣit il-fōz ‘the two teams have lost the chance to win’. j) New terms, such as lissa used for the purpose of connection. lissa is used with a different connotation than its original meaning which is “still”. We find it in such contexts: wi-lissa maʿ il- azma l-māliyya l-ʿālamiyya ‘and still with the world financial crisis’. Having found

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this word awkward, in one of the interviews I asked the editors what they meant by it. The answer was that it translated ma zilna— in wi-lissa fi-l-ʿirā it would be the translation of wi-ma zilna fi-lʿiraa ‘and still in Iraq’. k) The word order of the sentences is most often S-V, and sentences are relatively long as in the following one which I will give as an illustration: išurṭa l-ustrāliyya wi-maṣlaḥ it il-gamārik ṣadrit aktar min suttumiyya w-sittīn kilugrām min ʿiqār muxaddir kan biyḥ āwil arbaʿ ašxās yiharrabūhum min tayland li-dāxil ustiralya ‘The Australian police and the custom agency have confiscated more than six hundred and sixty kilograms of a drug that four people were trying to smuggle from Thailand to Australia’. Lexicon a) Use of standard Arabic words As we have mentioned above, there are frequent terms of the standard variety used in Ḥ āl id-dunyā. These terms may belong to the terminology of a written domain such as politics for instance. On the other hand, and as observed above, the field of soccer uses a relatively large number of standard Arabic lexical terms: hadaf aḥ razu ‘scored a goal’. Some words and expressions used simply belong to the standard level: bi-sabab il-xušūna lli aẓharha l-lāʿib. The word xušūna does not appear in colloquial except in its medical sense of “stiffness” of the articulations; such a frequent disease that it has become a regular colloquial lexical item used at all social levels. It is an artificial task to separate the lexicon into colloquial and standard Arabic terms; it remains true, however, that some items are more frequently used in one or the other of the two varieties. The following words are common to both levels; however, their use in ʿāmmiyya approximates the variety used to standard Arabic: nakha: il-halowīn bi-nakha muxtalifa ‘Halloween with a different flavor’. šurṭa: maṣādir min i šurṭa l-ʿirā iyya ālit ‘sources form the Iraqi police said’.

b) Avoidance of stigmatized forms or lexical items I have mentioned above the problem raised by the form ra’’as ‘dancer’ replaced by rāqiṣ, as well as the ʿašī a to which the standard Arabic ʿašīqa was preferred. The editorial team faced a prob-

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lem when trying to refer to French president Sarkozy’s campanion: which term would be adequately used to refer to her: zōga ‘wife’? c) Extensive use of specific lexical items. Although the word for “victory” fōz is not foreign to the colloquial Arabic of Egypt (it appears in the Dictionary of Egyptian Arabic (Hinds and Badawi 1986: 677) in this form), its extensive use seems to be a particularity of Ḥ āl id-dunyā. The reason for this frequent use is easy to understand, since a large part of the news broadcast is reserved to sport events, and examples like the following are heard daily: Fōzu fi talat musab āt ‘his victory in three competitions’, fi ṭari u li-l-fōz ‘on his way to victory’, etc. . . . d) New words and expressions are coined as a result of translation; in some cases the new word is followed by the foreign term: il-tawaḥ ud aw utizm ‘ “tawaḥ ud”, or Autism’. Language Attitudes and Representations It would be fair to state that language attitudes and representations appear at all stages and levels of the news broadcast. From decisions of leading figures of OTV to the performance of the speakers and passing by senior or junior editors, it seems that a concern for language issues is prevalent, and that every participant has his own representation in the usage of ʿāmmiyya, a representation which no doubt has an effect on performance. It would seem that the decision of using ʿāmmiyya14 was taken at an early stage by top figures in the channel management, as a means of expressing an Egyptian identity. This factor is recognized by all the participants, and a slogan is put forward to emphasize this linguistic choice: qanā maṣriyya miyya fi-l-miyya ‘a one hundred per cent Egyptian channel’. Although not questioned, this linguistic choice and the ideological position behind it do raise a certain degree of reservation and restraint on the part of some chief editors. A previous chief editor metaphorically, though clearly, expressed this reservation in an interview: il-luġa l-ʿarabiyya ṭūb aʿraf abni ʿalēh mabna, il-ʿāmmiyya sifing ‘The language (ʿarabiyya) is [like] bricks. I can construct on it a construction.

14

Albeit an elevated variety of ʿāmmiyya, as mentioned above.

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ʿāmmiyya is made of sponge’. Another editor explained that since ‘the society is dwindling; it becomes normal to use ʿāmmiyya’ (ḥ arakit il-mugtamaʿ fi-n-nāzil, fa-aṣbaḥ min iṭ-ṭabīʿi inne tkun bi-l-ʿāmmiyya). The judgment is evident in that ʿāmmiyya is associated with a collapse/ breakdown of society. These judgments and others of the same kind leave no doubt as to the fact that the broadcast’s linguistic choice is not entirely accepted, even though instructions are followed and the news bulletin is produced in colloquial. At the same time, arguments are given to justify this choice. This broadcast in colloquial will attract the youth sitting at cafes and who otherwise would not be interested in hearing the news. This positive mission is perhaps given as a justification to put up with a choice which embarrasses and contradicts the beliefs of some of the organizers. The difference appears in the young editors’ and translators’ attitudes. For these, the choice does not come as a surprise, and one of the young women editors expressed both satisfaction and eagerness at the experience. For her, ʿāmmiyya taught her more than fuṣḥ ā, and working at this program made her think about the “details of language,” and brought her to reflect on the relation between ʿāmmiyya and fuṣḥ ā. A known fact in sociolinguistics is that attitudes may have an effect on linguistic behavior. A small illustration of that can be seen in the way speakers act and may even transform the written text. OTV in general, and more particularly its news broadcast, has been the target of numerous critics and attacks concerning the language choice of ʿāmmiyya, which was described as a “satanic plot aiming to gradually destroy the most honorable language on earth.” As is often the case, the criticism addressed to the channel, and particularly to Ḥ āl id-dunyā, is based on ideological and preconceived opinions and arguments, and rarely on a thorough observation. EgyTarek,15 a blog managed by an Egyptian architect, contained very harsh criticism of the channel and its choice of ʿāmmiyya, alluding to a sectarian bias on the part of its owner, Sawiris. More moderate criticism still did not avoid the pitfall of finding in the choice of ʿāmmiyya a war launched against the Arabic language and culture (Šūbkī 2007). In most cases, the variety used, and the degree of mingling of levels, was left unno-

15 http://egytarek.wordpress.com/2007/03/10/otv-and-the-arabic-language; accessed 30 December 2008.

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ticed, so was the producers’ endeavor to reach a young audience with somehow serious news and issues. Conclusion As observed by Eid (2007: 403), the study of Arabic in media is of great interest, and deserves much more research both in language and in discourse analysis. Indeed, the diglossic nature of Arabic speech communities makes media a very rich context to understand how language and linguistic culture is evolving. In her above-mentioned article on Algerian television news broadcast, Morsly (1986) depicted features of colloquial appearing in news bulletin presentations, and concluded that there was no intermediate variety, but rather that there were two conflicting tendencies at work: one towards Classical Arabic; the other towards Algerian Arabic.16 The case of Ḥ āl id-dunyā contradicts Morsly’s findings and exhibits a variety very close to an intermediate one. Indeed, it is colloquial in its sounds, intonation, and the various morpho-syntactic features used. It is also colloquial in its informality, the kind of light news items presented, and in its lack of bias to official news, standing at an appreciable distance from the official news bulletin of Egyptian state channels. On the other hand, and as I have tried to demonstrate, it still exhibits a fair number of standard Arabic sounds, lexical items, and constructions which are evidently a result of the writing process which underlies it. As in numerous other situations of mixed Arabic use, the linguistic variety found in Ḥ āl id-dunyā is an unstable one, in the sense that it contains a large number of variations. As long as different varieties of Arabic have not been standardized, they are necessarily going to remain mixed codes in which variants are the rule. However, one may ask: to what degree will writing contribute in standardizing the colloquial? The writing process we witnessed in this study, in the translation of news items, is only a portion of a larger picture of a young population increasingly using colloquial Arabic in their private, public, and literary writings. The question is not whether we are heading towards the adoption of ʿāmmiyya in place of fuṣḥ ā, but an attempt at questioning the role of writing colloquial Arabic in the process of its standardization. This question is neither academic

16

D. Morsly 1990: 173.

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nor polemic; it is an attempt at understanding what the future of spoken Arabic could be, and, in a structurally binary relation, how Standard Arabic could evolve within this setting.17 References ʿAbd al-Munʿim, ʿA. (2007), “Fīlm Jinsī ʿalā qanāt OTV”, http://www.20at.com/ newArticle.php?sid=7057; accessed 30 December 2008. Amin, H. A. (2007), “Kat-š kadr fi-l-alūlu”, al-Maṣrī al-Yawm (February 7, 2007). Coulmas, F. (ed.) (2004), The Handbook of Sociolinguistics, Oxford: Blackwell. Doss, M. (1987), “Les variétés linguistiques en usage à la télévision égyptienne,” Bulletin du CEDEJ 21, 1er semestre, 63–74. Eid, M. (2007), “Arabic on the media: Hybridity and styles”, in E. Ditters and H. Motzki (eds), Approaches to Arabic linguistics presented to Kees Versteegh on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Leiden: Brill, 403–434. Haeri, N. (1996), The Sociolinguistic market of Cairo: Gender, class and education, London: Kegan Paul. Hinds, M. and E. Badawi (1986), A Dictionary of Egyptian Arabic, Beirut: Librairie du Liban. Guaaybess, T. (2005), Télévisions arabes sur orbites: Un système médiatique en mutation (1960–2004), Paris: CNRS. Harrell, R. S. (1964), “A linguistic analysis of Egyptian radio Arabic”, in C. Ferguson (ed.), Contributions to Arabic linguistics, [Harvard Middle Eastern monograph series], Harvard: Harvard University Press, 1–77. Jespersen, O. (1965), The philosophy of Grammar, New York: The Norton Library. Morsly, D. (1990), “En arabe classique le journal télévisé?”, in J. Pleines (ed.), La linguistique au Maghreb, Rabat: Editions Okad, 163–74. Pignol, A. (1987), “50 ans d’histoire de la radio et de la télévision en Egypte (1934– 1984) ”, Bulletin du CEDEJ 21(1), 17–36. Schramm, W. (1979), Mass Media and National Development 1979, Paris: UNESCO, http://74.125.47.132/search?q=cache:wjm5tEad6qoJ:unesdoc.unesco.org/images/ 0003/000370/037073eb.pdf+Mass+media+and+national+development+unesco+19 79&hl=en&ct=clnk&cd=1&gl=us&client=firefox-a, accessed 30 December 2008. Šimays, A. (1985), Luġat al- idāʿa, Cairo: al-Maktaba al-Taqāfiyya, al-Hayʾa al-ʾĀmma li-l-Kitāb. Šūbkī, A. (2007), Ḥ āl ad-Dunyā, al-Maṣrī al-Yawm (4 October), http://www.almasryalyoum.com/article2.aspx?ArticleID=78264; accessed 30 December 2008. Van Mol, M. (2003), Variation in Modern Standard Arabic in radio news broadcasts: A synchronic descriptive investigation in the use of complementary particles, Louvain: Peeters.

17

At the time this study was conducted, I was unaware of the article by M. Al Batal “Identity and language tension in Lebanon: the Arabic of local news at LBCI”, in Language contact and language conflict in Arabic. Variation on a sociolinguistic theme, edited by Aleya Rouchdy (London: Routledge, 2002), pp. 91–115.

PERFORMANCE, LANGUAGE AND POWER: NASRALLAH’S RHETORIC AND MEDIATED CHARISMA IN THE CONTEXT OF THE 2006 JULY WAR1 Dina Matar School of Oriental and African Studies At the beginning of the 21st century, Hizbullah, the Lebanese Shi’ite ‘Party of God’2 has emerged as the most powerful political party in Lebanon, having transformed itself from a radical, clandestine armed Islamist militia to a ‘moderate, mainstream political party with a resistance wing’ (Palmer Harik 2007: 1) in a little over two decades. The movement’s evolution is often discussed as a sequence of gradual stages of development with each stage depending and building on the one preceding it, pointing to the group’s ability to adapt its rhetoric and image with changing political and historical circumstances. None of these stages has been more significant to Hizbullah’s shifting image than the 2006 July war with Israel which served to enhance the group’s credibility and standing in the Arab and Muslim worlds and cement its position within the Lebanese political scene. The war started on July 12, 2006, when Hizbullah militants fired rockets at Israeli border towns as a diversion for an anti-tank missile attack on two armored vehicles on the Israeli side of the border fence and following the kidnapping of two Israeli soldiers. Israel retaliated with air strikes and ground attacks, damaging vital infrastructure across the south, but also including the international airport in the capital Beirut and parts of the southern suburb of the city. More than 1,000 people, most Lebanese civilians, were killed and almost a million displaced as a result of the war which ended on August 14, 2006 with a ceasefire agreement that was brokered by the United Nations. Though it is not clear how badly Hizbullah’s arsenal had suffered in the war, Hizbullah

1 The original article on which this chapter draws was published in 2008 in the Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 1(2): 122–38. 2 The phrase ‘Party of God’ is a literal translation adopted in Western public discourses, but does not take into account the Qur’anic underpinnings of the word ‘Ḥ izb Allāh’, which suggest that those who follow God are always triumphant.

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built on what it proclaimed as a ‘Divine Victory’ and its popular image as a defender of Lebanese sovereignty against Israel and its allies and mounted a campaign of ‘civil disobedience’ along with other Lebanese groups forming the Opposition Bloc. The campaign culminated in the worst sectarian violence since the end of the civil war in May 2008 when Hizbullah-backed armed supporters took control of parts of west Beirut and fought opponents in other parts of Lebanon. An Arab-mediated political deal was reached on May 21, 2008, paving the way for the election of a new president and the cessation of armed hostilities. This chapter focuses on two key constituents of Hizbullah’s political communication strategies3 during the July War: The mediated charisma of its leader Sayyed Hassan Nasrallah and the religious-political discourse of his normally widely televised and reported speeches. Both these elements, it suggests, are examples of what Wedeen (2008) calls ‘performative political practices’ that incorporate historicallysignificant and meaningful discourses, signs and symbols drawn from a shared cultural repertoire and adapted to the particular historical context to summon and construct the intended audience as subjects. Practices, as Lisa Wedeen argues, tend to be intelligible to others in context-dependent ways, but their importance ‘. . . . does not reside simply in the meanings they signify to their practitioners, but also in the ways in which they constitute the self (of the politician or ideologue) through [. . . .] performance as an explicitly national person in the absence of a strong state or an institutionalized, procedural democracy’ (Wedeen 2008: 15). Drawing on this understanding, this chapter suggests that perforrmative political practices constitute what Foucault calls ‘the meticulous rituals’, or ‘the micro-physics of power’ (Foucault 1977: 27) which define ordinary peoples’ lives on many levels, but which are also largely intentional, managed and schemed out. Though it is beyond the scope of this chapter to find out exactly how people’s lives are defined, it is possible to assess the ways in which performative political practices can appeal to what Chelkowski and Dabashi (1999: 33) call ‘a symbolic realm of operation in which identities are defined, destinies articulated, and the sense of purpose in life and of meaning in the world [is] suggested and legitimated’. This suggestion

3

These strategies are continuous, but this chapter focuses on that event alone.

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does not mean identities4 are fixed, but rather allow for an assessment of the conditions under which ‘specific material and semiotic activities emerge, the contexts in which they find public expression, the consequences they have in the world . . . and how publics—national, deliberative, pious and transnational—get made’ (Wedeen 2008: 17). For the purposes of this discussion, it is important to note that for performative political practices to be effective, in the sense that they could have observable rather than actual effects, they must exist within a semiotic universe, or what Alshaer (2008) calls a culture of communication. A culture of communication is ‘a communicated compendium of religious, historical, literary and mythological references used by a community as valid tropes for all times and, as such, are acted upon and treated as having authenticity,’ (Alshaer 2008: 108). As such, discourses, especially political ones, become more significant, and more effective, when they draw on a socio-historical grounding embedded in the wider terrain of a culture of communication, what Foucault calls episteme, rather than remaining as restricted, isolated and disordered political signs. The chapter starts with an overview of Hizbullah’s evolution from an Islamist resistance group into a major Lebanese political party, then goes on to examine Hizbullah’s Nasrallah’s mediated charisma and political-religious discourse as examples of performative political practices intended to call the intended audience as a public. In order to do so, it focuses on two televised political speeches that framed the July 2006 war. The first is a speech broadcast on Al-Manar satellite television, and other media, on July 14, 2006, two days after the war with Israel began, and the second a public rally (also televised widely) on September 22, 2006, after the war ended on August 14. The choice of the two speeches is pertinent to the discussion as the first coincided with initial widespread concern that Hizbullah would not be able to sustain Israel’s firepower and the second came amid euphoria over the group’s self-declared victory against Israel, a view widely shared by many in the Arab and Muslim worlds.

4 In fact, I begin with the understanding that identities are fluid, multiple and contextual experiences which means people can and do experience their lives in terms of multiple temporalities or time frames.

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dina matar Hizbullah: Transformation and Adaptation

Hizbullah’s foundational discourses can be traced back to the intellectual contributions of Imam Mūsā al-Ṣadr,5 the revered spiritual leader of the Shi’ites in Lebanon, and which were endorsed by the Islamic Shi’ite Higher Council. However, it was not until 1985 that the group announced itself in public when it published an ‘Open Letter’, or manifesto, which defined Hizbullah as an Islamic jihadi movement connected to Muslims all over the world by Islam.6 And it was only a few years before Hizbullah began a gradual involvement in Lebanese domestic politics as part of a discourse and process of integration and adaptation that necessarily demanded interweaving religion with politics. The group’s shift in tactic evolved within a turbulent post-independence history in Lebanon, characterized by political and often violent jostling for power among various confessional and political groups, which, along with the protracted civil war, contributed to a deep identity crisis over what it means to be a Lebanese national. This crisis has been exacerbated by myriad signature identities (Palmer Harik 2007) flagged under different banners—secular, religious, progressive and reactionary, which ‘locate the primary position of a person on the social map’ (ibid.: 9). In the Lebanese context, these have often been loosely translated into forms of primordial identities characterized by religious communalism, a feature of the Lebanese political and cultural landscape since 1943 when the name ‘Grand Liban’ was inscribed into national consciousness under the National Pact—the unwritten agreement between the country’s two largest confessional communities at the time, the Maronite Christians and the Sunni Muslims. The political system that emerged was formalized into a system of sectarian communities with each of the country’s 17 recognized sects accorded political privileges (see Norton 2007 for more details). Broadly and historically speaking, there have been two dominant imaginations of what it means to be Lebanese; the first envisioned by the Christian Maronites that sees Lebanon as a Christian nation with roots in Christian traditions and

5 al-Ṣadr, who disappeared mysteriously on a trip to Libya in 1978, mobilized the Lebanese Shi’ite population in the 1960s and 1970s, channeling their grievances into political participation (Alagha 2006). 6 The original text of the manifesto was published in the weekly al-ʿAhd paper (see Palmer Harik 2007, Alagha 2006).

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Phoenician ancestry and the second by the Muslim Sunnis that sees it as a country with Arab and Muslim traditions. These imaginations left little room for small or largely disenfranchised religious communities, including the Shi’ites, to weave narratives of their own communal history into the grand fabric of the nation. Though the National Pact was meant to bring together the country’s various groups under the umbrella of a Lebanese national identity, many of the cleavages and resentments that sparked the civil war between 1975 and 1990 continued to plague the delicate political balance. It is not exactly clear when the Shi’ite community began to agitate for change, but Beydoun (2003), among others, argues that one catalyst behind its regrouping were public discourses of ‘confessionalization’ or ‘communalization’ that became the trademark of Sayyid Mūsā al-Ṣadr, in the 1970s.7 Hizbullah’s active and visible involvement in local Lebanese politics began in the 1990s, and the movement participated in the country’s first post-civil war elections in 1992, winning eight seats and earning itself the reputation of a de facto political party at the national and local levels (see Palmer Harik 2007). In the 2005 elections, Hizbullah increased its seats in the 128-member parliament to 14. This involvement coincided with a rise in the group’s popularity in Lebanon and outside because of its resistance acts against Israeli forces, also championed by Leftist and nationalist Lebanese groups and by Palestinian factions operation in the border regions. Though Hizbullah’s main activities in the 1980s were ones mostly to do with armed resistance against Israel, it simultaneously developed an integrated social strategy to canvass support among the larger Lebanese population for its actions in the south and to counter external accusations that it was a terrorist organization founded on links with Iran and Syria. Its religious leaders grasped every opportunity to prove that its transformation into a mainstream party was authentic rather than opportunistic and nationalist rather than purely Islamic.8 These actions involved adopting and maintaining a strategy of ideological flexibility that presents an image of Hizbullah as a moderate, national party while retaining its Islamic appeal and a wide base of pious supporters (Palmer Harik 2007). As part of this strategy, for example, Hizbullah forged alliances

7

He disappeared mysteriously in Libya in 1978. Most of the Islamic-oriented parties in the Middle East, particularly the Palestinian Hamas and Hizbullah, integrate nationalist and Islamist frameworks. 8

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with other Lebanese factions and religious groups, including Christian groups—its most prominent Christian ally is Michel Aoun with whom it reached a strategic agreement in February 2006 to re-position his Free Patriotic Movement within the Lebanese political system. The signing of the Ta’if Agreement in 1989 which ended the civil war shifted the National Pact arrangement slightly so that parliament would be divided equally between Christians and Muslims though it did not reflect actual population shifts—at that time, the overall Muslim percentage of the population was estimated at around 60 to 70 per cent of the total. The accord, however, cemented Hizbullah’s supremacy in the south as it won its demand to retain its arms, which gave it additional political clout and helped it transform itself into a distinct Lebanese party intent on playing by the rules set by the Lebanese legitimate political establishment. Harb and Leenders (2005) go further, arguing against projecting Hizbullah as an atavistic fundamentalist movement or as a terrorist organization, and labelling its transformation as a new ‘phase of political jihad (struggle) involving the party’s gradual transformation into a civilian political party accommodated by the Lebanese political system’ (Harb and Leenders 2005: 183). Hizbullah’s role in forcing the withdrawal of Israel from south Lebanon in 2000 enhanced its standing locally and regionally, but questions have since been raised regarding its ability to maintain ‘its presence without the fact of resistance’ (Qassem 2005: 261). These questions gained urgency following the assassination of former Prime Minister Rafic Hariri on February 14, 2005, which prompted massive anti-Syrian demonstrations across the country and unparalleled international pressure for the implementation of UN Resolution 1559 calling for complete Syrian withdrawal from Lebanon (this eventually took place) and the disarming of all Lebanese militias, including Hizbullah’s. Despite the end of the 1975–1990 Civil War, Lebanon continues to be plagued by age-old confessional cleavages and sectarian conflicts, persistent structural inequalities as well as external interference in its domestic politics. These problems were exacerbated by political uncertainty following the assassination of former Prime Minister Rafic Hariri on February 14, 2005. This uncertainty deepened in the months following the 2006 war when Hizbullah, along with allies forming the opposition bloc, called for a civil disobedience campaign to force the government into making political concessions that would strengthen its role in local and regional politics. The campaign climaxed in May 2008 with the outbreak of some of the worst sectarian

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violence in the country since the end of the civil war and the group’s brief seizure of parts of Beirut. The hostilities ceased after an Arabbrokered agreement was reached and which reflected Hizbullah’s role as a key political partner. It was within this context that the 2006 war with Israel took place. Nasrallah’s Mediated Persona: Performance in Practice Hizbullah’s leader Hassan Nasrallah’s rise to power follows a similar path to Hizbullah’s transformation from a resistance movement into a mainstream political party. Born in 1960 into a poor Shi’ite family in a Beirut neighborhood, he showed a keen interest in Islamic studies in his youth, attending a theological college in Ba’albeck. He later went on to Najaf in Iraq and the Iranian city of Qum for further studies.9 Nasrallah began to be involved in Lebanese politics began at the age of 15 when he joined Amal, the party representing the majority of Lebanon’s Shi’ite population in the 1970s. He joined Hizbullah in 1982, quickly gaining popularity among the ranks and sympathizers alike for his public opposition against Israel’s occupation of the south, his reputation as a fiery and articulate orator and his hands-on approach to politics and social action. He was appointed secretary-general following Israel’s assassination of Hizbullah’s former leader and his mentor Abbas Al-Musawi in 1992, a move supported by the then Iranian President Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani and the Grand Ayatollah Ali Khameini. Since that time, Nasrallah has worked to broaden his party’s support base by implementing and following through the concerted campaigns started in 1963 by Musa Al-Sadr and which were aimed at improving the conditions of Lebanese Shi’ites, at reaching out to other political and confessional groups in Lebanon as well as at portraying Hizbullah as a nationalist rather than a purely Islamist party,10 mirroring the shift in its brand and identity.11 Nasrallah also oversaw heavy

9 It was during this time that Nasrallah emerged as one of Iran’s favourite leaders in Lebanon. 10 Hizbullah’s broad social program is said to be the largest, most efficient and least corrupt social welfare network in Lebanon. 11 Alagha (2006) argues that Hizbullah is an identity-based movement that has tried since its transition to a political party in the 1990s to maintain and integrate its identity through the interplay between religion and politics. His research shows how

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investment in media institutions and communication technologies. In 2000, Hizbullah upgraded its broadcasting arm, Al-Manar, from a terrestrial to a satellite channel to reach a wider audience, and integrated all of its media institutions with internet technology as part of an overall strategy to enhance its appeal in Lebanon and the Arab world. By 2004, Al-Manar was estimated to have 10 million viewers. Unlike Muhammad Hussain Fadlallah, Hizbullah’s spiritual leader who is often described as one of the foremost liberation theologian in contemporary Islam,12 Hassan Nasrallah is a prominent ‘public’ figure, a celebrity-like leader who is rarely absent from public space. Though images and portraits of both leaders are displayed prominently in public spaces in Lebanon and some parts of the Arab World, Nasrallah’s televised appearances have made him a household name and a revered icon of Hizbullah and other oppositional movements in the Middle East. Nasrallah’s speeches are widely followed in Lebanon and the Arab world, and, along with posters and other forms of iconography, they have helped raise his status from a leader of a Lebanese resistance movement to a pan-Arab and Muslim hero, provoking comparisons with the charismatic late Egyptian President Gamal Abdel Nasser who invoked pan-Arab unity discourses in the 1950s and 1960s. In the two televised speeches assessed for this contribution, as indeed in almost all his appearances, Nasrallah comes across as a patriarchal figure with the long beard and gentle eyes, whose fluid conversational style is carried into the privacy of homes, and whose composure in moments of stress13 enhances his aura and authority. In this context, authority, as Said (1978) implies, is a more useful analytical term than power. As he argues: ‘There is nothing mysterious or natural about authority. It is formed, irradiated, disseminated; it is instrumental, it is persuasive; it has status, it establishes canons of taste and values; it is virtually indistinguishable from certain idea it dignifies as true, and from traditions, perceptions and judgments it forms, transmits, reproduces’ (Said 1978: 19–20). Besides authority, Nasrallah’s mode

Hizbullah’s identity as an ‘Islamic jihadi movement’ changes from disseminating an exclusivist religious ideology to a more encompassing political ideology and a pragmatic political program (2006: 13). 12 Fadlallah’s liberation theology is developed against the background of the history of Shi’ism in Lebanon. He combines ‘traditional religious scholarship with a powerful reinterpretation of Islamic history and belief that emphasizes political activism and social reform’ (Esposito 1992: 149). 13 His quiet and gentle performance during the war contrasted sharply with the emotional and weeping figure of Lebanese Prime Minister Hanna Fouad Siniora.

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of address, intimate (such as when he uses vernacular language rather than fuṣsạ̄ Arabic) and credible (when quoting from the Qur’an), can only add to his popular reputation as a superior mythical figure, one of the learned and the elite, and also as an ordinary man, one of the masses. While popular lore sometimes refers to him as superhuman and as a mythological figure,14 paradoxically he is also described as an average Muslim and Arab, a man of the street and a brother among equals. ‘He is one of us,’ is a comment often heard on the Arab Street, reflecting the simple fact that Nasrallah’s language, though ideologically powerful, is accessible and comprehensible to every Muslim and Arab as it speaks to their grievances and the long-held beliefs. In his televised appearances, Nasrallah comes across as different from contemporary Arab leaders—his dress (he always appears in the traditional Shi’i clerical garb and turban worn by similarly authentic religious leaders) projects an image of asceticism as opposed to conspicuous consumption. His mediated charisma thus differs from the classical understanding of the term that sees individual charisma as imbuing ruling figures with extraordinary qualities. Rather, Nasrallah’s functions to narrow the gap between him and the people (the ruler and the ruled), and between the sacred and the profane in the Durkheimian sense. In this context, the mediated image of the religious/political leader and the image of the people internalizing this leader operate simultaneously to reproduce shared experiences, collective memories and shared culture that most members of the intended public can relate to. In fact, this chapter argues that Nasrallah’s mediated charisma is a political performative practice that helps construct an image of a national and religious leader whose significance and relevance is intelligible to his intended audience in context-dependent ways. However, it is the combination of Nasrallah’s mediated charisma and his religious-political discourse that can be effective in temporal contexts, such as the July war. Together, they produce a powerful discourse that appeals to what Chelkowski and Dabashi (1999: 33) call ‘the symbolic realm of operation in which identities are defined, destinies articulated, and the sense of purpose in life and of meaning in the world [is] suggested and legitimated’. With this in mind, I turn to a discussion of Nasrallah’s religious-political language.

14 In the 2006 war, Nasrallah was likened to Saladin, the Kurdish Muslim warrior who conquered crusader-held Jerusalem in the 12th century.

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dina matar Nasrallah’s Language: Culture and Meaning

As Alshaer (2008) argues, every language and culture that embodies a culture of communication that is historically grounded, but is open to different interpretations and appropriations.15 Such a proposition allows us to understand the cultural background of discourses in expansive and more inclusive ways, and to address how discourses, especially political ones, gain socio-historical grounding within a wider terrain of a culture of communication rather than being seen as restricted political and disordered signs. In his speeches, as in his sermons, Nasrallah continuously evokes the past and makes it relevant to the present, referring to people and places, military sites, battles and state institutions from an appropriated past. In doing so, he constructs culturally meaningful frames that appeal to what Chelkowski and Dabashi (1999: 33) call ‘a symbolic realm of operation in which identities are defined, destinies articulated, and the sense of purpose in life and of meaning in the world [is] suggested and legitimated’. In what follows, I discuss the two main culturally meaningful frames Nasrallah uses to constitute his audience as specific subjects. The first frame is that of jihād (‘struggle’) and muqāwama (‘resistance’) and the second the frame of identity. Frames represent interpretative schemata that combine cognitive tools and language that allow people to make sense of everyday experiences and events, and are more likely to resonate with the intended recipients when they draw on shared cultural themes and cultural memory in specific historical contexts. Framing is regenerative ‘particularly under revolutionary circumstances. In fact, every framing of particular signifiers leads to more powerful . . . conditionings of collective behavior . . . and is always subject to the hermeneutic elasticity of a given political culture’ (Chelkowski and Dabashi 1999: 304). These frames reflect the resonant power of language while highlighting the historical and spiritual dimension that any shared culture embodies. In constructing these 15 There are cultural norms that define Europe and its communicative habits. However these norms lack immediate relevance in so far as history is concerned, since Europe, followed by the US, have shaped world politics in fundamental ways (see Said 1979; 1994). Thus, a culture of communication exists in Europe, like everywhere else, but this culture has undergone many economic, political and social changes explained by modernist cultural and literary approaches. Hence, tradition-based cultures have come to be viewed negatively by many Western social theorists, most notably Antony Giddens (1994). Also see Berman (1982).

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frames, Nasrallah integrates contemporary events with historical and cultural signifiers (images and meanings) and uses language that resonates with the broad Lebanese collectivity. In this sense, the central function of his discourse is to construct or call up a collective identity, or imagined community, particularly during moments of political crisis and confusion over what it means to be Lebanese. Moments of crisis are good opportunities for contestations and redefinitions of identities and communities and the challenge for ideologues and leaders, such as Nasrallah, is to push through and mobilize their own alternative reading of identities.16 The first hybrid frame of jihad and muqāwama fits in with Hizbullah’s long-term tactic of ideological ambiguity (Palmer Harik 2007), a tactic many Islamist movements use to address various public(s) and their representatives. Ambiguity in discourse suggests worldviews are open to interpretation and appropriation by diverse publics, irrespective of their political or religious affiliations. In the two speeches under study, Nasrallah mixes the Islamic frame of jihad with the political frame of muqāwama to mobilize all Lebanese people as a ‘national collective’. Both frames have been part of Hizbullah’s ideological repertoire since its emergence. In fact, the group has used the phrase ‘culture of resistance’ to refer specifically to Lebanon’s Shi’ite community—it continues to do so. It also calls the parliamentary group that won seats in the 1992 elections the ‘Bloc of Loyalty to the Resistance’, a name it carries till today. But while the movement’s early rhetoric emphasized its roots within the country’s Shi’ite constituency, much of its discourse since the second Palestinian Intifada of 2000 and the withdrawal of Israeli troops from the south contained both Arab nationalist overtones and Lebanese proto-nationalism. This contribution argues that Nasrallah’s construction of the hybrid frame of struggle and resistance intends to summon all Lebanese nationals (irrespective of their sect) as an ‘imagined all-out culture of resistance’ whose duty is to defend the country against Israel and US attempts to dominate regional politics. The emphasis on an all-Lebanese culture of resistance is clear in this excerpt of Nasrallah’s July 14, 2006, speech: I say to you that we in this battle are faced with two choices—not ‘we’ as in Hizbullah, or as in the resistance, the Hizbullah resistance—but

16 This argument does not mean the intended publics accept these worldviews without resistance or negotiation.

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dina matar Lebanon as a state, a people, an army, a resistance, and a political power—we are faced with two choices; either to submit today to the conditions that the Zionist enemy wants to dictate to us all [. . . .] or we stand steadfast. All we need is to persevere, stand steadfast and confront them united, and I know and I will bet that the majority of our people are a people of steadfastness, a mujahid people who can sacrifice, who have no need for prep talks [my trans, emphasis added]

Though the frame of jihad can be interpreted as a religious duty, Nasrallah’s framing leaves it open to interpretation, and appropriation, by a majority of Lebanese, Arab and Islamic publics. A closer examination of his September 22, 2006, speech, however, shows a shift in his rhetorical frame, this time emphasizing jihad and muqāwama as a distinctly Lebanese patriotic duty to foil Israel’s plans. His rhetoric thus specifically targets Lebanese nationals as members of an imagined collective17 bound together by shared historical and cultural memories specific to Lebanon. Addressing Lebanon’s diverse communities as a homogenous collective is not a new Hizbullah policy; in fact, the group has consistently argued that it sees Lebanon as a united nation since 1992, its first foray into the political sphere, to allay fears over Islamic radicalism in Lebanon. The following excerpt from Nasrallah’s September 22, 2006 speech emphasizes how he frames resistance as being all-Lebanese resistance: . . . Your resistance, which offered in the 2000 victory a model for liberation, offered in the year 2006 a model for steadfastness; legendary steadfastness and miraculous steadfastness. It is strong proof for all Arabs and Muslims, and all rulers, armies and peoples. . . . The Lebanese resistance provided strong proof to all Arab and Islamic armies. . . . Today, your resistance broke the image of Israel. We have finished off the invincible army. We have finished off the invincible state. Indeed, we have done away with it. I am not exaggerating or voicing slogans.

The second frame is that of identity. In the speeches under consideration, it is not immediately clear which identities Nasrallah is invoking, again reflecting Hizbullah’s discourse of ideological ambiguity. His use of commonly recognized cultural and religious codes reso-

17 In other speeches and broadcasts on al-Manār television, Nasrallah places the frame of jihad and muqāwama in another context, one that sees these as internationally recognized rights enjoyed by all peoples whose countries are illegally occupied. In this case, his intended audience is more of a global than national one. This strategy is selective in the sense that some dimensions of internationalism and globalism can be left out, too, and is not confined to Hizbullah.

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nates with shared worldviews and experiences in the Arab and Islamic worlds. Furthermore, his numerous references to Israel and the US as the main enemies of the Arab and Muslim worlds can be identified as part of pan-Arab nationalist discourses that a majority of the Arab population and a majority of Lebanon’s diverse communities whose collective memories and experiences have been shaped by the various conflicts with Israel identify with. However, Nasrallah’s integration of the specific historical context (the war with Israel ) with signifiers and discourses of resistance and struggle produces a ‘hyper-popular’ narrative that intends to call up all Lebanese, irrespective of their religious or political affiliations, as members of a national group. In summoning all Lebanese as national subjects, Nasrallah uses language accessible to all and deploys the semantically powerful plural pronoun antum (you) in his addresses. The inclusiveness and power of the plural pronoun ‘you’ functions to mobilize the intended audience as symbolic and real participants in the political process.18 Nasrallah’s speech on September 22, in particular, is peppered with examples of this, such as ‘once again, you amazed the world’; ‘you are today sending an extremely important and serious political and moral message to the Lebanese, the Arabs and the entire world;’ and ‘you, the displaced and those who sheltered the displaced remained fast throughout this stage’. A closer reading of his discourse shows that he intends to primarily lay claim to the Lebanese national identity, or more precisely a Hizbullah-inflected version of what this identity should be, one that counters the narrative of the Lebanese state. The use of the inclusive pronoun ‘you’ serves to summon all Lebanese nationals, irrespective of sect or ethnicity, as members of a Lebanese nation or as a political collectivity that claims the same imagined community. Crucially, in both speeches Nasrallah’s religious-political discourse serves to provide legitimacy to Hizbullah’s constructed self-image and identity as a political group with a national political program aimed at achieving Lebanese unity and at thwarting US attempts to change the map of the Middle East.19 This is a program that cannot be achieved, as Nasrallah notes in his speech, without arms or without maintaining Hizbullah as a key partner in the political process. In both speeches, 18

The use of the inclusive plural ‘you’ rather than the singular ‘I’ (or we) is sign of modesty, a concept that remains largely understudied in Islamic societies. 19 This, of course, contrasts with Israel and the US branding of Hizbullah as a terrorist group supported by Iran and Syria.

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Nasrallah presents his party as ‘Lebanon’s defender’, a recurrent theme in many of his speeches, but it is in his post-war speech on September 22, 2006, that he spells out clearly Hizbullah’s long-standing position on its arms. His repetitive demands for unity and his references to the ṣumūd ‘steadfastness’ of Hizbullah fighters against Israeli firepower deflect attention from that demand. At he same time, he emphasizes how the population of south Lebanon and the southern districts of Beirut returned to their homes because of the party’s directive. Though his speech on September 22 refers to the outcome of the war with Israel as the ‘Divine Victory’,20 Nasrallah catalogues this as a ‘political’ victory that all Lebanese, irrespective of their sect or political allegiances, can take part in and celebrate, again highlighting Hizbullah’s role in the grand political narrative of national unity. In this sense, the victory of the resistance is clearly the ‘victory of the nation’, and the group behind the victory is Hizbullah. This is how he put it in this excerpt (my trans.) from his September 22 speech: Our victory is not the victory of the party. I repeat what I said in Bint Jubail on May 25 2000; it is not the victory of a party or a community; rather it is a victory for true Lebanon, the true Lebanese people, and every free person in the world. Don’t distort this big historic victory. Do not contain it in party, sectarian, communal, or regional cans. This victory is too big to be comprehended. The next week, months and years will confirm this.

In both speeches, Nasrallah emphasizes resistance as victory and resistance as struggle against the status quo. His language clearly resonates with people’s grievances, beliefs and hopes for the future, providing agency and hope to ordinary people as it stands in stark contrast to the politically-grounded speeches of the mainly autocratic Arab leaders. This comes across clearly in the following excerpt in Nasrallah’s September 22, 2006, speech: ‘I don’t want to go into semantics, but I tell you, whoever feels that his option, plan, line and vision have triumphed, feels the victory and speaks about it. And, whoever feels that he has been defeated and has fallen, speaks about defeat. We feel that we won; Lebanon won; Palestine won; the Arab nation won and every oppressed and aggrieved person in this world also won’ (my trans., my emphasis).

20 Many commentators at the time expressed concern that the term ‘Divine’ may indicate a hidden agenda to impose an Islamic agenda in Lebanon.

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Conclusion This chapter explored two of Hizbullah’s political communication strategies; the mediated charisma of its leader Hassan Nasrallah and his religious-political discourse as political performative practices that intend to summon into existence group identities and construct national subjects. In assessing these practices, it showed how he incorporates historically-significant and meaningful discourses, signs and symbols drawn from a shared cultural repertoire and adapted to the particular historical context to summon and construct the intended audience as subjects. Discourses, signs and symbols constitute what Foucault calls ‘the meticulous rituals’, or ‘the micro-physics of power’ (Foucault 1977: 27) which define ordinary peoples’ lives on many levels, but which are also largely intentional, managed and schemed out. For performative political practices to be effective, they must exist within a semiotic universe or a culture of communication, a communicated compendium of religious, historical, literary and mythological references used by a community as valid tropes for all times and, as such, are acted upon and treated as having authenticity. As such, discourses, especially political ones, become significant particularly when they draw on a socio-historical grounding embedded in the wider terrain of a culture of communication rather than being seen as restricted political and disordered signs. What this suggests is that performative political practices are critical to the production of subjects and groups because language and other symbolic systems structure and reflect the ‘conceptual universe through which political action takes place, and because language is a form of action in its own right’ (Wedeen 2008: 217). This chapter showed how Nasrallah comes across as being more political than religious, more at ease talking to ordinary people and the elites and more adept at using rhetoric that articulates common concerns. His demeanor and mode of address, conveying authority and ordinariness at the same time, reflect his skills, both as a political leader and a religious figure, to organize the masses through popularizing the political. He comes across as a man of authority and a man of the street, serving to enhance his appeal. The analysis of his religiouspolitical discourse reflected how Nasrallah constructs frames rooted in historical and surviving cultural repertoires, revealing him to be a skilled tactician who adapts his language to the particular context. The chapter showed how Nasrallah integrates contemporary events (the

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2006 war with Israel ) with historical symbols and popular discourses of resistance to produce a hyper-populist narrative that is intended to appeal to Lebanese nationals during contentious historical moments. In this respect, both his mediated charisma and his discourse are instrumental and rhetorical political practices meant to call up and mobilize the Lebanese audiences, irrespective of their sect or political affiliations, as an ‘imagined’ collective. Though the analysis does not tell us much about Nasrallah’s actual intentions at the time nor the ways in which the intended audience can consume, uphold, contest or subvert the hailing process, it opens up an understanding of politics as performance that adds value ‘to our political analysis because it denaturalizes political identification . . . and how these identifications are part of a process of interpellation’ (Wedeen 2008: 213). The analysis above also opens up a view of Hizbullah as a movement shaped by diverse socio-economic, cultural, religious and political contexts and as a political party adaptive to the changes in situations within culture rather than outside it. Culture, in this sense, must be understood as also constituting the political (my emphasis). The deployment of cultural symbols and religious icons, like Nasrallah, and the use of language steeped in still meaningful cultural and historical repertoires mean the cultural constitutes a crucial terrain of struggle that is contradictory and changeable and that is capable of being de-articulated and re-articulated by political actors and elites as well as by the grassroots. References Alagha, J. (2006), The shifts in Hizbullah’s ideology: Religious ideology, political ideology and political program, Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Alshaer, A. (2008), “Towards a theory of culture of communication: The fixed and the dynamic in Hamas’ communicated discourse”, The Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 1(2), 101–122. Anderson, B. (1983), Imagined communities: Reflections on the origin and spread of nationalism. London: Verso. Beydoun, A. (2003), “A note on confessionalism”, in T. Hanf and N. Salam (eds), Lebanon in limbo: Postwar society and state in an uncertain regional environment, Baden-Baden: Nomos, 75–86. Chelwoski, P. and H. Dabashi (1999), Staging a revolution: The art of persuasion in the Islamic Republic of Iran, New York: New York University Press. Faour, M. (1991), “The demography of Lebanon: A reappraisal”, Middle Eastern Studies (27): 631–41. Foucault, M. (1977), Discipline and punish, London: Tavistock.

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Harb, M. and R. Leenders (2005), “Know thy enemy: Hizbullah, ‘terrorism’ and the politics of perception”, Third World Quarterly 26(1): 173–197. Norton, A. R. (2007), Hezbollah: A short history, New Jersey: Princeton University Press. Palmer Harik, J. (2007), Hezbollah: The changing face of terrorism, London: I. B. Tauris. Qassem, N. (2005), Hizbullah: The story from within, London: Saqi Books. Saad-Ghorayab, A. (2002), Hizbu’llah: Politics and religion, London: Pluto Press. Said, E. (1978), Orientalism, New York: Pantheon. Sreberny-Mohammadi, A. and A. Mohammadi (1994), Small media, big revolution: Communication, culture and the Iranian revolution, Minnesota: University of Minnesota Press. Wedeen, L. (2008), Peripheral visions: publics, power and performance in Yemen, Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press.

PIDGINISATION IN THE EASTERN REGION OF SAUDI ARABIA: MEDIA PRESENTATION Munira Al-Azraqi King Faisal University Although there are many leading publications devoted to study pidgin and creole language varieties, including Hall (1966), Mühlhäusler (1986) and Romaine (1988), an accepted definition of pidgin and creole varieties remains needed. Rickford and McWhorter (2000) define pidgins and creoles as new varieties of language that are generated in situations of language contact. They hold that pidgins are those varieties that have arisen as vehicles of trade between ethnic groups who speak different languages, whereas creoles are more complex and structurally developed than pidgins. Holmes (2001) describes a pidgin as a variety that is not spoken by anyone as a mother tongue. He concludes that a pidgin is understood to be a simplified language with a vocabulary that is mostly drawn from the lexifier language. In his view, a pidgin evolves into a creole when it becomes the native language of a new generation of children. Pidgin and Creole Varieties As we can see, pidgin and creole are technical terms used by linguists to refer to the varieties that are created and used by groups of people with different languages for the purpose of communication in specific contexts. A pidgin, in particular, is considered to be a new variety that develops in situations in which speakers of different languages need to communicate but do not share a common language. The vocabulary of a pidgin comes mainly from one particular language, which is called the ‘lexifier’ language (Fasold 1993; Rickford 2000). Pidgins do not have a stable or well-developed grammatical structure as they are often only used for a limited period of time and for specific social functions, such as mercantile transactions. Nonetheless, adults who learn pidgin usually speak it for the rest of their lives. A creole, on the other hand, is a pidgin that has been systematized with a fully functioning grammar, and is usually developed by the children who are exposed to the

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pidgin (Fasold 1993; Rickford 2000). When children start using a pidgin as their first language and it becomes the mother tongue of their community, it can then be classified as a creole (Fasold 1993). Brief Background Migration, slavery, trade, colonization, and an internationally mobile workforce are all factors that have influenced the formation of pidgins and creoles around the world. These varieties first developed between the seventeenth and nineteenth centuries as a result of contact between colonial nonstandard varieties of a European language and several non-European languages around the Atlantic and in the Indian and Pacific Oceans. Pidgins, as explained above, are reduced in structure and grammar. Some pidgins, such as Bislama and Tok Pisin (in Melanesia), and Nigerian and Cameroon Pidgin English were used specifically in trade contexts and initially served as a non-native lingua franca. Creoles developed in settlement colonies whose primary industry consisted of sugar cane plantations or rice fields, and where non-European labourers were employed extensively. Examples include Cape Verdian Criolou (lexified by Portuguese) and Papiamentu in the Netherlands Antilles (apparently, Portuguese-based but influenced by Spanish); Haitian, Mauritian, and Seychellois (lexified by French); Jamaican, Guyanese, and Hawaiian creole, as well as Gullah in the USA (all lexified by English); and Saramaccan and Sranan in Surinam (lexified by English, with the former heavily influenced by Portuguese and the latter by Dutch) (Keesing 1988). The terms creole and pidgin have also been extended to some other varieties that developed during the same period out of contacts among primarily non-European languages. Examples include Delaware Pidgin, Chinook Jargon, and Mobilian in North America; Sango, (Kikongo-) Kituba, and Lingala in Central Africa, Kinubi in Kenya and Uganda; Juba Arabic in Southern Sudan and Hiri Motu in Papua New Guinea (Fasold 1993; Rickford 2000). Ki-Nubi and Juba-Arabic are considered as pidgin-creole having Arabic as a lexifier (or Arabic-based contact language as put by Owens 1997). Details about the development of Arabic-based pidgins and creoles in Southern Sudan, Chad and East Africa are provided by Owens (1997). He gives the historical background in two periods; the early Islamic period (ca. 700–1000 A.D.) and the 19th century.

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In this study, we focus on a language variety used in the Arabian Gulf that has Arabic as a lexifier and that might be considered as a pidgin, as will be explained below. Of particular relevance to this discussion is Bickerton’s (1977, cited in Versteegh 1984) remark that a pidgin can be treated as a stage in a process of language change, rather than as a state or entity. We assume that the pidgin in question will not develop into a creole, for several reasons. First, and foremost, the people who use it come to Saudi Arabia from different countries for a limited period of time on working visas that do not allow them to settle in Saudi Arabia or work for more than ten years. Most of them come without their families; thus, few if any children are ever going to use this variety of language. To this extent, the development of this variety is pidgin-like, as it represents a process of learning that stopped at the point at which its speakers could use it to communicate. However, although it is unlikely that there will ever be native speakers of this variety, upon examining this form, we find that it is used regularly among immigrants. It has distinctive features that even Gulf Arabic speakers can imitate or use in order to communicate with Asian people and, like other pidgins, it has a lexicon based on another language (Arabic), but with a greatly simplified structure. It is almost stable, and this is consistent with Mühlhäusler (1981) who states that a pidginized variety may become a stable variety (cited in Versteegh 1984). Another reason that this variety can be considered to have stabilized as a pidgin, but not a creole, is that this variety could be become extinct if the social situation changed. Thus, if the speakers left the Gulf, and no other Asian workers were hired in Saudi Arabia, this variety would lose its speakers and then its usefulness. This would be similar to the fate of some trade languages, such as Chinook Jargon, Russenorsk, and Russo-Chinese, that disappeared when social or economic conditions changed (Versteegh 1984). Finally, we note that tutoring and formal instruction are not used to pass on this variety to new speakers, which further limits its relevance beyond the immediate circumstances of immigrant labor management. Geo-Historical Background Saudi Arabia has witnessed a massive increase in development since the discovery of oil in 1938 (Subayʿī 1989). With the increase in development came changes to the local lifestyle, which in turn led to the

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widespread hiring of foreigners to work in different jobs. These changes are reflected in the Saudi Census (2007), which shows that 7,766,345 foreigners (Arabs and non-Arabs) are now working in Saudi Arabia. Foreign workers (non-Arabs) who have little or no background in the Arabic language need to maintain contact and communicate with each other and with the local Saudi population. In these circumstances, speakers rely on a form of language known as kalām hnūd, which means literally ‘Indian talk’. It might be of importance to mention here that in the Western region (Makkah, Al-Madinah, Jeddah and Al-Taif ), there is a form of language known as ‘kalajah’ which refers to the form of the language of the newcomers to the region. This form has a different situation than the form of the pidgin used in other parts of Saudi Arabia, such as the Eastern region, for which there are no dedicated sociolinguistic studies. Although it is a general feature of pidgins to have a greatly simplified grammar, with this pidgin, we can see a reasonably developed syntactic structure. However, its instability supports the contention that it is a pidgin and not a creole. Taking into consideration all the factors relating to this variety, including its functions, its structure, its speaker population, and its geo-historical development, we may conclude that it is indeed a pidgin. Furthermore, we can observe that it was created to ease the communication between different groups of non-Arabic foreign workers and between these workers and their employees, who are mainly Gulf Arabic speakers. Studies of pidgins and creoles in the Gulf are few. Smart’s (1990) research was one of the first studies to discuss the existence of a pidgin in Gulf countries, including Kuwait, the United Arab Emirates, and the Eastern region of Saudi Arabia. Although his description was based on cartoon captions in newspapers which were written by native Arabic speakers who were imitating the language of foreign workers, he still considered this variety as a pidgin and not as a foreigner talk. This kind of corpus was a point of criticism by Wiswall in his unpublished work (2002): Wiswall provides further examples of Actual Gulf pidgin usage but also examines the influence of native speakers on the local language when using a pidgin with foreign pidgin users. After the first submission of this work for publishing, an MA thesis conducted by Unn Gyda Næss appeared in the University of Oslo (2008). It is a valuable addition to the study of this variety. In this thesis, the author considers this variety as an incipient pidgin variety.

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In specifying a name for this lingua franca that is currently being used in Gulf countries, we find that ‘Gulf pidgin’ would be too broad and may subsume other potential pidgin varieties. As mentioned above, while the majority of foreign workers are Asians, Gulf countries have many non-Arabic speaking workers from all over the world, and so it will be useful to distinguish this Gulf pidgin as an Asian variety. Moreover, recognizing that the pidgin is used by Asians is also important because a pidgin is heavily characterized by the speakers’ mother languages that form the substrate. For all these reasons, this study will refer to the variety in question as Gulf Asian Pidgin (GAP). This classification will also accommodate any future studies investigating other pidgins that might develop in the Gulf. We might note here that, while we refer broadly to Asian workers in Saudi Arabia, these immigrants are from different countries, i.e. a number of different languages are spoken, including Indian, Indonesian, Filipino, and Bengali. GAP in the Media This pidgin, hereafter, is a linguistic variety that exists in the Gulf community in general. This existence is witnessed even in the media (TV, radio, and newspaper). As mentioned before, Smart (1990) found enough amount of data in newspapers that enabled him to conduct such a study. In the Gulf, Saudi Arabia in specific, Asian pidgin emerges in the media as a form of language used only by Asian people who work in the Gulf. This emergence is not official, i.e. it is not a form of language that is socially accepted as a variety of Arabic. The community considers it as a lingua franca created by Asian speakers to assist them in communicating with native Gulf speakers. The presence of this pidgin in TV series is limited to scenes that represent Asian individuals. Series like Ṭ āš mā ṭāš which was shown every Ramadan for almost fifteen years on Saudi TV showed many Asian characters that used this pidgin. Other plays, such as the famous Lōlākī play which was mainly based on a story of an Indian nanny, use this variety, too. Radio also is not excluded from presenting such forms whenever an Asian character is meant to be indicated. Newspapers, in the Gulf countries, show many cartoons that present this pidgin written in dialog boxes when an Asian character is portrayed.

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munira al-azraqi The Aim of this Study

It is known that pidgins typically lack a sophisticated grammar and structure. However, this study aims to examine some syntactic features of a pidginized variety used by non-Arabic foreigners in Saudi Arabia which is labeled in this work as Gulf Asian Pidgin (GAP). Method Although an amount of 6 hours of data were collected from TV series that showed some references to this pidgin such as Ṭ āš mā ṭāš (from 10–14), Bēnī w bēnik, and Ġašamšam, it was very important to do face to face interviews with Asian workers. This double method was needed since some of the media characters were represented by Saudi actors who play the role of Asian speakers in some of the sciences. Moreover, the dialogues in those series were mostly written by Arabic native speakers. Fifteen hours of tape recorded spoken data were collected using interviews with informants.1 Test sentences were designed to elicit specific forms by focusing on word order and structural features. Interviews took place in Al-Ahsa county in the Eastern region of Saudi Arabia on the coast of the Gulf (see maps below). Al-Ahsa county has two main cities—Al-Mubarraz and Al-Hofuf—and 25 small towns. According to the primary Saudi census for 2004, the population in AlAhsa county was 775,507. Informants All the informants that were interviewed are Asians, but come from different Asian countries as India, Bangladesh, Indonesia and Philippine. Twenty subjects (11 women and nine men) were selected at random to participate in this study. Their ages ranged from 27 to 35. The highest level of education among the informants was the sixth grade. Three of the informants were illiterate.

1 I am grateful to Miss Ghaliyah Al-Mubarak, one of my postgraduate students, for her participation in gathering the data.

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Results The data shows that Gulf Asian Pidgin (GAP) has a mostly Gulf Arabic (GA) lexicon. That is, the Gulf Arabic variety seems to be the lexifier of this pidgin. Some grammatical features of the lexifier appear in GAP and others are absent. On the other hand, other items are found in GAP that have no equivalents in GA. Verbs are used, although they are sometimes replaced by verbal derivatives. Definiteness is also a grammatical feature that is clearly absent in GAP. The word order of adverbs, adjectives, and pronouns is different from the lexifier, Gulf Arabic. Some particles, such as fī, are used with different functions in sentences. Analysis and Discussion The analysis of grammatical data reveals that the variety to which we refer as Gulf Asian Pidgin GAP is a form based on Gulf Arabic GA. Regarding the syntactic features of GAP examined in this study, we find that the most distinctive characteristics of GAP are the alternative word order of the sentences, the absence of inflection, the absence of definiteness, and the varying use of pronouns, prepositions and demonstratives. These points and others are discussed in detail below. Note that the examples that are used from media will be referred to as (media) whereas those that are form interviews will be referred to as (interv.). Predication Structure The predication structure in Arabic consists of two constituents: a predicand (al-mubtada ) and a predicate (al-xabar). The predicand and predicate usually constitute a complete sentence in Arabic (Ġalāyīnī 1995). Gulf Arabic, as a variety of Arabic, has such a predication structure (Holes 2001). Nominal sentences are the basis for a predication structure. The predicand usually heads the predication structure and provides the theme and the topic of the sentence. The predicate usually follows the predicands and carries information about the predicand. Predicands are usually definite, both in Classical Arabic and Gulf Arabic. They can be personal or demonstrative pronouns, proper nouns, nouns with the definite article, or nouns annexed to annexes (Ġalāyīnī 1995; Ḥ asan 1975; Al-Azraqi 1998, 2005).

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However, in GAP we find limited kinds of predicands. Personal and demonstrative pronouns are the most commonly used items in predication sentences. Proper nouns and indefinite nouns followed by free personal pronouns are also used in GAP. The predicate, which is the part of the predication structure that provides information about the predicand, is usually indefinite. However, it can be a personal or demonstrative pronoun, a noun modified by an annex in GAP. Considering the predication structure in GAP, we find that it is the most frequent structure used in this pidgin. However, when comparing GAP with GA, it is noticeable that some parts of the predication structures are not ordered in the same way as in GA. Examples of this phenomenon are found in the following sentences: 1

I do not know this talk (i.e. ʾana ma fī maʿlūm hada kalām I neg. par. known this talk. (media.) language).

2

ʾanā ma fī maʿlūm ʾinta kalām I neg. Par. known you talk. (interv.)

I do not know your (2.m.s) talk (i.e. language).

3

ʾana uxt fī zawāj baʿdēn. (media) I sister par. marriage later

My sister’s wedding is later.

4

ʾana mama subuh gahwah futūr sawwī. (media) I madam morning coffee breakfast make

I prepare madam’s coffee and breakfast in the morning.

5

ʾintī kalām ʾanā ma fī ismaʿ, ma fī maʿlūm (media) You talk I neg. par. hear neg. par. known

Your (1.f.s.) talk, I did not hear, I did not know.

6

Sadīg ʾana fī rūh itnēn šahar (media) A friend of mine is going (to leave) Friend I par. go two month in two months.

7

ʾana ʾintī kalam ma fī maʿlūm (interv.) I you talk neg. par. known

Your talk is not understood to me.

8

hada huwwah (interv.) This he

This is he.

9

hada walad ʾana (media) This son I

This is my son.

As we see above, predication sentences in GAP mostly contain pronouns as the predicands. These pronouns are either used as free pronouns, as in examples 1, 2, and 7, or as annexed in annexation

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phrases, as in examples 3, 4, and 5. We can also see that pronouns can be annexes in annexation phrases that function as predicands, as in example 6. Demonstrative pronouns can be used as predicands, as in examples 8 and 9. The use of nouns as predicands is not common. In some cases, demonstrative pronouns are used as preceding items as in example 9. The predicate on the other hand, can contain a free pronoun as in example 8. An annexation phrase could be used as a predicate, as in example 9. A verbal derivative can be used as a predicate, as in examples 1, 2, and 5. Verbs also can be used in predicate phrases, as in examples 4, 5, and 6. Verbal Structure Verbal sentences are not used widely in GAP. When indicating an action, verbs occur in a predicate structure. Moreover, imperfect verbs are used regardless of whether the speaker is aiming to indicate past tense, future tense, or the imperative i.e. lack of tense, aspect and/ or mode, (TAM) markers. This is also noted in Næss (2008) study. Affixation is absent in GAP verbal structure., The particle fi occurs before verbs. We would consider it as a pre-verbal particle which does not indicate tense, nor accepts attached pronouns. Fi in such case is termed as “a factual marker” by Næss (ibid.) since it denotes the certainty of the verbal action. This term could be helpful to some extent, but it seems that this particle functions in verbal structure in place of the absent copula in GA. Consider the following examples: 10 ʾilyō ʾanā fī gurfah fī hammam fī naddif (interv.) Today I par. room par. toilet par. clean

Today, I cleaned the room (and) toilet.

11 ʾana fī kallim huwah (media) I par. call he

I talked with him.

12 ʾalhīn kulu nafar fī akil (media) Now all people par. eat

Now, all the people have eaten.

13 ʾinta māfī šūf ʾana (interv.) You neg. see I

You did not see me.

14 sadīg ʾana fī rūh itnēn šahar (media) Friend I par. go two month

A friend of mine is going (to leave) in Two months.

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15 ʾinta ay šay gūl ʾana fī sawwi (interv.) You anything say I par. do

Any thing you say, I will do.

16 hada fī bint kassir (interv.) This par. girl broke

This was broken by a girl.

17 ʾanā fī rakkib hada kalās (media) I par. pack this finish

I have loaded this already.

As we see above, verbs occur in a predication structure. The subject of the verb sometimes occurs as the predicand, as in Examples 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, and 17. Objects, on the other hand, sometimes occur before the verbs as in example 10, before the subject as in 16, or after the verb as in 11, 13, and 17. Affixation We should note here that imperfect verbs in Classical Arabic (CA) and GA are usually attached to prefixes, which in Arabic are called aḥ ruf al-muḍāraʿa. These prefixes indicate the gender and number of the subject in addition to the tense of the verb (Ġalāyīnī 1995; Hasan1975; Al-Azraqi 1998). However, while GAP lacks these prefixes, imperfect verbs can be used regardless of the tense, as in sawwi ‘make’, rūh ‘go’ and ʾijī ‘come’. It is noticeable that verbs in GAP do not take suffixes, which is normal in pidgins, as explained by Holes (2001). In CA and GA, suffixes that are attached to verbs are normally the bound pronouns that indicate the subject and object of the verb. In GAP, when it is necessary to indicate the subject or object, free pronouns or demonstratives are used, as illustrated in examples 9, 11, 14, and 17. This is different from the use of free pronouns in CA, where free pronouns usually function as the subject of a verbal sentence or as the predicand in a predication sentence. This arrangement is also valid in GA (Ġalāyīnī 1995; Ḥ asan 1975). The analysis also indicates that the verbal derivative is widely used in GAP in the form maʿlūm, mafhūm, taʿbān. This usage may be a response to the difficulty caused by the minimal use of verbs, which does not permit the indication of tense through the appropriate affix, as occurs in Arabic. A morphological study might be needed in order to investigate the rules of forming words. However, the primary data show that it could be difficult to describe a system for this variety, given that it is a pidgin and is not sufficiently developed or systemized to be a creole. In this

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regard, word order seems to be the first obstacle in learning a new language. This is indicated by the fact that even though the informants have all stayed at least six years in the Gulf, word order is still not systematized. The Particle fī The particle fī is found in different cases and is used to perform different syntactic functions in the sentence. As a result, it denotes various meanings according to the context. Næss (2008) refers to fi as asyntactic expletive fulfilling a syntactic role. Smart (1990) and Wiswall (2000) consider this particle to be a copula. However, Næss (ibid.) claims that the material shows rare use of fi as a copula. Fi as a copula is used in only 5 examples out of 20. Næss (ibid.) concludes that the non-verbal sentence of this pidgin seems to be with a zero copula identical to the structure in Gulf Arabic, but with some variability. The present study would refer to fi as a particle since it fuctions differently in the sentences. It exists in different Arabic spoken dialects mainly as the meaning of “there is”, see Al-Azraqi (1998). Similarly, in GAP, the main use for fī is with the meaning of ‘there is’ or ‘this is’, as in: 18

Hada ma fī barid wājid (media) This neg. par. cold very

This is not very cold.

19

hada fī bint kassir (interv.) This par. girl break

This was broken by a girl.

As mentioned above, fī can be used to perform many other functions, as demonstrated by the following examples; As a preposition like in: 20 ʾana fī beit (interv.) I par. House

I am in the house.

As s copula in place of verbs to be or have like in the following examples: 21

ʾanā fī sadīk fī mušašfa fī šugul (media) I par. friend par. hospital par. work

I have a friend who works in a hospital [or] A friend of mine works in a hospital

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As a definite article like in the following examples: 22

Ilyōm ʾana fī hammam fī kilīn (media) Today I have cleaned the toilet. Today I par. toilet par. clean

23

ʾana kul yūm fī gahwah fī šāy fī fatūr fī sawwī (interv.) I every day par. coffee par. tea par. breakfast par. Make

I, every day, make the coffee, the tea, and breakfast.

As a possessive pronoun like in these examples: 24

ʾanā fī šanta karbān (interv.) I par. bag ruined

My bag is ruined.

25

huwwah fī bēt kabīr (media) He par. house big

His house is big.

26

ʾinta fī bint hilu (media) You par. daughter beautiful

Your daughter is beautiful.

27

hiyya fī šaʿar ṭawīl (interv.) She par. hair long

Her hair is long.

28

Baba ʾana fī ʿīn taʿbān(media) Father I par. eye ill

My father’s eye is ill.

Pronouns Personal free pronouns are used in GAP as listed below: anā inta intī huwwah hiyyah

‘I’ (1. s) ‘you’ (2. ms) ‘you’ (2.fs) ‘he’ (3. ms) ‘she’ (3. ms)

Despite the hypothesis that pidgin pronouns will resemble those of the lexifier language (Bresnan 1998), the data show that plural pronouns, intu and hummah, do not exist in GAP. Intu is the pronoun that is used to function as the second person feminine or masculine plural pronoun, whereas, hummah is used to function as the third person feminine or masculine plural pronoun. It should be noted here that the word kulu ‘all’ is used in GAP to refer to the plural, as in the following examples:

pidginization in saudi arabia 29

huwwah kulu ru:h (media) He all go

They all left.

30

ʾinta kulu yijī? (interv.) You all come?

Are you all coming?

31

ʾana kulu nafar yirkab siyyāra (interv.) I all people ride car

We all ride the car.

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Moreover, bound pronouns are very limited in GAP as well. /-ī/ ‘me/ mine’ is the only bound pronoun used by the informants of this study. Different hypotheses have been proposed as to the prevalence of the free pronouns in pidgins Bresnan (1998). Mühlhäusler (1990) states that pidgins prefer free pronoun forms to bound ones, which can be seen clearly in this study of GAP. In most of the cases, the free pronouns are used in place of the bound pronoun and possessive object pronouns. Consider the following examples: 32

ʾanā ma fī maʿlūm inta kalām (interv.) I do not know your talk. I neg. par. known you talk

33

ʾana intī kalam ma fī maʿlūm (interv.) I do not know your talk. I you talk neg. par. known

34

bēbī ana fi bangaladiš (interv.) Child I par. Bangladesh

My children are in Bangladesh.

35

lēš ʾinta ma fī warrī ʾana? (media) Why you neg. par. show I?

Why did not you show me?

Demonstrative Pronouns The use of demonstratives is also limited in GAP. Only hada is used as a demonstrative pronoun, with no indication of gender. In addition, there is no indication of plurality in GAP. Consider the following examples: 36

Hada rijāl fī zaʿlān (media) This man par. upset

This man is upset.

37

Hada kulu bint (interv.) This all girl

All these are girls.

38

Hada kulu baʿdēn karbān (media) This all later ruined

All these will be ruined later.

39

Hada kulu šugul šugul (media) This all work work

All these are tasks and tasks.

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It is pertinent to note, however, that demonstratives are similarly infrequent in GA and the feminine plural is not indicated (Al-Azraqi 2005). Conclusion This study has examined a range of syntactic features of a pidginized form, named Gulf Asian Pidgin, used in Gulf Arabian countries by Asian workers and their Gulf Arabic-speaking employers. This pidgin is mainly present to ease the communication between the Asians and Gulf speakers. However, it became well known in the Gulf that it is now being seen and heard in the media, as in TV or radio series as well as newspaper cartoons. This existence in the media is limited to the presence of Asian characters only. This pidginized form has a predominantly Gulf Arabic lexicon and the Gulf Arabic variety is therefore considered to be the lexifier of this pidgin. It is being used in the Gulf regardless of the nationality of individuals. Some Arabic grammatical features are obvious in this pidgin yet many others are absent. On the other hand, other items can be identified that have no equivalents in Gulf Arabic. Verbs are used, although they are sometimes replaced by verbal derivatives. Definiteness is also a grammatical feature that is conspicuously absent in GAP. The word order of adverbs, adjectives, and pronouns differs from the lexifier, Gulf Arabic, and some particles are used with different functions in the sentences, such as the particle fī. References Al-Azraqi, M. (1998), Aspects of the syntax of the dialect of Abha (Southwest Saudi Arabia), PhD thesis, University of Durham. —— (2005), “Some notes on Al-Ahsa dialect”, Linguistica Communicatio, 13. Bresnan, J. (1998), “Pidgin Genesis in Optimality Theory”, in M. Butt and T. H. King (eds), Proceedings of LFG98, http://csli-publications.stanford.edu/LFG/3/bresnan/ bresnan.html; accessed 2 January 2009. Fasold, R. (1993), Sociolinguistics of Language, Oxford: Blackwell. Ġalāyīnī, M. (1995), Jāmiʿ ad-durūs al-ʿArabiyya, Beirut: al-Maktaba al-ʿAṣriyya. Hall, R. (1966), Pidgin and Creole Languages. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Ḥ asan, A. (1975), An-Naḥ w al-wāfī, Cairo: Dār al-Maʿārif. Holes, C. (2001–2005), Dialect, Culture, and Society in Eastern Arabia, Leiden: Brill. Holmes, J. (2001), An introduction to sociolinguistics, Harlow: Longman. Keesing, R. M. (1988), Melanesian Pidgin and the Oceanic Substrate. Stanford University Press. Mühlhäusler, P. and Harré, R. (1990), Pronouns and people: The linguistic construction of social and personal identity, Oxford: Blackwell.

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Næss, U. (2008), “Gulf pidgin Arabic”: Idividual strategiesor a structured variety?, Unpublished MA Thesis, University of Oslo. Owens, J. (1997), “Arabic-based pidgins and creoles” in Thomason, S. (ed.), Contact Languages—a wider perspective, Amsterdam/Philadelphia, Benjamins Publishing Company, pp. 125–172. Rickford, J. and McWhorter, J. (2000), “Language contact and language generation: Pidgin and creoles”, in F. Coulmas (ed.), The Handbook of Sociolinguistics, Oxford: Blackwell, 238–256. Romain, S. (1988), Pidgin and Creole Languages. London: Longman. Siegel, J. (2004), “Morphological simplicity in pidgins and creoles”, Journal of Pidgin and Creole Languages 19(1), 139–62. Smart, J. (1990), “Pidginization in Gulf Arabic: A first report”, Anthropological Linguistics 32, 83–119. Subayʿī, ʿA. N. (1989), Iktishāf an-nafṭ wa ataruhu ʿalā al-hayāt al- ijtimāʿiyyah fī almintaqa aš—šarqiyyah, 2nd ed., [s.l.]: Maṭbaʿat aš-Šarīf. Versteegh, K. (1984), Pidginization and creolization: The case of Arabic, Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Wiswall, A (2000), “Gulf Pidgin: an extended analysis”, http://listserv.linguistlist.org/ cgi-bin/wa?A2=ind0206d&L=arabic-l&P=936.

INTERNET BULLETIN BOARDS IN SAUDI ARABIA: ANALOGUES OF CHANGE AND RESISTANCE* Nadav Samin Princeton University Analysis of Saudi Internet use tends to appear in two guises: advocacy papers detailing Saudi curtailment of Internet use within the kingdom (Zittrain and Adelman 2002),1 and analyses of the use of the Internet by Saudi opposition groups.2 These approaches, however, overlook what is arguably an even more interesting and important phenomenon for Saudi watchers—the proliferation of Internet bulletin boards among Saudi youth, tribal groups and religious minorities. Internet bulletin boards provide Saudis with an opportunity to discuss and debate issues in a semi-public forum where norms of gender segregation and other social conventions can be called into question. Equally significant, Internet bulletin boards in Saudi Arabia function as arenas for reinforcing pre-existing values and expectations concerning the structure of Saudi society. Examining the discourses on two Saudi Internet bulletin boards, one representing a Najdi tribe, the other a Shiite community in eastern Saudi Arabia, it is possible to observe the complex and often competing ends toward which new media in the Middle East can be deployed. Eickelman and Kraidy,3 among others, have identified the transformative impact of new media technologies in Middle Eastern societies, from fax machines and desktop publishing in the 1990s to text messaging * An earlier version of this essay, entitled “Dynamics of internet use: Saudi youth, religious minorities and tribal communities” was published in 2008 in the Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication 1(2), pp. 197–215. I would like to thank Bernard Haykel for first encouraging and supporting this research, as well as Dina Matar and Tarik Sabry for their guidance in developing the framework for my inquiries. 1 See also: Reporters without borders (2004), “Internet under surveillance: Saudi Arabia”. Reporters without Borders [website], http://www.rsf.org/article.php3?id_article=10766; accessed January 29, 2009; Human Rights Watch (1999), “The Internet in the Mideast and North Africa: Free expression and censorship”, Human Rights Watch [website], http://www.hrw.org/en/reports/1999/07/01/internet-middle-eastand-north-africa-free-expression-and-censorship; accessed January 29, 2009. 2 Fandy 1999; Teitelbaum 2002. 3 Eickelman 2003; Kraidy 2006; Alterman 1998.

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and reality television today. These technologies are said to produce a flattening of social hierarchies, greater personal autonomy and a capacity to circumvent moral and administrative strictures governing behavior and expression. The Internet is perhaps the most relevant of these leveling mechanisms, combining the speed and interactive quality of text messaging with the sophistication of television production and desktop publishing. Saudi Arabia, though slow to translate modern communication technologies (including television and the Internet) into public goods, has fast become one of the most active producers of Internet content in the Middle East4 (Warf and Vincent 2007). Though a carefully managed process, the growth in Saudi Internet use is another dimension of what Eickelman (2003) has termed the ‘incursions of small media,’5 describing a phenomenon in which personalized, decentralized media technologies are seized upon in order to challenge the boundaries of permissible discourse in Middle Eastern societies and the control of centralized states over these boundaries. Saudi audiences have proven receptive to new media. In a study of Saudi youth media consumption habits in the pre-Internet era, Boyd and Asi (1991) observed that a sizeable percentage of Saudi university students tuned into transnational radio broadcasts by the BBC and Radio Monte Carlo Middle East.6 In another measure of the demand for new media in the kingdom, Boyd and Asi also noted that despite a government ban on public cinemas in 1987—still in place—80% of Saudi homes owned at least one videocassette recorder. In 2003, the United Nations Development Program’s Arab Human Development Report ranked Saudi Arabia 56th out of 109 countries in a series of knowledge capital indicators measuring (among other values) the extent and diversity of media penetration in the country. Though it lags behind other advanced economies, this ranking is further testament to a rapidly evolving media environment, as satellite television, mobile telephony, and the Internet now combine to open up alternative social spheres in the country.7 Since the Saudi government first made the Internet publicly available in 1999, its use has skyrocketed. According to Warf and Vincent (2007) the number of Saudi Internet users in the year 2000 totaled 200,000.8 4 5 6 7 8

Warf and Vincent 2007. Eickelman 2003: 33–34. Boyd and Asi 1991. Kraidy 2006. Warf and Vincent 2007.

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By 2006, the number of users had increased to 2,540,000, constituting a 1,170% change.9 The growth in Internet use has been encouraged and facilitated by the Saudi authorities, who have simultaneously sought to immunize themselves from small media incursions by developing one of the most extensive Internet monitoring and censorship regimes in existence. Twenty-five Internet service providers are authorized to compete for business within the kingdom, and all are answerable to a central Internet oversight and censorship body, the Internet Services Unit of the King Abd Al-Aziz City for Science and Technology. Predictably, the Saudi regime’s best efforts to regulate Internet content through centralized access provision have been met with a rush to proxy servers and other methods of avoiding administrative censor. In this sense, pornographic and radical Islamist content occupy the same outlawed space in the Saudi web sphere. But the gatekeepers of morality and uprightness in the kingdom do not all take bureaucratic titles and the Internet is not merely an arena for undermining authoritative discourse in Saudi society. As the subsequent analysis will demonstrate, the Internet is a valuable tool for reinforcing pre-existing norms within newly networked traditional communities. This process plays out in large measure within interactive, asynchronous forums known as Internet bulletin boards. In 2003, 53% of 1.9 million Saudi Internet users participated in asynchronous online communities.10 This rather staggering number is not surprising when one considers that a single bulletin board, the Eastern Province Board, has 118,625 members, and that tens of others have upwards of ten thousand members each. Even accounting for the fact that only 10 to 20% of these users are considered by the standards of board administrators to be ‘active members,’ the widespread nature of Internet bulletin board use in Saudi Arabia and thus the significance of this largely unexamined online community becomes apparent.11

9 A 1,170% increase lands Saudi Arabia near the median of Internet user growth rates in the Arab world during this period, reflecting a broader transformation. Further, with approximately 200 Internet cafes in the kingdom serving 2.5 million users, it is apparent that most Saudis access the Internet from their homes, universities or offices. 10 Al-Saggaf 2004. Though an imprecise measure, a Google search of the phrase muntadāyāt Saʿūdiyya (‘Saudi bulletin boards’) returns 2,000,000 hits. 11 This growth has been propelled in large measure by the emergence of powerful and user-friendly discussion forum software like Bulletin.

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The bulletin boards identified for analysis in this study were selected on the basis of their substantial membership bases as well as for their capacity to reflect the changing dynamics of Saudi society. In what follows, I analyze a bulletin board representing the Qaḥt ̣ān tribe of southern Najd in Saudi Arabia and a bulletin board representing the Shi’i community in the Al-Aḥsāʾ region of Eastern Saudi Arabia. The Qaḥtạ̄ n board was selected for analysis in large part because the Qaḥtạ̄ n tribe represents a kind of ‘in group’ within Saudi society, thus enabling a contrast between this relatively elite status group and less privileged inhabitants of the kingdom, such as the Saudi Shi’ites of the Al-Aḥsāʾ region. After selection, the next step involved monitoring the postings on these bulletin boards for resonant content, selecting threads for analysis according to the following criteria: first, the thread under review generated a substantial number of responses, and second, it engaged an issue of interest or concern to the bulletin board membership (e.g. Saudi female participation on a Najdi tribe’s Internet bulletin board), and was intended primarily to instruct or inform rather than entertain.12 In considering the medium, I made a conscious effort to resist the common understanding of the online community as inherently open and to avoid characterizing cyber-communities in the Saudi context exclusively as havens from state or social repression. While utilizing techniques of online ethnography, this study of Internet discussions among Saudi youth privileges questions relating to the politics of identity and religious discourse in Saudi society. How do Saudi youth on the Internet—possessed of distinctive regional or sectarian identities— define themselves in relation to the Saudi state? What values are being contested (e.g. religious virtue, tribal pride, gender equality, sectarian identity) and how are the tensions between these values resolved to the satisfaction of bulletin board participants, if at all? The struggle to define ‘cyber-community’ is not simply the burden of scholars and researchers. As Fernback explains, “community is both an object of study (an entity, a manifestation) and the communicative process of negotiation and production of a commonality of meaning, structure

12 Valuable as entertainment threads may be, they tend to produce a conformity of opinion that renders it difficult to identify the poles of discussion and debate within a given online community.

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and culture.”13 Taking this duality into consideration allows for openness in the subsequent analysis, rather than serving as a confirmation of the researcher’s presuppositions. In her examination of Internet use by Kuwaiti youth, Wheeler highlights the impact of traditional offline culture in determining the longterm nature of Internet use among Kuwaiti young adults.14 As Wheeler explains, “pre-existing value systems help to shape long-term [Internet] use. Even if experimentation occurs, in the end, many Kuwaitis adjust their Internet usage to be compatible with their upbringing, and the norms and values of their society.”15 She adds that local cultural and religious frameworks filter and buffer the meanings and implications of new relationships on the Internet, shaping what is revolutionary about the new medium as well as influencing the pace of change. Wheeler’s findings concerning the impact of Internet use on Kuwaiti youth corroborate this author’s findings regarding Saudi youth, as they underline the dual nature of the Internet as both an instrument for the progressive dissolution of hierarchies and divisions and a means for maintaining and updating pre-Internet definitions of community. Like the Kuwaiti youth Wheeler had observed, many Saudi youth are wary of the Internet’s capacity to reorder society, and, as with their Kuwaiti colleagues, this has not stopped even skeptics from continuing to use the Internet for social purposes. A description and analysis of discussions on Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n helps illustrate these concepts more effectively.

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Fernback 1999. Her emphasis deviates slightly from that of Al-Saggaf, whose studies on Saudi Internet use tend to highlight the progressive impact of Internet use on the personal and social development of Saudi youth. Al-Saggaf has documented the liberating aspects of Internet bulletin boards for Saudi youth, particularly as concerns online gender mingling (ixtilāṭ). As Al-Saggaf explains, in a rigidly hierarchical Saudi society where older members dominate face-to-face conversations, young people are unable to express themselves and develop their sense of individuality. Bulletin boards provide an outlet for this self-expression and development of self-confidence. On the negative side, he continues, participants neglect their family commitments, become less shy [i.e. reserved] and some become confused about some aspects of their culture and religion. 15 Al-Saggaf supports this claim when he notes that “once [Internet bulletin board] members become close friends and regularly meet each other face-to-face, issues of status, age, race, wealth and physical appearance may come to the surface again.” 14

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nadav samin The Majālis Qaḥ ṭān Board

The traditional prominence of tribal identity in Saudi society has found a useful outlet of expression in the Internet. Tribal bulletin boards now proliferate throughout the kingdom, where they serve multiple, often competing, functions: as repositories for information concerning tribal genealogies; as forums for discussion of pressing local, national and international issues; and as venues for socializing among tribe members. The bulletin board of the southern Najdi tribe Qaḥt ̣ān, Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n, is a representative example.16 As of December 16, 2008, the board had a total of 21,702 members.17 The tribal bulletin board is unique in that it is an extension of a pre-existing, narrowly defined offline community, a tribe, such as the Qaḥtạ̄ n. To better contextualize the discussions that take place on the Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin board, some historical background on the tribe and its place within Saudi society is in order. Before proceeding, however, it may be helpful to present some details about the linguistic features of the Qaḥtạ̄ n board, and propose some tentative conclusions about the evolving nature of chat room Arabic. Conversations on the Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n bulletin board occur largely in Modern Standard Arabic. However, users frequently incorporate central Arabian dialectal features into their postings, and some participants post comments almost entirely transposed from the spoken vernacular. The dropping of the initial and medial hamzas and their replacement in the latter case with long vowels, a feature common to all central Arabian dialects,18 occurs frequently on the Qaḥt ̣ān board. Words unique to the Najd, some perhaps to this particular southern Najdi tribe, appear in syntactically Modern Standard Arabic statements. Beyond this evidence for diglossia, it is difficult at this stage to assess the impact of asynchronous discussion forum communication on codeswitching within this Najdi community or among Arab bulle-

16 It is usually difficult to confirm the identities of individual discussants on Saudi Internet bulletin boards. Unless explicitly noted otherwise, users on Magālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n are assumed to be Qaḥtạ̄ nī, while users on the al-ʾAḥsāʾ Cultural Board are assumed to be Shi’i. 17 As is typical of Internet bulletin boards, however, only a small fraction of board users (10–20%) are active users. 18 Sowayan 1992; Ingham 1994.

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tin board users in general. Tentatively, one might say that the language styles prevalent in southern Najdi society find their mirror image on the Qaḥt ̣ān board, with some modification on account of the peculiarity of transposing speech to type.19 Ingham comments on the absence in central Arabian dialects of the indicative and present continuous marking prefixes such as bi- in Egyptian and Syrian colloquial.20 The frequent appearance of this prefix in discussions on the Qaḥtạ̄ n board underscores the transformative influence of Arab mass media on local dialects. Users on the Qaḥt ̣ān board, however, seem sensitive to this transformation afoot. One of the most popular and long running threads on the bulletin board aims to encourage board members to share their knowledge of the Qaḥt ̣āni dialects of southern Arabia, in an effort to recreate “the dialect our ancestors used to speak,” the thread initiator explains.21 Since May of 2005, scores of participants have posted their own word lists or commented on the contributions of others. This ever expanding, usercompiled lexicon merits further exploration by dialectologists and linguists interested in the Arabian peninsula, particularly in light of the acknowledged paucity of ethnographic material on the Qaḥtạ̄ n tribal dialect.22 To anticipate some of the prevalent themes of this chapter, one comment in the thread may serve as an example. After a contribution to the compilation which included the local term of praise walʿawn, user ʿArboud (‘Loudmouth’) issued a word of caution to fellow participants against the continued use of the expression.

                                         ( )   ()                                                           One of the religious scholars was asked about this term and he said that it is impermissible. The reason for this is that walʿawn or al-ʿawn is a

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As bulletin board communication is a kind of transposed speech, participants seek out ways to render the Arabic character palette equal to their expressive needs. Thus, one feature common to bulletin board discussions and present on the Qaḥt ̣ān board is the tendency for users to repeat letters within a word for greater emphasis. This combined with the use of emoticons, or font-sized graphics inserted into the text to indicate the mood of an individual statement, help simulate conversation more effectively. 20 Ingham 1994: 6. 21 “Lahagāt Qaḥt ̣āniyya . . . idxul wa-šārik” (‘Qaḥtạ̄ ni dialects . . . enter and share your thoughts’), Majālis Qaḥt ̣ān, http://www.qahtaan.com/vb/showthread.php?t=2319 accessed December 9, 2008. 22 Ingham 1994: 10.

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nadav samin deity who in days of old was worshipped in place of God, and from whom the people would seek aid and relief from hardships.

As will be observed in the subsequent analysis, the guardianship of tribal heritage in central Arabia often requires confrontation with religious orthodoxy, and bulletin boards like Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n serve as venues for negotiating these challenges. Historically, the territory of the Qaḥt ̣ān tribe stretched from south of Wādī Dawāsīr in the southern part of the Najdi plateau into the highlands of the southern Saudi region of ʿAsīr. A predominantly nomadic tribe, Qaḥtạ̄ n formed the link between central Najd and ʿAsīr, and served as the vanguard of Saudi conquests of the south. During the first Saudi conquest of ʿAsīr (c. 1802), Ibn Saud relied heavily on the support of the southern Najdi Qaḥtạ̄ n tribesmen, whose formidable fighting force provided much of the manpower used to subdue the region.23 Southern Najdi tribes like Qaḥtạ̄ n, accustomed to extracting tribute from their neighbors in the lowlands of the Tihāma (Saudi coastal region), perceived allegiance to the Saudi-Wahhabi movement as a way to advance their local claims and enhance the circumference of their own power. These traditional forms of inter-tribal relations held into the period of the second Saudi kingdom as well. In the contest between ʿAbd Allāh and Saʿūd, rival inheritors to the second Saudi state (1824–1891), the core of ʿAbd Allāh’s military support rested with the tribesmen of Qaḥtạ̄ n.24 Several times throughout the course of the Saudi Civil War (1865–1876), ʿAbd Allāh sought refuge with Qaḥtạ̄ n when his position in central Najd was weakened. Qaḥtạ̄ n also played a prominent role in the formation and development of the third and current Saudi state. Qaḥt ̣ān tribesmen were among those who famously sacked the Hijazi city of Ta’if and massacred many of its inhabitants in 1924. Indeed, Qaḥtạ̄ n tribesmen figured prominently within the Ikhwān movement, which, while initially a tribal militia loyal to the Saudi King Abd Al-Aziz, orchestrated the 1927 revolt against the British-allied ruler for his opposition to tribal interests. As a proud, formerly nomadic tribe whose namesake is the legendary patriarch of all southern Arabs, the modern day Saudi tribe of

23 Vassiliev 1998. According to Vassiliev, this tribal force numbered 50,000, larger than any other at the time. 24 Crawford 1982.

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Qaḥtạ̄ n can boast a noble pedigree within the rigid hierarchy of Saudi society. This tribal pride is amply represented on the Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin board. Images of falcons and horses adorn the borders of the Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n homepage, and appear frequently as user avatars,25 reinforcing the traditional significance of these creatures to Arabian tribal and cultural life.26 Today, the Qaḥtạ̄ n tribe and its grazing lands have been subsumed and circumscribed within the boundaries of the modern Saudi state, whose legitimacy is predicated on the maintenance of an opposing ethos—that of the universalizing faith Islam. The dilution of tribal identity is therefore a necessary consequence of citizenship within the kingdom.27 As is evident from the discussions on the Qaḥtạ̄ n bulletin board, however, this dilution does not take place without resistance. In the Najd, in particular, the issue of intermarriage between tribal (qabīlī) and non-tribal (xaḍīrī) status groups plays an important role in reproducing prevalent hierarchies in the kingdom. As marriage in the Najd is a contract between two families, ‘upper-caste’ qabīlī Najdis like Qaḥtạ̄ n will, as a rule, avoid marriages to ‘lower-caste’ xaḍīrīs. On November 30, 2006, a user on the Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin board (username Madhij al-ṭawʿān) posted a thread that called attention to a recent book published by Xālid ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Juraysī concerning this issue. Al-Juraysī is the president of Riyadh Merchant House, a Saudi office supply firm founded in 1957 and boasting more than 1,750 employees and 27 branches across the kingdom. Al-Juraysī’s father, ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Juraysī, is current president of the Riyadh Chamber of Commerce. The Al-Juraysīs are a xaḍīrī family, one of many such families who were able to capitalize on the opportunities afforded by the oil boom to establish themselves as influential players in the economy. The limits of the Al-Juraysīs’ advancement within Najdi society, however, are shown by the critique Xālid ibn ʿAbd al-Raḥmān al-Juraysī offers in his book ‘Tribal Chauvinism (Asabiyya)

25 On Internet bulletin boards, an avatar is the signature image of a user. It appears alongside the user name when he or she posts content on the bulletin board. Avatars can be a key indicator for gauging the sectarian, regional or political identities of a particular group of Internet bulletin board users in the Middle East. 26 A forum on the bulletin board is dedicated to horses, camels and hunting. 27 Mai Yamani argues that the opposite is true for the Hijāz, namely, that the unification of Arabia under the Saudi banner has led to the extending outward of Najdi tribal traditions into the Hijāzi sphere, where religious norms had prevailed over tribal identities, especially as regards such issues as marriage (Yamani 2004).

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from an Islamic Point of View’, as well as the discussions among Qaḥtạ̄ n is that ensues. The Qaḥt ̣ānī user who posted the thread, Madhij al-ṭawʿān, focuses his attention on two chapters of the text, in which al-Juraysī argues against the practice of prohibiting marriage between tribals and nontribals. The two chapters are called: ‘The most prominent manifestation of tribal chauvinism: prohibiting marriage between tribals and non-tribals’, and ‘The most important ‘compatibility’ (kafā a) required in marriage is compatibility of faith, not compatibility of lineage.’ According to Madhij al-ṭawʿān’s summary, al-Juraysī cites rulings by Sunni Islamic scholars from different historical periods, such as Sufyān al-Thawrī, Ibn Taymiyya and Ibn Ḥ ajar al-ʿAsqalānī, to argue that no reliable Prophetic Ḥ adīts exist to support the regulation of marriage relations according to tribal criteria. Al-Juraysī’s work includes an introduction by Sheikh ʿAbd Allāh ibn Sulaymān Munīʿ, a prominent member of the Council of Senior Scholars (the highest clerical body in the kingdom) who is also a member of the Qaḥt ̣ān tribe. Madhij al-t ̣awʿān cites the following excerpt from Munīʿ’s introduction endorsing al-Juraysī’s book:

                                                                              . . . . . .                                                                                                         Please be aware that in Wašm—one of the regions of the Najd—we have a family known for its uncertain lineage, though distinguished by its good character, family stock, good morals, piety, and probity, all of which set it apart from [even] some tribal families. I say this with the caveat that I am from a social class that, because of its noble lineage and high standing, makes rightful claim to a lofty status, as I am from a subtribe of Qaḥt ̣ān. That being said, the correct measure of compatibility and honor [in marriage] is religious observance and goodness.28

Munīʿ’s introduction, fitting for a religious spokesperson, encapsulates the poles of the debate within Najdi society, and the difficulty in reconciling tribal identity with normative Islamic practice. Acknowledg-

“al-Juraysī yurīd ʾan yatazawwaj al-xaḍīrī qabīlīyah (kitāb mutīr lil-jadal)” (‘Al-Juraysī wants the non-tribal to marry the tribal—a controversial book’), Majālis Qaḥt ̣ān, http://www.qahtaan.com/vb/showthread.php?t=18872; accessed December 5, 2006. 28

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ing al-Juraysī’s courage in producing such a work, Madhij al-ṭawʿān introduces a series of questions that set the tone for the subsequent discussion. Not surprisingly, Madhij al-ṭawʿān’s first appeal is to Najdi social hierarchies, as he wonders why it is that this book was written by a xaḍīrī and not a qabīlī, this being a work that concerns primarily the tribes. Second, he wonders how it is possible that an esteemed religious scholar of Qaḥtạ̄ ni extraction could have endorsed such a work. Lastly, he takes issue with the notion that the practice of endogamy is an expression of tribal chauvinism, pointing out that, whatever the religious scholars say, there are none among them who have married their daughters off to men of lesser or non-existent lineage.29 Needless to say, the spectacle of a xaḍīrī businessman teaming up with a senior religious scholar of Qaḥtạ̄ ni extraction to weaken one of the crucial pillars of Qaḥtạ̄ ni identity—its very means of perpetuation in fact— generates a flurry of responses on the bulletin board. Several unhappy respondents on the board begin by stating their objections to al-Juraysī’s work. One exclaims,

                                                            Writing such as this is meant as a way of refining people little by little, such that [intermarriage between a tribal and a non-tribal] occurs once, then twice, [and so on] until the matter becomes unremarkable. [I say] no to the renunciation of lineage and pedigree,’ the user concludes.30

Another reflects that marriage practices in Western society (i.e. love marriages) should not be taken as a model for Saudi Arabia because Western society is corrupt. In response to these harsh criticisms, user al-Zuhayrī al-Muġtarib, who identifies himself as a student at Missouri State University in the United States, weighs in with his thoughts. He points to the fact that the Prophet Muhammad sought to subjugate tribalism to the Islamic message, and cites as an example the popular Ḥ adīt: ‘If a man whose religion and character are acceptable comes to you [for your daughter’s hand], give her to him in marriage. If you do

29 Ibid.; Madhig al-ṭawʿān notes that a number of Islamic scholars considered compatibility of lineage a condition for marriage, but that al-Juraysī did not cite their opinions because they did not suit his argument. He specifically cites supporting evidence from Ibn Qudāma’s legal compendium al-Muġnī. 30 Ibid.

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not do so, there will be strife in the land and great corruption,’ and continues:                  . . .                                                                 ‫م‬              The stability and repose of the kingdom and that of other [adjacent] countries is threatened by nothing as much as by tribal chauvinism . . . we are all Muslims, whether tribal or otherwise, and believe me, the time will come when a tribal man will go and look for a groom for his daughter who is tribal or otherwise . . .31

While al-Zuhayrī al-Muġtarib cites the Ḥ adīt to support his less restrictive understanding of the rulings governing marriage in Saudi Arabia, other users deploy progressive statements of the Prophet to defend the traditional prerogatives of Qaḥt ̣ān in this matter. User Nisnās, while condemning tribal chauvinism on its face, paraphrases the famous statement from the Prophet’s ‘Farewell Speech’ (‘Arabs are not superior to non-Arabs, nor non-Arabs to Arabs, except in religious observance’) to defend the rationale behind endogamy, suggesting that as long as the motives behind behaviors and choices conform to the requirements of Shari’a law, then endogamy is not inherently reprehensible. To this effect, Nisnās cites a fatwa by Ibn Bāz, who, after arguing for the permissibility of exogamous marriage among Muslims, considers it unproblematic if some people wish to marry only members of their own tribe.     . . .                                                      What is important is choosing the marriage partner on the basis of their religious adherence and morals . . . and if a person wishes to marry only within his tribe, we are not aware of any legal controversy in this,

Ibn Bāz writes.32 Taking his inspiration from this citation, another user then appeals to the notion of maṣāliḥ wa-mafāsid—essentially an estimate of religious costs and benefits—as the appropriate guideline for ascertaining the permissibility of exogamy, and not any in-built, chauvinistic criteria.

31 32

Ibid. Ibid.

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              ‫م‬                                                      ‫ م‬      . . .   The religion, oh esteemed [fellow users] is clear. As long as there are problems and tragedies, they will be a consequence of this marriage between the tribal and the non-tribal . . . avoiding negative outcomes takes precedence over enticing favorable outcomes.33

The implicit impact of Nisnās’ position, Ibn Bāz’s ruling and the appeal to religious costs and benefits, however, is to make tribal pedigree a stand-in for Islamic rectitude, thereby reconciling Najdi tribesmen to the fully lived Islamic society Saudi Arabia aspires to be. Endogamy is given religious sanction so long as endogamy is not being practiced for its own sake, and is even meritorious if coincidental to the proper application of Islamic law principles governing marriage choices, which it will most often be. This outcome is no doubt convenient for the male members of the Qaḥt ̣ān tribe, but does little to resolve the issues addressed in al-Juraysī’s work around which the discussion was initiated. Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n, it appears, is Qaḥt ̣ān’s home turf, and home court advantage applies here. It is apparent from the bulletin board discussion that serious divisions exist over the issue of tribal endogamy in Saudi society.34 The Qaḥtạ̄ n bulletin board introduces a diverse array of stakeholders to this controversy, from an elite xaḍīrī businessman, to a senior government cleric of Qaḥtạ̄ n i extraction, to a Qaḥt ̣ān i student in the United States, to Qaḥtạ̄ n i tribesmen spread throughout Saudi Arabia and beyond. Absent as agents in this discussion, however, are women, whose futures are in large measure determined by the outcomes of these debates. Monira Charrad’s research on kinship structures in North Africa provides theoretical support for the discourse observed on the Qaḥtạ̄ n bulletin board concerning the role of women within Saudi tribal society.35 Though her analysis focuses on the relationship of indigenous kinship groups to the colonial and post-colonial North

33

Ibid. As Yamani states, “competition in ‘purity of blood’ ” in the Arabian Peninsula reaches its apotheosis in the context of intermarriage.” 35 Charrad, Monira. States and Women’s Rights: The Making of Postcolonial Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco. Berkeley: University of California Press. 2001. 34

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African state, her observations about the structure of kin groups is applicable as well to modern Saudi society.36 She writes that in a patrilineal descent system, such as has historically predominated in the Middle East, sons matter more than daughters for the perpetuation of the lineage, and identifies two contradictory principles that guide the determination of kinship relations within tribal societies in the Middle East: the first is a principle of unity, based on ties among men in the agnatic lineage, and the second is a principle of division, introduced by the necessity to accept in the kin group a number of women from other lineages. Among Najdi qabīlīs, ‘this principle of division affords Najdi men the option of marrying nonNajdi (often non-Saudi) women, while the principle of unity restricts the out-marriage of Najdi qabīlī women.’37 Looking beyond the Najd, a 1995 study on marriage patterns in Saudi Arabia found that 20% of Saudi females sampled were married off by their 15th birthday, while 83% were married before reaching 20 years of age.38 Taken as a whole, these observations point to the deeply rooted instrumentality of women in Saudi society. As a mechanism of empowerment, however, the Internet poses a challenge to this instrumentality, enabling the exercise of agency by women where previously (at least in modern history) no comparable domain has existed. Though the terms of discussion concerning women’s role in Saudi society are here specific to the Qaḥtạ̄ n tribe, the debate over gender mingling and resistance to female participation in new media is not limited to tribal bulletin boards. This debate came to a head in the controversy surrounding the popular Arab reality television series Star Academy. In 2004, and in response to an onrush of inquiries, The Standing Committee for Academic Research and the Issuing of Fatwas, the highest religious edict-issuing body in Saudi Arabia, issued a religious ruling (fatwa) condemning the viewing of Star Academy by Saudi youth. The primary issue of concern cited by the committee members was ixtilāṭ, the mixing of the sexes. In December 2007, The General Presidency of the Committee for the Promotion of Virtue and Prevention of Vice, the kingdom’s religious policing authority, announced that it was allocating 700,000 Saudi riyal ($187,000) to pre36

Indeed, arguably more so, given the relative absence of Western colonial influence on the structure of kinship groups within Saudi Arabia. 37 Yamani 2003: 81. 38 Farag, Al-Mazrou, et al. 1995.

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pare a study of the impact gender mingling has had on Saudi society.39 The debate over female participation in the public life of the Qaḥtạ̄ n tribe outlined below is therefore a part of a larger discussion underway in Saudi society, with tribal groups like Qaḥtạ̄ n arguably occupying a conservative role within the debate. In November 2006, a Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n moderator initiated a debate over female participation on the bulletin board, provoking an intense discussion over the place of women within the tribal structure and the role of the Internet in subverting social norms.40 The question posed to users was: ‘Do you support the existence of a forum for women on the Qaḥtạ̄ n bulletin board?’41 Approximately 50 users weighed in with responses, and though a number of participants objected to the proposition, almost half of all respondents supported the existence of a forum for women. Given the above-described position of women within kinship groups in the Najd, the fact that female participation on the Qaḥtạ̄ n bulletin board would be an anathema to many Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin board users is not surprising. Surprising, however, was the strongly voiced defense of female participation as (separate but) equal members of Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n, a defense ironically couched in the rhetoric of tribal honor. The presence or absence of women on the Qaḥt ̣ān boards is, for many users, a barometer of the tribe’s honor (ʿirḍ). Thus, one user finds that ‘the refusal to allow women to participate is evidence of [Qaḥt ̣ān’s] backwardness’, while another reckons that there are Qaḥtạ̄ ni women more familiar with Qaḥt ̣āni tribal custom (sulūm al-qabā il) than Qaḥt ̣āni tribesmen themselves. Supporters of a traditional patriarchal view of the tribe consider that Saudi tribal camaraderie is an exclusively male phenomenon, and that the presence of women on the Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin board diminishes the dignity and reputation of the tribe. ‘A devilish

39 “Bi-iʿtibārihi yusabbib al-katīr min ‘al-mašākil al-axlāqiyya wa-al-igtimāʿiyya’: Dirāsa li-‘al-Amr bil-maʿrūf ’ ʿan al-ixtilāt ̣ bi-al-Saʿūdiyya bi-700 alf riyāl” (‘Virtue Promotion Committee [plans] 700,000 Riyal study on gender mingling in Saudi’), AlArabiya website [Online], http://www.alarabiya.net/articles/2007/12/06/42598.html; accessed January 29, 2009; see also Kraidy 2007. 40 Al-Saggaf documents a similar ambivalence over the question of gender mingling among Saudi participants on the Internet bulletin board he observed. 41 “Hal tuʾayyid wujūd majlis lil-marʾa fī muntadā Qaḥt ̣ān?” (‘Do you support the presence of a forum for women on the Qaḥt ̣ān board?’), Majālis Qaḥt ̣ān, http://www .qahtaan.com/vb/showthread.php?t=17418; accessed January 14, 2009.

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notion’, remarks one user, a comment which is seconded by several others, including user Al-Democrati who says:                        . . .       )      (                                 . . .          Everyone knows that the sons of Qaḥt ̣ān . . . are extremely zealous in the protection of their women folks’ honor, and there are none more strict among Najdis . . . women have their own bulletin boards and forums with participants of their own gender [and so should not participate on the Qaḥt ̣ān board].42

It is clear from the conflicting appeals to tribal values by supporters and opponents of women’s participation that what is being contested are the terms by which the tribe itself is defined. This definition clearly involves being able to control the exposure of one’s womenfolk. Since these are not permitted to present themselves in physical public spaces, it may be asked, why would it be acceptable for this to happen in a virtual public space? To be sure, the polemic at times takes on an Islamic veneer, with both supporters and opponents of women’s participation appealing to Islamic references to justify their positions. User al-Māḍī al-ʿArīq (‘Noble Past’) is supportive:                                                                                                                                          . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .                                 [The Prophet Muhammad’s] wives and daughters were with him from the beginning of his missionary call, and even after his death, assisting him, fighting with him, interpreting his Ḥ adīt, and ruling on Muslim matters. We in Qaḥt ̣ān are not more zealous than our esteemed Prophet, but unfortunately, our Qaḥt ̣āni society does not give [women] their due rights. I expect that one who enters the Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin boards and does not find a women’s forum will say, wow, they are lagging!43

The sense whereby Qaḥt ̣ān has fallen behind other Saudi bulletin boards in terms of female participation may reflect insecurity on the

42

Ibid. The dotted line indicates that the original comment has been censored by board administrators. http://www.qahtaan.com/vb/showthread.php?t=17418&page=5. 43

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part of some Qaḥtạ̄ n’s tribe members, who reckon that, while Saudi society has grown in sophistication and embraced modernization, the Qaḥt ̣āni community has persisted in an outmoded view of this society and gender relations therein.44 Responding to al-Māḍī al-ʿarīq’s quasihistorical appeal, user Sayyid al-Qaṣr (‘Master of the Castle’) voices his disapproval:                   . . .                                                                                                                   The Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin board is for the most part for men. Women can participate on women’s bulletin boards . . . as for those who speak of the female Companions of the Prophet and make of them examples, such that they were female missionaries for the Lord, and the finest supporters of men at the beginning of the missionary call, and that they consulted with the Prophet—he consulted with them from behind a screen and in an anonymous voice.45

Other users introduce more orthodox religious considerations into the debate. In recognition of the pressures to incorporate women into Qaḥtạ̄ ni Internet discourse, user Saʿd ibn Ḥ usayn (who identifies his residence as ‘Riyadh, but my heart is in Tanūma [in ʿAsīr]’) calls attention to a fatwa by Dr. ʿAbd Allāh al-Faqīh, the administrator of the Fatwa Center on the popular website Islam Online, who rules for the permissibility of male and female participation on Internet bulletin boards with other strangers, provided that it adheres to strict Shari’aderived criteria of decency and promotion of virtue. But a third position can also be extracted from the debate. This view is upheld by a contingent of tech-savvy users who consider that the bipolar character of the discussion obscures a more relevant issue: the capacity of the Internet to mask identity, enabling Qaḥtạ̄ n i women to impersonate men and thereby participate surreptitiously on the bulletin board.46 ‘Ask yourselves’, one user notes, ‘why do women participate here

44

This supposition is based on several users’ comments, though further research would be required to confirm or refute its merit. 45 Ibid. 46 Al-Saggaf notes the difficulty of ‘gender switching’ among regular and committed participants, chiefly due to the fact that offline interactions on the phone or in person would soon prove the lie of the participant’s claims.

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with men’s names? Because the goal of the forum is clear to all of us’, namely, as a place for Qaḥtạ̄ n to congregate as a community.                                                      ‘I repeat’, says the user, ‘there are women on this board, and only because they post with refinement and for the benefit of all is no one able to detect that they are women.’

For other users, however, the inability to enforce the rules of participation on the Qaḥt ̣ān board renders moot any talk of women’s formal participation.47 As was observed above in the conflicting appeals to tribal values and Islamic mores, the implications of gender masking and other related consequences of Internet technology are interpreted according to the predispositions of the debate participants. As the prevailing current of opinion on the Qaḥtạ̄ n bulletin board inclines toward the replication of physical realities in the virtual arena, the reluctance to introduce a dedicated woman’s forum underscores the deep conservatism of this subsection of Saudi society. And yet, the strong appeals to gender equality by select male members of the board cannot be ignored. Together, these currents of opinion underscore the dueling functions of Internet bulletin board use within this online tribal community, as a mechanism both for empowering the marginal and for updating their peripheral status via contemporary media and in contemporary terms. The al-Aḥsāʾ Cultural Board As with practically every other sector of Saudi society, Saudi Shi’ites have seized upon the opportunities afforded by Internet bulletin boards to establish online virtual communities. Several distinct Shi’ite communities inhabit modern day Saudi Arabia, including the Nakhawila Twelver Shi’ite community of Medina, the Isma’ilis of Najran, and the Twelver Shi’i of Al-Aḥsāʾ (or al-Hasa) and Al-Qatif in the eastern portion of the country. In the three waves of Saudi conquests that visited

47 As one user notes, the idea that ‘an iron gate’ exists at the entrance to the bulletin boards is foolish.

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central Arabia from the time of the Wahhabi movement’s birth, the oases of Al-Aḥsāʾ and Al-Qatif were always the first regions outside of the Najd to be subjugated. In the 20th century, these rich agricultural oases were discovered to contain some of the largest deposits of oil in the world, making them among the centers of the Saudi fossil fuel production industry. While population estimates for Saudi Shi’ites are unreliable,48 they are thought to comprise between 10 and 15% of the kingdom’s population, and approximately 50% of the population of the al-Aḥsāʾ region.49 However, this sizeable proportion has not translated into equal representation in the kingdom’s political or economic life, leading to the emergence of a Shi’ite counterculture that saw violent expression in periodic uprisings against the state. The Al-Aḥsāʾ Cultural Board (Muntada Al-Aḥsāʾ Al-Thaqafi) is a representative example of Saudi Shi’ite Internet communities. Titled after the region in eastern Saudi Arabia by the same name, it boasts 34, 399 members.50 Unlike the Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n board, where interest in linguistic questions is largely confined to a single, lengthy thread, the Al-Aḥsāʾ bulletin board described below is awash in discussions about the region’s local dialects.51 Many of these discussions are cast in defensive tones, as the Hasawi dialect is the subject of some amusement within the kingdom due to its relative unintelligibility to nonnative speakers. “In all honesty,” a user confesses,

                           (((   )))                                 . . .                           I sometimes ask myself, why isn’t our dialect more attractive? At the same time, I cannot allow anyone to disrespect our beautiful dialect. Indeed, I’m proud to be a Hasawi.52

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Jones 2006. Ibrahim 2006. 50 Over the past two years, the board has witnessed a near six-fold increase in membership. 51 Though, as with the Qaḥt ̣ān board, these conversations transpire for the most part in literary Arabic. 52 “al-Lahga al-Ḥ asāʾiyya . . . mutaxallifa” (‘The Hasawi dialect is . . . backwards’), Muntada Al-Aḥsāʾ Al-Thaqafi, http://www.alhsa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=6849& page=2; accessed 11 December 2008. 49

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This pride is expressed in the frequent resort to al-Aḥsāʾ dialectal features, though as with Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n, the influence of non-Arabian dialects on board participants is apparent. The frequency with which the issue of dialect is discussed on the al-Aḥsāʾ board points to certain unspoken assumptions about the position of the al-Aḥsāʾ region within the kingdom at large. As Fuad Ibrahim explains, “. . . Najd, Hijaz, ‘Asir and so on are still regions alien to the Shi’is in the Eastern Province, and vice versa. When a Shi’a individual goes to Jeddah or ‘Asir, he does not feel that he shares the same socio-cultural traits as the local community; likewise, when a Hijazi comes to the Eastern Province, he does not think of that region as part of his realm.”53 The deep-rooted regionalism that pervades Saudi Arabia may explain the zealous regard board participants demonstrate for their local dialects, and the resistance they exhibit to the notion that the al-Aḥsāʾ vernacular requires reform or, at the minimum, modification when traveling within other regions of the kingdom.54                                                             My manner of speech has not changed from the time I was born until the present, and I won’t change a thing about it. My dialect derives from the villages, not from al-Hufuf and al-Mubarraz,

one participant explains with reference to the al-Aḥsāʾ region’s two principal cities, reflecting perhaps the dominance of urban Arabian speech patterns and the sense among residents of the oasis that accommodation to this situation entails the erosion of their own linguistic heritage.55 In the face of claims regarding their mother tongue’s strangeness and incomprehensibility, discussants frequently cite the presence of uniquely Hasawi words in the Qurʾān. “This is our language, which is expressed in several verses of the Qurʾān,” one user states, citing Qurʾān 69: 28 in which appears an unusual Qurʾānic Arabic construction that is characteristic of the al-Aḥsāʾ vernacular.56 In his 2001 study on Bahrain, Clive Holes lends weight to the notion that

53

Ibrahim 2006: 57. “Lahgatuka al-Ḥ asāwiyya . . . mawḍūʿ xāṣs ̣ bi-ahl al-Aḥsāʾ” (‘Your Hasawi dialect . . . a thread for the people of al-Aḥsāʾ only’), Muntadā al-Aḥsāʾ al-Taqāfī, http:// www.alhsa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=90789; accessed January 29, 2009. 55 Holes 2001: xl. 56 The example cited is contested by another discussant. 54

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Eastern Arabian dialects bear a resemblance to the ancient dialects of Arabia from which the language of the Qurʾān derives.57 As with so many other issues in contemporary Saudi Arabia, however, the purpose of this appeal to religious considerations is to legitimate deeply rooted practices within Hasawi society, in this case, the continued use of a local language in the face of countervailing pressures. While the Al-Aḥsāʾ Cultural Board is, as its name suggests, primarily dedicated to cultural affairs, a pan—Shi’ite political tint is apparent within the forums. Users on the Al-Aḥsāʾ board might feature images of falcons as avatars, but they are just as likely to choose Shi’ite icons such as Hizbullah leader Hassan Nasrallah or the shrines in the Shi’i holy cities of Najaf and Karbala as their signature images. Unlike the Qaḥt ̣ān bulletin boards, female ‘Hasawis’ participate actively on the board, posting threads and comments just as their male counterparts. This gender mingling is also commonly observed on Hizbullah’s bulletin boards, the latter’s practices in some ways constituting the model for politically conscious Arab Shi’i minorities in the Middle East. The pan-Shi’ite political sentiments described above are reflected as well in the current events discussed on the board. Thus, on separate occasions, users cursed Ba’athists and US forces for the November 23, 2006 bomb attacks in the Baghdad neighborhood of Sadr City that killed over 200 Shi’ite civilians, expressed satisfaction over the announcement of the death penalty for former Iraqi leader Saddam Hussein, and signaled their support for the Hizbullah-led Lebanese opposition in its attempts to topple the government of Prime Minister Fuad Siniora.58 As noted by one user,                   we must stand with our brothers [i.e. Hizbullah] who raised our heads high.

57

Holes 2001: ix. “Kullunā maʿakum yā šurafāʾ lubnān” (‘All of us are with you, oh noblemen of Lebanon’), Muntadā al-Aḥ sā Al-Taqāfī, http://www.alhsa.com/forum/showthread. php?t=20266; accessed December 6, 2006; “al-Qāḍī yaḥkum bi-al-iʿdām šanqan ʿalā Ṣaddām” (‘Judge rules execution by hanging for Saddam’), Muntadā al-Aḥ sā Al-Taqāfī, http://www.alhsa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=16960; accessed January 29, 2009; “Aktar min 150 šahīd wa 230 garīḥ ḍaḥāyā tafgīrāt madīnat al-Ṣadr al-šīʿiyya” (‘More than 150 martyrs and 230 injured victims of Sadr City explosions’), Muntadā al-Aḥ sā Al-Taqāfī, http://www.alhsa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=19168; accessed January 29, 2009. 58

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In his study on Islamic uses of the Internet, Bunt remarks on the ways by which “Cyber Islamic Environments have the power to enable elements within Muslim populations in minority and majority arenas to hold dialogue (not necessarily amicably) with each other.”59 In the wake of the invasion of Iraq and the subsequent ascendancy of Iraq’s Shi’i majority, a rising tide of sectarianism was apparent on some Arab and Islamic Internet bulletin boards. These polemics appeared often in their traditional form, with Sunni participants attacking the sanctity of Shi’ite historical figures such as Hussein and Ali, and Shi’i participants defending their doctrine while criticizing Sunnis for unjustly lauding the Umayyad caliphs Mu‘awiya and Yazid, considered by Shi’ites to be the usurpers of Ali’s rightful authority over the Islamic community. Now, with Shi’i political movements in Lebanon, Bahrain and Iraq appearing to gain political momentum, a wave of anxiety has swept through majority Sunni states like Egypt, Jordan and Saudi Arabia, reflected at times in the official media. It is in this context that a discussion observed on the Al-Aḥsāʾ Cultural Board between Sunni and Shi’ite Saudi users’ needs be framed. In late November 2006, a user posted an article from the Saudi newspaper Al-Watan featuring an interview with a middle-aged Egyptian woman now resident in Kuwait who, the article claimed, had converted from Salafism to Shi’ism in 1993 after having been convinced of the latter’s validity. In the interview, Umm Ahmad expresses her hope that the rest of Egypt will also see the light and convert to Shi’ism, as this is said to be one of the signs of the appearance of the Mahdi, the Muslim messianic figure common to both Sunni and Shi’ite, but central to the theology of the latter. The interview continues in the same vein, with the tone of her commentary generally disparaging of Sunni faith and practice. Four Al-Aḥsāʾ board members, two male and two female, respond approvingly to the post, with one expressing his hope that all Sunni eventually adopt the perspective of Umm Ahmed and convert to the true faith. It is then that a female Sunni user from Medina interjects, inquiring why the anti-Sunni commentary of Umm Ahmed was not censored out of the original thread posting:

59

Bunt 2003.

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                ‫؟‬                       . . .                                ‫؟‬           Is not your slogan, my beloved Shi’i brothers and sisters on this board, the renunciation of chauvinism and fomenting strife? Are there not Sunnis beloved to you on this board who are also intent on their feelings?60

After apologizing to the Sunni complainant, the original poster notes that he has deep respect for the Sunni sect, ‘with the exception of those who attack Ali and his family.’ The expressions of Saudi Shi’i assertiveness and self-confidence observable in this thread are undoubtedly a reflection of the resurgent pan-Shi’i politics in the region described summarily above, a politics that has enabled users to ‘raise their heads high.’ Furthermore, the discussion reflects the impact the Internet has had on Shi’ite communities in the Arabian Gulf, which has engendered a new mode of cultural expression that pushes back against the state in the virtual sphere where opportunities to do so in the physical sphere have historically been limited.61 Conclusion The evolution of Internet bulletin board technologies has come to fulfill a pressing need for relatively unfettered public discourse in the Middle East. However, while Internet bulletin boards provide viable arenas for the playing out of a public conversation, these forums, like the Internet in general, cannot be treated as a panacea for the absence of a space for public discourse in the Middle East, nor should they be viewed monolithically as instruments of progress and reform. Rather, bulletin boards must be looked at within the context of the expanding media environment in the Middle East, which serves to undermine, to greater or lesser degrees, the monopoly on information previously maintained by states. In the case of Saudi Arabia, the relative autonomy of communication engendered by Internet bulletin board use produces some

60 “Umm Aḥmād, al-Miṣriyya al-mutašayyiʿa”, Muntadā al-Aḥ sạ̄ al-thaqāfī, http:// www.alhsa.com/forum/showthread.php?t=19101; accessed December 10, 2006. 61 The popular Bahraini Shi’ite website bahrainonline.org is another example of this phenomenon.

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interesting and unpredictable outcomes, as a comparison of discussions on two Saudi Internet bulletin boards has revealed. As a platform for empowering the marginalized Saudi Shi’ite minority, the al-Aḥsāʾ Cultural Board provides an interesting contrast to the bulletin board of the Najdi Qaḥtạ̄ n tribe. This latter embodies an effort to defend the largely state-supported prerogatives of tribal exclusivism and gender segregation against encroachment by women and non-tribal minorities, whose voices can be increasingly heard through the cracks of the Internet. It can be noted in conclusion that reconciling Saudi Arabian tribal identity with the Sunni Islamic identity of the state is, though laborious, an accomplishable task. Reconciling Shi’ite identity with the Saudi state, however, is considerably more difficult to envisage because most Saudis appear unwilling to contemplate such a possibility. References Al-Saggaf, Y. (2004), “The effect of online community on offline community in Saudi Arabia”, The Electronic Journal of Information Systems in Developing Countries 16(2): 1–16; http://www.ejisdc.org/ojs2/index.php/ejisdc/article/viewFile/97/97. Al-Saggaf, Y. and K. Williamson (2004), “Online communities in Saudi Arabia: Evaluating the impact on culture through online semi-structured interviews”, Forum: Qualitative Social Research 5(3); http://www.qualitative-research.net/fqs-texte/ 3-04/04-3-24-e.htm. Al-Tajir, M. A. (1982), Language and linguistic origins in Bahrain, London: Kegan Paul International. Alterman, J. B. (1998), New Media, New Politics, Washington, DC: Washington Institute for Near East Policy. Boyd, D. A. and M. Asi (1991), “Trasnational radio listening among Saudi Arabian university students”, Journalism Quarterly 68: 211–15. Bunt, G. R. (2003), Islam in the digital age: E-jihad, online fatwas and cyber islamic environments, London: Pluto Press. Charrad, M. (2001), States and women’s rights: The making of postcolonial Tunisia, Algeria, and Morocco, Berkeley: University of California Press. Crawford, M. J. (1982), “Civil war, foreign interventions and the question of political legitimacy: A nineteenth century Saudi qadi’s dilemma”, International Journal of Middle Eastern Studies 14(3): 227–48. Eickelman, D. F. (2003), “Communication and control in the Middle East: Publication and its discontents”, in D. F. Eickelman and J. W. Anderson (eds.), New media in the Muslim World: The emerging public sphere, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 29–40. Fandy, M. (1999), “CyberResistance: Saudi opposition between globalization and localization”, Comparative Studies in Society and History 41(1): 124–47. Farag, M. K., Y. Al-Mazrou, et al. (1995), “Nuptiality Patterns in Saudi Arabia”, Journal of Tropical Pediatrics 41(1): 8–20. Farjānī, N. (ed.) (2003), Arab human development report 2003: Building a knowledge society, New York: United Nations Development Programme, Regional Bureau for Arab States.

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Fernback, J. (1999), “There is a there there: Notes toward a definition of cybercommunity”, in S. Jones (ed.), Doing internet research: Critical issues and methods for examining the net, London: Sage. Hirst, D. (2005), “Arab leaders watch in fear as Shia emancipation draws near”, The Guardian Online, http://www.guardian.co.uk/Iraq/Story/0,2763,1399370,00.html; accessed January 27, 2005. Holes, C. (2001), Dialect, culture, and society in Eastern Saudi Arabia, Leiden: Brill. Ibrahim, F. (2006), The Shi’is of Saudi Arabia, London: Saqi. Ingham, B. (1994), Najdi Arabic, Amsterdam: John Benjamins. Jones, T. (2006), “Rebellion on the Saudi periphery: Modernity, marginalization, and the Shi’a uprising of 1979”, International Journal of Middle East Studies 38(2), 213–33. Kraidy, M. (2006), “Hypermedia and governance in Saudi Arabia”, First Monday Special Issue 7, http://firstmonday.org/htbin/cgiwrap/bin/ojs/index.php/fm/article/ view/1610/1525; accessed 29 January, 2009. —— (2007), “Saudi Arabia, Lebanon and the changing Arab information order”, International Journal of Communication 1, 139–56. Kurpershoek, P. M. (2005), Oral poetry and narratives from central Arabia. V: Voices from the desert, Leiden: Brill. Sowayan, S. A. (1992), The Arabian oral historical narrative, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Teitelbaum, J. (2002), “Dueling for da’wa state vs. society on the Saudi internet”, Middle East Journal 26 (2): 222–39. Vassiliev, A. (1998), The History of Saudi Arabia, London: Saqi Books. Warf, B. and P. Vincent (2007), “Multiple geographies of the Arab internet”, Area 39 (1): 83–96. Wheeler, D. (2003), “The internet and youth subculture in Kuwait”, Journal of Computer-Mediated Communication 8 (2): 148–63. Yamani, M. (2003), Cradle of Islam: The Hijaz and the quest for an Arabian identity, London: IB Tauris. Zittrain, J. and B. Adelman (2002), “Documentation of internet filtering in Saudi Arabia”, Berkman Centre for Internet & Society, Harvard Law School [Online]. http:// cyber.law.harvard.edu/filtering/saudiarabia/; accessed January 29, 2009.

LINGUISTIC VARIETIES IN TWENTY-FIRST CENTURY ARABIC NOVELS: AN APPLIED STUDY Soha Abboud-Haggar Madrid University “La Complutense” The use of dialect in literary works such as novels, short stories, poetry and drama represents a distinct feature of Arabic literary production, when compared with other literatures surrounding the Arab world (as in English, French or Italian literature). This is primarily due to the nature of the Arabic language which is linguistically diverse and mutlipolar as it varies between Standard Arabic, and the different dialectal varieties. Sharp criticism has been directed against this use of dialect by critics and scholars working in the field of linguistics and lexicology, on the grounds that it weakens genuine classical Arabic. These critics believe that there should be no need for dialect as long as the classical language carries all linguistic elements that a writer might need to express his/her protagonists’ feelings, whether in drama or prose.1 In spite of such criticism, the use of dialect has found its place in literary writing, and is a salient feature of several widely acclaimed novels. This study examines examples of language variation in two Arabic novels, and discusses the nuances and attitudes conveyed therewith. Prose Fiction The Arabic novel was not an exception and was not saved from this sharp criticism which was always called upon whenever a dialect was inscribed in a narration. However, the idea of using dialect as a means of generating a profound empathy between the reader and the novel’s characters, made opponents of the use of dialect give in and accept it.2 A number of twenty first century writers decided to go against this fossilised idea which has put the use of dialect in literature in 1

See Cachia 1992a: 412 and 1992b: 441; Booth 1992: 463–482; Somekh 1991: 3–10 and Davies 2006: 601–602. 2 See Allen 1982: 34–35 and 92–93 and Kilpatrick 1992: 241–242 and 250; Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd ed., s.v. “Kissa”; Moussa-Mahmoud 1996.

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a fixed and rigid mould. Just as they revolted against pre-conceived ideas about the structure of the novel itself, about themes, characters or narrative style, they set out to revolt against set conventions of the language use. They did so in order to express their own feelings and those of their characters, as to describe their surroundings. This linguistic change comes as a result of the total change their world has witnessed from the world of previous generations.3 It seems as if these writers believe that the ease of communication and mingling among the various Arab communities—through television programmes or via the internet—should also be reflected in the language they write in. Indeed, they must be are aware that their Arabic work is read, not only by Egyptian or Syrian readers, but also by Saudis, Yemenis or Moroccans. On the other hand, they may also feel that they have to attract a larger market in order to increase their profit. Moreover, it is likely that the new generation of writers, like preceeding generations of novelists, perceive of themselves as a mirror which reflects the image of the community they live in, with all its customs and traditions. If the writer so wishes, the novel can then become a tool for a social and psychological description of his/her community.4 This is also reflected in the close relationship which has always existed between written media (and, in particular, newspapers) and literature. First, note that many novels first appear on the pages of magazines and are afterwards considered successful works of art that contain all components of a pure literary novels. In addition, many writers are weekly columnists in newspapers or indeed full-time journalists.5 In order to reach all Arab readers, to express and voice out realistic conditions of their communities, many writers develop new techniques to express their overwhelming flare-up and find out ways to break the old molds. This is the point which we will be addressed in the following two examples.6

3

Hafez 1994: 111–112. In a number of interviews made with Modern Arab authors like ʿAlāʾ al-Aswānī and Rajā aṣ-Ṣāniʿ and published in European newspapers, they declared themselves to be the reflection of their society and that they were ready to struggle to speak freely about what they see around them (see the Spanish newspaper “El País”, of November 17th, 2007 as well as the French newspaper “Le Monde” of October, 8th., 2007). 5 The best and most important example is Naguib Mahfouz who worked all his life in Egyptian newspapers and wrote on al-Ahram’s pages until his death (see Wadi, 2006). 6 I shall not address here the linguistic features which characterize each of the lin4

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The Girls of Riyadh The first example is Banāt al-Riyādh (Girls of Riyadh) (first published in 2005), written by the Saudi woman writer Rajāʾ aṣ-Ṣāniʿ where an unprecedented attack is waged by the female protagonist against the customs and traditions of Saudi society, as represented by one of the Riyadh City Communities. The author uses an innovative narrative technique: short chapters, each forming an e-mail addressed by the writer to her readers. Dialogues in this narration are in the dialect of Riyadh, where the writer grew up.7 Consider this example of a dialogue in the vernacular of Riyadh, as represented by the writer:               — .             ،                              . . . !           ،      —   . . . !     . . .          —                                 —          !                         !

‘—He went there only to see me and, of course, I could not say no to him; —I don’t want to lie to you; I tell you the truth, I was dying to see him! —On the contrary, he never treated me in this way; he knows me quite well. —And another day he would say if you get a suitable groom, don’t turn him back! I really don’t know how he could have the heart to tell me this when he knew how much I loved him’ (page 202).

The writer is conscious that an honest transcription of the dialect, with no alteration in its features is basic for the enjoyment of the Saudi reader, the first audience of her novel. Saudis would perfectly understand the Najdi dialect, and would be able to imagine the pronunciation patters that are typical of this dialect. But if the reader is, say, an Egyptian, a Jordanian or an Algerian (which is very possible nowadays), she has to clarify the traits of that dialectal variety to guarantee

guistic variety used in the examples extracted from the literary prose fiction I speak about, considering that the objective of this contribution is to see how the writer uses those linguistic varieties in social interaction and within their contextual factors (see Fakhri 2006). 7 As can be observed from two fundamental variables generally used to determine a colloquial style from the standard (negation and demonstratives), the example given here of the Riyadh variety is undoubtedly colloquial.

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the text has been understood by all Arabic speaking readers. In fact, she makes the following clarifications:                                     .                                                                                                                            ،                                       .  ‘A small note regarding the dialogue in this email for those who don’t speak the Najdi dialect: The tās and sīn are equivalent to kāf in some cities of the Najd region, such as Qaṣīm while jīm is equivalent to kāf in a number of Gulf states, like Kuwait’ (p. 98).

The following excerpt of a conversation between Qamra and her husband is an example of a dialogue in which these linguistic features appear:

                      !      —                                        !              .                                  —!                 ،              — ‫؟‬    ،                                                      —! ‘—Listen, woman! You will come, and you will apologize. After that, you will take the next plane out and go straight to your family’s house. I don’t want to see you coming back here any more. It is in no way that someone like you could tell me what to do. —You can’t do these things to me, you Gmayer. If your family did not know how to upbring you, I will surely do! —This maid is your worth and that of your family altogether, do you understand? —This (maid) whom you don’t like, is one thousand times more honest and more righteous than you and your family!’ (p. 100).

Since we are discussing the mutual intelligibility of different Arabic dialects merging, it is worth adding that Rajāʾ as-Ṣāniʿ inserts excerpts in other Arabic dialects into her writing, such as the speech of a Lebanese television announcer, who is reported by the Saudi writer to have said:

                 ،                ‫؟‬                      —                                                     !                                       ”    “      !  .       ‘Bon soir to you! Whom do you expect the unknown person to be? Guess, And you will win two tickets with accommodation to Beirut to attend the prime show! You may have luck on your side and spend an

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hour with the dear one, who is our unknown personality! Call or SMS us at the numbers now appearing on the screen!’ (p. 44).

She also inserts the Egyptian dialect when the protagonist remembers the famous Egyptian actor Yūsuf Wahbī. Note that the phrase in colloquial Arabic is followed immediately by a relative clause in Standard Arabic:                  —  . . .       . . .”   ،  ”                 . . .

‘Where are you, Yūsuf Wahbī, come and see what is going on, with that move or standing phrase of “my heart, my heart!”—which you innovated and made famous to make us laugh’ (p. 109).

The shifting from one language to another, by the same speaker, and during the same stretch of discourse is a linguistic feature that occurs in many Arabic-speaking communities. The author portrays this feature in her dialogues, as in the following example (my italics):                      — . . .        . . .          . . .            . . .   —                . . .         — ‘—I am quite aware of this behaviour of our complex youth—they are mentally twisted. —Too much. . . . They are supposed to take from it and give. —True, she is so curvy (said in English), but she needs to lose some weight. . . .’ (p. 17).

Following the established tradition, well known among Arab novelists,8 the author uses the fuṣḥ ā variety to represent a dialogue which took place between two characters in English:

            .         —.                                             —        ،          ،  .           .                               !                  !                    —! ‘—That is better, I really long for living independently! —As you wish, but I feel sorry for you. Anyway, I have arranged everything for you. I found you a room with one of my (female) students,

8

Somekh, 1991, 25; Rosenbaum, 2002.

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soha abboud-haggar whose company, I feel, you will enjoy very much! She is your age and as naughty as you are, but you are much prettier!—Won’t you stop spoiling me? I am a grown up girl now and can manage on my own!’ (p. 156).

Rajāʾ as-Ṣāniʿ’s work bears witness to a variety of different patters of language use, and to particular lexical, morphological and syntactical features. She shows that an Arabic speaking society with its own dialectal variety does not live isolated from the rest of the dialects of the many other Arab speaking populations. In her novel, she resolves deals with this linguistic richness by explaining the features of the variety which she thinks is less known among Arab readers. It thus appears that code-mixing between varieties is the new linguistic situation Arab societies are living in, as a result of the impact of television and new technologies.9 While she does show that in the Saudi capital people in their conversations switch from one language to another as a consequence of having two languages in contact, she does not describe any situation where stylistic variation or code-switching (or diglossic-switching and mixing, that is mixing the standard variety with a dialect in the same dialogue and by the same person, is used, although this is one of the main features of Arabic speaking societies.10 It is the usage of that linguistic phenomenon and of diglossia as a linguistic reality that make another twenty first century novel, ʿImārat Yaʿqūbiyān ‘The Yacoubian Building’ by Egyptian novelist ʿAlāʾ al-Aswānī, a relevant one. One can argue that the author uses language, and in particular diglossia and stylistic variation, not only to portray social reality, but also to advance a political and ideological agenda. With this usage the author becomes an adequate example to study how the use of a linguistic form, as part of everyday behaviour, can become a pointer to (or an index of ) the social identities and the 9

It is well known the influence the Cairene dialect had—and still has—on many other varieties (see S’hiri 2002). What is new in the present-day situation is that other varieties, which were not diffused among Arabs (because they did not compete in the public space with Cairene productions of TV series, films and songs) have reached every house thanks to new technologies. In today’s Morocco, for example, people can watch Saudi plays, Kuwaiti debates or Sudanese songs, creating a new situation of “dialects in contact” which ought to be studied in detail. Such studies would extend our knowledge about the mixing of varieties in Arabic cities (Miller 2003: 198–199; Al-Wer 2007). 10 See Blanc 1964; Eid 1988 and 2007; Walters 1996; Myers-Scotton 1997; Eisele 2002: 12–19; Schilling-Estes 2005; Bassiouney 2006; Mejdell in EALL and 2006, among others.

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typical activities of speakers, as defended now by linguists and anthropologists working on Language Ideologies.11 The Yacoubian Building In ʿImārat Yaʿqūbiyān ‘The Yacoubian Building’ (2002), the special use of linguistic varieties appears as a kind of deliberate “game” with the Arabic language and the richness of social nuance that its varieties can shade. The author’s purpose is to arrive at a social-linguistic objective, that is to differentiate between Egyptian social components through the language. Most of the dialogues take place in a mere colloquial Egyptian dialect,12 like the following one which occurred between two of the main characters, Ṭ āhā and Butayna.         —!                          ..      ..      —                        ..               ..                                  ..                                                                                       ..‫؟‬   ..       —                    !            

11 As Kathryn Woolard wrote, “Language ideology is of anthropological importance not simply because of its ethnographic variability but because it is a mediating link between social forms and forms of talk . . . Ideologies of language are not about language alone. Rather, they envision and enact ties of language to identity, to aesthetics, to morality and to epistemology. Through such linkages, they underpin not only linguistic form and use but also the very notion of the person and the social group, as well as such fundamental social institutions as religious ritual, child socialization, gender relations, the nation-state, schooling, and law.” (Woolard 1998: 3). Another definition of Language/Linguistic ideology is that given by Judith Irvine: “[It is] the cultural (or subcultural) system of ideas about social and linguistic relationships, together with their loading of moral and political interests”; for Irvine, who studied the Senegalese locality of Wolof where French and Arabic are non-vernacular languages, the role of linguistic ideology is a crucial mediating factor in the process of linking the nature of linguistic differentiation with the nature of the social relationships and activities it indexed (Irvine 1989: 255; Kroskrity 2000: 5). These statements clarify the importance of that new field in sociolinguistics for the study of Arabic linguistic situation, whether spoken or written within societies; see also Irvine 1985 and 2001; Ervin-Tripp 2001; Eckert 2001, and Irvine and Gal, 2000. 12 As can be observed from two fundamental variables generally used to determine a colloquial style from the standard one—negation and demostratives—, the example given here of the Cairene variety is undoubtley colloquial (Abboud-Haggar 2003: 179–185 and 248–270; Bassiouney 2005).

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soha abboud-haggar ‘—Please don’t be sad, Ṭ āhā! —I am sad for my hard work; had they put conditions with regard to the father’s profession, I would have known. They could have said it is prohibited for doorkeepers’ children. Moreover, this is against the law—I have asked a lawyer who said that I would win the case if I lawsuit them. —Don’t bother yourself with a lawsuit or other things. Do you want my opinion? With these outstanding marks, you can join the best college in the university and graduate with honours. You can then travel to any Arab country, earn some money and come back to live like a king’ (p. 84)

The linguistic variety used generally in dialogues turned to Classical Arabic when the writer narrated the relation established between Ṭ āhā and an Islamic radical group to which he finally adhered. Whatever the topic or the occasion were, conversation between the members of this group, including the young man who generally spoke in colloquial Arabic as showed with Butayna, took place in fuṣḥ ā even in situations where a native Arab cannot imagine talking in fuṣḥ ā like getting into the bus or being in intimacy with one’s consort. By distinguishing those Islamic groups by the language they use, the writer very clearly made them a category of people that is far-away from the rest of the population. The Classical variety attibuted to those circles accentuated the proven relation between religion and language in Islamic countries.13 In the following excerpt, some examples of the dialogue in fuṣḥ ā between Ṭ āhā and the sheikh of the mosque who belongs to one of the Islamic radical groups are shown:                            — !  ،          ،                                 ..     ،    —    ..                                    !..                             —               ،               ..              ‘—But, your conflict with the regime will cost you your life; you will die, son. They will kill you in your first confrontation with them. —I am already dead now; they killed me in the detention camp! When they dishonor and disgrace you whilst laughing at you, when they call you by a woman’s name and force you to answer in your new name and you have to do so because of the cruelty of torture! —I no longer fear death. I have prepared myself for martyrdom. I really wish, from the bottom of my heart, to become a martyr and go to heaven’ (p. 268).

13

Haeri 2003.

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                      ‫؟‬         ،  ‫؟‬         ‘Even if they were disbelievers, have they not got an atom of mercy? Haven’t they got children whom they love and have pity on?’ (p. 236).

Like the Saudi writer, and many others, al-Aswānī uses fuṣḥ ā to quote a dialogue in a foreign language, this time in French:

             !         — ‫؟‬  —                                                          ،     —          ...                                  ..                                           ‫؟‬        ،           .. 

‘—My sister wants to hold on the apartment for herself ! —Why? —My dear friend, I am not pious as you know and there are things I would never think of. I haven’t got married and have no children. When I die, my properties will go to my sister Dawlat and her children. She wants to secure everything from now. After all these years, you are still naïve, why are you astonished of this evil behaviour?’ (p. 152)

It is important to note that in the Yacoubian Building, the writer is fully conscious of what the use of the classical variety means within the community. He expresses these connotations explicitly in the context of his narration:

                                             .                                       ...                                         . . .                         :                                  “                               .                    

‘Malāk realized that police officers assess any citizen in accordance with three factors: his appearance, his profession and the way he talks. Therefore, he used to speak to officers in a language that is closer to classical Arabic, which would make them hesitate to make little of him. He would say anything and then would yell in the officer’s face, in an affirmative tone: ‘You know that and I know it and so does the police commissioner and the security commander knows it too’. The use of Classical Arabic and the mention of security officer proved to be effective means to make the officers refrain unwillingly their disdain to Malāk!’ (p. 142)

Al-Aswānī applies this notion of diglossic code-switching to differentiate between educated individuals who really have power (or who

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pretend they have it), and the others.14 As an example, one might quote the following dialogue between Malāk and another neighbour, which takes place in front of the police station. Both characters pretend to be of an educated, powerful class to impress the police and their neighbourhood:

                     ..         ”—                   ‫؟‬        —!                     .              —           ...                    —‫؟‬    ،                                                        —                                      !”   ‘—As for this room, Mister, do you have a contract from the landlord that gives you the right to use it for commercial purposes? —Of course, I have a contract! —There is more than one ruling by the court of cassation on this issue and the case is closed. The contract is invalid, and you have got no right to use the room. —But, you are all staying here on the roof, why me? —We are using our rooms for housing, which is legal, but you use the room for a commercial purpose and this is illegal and we will not allow this to happen!’ (p. 100).

If we compare Banāt al-Riyādh novel and ʿImārat Yaʿqūbiyān, we find that one of the most prominent features of al-Aswānī ’s is the manipulation of the diglossic reality of the Arabic language and its social meaning. He gave a practical application of the diglossic codeswitching. On the other hand, the Saudi writer, Rajāʾ as-Ṣāniʿ, enriched her novel by other peculiarities of Arabic speaking societies, the bilingual code-switching and the multidialectal reality of the Arabic language.15 Actually, she described the different Arab communities through their respective dialects transmitted with all their linguistic traits.

14 In the following extract, features of Standard Arabic are easy to detect through three variables: negation, interrogative pronouns and lexis, while dialectal features are mainly detectable through demonstrative and personal pronouns (on the same topic see Mazraani 1997: 28–47; Mejdell 2006: 90–280; Eid 2002; Rosenhouse 2007). 15 On this reality in many other Arabic speaking societies, see Caubet 2002.

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Overcoming the Stigma against Dialects in Novels It is clear that both Arab writers, aṣ-Ṣāniʿ and al-Aswānī, have freely utilized the Arabic linguistic affluence and on a carefully thought-out purpose, after they have liberated themselves from the complex stating that the use of dialect weakens the novel.16 They would use dialectal varieties as long as it would serve the story. The two writers enjoyed a great success at the Arabic public level as indicated by the number of editions the two books have had. While the number of editions of al-Aswānī’s book has exceeded nineteen, that of Rajāʾ aṣ-Ṣāniʿ’s has reached seven. The present study has been conducted on that seventh edition. A cinema film was made of al-Aswānī’s book, a few months after its release on the market. Both novels achieved international success, as manifested by the number of translations made of both books.17

16 On language as a choice in Literature, see Mejdell 1996 and Eid 2007. I would like to point out that during a press conference with al-Aswānī, he admitted that the use he made of the linguistic varieties was not a conscious choice. Obviously, this sort of statement is not taken on scientific ground but a mere observation. There are two more observations which I would like to enhance as a complement to what has been said on al-Aswānī’s novel. As part of the fierce criticism directed against the Egyptian police and security forces, al-Aswānī represents their dialogues in pure colloquial Cairene, but filled them with insults and vulgarities. Officers and soldiers, shown as coming from the lowest classes in the Egyptian society, use the worst vocabulary in the whole story (see Abboud-Haggar, forthcoming). Secondly, the author seems to have selected the names of the protagonists in a very careful way. Thus, Butayna, the main female heroine, is named after the beloved Butayna of Umayyad poet Jamīl; the name for Ṭ āhā, the young male protagonist who joins an Islamic radical group, is taken from the Holy Qurʾān; Ḥ ātim is a reference to Ḥ ātim al-Ṭ āʾī, a character of proverbial generosity, which adds an ironic twist to the homosexual character’s generosity with whoever accepts to maintain sexual relations with him; finally, Malāk (lit. ‘angel’), the Copt, acts just like the contrary of his name, being nasty and devious. These details might prove that language was carefully manipulated by the writer to reach his social and ideologic aims—in spite of his assertions to the contrary. 17 It is noteworthy that translations do not bring out the linguistic peculiarities, which is the subject of this study. I had the opportunity to read the Spanish translation of ʿImārat Yaʿqūbiyān which, in my opinion, did not transmit the relevant nuance which results of the use of linguistic varieties. This, of course, made the translated novel lose one of its main characteristics. Curiously, the film, produced in 2006, in some of its scenes took into consideration the “language game”.

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It is evident that the use of dialect is a personal choice and a decision taken by the writer whenever he sits in front of a blank page to start a work ordained by his inspiration and revelation, which should produce what would make the reader enjoy. It is an indicator that the Arab writer has found in this free linguistic utilization an outlet to revolt against the traditional molds and an avenue that would lead him to the aspired freedom in every aspect. It is that freedom to decide which distinguishes one writer from the other and differentiates between their literary style. Al-Aswānī himself never resorted to using the dialectal variety in the novel which he wrote after The Yacoubian Building, that is Šīkāgū ‘Chicago’ (2007). Narration and dialogues are conducted in normalized Classical variety, as if he did not find in the dialect anything that could enrich the book, so he freely stayed away from using it. Like al-Aswānī in Chicago, we find other writers who completely refrained from using the dialect in their new works. I am thinking here of Sunʿ Allāh Ibrāhīm’s book al-Talaṣsụ ṣ ‘Snooping’ (2007) and Yāsir ʿAbd al-Latị̄ f ’s Qānūn al-wirāta ‘Law of heredity’ (2006), to mention only two examples. Many others have preferred, and still prefer, to insert dialogues in dialect into their novels written in fuṣḥ ā, as in the novel Rabīʿ ḥ ārr ‘Hot spring’ (2004), by the Palestinian author Saḥar Xalīfa and ad-Duktūra Hanā (2008), by the Egyptian writer, Reem Bassiouney. A few have decided to write the whole of their novel in colloquial, such as the one entitled Bānhūf Ištrāsī: Ḥ ikāyat al-ustā al-kahrabā ī ‘Bahnhofstrasse: The story of the master electrician’ by the Egyptian Sāmiḥ Farag and the novel of Min ḥ alāwat ar-rūḥ ‘For the love of life’ by the Egyptian writer Ṣafāʾ ʿAbd al-Munʿim. This kind of literary production still represents a bold stride as it still causes contempt within the literary circles despite the success it has achieved on the public level.18

18 On literature written in dialectal varieties, see Davies (“Dialect literature” EALL, 2006).

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Conclusion It has become necessary to look at the use of dialects in literary works as an added value to the art of novel. It has its own approaches which require serious study. It is not only meant to bring the reader closer to the characters, but it also has specific objectives sought by the writer that can be examined now in the direction given by the theory of “Language Ideologies” and its application. Scholars working in the field of dialectology need to take an interest in these literary works as they constitute a useful avenue to study two linguistic elements which are associated with dialects. The first is the study of the dialectal variety itself and its particularities through the literary work, given that the writer is the source of his dialect and a witness of other dialects. The second is to study the society through the use of its language, the interaction between language and society within the frame of sociolinguistic. The question which might be raised now is: Will an Arab novelist find him/herself obliged to create a written dialectical variety that will be completely loyal to the dialect he speaks about and, at the same time, will not be difficult to understand by an Arab reader who does not speak that dialect at home? The Arab writer may resort to innovation in order to keep pace with his time and bring Arab readers closer to each other through a written common dialectal variety, that is understood by them all. This remains a challenge for the 21st. Century’s writers. References Abboud-Haggar, S. (2003), Introducción a la dialectología de la lengua árabe, Granada: El Legado Andalusi. ——. (forthcoming), “Imarit Ya’qubyān: Una novela con un demoledor mensaje social”, Manhattan.Med ʿAbd al-Munʿim, Ṣ. (2005), Min ḥ alāwat ar-rūḥ , Cairo: Sanābil li-l-našr wa-l-tawzīʿ. ʿAbd al-Latị̄ f, Y. (2006), Qānūn al-wirāta, Cairo: Mirīt. Allen, R. (1982), The Arabic novel: An historical and critical introduction, Syracuse: Syracuse University Press. al-Aswānī, ʿA. (2002), ʿImārat Yaʿqūbiyān, Cairo: Maktabat Madbūlī. ——. (2007), Šīkāgū, 10th. Edition, Cairo: Dār al-Šurūq. (first edition 2005) Al-Wer, E. (2007), “The formation of the dialect of Amman: From chaos to order”, in C. Miller, E. al-Wer, D. Caubet and J. Watson (eds), Arabic in the city: Issues in dialect contact and language variation, London: Routledge, 55–76. Bassiouney, R. (2003), “Theories of code switching in the light of Empirical data from Egypt”, Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics XV: 19–39. ——. (2006), Functions of code-switching in Egypt: Evidence from monologues, Leiden: Brill.

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——. (2008), ad-Duktūra Hanā , Cairo: Maktabat Madbūlī. Blanc, H. (1964), “Stylistic variations in spoken Arabic: A sample of interdialectal educated conversation”, in C. Ferguson (ed.), Contributions to Arabic linguistics, Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 79–161. Booth, M. (1992), “Poetry in the vernacular”, in M. M. Badawi (ed.), Modern Arabic Literature, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 463–482. Cachia, P. (1992a), “The prose stylists”, M. M. Badawi (ed.), Modern Arabic Literature, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 404–416. ——. (1992b), “The critics”, in M. M. Badawi (ed.), Modern Arabic Literature, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 417–442. Caubet, D. (2002), “Jeux de langues: Humor and Codeswitching in the Maghreb”, in A. Rouchdy (ed.), Language contact and language conflict in Arabic: Variations on a sociolinguistic theme, London: RoutledgeCurzon, 233–255. Davies, H. (2006), “Dialect literature”, lemma in K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich and A. Zaborski (eds), Encyclopedia of Arabic language and linguistics (EALL), Leiden: Brill, I: 597–604. Eckert, P. (2001), “Style and social meaning”, in P. Eckert and J. R. Rickford (eds), Style and sociolinguistic variation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 119–126. Eid, M. (1988), “Principles for code-switching between Standard and Egyptian Arabic”, al-‘Arabiyya 21, 51–79. ——. (2002), “Language is a choice: Variation in Egyptian women’s written discourse”, in A. Rouchdy (ed.), Language contact and language conflict in Arabic: Variations on a sociolinguistic theme, London: RoutledgeCurzon, 203–232. ——. (2007), “Arabic on the media: Hybridity and styles”, in E. Ditters and H. Motzki (eds), Approaches to Arabic linguistics: Presented to Kees Versteegh on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Leiden: Brill, 403–434. Eisele, J. C., (2002), “Approaching diglossia: Authorities, values and representations”, in A. Rouchdy (ed.), Language contact and language conflict in Arabic: Variations on a sociolinguistic theme, London: RoutledgeCurzon, 3–23. Ervin-Tripp, S. (2001), “Variety, style-shifting and ideology”, in P. Eckert and J. R. Rickford (eds), Style and sociolinguistic variation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 44–56. Fakhri, A. (2006), “Discourse analysis”, in K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich and A. Zaborski (eds), Encyclopedia of Arabic language and linguistics (EALL), Leiden: Brill, I: 647–653. Faraj, S. (1999), Bānhūf Ištrāsī: Ḥ ikāyāt al-usṭā al-kahrabāʾī, Cairo: al-Markaz al-Miṣrī al-ʿArabī. Haeri, N. (2003), Sacred language, ordinary people: Dilemmas of culture and politics in Egypt, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Hafez, S. (1994), “The transformation of reality and the Arabic aesthetic response”, Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies 57(1), 93–112. Ḥ usayn, Ṭ . (1996), Mustaqbal al-taqāfa fī Miṣr, Cairo: s. n. Ibrāhīm, Ṣ. (2007), al-Talaṣsụ ṣ, Cairo: Dār al-Mustaqbal al-ʿArabī. Irvine, J. T., (1985), “Status and style in Language”, Annual Review of Anthropology 14: 557–81. ——. (1989), “When talk isn’t cheap: Language and political economy”, American Ethnologist 16, 248–267. ——. (2001), “ ‘Style’ as distinctiveness: The culture and ideology of linguistic differentiation”, in P. Eckert and J. R. Rickford (eds), Style and sociolinguistic variation, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 21–43. Irvine, J. and S. Gall (2000), “Language ideology and linguistic differentiation”, in P. Kroskrity (ed.), Regimes of language: Ideologies, polities and identities, Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press; Oxford: J. Currey, 35–83. Kilpatrick, H., (1992), “The Egyptian novel from Zaynab to 1980”, in M. M. Badawi (ed.), Modern Arabic Literature, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 223–270.

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Kroskrity, P. V. (2000), “Regimenting Languages. Language Ideological Perspectives”, in P. Kroskrity (ed.), Regimes of language: Ideologies, polities and identities, Santa Fe, NM: School of American Research Press; Oxford: J. Currey, 1–34. Mazraani, N. (1997), Aspects of language variation in Arabic political speech-making, London: Curzon. Mejdell, G. (1996), “Some sociolinguistic concepts of style and stylictic variation in spoken Arabic with reference to Nagib Mahfuz talking about his life”, in J.R. Smart (ed.), Tradition and Modernity in Arabic Language and Literature, London: Curzon, 316–326. ——. (2006), Mixed styles in spoken Arabic in Egypt: Somewhere between order and chaos, Leiden: Brill. ——. (2006), “Code-switching”, K. Versteegh, M. Eid, A. Elgibali, M. Woidich and A. Zaborski (eds), Encyclopedia of Arabic language and linguistics (EALL), Leiden: Brill, I: 414–421. Miller, C. (2003), “Variation and change in Arabic urban vernaculars”, in M. Haak, R. De Jong and K. Versteegh (eds), Approaches to Arabic dialects: A collection of articles presented to Manfred Woidich on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Leiden: Brill 177–206. Moussa-Mahmoud, F. (1996), “Changing technique in modern Arabic poetry: A reflection of changing values?” in J. R. Smart (ed.), Tradition and modernity in Arabic language and literature, Richmond: Curzon, 61–74. Myers-Scotton, C. (1997), “Code-switching”, in F. Coulmas (ed.), Handbook of sociolinguistics, Oxford: Blackwell, 217–237. Rosenbaum, G. (2002), “ ‘Do you parler Arabic?’ Mixing colloquial Arabic and European languages”, in A. Youssi (ed.), Aspects of the dialects of Arabic today: Proceedings of the 4th Conference of the International Arabic Dialectology Association (AIDA), Marrakesh, Apr.1–4, 2000 in honour of David Cohen, Rabat: Omnia, 462–472. Rosenhouse, J. (2007), “Some aspects of diglossia as reflected in the vocabulary of literary and colloquial Arabic”, in E. Ditters and H. Motzki (eds), Approaches to Arabic linguistics: Presented to Kees Versteegh on the occasion of his sixtieth birthday, Leiden: Brill, 653–674. aṣ-Ṣāniʿ, R. A. (2007), Banāt al-Riyāḍ, 7th. Edition, Bayrūt: Dār as-Sāqī. (first edition, 2005) Schilling-Estes, N. (2005), “Investigating stylistic variation”, in J. K. Chambers, P. Trudgill and N. Schilling-Estes (eds), The handbook of language variation and change, Oxford: Blackwell, 375–401. S’hiri, S. (2002), “ ‘Speak Arabic Please!’: Tunisian Arabic speakers’ linguistic accommodation to Middle Easterners”, in A. Rouchdy (ed.), Language contact and language conflict in Arabic: Variations on a sociolinguistic theme, London: RoutledgeCurzon, 149–174. Somekh, S. (1991), Genre and language in modern Arabic literature, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz. Vial, C. (2002), “Kissa”, lemma in Encyclopaedia of Islam, 2nd edition, Leiden: Brill. Wādī, Ṭ . (2006), Najīb Maḥ fūẓ: Amīr ar-riwāya al-ʿArabiyya, Cairo: Dār al-Maʿārif. Walters, K. (1996), “Diglossia, linguistic variation and language change in Arabic”, Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics viii, 157–197. Woolard, K. (1998), “Language ideology as a field of inquiry”, in B. Schieffelin, K. Woolard and P. Kroskrity (eds), Language ideologies: Practice and theory, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 3–47. Xalīfa, S. (2004), Rabīʿ ḥ ārr, Bayrūt: Dār al-Ādāb.

PART THREE

APPLICATIONS: APPROACHING MEDIA IN THE CLASSROOM

MEDIA ARABIC AS A REGIONAL STANDARD Karin Christina Ryding Georgetown University A text is finite, but its contexts are countless. Wai Chee Dimock, 1997 Cultural studies represents less a turning away from the literary, defined as a distinct discourse with particular uses of language and models of reading, than a broadening of the scope of study beyond a static site of privileged cultural experience both to a wider array of texts and to the historical circumstances contributing to specific writing and reading practices. Janet Sorenson, 1997 Scholars of the new generation are much more attuned to the non-European, genderized, decolonized and decentered energies and currents of our time. Edward Said, 2001

For some years I have considered media Arabic as a kind of keystone in the Arabic language spectrum—a dominant primary producer of language in terms of abundance and influence. No other form of Arabic is so widely spread, so accessible to the inter-regional public. Arabic media is both constitutive and reflective of a subaltern Arab culture and world-view that contrasts in both sharp and subtle ways with what the West often attributes to Arab public opinion. This genre is therefore of central concern to those who study and teach Arabic language and culture in terms of its reach, its role, its structure, and its content. Although a number of researchers in Arabic linguistics have turned to broadcast news discourse as an object of investigation, I believe that written news discourse as it appears in print and electronic formats is equally worthy of attention and analysis. This is so because of the central role that print media Arabic plays in creating and embodying standards for public use of written language, and the interplay between this kind of written language and various

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levels of spoken Arabic, especially the more formal, public-oriented forms of spoken Arabic, known as Educated Spoken Arabic.1 Process, Not Product A productive way to assess the functional importance of media Arabic is through the notion of process rather than product. Whereas all languages, whether spoken and written, are subject to gradual processes of evolution and change, media Arabic in particular, because of its status as a regional written standard and its contemporaneousness, represents a process at work rather than an achieved and uniform end point. It provides a useful framework for examining the problematics of written language register, variation, standardization, and mass appeal; for analyzing the relationships between authorship and readership; and as a site of linguistic shifts and innovated linguistic regularities. Print media Arabic in particular, through constant reformulation, reworking and revision, through wide dissemination, through a range of standardized practices, and through daily publication, is constantly involved in formulating its own identity as well as informing the Arabic reading public. As a reliable and widely accessible written source of information and commentary, media Arabic represents the most salient form of public discourse on a wide spectrum of topics and incorporates a number of sub-genres: current events reporting and analysis, editorials, economic and financial news, book reviews, theater and movie reviews, interviews with public figures, advertisements, feature articles, sports reports, social announcements, and many other topics fill its pages. For Arabic students at the intermediate to advanced level, journalistic Arabic provides an authentic and abundant source of political, social and cultural text. Modern Standard Arabic and Media Arabic Written news is considered by some Arabic researchers to be, almost by definition, a major source and primary context of what is referred

1 Also known as Formal Spoken Arabic (see Ryding 1991). See Ryding 2006 for an overview of Educated Arabic, as well as Badawi 1985.

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to as Modern Standard Arabic (MSA), the form of Arabic most widely studied and used for writing.2 Media Arabic is a language variant developed for and through current events in order to reach literate audiences and keep them informed, and to influence public opinion. Although one might not identify media Arabic and MSA as one and the same, media Arabic can certainly be classified as one of the most far-reaching, standardized, and pragmatic forms of MSA, and perhaps as one of its key sources. In Vincent Monteil’s L’arabe moderne (1960), he gives a description of what he calls ‘le néo-arabe’, that is, ‘new Arabic’, or modern written Arabic, stating that “on pourrait aussi le traiter d’arabe de presse, étant donné le rôle déterminant qu’a joué, et que joue encore, dans sa diffusion . . . lughat al-jarâ’id” (1960: 27). (‘One might also call it “newspaper Arabic”, given the determining role that luġat al-jarā id has played, and still plays, in its diffusion”.3 British Arabist Leslie McLoughlin, in his article, “Towards a Definition of Modern Standard Arabic”, bases his description on a piece of “quality journalism” (1972: 57). And Belgian linguist Mark Van Mol states: “The propagation of MSA mainly takes place via education and the mass media” (2003: 92). Defining MSA primarily through its vital and practical daily function as the language of the Arabic news media is a useful way to describe it, but it is certainly not inclusive of all forms of MSA. However, because of its range and extent of coverage, print media Arabic today is considered not only a means of access to Arab public opinion but also a form of written language which begins to bridge into educated or formal variants of the spoken language, especially the language of broadcast media (in reported interviews, for example).4 In this way it provides not only content, style, and vocabulary, but also a path toward spoken Arabic proficiency.5 For learners of Arabic whose future contexts of use are not fully predictable (such as university

2 “The growth of Arab mass media since the 1950s has greatly enhanced the wider use of Modern Standard Arabic” (Effat 2008: 199). 3 For more on this, see Ryding 2005: 8–9. 4 Abdelfattah characterizes newspaper Arabic as “essentially neutral, simple, yet expressive and communicative” (1996: 129). He further states: “In addition to its role as a medium of public service, journalism, being aggressive and innovative by nature, has a crucial role in adopting new structural and stylistic features” (1996: 130). 5 Effat remarks, referencing Badawi 1973: “The language of the newspapers developed and reflected the reality of the contemporary language, in which the gap between Classical Arabic and . . . colloquial Arabic is narrowed” (2008: 200).

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students), there is a need to learn a language variant that will serve for broad and general communication purposes, which will open doors not only to political and social viewpoints, but also to popular culture and topics of daily living. This is why students majoring in international relations form one of the largest undergraduate segments of the U.S. Arabic student population, and why they flock to courses based on Arabic media. It is the most pragmatic and effective way to develop familiarity with Arabic culture, society and politics and at the same time increase levels of fluency. For this reason, development of curricula and materials for the study of media Arabic is a key requisite for the expansion and strengthening of Arabic language instruction at the intermediate and advanced levels of proficiency. Roles for Written Media Arabic Although media Arabic can be studied as a linguistic phenomenon in itself, through the discipline of media discourse analysis (see Cotter 2001), the focus of this article is on media Arabic as a genre that can be both a pedagogical step forward and a learning goal. The teaching of Arabic as a foreign language is a small field currently experiencing unprecedented expansion; it has been a field where traditional attitudes and methodologies are strong, but which is beginning to come to terms with communicative goals, proficiency standards, and what those imply in terms of facility with primary (everyday) as well as secondary (formal) discourse. As any foreign language discipline, it faces “inherent ideological choices about the nature of language and about the nature of the learning process in the specific instance of instructed second language learning” (Byrnes 1998: 268). Especially in this regard, in terms of instructed Arabic language learning, and with regard to the unassailable reality of allotropic variation inherent in the Arabic language spectrum, media Arabic has a key role to play. Whereas “newspaper Arabic” has been around as a course option for many years, it now comes to play a more central role in curricular offerings, especially at advanced levels of instruction.6

6 See Rammuny 2005 for a discussion of the role of media Arabic at the University of Michigan.

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A notable issue in evaluating the sequence of Arabic instruction is that the differences between primary and secondary discourses in Arabic are substantially greater than those in European languages, and therefore need a more radical degree of professional attention and awareness. The traditional linguistic label for this situation, “diglossia,” has become a contested term because of its implication of a binary, black and white situation, whereas the actuality is much more complex.7 The issue is further problematised by the cultural stigma attached to vernacular forms of Arabic, which are considered debased or degraded forms of expression. The new Arabic roadmap of curricular goals and sequencing will be charted with respect to issues of discourse type, functional skills, building firm foundations, and expanded definitions of linguistic and social appropriateness. Media Arabic and Educated Spoken Arabic play key roles in bridging gaps between informal and formal varieties of Arabic, and in anchoring the development of communicative competence. Media language is a cornerstone of linguistic and cultural literacy in Arabic; a medium which can be a useful and pragmatic goal in itself, but also a partial goal or stepping stone for those whose eventual aim may be to study the Arabic literary tradition in all its depth, richness, and complexity. Texts for Written Media Arabic The classic University of Michigan Contemporary Arabic Readers series developed in the 1960’s consists of five volumes, the first of which is Newspaper Arabic, “designed to introduce the student to the language of the modern Arabic press” (McCarus and Yacoub 1962: v).8 Seen as an intermediate step toward helping students progress to the study of literature, the introduction openly states: “It is designed to help the student master the syntactic patterns and vocabulary characteristic of newspaper Arabic as an introduction to reading serious expository prose literature” (McCarus and Yacoub 1962: vi). Although the stated aims of that volume ultimately directed students toward literary texts,

7 The definitive source of contemporary discussions of diglossia is Ferguson 1959. See subsequent discussions in Agius 1991, Badawi 1995, Ferguson 1996, Hary 1996, Holes 1991. 8 The other readers in the series are: Arabic Essays, Formal Arabic, Short Stories, and Modern Arabic Poetry.

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it also served many area studies students as an introduction to regional issues, values, and attitudes. Moreover, because it was accompanied by vocabulary drills, grammar exercises, grammar explanations, proverbs, and supplementary texts, it has served for many years as a solid and popular classroom resource. The news topics are outdated now, and that has made many programs overlook it as suitable for contemporary use, but there are few substitutes that incorporate an equal quality of pedagogical design. What often confounds those who attempt to develop proficiencybased teaching materials based on written media Arabic is that current events topics change rapidly, and selections of authentic texts soon become outdated in content, if not in structure and style. It is essential to design and choose teaching materials that define and extract discourse frameworks, focus on features of journalistic style, identify and practice key vocabulary and collocations, and aim to build reading strategies. Therefore the most successful texts are centered on building core vocabulary, mastering essential grammatical features, and acquiring reading skills and strategies. The most recent contribution to Arabic media texts is Media Arabic (= Luġat wasā il al- iʿlām al-ʿarabiyya): A coursebook for reading and Arabic news, by Alaa Elgibali and Nevenka Korica (Cairo and New York: American University in Cairo Press, 2007). For each chapter, it outlines strategies for pre-reading, grasping the main ideas in a text, reading for detail, skimming, vocabulary building and critical reading. This discourse-based approach is far from the structured grammar-based syllabi of the past, and provides a prime example of what can be accomplished in terms of expanding the infrastructure of Arabic media instruction. Other contributions to the field include the following: Ashtiany Julia Ashtiany’s 1993 textbook, Media Arabic (170 pp.), takes selections from “the international editions of the large-circulation dailies . . . with some examples being taken from the local presses of North Africa, Yemen, and the Gulf ” (1993: xi, Introduction). Topics include political, economic and military articles, but the main thrust of Ashtiany’s book is to raise awareness and skills of Arabic students as to the analysis and comprehension of Arabic newspaper style and vocabulary. She therefore includes explanations of journalistic discourse strategies (e.g., synonyms, padding, and “frames”), and both oral and written exercises based on the readings.

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Kendall Elisabeth Kendall’s Top 1,000 words for Understanding Media Arabic (2005) (90 pp.) “aims to supply the core vocabulary of Media Arabic in a logical format to provide easy reference and easy-to-learn lists testing both Arabic and English and English to Arabic” (2005: 1). These lists are organized into eight subject areas, including politics, military, economics, disaster and aid, and others. Lampe and Montasser I include Lampe and Montasser’s 1998 SAIS readers in international affairs: Advanced Arabic (202 pp.), because its selections are all from contemporary newspapers. As noted in the ‘About the Book’ section of the front matter, these texts “were carefully selected from a variety of Arabic language newspapers available to the authors; they were chosen for their cultural interest to international affairs specialists and for their idioms and their range of technical terminology within each subject area” (1998: vii). Included in each lesson are background information, vocabulary lists, grammar notes, pre-text exercises, the main text, post-text exercises, supplementary texts, and broad questions on the texts. An Arabic-English glossary forms the back matter. The book comes in loose-leaf form, and there is also an accompanying interactive CD with readings and exercises to reinforce the printed materials. Nahmad One of the earliest newspaper Arabic textbooks, H. M. Nahmad’s From the Arabic press (1970) (135 pp.) contains a varied selection of articles on economics, education, health and social affairs, trade, inter-Arab agreements, agriculture and industry. These are accompanied by English translations. As the author points out, newspaper writing includes both “good journalese” and “bad journalese” and he presents examples of the most common kinds. He states: “A close perusal and study of these pieces will show the reader the different styles of newspaper writing. Some of the excerpts are written clearly and to the point; others are verbose to a degree with a turgid clogged style and complicated sentences” (1970: 15). Pragnell F. A. Pragnell has published two media-based textbooks, both with selected articles reproduced from Al-Sharq al-Awsat newspaper. The

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first book, entitled A week in the Middle East (254 pp.) originally published in 1984 and revised in 2003, is described by the author as “a dual-language reader featuring articles covering the main areas of media Arabic” (2003: viii). The areas covered in the 112 articles include economic affairs, international affairs, defense, sports, medicine, environment, technology, culture and others. The Arabic articles are accompanied by vocabulary lists, an English translation, and read in Arabic on a set of audio tapes, so that the student can both hear and read the Arabic. In addition, after every 10 articles, Rowland includes exercises based on the readings. These include multiple choice, question and answer, filling the blanks, and matching headlines to articles. An exercise key and an Arabic-English glossary form the back matter. Pragnell’s second book, The Arab news (2003) (167 pp.) is “a duallanguage progressively graded reader for intermediate students of Arabic wishing to familiarize themselves with the language of business and economics as found in the Arabic newspapers” (2003: 1). Again, these 96 articles, taken from Al-Sharq Al-Awsat, are accompanied by vocabulary lists, English translations, and review exercises every 6 lessons, followed by an exercise key and Arabic-English glossary. Conclusion A careful analysis of the topics contained in these newspaper Arabic textbooks shows a concentration on economic and political articles, although there is a great deal more variation in the actual newspapers themselves, where a wide range of cultural and social themes and events are covered, as well as more literary topics. Admittedly, many students seeking knowledge of newspaper Arabic are most interested in current events and international affairs, but the richness and depth of newspaper and periodical offerings in the realm of cultural studies is not to be underestimated. That is why textbooks cannot fully substitute for the real thing. Although they can facilitate and focus the acquisition of vocabulary, syntax, and style, the context and co-text of actual written media Arabic are valuable components of the Arabic learning experience. Media Arabic covers the skills and knowledge necessary to understand and explore international and regional events from an Arab point of view, but it can also be a key factor in structuring and defining explicit spoken and written standards as goals for learners of Arabic

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as a second language. In developing proficiency guidelines and skill level definitions, in preparing materials, in communicative classroom methodology, media Arabic can play a central role. References Abdelfattah, N. M. S. (1996), “Reflections on the sociolinguistic force of journalism in the process of language development in Egypt”, in A. Elgibali (ed.), Understanding Arabic, Cairo: American University in Cairo Press, 129–36. Agius, D. A. (ed.) (1991), Diglossic tension—Teaching Arabic for communication: Beaconsfield Papers, Leeds: Folia Scholastica. Ashtiany, J. (1993), Media Arabic, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press. Badawi, E. M. (1973), Mustawayāt al-luġa al-ʿarabiyya al-muʿāṣira fī miṣr. Cairo: Dār al-Maʿārif. ——. (1985), “Educated Spoken Arabic: A problem in teaching Arabic as a foreign language”, in K. R. Jankowsky (ed.), Scientific and humanistic dimensions of language, Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 15–22. ——. (2002), “In the quest for the level 4+ in Arabic: Training level 2–3 learners in independent reading”, in B. L. Leaver and B. Shekhtman (eds), Developing professional-level language proficiency, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 157–76. Byrnes, H. (1998), “Constructing curricula in collegiate foreign language departments”, in H. Byrnes (ed.), Learning foreign and second languages: Perspectives in research and scholarship, New York: Modern Language Association. Cotter, C. (2001), “Discourse and media”, in D. Schiffrin, D. Tannen, and H. E. Hamilton (eds), The handbook of discourse analysis, Oxford: Blackwell. Dimock, W. C. (1997), “A theory of resonance”, PMLA 112(5), 1060–1071. Effat, R. M. (2008), “Media Arabic”, in Encyclopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics, Leiden: Brill, iii, 199–204. Elgibali, A. and N. Korica (2007), Media Arabic (= Luġat wasā il al- iʿlām al-ʿarabiyya): A coursebook for reading and Arabic news, Cairo and New York: American University in Cairo Press. Ferguson, C. (1959), “Diglossia”, Word 15, 325–340. ——. (1996), “Diglossia revisited”, in A. Elgibali (ed.), Understanding Arabic, Cairo: American University in Cairo Press. Hary, B. (1996), “The importance of the language continuum in Arabic multiglossia”, in A. Elgibali (ed.), Understanding Arabic, Cairo: American University in Cairo Press Holes, C. (1991), “A multi-media, topic-based approach to university-level Arabic language teaching”, in D. A. Agius (ed.), Diglossic tension: Teaching Arabic for communication, Leeds: Folia Scholastica. Kendall, E. (2005), The top 1,000 words for understanding media Arabic, Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press. Lampe, G. and S. Montasser (1998), SAIS reader in international affairs: Advanced Arabic, Washington and Dubuque: School of Advanced International Studies and Kendall/Hunt Publishing Company. McCarus, E. N. and A. I. Yacoub (1962), Contemporary Arabic readers, Vol. I: Newspaper Arabic, Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press. McLoughlin, L. (1972), “Towards a definition of Modern Standard Arabic”, Archivum Linguisticum: New Series 3, 57–73. Monteil, V. (1960), L’arabe moderne. Paris: Klincksieck.

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Nahmad, H. M. (1970), From the Arabic press: A language reader in economic and social affairs. London: Lund Humphries. Pragnell, F. (1984), A week in the Middle East: An Arabic language reader. London: Lund Humphries. Revised edition, 2003. Kingston Upon Thames: Pragnell Books. ——. (2003), The Arab news: An Arabic-English reader for intermediate students. Kingston-upon-Thames: Pragnell Books. Rammuny, R. (2005), “Integrating media into Arabic instruction: Advantages and challenges”, ADFL Bulletin 37(1), 40–52. Rowland, H. D. (1997), Let’s read the Arabic newspapers. Troy, MI: International Book Centre. Ryding, K. C. (1991), “Proficiency despite diglossia: A new approach for Arabic”, Modern Language Journal 75(2), 212–8. ——. (2005), A reference grammar of modern standard Arabic, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ——. (2006), “Educated Arabic”, in Encylopedia of Arabic Language and Linguistics. Leiden: Brill, i: 666–71. Said, E. (2001), “Globalizing Literary Study”, PMLA 116(1), 64–8. Sorenson, J. (1997), “Forum letter”, PMLA 112(2), 270–1. Van Mol, M. (2003), Variation in Modern Standard Arabic in radio news broadcasts. Louvain: Peeters.

A FRAMEWORK FOR TEACHING VOCABULARY THROUGH PRINTED MEDIA Raghda El-Essawy American University in Cairo Learning a new word in L2 is a difficult task that involves covering various dimensions. Nation (1990) presents a list of “word knowledge types” that “complete knowledge” of a word involves. Those types are: Spoken form, written form, grammatical behavior, stylistic register constraints, frequency, conceptual meaning, and word association (Gass & Selinker 2001: 374). Although such “complete knowledge” can prove difficult to achieve even to some native speakers, knowledge of at least the first four of the above mentioned levels is needed to use a new lexical item successfully in communication. Learning new vocabulary is also one of the most important tasks that our AFL/ASL learners need to accomplish in order to be able to communicate successfully using the language. The importance of this task is revealed by results of research in SLA that emphasize two dimensions. The first is the critical importance of vocabulary in successful communication. Researchers like Wilkins (1972) have shown that most problems of miscommunication result from using the wrong vocabulary as opposed to using the wrong grammatical structures (Barcroft 2004). This should carry important indications to most AFL/ASL teachers who devote extensive class time to working with grammar at the expense of other important aspects of the language like vocabulary. The second dimension that leads to importance learning vocabulary in the process of L2 learning is the role it plays in the development of grammatical competence. Research in SLA (Healy & Sherrod, 1994; Serwatka & Healy 1998) has revealed the importance of “the relationship between vocabulary and how grammatical knowledge is stored in the minds of learners and language users” (Barcroft 2004: 200). As a result of all the above a lot of research has been done on issues related to lexical acquisition in L2. Issues studied have included means of introducing new vocabulary (incidentally and/or intentionally), the incremental nature of the learning process, lexical input processing, vocabulary retention and retrieval, methods of instruction (direct or

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indirect). Language teachers would need to take the results of research about all of the above factors into consideration when introducing new vocabulary in class. Other dimensions that need to be taken into consideration are the pedagogical dimensions. Issues like what vocabulary to introduce to learners, how to introduce them and in what context (type of context), also need to be dealt with. Thus it would seem from all the above that it is the L2 teacher’s responsibility to handle a number of challenges at the same time when dealing with the issue of teaching vocabulary. The three main challenges that any teacher must face are: – Deciding on the principles on which to base their teaching. – Deciding on text types they would depend upon to fulfill these principles – Deciding on a set of class practices or activities which would successfully put to practice the principles and make use of text types. This contribution will attempt to introduce suggestions to AFL teachers that would assist them to deal with the above mentioned challenges. Text Types and Acquisition of New Vocabulary In the following section, I would like to discuss the ways in which teachers might use printed media as a valuable source of different text types, in order to introduce and practice using new vocabulary. The reasons for that suggestion are as follows: a) Printed media is a source of authentic input (meaning-focused input) necessary for incidental learning. As mentioned earlier, printed media is an excellent source of material. As Larimer, Schleicher & DaCosta (1999) point out, media present a variety of genres and writing styles that makes it possible for the teacher to depend on it for teaching a variety of skills at different proficiency levels. For printed media could include poems, short stories, advertisements, and even time tables. In other words, media present texts that exhibit extended discourse as well as single-word texts. Furthermore, most texts that appear in printed media (except for literary texts) use a language marked by being to the point, in the sense that

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it expresses meaning in simple, clear, and concise language or words (as opposed to figurative expressions that could appear in literary texts) making such texts a suitable form of input for most L2 learners. As Šaraf (1991) points out, the written style and language of media      are tend to do away with any excesses—so expressions like        more likely to appear rather than        . Such differences between printed media and other forms of printed input make it much easier to deal with in terms of lexical types used. b) Printed media may serve as a means of presenting strategies necessary for facilitating learning/teaching of vocabulary. Although the strategies facilitating vocabulary learning/teaching are to be discussed in detail in the following section of this contribution (when discussing principles that should underlie the process of vocabulary teaching/learning), this section will hint at the learning/teaching strategies that printed media could help introduce. The role of printed media in facilitating guessing and making inferences. Compared to other sources of printed input—like literature, for example—media have the advantage of having text forms whose main features show some stability across cultures. Newspaper editorials or ads, for instance, have many shared features with similar genres in printed media in other cultures. What is more, a lot of what appears in printed media (especially news media) learners already know or at least have some information about. Printed media is also marked by having visual cues like pictures or cartoons. All of the above makes it much easier to activate the right schemata while reading, which in turn increases the chances of text comprehension through making more accurate inferences about the meaning of vocabulary. The role of printed media in developing fluency through repeated exposure. Another advantage that media texts have is the similarity in format and pool of vocabulary in which a certain type of news appear. For example, news about state visits are presented in very similar format and using the same set of vocabulary. This makes it easier to increase the learners’ chances of encountering the same set of vocabulary repeatedly. Such repeated exposure to vocabulary in authentic material makes learners’ chances of vocabulary retention and retrieval much higher and therewith increases learners’ fluency, as will be shown in more detail below. The role of media in presenting needed types of vocabulary. With this variation in writing genres comes a variation in types of vocabulary. In fact a teacher could find a wide range of vocabulary types from names of home appliances to vocabulary needed to discuss human

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raghda el-essawy rights and constitutional changes. This makes it possible to use printed media to introduce or re-enforce all types of vocabulary necessary for all levels of proficiency. Furthermore, printed media by virtue of its being a source of texts that deals with issues of interest to members of target (culture using vocabulary that those members use to address such issues), could help to introduce such vocabulary to AFL/ASL learners. This is emphasized by Šaraf (1991) who points out that researchers like Landau have indicated that the most frequent 500 words in Arabic prose represent 56% of total number of words used in different texts of different genres as opposed to 61% in case of printed media. This indicates the recursiveness of the most frequently used words in Arabic media.

c) Printed media may serve to highlight cultural variation. In the classroom, print media may serve to highlight differences/ similarities in cultural stand points towards certain issues. Perhaps the easiest to note would be the difference between words like, Israeli    check points, in the west bank that are referred to as “barriers”   in Arabic. Principles of Vocabulary Acquisition in Arabic Based on the results of recent research into SLA and pedagogy, one can formulate a number of principles that AFL teachers can use to help learners with the difficult task of learning new vocabulary in Arabic: a) Depend on both incidental learning by meaning-focused input and intentional learning of vocabulary by language-focused instruction (In other words, focus on form as well as meaning or language as system as well as language as message). Research in the last two or three decades suggests that there are two ways by which learners could acquire L2 vocabulary: intentional and/or incidental. Intentional acquisition refers to cases where learners are acquiring words while intending to do so (Barcroft 2004: 201). It is therefore expected that learners during intentional learning and through language-focused instruction would direct their attention to language items not for producing or understanding a message. Thus learners could be encouraged to intentionally learn the meaning of a word, focus on a word’s spelling and pronunciation, memorize collocations and so on. Incidental learning on the other hand is defined by Wesche & Paribakht (1996, in Gass and Selinker 2001) as what hap-

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pens when “learners are focused on comprehending meaning rather than on the explicit goal of learning new words” (p. 379). It is therefore expected that incidental acquisition of L2 vocabulary would take place when L2 learners are exposed to verbal or written input, and that learners would only focus on the message in such an input (meaningfocused). Many researchers assert the value of incidental acquisition of all aspects of language (vocabulary, syntax, morphology, phonology) from L2 input (VanPatten & Williams 2007, Carroll 2001, VanPatten 2007, Krashen 1982, Nagy, Herman, & Anderson 1985, Chun & Plass 1996, Day, Omura, & Hiramatsu 1991, Zimmerman 1997, and others). Other researchers however question the existence of anything that could be called incidental learning as Lantlof & Throne indicate “What is called incidental learning is not really incidental. It is intentional, goal directed, meaningful activity” (2007: 218). Disagreement about intentional vs. incidental learning of vocabulary includes disagreement about the value of each type of learning to the process of vocabulary learning. Nation (2002) suggests that the effect of incidental learning on vocabulary growth depends upon the amount and variety of meaning-focused input (since acquisition is cumulative/incremental process and depends upon repeated exposure to vocabulary). Another factor that could negatively affect incidental learning (or learning through meaning focused input only) is that it depends upon learners’ control of reading/listening skill. Nation (2002) suggests that incidental learning from authentic texts requires a developed reading skill. Al Batal (2006) seems to agree with this principle since he points out that the level most suitable for incidental learning of vocabulary is the advanced level. For the same reason, Nation (2002) and Beglar (2002) have argued for the use of graded or simplified readers to prepare learners for authentic texts. However, I would like to concur with Barcroft’s (2004) view that vocabulary learning can neither be defined as a purely incidental nor as a purely intentional process, but is better described as a continuum. Vocabulary is first encountered incidentally (meaning is only guessed), which results in rousing learners’ consciousness of the word. Then with repeated encounters and conscious tracing of word (intentional effort) learning becomes more intentional and knowledge of the word becomes deeper. This in turn would suggests that methods of teaching vocabulary in fact represent/should represent a continuum that range between meaning-focused to language-focused. In fact

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language-focused instruction could positively affect meaning-focused learning. As Nation (2002) points out language—focused-instruction is expected to lead to a chain of reactions that would increase learners’ ability to deal with meaning-focused input, and so increase their chances of knowing more about a word through incidental learning. The chain starts with language focused instruction that would result in: “explicit knowledge about a word, increased awareness of the word, noticing the word in meaning-focused input, and finally implicit knowledge of the word.” (Nation 2002: 270). b) Provide chances for learners to encounter vocabulary more than once through meaning-focused texts and vocabulary activities. Full knowledge of a word requires repeated encounters with the word in meaning-focused input to allow for opportunities to trace the word in different contexts. This in turn will allow for detecting semantic and syntactic information needed to trace the word in different contexts. In Rott’s study (1999) to detect the effect of repeated exposure on acquisition and retention of vocabulary revealed that two exposures were sufficient to affect vocabulary growth, but that six exposures resulted in the greatest amount of knowledge growth of vocabulary. Retention however was more for receptive knowledge rather than productive knowledge of a word. Paribakht & Wesche (1997) have found that carrying out vocabulary activities after exposure in meaning-focused activities like answering comprehension question allowed learners to gain productive as well as receptive knowledge of vocabulary (Gass & Selinker 2001: 379–80). This would suggest that vocabulary activities are also likely to help learners detect semantic and syntactic information needed for successful use. c) Select words that deserve receptive/passive vs. those that require productive/active knowledge (passive vs. active). One of the distinctions referred to most in the field of SLA and teaching pedagogy is the one between active and passive vocabulary (or between receptive and productive knowledge of a word). The terms passive or receptive knowledge of vocabulary is usually used to refer to words that learners can recognize only, while active or productive vocabulary refers to ones that learners can actually use in their production (Gass and Selinker, 2001, p. 375). The latter group is expected to involve a deeper forms of knowledge—for example the word’s grammatical behavior, collocational behavior, stylistic register

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constraints—that would facilitate its successful usage. In that sense lexical knowledge could be pictured as a continuum that starts with passive recognition and ends with active production of a word (Gass & Selinker 2001). It is generally expected that the body of vocabulary that learners only recognize or know receptively is twice as big as active or productive vocabulary. As Al-Batal (2006) points out active control of vocabulary is not necessary for certain levels of comprehension. This indicates that learners do not need to have complete knowledge of a word to be able to have some use of it. Teachers and learners have made good use of this fact to reduce the burden of learning no vocabulary by introducing some vocab for mere recognition, while working with other at/to facilitate active or productive usage. The question however is always which vocabulary to introduce for recognition only and which ones to introduce for active or productive knowledge. An obvious answer to that question of course would be to introduce words of higher frequency for active knowledge. In languages like English a variety of frequency lists were produced, like the “University Word List” by Xue and Nation 1984, that accounts for 8% of an academic text, or West’s “General Service List” of 1954 (Hunt & Beglar 2002), as well as Ogden and Richard’s earlier “Basic English” of 1943 (Gamal 1998); it is therefore easier in English to deal with issues like estimating vocabulary size and choosing vocabulary for active knowledge. This issue however is more complicated in Arabic language where such frequency lists are very limited. It has to be mentioned however that one of such lists has been developed for media which gives media texts an advantage that other texts in Arabic do not enjoy. Al Batal (2006) mentions that using studies on vocabulary size and other teachers anecdotal reports the number of vocabulary necessary to reach the advanced level of proficiency should approximately be 3000–3500 words. d) Provide chances for elaboration of word knowledge (connect what learner knows to new info, meet word in new contexts). Barcroft (2004) defines semantic elaboration as being “a situation in which one focuses extensively on meaning-related properties of a word” (p. 205). As Prince (1996) points out knowing the translation of a word does not mean that learner has acquired that word. Researchers like Nation (1994) and Gass and Selinker (2001) point out that knowing a word involves aspects like: related grammatical patterns

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(grammatical behavior), common lexical sets, typical associations, and so on. Knowing such facts requires that learners see such words in different contexts as well as providing chances for “deeper receptive and/ or productive practice” (Hunt & Beglar 2002: 261). Suggested exercises to reach this end could include making semantic maps (generating a series of words related in meaning to a target word), synonym generation, answering questions about meaning of words (Barcroft 2004). Other suggestions include making derivations, noting inflections, producing synonyms and antonyms, combining phrases from several columns, matching parts of collocations and so on (Hunt & Beglar 2002). It has to be mentioned however that researchers like Barcroft (2004) suggest that such activities be introduced after learners have had the chance to process vocabulary as input. Introducing exercises that require semantic elaboration at initial stages of learning new words could lead to negative effects on L2 word learning. At this stage such exercises may limit learners’ ability to concentrate on word form and form-meaning relations because they would exhaust resources that learners would have otherwise geared towards encoding and form-meaning mapping of the word. e) Train students to guess from context. Guessing the meaning of words from context is often referred to as an important skill that facilitates reading comprehension since learners are not expected to know or learn all the words they are exposed to in L2 texts. Guessing is often related to incidental learning of vocabulary since it “focuses on the particular reference of a word as determined by the context rather than on its underlying meaning” therefore “it is likely that this knowledge will directly enter implicit memory as it will be less complicated than the concept of the word.” (Nation 2002: 271). Despite the value of guessing in attaining some general level of text comprehension, there is some controversy over the benefit of guessing in learning new vocabulary. Kelly (1990) for example points out that guessing does not help learners to concentrate on word form and meaning (Hunt & Beglar 2002). However, as Nation (2002) suggests guessing may raise consciousness of the word and thus if the word is repeated in other contexts learner would be able to trace and possibly acquire knowledge about the word. This indicates that for guessing to be a useful learning device it has to involve some conscious effort on the part of learner when dealing with the unknown word. Hunt & Beglar (2002) suggest that learners need to be trained to decide which

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words are important enough to go through the process of guessing. Furthermore they point out that a number of procedures are necessary for successful guessing of words these include to: “a—Determine the part of speech of the unknown word. b—Look at immediate context and simplify it if necessary. c—Look at the wider context. This entails examining the clause with the unknown word and its relationship to the surrounding clauses and sentences. d—Guess the meaning of the word. e—check that the guess is correct.”(Hunt & Beglar 2002: 263). The researchers add the need to analyze words to help in guessing meaning; this is especially useful in Arabic where roots for example play an important role in guessing meaning. They also add the need to refer to dictionary to consolidate guessed meaning. Guessing meaning therefore is a process that needs some training in class. Another difficulty involved in the process of using guessing in learning of vocabulary and general comprehension is text choice. Hunt & Beglar point out that Kelly (1990) asserts the need to practice guessing in constrained contexts (i.e. controllable contexts that could support the process of guessing). Thus using printed media texts with their more universal genres of writing would provides learners with background information that helps the process of guessing. f ) Use glosses and train students to use dictionaries. Hulstijn, Hollander & Greidanus (1996) point at the value of repeated exposures to words coupled with marginal glosses or bilingual dictionary use to increase learning of vocabulary. Al Batal (2006) suggests that dictionary use could be useful after students were given the chance to guess meaning of word from available context and/or its morphological structure as a means of checking on and consolidating meaning. Day’s (1993) study however points out that despite the positive effect of dictionary use it may lead to confusing learners if word is unfamiliar and has a big number of entries. This therefore makes it necessary to train learners to use dictionaries in order to find the proper entry required by checking word’s context and comparing it to entry chosen. g) Help learners develop fluency with vocabulary. Nation (2002) defines fluency as “making the best use of what you already know” (Nation, 2002, p. 269); he further defines fluency development tasks as ones that “have the characteristics of involving no new language items, dealing with largely familiar content and discourse

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types, includes some kinds of preparation or repetition so that speed and smoothness of delivery can improve, and involving some kind of encouragement to perform at a faster than normal level of use.” (Nation 2002: 269). Fluency tasks are not expected to use new vocabulary, new tasks, or new ideas to help learner focus on speed of comprehension of the message. This is achieved through activities that highlight repetition, time pressure, planning and preparation (Nation 2002, Hunt & Beglar 2002). Tasks could include paced reading where teacher pushes learners to speed their process of reading. For example in the reading sprint learners read the same text repeatedly reducing time spent reading each time. However, to continue making fluency tasks meaning oriented Nation (2002) suggests that teacher rather than using the same text could use “new but similar material, reducing time, a new audience (in retelling tasks), and increasing complexity” (p. 270). h) Provide chances for the study of word parts. Nation (2002) points out the importance of analyzing words to know their prefixes, suffixes to find meaning of unknown words through meaning of their parts. This is especially useful in a language like Arabic where numerous words could be derived from the same root; thus knowledge of that root would mean being able to relate unknown words and forms to their known roots. As Al Batal (2006) points out, thanks to the morphological system in Arabic many words share the same core meaning but with new shades that come with change in morphological patterns. This is especially useful in guessing the meaning of words and in incidental learning of vocabulary. i) Help learners become more aware and consciously develop their vocabulary learning strategies. Barcroft (2004) points out research done by Ahmed (1989) indicating that more successful vocabulary learners posses a large and varied body of vocabulary learning strategies. Successful learners are also more conscious of their learning. This highlights the importance of increasing teacher and learner awareness of the value of such strategies. Many researchers have worked on vocabulary learning strategies to find how learners attempt to acquire vocabulary or gain lexical knowledge. Such research has led to taxonomies of vocabulary learning strategies based on classifications like: discovery and consolidation (Schmitt 1997) metacognitive, socioaffective, memory categories, and

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reviewing/practicing of vocabulary (Fan 2003), metacognitive, guessing, dictionary use, note-taking, encoding, rehersal (Gu and Johnson 1996), and finally in-put based, output based, cognition-based strategies (Winke 2007). This study however finds the list provided by Schmitt (2000) most useful for learners since it is structured in a way that facilitates its integration within the various phases of exposure. The list is divided into: 1) Strategies that could be used when learners first encounter a word, e.g.: i. Determination strategies used by learner to attempt to discover meaning without referring to other people (guessing strategies). This would include guessing from structural knowledge (root, pre-fixes, affixes, etc.), guessing from context (whether written by depending upon chunks that precede and follow the word or verbal by depending upon gestures or tone), or using the dictionary. ii. Social strategies that depend upon knowing the meaning of a word through others (teacher or colleagues). 2) Strategies that could be used after the first encounter to learn the word. i. Social strategies like studying the word in a group or using the word with native speakers to consolidate meaning. ii. Memory strategies like connecting word with previously acquired knowledge (a previous experience, or with coordinates, synonyms, antonyms, images, physical action), grouping words in any manner (according to root or topic or both). iii. Cognitive strategies like repetition (aural or written), lists, or keeping a vocabulary note book. iv. Meta-cognitive like choosing the best way to study a word, testing oneself, or deciding which words are worth studying (Schmitt 2000: 134–6). Research reveals that learners find some of those strategies more useful than others as reflected by the frequency with which those strategies are used. For example Paribakht and Wesche (1999) point out that inferencing with the help of morphological and grammatical information is used more often than dictionaries. Gu and Johnson (1996) have investigated learners’ use of strategies like guessing from context,

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dictionary use for learning (rather than comprehension), word formation, oral repetition, visual repetition (writing words or words and their translation repeatedly), and word formation. Results revealed that the least effective strategies were memorization and visual repetition (in Gass and Selinker 2001). Although this contribution will not recommend certain strategies rather than others, it would recommend that teachers review research on taxonomies of vocabulary learning strategies and help AFL learners find the strategies that work for them best. From Theory to Classroom Practice Having suggested a number of basic principles that guide effective vocabulary acquisition, we can now ask, how can these principles be translated into classroom practice in such as way as to help both teachers and learners? In light of the principles suggested by SLA and pedagogical research it would seem that the challenge L2 teachers have to address after deciding upon principles that would shape their approach in dealing with vocabulary and the text types that best serves that approach, is deciding on a set of in class practices and/or activities that fulfills those principles and makes use of chosen text types. In discussing those practices and/or activities an attempt was made to present a frame work that deals with the process of learning vocabulary as a continuum which starts from meeting the word for the first time in the printed media texts (incidental stage of learning), to consolidating and learning words encountered (intentional stage of learning), until reaching the point of producing learned vocabulary. In other words, this contribution suggests a four step frame work: 1) Meeting the word for the first time and attempting to discover its meaning. This stage would be referred to as the stage of: discovering meaning. It is expected to include strategies like guessing, using glosses/teacher provided vocabulary lists/dictionaries, and/ or negotiation of meaning. 2) Attempting to gain deeper lexical knowledge about the word. This stage would be referred to as the stage of: Consolidating word knowledge. Examples of activities to be used here are: elaboration, word analysis, word behavior, and exposure activities.

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3) Attempting to commit the word to memory so that learner is able to retrieve the word whenever needed. This would simply be called the stage of: learning. Types of activities to be included here are ones that attempt enhancing and providing learners with a wide range of vocabulary learning strategies; as well as fluency activities. 4) Using the word to express meaning which will be referred to as the stage of: production. This should include activities that provide a chance for use/manipulation of vocabulary learned. In the following section, I would like to suggest a number of activities for each of the stages above. This list is by no means exhaustive, and teachers may wish to use the framework outlines earlier to develop more activities on the basis of texts that fulfill the needs of their students. It has to be mentioned that teachers can not be expected to go through each and every one of the above mentioned steps for their learners to acquire a word. A number of these activities could be done periodically, not persistently. For example, in guessing activities after carrying out activities in described procedure for a number of times, students are expected to have developed guessing strategies that they will resort to even if they are not asked to. Discovering Meaning: 1) Guessing: There are three types of skills that learners would need to master to carry out guessing successfully: i. Choosing words that are important for detecting meaning of text: Training learners to detect the words they must take the time to guess, is part of applying successfully the skill of guessing. This process of training could be done in the following steps. Suggested procedure: Step one: Underline a number of key words in text, have students guess the meaning of such of such words, then ask them why those words were important for understanding general sentence meaning. Another variation of this activity would be to replace certain word/words in a sentence by nonsense words (rather then underline them) or remove certain words completely and try to detect the effect of not knowing those words on detecting the meaning of the sentence and text presented. (This activity is inspired by one presented by Brustad).

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Step two: Chose two sentences and ask your students to underline the words they believe are crucial for understanding such          ). Discuss with students their reasons sentences ( for choosing such words. It might be useful to start by asking           in sentences whose meaning students to underline  they fully understand before moving to sentences that include words learners know little about. Another variation of this activity would be asking students to replace important words in a sentence by nonsense words or spaces, and then present them for rest of the students to guess nonsense or missing words. A discussion could follow of students’ reasons for choosing such words. ii. Guessing by depending on context of the message: This a type of guessing strategies that learners need to be trained to do for comprehension purposes as well as increasing size of vocabulary acquired incidentally (another type being guessing by depending on the form of the word which will be discussed in more detail under word analysis). Suggested procedure: Step one: Choosing a text. As mentioned earlier choosing texts from media sources gives the advantage of multiplicity of writing genres and levels of complexity. They also provide the chance of finding texts that learners have some background about. This is especially important when training novice to novice high students to guess by using context. Teachers need to make sure that texts include a variety of cues to facilitate the process of guessing at this level (especially visual cues). Learners at higher levels could be gradually introduced to texts that they have limited or no background about (culture specific). Step two: Scaffolding questions. Using the following leading questions as a form of scaffolding would help your student in process of guessing meaning. Teacher can chose to change order and/or to skip questions. It is also advisable after using leading questions for a while to reduce such questions until they are no longer used to allow learners to develop their own strategies of guessing from context. The process of elimination of scaffolding could start by using activities where students ask one another the scaffolding questions (with some teacher inter-

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ference whenever necessary). This would help them develop/use the right set of questions for guessing word meaning. Teachers could also choose to add more scaffolding questions especially at lower levels. Examples of questions that could be used: – What is the goal/main idea of the text being covered? – What is the general meaning of the sentence in which the word appears? – How does the sentence relate to the main idea? – What are the words you know before and after the word whose meaning you are trying to guess? – What role does the word play in the sentence (verb, subject, object, adjective, part of a relative clause)? These questions would need to be followed by questions about word analysis. 2) Use glossies and dictionaries: There are different types of dictionaries that teachers could encourage students to use in their classrooms: bilingual or monolingual dictionaries. In Arabic there are also dictionaries that are organized according to roots and those organized alphabetically. The former are more useful for all levels of proficiency since the earlier students grasp the concept of roots the better. However, lower levels of proficiency had better depend on bilingual dictionaries since those would be easier to use at that stage. i. Using dictionaries and glossies to check guessed meaning. Procedure: Looking up words in dictionaries and glosses could be done after students have guessed a word to check their guess. This is especially useful when there are disagreements among students about the meaning of a word or when teacher offers a number of options that students need to choose from. In that case the following steps could be followed: Step one: teacher should encourage students to discuss the various guessed meanings together (negotiation of meaning). Step two: After that process of negotiation of meaning, a vote is taken to indicate the meaning students support most. If there is still disagreement students could be divided into groups according to the word they have voted for. Step three: Students are encouraged to look up the word in dictionary to find which group guessed correctly.

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ii. Using dictionaries to find appropriate meaning of a word. As mentioned earlier using dictionaries could be confusing if a word has a number of entries. It is therefore necessary to train students to chose the most appropriate entry and to see how it fits into the sentences. Procedure: Step one: Choose a word from the text you are reading that you know has a big number of entries in the dictionary or make a number of headlines using one of the above mentioned words in each headline. Step two: Underline the word and ask your students to replace it with another word (i.e. a synonym) in L1 or L2 according to level of proficiency. Step three: Divide your students into groups of two; give each group one headline and ask them to find the synonym of required word in the dictionary (negotiation). Students should be informed that they will have to explain why they have made that choice (negotiation). 3) Negotiation: This is best practiced as part of every activity that students do (as we have seen in the previous activities). In general students should be always encouraged to consult with their colleagues or with native speakers out of class to find meanings of words. Consolidating Word Knowledge 1) Elaboration: Examples of activities that could be used here are: i. Matching activities: Those are some the most widely used to increase learners knowledge of certain words. Examples of these activities are matching from two columns. These would include matching a word with collocations, root, definition, synonym, antonym, sentence representing correct usage or meaning of the word, and so on. Matching activities could be more fun if teacher writes a word on one group of cards and whatever the word is to be matched with on another (collocation, definition, synonym etc.), then gives each card to a different person in class. After that a search starts where each student tries to find the person holding the card that carries information matching his own.

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ii. Semantic maps: This activity requires generating a series of words related in meaning to a target word. This could be done in the form of a competition between two groups where each group is given a word and both try to generate as many words as possible related to that word in meaning. iii. Noting Infliction: Students are divided into two groups each group is given an uninflected form of a word. Each group then rewrites the word adding one (or more) form of inflection to it. It is the role of the other group to guess the new inflected form/forms of the word. 2) Word analysis: This deals with activities that help learner detect or relate the meaning of a word to the meaning of its parts. Examples of such activities could be: i. Analysis of the morphological structure: Students are given lists of the new words that they have been exposed to in the reading text. They are encouraged to provide the root or strip those words by providing the core (the root) of the word. Then to put back all parts of the word they have taken away (like prefixes and/or suffixes) or putting new ones and finding (by using the dictionary) what such additions does to the meaning    of the word. This is especially useful when dealing with        in case of verbs where changes from  to   entails changes in the meaning of the verb. Using this activity could lead students to add to the word core prefixes or suffixes that are not acceptable in Arabic language, but checking in the dictionary would make learners realize that the forms they have produced are unacceptable. This in turn will help them gain more information about the meaning of a word. ii. Restructuring word parts: Divide your class into two groups. The first group gets the core words and the second group gets the prefixes and/or suffixes that you would like to add to these words (they should be written on big charts in big letters that could be read from a distance). Give your class the meaning of a word (a verb for example), and have the class choose the students that represent the core to that word and the suffixes and/ or prefixes needed to form it stand in the right order. Another variation would be to have students stand out in an order of their choice and have the rest of the class guess/look up the meaning of the word they have formed. If word formed is not

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not acceptable in Arabic, in such cases, students need to reorganize themselves (possibly with teachers help). 3) Word behavior in a sentence: The goal here is to high light a word’s semantic and/or syntactic behavior in a sentence. This could be done through tracing the word’s behavior in texts, repeated exposure, and/or using activities that high light the word’s behavior. i. Questions geared towards tracing a word’s behavior: This basically means using questions that highlight the role the word plays in the text semantically and how this semantic aspect takes from syntactically. For example when dealing with the follow        ing headline:            , the teacher could              ask questions like: ‫؟‬         ‫ ؟‬     . Questions such as these are not simply geared towards a general comprehension of the headline, but it is geared towards comprehending the meaning of a specific word in it. Studying the syntactic behavior of a word could be done by having students answer questions that help them trace how it relates to every other word in the sentence. For example students could    . be asked questions like: ‫ ؟‬        ii. Replace: The teacher could highlight one word in the follow        ing headline:             . Then the underlined word is replaced by other words that the student has been    -  -  — exposed to before like:      —. Students are supposed to note how the change in words used lead to changes in meaning. At higher levels questions could highlight more subtle semantic differences like the difference that happens by      by words like    . At the replacing a word like         novice level where simple headlines like:   ½      are used  words that could be replaced are limited (for example: /½/ ) it is therefore advisable to study the semantic value of a word by using the dictionary. To study a word’s syntactic behavior the teacher could try replacing one form of the word (a verb) by another (verbal noun, active or passive participle, noun, adjective and so on), then note that changes that have to take place in sentence to accommodate the change. Another variation would be to change the word’s place in the sentence and note the changes (if any) that need to be done to accommo date this change. For example the verb  could be placed at 

‫م‬

‫م‬

‫م‬

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the beginning of the sentence or after the first word in the sentence. The students are supposed to discuss why the first change is acceptable while the second is not. 4) Repeated exposure: Exposing students to texts that are similar to the reading texts where word appeared is necessary. It gives learners the chance to trace the word’s semantic and syntactic behavior repeatedly in similar but new contexts. Repeated exposure could be done through authentic or simulated (teacher developed) texts. As mentioned earlier five to six exposures to the same word is expected to lead to a higher level of retention (Rott 1999, quoted in Selinker 2001). It has to be mentioned however that exposure to a word does not mean only seeing this word within a text. The various types of activities in which a certain word is practiced could be also regarded as a form of exposure to the word. Learning Activities that lead to learning a word include activities that lead to remembering (memorizing) a word, developing fluency in using the word, and introducing or manipulating word learning strategies. 1) Memorizing: Memorization activities are supposed to help in the process of committing or storing a word in memory and retrieving it whenever needed. Students are usually asked to study vocabulary but are rarely helped with the process. One of the most widely used devices to help with that process is flash cards. However, learners should be assisted to use flash cards more successfully. For example Al Batal (2006) suggests that putting words in the context of a sentence would make remembering them easier. Students could be trained to reduce number of their flash cards by putting all words that share the same root together or group their flash cards according to root. Other means that could help learners remember words are memory games. For example teacher could prepare two stacks of cards one stack on which words are written and on the other stack the meaning of those words. Both stacks should be laid face down, then students start turning one card from each stack. Students are supposed to match the card that has the word with the one that has its meaning; doing this of course requires reading and re-reading the cards carrying words and their meaning.

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2) Fluency: Increasing fluency could be done in a number of ways the most obvious being retelling and speed activities. Retelling allows for repeating the same information in front of different audiences in different forms. This is expected to lead to gaining speed or increasing speed of the process despite the change. A teacher needs to pick a story that made the news (or a news item that includes a series of events), noting that this story would include no new vocabulary (i.e. only targeted vocabulary and old vocabulary). Any new vocabulary should be replaced by ones learners have already covered. The teacher then divides the class into two groups: Group A, and group B. Each group would be given a story. Each student from group A supposed to team with a another student from a group B. Then each of them would take turns at telling his/her story, while the other student takes notes. Teacher is supposed to note time this process has taken. After that the teacher regroups students so that students from group A are matched with other students from group B. Student one retells the story from his notes while student two (who has the original copy of the story) checks to make sure that events are correct. Time allowed for this process should be reduced to approximately half the time allowed the first round. Students are then regrouped again for further retelling and checking of events while time is again reduced. Finally students in group A gather together to retell the story one last time each presenting one event in the series of events included in the story (adapted from C. Davidson in Nation 1994, p. 43) .Other activities that are useful for gaining more fluency is sprint reading of texts, then reading of new but similar texts allowing less time for the process of reading at each round. 3) Word learning strategies: As mentioned earlier, this contribution is not concerned with suggesting specific strategies for learning vocabulary, it is more however for acquainting students with different ways they can use in the process of learning. It is therefore strongly recommended that teachers spend time finding which learning strategies their students use in learning vocabulary, and exposing them to other strategies that they might find useful. Activities here would be more concerned with increasing learners consciousness of the what strategies work for them best and sharing those strategies with other learners. Activities that could be used to fulfill this goal are teach it yourself activities. In these activities

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the teacher informs students that the following class would be a vocabulary study class. Each one of the students will be assigned or will choose three words to present and help his colleagues learn in the same way he/she learns vocabulary. The teacher could start by her/himself. S/he would choose two words and would explain how s/he learns vocabulary, why s/he uses this method, and then encourage students to do the same. Students are then given time to comment on whether this learning strategy worked for them or not. Production Using vocabulary in meaningful contexts could help both retention and more successful use. There are many forms of production that range along a continuum from controlled to open-ended production. Examples of each type of activity will be introduced in the following section. 1) Controlled activities: Those are activities that require limited production like using set vocabulary in a sentence or number of sentences (i.e. a short text). Filling in blanks are the most widely used type of controlled activity. Authentic or simulated texts could be used; words (or their roots) needed to fill in blanks could be provided or not. Other forms of controlled production activities are slash sentence activities where roots of the targeted vocabulary are used (Omaggio Hadley 2001: 291). In this type of activity learners play the role of a reporter who to reconstruct his fragmented notes into a text. A variation on this activity would be to use a pool of words to structure a news item or an AD (news reporter has to restructure his notes to form a news item out of separate words and a picture). 2) Open-ended activities: These give learner the chance to produce sentences or texts without specifying the words they need to depend upon. Although this might seem at first glance not very useful in practicing a certain set of vocabulary, using pictures could provide a context that learners are to work within. Each context would then necessitate the use of a specific set or pool of vocabulary. For example a picture of a meeting between two presidents

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  /  /        /   will necessitate using verbs like:    /  . Thus writing captions or comments on pictures though an open ended activity in the sense that students are not told to use a certain set of vocabulary if coupled with pictures could channel production to a certain pool of vocabulary. The same could be said about activities where famous figures speak in bubbles. In this activity bubbles on pictures of press meetings or president kissing a baby during election campaign may be used in quite unexpected manner. Thus it could be regarded as a more open-ended activity (since vocabulary used in production is not predictable), however expected production is at sentence level (which makes it usable with all proficiency levels). Another activity could be describing pictures. Omaggio Hadley (2001: 284) has presented this type of activity for the novice level where learners are supposed to describe what is in and what is not in the picture. Here a variation of this activity will be described. Learners are provided with pictures of certain incidents that made the news, they are supposed to be reporters who witnessed this moment and should describe it to their readers. This variation makes the activity more fit for higher proficiency levels. Despite its importance, the acquisition of new vocabulary is often one of the most exasperating aspects of language learning. It is therefore necessary to help learners acquire not only the words that we would like our students to learn, but more importantly, the strategies that would make the process of vocabulary learning less difficult and more efficient. This contribution has attempted to suggest a research based framework that could help teachers achieve this goal. References Al Batal, M. (2006), “Playing with words: Teaching vocabulary in the Arabic curriculum”, in K. Wahba, Z. Taha and L. England (eds.), Handbook for Arabic language teaching professionals in the 21st century, Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 331–40. Barcroft, J. (2004), “Second language vocabulary acquisition: A lexical input processing approach”, Foreign Language Annals 37(2), 200–6. Brustad, C. (2006), “Reading Fluently Arabic”, in K. Wahba, Z. Taha, and L. England (eds.), Handbook for Arabic Language teaching Professionals in the 21st century, Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 341–352. Gamal, A. (1998), “Vocabulary studies from Arabic and Western perspectives: Theory and practice”, Al-‘Arabiyya (31), 55–87. Gass, S. and L. Selinker (2001), Second language acquisition, Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum.

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Hunt, A. and D. Beglar (2003), “Current research and practice in teaching vocabulary in J. C. Richards and W. Renandya (eds), Methodology in language teaching, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 258–66. Larimer, R. E., L. Schleicher, and M. H. DaCosta (1999), New ways in using authentic materials in the classroom, Alexandria, VA: TESOL, Inc. Lantolf, J. and S. Mackey (2007), “Sociocultural theory and second language learning”, in B. VanPatten and J. Williams (eds), Theories in second language acquisition: An introduction, Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 201–24. Nation, P. (1994), New ways in teaching vocabulary, Alexandria, VA: TESOL, Inc. ——. (2003), “Best practice in vocabulary teaching and learning”, in J. C. Richards and W. Renandya (eds), Methodology in language teaching, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 267–70. Omaggio Hadley, A. (2001), Teaching language in context, Boston: Heinle & Heinle. Schmitt, N. (2000), Vocabulary in language teaching, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Šaraf, A. (1991), al-Luġa al-ʿArabīya wa-al-fikr al-mustaqbalī, Bayrūt: Dār al-Jīl. VanPatten, B. and J. Williams (2007), “The nature of theories”, in B. VanPatten and J. Williams (eds), Theories in second language acquisition: An introduction, Mahwah, NJ: Lawrence Erlbaum, 1–17.

THE PLACE OF MEDIA IN THE ARABIC CURRICULUM Mahmoud Abdalla Michigan State University The increasing demand on the learning of Arabic language and culture has led Arabic Language Coordinators, Supervisors and Program Directors to provide new course offerings to meet students’ learning needs and help them fulfill the course requirements as well as prepare them for a job market that requires training in what is known as the less commonly taught languages; specifically Arabic and Chinese. Media is certainly among the options to be considered by those creating/designing Arabic language programs across the country. The purpose of this chapter is to shed light on what is meant by media and its place in the Arabic language curriculum. It also provides some recommendations for using media resources in the Arabic language classroom. Media and Mass Media Before we talk about the place of media in the Arabic curriculum and in order to be able to understand the role of instructional media in the Arabic language classroom, we need to provide a definition of the term. We all know that the term “media” is plural for the term “medium” but what do we mean by medium? In its broadest sense, a medium is the substance, surroundings or means in which something exists, moves or transmitted. From a communication point of view, however, a medium can be defined as the means by which something is expressed or communicated. In this sense, a medium is something “in between” the creator of the message and the recipient of the message, that allows the two parties to communicate. (Mersham & Skinner, 2001, pp. 2–3). Subsequently, one can say that a mass medium is a means of communicating to a mass or large number of people, who are considered to be largely indistinguishable from each other. However, nowadays the term mass refers to both things and people. So, specialists in the field of communication and media use it to refer to the multiple or mass production of messages, the large number of

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recipients who are reached by the mass media, the anonymity of the recipients of mass media messages and the complexity of the mass communication process. Modern mass media include television, radio, newspapers and magazines, books, films, music, sign language, painting, images and the Internet. The Mass Media and Teaching Foreign Languages There is no doubt that the mass media has a profound impact on the teaching and learning of foreign languages. In the past, the students’ only access to knowledge was the teacher and school resources. The appearance of radio and television provided a very useful source of knowledge for learners which, in turn colored their view of the world’s languages and cultures. The new technological age: the age of the digital world and the internet has influenced the way we teach and the way we approach our students. When students come to class, they come with prior knowledge, having already learnt a great deal from radio, television and the internet. We are teaching a generation that is privileged in their knowledge of mass media. Students who grow up in a culture of modern technology are eager to engage in serious dialogue about knowledge gained via the mass media; when media content “becomes classroom subject matter, students’ discussion and writing are not tentative” (Morris, 1989, cited in Hobbs, R. 2007, p.6). By sharing ideas and reflecting on experiences that matter to them, students will be able to examine the relationship between meaningmaking, power, pleasure, and identity. Media messages have shaped our understanding of many aspects of social reality. Therefore, foreign language teachers should not ignore the reality that mass media play a pivotal role in the students’ personal and academic development. Practically speaking, media are part of our daily life and we should take advantage of the media resources that are currently available. Arabic language teachers should seriously consider using the internet, computer, TV and radio programs not only as teaching materials but as an efficient way to motivate the students. When teachers ask students to analyze mass media products, they in fact are helping students develop a range of individual, practical, social, cultural and intellectual skills which they will need in the future. In other words, it is important for our students to be media literate.

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Media Literacy Media literacy education has been influenced by the developments in the fields of communication, literacy and cultural studies. Initially centered on television, the term media has since been extended to include all mass media. This in turn motivated educators to consider the broader definition of knowledge literacy and pedagogy which includes among other aspects visual literacy, information literacy, multicultural literacy and literacy of media and popular culture. While it is necessary to consider the multiple literacy approach, media is still perceived as a powerful tool through which students learn about their identity and culture and about the world in which they live. With an everincreasing range of media messages in so many forms, students need to understand the process by which authors convey meaning about socially constructed experience. In order to develop students’ critical thinking and help them become active viewers and listeners, teachers should encourage them to improve their ability to identify, analyze, evaluate and communicate messages in a variety of forms (Hobbs, 1998). Students should also have the ability to use these media, interact with them and create and express their own messages. Their opinions, hopes, and dreams are shaped by the stories and images that populate their magazines, televisions, computer screens and movies. To reach this goal, it is becoming increasingly necessary for teachers to get training in multiple literacies. While this seems unfair to language teachers who are already stressed by the weight of curriculum, helping students to adjust to the rapid changes and hence engage fully and creatively with their world is worth the attempt. Media in Arabic Language Programs Traditionally, most attention was given to the print-verbal medium, that is knowledge in its written form. For a long time, print was the predominant mode of exploring ideas and recording information and knowledge. Thus, in order to have access to information and share in the creation of knowledge, one had to be print literate. But that changed with the 21st century development of electronic transmission of audio and pictorial information. Despite the fast change in technology and mass media, the Arabic language curriculum is slowly

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adapting. Arabic language programs are in the process of negotiating/ designing the syllabus to include multi-media usage. Teachers, coordinators and course designers have become aware more than ever before that meaning can be communicated not only by coding ideas into abstract literary language, but by creating a more emotionally real experience through the combination of various multi-media. This awareness led them to revisit and modify the current Arabic language teaching methodology. The ongoing debate on the role of media literacy has helped to move it from the periphery of the curriculum, where in some programs it had marginally existed as elective courses in Middle Eastern studies, or sometimes was embedded within Arabic literature and culture courses. While promising, this move is still in its initial stage and therefore needs the support of everyone in this fast growing field. In recent years, Media Arabic and Arabic media are used interchangeably by many Arabic language teachers and educators to refer to courses that offer training in the language that is used in newspapers, magazines and Arab satellite TV stations. The design of these courses was strongly influenced by the development in Arab mass media. Since the content of these courses are mainly based on the printed materials and materials from TV, it is worth looking at the history of Arab media and its influence on shaping public opinion. This background information is necessary to examine the rationale behind the integration of such courses into the Arabic language curriculum, as a way to understand the extent to which Arab media reflect aspects of contemporary Arab culture and society. A Brief History of Arab Media The beginning of the 19th century marked the emergence of Arab journalism, when the first Arabic newspaper, al-Tanbīh, appeared in Cairo. Britain, France and the Ottomans; the dominating powers at the time, had great influence on all forms of media which they used in support of their goals in the occupied territories. In his efforts to build a strong state, Mohammed Ali, ruler of Egypt (1805–1848), established several newspapers specializing in almost every field of interest. A few years later, many other newspapers appeared in neighboring countries, such as Lebanon, Syria, Algeria, Tunisia and Iraq. In a very short period of time, there were different forms of newspapers, magazines

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and bulletins all over the region, most of which were published in Arabic. In spite of their modest format and governmental control, these early newspapers played a major role in obtaining independence and shaping national identity. The 20th century saw the proliferation of newspapers and magazines reflecting the thoughts and ideologies of society, including opposition political journalism. Female journalists began writing for many newspapers, some of which were privately owned. Today there is a plethora of Arab satellite T.V. stations. In September 1991, the Middle East Broadcasting Center (MBC) was the first “independent” Arabic satellite T.V. station to deliver news and family entertainment programs outside the Arab speaking world. In 1995, the BBC launched an Arabic Channel, but it was closed due to dispute over editorial rights. In November 1996, the Qatari government launched the Al-Jazeera news channel which attracted a diverse group of professional journalists and reporters most of whom were trained by the BBC. The emergence of Al-Jazeera is seen by many as a revolution in the modern Arab media. The channel that sent shockwaves throughout the Arab world from its first day on air has become a global name which people, governments and decision-makers cannot afford to ignore. Similarly, Al-Arabiya news channel, owned by the MBC Group is gaining popularity among Arab commentators and is creating a challenge for Al-Jazeera and other competing channels. Other Arab T.V. satellite stations that have played a pivotal role in changes in the region, include Arab Radio and Television (ART), Nile Television, Egyptian Space Channel (ESC), Lebanese Broadcasting Corporation (LBC), Lebanese Future Television, Abu Dhabi Television and AlManar, owned by Hizbullah. The BBC Arabic Service has, for a long time been seen as a reliable source of information by the Arabic speaking world. However, this credibility has been challenged by issues in relation to the war on Iraq and Britain’s role in the International Coalition. The new U.S.financed media in the Middle East, such as Radio Sawa and Al-Hurra satellite television is also seen by many Arab listeners/viewers as a part of the propaganda machinery, set in place to counter the growing antiAmerican sentiment, specifically after the September 11th tragedy. While the new non-U.S. financed outlets, such as Al-Arabiya, AlJazeera and others have broken down some barriers between Arab

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states and have challenged traditional values and taboos, their independence, objectivity and liberalism is still questionable. In addition to issues of governmental control, some criticize these channels for providing a platform for programs that often reflect shoddy journalism featuring debates monopolized by some with extreme views. The Current Situation A number of issues are raised with regard to the goals of Arabic media (media Arabic) courses, the content and type of discourse presented, the quality of the course materials, the training of the instructors and other related issues such as the role of the programs which host such courses. It seems that in Arabic media courses, teachers mainly expose students to the print (media in its written form) and TV programs. Other multi-media are limited in use. This may be due in part to the speedy advancement in technology and mass media which the TAFL field is gradually trying to cope with. The process of Arabization (of the new terminology) is another point to be considered. It is also worth noting that the late appearance of journalism in the Middle East region, and the reliance on the printed materials for decades affect the way Arabic instructors introduce “media” to their students. Another important factor is the influence of Al-Jazeera news channel which for many including Arabic language instructors represents a reliable source of information, a symbol of free press that truly reflect the dynamic changes in contemporary Arab culture and society. AlJazeera has become so popular among many Arabic language instructors to the extent that most of the listening exercises used in the media classes are taken from Al-Jazeera production. It seems that whenever the term “Arab media” is mentioned, people intentionally or unconsciously think of Al-Jazeera as an inclusive package of ‘true media” in the Arabic speaking countries. In other words, it appears as if the term “Arab media” is summed up and narrowed down by many to only include Al-Jazeera and similar broadcasting agencies. The excessive use of materials from one type of media at the expense of others may affect students’ critical thinking skills and the ability to compare and analyze information. The material used in these courses is often a random selection of news reports, interviews and debates on political issues that mainly focus on

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the Middle East region. Too much attention is given to the acquisition of news vocabulary and terminology and significant class time is devoted to the explanation of complex structures, specialized idioms and sophisticated concepts. A typical Arabic media class exercise consists of a text (written or verbal) followed by comprehension questions. A vocabulary list is provided to facilitate the learning process. Under the syllabus constraints, translation becomes the fastest and easiest way to provide the answers or explain idiomatic phrases. This strategy does not help students to be creative with the language and sometimes deprive them from sharing information and exchanging their views. Students are not given the opportunity to discuss, analyze and reflect on what they read, hear or see. Arabic media are frequently offered as independent or directed study courses to help students fulfill their major and minor requirements or as an alternative to advanced language courses that are not available in many Arabic programs. In some cases, they are offered as supplement courses for students who want to graduate on time since they can not wait for the rotation of other elective courses in their area studies or programs. It has become common among language teachers and undergraduate advisors to suggest independent study courses as a solution to the lack of course offerings. The expansion of the existing Arabic programs and the establishment of other new ones without securing the qualified faculty who can teach the numerous courses to be created is a major obstacle that we are currently facing. The language used by Arab media represents a real challenge to Arabic language teachers specifically those who attempt to incorporate multi-media in their curriculum. The ongoing discussion about the diglossic nature of Arabic and the debate on which language or dialect to use does complicate the pedagogical process and leaves individual programs and individual instructors within the same program to work independently from each other. Ferguson (1959) defined diglossia as “the existence of two varieties of the same language side-by-side in a speech community, each variety having a specialized function. In Arabic, one variety (a certain regional dialect) is used for everyday, informal oral interaction. Regional dialects are collectively known as Colloquial Arabic. They are largely mutually intelligible, but they vary from one speech community to another. The degree of variation is usually proportionate to geographical proximity. The other variety existing alongside the spoken dialects is superimposed, mostly written, and it has limited oral use (restricted mainly to highly formal

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situations). This variety is called Modern Standard Arabic, and it is more or less invariable throughout the Arab world.” (Alosh 1997: 75). The increasing use of colloquialism, local dialects and borrowed vocabulary, raises fear among extremists, nationalists, and educationalists. They believe the tendency to use dialect excessively is intentionally planned to erode the use of Classical Arabic. The use of Modern Standard Arabic (MSA) in education, academia and journalism can also be problematic. Modern Standard Arabic is the form of Arabic used in newspapers, magazines, textbooks, academic books, novels, short stories and other “serious” writing. It is also used orally in some universities, in political and other “read” speeches, and in the media. While this reflects reality, there are a number of people who do not accept the notion that usage in the media determines the correct form of the language. Furthermore, many who complain about the innovative use of language in newspapers, argue whether a particular use is correct or not. This discourse, while valid, puts pressure on decision makers as to which material should be used. For example, in the context of foreign language-teaching, educationalists hesitate to use any type of media texts. On one hand, they want to expose their students to authentic materials, but on the other hand, they do not want to be accused of teaching non-standard language. Journalists are also in a predicament but cannot afford to wait until linguists can provide them with the “appropriate” terminology for a “foreign/borrowed” phrase or a concept. Professional media is based on quick action and reaction. The following excerpt is an example of a media text that reflects the linguistic reality in the Arabic speaking countries. It is part of an article published in the Egyptian opposition newspaper al-Dustūr (the entire text is shown in appendix A). In this article, Ibrāhīm ʿĪsā criticizes the ruling regime using Modern Standard Arabic mixed with some colloquialism (see underlined words and phrases below). While he is a professional writer who is capable of using the varieties of Arabic language efficiently, he intentionally used these colloquial phrases to emphasize the government’s corruption in an attractive and sarcastic manner, a style that Arab opposition media is traditionally known for. This is clear from the opening sentence of the excerpt:                                           , which means that Egyptian people are not yet ready yet for democracy and freedom and as a result they may naively use the opportu-

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nity to bring the extremists and Islamists to power. The paragraph  below includes borrowed/foreign words (i.e.    business), slang    ،  ،   ،  ،   phrases ( usage of MSA words      ), informal    ) and MSA words    and phrases (  ،   ،   that are          used in contexts other than their original (  ،  ،  ). While the article is written in a standard mode, the informal colloquial usages help deliver the message to the public in a language that reflects their reality. Pedagogically speaking, it is not a difficult task for students who reach the level of proficiency that enables them to read such text to cope with the variation in tone, language and style.

‫م‬

                                                                                                                                                                                                                      —     —                                                                                                              ‫م‬                                                                          —  ) (2008  —311   -     They are all united in the belief that the Egyptian people are ignorant, docile and immature. Democracy and freedom wouldn’t work with them because then they would bring on a bunch of Islamists and extremists. If these control the country, out will go all investors, taking their billions and their kids abroad with them because America won’t tolerate such a situation. It will put Egypt under siege, cutting off all business opportunities, and we’ll go bankrupt. Then poor Egypt will starve to death while investments (especially theirs) look for the stability they need, even if corruption is mixed in. But it’s ok as long as it serves their purposes. Oppression is ok too, as long as the oppressed are the bad guys from mercenary opposition, and Brotherhood members who don’t know what’s good for the country. Those should rot in jail, while an exclusive businessman elite takes over the positions formerly held by those stuffy, dusty Old Guard members. (Ibrāhīm ʿĪsā, al-Dustūr, no. 311, March 2008)

Another example is an excerpt from an article written by Maḥmūd Maʿrūf, a well-known Egyptian sports critic, in which he talked about the final match in the African Soccer League between the Cairo-based al-Ahlī club and the Cameroon Cotton Sports club (the entire text is shown in appendix B). This was an important sports event that attracted many fans in the African continent and the Middle East. Despite his

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regular formal writings, Maʿrūf occasionally mixes the language varieties to address his audience in an easy and interesting style. In an attempt to show support to the Cairene club and emphasize its chance to beat the record by winning the sixth title in the tournament, he successfully incorporated daily life vocabulary, common sayings, images, symbols and connotations that are known to a wide range of readers. From the title of Maʿrūf ’s article “Bidūn mujāmala: Kāna Allāh fī ʿawn ʿĪsā Hayātū” ‘Without flattery: God helps Issa Hayatou’, one expected that the Cameroon President of The Confederation of African Football was faced with tremendous troubles and needed the support of everyone. This was indeed not the case. In fact, the writer believed that his country’s dominance of the continent’s soccer competitions was the cause of the uncomfortable feeling for the CAF President since Cameroon lost the African’s Nation Cub and the African Club League against Egypt. There is no doubt that the use of colloquialism and informal language helped the writer in expressing his ideas clearly and delivering his message in a sarcastic and symbolic way. The first two paragraphs prove the point. In the opening sentence, Maʿrūf says “in every African championship, Issa Hayatou becomes annoyed since he sees the Egyptians players day and night. The man was frustrated to the extent that he was embarrassed by his countrymen in Cameroon”.    He used the verb “   ” which indicates utmost annoyance, irritation or unhappiness. The usage of the two verbs “  ” is a  reference to the bad luck Issa Hayatou encountered when he saw the Egyptian players appearing regularly in these important tournaments. The impact of the Egyptians’ dominance on the CAF President was   indirectly expressed by the following informal phrase “                      ” which literary means “he is unable to show his face to   his people in Cameroon”. Other informal and colloquial phrases that  explained the man’s frustration included ‫؟‬         and                which may be translated as “what an awful disaster!”.    Maʿrūf puts it as if the Cameroon official was talking to himself condemning his team’s bad luck.

                  “‫م‬                          “                                                                   . .                      !!!                                                                                           !!!   ..               

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                                        ..   2006                                               !!                                                        !!                                                                   2008                             .                        .. !‫ ؟‬                                     !‫؟‬                                                    .. !‫؟‬                                 ‫؟‬                   .. !!                   ..                                                        ..                                 ..                          .                     (2008   26   — ) Every time there’s one of those CAF championships for clubs and national teams, Issa Hayatou’s life turns into pure agony; he has to see Shady Mohamed or Ahmed Hassan morning, noon and night. The man is so fed up with everything, he has no clue how to show his face in Cameroon. Even at Japan’s Club World Cup award ceremony, he found himself face-to-face with the whole band: Shady, Ahmed Hassan, Barakat and Abu Treka. Al-Ahlī and the Egyptian National Team have left the guy with a death wish. At the Africa Cup of Nations in 2006, he thought Cameroon had nailed the championship. But before he knew what hit him, along came Abu Treka. I imagine Hayatou wanted to go out on the field and strangle him before he scored the goal that won Egypt the cup. Abu Treka did the same thing in 2008 when Egypt won the Africa Cup of Nations again, breaking Ghana and Cameroon’s records of highest number of wins. So, how difficult this is! What’s left to say in Cameroon if they ask me what happened? Do I tell them I’ve been CAF president for 20 years, and I can’t snatch a stupid cup from Egypt? The agony!! I imagine this is what’s going on in Hayatou’s head right now as he finally gets the opportunity to even the score. Al-Ahlī will be playing the African Club Cup finals, the second game of which will be played in Garoua, Hayatou’s birthplace. He was born and raised their with his siblings, and his entire family still lives there, except for his wife and kids who divide their time between Switzerland and France. (Maḥmūd Maʿrūf, al-Jumhuriyya, Sunday October 26th, 2008)

While it seems that Maʿrūf ’s article focuses on the CAF President frustration and dissatisfaction which may cause the reader to believe that unfair treatment to the opponent may occur as a result of this, it is in fact the writer’s attempt to show pride for his country’s sports

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achievement, hoping to add another title at the expense of the Cameroonian team. At the end of his article, he clearly praises the CAF president as a sincere and fair leader. Unlike the two texts discussed above, the article below is written entirely in the Egyptian dialect. It is from Al-Ahram, the most widely circulating newspapers in the Arab world. It is written by Aḥmad Bahjat, another prominent Egyptian writer whose daily column entitled “Ṣandūq ad-Dunyā” is popular with a very wide spectrum of readers. He has published numerous books, novels, memoirs and studies of religion. He is known for addressing social issues and bureaucratic inefficiency with bitter sarcasm. In this article, he sets up a dialogue between two “imaginary” local characters namely Sayyid and ʿAbduh through which he criticizes the noise caused by careless people and its effect on the individual both physically and psychologically. He sarcastically delivers the message to alert society of the consequences of irresponsible practices that may seriously affect their lives. Based on the assumption that Modern Standard Arabic is used in serious writing, Bahjat is then a “serious” writer who writes using a “serious” language(i.e. his books al-Ṭ arīq ilā Allāh ‘The Road to God’, Anbiyāʾ Allāh ‘The prophets of God’). However, his writings such as the one discussed here is considered “serious” by many Egyptian intellectuals and critics. Besides his daily article in Al-Ahram newspaper, he writes scripts for TV and radio programs using the dialect. Bahjat’s famous radio program Kilmitēn wi-bass (‘Enough is said’) was very influential throughout the Arab world. The program was delivered by the late famous comedian Fuʾād al-Muhandis. The TV series Alf layla wa-layla (‘A thousand and one nights’) was another example of Bahjat’s ability to use the dialect in professional media productions.

                 ‫م‬     . .         ..        . .                         25%                            . .                              :                                            . .                                                            :            . .                          :   . .                 . .                                   . .                      ،                                                                                                                   . .            . .                                                  .        . .                   

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                                         . .                           . .                   .                        .                                 —‫م‬ ) (2008   11—  Sayyid just wouldn’t let it go. He kept calling ʿAbduh every single day until he got him an appointment with a nose, ear and throat doctor, who told him he only had 25% left of his left ear’s hearing capacity. It was possible he would need a hearing aid, the doctor said. He gave him a prescription and said: “stay away from noise and don’t expose yourself to high-pitched noises.” On their way home, ʿAbduh told Sayyid, “Watch out for the cars. They’re honking their horns for absolutely no reason.” Sayyid replied, “They’ve made me deaf, and I guess now they must be deaf too. I read that high-pitched sounds could affect your overall health.” As luck would have it, two salons opened on ʿAbduh’s street. One week later, wedding after wedding brought noisy processions of drums, megaphones and trumpets. The circus had pitched its tent on ʿAbduh’s street. And although he lived on a higher floor, the noise was bad enough to almost make him completely deaf. People at a wedding want to have fun, but why turn everyone else’s lives into hell? Couldn’t we have fun and be considerate at the same time? (Ahmed Bahgat, “Ṣandūq al-Dunyā”, Al-Ahram, August 11th, 2008.)

The three samples of media texts which are presented here differ in the type of language each author used to deliver his message. While Aḥmad Bahjat’s article was entirely written in dialect, Ibrāhīm ʿĪsā’s political critique has the least percentage of colloquialism. Both varieties of Arabic (MSA and Colloquial) are equally represented in the sports commentary written by Maḥmūd Maʿrūf. The use of particular language variety depends on the nature of the topics being handled, the author’s ability to effectively employ the varieties to serve his/her themes and the recipients of the message. In general, the news reports and analytical articles tend to tackle sophisticated concepts which use specialized terminology and therefore lend themselves to the standard form. It is different with other topics such as social and cultural commentaries, where the use of dialect and informal language may be justifiable, since these topics tend to address issues that are closely related to people’s interests and daily events.

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mahmoud abdalla Arab Media, Language and Identity

The language used in modern Arab media raises the issue of national, professional and ethnic identity. While news is typically reported in Classical/Modern Standard Arabic, Lebanon Broadcasting Corporation’s (LBC) correspondents occasionally use the Lebanese dialect when airing programs on national and international events. The new language used by LBC journalists and news reporter is a mix of MSA, French and Lebanese Colloquial. This unique mixture is created to emphasize the “Lebanonism” of Lebanon as opposed to the “Arabness” of the country. The LBC’s view of Lebanese identity is clearly reflected in the channel’s continuous efforts to produce programs that appeal to the Western taste in which French and English are mixed with the local dialect. These include entertainment programs and provocative talk shows that deal with controversial topics from premarital sex to government corruption (Al-Batal, 2002). Lebanon is a unique case in the region where the question of whether Lebanon is an Arab country or not is still debatable. Language sits at the core of this national debate over identity. Gordon (1985) states this clearly by saying “If Lebanon is ever to recover effective sovereignty and rebuild her policy on firmer foundation than those of the past, the problem of language as one aspect of the problem of cultural identity will have to be eventually addressed” (cited in Al-Batal 2002: 95). Similarly, in an effort to maintain Egyptian cultural domination in the region, more programs targeting Arab states and the Arabic speaking communities in the West were produced (mostly in the dialect). While the Egyptian case greatly differs from the Lebanese one, it remains obvious that the Egyptians are well aware of the power of culture and therefore spare no effort to reinforce their dominance by investing in media and cinema. To achieve this goal, they established the Media Production City in 1992, the biggest ever built information and media complex which provides television and film production facilities such as equipment, drama, cultural and educational features, show productions and children’s programs. Nilesat is another company which was established in 1996 for the same purpose. Two satellites were launched to provide broadcasting facilities and internet service. As a result of Egypt’s cultural leadership in the region, almost all native Arabs are able to understand the Egyptian dialect. Compared with the Lebanese case, Egyptians strongly believe in the “Arabness” of Egypt and for them the use of fuṣḥ ā (MSA) is a natural fit

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since Egypt is considered a major center for contemporary Arab and Islamic cultures. However, occasionally there are voices which call for the replacement of the dialect as the official language since it reflects the “true” identity of Egypt, which for them is Pharaohnic or Coptic but not necessarily Arab. Salāma Mūsā and Luwīs ʿAwaḍ are among the writers who encourage use of the vernacular in media and other political, educational and cultural settings and call for the revival of the Coptic language. Despite the arguments over a country’s identity, it appears that the vast advancement in technology has shrunk the universe to a global village and the marginal democracy and freedom in Arabic speaking countries revived and enriched the discussion of language and identity, as well as the role of media in shaping public opinion including one’s own identity. Undoubtedly the accumulated historical and cultural experience of the Egyptian people made them proud of their heritage and obviously the dialect is one way to show this pride. This is not limited to the Egyptian case; it is applicable to other communities in the Arab world. To illustrate, here is an excerpt from the Tunisian magazine Haqā iq in which ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jadīdī criticizes the American foreign policy in the region (the entire text is shown in appendix C). Similar to Ahmad Bahgat, al-Jadīdī used the Tunisian dialect to comment on the occupation of Iraq and its consequences in Middle East in a simple and sarcastic style. Through the dialogue between two “imaginary” local characters that the writer created, he questioned the US role as superpower and its credibility among Tunisians.                          . .    :  !       . .      :     . .    . .            !‫؟‬                                        :             . . !                                                   . .              . .            :                          :              !          . .                    ! . . .      . .             !     !‫؟‬ . . .   :        !        !     :                            :    . .         !             !                       !     . . .      . . .             :      : ‫؟‬  

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mahmoud abdalla                               . .   . . .     ...  ...     :                                 !             . . .              )       (2007 ،   13—  30  35   — 

‫م‬

‘Sickle in the Jar Naddous: You know Barsa . . . I don’t understand anything anymore! Barsis: How come man!? You have everything in order . . . you haven’t been to school .. you haven’t done anything . . . and everything looks quite normal to you. Naddous: You’re right Barsa . . . but even me and the people like me . . . we no longer understand a thing! Barsis: Life’s changing quickly . . . and humans are forced to keep up . . . or poor thing, you’ll be destroyed. Naddous: But brother, what a pace! A human being can’t keep up no matter how hard he tries! Nor can he figure out some things no matter how hard he concentrates! It seems to me that today we’re just living our destiny; we’re zealous followers, and we don’t care what happens! Barsis: That’s it . . . You’ve given up?! Naddous: Yes, I give up! It’s hopeless? Barsis: Hope, that’s a different story . . . tell me a little bit about the things I don’t understand! Give me the minute details! Naddous: Until now I don’t understand the Iraq issue . . . when I think that I understand . . . I find out I’m totally wrong! Barsis: What do you mean? Naddous: Iraq was a sovereign country . . . It had its rulers and laws . . . in a word everybody had something (some bread) to eat and life was fine . . . I don’t know how everything turned upside down, and people are eating each other! People have to understand why . . . because nothing moves on its own . . . let alone people!’ (ʿAbd al-Qādir al-Jadīdī, Haqā iq, no. 35, April 30–May 13, 2007)

In this part of the dialogue, one character plays the role of a Tunisian who despite his efforts to understand the situation, could not find answers to his questions and therefore still wondering what had         : I no longer understand any thing, happened (i.e.           : But people and I still understand                                                       a little      . . .      . . .             !: Until now, I still don’t understand the Iraqi story . . . when one thinks he understands it, he finds himself always mistaken). The other interlocutor plays the role of the facilitator who asks provocative ques: tions or makes comments that respond to the inquiries (!‫؟‬                     . . .   . . .        : It seems How?          . . .   that every thing is fine with you? Didn’t you read what was happen-

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 ing around you? !‫؟‬   . . .  : It is over, you failed?!). Despite the informal colloquial style used by al-Jadīdī in his article, most of the vocabulary and phrases could easily be recognized and understood by foreign language students since they are derived from MSA (i.e.        The acquisition of other vocabu  ،  ،   ،   ،  and ).  lary items presented al-Jadīdī’s article may be very challenging for students simply because they need to learn the features of the Tunisian dialect as well as the rules of its grammar and structure. These include knowledge of particular suffixes and prefixes, negation particles,  ،     phrasal verbs, prepositional phrases, tenses, etc. (i.e. ،   ،              ). The learner’s difficulty may lie in   ،   ،   ،    the vocabulary that is used in contexts other than their MSA original   meaning (i.e.   , meaning a little) or in those borrowed words which became part of the dialect (i.e. the French verb ‘soyez’, arabized as   which means here finished or it is over). The appearance and emergence of numerous newspaper and Satellite TV stations have made it possible for individuals, politicians, opposition parties, human rights organizations, writers, journalists, academics and civil society organizations, etc. to express their ideas and exchange their views in whatever language they choose. This does not by necessity mean that the use of the dialect is basically a call for isolation, separation, or independence from the society or the state. Perhaps, the use of dialects in the articles discussed here, may be attributed to the wave of changes that the region is currently experiencing. Whether the dialect is consciously or unconsciously used to stress one’s ethnic, religious, social or professional identity, it is the linguistic reality that teachers have to deal with when it comes to teaching Arabic as a foreign or second language. Debates and interviews on professional matters are frequently conducted in a new form of language called “the language of educated Arabs”, a mix of Modern Standard, Colloquial and specialized idioms and terminology, that were either arabized or borrowed from a foreign language or culture. Politicians, academics, professionals, experts and analysts use this type of language. Conservative communities, religious authorities and traditional Arab linguists adhere to the use of Classical Arabic. Their criticism is due mainly to the issue of contamination of Arabic and a fear that such practices may encourage the use of the

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vernacular at the expense of Classical, the language of the holy Qurʾān. While this ongoing change and modification of the language is seen by some as a natural development, others consider it an erroneous way toward modernism, perhaps the new form of Western cultural “imperialism” which, detracts from the traditional notions of Arab unity, nationalism and cultural identity and encourages ethnicity, tribalism and secularism. In line with this discussion, there are two radical cases in the Levantine region that are apparently being analyzed by many educationalists and academics. As part of the Syrian regime’s ideology of promoting and reinforcing the notion of nationalism and Arab unity, Classical Arabic is used as a tool to emphasize the identity of the inhabitants as to what is the Arab identity. To set a model for the average citizen, many Syrian politicians and intellectuals are seriously committed to the use of the formal variety of the language in almost all settings probably except for daily routine issues. Syria is probably the only country in the Arab world that was able to arabize subject matters that are traditionally taught in either French or English (i.e. physical sciences). The process of arabization of media is a priority but a challenge for the Syrians due to the advancement of technology that is far beyond the ability of one or two institutions such as the Syrian Arabic Language Academy (Majmaʿ al-Luġa al-ʿArabiyya) to cope with. On the contrary, the emergence of the new linguistic phenomenon of “Arabizi” among Arab youth specifically in Amman, Jordan, is sending messages with regard to the future of the Arabic language and Arab identity. “Arabizi” is basically a new system created by Arab internet and cellular phones users to communicate or send messages when the actual Arabic alphabet is unavailable. It is a character encoding process that facilitates communication by using transliteration of some of the letters that do not exist in the Latin alphabet. The “Arabizi” rules and the way of writing it vary from country to country. Although users created common internet terminology and codes, dialect variation (i.e. accent and vocabulary) may affect communication. In fact, “Arabizi” represents one part of a broader phenomenon in the Arab world known as “the language of youth” which is a mix of Arabic and foreign languages, mainly English and French. As has been mentioned above, show talk entertaining programs and YouTube, the most widely spread video sharing website, are examples of media productions that are driving the use of such language. The reaction to

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this emerging phenomenon ranges from acceptance or at least “tolerance” to suspicion or caution. The former is a realization of the need for adjusting to the new communication environment while the latter expresses a fear of losing one’s identity by “spoiling/destroying” one’s own language. For some, Arab mass media is to be blamed for the “deterioration” in the level of proficiency of Modern Standard by native speakers. Pedagogical Issues For decades, the field of teaching Arabic as a foreign language has been concerned with the question as to which variety of Arabic learners should be exposed to. Media language lies in the center of this discussion and certainly presents a challenge to teachers, course designers and language coordinators. In order to respond to this challenge, several questions arise some of which are: how can the curriculum reflect the linguistic reality in the Arab world? Does it have to reflect this reality in the first place? And if it does, isn’t media a part of this reality? Aren’t we committed to teach our students authentic materials that are of interest to them? Don’t mass media provide this authenticity as well as true representation of Arab culture(s)? And what is wrong with teaching Modern Standard Arabic alongside other varieties including those which are considered non-standard in nature? These questions cannot be answered in a short article such as this, but the following section intends to touch on issues related to media literacy such as authenticity, features of media language, genres and activities for classroom application. Foreign language specialists recommend that authentic materials be used in instruction whenever possible. The term “authentic materials” has been defined in different ways. According to Rogers and Medley (1988), these are “language samples—both oral or written—that reflect a naturalness of form and an appropriateness of cultural and situational context that would be found in the language as used by native speakers”(cited in Omaggio Hadley 2000: 189–190). Media materials reflect this naturalness because they are drawn from the actual surroundings and not prepared by the teacher for the sole purpose of teaching the language. Teachers should seize the opportunity to help their students to recognize the characteristics of oral and written language. If teachers introduce natural material, students will more

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readily dive into the activity. Authentic language and real world tasks enable students to see the relevance of classroom activity to their longterm communicative goals (Brown 2001). This is why films, songs, radio and television broadcasts and recordings of authentic exchanges between native speakers and the like have long been advocated by foreign language educators as stimulating pedagogical aids. The written authentic materials play a similar role. The use of real or stimulated travel documents, hotel registration forms, biographical data sheets, train and plane schedules, authentic restaurants menus, labels, signs, newspapers, and magazines will acquaint students more directly with real language than will any set of contrived classroom activities (Hadley 2001). What is interesting about media is the extent of language variation in style and discourse patterns contained within them. Thus, it is so important to pay special attention to the various discourse types media present. Research on L2 reading has provided evidence of the influence of text structure on students’ comprehension skill (Mayer 1975; Carrell 1987; Widdowson 1990). Familiarity with text structure facilitates reading comprehension. There are some who believe that doing exercises on vocabulary and grammatical structures using specific mass media products may not be effective. In fact, these exercises help to raise awareness about language features and, in particular, about generic conventions. They also help strengthen students’ analytical skills and promote critical thinking in responding to the text. The study of genres has long figured in both academic and media studies. Genres are those classifications given to texts that position the text in relation to other similar works. In literature, categories like poetry, drama, comedy, biography, satire, novel, tragedy, or short story are common genres. In film, categories like documentary, animation, romance, action-adventure, and science fiction are just a few of many examples. Texts can be classified using multiple genres, and new genres emerge and transform over time. (Hobbs 2007: 43). Training students to identify, understand and grasp the concept of genre is crucial in teaching Arabic media classes. It is safe to claim that media texts (oral or written) follow the phonological, derivational, syntactical and grammatical system of Arabic specifically in formal settings such as newspaper articles or TV news broadcasting and formal speeches. Since media relies on the process of condensation and compression of information, journalists, presenters and other media specialists are committed to deliver their message

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in a simple, direct and clear style. In doing so, they are obliged to show originality by using reliable sources and providing the necessary documentation. Arab media is no exception in this regard. Style differs greatly depending on the genre, audience and nature of the message to be delivered. Each discourse pattern uses different vocabulary and structure. For example, a newspaper obituary, which is solemn and straightforward, uses verbs primarily in simple and past tense and very few idiomatic or slang expressions, while almost any comic strip is filled with humorous characters speaking in present and past tenses, using idiomatic expressions, and almost always containing much slang and ambiguity to provoke humor (Penfield 1987: 2). In a study conducted by Zeinab Taha (2002), the author examines the headlines in the three State-owned Egyptian newspapers al-Ahrām, al-Axbār and al-Jumhuriyya. She analyzed the features of media language focusing on the grammatical structures of these headlines. The study found that the structures used to write the headlines include the following (2002: 117–8):    : the president delivers a • subject / verb / object (e.g.    speech)    : The     • subject / Kana / predicate of Kana (e.g.       American attack continues)              : • direct object / verb / subject (e.g.          the president holds a series of meeting in China)  • the use of the Maṣdar at the beginning of the headline (e.g.            : renovation of historical mosques)            : elections      • verb / subject / direct object (e.g.     started in Egypt Press Union) • the headline uses  the present regardless of the time of the  tense              :              event (e.g.            . . .  : Powell declares his support to the Israeli peace plan, then topic starts: Colin Powell announced his support to . . .) • the use of past is limited to weather forecast, sports and crime news         the referee) (e.g.     : the soccer players beat            • the use of future tense is very rare (e.g.             : the labor party will work to change the cabinet)      • the omission of the verb when it is understood from the context        (e.g.       : The American aid will arrive after two  weeks)

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        • subject and predicate (e.g.        : removing it without surgery) • the use of attached pronoun without reference to the noun it repre      : its positions and equipment sents (e.g.             fall in the hands of our forces) These structures represent a real challenge to learners. In order for journalists to deliver the message to many recipients in a short period of time, they tend to use structures that attract people’s attention. Arab journalists, programmers and presenters do not concern themselves a great deal with the traditional conventions of the written or spoken language (mainly MSA), which if they do, may deny them the opportunity to react quickly and provide the message in a timely manner. The most important thing for them is to use vocabulary, structures and terminology that are informative and can easily reach the readers, viewers or listeners as long as they are grammatically acceptable. From a communication point of view, this seems understandable since media specialists do not have the luxury of time and space. However, unfamiliarity with the “media created” word order, sentence structure and derivational system may be beyond students’ ability to resolve. Taha’s study attributes the frequent appearance of the maṣdar in newspaper headlines to a number of reasons some of which are (a) it does have the power of the verb and focuses on the action and event, (b) there is no need for conjugating the maṣdar with the subject and direct object as is the case if using a verb, and (c) the maṣdar can express the idea briefly but deeply regardless of the time frame in which the event occurs. Another observation in Taha’s study is the common use of the present form to attract the readers’ attention to the news item and the past is usually used to express a feeling of pride in  achieving one’s goal, e.g. in war (    : we crossed the Suez Canal). The examination of the characteristics of both the spoken and written language should be relevant in this discussion. Understanding these features will allow us to better respond to the frequently asked questions of why listening and reading authentic materials cause difficulty to learners. Students who learn Arabic are literate in their native language and should be familiar with the broad, basic features of written language but some rhetorical conventions such as the ones used in Arab media, may be different from their native language. As a result their com-

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prehension may suffer. The differences between spoken and written language is also crucial for learning media language. Teachers should consider this when designing their exercises. The most important characteristics of written language are permanence, processing time, distance, orthography, complexity, vocabulary and formality (Brown 2001). Orthography may be of special importance to the learners and teachers alike because the difference between orthographic features on English and Arabic may affect students’ performance. Arabic writing, which is written from right to left, is cursive, even when printed in books and newspapers. The letters modify their shape, depending on their position in the word, namely whether they occur at the beginning, in the middle, or at the end. There is no capitalization and sometimes two or three sounds are written using the same character; in this case they are differentiated from each other by the arrangements of dots. In Arabic, consonants carry the meaning of words, so the Arabic alphabet shows only the consonants and long vowels. Only in formal writing and formal learning settings, fully vowelled texts using Arabic case endings are used. The diacritical signs exist in Arabic to mark short vowels, doubled consonants and the like. The absence of these marks put pressure on non-native speakers when reading media texts, in addition to the existing problems in media language and style discussed earlier. Other orthographic features include the writing of glottal stop (hamza), Arabic numerals, particles and prepositions and redundant Alif and the feminine marker in nouns (Holes, 1995). Hamza is a fully functioning consonant yet is not orthographically  an independent letter. It is written above or below the letter alif (  or ), on the top of a so-called chair (kursī) which could be the letter ya , minus its sub . It could also be written on its script dots or the letter wāw ( or ) own in the middle, or at the end of a word. The rules for writing the hamza cause confusion for some students and some native speakers. For example, the word official as in the phrase “Saudi official” is written as   or    the former is an Egyptian media style and the latter could be found in other Arab printed media. Egyptian media sometimes drop the dots below the letter ya’ () at the end of words. Consequently, if one comes across a word such as  , it may have two possible meanings, one is the oratory (place of prayer) and the other is worshiper, it all depends on the context. This is problematic to students since dropping the dots cause the letter to look like ʾalif

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maqṣūra (, alif in the shape of yā ) which will make a difference in meaning. The same phenomenon (dropping the dots of the yā at the final position) is also found in the Hans Wehr Arabic English Dictionary (1994). Mass media also use different script styles (calligraphy) in which most letters of the alphabet are full of flowing curves that are sometimes difficult for students to follow. There is a wide variety of Arabic calligraphy such as nasxī, ruqʿa, dīwānī, farsī, tulut, kūfī. The most common handwriting style is known as ruqʿa. The other forms are used in newspapers headings, advertisements, cartoons, signs, etc. Exposure to Arabic calligraphy has a twofold purpose, one is to enable students to easily read and understand the texts assigned to them and the second is to acquaint students with important aspects of Arab culture. The mode of complexity and the kind of vocabulary used by mass media is another area to be considered when teaching media language to our students. More than ever before, the language of the Arab press, television and radio has external influence. This influence is clearly evident in the use of vocabulary and idioms. Journalists are committed to quick reaction and since Arab media depend primarily on foreign news agencies to obtain the necessary information, it is not surprising to see these rapidly produced and often literal translations of English or French idioms. Holes (1995) observes that “ quantities of new phrases are coined ad hoc by journalists, and thence find their way into everyday use without ever having received the endorsement of the language academies. A few coinages may remain limited to one particular country, and some even to one particular newspaper; othersliteral translations of English idioms, for example-may simply be too opaque and remote from the experience of the average reader unfamiliar with the western source languages to have any chance of survival” (p. 256). Some of these literal loan translations of foreign phrases and idioms are listed in Holes and Taha studies. These include phrases   ),      ), the cold war (       such as shuttle diplomacy (     the first lady (    ), the third world (    ), international          socialism (      ), European Common Market (           ), the policy of divide    ), to give the green light (        and rule (   ), to impose a news black-out (    ),          ). In addition to the and weapons of mass destruction (   literal translation of idioms, direct translation of foreign words became

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acceptable in contemporary Arab media language. For example, words such as strategy, democracy and technology will become istrātijiyya, dīmūqraṭiyya, tiknūlojyā respectively. Brown (2001) has identified eight characteristics of spoken language: clustering, redundancy, reduced forms, performance variables, colloquial language, rate of delivery, interaction and finally stress, rhythm and intonation. As we have noted above, the density of information has an impact on listeners and viewers. By density we mean the complexity of the syntax, the number of hesitations, and pauses, and the number of repetitions of words and ideas. So, in texts that are chiefly read such as newscasts, where the speech is preplanned, the language tends to be very dense and therefore, very difficult to follow. Density of language varies from one genre to the other. According to Rubin (1995) newscasts are considered the densest type while interviews are less dense because although the questions are preplanned, the answers and subsequent discussion may be more spontaneous; dramas are the least dense since they tend to follow a more spontaneous and relaxed style. The rate of delivery is very crucial to comprehension. We often hear students complaining about the difficulty of understanding Arabic news broadcasting and video clips that contain segments from various Arab TV programs. The number and length of pauses, strong regional accents and very rapid speech are among the elements that make listening to such segments difficult. In reading students can stop and return to revise whereas in listening, the hearer may not always have an opportunity to stop the speaker. If there are several people speaking at the same time, untangling different speakers can be beyond the skill of many students. A good example at hand are the debates presented in Al-Jazeera weekly broadcasting entitled al-Ittijāh al-muʿākis, which translates literary as “The opposite direction”. In this program, educated native speakers are invited to present, defend and criticize different ideas, concepts, phenomena or political stands of various institutions and individuals. In media programs such as this, there is tremendous linguistic and discourse variation resources that require skill and expertise on the part of students and the teacher. Rapid speech delivery, intonation patterns, rhythm, redundancy, colloquialism, idioms and slang language make this type of text too daunting to promote the necessary attention for effective listening comprehension. Students also have to pay particular attention to the rules of interaction, such as negotiation, clarity, attending signals, turn-taking, and

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topic nomination, maintenance, and termination. Arabic language instructors should ensure that the language used is appropriate to the level. Learners of Arabic should also pay attention to the characteristics of spoken language because they strongly influence the processing of speech, and can even block comprehension if they are not adhered to. Recommendations Despite the wealth of media resources that are available these days, using them in the classroom can be a challenge especially with the task of making the information understandable to the learners of Arabic language. American students have access to a variety of TV channels, newspapers, magazines, and web sites on every conceivable topic especially topics that deal with the languages and cultures of the various ethnic groups in the region. Undoubtedly, the abundance of information creates a host of language learning opportunities, but at the same time, this accessibility makes it harder for students to discriminate and for teachers to choose. One important point to keep in mind is that students’ admiration of interactive technology should not cause us to loose sight of the influence of older technologies like television. In a study of media use conducted by Kaiser Family Foundation in 1999 (cited in Oseas and Wood 2003: 3–4), it was reported that children and adolescents spend, on average, six and three-quarters hours per day engaged in media pursuits outside of school (i.e., watching television, videos, or movies, listening to CDs, using computers, reading, playing video games). Two-thirds of children aged eight and older, have a TV in their bedroom; almost half reported watching TV during meals. Gregori Signes (2001) reports that more than 56% of the Spanish population admit that TV is their only past time. The author claims that watching television ranks as the third most popular activity behind work and sleep. While watching TV outside the classroom does not necessary mean that students are trying to analyze this medium nor are they trying to decipher television’s subtle messages, foreign language teachers should not ignore the power of old technologies (i.e. television) in helping students acquire and practice critical attitudes. To facilitate the Arabic teachers’ task to develop media courses, get hold of the materials and design the necessary exercises, the following suggestions should be considered:

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• While useful, the argument about the diglossic nature of Arabic language and the debate on whether or not media language is nonstandard should not be exaggerated or over emphasized. Like any other linguistic phenomena, more research is needed to guide the learning and teaching of Arabic language and media language in particular. Teachers should use media resources to educate their students about the linguistic reality in contemporary Arab world. There is a reasonable research base to help teachers introduce all types of media discourse (oral or written), without being accused of teaching non-standard language or encouraging the use of vernacular at the expense of MSA. Teachers must not feel guilty simply because it is not a matter of solely choosing one variety or the other, it is the Arabic language continuum that should be considered. Researchers differ in their view of the Arabic language continuum but their approaches are flexible enough for teachers to move across the continuum when planning their curriculum (Ferguson 1959; Blanc 1960; Kaye 1972; Badawi 1973; and Mitchell 1986). Arabic language teachers should take advantage of this, bearing in mind that there are several other variables to consider when looking at the language varieties and levels (mustawayāt al-luġa), i.e. age, gender, education and status. • For many years, teaching colloquial Arabic was controversial. The reasons range from pedagogical to ideological or political as explained earlier. The fear of confusing students by constantly switching between varieties was one of the major concerns for Arabic language teachers. The situation is changing as several educators have called for integrating the dialect into the syllabus starting with complete beginners. In an article entitled “Shifting Winds in Arabic Teaching”, published by Inside Higher Ed, October 2008, Munther Younes reports on Cornell University’s Arabic Program experience, that is integrating both varieties in one track (versus two separate tracks, one for classical Arabic and the other for the dialect). In this program, students learn to read authentic materials and discuss them in the dialect. Younes believes it is an honest reflection of what really happens in the Arab world. He adds that “students listen to things and read things, and what they listen to is going to be mostly the spoken, conversational language, and what they read will be the written language. It is done so naturally. This is exactly what Arabs do in daily life and they don’t think about it”. The author of this

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chapter believes that the early exposure to Arabic mass media will contribute to this integration process. Not only does this exposure raise students’ awareness of the diglossic situation at an early stage, but it will also improve students’ language competence which will eventually help them understand and analyze complex media texts that include abstract concepts and sophisticated matters. Students will be at a disadvantage if they wait until they are exposed to media language in the second or third year of an Arabic program. • Through media language courses, teachers can provide intensive training on the processing of expository discourse. Research has shown that certain types of expository organization interact with readers’ background knowledge and processing strategies differently from other types (Mayer, Brandt and Bruth 1980; Mayer and Freedle 1984). According to Mayer (1979), there are five basic ways of organizing expository discourses: collection, description, causation, problem/solution, and comparison. These types are common in various contexts. For instance, history texts often follow the time sequence type of collection while news articles are typically of the descriptive type. In scientific texts, we can recognize a problem/solution type, in which a problem is raised then followed by the solution. The comparison type (particularly the adversative sub-type) is found in political essays. What we must remember here is that most prose consists of a combination of these rhetorical patterns. The comparison and problem/solution are considered well-organized discourse while the description is the least organized type. The collection of description type causes difficulty for L2 learners because it is difficult to decide what a main idea is and what peripheral information is. Printed media is a rich source for these discourse types. Even within a newspaper, one can find all types of prose. • Arabic language teachers should use a diverse compilation of media materials and productions that represent all communities in the Arab world. Arab mass media have a lot to share; therefore, it is not necessary or beneficial for students to get accustomed to one media style. It is safe to say that most of the materials used to teach media language is of Eastern Middle East origin ignoring North African media. The exposure to a wide range of media productions will enable students to get insights into the cultures of Arab communities, learn more about dialects, and gain deeper understanding of the phonological, morphological and syntactic similarities and differences of the media language used by both parties in the region

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(Eastern Middle East dominated by Egyptian and Saudi owned media, and North Africa). Differences in vocabulary usage are an interesting area to show the positive gains from reading or listening to various media sources. For example, the borrowed term “privatization” is arabized in two different ways. In Moroccan media, they   (xawṣaṣa) whereas in Egypt they aratend to use the word       (xaṣxaṣa). Regardless of criteria upon which the bized it as  arabization of the term was decided, it is useful for students to be aware of these differences. Other examples of differences in usage  include phrases like     (al-wazīr al- awwal) ‘first or lead min       (ra īs majlis al-wuzarā ) ‘head of cabinet or  ister’ and   chair of ministerial council’ Both phrases mean “prime minister”, the first is used in Tunisia, Algeria, Morocco and Mauritania and the latter is used in the other Arab countries. Titles and nicknames also vary from one country to the other. Lalla  always follows the title “princess” when addressing or talking about members of the Royal Moroccan family. The word šayx   has been used in dif   ‘Sheikh Khalīfa Bin ferent contexts, i.e. ‘ruler’ as in         Zāyid’ President of the United Arab Emirates, or religious status as  in     ‘Sheikh of al-Azhar Mosque’, the chief Sunni religious  authority. • Media language has specific characteristics that teachers have to take into consideration when planning media courses. It also follows that students who are placed in these courses must be at a proficiency level that enables them to cope with the materials offered in these classes. Here we are talking about courses that are solely designed to teach mass media both in their oral and written forms (i.e. newspapers, TV programs, etc.). As explained, word order, sentences structure, tendency for nominalization, phrasal verbs, particles and other grammatical and orthographic features may cause anxiety for learners. In journalistic Arabic, periphrastic passives are commonly used. Therefore, the teaching of these structures involves the teaching of verb patterns, passive forms and the changes in the internal vowelling of verbs, i.e. istaqbala ‘he greeted, met’ and istuqbila ‘he was greeted, met’. The indicative mood of the patterns V and VII of some verbs is also used in a passive, pseudo-passive, or reflexive meaning, often in particular extended or metaphorical senses, e.g.

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infataḥ a ‘to become or get opened, to open oneself (e.g. to outside influence)’, taʿarraḍa ‘to be exposed to, expose oneself (e.g. to a danger)’. The structure that consists of the verb tamma ‘to come to pass, be completed’ followed by a maṣdar (the verbal noun) is widely used by journalists. This combination (tamma + verbal noun) is used instead of an internally vowelled passive to report the completion of durative or iterative processes (rather than for the description of punctual events, cognitive activities, emotional states) where the focus is on the result of the process rather than on the process itself, or on the (usually multiple rather than individual) agents who performed it (Holes 1995: 258). What is important in this discussion is the need for students to learn the stylistic and grammatical structures such as the ones referred to here, should they decide to enroll in media classes. In other words, students who do not receive proper training prior to their joining the media classes will eventually struggle to survive the course. The difficulty however, may be the result of selecting materials that are not appropriate to the students’ proficiency level, an issue that we will discuss in the following paragraph. • There are a small number of textbooks that focus on teaching the language of Arab mass media, and those that attempt it focus on the language of journalism. While welcomed, these attempts are insufficient to provide the fast growing TAFL field with graded materials suitable for use in media courses. It is also true that the production of mass media is huge to the extent that it impossible for teachers to keep up with everything. The question is, how are teachers expected to select the materials and whether or not the materials they select will be useful. Occasionally, students are asked to go the computer lab and search the internet for a topic assigned by the teacher without clear guidance or they are provided with transcripts of a long news broadcast and a set of questions to answer. In both cases, students find themselves confused, overwhelmed and frustrated. To make good use of mass media in the Arabic language classroom, teachers should select texts that are of interest to their students and materials that are suitable to their proficiency level. Proficiency, for example, is crucial in all aspects of video collection because it can reflect background knowledge, affect the amount of text students can attend to, and affect the need for visuals. When recording texts from Arab TV channels, it is essential to select short segments, which facilitate listening because elementary and intermediate L2/

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FL listeners have limited memory capacity in languages other than their mother tongue and may have little L2/FL background knowledge hence, they are unable to concentrate on the video for an extended period time. The more advanced the student, the longer the segments that can be presented. Documented research indicates that for beginning and intermediate L2/FL learners, between thirty seconds, and two minutes is the optimal length of a segment (Robin, Quinn & Enos 1983; Thomson & Rubin 1993, cited in Mendelsohn & Rubin 1995: 155). Teachers should also select materials other than news programs and political analysis. Learning to recognize Arab dialects should be taken into consideration in the material selection process. Drama, films, songs, colloquial Arabic poetry, cartoons and advertisements are but some to consider. • So far, we have emphasized the usefulness of the media in learning about language as a tool for learning and for communication. Teachers play a significant role in this process specifically when it relates to classroom application. Designing exercises is a time consuming task and therefore teachers should carefully prepare activities that contribute to the ongoing development of students’ linguistic, communicative and academic competencies. The use of media in the foreign language classroom would enable students to develop, not only the basic skills (i.e. skim and scan texts, interpret maps, charts and graphs, guess the topic, sequence of events and the ending, etc.), but additional study skills such as the ability to gather information, use reference tools, survey, take notes, outline, paraphrase and summarize. Arabic language teachers should make use of media to devise exercises that help students improve their writing skill. Teachers can ask students to write compositions, letters (i.e. to editor, of complaint or advice), write a report, tell a story, identify topic and topic changes, request information, and negotiate transaction. In addition, teachers can design exercises that help students recognize different types of genres. One of the most successful techniques that teachers use to strengthen students’ analytical skills and promote critical thinking is to allow students to read a text or listen to a segment several times. Reading a text several times helps students understand how it makes people feel, how it is constructed, and skills employed by the writer to evoke specific images or feelings. With regard to the case of listening, teachers may ask students to watch a segment without sound to predict the script, and then watch it with sound to verify their prediction. Students

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may also be asked to explain different genres of photojournalism and make distinction between a file photo, a news photo and a portrait. It is important to design exercises, which help students recognize that choice of focus can depend on the genre of the segment. While watching a newscast, the most important point to focus on should be the determination of who, what, where, when, and how. While watching an interview, the focus should be on the sequence of questions and answers. If learners know the topic of the interview, they can predict the questions, and then better able to focus on the answers. While watching a drama, the focus should be on the story line. While the techniques and type of exercises presented in this section may apply to regular foreign language classroom situations, they are particularly useful when introducing mass media or teaching media courses. Conclusion From a holistic point of view, communication occurs in wholes (discourse events) within established social contexts where the norms of appropriateness are followed. These discourse events are defined by custom or cultural convention, by the flow of the topics or events within them, by linguistic structures that can and cannot occur within them, by social settings, by the social and personal relationships of the speakers involved in using them, and by many other variables as well. The media offers a rich resource for holistic language learning and if used creatively, they can engage learners in the natural use of language. Media resources offer the opportunity to teach students authentic materials that native speakers use including colloquial Arabic. Authentic texts are readily available or can be devised by teachers. Teachers should not feel obliged to simplify media texts but if they do, it is important to preserve the natural redundancy, humor, wit, and other captivating features of the original material. Sometimes simplified texts remove so much natural redundancy that they actually become difficult. In addition, what you perceive as textual complexity may be more a product of background schemata than of linguistic complexity. Therefore, it is advisable to balance authenticity and readability in choosing texts (Brown 2001). Video and audio clips are seen as a medium that possess cognitively significant qualities that can

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enhance the learning process, because of the completeness of information they incorporate: a vast amount of detail, some of which is fundamental, and some subtle but significant. Samy (2006: 272) states “in many cases, ignoring that wealth of information claiming it is of little or no consequence to cognition is impossible. In addition, clips can expose learners to the real-world situations”. The value of listening in the Arabic language curriculum is acknowledged, although somewhat less well implemented in many programs than one would wish. The use of media in the Arabic language classroom may help change the situation. With the help of new technologies (i.e. educational software, websites, Power Point presentations, iPods, MP3 players, podcasts), Arabic language teachers should explore the ways that students’ critical listening skills can be developed through media literacy activities. In order to prepare teachers to carry out these tasks, we should provide them with the appropriate training and guidance. In general, there is a severe lack of Arabic teacher development programs and in-service training. The current Arabic teacher training programs and workshops do not focus on the teaching of media literacy. In fact, some of these programs do not prepare teachers adequately to effectively integrate the teaching of Arab culture into the curriculum. If teachers receive proper training in classroom technology and media literacy, they will be in a better position to introduce Arab culture since media can be used as a vehicle for cultural leaning. The features of colloquial Arabic and differences between Arab dialects should also be included in teacher training programs. To conclude, this chapter has shed light on the current situation regarding the teaching and learning of media language in Arabic language programs. It has also shown that media courses mainly focus on the language of journalism and TV broadcasting. The characteristics of media language, the debate on the use of dialect and the importance of media literacy in the Arabic language curriculum were also discussed. In addition, the chapter provided some recommendations for future planning. Teachers play a major role in implementing these suggestions in the language classroom. Therefore, they should be well prepared to cope with the rapid changes in mass media. In doing so, they are helping students find a compass in the torrent of messages and competing values ushered in by the information age. In other words, they are helping students to engage fully and creatively in their world.

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Appendix A ʿĪsā, I. (2008), “al-Muwāt ̣inūn wa az-zabūn”, al-Dustūr no. 311, al-Iṣdār al-tānī, March 2008. The underlined words and phrases are examples of colloquial usage and borrowed/foreign vocabulary.                                                                                                       (                                 )                       ‫ م‬                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                           —                                                                —                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  ‫؟‬                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  )              (                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                     .    

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mahmoud abdalla Appendix B

Maʿrūf, M. (2008), “Bidūn mujāmala: Kāna Allāh fī ʿawn ʿĪsā Hayātū”, alJumhuriyya, Sunday, 26. October.                                                 ”‫م‬                                    “                                          !!!                       . .                                                                                     . .  !!!                                                    . .   2006                                                               !!                                                        !!                                                         2008                             .                          !‫؟‬                 .. !‫؟‬                                                       . . !‫؟‬                               ‫؟‬                        . .                                          !!   . .                                                                    . .                . . .                                                   .                                        ‫م‬                                                   ‫م‬        1981 ‫م‬      . .                                                                                     . .                                                                  ‫م‬                  . .                                                                 16                   .                                                                                                                                                !!       

the place of media in the arabic curriculum

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Appendix C Jadīdī, ʿA. (2007), “al-Mangal fi al-qulla”, ḥ aqā iq 35, 30 April–13 May.                                 ..      :   !               ..            !‫ ؟‬                    ..  ..                  :                 :                        ..    !                         ..         ..            :                                    !  :         ..                     ! ! ...    ..         ‫م‬        !‫؟‬   . . .   :       !    :  !                !                                                 . .                  :            !                        !     . . .      . . .             :    : ‫؟‬                               . . .   . . .          . . .               :    . . .                          !             . . .                        . . .         STOP! !      ..                    :         . . .            . . .               .            :                   . . .        . . .        . . .   . . .                     . . .                           ‫م‬ . . .      . . . . . .                                 !‫ ؟‬            . . .     . . .         !‫؟‬  . . .     :                         . . .                 :                                   . . .       . . .                          . . .           . . .                      . . .                                  . . .         ‫م‬    . . .       . . .                           ‫م‬ ‫م‬ !     . . .     . . .  . . . !                  . . .              :        ‫؟‬                                                                               . . . . . .               :                               Congeles         . . .                                              . . .                      !        ‫؟‬       

290

mahmoud abdalla

    ‫؟‬    :                        . . .         :    . . .   . . .                                            TEXAS                . . .      . . .       . . .          . . .                                       . . .                    . . .                  . . .                                              . . . .                              !   !‫م‬      . . .              ‫ م‬  !                           . .  :                             !      . . .                !                       ‫م‬        . . .                     :                                                 :                                                                  . . .                                                !                     !     !                                              . . .                    :                                  !      . . .        TEXAS                 . . .       !      Sinon  . . .      !                                     !      

LIST OF CONTRIBUTORS Soha Abboud-Haggar Professor of Arabic and Islamic studies University of Madrid [email protected] Soha Abboud-Haggar obtained her Ph.D. degree in Arabic Studies from Madrid University in 1997. She has been a Professor in its Department of Arabic and Islamic Studies since 2001. Dr. Abboud teaches Arabic Linguistics and Literature as well as subjects related to Islamic societies and civilization. Her fields of research are Arabic Dialectology, Aljamiado Literature and Islamic Studies. She published two books, “Introducción a la dialectología de la lengua árabe. Con taxonomía de la variedad de El Cairo” (Granada: El Legado Andalusí, 2003; revised new edition, 2009) and al-Tafri de Ibn al-Gallab (Zaragoza: Fernando el Católico, 1999). Mahmoud Abdalla Assistant Professor of Arabic linguistics, Michigan State University and Director of the Middlebury Language School. [email protected] Mahmoud Abdalla earned his M.A. and Ph.D. in applied linguistics at Essex University and the University of Edinburgh. He has taught and lectured extensively on linguistics, Arabic language, and Arab culture and media in several universities and academic institutions in Egypt, Europe, and the United States. He is currently the academic director of the Arabic Language Flagship Program and the coordinator of the Arabic Program in the Department of Linguistics and German, Slavic, Asian, and African Languages at Michigan State University. His research interests include second language acquisition, discourse analysis, heritage language learning, second language pedagogy, and language culture and identity. In 1999, he received the outstanding teaching award from the Council of Students of Arts and Sciences at Washington University in St. Louis.

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list of contributors

Jean Aitchison Emeritus Rupert Murdoch Professor of Language and Communication, University of Oxford [email protected] Jean Aitchison was Professor of Language and Communication at the University of Oxford from 1993–2003, and is now an Emeritus Professorial Fellow at Worcester College. Her research and writing is concerned with the mental lexicon, language change, and the language of the media. She gave the 1996 BBC Reith lectures on ‘The language web’. Among her books are: The Articulate Mammal: An Introduction to Psycholinguistics, 5th edition, London: Routledge, 2008; The Word Weavers: Newshounds and Wordsmiths, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2007, and Language Change: Progress or Decay?, 3rd edition, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2001. Munira Al-Azraqi Associate professor of linguistics King Faisal University [email protected] Munira Al-Azraqi obtained her PhD in linguistics from the University of Durham in 1998. She has conducted research on dialectology, sociolinguistics and phonology. She is currently an associate professor of linguistics at King Faisal University. Reem Bassiouney Assistant professor of Arabic linguistics Georgetown University. [email protected] Reem Bassiouney is assistant professor of Arabic language and linguistics at Georgetown University. She obtained her MPhil and DPhil in Arabic linguistics from Oxford University. She has taught Arabic language and linguistics at universities in the UK and the US, including Cambridge, Oxford and Utah as well as the Foreign and Commonwealth office in the UK. She has 14 years of experience of teaching Arabic and linguistics. Her academic books include: Functions of Codeswitching in Egypt, Leiden: Brill, 2006, Arabic Sociolinguistics, Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 2009. She has published numerous articles on topics in Arabic linguistics, including code-switching, Language and gender, levelling, register, Arabic and advertisements, linguistics and literature and language policies in the Arab world.

list of contributors

293

She is also the author of four novels. An English translation of her novel The Pistachio Seller was published by Syracuse University Press in 2009, and won the 2009 Middle East Literature in Translation. Madiha Doss Professor of Linguistics Cairo University [email protected] Madiha Doss is professor of linguistics at the French Department, Faculty of Arts, Cairo University. She has made significant contributions in the field of Middle Arabic, and issues of Arabic sociolinguistics. She is also the co-editor of Al-Logha, the journal of the Cairo Linguists Group. Raghda El-Essawy Assistant Professor of Linguistics at the American University in Cairo and director of TAFL Program [email protected] Raghda El Essawi obtained her PhD in Teaching Methodologies from Al-Azhar University. She Currently teaches courses in Second Language Acquisition and Methods of teaching a foreign language in the TAFL program at AUC as part of this institution’s M.A. program in teaching Arabic as a foreign language; and has worked as the director of this program for the past four years. Zeinab Ibrahim Assistant Professor of Linguistics at the American University in Cairo [email protected] Zeinab Ibrahim is a sociolinguist who works with Carnegie Mellon University in Qatar. She has recently published Beyond Lexical Variation in Modern Standard Arabic: Egypt, Lebanon and Morocco, Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars, 2009. All her publications are in Arabic sociolinguistics. Dina Matar Lecturer of communication School of Oriental and African Studies London. [email protected] Dina Matar is lecturer in Arab media and International Political Communication at the Centre for Film and Media Studies at the School of Oriental and African Studies. Before turning to academia, she was as a foreign correspondent and editor covering the Middle East,

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list of contributors

Europe and Africa with various news agencies. Dina is interested in politics, culture, communication, society, Islamist politics, movements and gender issues in the Middle East. She is a co-editor the journal The Middle East Journal of Culture and Communication. She has published journal and book articles on the Palestinian diaspora in Britain and news, cultural politics, Arab women and media, Hizbullah and is a member of a number of international organisations, including IAMCR, ICA, MESA, the War and Media Group and the Royal Institute of International Affairs. Carol Myers-Scotton Emeritus Professor of Linguistics, Department of Linguistics and Germanic, Slavic, Asian, and African Languages And African Studies Center, Michigan State University [email protected] Carol Myers-Scotton has published extensively on topics on sociolinguistics, language contact phenomena, bilingualism, code-switching and pidgin and creole development. Among her work are Duelling Languages: Grammatical Structure in Codeswitching, Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993 as well as Codes and consequences: Choosing linguistic varieties, New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. Dilworth Parkinson Professor of Arabic Linguistics Brigham Young University [email protected] Dilworth Parkinson received his Ph.D. in Arabic Linguistics from the University of Michigan in 1982, and has taught Arabic at Brigham Young University. He has published in the areas of Arabic Sociolinguistics and Arabic Corpus Linguistics. He has served as Executive Director of the American Association of Teachers of Arabic and of the Arabic Linguistics Society. He is also the founder and long-time moderator of the Arabic-L list, and the creator of arabiCorpus.byu. edu, a free, online Arabic corpus for students and researchers. He is currently working on a corpus-based frequency dictionary of Arabic. Karin Ryding Emeritus Sultan Qabous Bin-Said Professor of Arabic Georgetown University [email protected]

list of contributors

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Karin Ryding is professor emerita of Arabic linguistics in the Department of Arabic and Islamic Studies at Georgetown University. From 1980–86, she was head of Arabic training at the State Department’s Foreign Service Institute. From 1995–98 she served as Dean of Interdisciplinary Programs at Georgetown, and from 1991–1995, 1998– 2000 and from 2002–2004, she was chair of the department. During the years 1995–2008, she held the Sultan Qaboos bin Said Professorship of Arabic. Principal publications include A Reference Grammar of Modern Standard Arabic, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005; Formal Spoken Arabic: Basic Course, Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1990; 2nd edition, 2005; Formal Spoken Arabic: FAST Course, Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 1993; reprint, 2004. Ryding is past president (2007–2008) of the American Association of Teachers of Arabic (AATA), and currently serves on the Executive Council of the Modern Language Association. Nadav Samin A graduate student of Near Eastern Studies at Princeton University [email protected] Nadav Samin is a graduate student in Near Eastern Studies at Princeton University specializing in contemporary Saudi Arabia. His interests include the evolution of public discourse in the kingdom and the role of technology in refashioning identities. Previously he was a lecturer in Political Science at Hunter College. Mr. Samin holds degrees from New York University and The Johns Hopkins University. Marc Van-Mol professor of Arabic at the University of Leuven [email protected] Mark Van Mol is professor of Arabic at the Leuven Language Institute of the Katholieke Universiteit Leuven (KULeuven–Belgium). He wrote in Dutch a grammar for the Moroccan dialect and a lexicon of Moroccan Arabic (1981 and 1983). Currently he is working on the compilation of a representative tagged corpus of Modern Standard Arabic of more than 10 million words which will be integrated in a lexical relational database and serve as a basis for language studies and electronic exercises.

INDEX 1001 Nights, use of particles 4-M model 84–6

51–2

active and passive vocabulary 234–5 Adams, J. N. 28, 31, 32 ad-Dustūr newspaper 24 use of ECA 28–31 use of English 29 affixation in Gulf Asian Pidgin 168–9 Afterword (Myers-Scotton) 85 age of speaker, in classifying media language 72 agreement, in Arabic newspapers 50–1 Ahmed 238 Aitchison, J. and D. Lewis 1 Al-Ahram newspaper 25, 264–5 use of ECA 27 spelling of hamza 55 use of particles 51–4 use of sawfa 48–9 subject-verb agreement 50–1 word choice 56–8 Al-Aḥsāʾ Cultural Board 193–7 Al-Arabiya news channel 257 al-Aswānī, Alāʾ 206–10, 212 Al-Azraqi, M. 169 Al Batal, M. 233, 235, 237, 238, 247 al-Dustūr newspaper 260–4 Algerian Arabic and French code-switching 83 Al-Hayat newspaper 48 spelling of hamza 55 use of particles 51–4 use of sawfa 48–9 subject-verb agreement 50–1 word choice 56–8 al-Jadīdī, Abd al-Qādir 267–9 Al-Jazeera news channel 257, 258 debates 277 Al-Manar 147 al-Miṣrī al-yawm newspaper 24 use of ECA 27, 30–1 al-Munʿim, Ṣ. 212 Alosh, M. 260 Alshaer, A. 143, 150 Al-Tajdid newspaper spelling of hamza 55 use of particles 52–4

use of sawfa 49 subject-verb agreement 51 word choice 56–8 Al-Watan newspaper spelling of hamza 55 use of particles 52–4 use of sawfa 49 subject-verb agreement 51 word choice 56–8 Al-Wer 98 āmmiyya vs. fuṣḥ ā 125 on OTV 128–31 Aoun, Michel 146 Arab news, The (Pragnell) 226 Arabic (Algerian) and French code-switching 83 Arabic (Damascene), gender differences 98 Arabic (Moroccan) and Dutch code-switching 83, 88 use of dyal 92–3 and French code-switching 88–9 Arabic (Palestinian) complementizers in 90–1 and English code-switching 82–3, 88 ‘Arabizi’ 270–1 Ashtiany, Julia 224 aṣ-Ṣāniʿ, Rajāʾ 203–6 Associated Press news agency 129 asymmetry in code-switching 84 ‘authentic materials’ in Arabic teaching 271–2 Badawi, E. M. 63–4 Bahjat, Aḥmad 264–5 Banāt al-Riyādh ‘Girls of Riyadh’ (aṣ-Ṣāniʿ) 203–6, 210 Barcroft, J. 233, 235–6, 238 Basic English (Ogden and Richard) 235 Bassiouney, R. 2, 21, 24, 212 Bastos and Oliveira 118 BBC Arabic Service 257 Bean and Johnstone 119 ‘Before you are held accountable’ (talk show) 99, 106–7, 109–13 Beglar 233

298

index

Beydoun, A. 145 ‘Beyond events’ (talk show) 99, 105 Bickerton 161 bilingualism and diglossia 23–4 Blanc, H. 63–4 Blau, J. 71 ‘Bloc of Loyalty to the Resistance’ 151 Bolonyai, A. 119 Boumans, L. and Caubet 83 Boyd, D. A. and M. Asi 176 Bresnan, J. 171 bridge system morphemes complementizers as 89 dyal as 92 and late system morphemes 86 broad diglossia 24 Brown, H. D. 277 Brunot, L. 75 bulletin boards female participation 189–92 Najdi tribe 180–2, 184–7 in Saudi Arabia 177–82 Shi’ite 192–5 Bunt, G. R. 196 Cameron 118, 119 Charrad, M. 187–8 Chelkowski and Dabashi 142, 149, 150 Chicago (Al-Aswānī) 212 children, time spent on media-based activities 278 chronology in newspaper reports 17–18 Citizen of the world, The 13 classic code-switching, identifying in Arabic dialects 81 Classical Arabic (CA) affixation 168 in literature 208 use in Syria 270 Clyne 100 code-switching (CS) Algerian Arabic and French 83 in Arabic, future of 93–4 complementizers in 90–1 composite 81–2 use of dyal 92–3 in headlines 26, 31–2 in literature 206, 209–10 Moroccan Arabic and Dutch 83, 88 and French 88–9 in newspapers 28–30 Palestinian Arabic and English 82–3, 88

in political speeches 115–16 and pronoun doubling 87 colloquial language for benefit of reader 28 complementizers in Arabic code-switching 89 ‘complete knowledge’ of words 229 composite code-switching 81–2 concept of involvement 21 consolidating word knowledge stage in L2 learning 240–1, 244–7 ‘Constitution dialogue, The’ (talk show) 99, 105–6 consumerism, media-fuelled 17 Contemporary Arabic Readers 223 content vs. system morphemes 84, 85–6 context, aiding L2 learning 236 controlled activities in L2 learning 249 Crabbe, George 14 creole definition 159–60 history 160 CS see code-switching cultural variation and printed media in L2 learning 232 culture of communication 143 Daher, J. 98 Daily Courant 13 Daily Star 17 Daily Telegraph 15 Damascene Arabic, gender differences 98 date, in classifying media language 71 Day 237 density of language 277 dialect discussions on bulletin boards 193–5 in Egypt 97, 266–7 in Lebanon 266 use in prose fiction 201–12 in Tunisia 267–9 dialogues, in classifying media language 73 dictionaries, in L2 learning 237, 243–4 Diem, W. 64 diglossia ‘High’ and ‘Low’ Arabic 23–4 in media Arabic courses 259–60 Dimock, Wai Chee 219 direct speech in headlines 25, 30 discovering meaning stage in L2 learning 240, 241–4

index Doss, M. 125 Dustūr newspaper 260–4 Dutch and Moroccan Arabic, code-switching 83, 88 dyal and ‘dyal-like’ elements 91–3 early system morphemes 86 Eastern Province Board 177 ECA (Egyptian Colloquial Arabic) and MSA, making a distinction 100–4 use in newspapers 25–32 Educated Spoken Arabic (ESA) 24 education and dialect use 108 Egypt dialects 97, 266–7 newspapers 273–4 television in 126–39, 266–7 Egyptian Colloquial Arabic see ECA Eickelman, D. F. 1, 176 Eid, M. 24, 125, 139 elaboration in L2 learning 244–5 electric telegraph, invention 14 Elgibali, Alaa and Nevenka Korica 224 El-Hassan, S. A. 24 Embedded Language (EL) 84, 85 and dyal 93 endogamy, topic of Saudi Arabia bulletin board 183–7 Engel, M. 14 English loanwords 276 and MSA, code-switching in newspapers 29 and Palestinian Arabic, code-switching 82–3, 88 complementizers in 90–1 expository discourse, in language teaching 280 Fadlallah, Muhammad Hussain 148 Fasold, R. 23–4 fatwas 188 female participation in bulletin boards 189–92 Ferguson, C. 23, 259 Fernback, J. 178–9 Fishman, J. 23–4 fluency, increasing in L2 learning 248 Foucault, M. 142, 143, 155 frames, used by Nasrallah 150–4 free flow of information policy in Egypt 127 Free Patriotic Movement 146

299

French and Algerian Arabic code-switching 83 loanwords 276 and Moroccan Arabic code-switching 88–9 use of dyal 92–3 frequency word lists in L2 learning 235 From the Arabic press (Nahmad) 225 fuṣḥ ā vs. āmmiyya 125 in literature 212 rules 47–8, 58 see also MSA Gass, S. and L. Selinker 234, 235 ‘gatekeeping’ in journalism 21 gender in classifying media language 74 and identity 118–19 gender differences in Arabic dialects 97–8 in talk shows 98–118 General Service List (West) 235 genre in classifying media language 70 study of 272 Girls of Riyadh (aṣ-Ṣāniʿ) 203–6, 210 Goldsmith, Oliver 13 Gordon 266 gossip 16–17 ‘Grand Liban’ 144 Gu and Johnson 240 Guaaybess, T. 127 guessing in L2 learning 236–7, 241–3 Gulf Asian Pidgin (GAP) 162–72 Hadley, O. 250 Haeri, N. 98 Ḥ āl id-dunyā 130–1 attitudes 137–9 lexical features 136–7 morpho-syntactical features 134–6 phonology 131–4 translation 129–30 hamza and L2 learning 275–6 spelling of in Arabic newspapers 54–5 Haqā’iq (Tunisian magazine) 267–9 Harb, M. and R. Leenders 146 Hariri, Rafic, assassination of 146 Harrell, R. S. 64, 124 Harris, Joel Chandler 18–19

300

index

Harrison, George, report of death 16 Havelova, A. 98 Hayat see Al-Hayat newspaper ‘High’ Arabic 23 history of Arabic media 256–8 Hizbullah bulletin boards 195 and linguistic frames 150–4 transformation 141–2, 144–7 Hobbs, R. 255 Holes, C. 67, 71, 108–9, 168, 194–5, 276 Holmes, J. 159 ‘Home secrets’ (talk show) 99, 106, 113–15, 116–18 Hudson, A. 24 Hulstijn, Hollander & Greidanus 237 Hunt, A. and D. Beglar 236–7 Ibrahim, F. 194 identity definition 118 as a frame 152–4 and gender 118–19 Imārat Ya’qūbiyān ‘The Yacoubian Building’ (al-Aswānī) 206–10 incidental learning 233 Ingham, B. 181 intentional learning 232–3 internet bulletin boards, Shi’ite 192–5 internet growth in Saudi Arabia 176–7 interviews, studies of 125 intonation in Ḥ āl id-dunyā 133–4 intra-sentential code-switching 32 inverted pyramid (journalistic style) 18 Īsā, Ibrāhīm 260–1, 265 Islam Online 191 Israel, war with Hizbullah 141–2 ixtilāṭ (mixing of the sexes) 188–9 ‘Jack the Ripper’, report of 17–18 Jake, J. L. 84 Jake, J. L. and C. Myers-Scotton 90 Jespersen, O. 134 jihad as a frame 151–2 Jonson, Ben 16 Jordan ‘Arabizi’ 270–1 gender differences in dialect 98 journalism rules 19 style of reporting 18 Jumbo the London Zoo elephant, report in The Daily Telegraph 15

Kaiser Family Foundation 278 kalajah 162 kalām hnūd (Indian talk, pidgin) 162 Kelly 236–7 Kendall, Elisabeth 225 kinship structures, North Africa 187–8 Korba (Tunisia), dialect studies 97 Kuwait, internet use 179 L2 learning 222–3, 229–50, 271–85 L’arabe moderne (Monteil) 221 Lakoff, R. T. 118 Lampe and Montasser 225 Lantlof, J. and Throne 233 Larimer, R. E., L. Schleicher and M. H. DaCosta 230 late system morphemes 86 learning stage in L2 learning 241, 247–9 Lebanon dialect 266 Hizbullah in 141–2, 144–7 Lebanon Broadcasting Corporation (LBC) 266 lexical features, for distinguishing ECA and MSA 102–3 listeners and dialect use 108 Lister, M. 1 loanwords from English and French 276 pronunciation in Ḥ āl id-dunyā 132–3 ‘Low’ Arabic 23 Majālis Qaḥ tạ̄ n (bulletin board) 180–2, 189 Manchester Guardian 19–20 Mansfield, P. 2 MARC-2000 (Modern Arabic Representative Corpus 2000) 63–4, 70 marked choices in dialect use 114 Maronite Christians 144 Marr, Andrew 17, 20 marriage, topic of Saudi Arabia bulletin board 183–8 Maʿrūf, Maḥmūd 261–4, 265 mass media and teaching 254 Matrix Language (ML) 84–5 McCarus, E. N. and A. I. Yacoub 223 McLuhan, M. 1 media electronic 255–6 forms of 1

index growth in Saudi Arabia 176 history in Arab countries 256–8 mass, and teaching 254 media Arabic 63–6, 219–20, 256 classification 69–78 courses 258–60, 261 and MSA 220–2, 260 oral 64–5, 67–9, 71–2, 76–8 as a process 220 teaching 222–3, 258–61, 271–85 written texts 65, 66–7, 68, 223–6 Media Arabic (Ashtiany) 224 media literacy and teaching 255 Media Production City 266 medium, definition 253 Meiseles, G. 64 Mejdell, G. 24 memorization of words in L2 learning 247 meticulous rituals 142 Meyer, J. F. B. 280 Middle East Broadcasting Center (MBC) 257 Miṣrī al-yawm newspaper see al-Miṣrī al-yawm newspaper Mitchell, T. F. 24, 64 Mixed Styles in Spoken Arabic in Egypt (Mejdell) 24 Modern Arabic Representative Corpus 2000 (MARC-2000) 63–4, 70 monologues, in classifying media language 73 Monteil, Vincent 71, 221 morpheme classification 85–6 Morpheme Order Principle 85 morphemes, system vs. content 84, 85–6 morphology, teaching for L2 learning 238 morpho-syntactic features, for distinguishing ECA and MSA 103–4 Morris 254 Morsly, D. 125–6, 139 MSA (Modern Standard Arabic) and ECA, making a distinction 100–4 and English, code-switching in newspapers 29 and media Arabic 220–2, 260 see also fuṣḥā Mühlhäusler, P. 161, 171 multilogues, in classifying media language 73

301

muqāwama as a frame 151–2 Mūsā al-Ṣadr, Sayyid 144–5 Myers-Scotton, C. 85, 86, 114 Myers-Scotton, C. and J. L. Jake 89–90 Næss, Unn Gyda 162, 167, 169 Nahmad, H. M. 225 Najdi tribe 183–4 bulletin boards 180–2, 184–7 Nasrallah 147–54 Nation, P. 229, 233–6, 237–8 National Pact, Lebanon 145 nationality, in classifying media language 70–1 Nazareth, gender differences in dialect 98 negotiation in L2 learning 244 Nelson, Lord, report of death 14 New Clarion, The 16 ‘new media’ 1 news broadcasts 123, 126 density of language 277 on OTV 129–39 newsbooks 13 Newspaper Arabic 223 newspaper reports, order of events 17–18 newspapers code-switching in 28–30 early 13, 256–7 use of ECA in 25–32 Egyptian 273–4 media Arabic 66–7, 225–6 use of particles in 51–4 word choice in 55–8 Nilesat 266 Nortier, J. 88 noun phrases, in French–Arabic code-switching 88–9 novels, dialect use in 201–12 Ogden and Richard 235 Okasha, M. 83, 88, 90–1 open-ended activities in L2 learning 249–50 oral media language 64–5, 67–9, 71–2, 76–8 orthography and L2 learning 275 Orwell, George 19 OTV 123, 127–39 ‘outsiders’ and late system morphemes 86 Owens, J. 160

302

index

Palestine, gender differences in dialect 98 Paribakht and Wesche 234, 239–40 Parkinson, D. B. 48 particle fī in Gulf Asian Pidgin 169–70 particles, use in newspapers 51–4 passive and active vocabulary 234–5 People’s Assembly, dialect use in 115–16 performative political practices 142 Perspectives on Arabic Linguistics series 48 phonological features, for distinguishing ECA and MSA 104 pictograms 65 pidgins definition 159–60 in the Gulf 162–72 history 160 in Saudi Arabia 161–2 Pignol, A. 126 political speeches, code-switching in 115–16 power and code choice for women 118–19 Pragnell, F. A. 225–6 predication structure in Gulf Asian Pidgin 165–7 Prince 235 printed media, to aid L2 learning 230–50 production stage in L2 learning 241, 249–50 profession, in classifying media language 74 pronoun doubling in Arabic code-switching 87 pronouns in Gulf Asian Pidgin 170–2 public influence on broadcasting 127 Qaḥtạ̄ n tribe bulletin boards 180–2, 184–7 female participation in 189–92 history 182–4 Qur’ān, use of particles 51–2 radio, use of Gulf Asian Pidgin 163 radio Arabic, studies of 124–5 religious subjects, and classifying media language 73–4 reports, order of events 17–18 ‘representation’ in journalism 21 resources in language teaching 285 retention of vocabulary 234

Rickford, J. and J. McWhorter Rogers and Medley 271 Rott 234 Rubin 277

159

Sadiqi, F. 118 Said, Edward 148, 219 SAIS readers in international affairs: Advanced Arabic (Lampe and Montasser) 225 Samy, W. 285 Šaraf, A. 231, 232 satellite television see television Saudi Arabia bulletin boards, female participation 189–92 Gulf Asian Pidgin in 164–72 internet growth 176–7 pidgins in 161–2 Saudi Shi’ites, internet bulletin boards 192–5 sawfa, use of 48–9 Scandal (Wilkes) 16 Schmitt, N. 239 School for scandal, The (Sheridan) 16 Scott, C. P. 19–20 Second Language Acquisition (SLA) see L2 learning Sheridan, Richard 16 Shi’ite community 144–5 conversion to 196–7 internet bulletin boards 192–5 Shoemaker, P. 21 Signes, Gregori 278 Šīkāgū ‘Chicago’ (Al-Aswānī) 212 Šimays, A. 125 Smart, J. 162, 163, 169 Sorenson, Janet 219 spoken language, characteristics 277 spontaneity, in classifying media language 72 sports journalism 261–4 Staple of news, The (Jonson) 16 Star Academy 188 statistics, in newspaper reports 20–1 strategies for L2 learning 248–9 students of media Arabic 258–61 subject matter and dialect use 108 in classifying media language 73–4 subject positions and dialect choice 119 subject-verb agreement, in Arabic newspapers 50–1

index

303

subordinators in Arabic code-switching 89 Sunni Muslims 144 discussions with Shi’ites on bulletin boards 196–7 synonyms, in language teaching 281 Syria, Classical Arabic in 270 System Morpheme Principle 85 vs. dyal use 91–2 system vs. content morphemes 84, 85–6

Uniform Structure Principle (USP) 86–7, 91 University Word List (Xue and Nation) 235

Ta’if Agreement 146 tabloids 15–17 Taha, Zeinab 273–4 Tajdid see Al-Tajdid newspaper talk shows gender differences in 98–118 and media language 75 teaching Arabic as a second language see L2 learning telephone calls and media language 75 television in Arab countries 2 in Egypt 126–39 use of Gulf Asian Pidgin 163 in Lebanon 266 news channels 257 oral media language on 69, 74–6 Times, The 14–15, 17–18 Top 1,000 words for Understanding Media Arabic (Kendall) 225 translation and media language 71 from MSA to English on OTV 129–30 Tunisia, dialect in 267–9

Walters, K. 97 Warf, B. and P. Vincent 176–7 Watan see Al-Watan newspaper Waugh, Evelyn 16 Wedeen, L. 142 Week in the Middle East, A (Pragnell) 225–6 Wesche & Paribakht 233 West 235 Wheeler, D. 179 Wilkes, Roger 16 Wilkins 229 Wilmsen, D. W. 74 Wiswall, A. 162, 169 ‘Women talk’ (talk show) 99, 105 Woolf, Virginia 21–2 word analysis in L2 learning 245–7 word choice in Arabic newspapers 55–8 word knowledge types 229 written media Arabic 65, 66–7, 68, 223–6

U.S. news channels in Arab countries 257–8

Van-Mol, M. 52, 126, 221 verbal structure in Gulf Asian Pidgin 167–8 Vile Bodies (Waugh) 16 vocabulary in L2 learning 229–50 voice-over technique on OTV 130

Xalīfa, S. 212 Xue and Nation

235

Yacoubian Building, The (al-Aswānī) 206–10 Ziamari, K.

88, 92